The Trojan Horse

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Chapter 15: The Doldrums

  Marty was in his office at the base when there was a hail from the lookout tower that a ship was entering the bay. He gave it no thought as sometimes ships came in mistaking it as the harbour and was surprised when there was a knock on the door. Ryan stepped in with a flag lieutenant, who saluted as Marty got to his feet.

  “Lieutenant Upton,” he introduced himself, “I am here at the behest of Baron Mulgrave, the First Lord of the Navy.”

  “Welcome to Gibraltar. This must be important if they are sending flag officers with messages.”

  Upton smiled in agreement and Marty bade him sit.

  “The French are making trouble in the Indian Ocean again; they have sent a Fleet over there to disrupt our trade and to take on the East India Company head on. They are based on Isle Bonaparte and Isle de France,” Upton explained.

  Marty looked puzzled.

  “That is what the French have renamed the islands of Madagascar and Reunion since they recaptured them,” Upton clarified

  “Ahh,” nodded Marty, “yes, I had some dealings with those islands some time ago.”

  “Admiral Hood told us you have a vested interest in helping solve this, and you have personal knowledge of Reunion.”

  Marty knew that was true. Caroline complained that their ships had been pursued several times in the last year or so by French country ships. His fleet was too nimble and fast to be caught by mere frigates, but they had lost other shipments that were carried on company ships that had been taken.

  “What do you want me to do?” Marty asked.

  “We want you to go out there, independently raid their bases with the Formidiable, gather intelligence, and build a picture of what their strength is so that we can deal them a knockout blow. Admiral Hood says that Lietenant Thompson can run operations here while you are away,” Upton replied.

  “Very well, I will get the Formidiable ready. When do we leave?”

  “As soon as you are provisioned and ready to go.”

  Caroline was unexpectedly relaxed about losing her husband for several months at the least. In her heart, she knew they had been enjoying an unexpectedly long, relatively uninterrupted period together and knew it had to end. In any case, this was something that was affecting their trade and there was no one better to solve the problem than her Marty.

  As he wouldn’t be there, she decided she would take the household back to England. It was about time she took back personal control of some of her operations and she had some ideas for new enterprises that she thought would be profitable.

  Marty sat and watched Blaez and Troy playing ball with young James and it suddenly struck him the Blaez wasn’t a young dog anymore. He was a lot slower than the younger dog and had a significant amount of grey in his muzzle. James was six now and had, to Marty’s astonishment, a very level-headed view on the word.

  James left the two dogs to playing, went to his father, and climbed on his lap.

  “Blaez is getting old,” he commented.

  James looked at the dogs and added very seriously,

  “Daddy, I don’t think you should take Blaez with you.”

  “Why is that?” Marty asked.

  “He will want to protect you and he isn’t fast enough anymore. Troy gets the ball every time,” James observed.

  “Oh? I think he lets him,” Marty laughed but James was having none of it.

  “He is getting old and it’s not fair he is asked to fight anymore!” James said crossly, surprising Marty with his anger.

  “Well, what do you suggest we do? He will be very upset if I don’t take him with me,” Marty replied, knowing in his heart he would be just as upset.

  “He can stay here with me; we are friends too,” James insisted.

  “Well, that would be just fine! But I will miss him,” Marty said quietly.

  “You must take Troy. You need someone to keep you company and mommy says a dog brings you luck and is your friend.”

  Marty looked at his son, who was trying to be very brave as he sacrificed his dog for his father, and tears sprang to his eyes. He took a deep breath,

  “Alright, we can do that, but you mustn’t spoil him. He won’t do well if he gets fat.”

  “I know daddy, and he can’t play as much as Troy. I will look after him. I promise!”

  Marty watched the two dogs for a while and saw his son was right.

  “Alright, I will take Troy,” Marty agreed, hugging James.

  “That’s good. I hoped you two would work it out together,” Caroline said in his ear as she bent to hug them both from behind the chair where she had been listening.

  Blaez made a fuss when he realised he was being left behind, but James and Beth smothered him with attention and love as they waved goodbye to the Formidiable as she left port.

  Blaez settled into the role of family protector, put up with the twins pulling his ears and climbing on his back, and loved James and Beth as much as they loved him. He would stand and look out to sea, waiting for Marty when left alone but didn’t pine, the kids wouldn’t let him.

  When the household embarked on the Eagle to move back to England, he installed himself in the children’s cabin and escorted them wherever they went. Back in England, he didn’t like the weather as much as Gibraltar, but he had a privileged position and could chose whichever spot he wanted to sleep, more often than not, near or in front of a fire.

  Troy took to life at sea like he was born to it and exhibited all the characteristics of his father but in a calmer way. Marty missed his old friend but knew that this was for the best.

  The frigate headed South and soon Marty was putting his crew through their sail evolutions and gunnery exercises, which were more to keep them busy and the standard up rather than to teach them anything new.

  It was not the ideal time of year to be sailing to the Indian Ocean as the Atlantic was prone to storms, and they knew they were in for a rough time as they swung out into the Atlantic heading for St Paul’s rock just North of the equator. Ironically, the area around St. Paul’s rock was also known as the doldrums.

  So it was that after fighting their way Southwest through howling gales, they suddenly found themselves becalmed.

  Sitting motionless for two weeks played on the men’s nerves and Troy was edgy and bad tempered. Minor disputes started to escalate to physical confrontations and to relieve the tension, Marty started a boxing competition for the men to blow off steam. He had the Larboard and Starboard watches each choose six champions who were divided into three weight categories.

  Marty decided that the fights would be bareknuckle; fists only, no gauging, kicking, or wrestling. They would be held in a square, roped-off area fifteen feet to a side. The winner would be named when a fighter was unable to continue or yielded. The contest would be held over two days and started in the afternoon when the heat had gone out of the sun.

  The first pair were in the lightest category and were a pair of topmen. They went at it with a will, but very little finesse and it came down to a lucky punch. The winner by a knockout was from the starboard watch.

  The next were a pair of bruisers from the heavy class, both weighed in at over eighteen stones. This one came down to a slugging match and was stopped when the contestant from the Larboard watch’s eyes were both swollen shut.

  The third bout was the first pair from the middle weight class and was won by the Larboard watch, so halfway through the contest the Starboard watch was two to one up. The sun was going down fast as it does in those latitudes, and they stopped for the night as it was getting dark.

  The next morning, the men were swabbing down after holystoning the decks and about to go to breakfast when a cry came from the mainmast lookout.

  “Sail Ho!”

  What the hell? Marty thought as he ordered Midshipman Williams up into the tops.

  “Looks like an armed transport, can’t see her colours.”

  “Armed transport or privateer perhaps?” Wolfgang asked.
/>
  Marty agreed and knew that, for some inexplicable reason, if two ships were becalmed, they tended to drift towards each other but that would take quite some time. Well, he thought, it won’t hurt to keep the other ship guessing.

  “Lower our colours, Wolfgang,” he ordered.

  The fourth bout was scheduled for mid-afternoon from the middle weight section between a gunner on the starboard watch and a waister on the larboard. These two looked to be an uneven match as the gunner, Fred Goddard, was a solid fifteen stone and five foot ten while the waister was thirteen and a half stone and only five feet two. However, looks could be deceptive, and it very soon became apparent that the waister, Brian Jones- an ex Welsh coal miner, was no novice at prize fighting.

  He assumed a stance with his fists high in front of his face and his elbows tucked in at his sides and shuffled around the ring, constantly moving. He also swayed his upper body around, presenting a moving target for his opponent.

  Fred was bemused by this as he was used to toeing the line and slugging it out. He could think of nothing else to do but follow Jones and try and land a decent hit. Jones just let the blows fall on his arms and waited for an opening, then one of his fists would lash out and score a solid hit. It wasn’t long before Fred’s nose resembled a raw steak and his eyes were almost shut. He never saw the uppercut that landed square on his chin and put his lights out.

  In the twenty minutes that the fight took, the two ships had drifted enough that they could see each other from their quarterdecks. Marty was aware that they were being watched intently by the officers on the other ship’s quarterdeck by the glint of light on their telescope lenses. He ordered that no one was to raise a glass to look back at them and that the other ship should be ignored by all except the lookout.

  The fifth bout was the second of the heavy men. One was Wilson and the other was an equally large bruiser called Ernie Stockbridge. The two of them practically filled the ring and Marty expected another slugging match.

  How wrong he was. Wilson emulated Brian Jones and adopted a defensive pose. Ernie was no fool as he had seen the result of what happened if you just bulled in against that and followed suit. The two men circled each other, looking for openings. Wilson, who was left-handed, threw occasional jabs with his right hand trying to tempt Ernie into dropping his guard. Ernie was having none of it and just waited. When Wilson eventually tried a right, left combination, Ernie drove a wicked right hand into his ribs.

  Wilson stepped back and covered up, but everyone could see that the blow hurt him, including Ernie, who feinted shots at that area trying to get Wilson to move his guard. But Wilson was stubborn, held his ground, and kept his guard in place.

  This carried on for almost thirty minutes and the men started to get bored, cat calls started to get mixed in with the encouragement. Then Wilson must have seen an opening and fired in four massive blows in a row, which sat Ernie on the deck.

  The starboard watch cheered, and the larboard groaned, but Ernie shook his head and climbed to his feet, taking up his defence once again. Honours were even.

  Marty looked out towards the other ship and was surprised that it was much closer, how could that be? He wondered, are they towing her to close on us? He sent a message and a glass up to the lookout, who reported that the other ship was being towed by their ship’s boats and using sweeps. This was bizarre, was their captain an idiot? He couldn’t have any idea who they were as they were beam on to him and he couldn’t see their name. Not only that, but it was also still hot from the noonday sun and the men in the boat had to have been exhausted.

  The bout ended when Wilson put Ernie on his backside for a second time with a cut above his right eye that bled profusely. Shelby called a halt and took him below to stitch him up.

  The next morning, Marty sat on the main topmast yard waiting for it to get light enough to see the other ship. It emerged out of the gloom and was a mile away. They must have rowed all night. He took a stay down to the deck and ordered,

  “Wolfgang! Would you be so kind as to get the men quietly armed and ready to repel boarders. I think we can expect company before our midday meal,” he ordered quietly.

  The carronades were covered in canvas sheets; Marty had started doing that so enemy ships couldn’t see their strength at short range. It was quite comical watching gunners squirming under the covers with charges and canister shot to load the monsters. He ordered the main battery loaded with canister as well. If it came to a fight, he wanted the other ship as undamaged as possible.

  Swivel guns were brought up from below where they had been loaded and laid on the deck near their mounts. Likewise, volley guns were loaded below decks and grenades fused before being brought up and positioned quietly where they would be quickly to hand.

  He wanted to give the impression of an ill-disciplined ship that was slow to wake up, so he asked Wolfgang to forego holystoning and swabbing, then kept the men out of sight apart from a few who loitered around the deck.

  The other ship moved towards them under sweeps and Marty could see she was ported for ten guns to a side and by the size of the port covers, he guessed she had nine or twelve pounders. They changed course slightly and he could see they were aiming to get across his stern.

  That could be a problem! If he could do that and threaten to rake them from stern to bow, they could be in real trouble.

  The other ship was now about half a mile away. Marty made a decision, went down to his cabin, and opened the chest of ‘dressing up’ clothes he always carried for when he needed a disguise. He pulled out a suit that would be worn by a Spanish gentleman and a hat with an ostentatious feather decoration. Adam, his steward, came in, looked surprised for a moment then shrugged and helped him get dressed. He called Wolfgang in and told him to get everyone visible on deck out of uniform and for them to wander around listlessly like they were desperate.

  Fully disguised as a Spanish gentleman-captain he strutted up onto deck and went to the rail.

  “Hola Señor!” he hailed the other ship and was happy to see a man who could be the captain come to the rail.

  “That is a very useful thing to have!” he shouted in Spanish, pointing to the sweeps.

  The other man replied in Spanish with more than a hint of a French accent.

  “Yes. How long have you been becalmed?”

  “Almost four weeks,” Marty lied, “we are running out of water, my men have been on less than half rations for several days now!”

  The man barked an order, and the sweeps stopped.

  “I have enough that I can give you some if I can come alongside,” he offered.

  “Please, if you can give us anything, come aboard,” Marty called across, making it sound like a plea. Matai and young Williams followed his lead and hung over the rail calling pitifully in Spanish.

  The sweeps started again, turning the ship so that they could run up alongside. Wolfgang came up beside Marty and told him quietly,

  “The lookout says there are a lot of men ducked down behind their gunnels. He could see their heads moving around.”

  Marty looked up to the tops of the approaching ship and saw they had men up there with muskets.

  “Tell the marines to take those men out as soon as they can. Are the gunners ready?”

  “Yes, they are well hidden under canvas near their guns and the swivels are loaded with grapnels.”

  Marty looked at the approaching ship.

  “As soon as he is at close pistol shot, launch the grapnels and give him the benefit of our broadside through his gun ports. Carronades to target his decks, let’s kill as many as we can before they get close enough to board.”

  As the other ship came up on them, their gun ports swung up and they ran out. Marty didn’t wait any longer,

  “At ‘em, Formidiable! Raise the colours.”

  The British flag was run up and the side came alive. The ports flew up and the guns run out. Simultaneously, the swivel gunners mounted their weapons on the side and fired the
ir grapnels. The covers on the carronades were pulled off.

  Marty had a fleeting glimpse of a look of horror on the other captain’s face before the guns roared and smoke obscured him. The men on the grapnel ropes were heaving the two ships together using specially prepared blocks. The marines boiled out from below, formed up, loosed a volley into the other ships tops then raced up the ratlines to get into their normal firing positions.

  The smoke cleared, the ships were a scant ten feet apart and closing. Several of her gun ports were empty and others looked to have been fired. Her deck was full of men who had presumably come up from below.

  “Carronades! Clear that deck for me please!” Marty bellowed in a voice that could be heard along the whole ship.

  Both fore and aft carronades swivelled to rake the deck and coughed out their loads of canister. The effect on the crowded deck was spectacular, devastating, and bloody. Some men were shot to pieces, others merely perforated in multiple places, very few were unscathed, blood ran from the scuppers.

  The two ships ground together, and the Formidiables leapt across to the other deck screaming their war cry. The main deck was soon secured, and a few grenades dropped down the hatches quickly persuaded any men still below to drop their weapons and come out with their hands held high.

  Marty found the captain by the wheel, his arm severed above the elbow. Someone had tied a tourniquet to stop the bleeding and the man was grey with pain but in no further danger. He dropped to a knee beside him,

  “Captain, I believe your ship is mine,” Marty told him in French.

  “British! I thought you were Spaniards,” he gasped through pain.

  Marty looked at the arm then checked him over. There were no other wounds, he called for Shelby.

  “Our surgeon will soon have you fixed up then we can talk,” Marty told him and walked away after setting a guard.

  Chapter 16: The Trojan Horse

  Two days later, they found some wind and were able to continue on their way to Cape Town. Shelby tidied up the captain’s stump and he was able to sit with Marty in his cabin.