The bombardment began on the 7th of March and lasted ten days, during which time the enemy resisted stoutly. Their sorties were, however, beaten back, and by the 16th of the month the advanced batteries of the second parallel had been pushed forward to within 500 yards of Fort Bourbon. The sappers and miners had in the same time got nearer still to Fort Louis. As yet though no date had been fixed for the assault.
On the 17th of March an accidental circumstance suddenly brought on the crisis. Lieutenant Bowen of the flagship Boyne, who commanded the guard boats of the fleet, heard that there were some British seamen prisoners on board a French frigate that lay in the carénage moored close under the walls of Fort Louis. He was a young fellow of exceptional daring, and a fine piece of work suggested itself to his mind. It was to dash in on his own account and try and cut out the French ship and rescue the prisoners. Young Bowen said nothing about it to any one. He took his boats in and made the attempt. He boarded the frigate in the face of a sharp fire, only, however, to find that the prisoners had been removed. Then he tried to bring the prize off. It proved, however, impossible. The frigate had been moored with chains and had no sails bent to her yards. Lieutenant Bowen had to retire, but his daring attempt gave an idea to the British admiral. It took shape on paper, and the co-operation of the military on shore was arranged for. Sir John Jervis's plan was to send in all the boats of the fleet en masse, carrying landing parties of sailors and marines, and attempt Fort Louis itself by a coup de main. At the same time, it was arranged, a brigade of troops, detached from before Fort Bourbon, should move down and threaten the town of Fort Royal and the landward bastions of Fort Louis.
The plan was put in hand at once, and Thursday the 20th of March was fixed on for the attempt. It was to be made in broad daylight, going straight at the enemy. This, briefly, was to be the order of the attack. The Asia, a 64-gun ship, Captain John Brown, with the Zebra, a 16-gun sloop of war, Commander Robert Faulknor, were to push on ahead of the boats. Having got as close in to the ramparts as the tide would allow, the Asia was to batter away at the fort and breach the sea-wall. The Zebra at the same time was to sweep the ramparts with grape and canister and cover the approach of the boats with the storming parties, which were to come up a little astern of her. All the boats in the fleet—flat-bottomed boats, barges, and pinnaces, carrying 1200 seamen and marines—were to be employed, each provided with a number of bamboo scaling-ladders of from 20 to 36 feet long. Everything was ready by the appointed time, seven on Wednesday night, and at five o'clock on the morning of the 20th the signal was given to set off.
Promptly the Zebra led in. There was a brisk north-easterly breeze blowing, and standing right before it she headed directly for the French batteries. The enemy on their side opened fire on her at once, a long-range cannonade, but without effect. She was a small object to hit. Without checking her course the Zebra held on steadily. The Asia followed, and all went well until just as she was getting within grape-shot range. Then suddenly an amazing thing happened. To the blank astonishment of the whole squadron, the 64 suddenly wore round and stood out of the bay. She turned round deliberately and drew off from the enemy. What was the matter? Something very serious indeed must have happened on board. Sir John Jervis himself, the admiral, thought it could only be that Captain Brown had been killed, and sent off his flag-captain to take charge. It was not that, however. Not a man had been touched by a shot. Captain Grey[60] was only a few moments on board, and then went down the side into his boat to return to the flagship, after which the Asia stood in again. It was a great relief to all—when suddenly, just as she got to the same spot as before, within grape-shot range, round went the Asia's bows once more, and she for the second time put back. What on earth had happened now?
This is the story. It is not a very nice one.
A French naval officer who had deserted to the British was on board the Asia in charge of the pilotage arrangements for the day's attack. He was a M. de Tourelles, a Royalist, formerly harbour-master at Fort Royal. He had volunteered for the post and had been accepted for his pilot knowledge. The failure of the Asia was due to Lieutenant de Tourelles' nerves. All of a sudden, as the enemy's opening shots began to fly overhead through the Asia's rigging, M. de Tourelles got alarmed and lost his head. Whether it was sheer cowardice, or a qualm of conscience at the part he was taking against his own countrymen, or a fear for his own skin if anything went wrong and the French got hold of him—from one cause or another M. de Tourelles broke down abjectly. Before any one on board knew what was happening, he had put the Asia's helm hard over and rounded the ship out of action. That was the first failure, and the Frenchman's explanation was that he had somehow got out of his reckoning. After Captain Grey of the Boyne came on board M. de Tourelles said he would try again. He did so; and the same thing happened again. There was, though, another failure on board besides that of the pilot. Once more, to the surprise of all on deck in the Asia, Captain Brown did nothing. He was an officer who had seen service—of the same seniority as Nelson on the post list, and not far off flag rank in the ordinary course—yet he let the Frenchman for the second time carry the ship out of battle. Lookers-on expected him to pistol De Tourelles on the spot, or cut him down; at the least to send him below under arrest and take charge himself. The tide was flowing, it was nearly three-quarters high water, and he might well have risked touching on a shoal and borne up directly for the batteries. Captain Brown, however, did nothing of the kind. The Asia for the second time headed tamely out of action, this time to remain out.[61]
It was a disheartening spectacle and a bad start. The whole attack indeed was jeopardised. The Asia dropped back nearly outside the bay. The boats lay on their oars just within the bay. The Zebra, all by herself, entirely unsupported, was some distance ahead; all the time under fire from the enemy, stormed at by round-shot and shell and grape from every gun that the French could bring to bear on her.
Fortunately Commander Faulknor was not of the stamp of Captain Brown. He might well have anticipated a signal of recall and turned his little sloop away to retire out of range and wait for further orders. But he was not that sort of man. When he saw the Asia go about and retreat for the first time, although he had already got so far in as to be within musket-shot of the nearest French battery, he lay-to and waited. The French were already firing at him, but not the smallest notice would he allow to be taken of the enemy's shots. The Asia, as he saw, headed in and came on again; after which, for the second time she turned away and stood back. Commander Faulknor knew what that meant. He saw that he had been left in the lurch. He saw now that he must expect no assistance from the Asia, the big ship that was to have been the mainstay of the attack. The odds against him might well have daunted the bravest man. They did not, however, daunt Robert Faulknor. He then and there determined to undertake the whole duty of tackling the French batteries and covering the boat attack single-handed, with his own little ship and her crew of one hundred men all told.
It was a daring resolution, for Fort Louis was a very formidable work, mounting heavy guns and strongly held. It crowned a rocky eminence that jutted out menacingly into Fort Royal Bay. The sea face rose abruptly from the water's edge, with a wall and parapet, 15 feet high, scored with embrasures for big guns all along that side. In rear of the parapet three lofty tiers of platforms, rising one above another, with the muzzles of guns showing at all points, frowned fiercely down on all who should venture to approach in hostile guise. Fort Louis guarded the fairway into the carénage, or man-of-war harbour, round a bend immediately in rear of the fort, and it also covered the town and warehouses of Fort Royal proper, the civil settlement, which fringed the harbour on the farther side.
The perilous nature of the task he was taking in hand did not, however, count with the gallant officer who had charge of the Zebra. He was used to taking risks. Commander Faulknor had already in this campaign shown the stuff he was made of, and that not once nor twice. He was not the man to blench here.