Paul ignored the comments when he heard them and made sure the men doing the heavy work were spelled regularly and given ample water. When they finished, they were served up an extra rum ration, which soothed any hard feelings.
Back in Gibraltar, Caroline found herself a fencing master. The good ladies of the peninsula would have been mortified if they saw her in training. She wore a loose silk shirt open low enough to show some cleavage. Over that, she wore the leather corset she had made in Jamaica. It was supple enough to allow her free movement but supported and constrained her breasts to stop them ‘bouncing around and getting in the way.’ Tight riding breeches and calf-length boots completed the ensemble.
The master, a Spaniard named Don Aldo Elvares de la Cinquenta, agreed to teach her once she demonstrated what she already learned from Tom, which was more ship-style brawling than fencing. He decided that if the lady was determined to fight with a sword, she could at least do it with some style.
Caroline had a strong wrist and surprised Don Aldo with her speed. She lacked finesse but that could be taught, and he was soon immersed in their training sessions. Her daughter often came and watched, and he saw her imitating her mother’s moves with her wooden sword.
Junqueras sent men up the road towards Girona on horses they found in the fortress. They wanted as much notice as possible when the French were approaching. Marty left the command of the fortress to the marines and returned to his ship. He wanted to see if their batteries could be used against the French as the road was well within range.
A short cruise up the coast showed that the road stayed on the coastal plain all the way up to Mataro when it wound through the hills inland to Girona. The closest it got to the coast was at Mongat at around five hundred yards, which was close enough for the carronades. After that, it moved out to one and a half miles, which was only reachable with round shot from the eighteen-pounders.
Marty and Ackermann stood over a chart discussing the situation and what they should do in support of the land operation.
“What do you think Wolfgang? We get a clear view of the road about two miles up the coast from the fort. That’s a range of around a mile. If we catch the French there, we can target their baggage train while Paul and his boys chew their troops up at the fort.
They have mounted swivels all along the walls and moved one of their twelve pounders out of the Hornfleur and positioned it on the road so it can be fired through the gap.”
“Charged with cannister, that will be devastating to troops charging down the road, but they will only be able to get a couple of rounds off before the French are on top of them.” Wolfgang replied. He looked at the chart and ran his finger along the road, checking the depth of the water along the coast opposite it. He then took of a pair of dividers and measured the distance from the twenty-foot mark to the road.
“We can close the range to fifteen hundred yards without putting the ship in danger. If we position ourselves here,” he pointed to a point on the chart, “we will give our gunners their best chance.”
They cruised up and down the coast for a week. When they stopped off to check on the fort, a rider came to warn that the French were on the move, almost killing his horse in the process. Marty questioned the somewhat overexcited young Spaniard to establish the size and composition of the force. It looked like they were up against a full army of invasion with artillery and cavalry.
The Formidiable cruised slowly up the coast.
“Smoke or dust off the larboard bow about a mile and a ‘alf inland,” reported the mainmast lookout.
Thirty minutes later, Marty could see it with the naked eye. The dust cloud was huge and stretched back for a couple of miles.
The Formidiable continued up the coast, watching as the huge column passed then reversed course to come up on the pre-planned bombardment position.
They hove to, Marty didn’t want to anchor, the French had artillery and he wanted to be able to move if they deployed it against him.
The last of the infantry and cavalry passed then came the horse drawn artillery pieces and limbers followed by the baggage train. They had about three hours until dark when Marty gave the order to open fire.
Because of the range, only the eighteen-pound longs were used, and they were effective! The first salvo landed a little short, but the balls ricocheted off the hard ground and ploughed through the column upending canon, smashing limbers and decimating horses and men. More broadsides followed as Ackerman skilfully managed the sails to creep them forward to present new targets.
It didn’t take the French long to get themselves organised to respond. First one then three or four cannons fired in response. They neutralised the first battery, which had been set up in a hurry in the open, but then a battery of howitzers started sending some uncomfortably accurate return fire from behind a rise.
They managed to smash a seventy-five-yard-long section of the baggage train before the fire from the howitzers got accurate enough to force them to sail out of range.
Marty was disappointed, he hoped to do more.
Paul la Pierre watched the French marching down the road towards him. They were six abreast and seemed unaware that they were walking into a trap. He knew they would probably get one chance to kill as many as they could.
Junqueras was reinforced by men who came down from the mountains. These tough, independent individuals were there to fight for their independence and waited with grim determination.
A mounted officer noticed something was wrong at the fort and galloped ahead of the column to have a look. They left him alone, but he saw the cart blocking the road and galloped back to order the lead troops to halt and prepare their weapons.
Paul knew the word would be travelling back down the column to the general in command and sure enough, a group of mounted officers came to the fore and looked at the fort with telescopes. They were discussing things amongst themselves when there was the roar of the Formidiable’s broadside from behind them.
“That will spur them on!” Angus Fraser commented to his Captain, and when the most flamboyantly dressed officer of the French group waved his arm impatiently, laughed expectantly.
The French formed up with their muskets at the ready, bayonets glinting in the sun. Someone shouted a command, and they advanced with a shout.
Paul la Pierre ran to where the twelve-pounder lay hidden behind the cart. It was loaded with a double charge of cannister, which made it a huge shotgun. He signalled the men holding ropes to haul the cart aside to get ready.
The French advanced and every ten paces or so, they roared a battle cry. Paul looked up and saw Junqueras looking down at him making ‘get on with it’ signs. His eyes wide, he held his hand up and watched the French.
He let them get to about thirty yards and signalled the cart team, who hauled as hard as they could, pulling the cart to the side. As soon as the barrel was clear, he pulled the lanyard. The cannon roared belching smoke and fire at point blank range. The marines on the swivels rose up and prepared their guns.
Paul’s instructions were specific. “Wait and see what’s left after the cannon has fired and kill anything that’s left standing.”
The light sea breeze blew the smoke away and revealed a scene from hell. The first four ranks had literally been blown away, shredded by the hail of shot. The ranks behind were winnowed of many of their men by shot that passed through the first four.
The swivels opened up, killing even more. Then the men manning the tower and walls poured musket fire into the stunned troops that were left. They broke and ran back up the road, many taking shots in the back on the way.
The cannon was reloaded but had nothing to shoot at. The French retreated out of range and were pausing to evaluate the situation, so the cart was replaced.
General Guillaume Philibert Duhesme was fuming. Not only was his progress to Barcelona blocked, but there was a British ship patrolling off the coast which was destroying a significant part of his baggage train.
He took a deep breath and addressed his officers,
“What is the situation with this fortification that is blocking the road?”
A Captain of the Grenadiers stepped forward and laid out a map.
“The fortress is here at a point that commands this pass, which is the only way through to Barcelona. To get the army through we have to take the fortification. As far as we can tell, there are Spanish guerrillas and British soldiers holding it. We think the British are from the ship anchored just offshore as they seem to have swivel guns and the canon is on a naval carriage.”
“The ship that attacked our baggage train could be connected to them as well?” asked a Major of Artillery.
“Probably,” Duhesme frowned and looked around at the terrain, “have the men make camp as far inland as we can away from the guns of that frigate. I want a battery set up to keep him away. Set up a second battery here,” he pointed to a hill marked on the map that overlooked the fortification. “I want a bombardment started by tomorrow morning even if the men have to work all night. If we have to, we will reduce the fortification to a pile of rubble.”
The battery set up by the French drove the Formidiable and the Hornfleur out beyond their range. The French were firing howitzers that had good range while being positioned on the blind side of hills. Their spotters were excellent and enabled the gunners to zero in on a target quickly.
The siege artillery went to work and soon, the casualties in the fortifications were mounting and moral dropping. It was no fun being on the end of a constant bombardment.
Marty continued to patrol up the coast and had some luck in blasting re-supply convoys that were trying to replenish the French with powder and shot. One such raid caused a powder wagon to explode, blocking the road for several days before they could fill in the crater.
He also looked to disrupt the French signalling system and identified an isolated semaphore station that would be easy to take. They surprised the garrison with a dawn attack and captured the signal and code books intact. Lieutenant Trenchard came up with the excellent idea to copy them and leave the originals in place as if the British hadn’t found them. The French fell for it. They could now read the signals all along the coast and if they wanted intercept, modify, and send on fake information.
The siege lasted a month before the defences were so weakened that Paul decided they wouldn’t be able to withstand a concerted French assault. He fired the rockets, telling Angus Frasier they were ready to evacuate.
Junqueras agreed with the timing, and the fortifications were quietly abandoned, the twelve-pounder spiked, and booby traps set before the marines retreated to the beach where the whale boats were waiting for them.
The marines lost five men, and eight Spaniards died. The French lost over fifty infantry, two officers and tons of stores, powder and supplies. More crucially, they had been held up for a month.
Chapter 10: The Battle of the Basque Roads
They returned to Gibraltar in March and received orders to head up to La Rochelle in the Bay of Biscay in support of Admiral Gambier. The orders didn’t tell him why, just that he had to be there at his earliest convenience with the entire Flotilla, which, translated to normal speech, meant right away.
They re-provisioned as quickly as possible and, knowing that Gambler’s command was on blockade duty, made sure they had enough for a couple of months.
They arrived four days after setting out from Gibraltar and as soon as they arrived, Marty was summoned to the flagship. He was shown to the Admiral’s cabin and immediately felt tension in the room.
Admiral Gambier sat behind a desk, on top of which stood a large bible. Beside that was a chart with a number of ships marked on it. Across the room, looking both annoyed and ill at the same time, sat a post captain.
“Captain Stockley, reporting as ordered, my Lord,” he announced as protocol demanded.
Gambier looked at him; he had the air of a man who just took a bite out of a plum and found it was a lemon.
“I am told that your Flotilla,” and he made that sound like a swearword, “are specialists in infiltration and acquiring things from the French.”
“Amongst other things, sir,” Marty confirmed.
Gambier looked at him with obvious distaste, and his right hand moved to rest on the bible as if it could protect him from the evil standing before him.
“This is Captain Cochrane. He has orders from the Admiralty,” there was that look again, “to attack the French fleet we have blockaded in the estuary and I am told you can be of service to him.”
Cochrane stood and shook Marty’s hand then looked at Gambier, who had opened the bible and was reading it.
“My Lord,” he said and bowed slightly towards the Admiral, who waved a hand in dismissal.
Cochrane took Marty by the arm and led him out.
“Is your boat still here?” he asked, voice tight with controlled anger.
“Yes, they are stood off a ways, but waiting,” Marty replied.
Cochrane ordered a mid to call the Formidiable’s boat.
“We will go to my ship where we can talk openly.”
If Sam was surprised that two captains came down the steps and boarded the barge, he didn’t show it and when he was ordered to Imperious, he swung the rudder over with just a raised eyebrow to Marty at the cheek of the man giving orders in his boat.
The Imperious looked like an older version of the Formidiable with similar lines and a definite Spanish cast to the hull.
“Is she Spanish built?” Marty asked as they approached.
Cochrane looked surprised that Marty would notice, then remembered that Marty’s ship was the Formidiable and was also Spanish built.
“Yes, similar lines to your Formidiable, built in 1797 in Ferrol. The Formidiable is newer I believe.”
“Yes, Spanish built to a French hull design in 1802 as far as we know. Sails like a witch,” Marty confirmed.
They arrived and Marty was pleased that his men brought the barge neatly and smartly to the side with hardly a bump. Being senior, Cochrane went up first.
Once they were in his cabin, Cochrane tossed his coat onto the seat that ran around the transom and invited Marty to make himself comfortable. Following his lead, Marty took off his coat and laid it on the transom seat as well.
“My word, I had no idea!” Cochrane exclaimed as he saw the pistols hooked to Marty’s weapons harness.
“Never leave home without them,” Marty quipped. “Nor this.” He pulled his knife from behind his back and placed it on the arm of the chair.
Cochrane’s eyebrows raised,
“I bumped into Hood when I was at the Admiralty, and he told me to ask you to help me. Said you were resourceful, dangerous, and had a team that could get into places nobody else could. I now see what he meant by dangerous,” he smiled.
“Did he?” Marty smiled back.
Cochrane sighed.
“That fool Gambier is in a snit because the Admiralty has overruled him and ordered me to lead a fireship attack on the French fleet we have bottled up in the estuary.”
Marty could understand that. His first impression of Gambier was one of a holier than thou type full of his own concept of what was right and honourable and his own superiority.
“He won’t do a damn thing to help and would rather the French walked out of here than admit he was wrong.”
“Will he actively hinder you?” Marty asked.
“Probably not, but he will follow his orders to the letter and not take a single step beyond them. Be careful of him. He has some very powerful friends,” Cochrane warned.
“What do you want from me?” Marty asked, cutting to the chase.
“Fire ships, but more than that; tar, resin, and oil to fill the fireships with. We have some in the fleet but nowhere near enough.”
Marty nodded. He had a good idea of what Cochrane was trying to do.
“There are boatyards up and down this stretch of coast. They will have stores of tar and
oil. My men can source as much as you need.”
Marty stood and picked up his knife.
“Would you join me for dinner tomorrow?” Marty asked, “I am sure Hood mentioned my cook.”
“He did indeed and that you have an excellent physician.” Cochrane grimaced as he stood.
“If you are in need of medical assistance, Mr. Shelby will be pleased to see you. Dinner will be at seven thirty but if you come aboard at six, you will see how we train and have time to see Shelby before we eat.”
When he got back to his ship, he called his commanders to a meeting and explained what was needed. They were happy. There was nothing they liked better than stealing from the French and a good fire. They left immediately to find the fire ships and combustibles that Cochrane needed.
Marty kept the Formidiable at the blockade - the smaller ships were better suited to the work and he wanted to spend time with Cochrane whose reputation was impressive. The man had captured or sunk an enormous amount of enemy ships and was known as a firebrand. He had many critics and was branded as reckless by a number of his more ‘orthodox’ peers. Marty put that down to jealousy.
Afternoon weapons practice was about a half hour in when Cochrane arrived. Marty had to stop a sparring session with Matai to greet him at the entry, apologizing for not being dressed. Cochrane, elegant as ever, brushed that aside and begged Marty to carry on.
Marty decided it was time for a show and beckoned to Chin Lee to step up. As soon as the rest of the crew saw that, the training stopped. Wolfgang walked over to Cochrane and asked him to join him on the quarterdeck where he could get a better view.
Both men stripped to the waist and took up live blades.
“Is that normal?” Cochrane asked, surprised.
“With the captain, yes. He is highly skilled.”
Cochrane focused on the two men who were circling each other. Marty was rotating his main blade at the wrist and held his knife wide. As he moved, Chin varied the position of his butterfly swords, made by the same blade smith who made Caroline’s sword, setting up a weaving pattern.
The Trojan Horse Page 10