That was a surprise! They had played Canning and Hood just to get their hands-on him and sacrificed a well embedded agent.
“The Dutch trap?”
“Not my idea; it was doomed to failure and I knew I would be exposed. My plan is fool proof. I know there is nothing you won’t do to protect your wife.”
He gestured with the gun. “Now, if you will step forward, we will exchange you for the women.”
Marty’s shoulders slumped and his head bowed a little as he stepped forward. The squad of soldiers pushed the women down the beach towards him, two split off and escorted them at bayonet point past Marty towards the boat. Caroline held out a hand, her face anguished as her man was surrounded by the other four and marched up the sand.
Caroline was surprised as she reached the boat. She didn’t recognize any of the men manning it. Not a single one. One of the bow men stepped forward and scooped her up in his arms to lift her and as he did, said in an educated accent,
“Please be ready to drop into the bottom of the boat, Lady Caroline.”
She looked closely at his face and realized it was York, Collingwood’s flag lieutenant dressed as a common sailor. He winked at her as he passed her to a sailor waiting on board.
Josee followed and the two women moved to the centre of the boat.
She looked towards the shore and a movement caught her eye up in the dunes. The middle four soldiers who had been standing guard crumpled as what looked like clumps of grass rose up and enveloped them. At the same time, two dark figures rose up out of the sand behind the group on the beach, swords held in both hands, which whirled in dazzling arcs as they dispatched the two officers. The four outer soldiers on the dunes raised their rifles but only the outside two got a shot off as the inner two fell forward with broad headed spears in their backs.
Marty seemed to stumble, causing the two soldiers behind him to close up and the two in front to be a step ahead. His hands went to his hair, then flicked forward. The two leading men cried out as pencil-like darts embedded themselves in the nape of their necks. They stiffened and collapsed to the floor, quite immobile. The darts were tipped with a poison that Shelby told him was called Curare and paralyzed the victim in seconds.
Caroline felt something being pressed into her hand and realized it was one of her Manton pistols. She didn’t hesitate; she cocked it as she lifted it into firing position and shot one of her former escorts, who was trying to bring his musket to bear. The other flew backwards as he took three pistol balls in the chest fired by York and two of the other ‘sailors.’
Marty spun to face the soldiers behind him. There was a shot closely followed by another. A red rose bloomed in the centre of one’s chest and the face of the other exploded as a ball took him directly on the nose.
Chin Lee and Antton stood with their swords at the throats of the French agent and Bloomfield. Marty looked for the two remaining soldiers on the dunes. They were gone, whether they were dead or had run, he didn’t care.
They were met by the Flagship’s pinnace a half mile offshore, which was a relief as the barge was overcrowded and overloaded by the addition of Marty, the Shadows, and four of Sam’s African brothers. It was ‘lucky’ there were only six rowers rather than the usual eight in the first place. Bloomfield and the Frenchman were laid out in the bottom of the boat under the girl’s feet.
Once the men redistributed themselves between the two boats, the trip back to Gibraltar was faster than the trip across as all eight oars were manned in the barge.
York, who sat on a thwart holding a pistol over the prisoners, answered Caroline’s question on how he came to be there.
“Oh, that’s quite simple. When Captain Stockley informed the Admiral that you were taken, I jumped at the chance to have a bit of action rather than being the Admiral’s messenger boy. In fact, all the crew are officers from the Flagship.” He looked at his hands. “Didn’t bank on having to row though. This is a damn heavy boat for just six oars. It will take a week for the blisters to heal.”
One of the prisoners moved, and York immediately pointed his pistol at him.
“Stay still. Captain Stockley has instructed me to shoot you in the gut if you try anything.”
“I’m lying in four inches of water,” complained Bloomfield.
Caroline stamped on his leg. “You are lucky it’s not four inches of blood.”
Bloomfield groaned in pain and shut up.
Back at Rosia bay, they were met by Ridgley, Admiral Smith, and Admiral Collingwood, who brought a marine escort for the prisoners.
Smith, who’d just arrived and heard the news was full of questions. Marty put him off until everyone was safely on shore and they had returned to the house.
Drinks were served with a buffet dinner in the drawing room for all the officers. The ladies were reunited with the children and took long relaxing baths.
“So, fill me in! What happened?” Sir Sidney demanded around a tongue sandwich.
“Well, we snuck the Shadows and a few other useful men off the Formidiable before we heard the ladies were taken,” Marty explained. “Once we got the note, Antton and Chin Lee went over the border and scouted out the area around the Torre then came back and picked up the rest of the team. They had a plan and I just let them go with it.
From what they told me, they got into position before dawn. One of the marines used to be a gamekeeper in Scotland, they call them ghillies up there apparently, and he showed them how to use some hessian cotton sacks to make camouflage. The Africans were completely at home as they grew up sneaking up on enemies and animals back in Africa.”
“So, they set up an ambush twelve hours before the exchange?” Smith said in astonishment. “Extraordinary! They were in place under the sand for all that time?”
“Yes, and they are all suffering from sand fly bites all over their bodies,” Marty confirmed then continued, “The barge was manned by officers from the flagship. I was amazed they could collectively pull an oar, but they got it together after five minutes or so.”
“We’ve all got blisters,” chipped in York with a happy grin. He held out his hands, revealing the torn and blistered palms. “Worth it, though. Dashed exciting!”
Sidney shook his head. “It seems I am destined to be just too late for one of your adventures. One day, I will be there swinging a sword by your side.”
Ridgley took charge of Bloomfield and the French agent, who they established was Louis Rufin. What was left of them would be transported back to England in chains after they had been interrogated in his soundproof room.
Chapter 8: Convoy
Marty received orders on the 14th of August to take the Flotilla along with a number of troop ships to Gothenburg. They were to collect nine thousand Spanish troops of the Northern Division that had secretly rebelled against Napoleon and deliver them to Santander. He was disappointed to have to leave as his friend Arthur Wellesley was due to arrive at any time to take command of a joint British and Portuguese force under the overall command of General Sir Hew Dalrymple. He had the feeling he would be missing something rather historic.
The puppy grew like a weed and was showing it could be just as aggressive as Blaez in defence of its pack, having bitten a delivery man who tried to pat young James on the head. Marty gave the man a guinea for his pain as the dog left several holes in his forearm.
However, he had his orders and set off for the Downs where they would rendezvous with the thirty-seven-ship convoy. He was surprised they got the job but when he thought about it, this was just the kind of thing the Flotilla had been formed for. Doing jobs nobody else wanted.
They left the Hornfleur behind as she was needed to support the growing rebellions in Granada and Northern Spain. Marty’s marine advisors were in great demand and actively involved in a number of covert operations against the French.
The voyage North was uneventful, and he settled back into life at sea in a day or so. The weather was fine, the winds steady, light and out of the Northwe
st, meaning they only made about two hundred miles a day. It would take at least seven days sailing to get to the Downs and another four days to Gothenburg.
The troop ships were all lined up waiting for them when they arrived at the Downs midday on the 18th. They were a mix of older Navy third or fourth rates that were degraded to transports and custom-built civilian craft that were hired in.
Never one to miss the opportunity to take on some fresh supplies, Marty sent his boats into Deal then called a captains meeting.
There were too many captains for his cabin, so he held the meeting on the deck. Most of the Navy types were midshipmen or lieutenants with undistinguished careers and little imagination but were good enough to command a transport. The most senior, Lieutenant Rochester of the Signet, was forty years old, had a perpetual sneer and a bad attitude, and clearly resented being told what to do by a boy captain, who probably got his promotion through interest.
Marty had done his homework; the list of commanders and captains were passed to him with his orders and had a fair idea of each of their records.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Formidiable. I will keep this short. Our destination is Gothenburg, Sweden, where we will collect some nine thousand Spanish troops of Napoleon’s Northern Division who have rebelled. We will deliver them to Santander.
We set sail tomorrow at first light when the tide will be right. I intend us to make an average of ten knots day and night. You will sail in three columns as described in my written orders”
There was a snort from the direction of Rochester. Marty zeroed in on him,
“You have something to say, Commander?” he asked, deliberately not using the title of captain.
Rochester bristled and replied,
“to keep formation all night, we will need to be showing lights and we are very close to the French coast, Sir.” He made the “sir” sound like an afterthought.
Marty didn’t bite. He expected minor challenges like this.
“Yes, I am aware of that and in my written orders, you will see that you are required to burn navigation lamps. The Formidiable will lead the formation and will burn a stern lamp; the Eagle and Alouette will not. We do not want a raider to know where the escorts are.” Marty’s look was very direct, as he continued, “If you are worried about being cut out by a French privateer, we can put you in the middle of the formation, but I was hoping with your excellent navigational skills, you would take the forward position of the centre column.”
Rochester flushed as this was aimed at a comment in his file that, although he was a more than adequate navigator and had sailed the route around the North of Denmark before, he was considered shy when it came to combat or taking risks.
“No Sir, I will take my place at the head of the line,” he replied with a scowl.
“Excellent!” Marty exclaimed as if this was the best news he heard all week. “Now, if we do encounter any privateers at night, there are a set of signals which give the escorts a steer to where they are. I expect you to have learned those by heart by the time we sail. My ships are faster and heavier armed than you would probably expect, and we are used to fighting at night.” James and Ryan, who stood to either side and behind him grinned wolfishly at the room. There were several nods and speculative looks as many had noted the unusual ships in the Flotilla and their armament.
A grizzled civilian raised his hand. Marty nodded to him.
“Captain Harvey of the Belle,” he introduced himself.
“Just want to be clear that you intend running the same sail by night as by day?”
Marty had expected this as well. Merchantmen were notorious for reducing sail at night.
“We need to be in Gothenburg by the 23rd at the latest and to do that, we need to do the run from here in four days. I don’t need to tell you that means we have to average ten knots and with only three escorts for your transports, we need to keep a tight formation.”
“Sir, aren’t the Spanish allied with the French?” Simon Allbright of the Angela asked.
Marty realized they probably weren’t up to date with the latest situation on the peninsula.
“The latest development in the war with Napoleon has seen Spain occupied by the French, their King removed and replaced with one of Napoleon’s brothers, Joseph. All of that has annoyed the Spanish people, who started a rebellion on the 2nd May. The Northern Division have rebelled, and our new allies will join the rebellion of other Spanish troops under General Joaquin Blake near Santander.”
There was a rumble of muttered comments at this news and several smiles as they realized they would be making a difference.
They set sail as planned the next morning, and the transports shuffled into order reasonably quickly. He had placed the civilian ships in the centre, hoping the more disciplined Navy ships around them would keep them in formation.
It started out well, each of the ships a cable apart in their columns and each column two cables apart. Marty opted for a three-column formation with the Alouette positioned as the last ship in the centre column as rear guard. That would enable her to run up between the columns to support any ship that was attacked or round up any stragglers as required.
The Eagle would sail out to windward and range up and down the convoy, able to jump on any threats independently or in support of the Alouette.
Marty, in the Formidiable, was out in front providing the lead and setting the pace. If he thought Rochester could be relied upon, he would have let him lead but right now he didn’t have confidence in the man.
Around four bells in the afternoon watch, a sail was spotted to the East. It came close enough to have a good look at the convoy then slid back out of sight. Marty signalled the Eagle and Alouette in their private code to be alert. The signal was passed down the line without the transports knowing what it said.
After dark, Marty looked back at the convoy and was pleased to see three lines of more or less evenly spaced lights. It was a clear night with some wispy clouds, which glowed in the three-quarter moon, blowing across from the Northwest. The stars were bright, and the milky way could be clearly seen spreading across the sky. It was the kind of night Caroline loved when she was at sea.
“Sail Ho!” called down the mainmast lookout who was significantly higher than any other lookout in the convoy.
Marty grabbed a night glass, slung it over his shoulder by its leather strap and headed up the mainmast. When he got up next to the lookout, Matthew, one of his African crewmen, pointed to where he saw the fleck of sail out the corner of his eye.
The view through the glass was upside down and back to front but Marty was used to that and compensated automatically. The sail appeared on his second sweep and it had the look of a sloop or corvette. It was running up close to the wind then tacked to run almost due West to cross behind them.
“He’s trying to get the wind gauge,” Marty observed.
Matthew assumed he was being talked to, so asked,
“he will pass close to the Alouette, won’t he, Cap’ain?”
“Yes, and if I know James, he will give him a big surprise if he gets in range.”
Marty watched as the strange sail closed on the rear of the convoy. He saw a flutter of sail from the end of the centre column then the Alouette dropped back, her mainsail in disarray as if she had a lubberly crew and they messed it up.
The stranger didn’t bite and continued to head West. It was Ryan’s problem now as James recovered control of his mainsail and resumed his position at the end of the central column.
“Keep a careful watch to the East,” Marty admonished Matthew, fearing a trap.
“Aye, aye, Cap’ain,” came the reply as he resumed his scan. Marty couldn’t see the Eagle; it was somewhere out to the West. He wondered if they had seen him, but all he could do was wait.
He tracked the stranger with the night glass and saw the shape of his sails change as he swung to parallel them. He had to admire the audacity of a captain that would take on a convoy on as moonlit a
night as this.
The sail shape changed again. He was starting a run in toward the Western column. Marty started as he thought he saw a shape coming up behind the stranger. He scanned again but he could see nothing and wondered if he had imagined it.
Then there was a flare of light as a rocket shot into the air followed closely by another from a point the other side of the strange ship. The sky lit up as the rockets burned bright white, illuminating both the stranger and the Eagle, which was a couple cables off his larboard beam.
“What the hell? Where did he get black sails from?” Marty exclaimed in surprise. He glanced at Matthew, who was diligently shading his eyes from the light of the flares and keeping his attention to the Eastern horizon.
The side of the Eagle lit up as they fired a full broadside into what Marty could see now was a corvette-style ship. The flash of the guns was so bright through the night glass that he was temporarily blinded in that eye and had to switch to the unaffected eye to follow the action.
More rockets shot into the air and burst into life and he could see that the stranger had suffered, her sails lost their definition and she looked to have damaged rigging. They opened up on the Eagle and when the sound reached him, he guessed they had nine-pound longs. The Eagle’s side lit up again and now when the sound reached him, he heard a difference. They were firing cannister or grape? Then he heard the pop of swivels.
Dammit, are they boarding?
Dawn saw them somewhere to the North of Texel. The convoy was closing up into formation having drifted apart a little over night. The Eagle was stationed off the larboard column in line with the Formidiable, her prize following docilely behind. Marty watched as her black sails were changed one by one for regulation white ones without losing any speed.
The Trojan Horse Page 8