“Can’t take you anywhere without you either getting in a fight or finding some poor bitch to bang on,” Marty told him as they resumed their walk, “and I bet you haven’t noticed that bloke following us either.”
Their tail followed at a respectable distance and to the untrained eye would appear to be just travelling in the same direction, but Marty knew all the tricks and varied his pace, stopped to look in shop windows and knelt to give Blaez some fuss. The man stayed the same distance behind.
Just before he got to the docks, he saw Antton leaning nonchalantly against a wall as if he had never seen Marty before in his life. He had spotted the tail as well. His gaze slid across Marty who gave the smallest of shakes of the head and signalled ‘follow him’ in the sign language they had developed over their years together.
Two hours later in Marty’s cabin, Antton reported that the tail had hung around the docks for about thirty minutes before walking to Claudette’s house.
“Our double agent seems to have found some more men to make up for the ones we eliminated, or she had more men than she admitted.” He thought for moment and then ordered, “I want a watch on her, her house, Chadwell, and his rooms.”
“You think she has turned him?” Antton asked.
“A wise man once told me, ‘Sex will drag you further than gunpowder will throw you,’ so I would not be surprised. Let’s leave a sixteen-man team ashore when we sail for Palermo, I want them working in pairs and rotated every four hours to keep both targets under surveillance full time. If she humps, I want to know who with and for how long. If she leaves, one man is to follow her the other stays with the house. They are not to take action unless they are attacked and then leave no witnesses.” It went without saying he thought his men could win any fight they got into.
The orders given he went on deck to check on the provisioning and their preparedness to sail.
Antton decided he would lead the shore team himself and selected his men carefully. Every one of them had done gaol time in England for burglary, pickpocketing or some other suitable felony. They slipped ashore after dark and made for an empty building they had identified as a potential base on a previous excursion. The first four men faded into the dark to start their four-hour stint.
Unusually, every man had a pocket watch, a few sheets of paper and charcoal to write with. Marty had been encouraging his men to learn to read and write ever since he was a midshipman and Antton had only picked men who could.
The Formidiable left port on the morning tide, with a conspicuous roar of cannon as they saluted the Admiral. They slid past Fort Saint Elmo, a great star shaped citadel on the Sciberras Peninsula and on out into the Mediterranean. Marty was going pirating.
They met up with the rest of the flotilla at Palermo and immediately got a report from James. There was no sign of any frigates or corvettes in the Bay of Naples.
Well he wouldn’t waste time worrying about le Bonne he had a couple of things to do and wanted to get on with them. First, he had them sail north up through the Tyrrhenian Sea looking for a merchantman. It took two days, but they found one that was out of Olbia on the island of Sardinia. The crew gave up without a fight, so he let them take their ships boat and sail home.
Later that day the merchantman sailed into the Bay of Naples, moored up near the dock and the captain went ashore with his first mate. The mate went to a merchant to see who would give him the best price for his cargo. The captain went further into the town carrying a bloody sack.
The ship was gone the next morning, taking its cargo with it. It was if it had never been there.
Jean-Christoph Messier woke with the dawn and noticed his bedroom window was ajar, which was strange as he never slept with it open. He rolled over and became aware of a large mound under the cover on the pillow the other side of his large double bed.
He sat up and pulled the cover back.
The dead eye of a horse’s head looked back at him and attached to it by a knife through the cheek, was a piece of paper with a drawing of a skull with a knife driven through it from top to bottom above a pair of crossed pistols.
He knew what this meant – someone had declared a vendetta against him in the Sicilian fashion!
He met Le Bonne later for lunch. He had travelled down from Rome, where his ships were based, by coach, for a briefing on the information Claudette had been passing them.
“A horse’s head?” le Bonne exclaimed when Messier told him of his discovery that morning. “Do you still have the paper?”
Messier dug the blood-stained sheet out of his pocket and passed it over. le Bonne looked at it and swore as he crumpled it in his fist in fury.
“What is it? Do you know this symbol?” Messier asked, surprised at the furry boiling in the man across from him.
“It is the bastard son of a pox ridden whore who cost me my arm and ruined my legs. It is Captain Stanwell, the privateer, who is also known as Captain Sir Martin Stockley of the British Royal Navy.”
Messier slumped back in his seat, the man must have been stood over him in his sleep and hadn’t slit his throat.
“What does this mean?” he eventually gasped as he recovered enough to speak.
“He is giving us warning that he will offer no quarter,” le Bonne spat, “the drawing is in red. This is not just aimed at you my friend but all of us.”
Marty now put the second part of his plan into play. To cause devastation and disruption to trade to the ports up and down the Italian coast and the French run islands. Eventually the military commander would have to order the Navy to stop him.
They sailed Northeast up the Italian coast and looked in at every cove and fishing village. They had the flotilla spread out to sea in line abeam with the Hornfleur nearest the coast with the Alouette next, then the Formidiable and last the Eagle. They were in no hurry and swept up every ship they saw, no matter how small, unless they were fishing boats. If they were big enough or the cargo valuable enough, they kept them, everything else was burnt. They flew the red jolly roger over the British colours.
The Hornfleur came up on the town of Terracina. They could see a boatyard with two large hulls almost completed and what looked like warehouses behind the harbour wall. The amphibious team went to work. The boats were launched, and the marines stormed ashore. They were a little rusty but only a practised eye could see that. Within twenty minutes the boatyard was in flames and then the warehouses.
The boats returned loaded to the gunnels with cheeses, hams and sausages with the mark of the French Army on them. The warehouses had been commandeered by the French and there had been a platoon of French infantry guarding them which the marines had run off. They had only expected to have to guard against theft from the locals not a concerted attack by a well-trained force.
Onward they sailed like Vikings on a mad rampage looting and pillaging, every port they came upon. Marty had banned rape to the disappointment of some of the crew Nettuno, Fiumicino and Civitavecchia all suffered in turn. Messages flew to the French commander in Milan who sent orders to the Navy to stop the scourge and destroy the raiders.
le Bonne got back to Rome just in time to receive the orders he had been hoping for. He boarded his ship and looked out at the other two frigates one French the other Italian, that formed his squadron. His own, the Hermione, was a new forty, the second French ship was the Indienne an older thirty-eight, the Italian was the Sibilla, also a thirty-eight.
If Messier was correct the British were expecting a frigate and a couple of corvettes not three much larger Frigates and now with his new orders, he could commandeer the two Italian Navy Xebecs across the harbour to add some extra firepower.
“This time it will be me that has the advantage, you bastard!” he spat with crazed eyes, a hint of drool running down his chin as he stared at the flag drawn on the piece of paper. He could still feel pain in his missing left arm, reminding him of the woman who had shot him from an impossible range. Once he had killed him, he would go after her!
“I hear you have been doing your best to annoy the Italians as well as the French,” Fox commented after the formal greetings had been shared.
“It’s a plan to draw the French and Italian ships out so we can destroy them.” Marty smiled and went over his plan with the two senior men.
“I think I would like to help,” Collingwood said with a faint smile.
“I would be grateful of any you can give,” Marty replied with a bow of the head.
“I would like you to take Sir Sidney along. With his ships of course. He is upset about being relieved of command of the Calabrian campaign and a brisk action will put him to rights.”
Marty was shocked and amused at the same time!. The infamous Sir Sidney could be a renowned pain in the ass, but he was also a man of action. He would have to be extremely careful in his dealings with him.
“Aahh, exactly what would my relationship be to the Rear Admiral?” Marty asked, hoping Collingwood knew what he was getting at.
“Don’t worry you will still be in command of your flotilla,” Collingwood reassured him, “Sir Sidney will be there to offer you support, to close the trap, as it were, in a joint operation.”
“Will he only have the Pompée?” Marty asked, seeing a problem where the Admiral was only in charge of a single ship and he four.
“By no means! He will have two sloops of war and a cutter under his command, he will need their nimbleness to cut off the French and Italian’s retreat.” Collingwood reassured him.
“Good that will work well,” Marty confirmed. “However, I have been informed by Intelligence in Malta that the commander is an old adversary of mine from the Caribbean and I would like to be the one who finishes him off.”
“A personal affair?” Collingwood responded in surprise.
“Very much a professional one, he is my opposite number, and it won’t end until my sword is through his heart,” Marty snarled.
Marty met with Admiral Smith and was surprised at how well he was received and how well they got on.
“I have been burning boatyards and warehouses along this stretch of coastline,” Marty informed him as they poured over a chart. “I’ve also taken or burnt every merchant ship sailing in that stretch of water I could find.”
“I presume you have been methodical so the French will know where you will hit next?” Sir Sidney observed.
“That was the general idea, that and aggravating them into having to do something to stop me, Sir.”
“Oh, please call me Sidney and I will call you Martin,” the Admiral laughed, “I like you; you think like I do!”
Marty almost choked on the wine he was sipping.
“Well, Sidney, the next target is Porto Santo Stefano it’s here in the straits between Corsica and the Mainland. We have just over seventy miles of sea room to play with there to the East.”
They had been informed that the bulk of the French and allied Italian ships were in the North near Rome so assumed they would come from that direction, following the coast down to intercept the Flotilla moving up the coast. The plan was for Smith and his ships to stay to windward out of sight, over the horizon and circle around to take the French from the rear or flank as soon as the trap was sprung.
“If I was commanding the French I would try and catch you on a lee shore and pin you up against the coast,” Sir Sidney commented.
“Yes, so would I, and if I let him, it will give you a good chance to be the hammer to my anvil.” Marty responded.
“Damn dangerous, Martin! You could get pounded before I can get there.”
“Yes, but he knows he can’t get too close or my carronades will smash him. So, it will come down to the nimbleness of my Sloop and Clipper and the strength of the Formidiable’s hull.”
Sir Sidney looked at the young man sat beside him and saw himself twenty-five years before but with an extra core of steel. This was one determined and brave young man.
Chapter 15: The Battle of Giannutri Bay
The flotilla set sail in the morning and headed up the coast towards Porto Santo Stefano to continue their reign of destruction. Sir Sidney followed on a few hours later.
Marty sat in his room absently scratching Blaez’s ears. He was troubled by something that occurred to him as they left port. What if le Bonne didn’t have just a single frigate and a couple of corvettes? The man was no fool, and he couldn’t imagine he would let himself be out gunned as he was in the Caribbean. No, he should expect that he would arrive armed to win and that meant either bigger or more ships. Hopefully not both.
He looked again at the map and had an idea.
“Please give Captain la Pierre my compliments and ask him to come to my cabin and signal the Hornfleur for her captain to report aboard.”
Thirty minutes later, after a short heave to so that Angus Frasier could be rowed over, they sat around a chart.
“We can expect the French to show up with more and heavier firepower than we have been led to believe and we need to counteract that.” Marty said in introduction. “However, the Hornfleur is not a warship; her sides are too thin, she is chock full of marines and I will not put her in harm’s way unnecessarily.” Frasier spluttered and went red, ready to defend his ship and his men. Marty grinned at him and held up his hand.
“Easy now Mr. Frasier. Your ship has, what, sixteen twelve-pound longs and you can only bring eight of them to bear at any one time. My plan is to enable you to bring all sixteen into action at one time and surprise the hell out of the enemy.”
He pointed to a dot on the chart.
“That is the island of Giannutri, it is about ten miles from this headland,” he indicated a bump off of the mainland. “We will raid here at Porto Santo Stephano and make as much noise as possible to attract le Bonne and his ships. When we see the French coming, we will sail around the headland to the south side and set ourselves here,” he pointed to a bay formed by the crescent of the island.
“We will have taken the guns out of the Hornfleur by then and installed them on this hill with a strong redoubt and ovens to heat the shot. My intention is to lure the French into this killing zone and for you to burn the bastards. Do you understand?”
Both la Pierre and Frasier barked, “Aye Aye Sir,” and grinned evilly at the thought.
They went to work on the logistics. They had ample boats and men and soon had a working plan of what they would do.
When they reached the island, the Hornfleur broke away from the rest of the flotilla and commenced the invasion of Giannutri.
An amphibious landing was carried out, much to the surprise of the fisher folk who lived on the island, and a beachhead established. The marines then surveyed the land between the beach and the top of the headland some hundred feet or so above sea level for the easiest path to drag the guns up.
The rest of the Flotilla anchored in the bay and ferried extra manpower over to help with the work. It wasn’t going to be easy; the island was volcanic in origin; the ground was rough and had a lot of ridges. They mapped out a route and started making a road by smashing rocks and packing them into the volcanic ripples to smooth the way.
The Hornfleur’s guns were taken off their carriages and swung over the side to be slung between a pair of whalers. The boats were kept apart by cross beams lashed between them. This meant that they only needed oars on the outboard side of each boat giving them a crab like appearance.
Once a gun was close enough to the shore it was hauled out of the water by an A-frame and reunited with its carriage. Then a large team of men hauled it up the road to the gun positions on the headland. The small wheels of the naval carriages didn’t make that easy. Redoubts were made by making rough, but thick drystone walls and ovens were constructed out of the local rock.
After three days they were exhausted, b
ut ready.
The Formidiable and Alouette up anchored and sailed around to the northern side of the headland where they enthusiastically began pillaging the port of Santo Stefano. Marty wanted time for a signal to be transmitted by the semaphore towers the French had installed along the coast, so he took his time and had his men be far more methodical than usual.
Smoke was soon boiling into the air as boatyards and warehouses were put to the torch and a nasty little pitched battle with a reinforced guard left most of the French dead and three marines wounded.
The Eagle sailed North to give early warning of the French ships approach. Marty didn’t want to be surprised! Once she had spotted the enemy and passed their details by flag hoist, she was to sail at full speed to warn Smith that they were coming, give him their disposition and numbers and lead him to the bay.
At the end of the second day the Eagle appeared over the horizon, all sails set. Ryan ran her down to two miles from the port firing a double gun every fifteen minutes warning Marty that they had spotted the French. Marty immediately ordered the men to withdraw to the boats and re-embark.
He was on his quarterdeck when a grim-faced midshipman handed him the signal.
“Oh, Christ!” he said under his breath as he read.
“3F. 40, 38, 38, two X. Good luck.”
Ackermann came and looked at the note,
“Meine Gott! Smith better get a move on or we will be fish bait!”
Marty could only agree.
He called a quick council of war.
“We are going to be heavily out gunned and we have to hope the battery on the island can even the odds somewhat. We must lead them into the killing zone before we engage so that Mr Frazier and Captain la Pierre can pound them and hope that Smith arrives in time to close the door. I plan to anchor here as planned,” he pointed to the large-scale map of the island they had made while moving the guns, “under the cliffs and use springs to point the guns. It’s not the usual way we fight but we need to hold them until Admiral Smith arrives. We will be sitting ducks, but we will just have to take it for the hour or so that he will need to get here.
Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Page 16