‘We need it. Although the French government does not harass us when we smuggle French goods to England - they are only too glad to get English currency - they do not approve of us smuggling English goods into France. They demand a heavy Customs duty. So we pay enough to keep people quiet, but for the rest we need documents so we can deliver our goods without difficulties. A mason with a cartload of stone, a charcoal burner with logs, a farmer selling a load of hay - they all need documents, and if they are going to another town they need passports so that the cases of whisky and bales of wool underneath will not be discovered. Liberty, Fraternity, Bureaucracy - they were the watchwords of the Revolution. The pen is mightier than the sword,' he said sarcastically.
He picked up the quill pen and tapped his teeth with it. 'Now, how does my plan sound to you?'
'It sounds excellent,' Ramage said, 'but you're taking an enormous risk!'
'If anything goes wrong,' Louis said cheerfully, 'we'll all ride in the same tumbril, and can cheer each other up.'
Ramage thought for a moment. 'We'll be away several days. The Marie from Folkestone will be going to the rendezvous each night ... I'd better send a report to England. I've found out how many vessels there are in Boulogne, and what eachtype can carry. It's little enough, but I'd better -'
'You'd better pass over every important scrap of information as you get it,' Louis interrupted grimly. 'It'll give Dyson and your two men something to do with the Marie. But be careful of giving too many details of our proposed journey, just in case...’
'I’ll just mention that I have to leave Boulogne for a few days. Look, I'll write it now, and you tell Dyson that Jackson and Rossi will be down to join him in the morning, and they are to sail for the rendezvous tomorrow night.'
Louis nodded. 'Who actually delivers the report in England?'
'Jackson. He can transfer to the Folkestone Marie, deliver it, sail in her the following night and be back here in Dyson's boat the next morning.'
'Very well,' Louis said, 'it was fortunate I brought a pen! Now, let's get these passports and other documents completed, then I'll leave you to write your report,'
CHAPTER TEN
The two-wheeled postchaise normally carried only two people, with plenty of room for their luggage. There were grubby but comfortable cushions should they wish to sleep, and many pockets in the faded green leather upholstery in which could be stowed flasks, warm clothing, books for those hardy enough to read, and the cautious traveller's pistol, still the most reliable insurance against highwaymen and footpads. Louis had slipped all their travel documents into one such pocket, explaining later that French people were so accustomed to having a lot of papers that they became blasé.
Although the carriage, a cabriolet, was open in the front so that the passengers had a good view of the road and countryside, it smelled stuffy, a mixture of mildew and boiled cabbage. Louis sat on one side and Ramage on the other, with Stafford in the middle, so that no matter which side an inquiring gendarme opened the door, Stafford would not be expected to speak. Having told the coachman all about the two Italian passengers - with suitable winks and hints - Louis ensured that he would be able to describe various things of interest along the road without arousing suspicion,
The number of shops and houses that had been damaged or destroyed in the town of Boulogne had not been obvious in Ramage's walk round the port area. He assumed at first that it was the result of bombardment by British ships; then he saw that much of the damage could not have been caused by gunfire from seaward because other buildings or hills were in the way.
As the carriage rattled along the narrow cobbled streets and out through the town gates, Louis explained that it had happened in the early days of the Revolution: houses and shops owned by people accused of being anti-Revolutionary or pro-British were looted and then destroyed. Both Boulogne and Calais had suffered for their age-old association with the British, Louis said in a low voice, careful that the coachman could not hear. Even the shouted accusation of a jealous rival was enough to start the mob burning a shop or warehouse. And churches, convents, charitable institutions - all were wrecked in the first few weeks of Revolutionary enthusiasm.
The sun was just coming up over the horizon to reveal a cloudless sky as the 'chaise reached the open countryside and passed the hamlet of Samur. Ramage felt uncomfortable in his new clothes, although they were a passably good fit. The white kerseymere breeches would have benefited by an hour's attention from a good tailor, but the boots fitted and the worsted cotton stockings were comfortable enough. The coat was tight under the armpits and the skirt was (by London standards) unfashionably long, but the light grey was just the colour an Italian man of affairs would choose for a visit to France. It seemed strange to be wearing a round hat after so many years with a three-cornered one, but they were popular in France, according to Louis.
The damage to property was not confined to Boulogne: in even the smallest village there was usually at least one shop or cottage destroyed; in the larger villages and towns the churches had suffered too, and those left standing often had a sign in front, painted in Revolutionary colours, saying ‘This is a Temple of Reason and Truth.' Louis pointed out the English convent at Montreuil which had been destroyed and was now just a heap of ruins, with bushes and shrubs growing where once nuns walked and worked and prayed. Most of the ruined houses nearby belonged to British families who had formed a flourishing little colony under the ancien régime.
Soon the journey established its own rhythm: at each barrière the coachman would call the amount of the toll and Louis would pass it out to the attendant; at each post Louis alighted to inspect the new horses, usually complaining (on principle, apparently) at the condition of at least one of them. Most of the people they passed along the road were poorly dressed. Few men were less than middle-aged and most much older, which was to be expected in a country where conscription was strictly enforced, but it had another effect for which Ramage was not prepared: in the few fields that were cultivated, women were doing most of the work.
He saw an old woman leading a pair of donkeys while another, her skirts hitched up to her knees, guided the plough; a mile down the road two young girls led a horse pulling a cart laden with cordwood. He had also seen several boys, fifteen or sixteen years old, begging quite openly, and Louis had explained that most such youths refused to learn a trade, knowing they would be conscripted the moment they reached eighteen, and were already dreaming of the martial glory that Bonaparte promised them.
The whole countryside showed one effect of the Royal Navy's strict blockade: almost every forest, wood and copse had been chopped down; even isolated trees in the hedgerows had been felled and one had fallen across a cottage, where it had been left. Ragged stumps, like rotten teeth, showed Bonaparte's hunger for timber to build his invasion barges and repair his ships, although it was significant that there was no sign of the arch-shaped two-wheeled timber carriers, no train of horses hauling trunks along the roads, no trees newly felled and lopped and waiting for transport. Whatever timber was now being cut into planks at the sawyers' pits at Boulogne and Calais must have been carried a long distance - by sea from the Biscay ports or Spain? It was unlikely that many ships would get through from the Baltic, Ramage thought; the blockade was too effective. But hauling trunks a couple of hundred miles along roads such as these would take weeks.
Shortage of wood was not just a lack of planking; far more critical would be the lack of compass timber, the wood that grew in natural crooks and curves and which was vital for constructing frames and rounded bows and tapered sterns. He realized that that alone would account for the box-shaped barges; that alone meant that no master shipwright could build a bow or stern that would allow a vessel to get to windward: apart from the bow having to butt through the water, like a goat trying to get through a hedge, every wave would try to push it aside ...