The Trojan Horse

by Christopher C Tubbs

  He felt Blaez nuzzle his hand and scratched his head without thinking. He called for Garai, who was down by the foremast.

  “Ask your friend how well those transports sail against the wind or on a broad reach,” he instructed as soon as the Basque reported.

  Ten minutes later, Garai returned.

  “He says they make leeway like a barge and in anything other than a quarter wind are horrible sailors.”

  Marty grinned.

  “They can’t hug the coast. If they make that kind of leeway, they will have to stay further out to ensure they don’t get blown ashore.” In fact, he was thinking that if he was in charge of the convoy, he would try a direct run to the port of Santander to keep the wind as much on his quarter as possible, thereby avoiding having to sail due West along a rocky lee shore.

  “Mr. Ackermann, please set a course to get us more to the North of Santander.”

  It was a calculated risk, but he figured it had the best odds of intercepting the convoy.

  They beat up towards the West and established a patrol that passed no closer than thirty mile off the coast that covered the approach to both Santander and the port of Santoña, which was better fortified than Santander and an established Navy base.

  Marty calculated that if the convoy left on the spring tide, they would arrive the next morning. He was banking on them reducing sail overnight to make it easier on their passengers, both human and equine, and would only average around six knots.

  Dawn broke, the sky was clear and visibility excellent. The wind had indeed swung around to the North-Northwest as he had predicted.

  Two hours after sunrise at the end of their Westward leg, the mainmast lookout hailed. He’d spotted sails to the Northeast. Marty grabbed his biggest telescope, slung it over his shoulder by its strap, ran up the ratlines, around the futtock shrouds, and up to the topgallant yard where he settled himself next to the lookout. He pulled the big telescope around and adjusted the focus to the mark that had been made for his eye.

  He scanned the Northern horizon from the West all the way around to the East then back to the fragment of sail to the Northeast. It was a topsail and he couldn’t see any other sails set below it.

  He lowered the telescope and rubbed his eye in thought. If the transports are as slow as that first mate says they are, that could be one of the corvettes with just enough sail set to stay ahead of them, he thought.

  He waited ten minutes then raised the glass again. This time, he could see that there were indeed sails following on behind the first ones.

  “Mr. Ackerman! The convoy is to the Northeast, heading Southwest, about eighteen miles distant, probably travelling at six knots. Please steer us a course that brings us to the West of them so we can engage,” Marty called down. He took one last long look, slung the glass over his shoulder, and took a stay to the deck.

  As they swung around in an arc to get the wind gauge, they saw the lead ship was indeed a corvette and that there was another halfway along the line of seven transport ships. The two luggers were ranging along behind and to windward ready to swoop down on any ship that attacked.

  Marty would keep the French flag flying until they ran out, only showing their true colours at the last minute.

  “Sir, the lead corvette is asking for a recognition signal,” Midshipman Williams, who had signal duty, reported.

  “Go down to my cabin and bring me the signal book we copied from that signal tower. It is in the unlocked top right drawer of my desk,” Marty ordered.

  Blaez and Sam appeared on deck. Blaez in his fighting collar, and Sam carrying Marty’s weapons and a silk shirt. Marty changed into the shirt and slung his weapons harness. Last, he clipped his pistols into place on their underarm straps after checking their priming. Williams returned with the book, which Marty scanned then pointed to the signal that should be the recognition signal of the day.

  “We will concentrate on the transports - sink, burn or capture. If the escorts take us on, we will defend ourselves. A single broadside will deal with the luggers. Get the men to quarters and load both sides with double shot, carronades with ball, but do not run out,” he ordered.

  Marty stepped up to the rail of the quarterdeck.

  “Men, listen to me!” he shouted, and the men turned as one. It wasn’t often Marty made a speech, so they were intrigued by what he was about to say. “Those ships have a brigade of artillery, guns, and enough ammunition to cause our forces in the North of Portugal a big problem. On our own, we can’t take them as prizes and fend off the escorts at the same time. Aim for the waterline, send them to Davy Jones’ locker,” he paused, looking at the eager faces then up at the signal that soared up the yard,

  “The windward corvette has changed course to intercept us,” Ackermann reported, “They are running out their guns.”

  Marty sighed. It looked like the signal book was replaced.

  “Are you ready?” he shouted to the men, who answered with a cheer, “Then let me hear your battle cry!”

  Antton, Matai, and Garai moved to their traditional positions at the foremast and either side amidships, then raised their voices,

  “Aye, Aye, Aye, Aye, Aye, EEEHHHHAAAAAA!” and were answered in kind by every man on deck.

  The intercepting corvette increased sail and was closing fast. Marty steered as straight at him as the wind would allow, he wanted to serve him a broadside as they passed then swing around to run down the line of transports.

  “Raise the colours!”

  Lieutenant Henri St. Jean looked at the big Frigate sailing towards him. The out-of-date recognition signal hadn’t fooled him for a minute. He recognized the ship from the Basque Roads debacle as one of the few ships the fool of a British admiral had committed to destroying their beached ships.

  This was the first time he had ever approached another ship in anger and he never dreamed he would be so out gunned. He decided he would go for their rigging and try to disable him.

  He looked back at the two luggers, who were hanging back as they were supposed to. Their job was to prevent the transports being boarded not get into a shooting war with a bigger enemy.

  Marty looked at the approaching corvette and ordered the bow chasers to engage. He watched as, first, one, then, the other, fired. He could trace the arc of the balls as they both narrowly missed the target.

  Should have made them duck, though, Marty grinned to himself. The forward carronade gunners were swinging the big guns around on their pivots to point forward over the larboard bow clear of obstructing rigging. The corvette was going to pass within two cables and they would try and serve her bows with a hail of four-pound shot.

  He glanced across at the transports, they were still in line. He had expected them to scatter at the first sign of a threat.

  St. Jean almost ducked as the big twelve-kilogram balls howled close by their larboard side. He focused on the ship that was now only eight hundred meters away.

  The range came down rapidly, and suddenly when they were just four hundred meters apart, there were dual gouts of fire from the frigate’s foredeck. His first thought was that they couldn’t possibly train their cannon around that far forward but that was quickly dispelled when his bow and fore deck were raked by a hail of round shot.

  Their boom was snapped off almost at the bow, and the foremast rigging was shredded. The ship shuddered as shot tore through the bow.

  “My God!” he exclaimed in horror as several men were torn to pieces.

  Then the two ships started to pass each other. His six-kilogram cannon spoke one after the other, aiming to take out the frigate’s fore mast. The enemy didn’t respond until they were abeam of each other then he watched as their side lit up in a full broadside. He was also vaguely aware of a pair of monster cannon on the fore deck that coughed as they came level with him.

  Marty watched as his eighteen pounders fired as one. At this range, they couldn’t miss. He didn’t expect his gunners to either; he had trained them hard enough.

>   The corvette shuddered as she took the full force of the Formidiable’s broadside and veered away. Marty saw why when he came up on their quarterdeck- or what was left of it. The wheel, binnacle, and most of the deck itself was gone. Strangely, a section stood untouched, upon which stood a young lieutenant, quite unharmed but with an expression on his face that looked like he was screaming.

  Marty ignored him and the damage to his ship, they were out of the fight. He glanced at his gunners as they efficiently reloaded the guns, then looked toward the foremast where he could see men repairing the damage the French inflicted on it. Shelby’s loblolly boys were attending some wounded and there were a pair of bodies laid out on the centreline. He looked across at the convoy, they were starting to scatter.

  “Hard to starboard, let’s take that one at the rear first!”

  The ship healed as they tacked across the wind and bore down on the hapless transport.

  “Christ, she wallows like a pig!” Ackermann exclaimed, his big zweihaender sword sticking up above his shoulders.

  The bow chasers came into line, and Wolverton the gunner gleefully pulled the lanyard on the larboard gun as it came into line at about five hundred yards. The shot flew true and hit the transport directly amidships about midway between the waterline and deck.

  Men watched in amazement as the ship seemed to expand then burst. A second later, they were deafened as the shock wave of an enormous explosion threw them to the deck and almost rolled the Formidiable over.

  Pieces of timber rained down on the deck, some on fire, and the crew struggled to their feet to put them out before their ship went up in flames.

  Marty was on his knees and Blaez was laid out on the floor next to him. He checked the big dog over but found no wounds and saw that he was breathing. Marty stood and shook his head to clear it. Ackermann staggered over, blood coming from one of his ears and a cut above his eye.

  “A powder ship!” he exclaimed unnecessarily.

  But Marty just saw his lips move. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears.

  Lieutenant Trenchard grabbed his arm to get his attention and pointed over to the larboard side. The luggers were moving in on them, assuming they were disabled by the blast.

  Marty looked up and saw that his sails were a mess. Any that had been set were torn to pieces and there was significant damage to their rigging. They were a sitting duck.

  “GET THE GUNS MANNED!” he shouted.

  His officers ran down the deck, pushing the men back to their guns. Many staggered, all were shocked.

  The carronades were their best defence against being raked by the luggers with their fourteen nine-pound guns. Their ability to swivel through a broad arc would serve them well.

  Marty felt a soft, cold nose nuzzle his hand. He looked down at Blaez, who stood beside him. A glance over his shoulder and there stood Sam, a bandage around his upper left arm, his broad headed short spear in his right hand.

  Ackermann was organizing men to get some sails set, even if they were just courses, to get them underway.

  The first lugger got in close enough to get a broadside off then veered away to get out of range. Marty knew they would try to harass them and slow down the repairs to the rigging. Chain shot shimmered and whined above the deck and more rigging crashed down.

  He felt, rather than heard, the aft carronades fire and saw the second lugger shudder as she took a hit. Their commander had become overconfident and sailed in too close, fooled by the lack of return fire to the first one. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again as shortly after, the side lit up as the entire battery fired a broadside.

  When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of the lugger but driftwood. The other one decided to stand back and take pot shots from a thousand yards off their larboard quarter. The carronades kept him at a respectable range, but he could still do some damage.

  Ackermann tapped Marty on the arm and pointed to the South. The second corvette was beating up towards them. If he got behind them, they would be in real trouble.

  Marty went down on deck to see how the repairs to the rigging were coming on. Men were swarming over the masts and splicing where they could or re-reeving tackles where they couldn’t. The fore mast was having to be fished with timbers around where two shot took significant chunks out of it and the carpenter was getting ready to wrap a rope around the temporary repair to strengthen it.

  He felt movement through the deck beneath his feet and looked aft. They had gotten some canvas up on the mizzen, but they needed some on the main or fore to make way in a controlled fashion.

  A glance showed him the corvette would be in range in about ten minutes.

  Ryan and James were pushing their ships as hard as they could and were just passing North of Suances when the sound of the explosion reached them. The lookout reported a smoke cloud to the East-Northeast but couldn’t see anything on the horizon.

  As far as James knew, the only reason for a smoke cloud that could be seen from beyond the horizon was a ship burning or blowing up. Given the sound of an explosion, the latter had to be the cause.

  They adjusted their course, wetted down the sails, and made as much speed as they could. An hour later and they still couldn’t see anything.

  Marty had the stern chasers run out and the starboard aft carronades trained around as far as they would go. He had them all fire as the corvette came into extreme range just to let them know that they knew they were there and could still bite them if they got too close.

  More than anything, he needed time to get his rigging repaired.

  “Get a pair of the boats manned and try to swing us around so our guns bear,” he ordered. Ackermann said something in reply but while he could now hear some sound, he couldn’t make out the words.

  “I can’t hear anything, Wolfgang. Just do what you think is right.”

  Wolfgang gave him a thumbs up and shouted down to the deck. Men ran to pull the barge and the cutter around to the side and jumped in. Two-inch cables were dropped down and attached to their sternposts and the men rowed them to the bow. With a boat attached to either side of the bow, and the men straining, they managed to turn the ship slowly to bring guns to bear. The lugger didn’t catch on to what they were doing until they turned enough to bring the stern five eighteen-pounders to bear. He got the message clearly enough when they fired, and he had balls crashing through his hull.

  That prompted him to retire fully, limping away with a definite list to starboard. One down one to go, Marty thought and turned his attention back to the corvette. Evidently, what happened to the lugger gave its captain pause for thought as he stayed at extreme range from the twelve-pound stern chasers, which continued to bark with satisfying frequency.

  James could hear gunfire now. There was the pop of nine-pounders and the cough of carronades, then there was the unmistakable roar of what sounded like half a dozen eighteen-pounders. It had to be the Formidiable.

  The lookout called that there were two sails in sight and identified them soon after as French transports. James made a decision and signalled Ryan to take the Eagle and intercept them, he would carry on and investigate the shooting.

  Marty saw Ackermann look up sharply to the top of the mainmast and shout something. He then listened to the reply and shouted something else. This was infuriating!

  Ackermann turned around and grinned at Marty, walked to the log, picked up the slate, and wrote one word.

  ALOUETTE.

  “Where?” Marty asked.

  In answer, Ackermann took him by the arm, turned him to a couple of points South of West, and pointed. There, coming over the horizon, was the unmistakable shape of the Alouette’s topsail.

  The French corvette must have seen him as well and mistook him for another French ship. He started to edge back into range of his guns to try and serve the Formidiable with a broadside. But now Yeovilton took responsibility for laying the stern chasers. He called up a request from the transom windows for the bow to be swung two poin
ts to starboard which was passed on to the sweating boat crews.

  Afterwards, Marty would swear he deliberately aimed short as the balls hit the sea about halfway to the French ship and skipped, like flat stones skimmed across a pond. Once, twice, three times, then slammed into the corvette just above the waterline.

  Marty watched through his telescope as a line of men appeared at the rail of the corvette looking down at the side. Marty became aware that the ship was turning, then the guns fired again. The balls skipped again; the starboard missing the bow of the corvette by a few feet, the larboard striking the hull.

  That was enough for the corvette’s captain, who turned away and sailed toward the Alouette.

  James could now see the Formidiable from his perch on the top yard. He watched the stern chasers fire at the French corvette standing a mile off her stern. He could see that the frigates rigging was being repaired and knew from the fact she was dead in the water she had been badly damaged.

  There was another pair of shots from the frigate’s stern chasers and this time he saw a ball skip past the corvette’s bow. Then to his surprise, the corvette filled her sails and turned towards him.

  “GET US TO QUARTERS, RAISE A FRENCH FLAG,” he bellowed down to the deck then took a stay for a fast descent.

  “The Frenchman thinks we are coming to help him let’s get in close and serve him with a caution.” James grinned to his midshipman Archie Davidson. They loaded the carronades with grape and would go for her rigging.

  The corvette kept coming and it seemed the captain was in such a hurry that he forgot to raise the recognition signal. So, he was genuinely surprised to see the British colours run up as the Alouette ran out her guns. He looked across in horror when the side lit up and the storm of grapeshot slashed through his rigging bring down yards, blocks, and his main topmast.