Marty sat back letting his coat fall open, letting the grips of his pistols poke out. He made no move to touch them and made no threat. He just waited.
The silence stretched out. Marty didn’t move, he just looked at Fletcher who was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.
Then Marty reached forward and took 2 gold pieces off the table and dropped them in his saddle bag. Fletcher looked surprised and another minute ticked by. Marty reached forward and went to take another two coins when Fletcher put his hands over the pile and hissed.
“Ok! Fifteen hundred you devil’s spawn”, and pulled the pile of money towards him.
They filled in the details of the deal, the goods would be delivered in two weeks by barge, as shifting it by road would be too conspicuous.
Marty stood as the deal was concluded and held out his hand for Fletcher to shake. The old man looked him in the eye, took it and said,
“Where in God’s creation did a youngster like you learn to negotiate like that?”
“Why I be from Dorset and we be all ‘orse traders from down thar ya know” he replied in full dialect with a wink.
Fletcher laughed put his hand on his shoulder and said,
“When you have finished doing what you be doing with the brotherhood come see me. I could use a man like you, we could make a lot of money together”
Marty took his time on the return trip. He still had gold in his saddlebags but he was heavily armed with two saddle pistols as well as his Nocks so he wasn’t overly concerned with highwaymen. He stopped at an Inn for the night and was eating his meal when an older scruffily dressed Midshipman walked in with a trio of burly bosun’s mates.
The press had come calling. There was no point in running as he knew they would have all the exits covered.
The Mid looked around the room and his eyes settled on Marty who was dressed in nondescript travel cloths that were intended to make him blend in.
Marty knew what was coming next so leant back in his chair and waited.
“Him will do fur starters”
“I wouldn’t do that” Marty said in his best Navy voice
“Fuck you” the Mid said and waved his men forward
They stopped dead when a pistol appeared in Marty’s hand and pointed directly between the Mid’s eyes.
“I said you don’t want to do that, if you want yer man here to keep the top of his head” said Marty, then reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a paper which he held out. He waved it at the Mid
“You can read can’t you?” he said in his most insulting tone. The mid nodded and started to reach out.
“Don’t even think it” he said to the left hand Mate who leant forward as if he would make a lunge.
“Stay still you idiot” barked the Mid who had developed a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He reached forward carefully, took the paper and opened it without noting the seal. He read it, blinked and read it again.
“Stand down” he growled to his men. “He be under Admiralty protection” The men backed up a step and relaxed.
“Better” Marty said and held out his hand for the paper.
When he got it back he un-cocked his pistol and put it away.
“You had better try another pub, this one is under protection tonight” he said with a smile.
The Mid glared at him but jerked his head towards the door and said “come on lads”
The landlord came over to him and practically bowed at his feet.
“Thankee sir” he said “them devils have been raiding us every week for 2 month now. People are getting afraid to come ‘ere”
“Well its safe for tonight” Marty said “they won’t bother you again”.
“Can I get you summit sir, I have a lovely brandy, just in if you knows what I mean”.
Marty nearly laughed out loud.
The next morning he rose early and went to the window to check on the weather. He noticed someone in what looked like a Navy pea coat leaning against a wall in a spot that overlooked the stables. Curious, he carefully checked the surroundings he could see from the window, without exposing himself. He caught a glimpse of a second figure a short way away. standing tucked into the mouth of an alley.
“I bet there’s two more around the back somewhere as well” he said to himself.
He got dressed and made sure all his weapons were primed and ready. He also dug into the bottom of his saddlebags and retrieved a gift he had from Bill Clarence after the cutting out of the Corvette. A blackjack, a leather bound bag of lead shot with a handle and a loop of leather to secure it to the wrist. It was a vicious weapon used to silence people with a sharp blow to the head. But it could also be used in a general melee to great effect.
He went downstairs and dropped his saddlebags behind the bar in the common room. The Inn Keeper appeared and Marty put his finger to his lips in a shush. He whispered in his ear and told him about the men outside and added,
“they be the press from last night. I reckon they be waiting for to teach me a lesson”.
He then whispered a few instructions and went back through the Inn’s kitchen to the back door. He cracked it very slowly inwards and peeked through the gap. No one to the left but the stables were to the right so he opened it further hoping it didn’t creak or squeak until he could get his head through enough to peek to the right. There was one of the Bosun’s mates armed with a club and a rattan cane.
“So it’s a beating I’m in for” he thought. Well he would see about that. He opened the door enough so he could slip out and crept up behind the man. He put his toe down first on every step and carefully lowered his heel to make no noise. Just like stalking rabbits when he was younger. He came up behind the man and with a flick of his wrist hit him just behind the right ear with the blackjack. He dropped like a stone. Marty caught him before he hit the ground and pulled him back to the door. He took off the sailors’s coat then, using some lengths of chord he had looped through his belt, he tied the unconscious man’s arms behind his back and his ankles together.
He pulled on the coat and picked up the hat that was lying where it had fallen and put that on as well. Then he edged up to the corner of the Inn and looked around it. He could see another man stood at the corner of the stable where he wouldn’t be seen by someone approaching from the front door of the Inn.
Marty pulled up the collar and pulled down the brim of the hat and just walked across to him.
“What be you doin’ Jack? “said the second man and as Marty got up to him said in surprise “You baint Jack!” and raised his club.
Marty flicked out with the blackjack catching him on the knuckles and the club dropped out of fingers that were probably broken. Before he could scream Marty kneed him in the groin and then rapped him on the back of the head. 30 seconds later he had him tied up and had shoved his own grubby rag of a handkerchief in his mouth as a gag.
A quick glance up past the stables showed that no one had heard anything. He grinned, went back to the kitchen door and gave a low whistle.
He went back to the place where the first man had been and waited. He heard the front door of the Inn slam and a figure came around the corner wearing his overcoat and a hat with a wide brim that he would never wear. It was, in fact, the Innkeeper who had volunteered to spring the trap. As he approached the stable door Marty saw two figures come through the gate and follow at a discreet distance.
The Innkeeper entered the stables and the two men sped up to close in on the door and as they got to it the old Mid beckoned for the two men he thought were waiting further down to approach.
Marty stepped out and as soon as he was seen the two at the door stepped inside. He ran over to the door as soon as they were inside and followed them in.
He saw the Innkeeper throwing the saddlebags at the two men as they went at him with clubs raised. Marty stepped up behind the Mate and cracked him behind the ear dropping him like a rock. He then pulled his Bowie knife and turned to the Mid who turned to face him i
n astonishment and then fear as he saw the knife.
“Put down the club” Marty ordered. The Mid looked around and realised he was alone and dropped it to the floor.
“Now, I want your name and ship” demanded Marty.
“Midshipman Gareth Moore, off the Invincible”. He replied.
“How old are you?” Marty asked
“Thirty Two”
Only good for the press Marty thought at thirty two years old he would never be made lieutenant.
“You want to spend the rest of your life on the beach?” he asked
Moore shook his head. Being beached would leave him with nothing as Midshipmen didn’t get paid if they weren’t on ship.
“If you had looked at the seal on that protection you would have seen it came from the First Sea Lord who I answer to directly. So one word from me and you will be washed up ashore on no pay for the rest of your miserable life. Understand?”
Moore nodded miserably.
“I’ll make you a once in a lifetime offer. I will let you go and take your idiot mates with you if you agree never to visit this pub again and never mention that this happened to anyone or that you saw me or the protection”. Moore nodded vigorously.
“Be warned. If you or your mates tell anyone about this, you will all make friends with the Bridport Dagger for treason. Am I clear?”
Moore nodded again.
“Now collect your rabble and get out of here” Marty ordered.
The Innkeeper helped by pouring the bucket of water that was for the horses to drink from over the unconscious man’s head. It was ice cold and he woke suddenly spluttering. Moore grabbed him and dragged him to his feet and out of the stable.
The Innkeeper started to laugh. “Well that’s one press gang we don’t have to worry about anymore” he chuckled
“What’s a Bridport Dagger?” he asked, taking off Marty’s coat and handing it over
“A Hangman’s noose made of best Bridport rope”, Marty replied as he stripped off the Mate’s coat and pulled on his own.
He made his goodbyes and led his horse out into the yard just as the four men left it heading back up the road towards Chatham. He mounted and headed south.
Once back at The Farm he reported to Armand and caught up on what had been going on. They had received another “package” to deliver to France that had been delivered to Brest the night before. Armand had accompanied it.
They had also had a visit from William Wickham. He was satisfied with the arrangement with the smugglers and said that although Admiral Hood was concerned that they didn’t inform him about the acquisition of the Corvette in advance. He said they shouldn’t put it in front of the prize court as he would ‘legitimize’ it by buying it in.
“How the hell did Hood find out about the Corvette so fast?” Marty gasped
“One of the men he sent us must be informing ‘im”, Arnaud concluded “it would be just like ’im to want to keep the eye on us”.
“Does this change our plans?” Marty asked
“Non mon amie, Monsieur Wickham says we are part of ‘is dirty tricks world now and ‘e likes the plan, but when we sell off the goods, to let the smugglers do it, so it cannot be traced back to the government. Oh and to make sure the Admiral gets his cut!”.
Armand was surprised that Marty got the weapons for fifteen hundred and laughed when Marty told him about taking the two gold pieces back for every minute he didn’t agree.
“I want you to oversee the modifications to the Snipe to receive the Carronades. We need the help of a carpenter non?” he said, once he stopped laughing.
“Aye I reckon we do. I saw a boatyard further up the river. I think I’ll go fer a visit and see what they be like” replied Marty.
The next morning saw him walking up the riverbank to a boatyard with a number of half built fishing boats and a couple of complete ones ready for launch. He wandered in and called out “Ahoy the boatyard, anybody aboard?”
A man in a working smock with shoulders that would have done Hercules proud stepped in to view and said,
“Aye and what can I do fer you?”
Marty figured that a more rural accent than his Navy voice would work better here so he dropped into his Dorset accent.
“How be ‘e master shipwright. I be lookin’ fer a man ‘o can ‘elp me with makin’ some new guns fit me Cutter like” he said
“That would be the Cutter moored down at the ‘arbor then would it?” he said with a smile “You be the boys who have teamed wi’ Bill down at Deal aint ya”
“Aye that be us” Marty admitted “I be Martin” he added and held out his hand.
“I’m Mike. I ‘eard of you. You be the one wi’ the big knife” he said shaking his hand with a grip of iron.
“Word do get roun’” Marty laughed. “Now be you the man to ‘elp us?”
“You pay in hard coin?” he asked
“Aye, I will give a quarter up front fer good will and the rest when the job’s done. We will have plenty o’ werk fer ‘e over time if we can get along like”.
“When do we start?” he asked shaking Marty’s hand again in his crushing grip. Damn if he keeps that up I’m going to need a doctor thought Marty.
After an inspection and a detailed description of what needed to be changed to replace the six pounders with Carronades, they haggled over a price and finally came to an agreement. Marty handed over a quarter straight away and for the next week the sound of sawing and hammering echoed around the harbour as the carpenter, aided by the more carpentry able hands, worked on the Snipe.
Then a Thames barge was spotted running into the estuary on Friday morning. The huge red sail looked like the sun coming up from the east as it slowly got closer and stood at the bow was a man in a shabby red smoking jacket and hat. Marty grinned and said to Armand
“Our guns have just arrived”
Every man was pulled in to unloaded the cargo. Sheerlegs were set up on the dock and used to lift the heavy barrels and carriages off of the barge. Once they were ashore they were inspected by Marty and Armand and then moved up the dock to be next to their designated ships. The muskets and ammunition were loaded into a cart and taken to the secure armoury at The Farm and the powder to a magazine that was isolated from the farm and dock in a large cellar like hole they had dug, lined and roofed with wood, then a layer of canvas and finally sod. The shot was stored in a shed by the dock.
Once the barge had been completely unloaded and the delivery inspected and tallied off Marty, Armand and Fletcher went to the farm for something to eat and to settle the bill. Over a plate of fresh crusty bread and a selection of ham, cheese and pickles they talked and got to know each other. Fletcher had no problem that Armand was French, he didn’t ask any questions about their background and accepted their story that they were setting up as privateers with Bill and his boys.
They settled up the balance of the money they owed him and talked about the war and domestic politics. Finally he asked “How are you planning on disposing of the goods that you obtain from privateering?”.
“Bill will take care of that but I can tell him you have an interest if you want” answered Marty
“I would appreciate that my boy” Fletcher smiled “and don’t forget what I said. When you finish playing pirates come see me”
It took another two days to mount all the guns and then carefully load the two ships with powder and ammunition.
The Marines were not happy with the French muskets but Marty explained that they were going to pretend to be a French ship and it would look a little odd if they were carrying the distinctive navy pattern Brown Bess. The problem of French pistols was solved by Bill who told them they had picked up a load of them in France. They didn’t ask why or how.
The next step was to get a crew together of the lads from Deal and train them in sailing a sloop or, as they kept reminding themselves, a Corvette. They didn’t want them to sail Navy style as no privateer, especially a French one, would sail like that. Bu
t they still had to learn the rigging, the sail drills and how to handle the guns. That took a couple of months and Marty and Armand took it in turns commanding it as only one of them could be away at any time. The other having to tend to sending and receiving ‘packages’.
Finally by late November they felt confident to go to sea and put into use what they had practiced in port. When they finally left with Marty in command, the weather was variable to say the least. In the Channel it wasn’t too bad as the weather was coming from the north west, but as they got down towards Cherbourg it started to get really rough with gale force winds and huge seas.
After a brief consultation with the Masters Mate, Marty decided to head for the Channel Islands and try for a landing at Saint Peter Port on Guernsey. The men fought the weather gallantly and when they got close they had the choice to go between Guernsey and Herm Island, a gap that was less than two and a half miles wide, or go around Herm but that would put them directly into the wind which was a due west muzzler.
One of the Deal boys, Ken Boyce, said he had made the run in to St Peter Port many times and offered to pilot them in. He recommended that they run the gap between the islands, even though it was getting dark.
They got closer and reduced sail to double reefed topsails but it still felt like they were flying. As they passed through the gap they could see Guernsey on the starboard side with Herm on their port and as they moved into the lee of the island the wind dropped noticeably and the size of the waves reduced a little.
They needed to make the turn from south by southwest to southwest just at the right moment to enter the harbour and it was one of the tensest moments of Marty’s short career. But Boyce made the entry as if he did it every day and as they passed the wall he put them into the wind to slow them to a stop and drop the anchor. It was then that Marty looked up to see the Tricolour of France still flying from the stern. He quickly pulled it down and ordered the British flag raised.
As they sat at anchor waiting for the storm to pass Marty reviewed the performance of the crew with his master’s mate. All in all, they concluded that they had pulled together during the storm and were forming into a coherent crew. They needed more practice with the guns but all in all the storm had done them a bit of a favour by melding the Navy boys with the ones from Deal..
The Special Operations Flotilla Page 7