They rolled up in front of the White Hart where they would spend the night. Fletcher recommended it and sent a messenger ahead to reserve rooms, shamelessly using Marty’s rank and titles so when they arrived, they practically had the place to themselves.
Marty and Caroline had a suite while the children, Mary, and Tabetha had another smaller suite. Tom and Amara had a room to themselves and the rest of the Shadows shared two rooms.
It took an hour to get everyone in and settled with the Innkeeper and his wife fussing over everything in their attempts to win Marty and Caroline’s approval.
The Inn’s kitchens had a large wood fire, in front of which was a whole young pig on a spit turned by a small boy. On another spit, turned by a spit dog on a treadmill, were a half-dozen chickens. Below the pig was a large tray that caught the fat as it dripped down onto roasting potatoes and parsnips.
Bread was baking in the ovens, and vegetables cooked in pots slung from hooks over the fire. The smell coming out of the kitchen was unbelievable and they all came down to the private dining room with mouths watering in anticipation. The landlord was surprised when earlier, Caroline told him they would all eat together. He wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or to applaud.
The pork was served from large platters with the crispy crackling piled on top. Servants served everyone in order of rank and Marty soon had a pile of Pork, crackling and black pudding on his plate with crispy roast potatoes and parsnips, kale, carrots, and the best gravy he had ever tasted.
Chin found the meal novel; he had gotten used to the food served in the ship but had not yet experienced a classic British roast. He personally would have preferred a bit more spice, but the food was plentiful and delicious, so he tucked in with gusto.
Blaez and Troy were lazing by the fire having been given a bowl of raw meat mixed with cereals each, which they had wolfed down in seconds.
Ringwood wasn’t a big town, so the news that a famous Navy Captain who was also a Lord was staying with his entourage, which included a black man, a china man, and a pair of wolves, soon got around and the common room was as busy as it ever got.
“My Lord,” the sheepish looking landlord said as he approached Marty as he sat back after sampling the excellent cheeseboard. “I’m told you was the captain who captured the treasure fleet last year.” He looked expectant and waited for an answer.
“Yes, I have to admit to that,” Marty grinned.
“Well Sir, I have been asked by a large number of my customers if they could get a first-hand account. You see, we don’t get much news down here except week old newspapers and hearing a tale like that will keep the village happy for weeks!”
Marty was no storyteller, especially if it involved anything he had done and he didn’t quite know how to respond. He was rescued by Wilson who, prompted by the other Shadows, stood up and volunteered.
Marty and Caroline retired to their suite to spend some time with the children before they went to bed. Adam came in to turn the bed down and told them that Wilson was entertaining the packed common room with tales of many of Marty’s exploits including Toulon. Marty groaned. He had been embarrassed by that tale since he was a mid.
The boys came up to their rooms in the wee hours, all were worse for drink they hadn’t paid a penny for, as the locals were happy to treat them in return for tales, shanties and a weapons demonstration by Chin.
The next morning, Marty rousted them out early, hangovers and all, and they continued the journey through Ferndown and Bear Cross with a stop at an Inn to change horses and lunch. Then it was around the top of Poole and down to Wareham, another change of horses and on to Church Knowle.
The manor house was pretty much just as it was last time they were there when Marty’s mother died, but the estate had grown and there were more out buildings. Only his brother, Arthur, who was the estate manager, lived at the manor. The rest of his siblings had houses in the village or over in Furzebrook.
Marty caught up on the development of the estate and the new farms they bought, which were already occupied by tenants. Arthur told him the Banks family were putting up stiff opposition to their expansion as they were now challenging them for the position as the largest landowner in the area.
Marty decided to pay a visit to the Banks to try and smooth over any potential conflicts before they started, but his letter was soundly rebuffed. The reply was couched in terms that made it clear they thought him an upstart peasant and should know his place.
So be it, he thought, if that’s the way they want to play it, then let battle commence.
Arthur had a recent copy of the Gazette, and Marty read the account of the Battle of The Basque Roads in surprise. While it gave Cochrane some small credit for the attack, it didn’t mention anything about Gambier holding back. More interestingly, neither he nor any of the Flotilla’s ships were mentioned at all!
“I feel Hood’s touch on this,” Caroline commented when he showed her, “he can smell a storm coming and doesn’t want his people caught up in it!”
Marty agreed. If he wasn’t officially at the battle, he couldn’t be called to give evidence at a court martial, which meant it was a single captain taking on an admiral and his supporters. This was going to get very messy.
“I think I need to talk to Hood. Will you be alright to go on to Cheshire without me?” he asked.
Caroline understood; he wanted to help his friend but needed to be sure of what he could do and what the situation was in London. She hugged him.
“Of course I will. Sam, Antton, and Chin Lee can go with you, and the rest can come with me.”
“Why Antton?” he asked. He could understand Sam and Chin, but Antton rather than Wilson?
Caroline kissed him on the forehead and tidied his hair.
“Because he has a level head and will stop you from doing anything rash.”
“Me? Rash? How dare you, woman!” he laughed, pulling her into his lap and planting a kiss on her lips, which turned passionate.
Two days later, the coaches carried them to Wareham where Caroline, the children, and their escorts headed towards Bere Regis and Marty toward Lychet Minster.
Marty met Hood at his house, which gave him a hint that the whole affair was a political hot potato.
“You did good work at the Roads,” Hood congratulated him, “Cochrane wouldn’t have been able to make his attack without you.”
Marty ignored it and asked,
“is he making a mistake going after Gambier?”
Hood steepled his fingers and pondered his answer before speaking,
“Gambier has a lot of very powerful friends, which even I would think twice about taking on. They will make sure the court martial is loaded with his supporters. They are all political opponents of Cochrane to boot. Frankly, Cochrane doesn’t stand a chance even if the rest of the Navy agree with him.”
“Will it end his career?”
“For a time, yes, but he is hell bent on committing political suicide and there is nothing we can do to stop it.”
Marty contemplated then snapped,
“It’s damn unfair. He is an excellent captain and a superb commander and strategist. Whereas, Gambier is a shy, incompetent, who hides behind his piousness and has no place in the modern Navy.”
“A fair assessment,” Hood agreed, “but take comfort in the fact that Gambier is unlikely to get another fleet command. He upset enough of their Lordships to become a yellow admiral. He will finish his career sailing a desk.”
How wrong could he be.
The court martial was held on the 26th July in Portsmouth on HMS Gladiator and went exactly as Hood predicted. Gambier’s political friends included Prime Minister William Pitt, and they made sure his political ally (and Cochrane’s political enemy), Sir Roger Curtis was nominated as president and William Young his deputy. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Gambier was exonerated on doctored evidence by a panel of his friends. Cochrane was disgraced and never got another command for the duration of th
e war.
Marty was so upset by this that he seriously thought about resigning his commission but as Hood pointed out, he wouldn’t be able to change things from the outside. So, he kept his peace but vowed that if he ever had the chance to do Gambier harm in any way, he would seek his own retribution.
Chapter 12: An explosive encounter
Marty woke up in a foul mood. The Formidiable had developed a tendency to gripe since the refit and neither he, Wolfgang, nor Arnold Grey could figure out why. They couldn’t sail as close to the wind as they were used to because as soon as they got close, she tried to come up into the wind, forcing the helm to make a large correction costing them speed. The constant griping was wearing and even Blaez was not as happy as he usually was.
They tried trimming her further aft, which didn’t work. They tried changing the set of the sails, which didn’t work either. Marty sat down and went over the complete report from the yard on the refit. Most of the repairs were to the hull, but then he read that they replaced the foremast stays.
“Mr. Ackermann and Mr. Grey to report to my cabin,” he shouted to the marine on guard duty outside his door. The marine bellowed the request in turn, and it was repeated around the ship.
“Well, what do you think? Could it be the cause?” he asked after pointing out the change to the two of them.
“If the mast were set more upright or with a slight forward rake, it might,” Arnold Grey offered thoughtfully.
“They may have disturbed the balance,” Wolfgang muttered, meaning the balance of the forces acting on each mast.
“Get us into a sheltered bay and anchored up so we can look into it,” Marty ordered, making his mind up.
“Guernsey be the closest safe port,” Arnold stated.
“Then let’s get in there and get this sorted,” Marty barked, impatience making him sharper than he intended.
With the prevailing conditions, Grey decided St. Sampson harbour was their best bet and set his course accordingly. However, when they got there, the fishing fleet was in and there just wasn’t room for a big ship like the Formidiable.
“St. Peter Port it is then,” he told Marty, who had ceased his pacing to ask what he planned now.
They entered the Port, and Marty remembered the time when he sailed the Alouette in on her maiden voyage, and he had forgotten to take down the French colours. This time, there was no doubt about what or who they were as the British flag flew proudly from the mizzen.
Once anchored, Marty went ashore to give his compliments to the Harbour Master.
“Stuart English, as I live and breathe!” Marty exclaimed as he recognised the man sat behind the desk. English looked hard at the Navy Captain stood before him and then the penny dropped.
“Martin Stockley?”
The two men shook hands. Not to be left out, Blaez butted in and demanded attention.
Marty introduced him
“This is Blaez.”
English wasn’t fazed by the big dog and knelt down to great him face to face.
“Hello boy, you’re a big fellow. Would you like a biscuit?” Marty laughed and as English offered a biscuit, Blaez sat and raised a paw.
“Well-mannered as well, now what can I do for you?” English asked.
The two men sat, and Marty told him why they dropped in, then English asked,
“Are you still interested in the activities of our American cousins?”
Marty nodded and added,
“And anything the French are doing. I’m based out of Gibraltar now but anything they do that can affect the coming war over Spain is of interest.”
“There is someone you should meet,” English said and went to the door where he spoke to the secretary sitting outside.
They sipped coffee and chatted while they waited for the mystery visitor, and it was only a matter of fifteen minutes before there was a knock at the door. The secretary showed a shabby, tough-looking individual in.
“Captain Stockley, I would like to introduce Gerome Briac, an independent trader out of Brittany.”
Smuggler, Marty thought.
“Bonjour Captain,” Briac greeted Martin and gave him a gap-toothed smile. “And who is this?” he added as Blaez sniffed him.
“Blaez, my constant companion,” Marty replied.
“A good Breton name, yes?” Briac responded and rubbed Blaez’s head.
“Gerome, Captain Stockley is interested in the activity you told me about.”
“You probably know the French are sending supplies to Soult via ship to Santander since he took it a month ago, but did you know American traders are using the bay and now Santander to drop off their cargos, which are then taken back to France by the very same ships.”
“Are they really!” Marty exclaimed, his interest piqued, “And that is undercutting your business.”
Gerome looked a little sheepish then grinned as he realised this young man saw right through him
Marty returned to his ship to find the men had reset the rake on the foremast. He had the feeling it looked better but if he was honest, he couldn’t say why.
“She was more upright than she were before, and we set her back about two degrees,” Mr. Grey reported, “It’s not much but could make all the difference.”
“Well, let’s not hang about. Get the ship ready to sail,” Marty ordered.
Once out into the Atlantic, they tested the new mast setting thoroughly by sailing as close to the wind as they could. It had indeed done the trick and the gripe that plagued them since Portsmouth was gone. Happy that his ship was once more sailing like a witch, Marty set course for Santander.
They were about two days out and flying a French flag when they came upon an American flagged schooner. She was the Anne-Marie out of Charleston and was heading to Bayonne with a cargo of tobacco and whiskey. Her skipper wanted to know if the British were blockading the port. Marty answered with a very French accent that they were further North at Brest and that if he liked, they could sail in with them as that was their destination as well.
The American Captain jumped at the chance, and so it was, the two ships sailed into the Bay of Biscay almost side by side. Marty was enjoying tagging the American along but as soon as they were North of A Coroña, he sprang his surprise. The guns ran out, the colours were changed and the American was in the bag.
A prize crew was put aboard and sent to Gibraltar to return with the Eagle and Alouette. The Formidiable set out on an oval patrol pattern North of Santander.
It wasn’t long before they came upon fishing boats. The August weather was fine and the Bay calm. Marty made a point of getting friendly with the fishermen, paying top price for their catches. As most of them were Basques; Antton, Matai, and Garai soon found common ground with them. Thus, they found out that they were patrolling too far West. The transports were hugging the coast to avoid any British ships and were slipping around behind them.
Marty adjusted his thinking as well as their patrol area and quickly had their first prize, a French military transport full of uniforms, boots, and hats. Worthless, so they took her out to deep water and blew her bottom out.
They didn’t see anything else for a couple of days and Marty wished he had his other ships with him so he could cover more sea, but they wouldn’t arrive for at least another four days.
Patience is a virtue that Marty found hard to adopt but he controlled his impulse to race around hunting prey. James and Ryan would never find him if he did that, so he kept sailing the oval shaped patrol that took him along the coast from Bilbao to Bayonne and back again.
They snagged another transport, this time loaded with powder and guns. The captain was a tough native of La Rochelle and wore his Naval uniform uncomfortably. He was, however, close mouthed and would say nothing. Marty was frustrated and sat in his cabin looking at a chart for inspiration. He was aware he was probably missing picking up incoming traders from the Atlantic, but it was more important to stop the military transports than make some money from the Americ
ans.
A knock at the door and Garai was announced. Marty bade him enter.
“I’ve been chatting to the first mate of the transport, he’s a Basque,” Garai announced as he stood in front of Marty’s desk. “He’s not that happy working for the French but his family is at risk if he doesn’t.”
“We’ve heard that before,” Marty commented sympathetically.
“Well, he is happy to give up what he knows,” Garai continued, “as long as we keep it quiet that it came from him.”
“We can do that,” Marty confirmed as he sat back in his chair interested.
“That’s what I told him. He says there is a convoy of around half a dozen ships coming down from Rochefort carrying a brigade of horse drawn artillery and support troops.”
“That’s very interesting.” Marty frowned. “I thought that Gambier had that whole area bottled up?”
“That’s the most interesting thing. He says the French have been making like they are going to try and break out of Brest and the majority of the blockading fleet has moved back up there, leaving only a few frigates and a liner on watch. They plan to slip out around the South end of the isle of Oleron on the full moon if it’s clear. He thinks they would be escorted by at least a pair of corvettes and a couple of luggers.”
Marty grabbed a chart and laid it out on the desk.
“Looks like the passage South of the island is shallow, so the Fleet will probably ignore it, but with the tide at its height, they could get flat-bottomed transports and even a corvette out.”
He grabbed an almanac off his bookshelf and checked the tides.
“Spring tide is on the thirteenth of August, that’s tomorrow! Damn! I wish I knew when the others will arrive.”
The next morning dawned with no sign of the Alouette or the Eagle. Marty hoped they were close, but he couldn’t afford to leave his patrol to find them. The spring tide came just before dawn and he was on deck, Blaez at his side. The wind was from the Northwest and he thought it might swing more to North by Northwest. Marty was trying to put himself in the mind of the leader of the convoy.
The Trojan Horse Page 12