“You light the fuse and count to three,” Wolverton explained, “then you drop it down the hatch or down onto the boat. Drop it too soon and the jar will probably shatter, or they catch it and throw it over the side. Too late it blows up in your face.”
James brought twenty-five of the cast iron grenades over from the Eagle and took a dozen of the jug grenades back with him. He liked the idea of dropping what was effectively an exploding canister shot into an enemy boat.
There wasn’t any more movement of ships in the harbour and only a couple of late arrivals which anchored up further in than The Tempest and Eagle. Marty had the guns loaded but not run out and the carronades stayed covered with canvas. Every man had weapons laid out where he could get to them in a hurry and boxes of the jug grenades were placed on the centreline. There wasn’t much else they could do. They had entered the lion’s den and now had to wait and see how things developed.
Marty, Wolverton and Ackermann went ashore at seven o’clock that evening and walked through the town to where the Petit Coq was situated. The town was unusually empty and that put them on their guard.
The first attack came as soon as they left the docks and entered the town proper. Five men came out of an alleyway, weapons drawn and charged them. With no time to draw and cock his pistols Marty drew his sword and fighting knife. He knocked aside the cutlass of the leading man with his knife and slashed him across the back of the neck with his hanger as his momentum carried him past. He spun, using the momentum of the slash, to bring him face to face with another attacker who was chopping down at him with his sword. Marty was able to side-step and block the slash with a high parry then shifting his weight he lashed out with his boot and kicked him in the stomach. As the man double over, he slammed the hilt of his knife down on the back of his head. A quick look around revealed that Ackerman had disposed of another two and Wolverton had the fifth by the throat and was strangling the life out of him.
A quick check confirmed that all five were dead, so they left them where they lie and continued on their way. The whole fight had taken less than three minutes.
A second attack came just before they entered the square where Le Petit Coq was located. This time six men came at them, but Marty already had his pistols out, cocked and ready. He shot two men, dropped his pistols and drew his sword and knife. A shot came from Wolverton that took down a third man. Then it was three on three and the result was inevitable. Marty didn’t kill his but stunned him with a blow from the guard on his hanger. He had noticed the man was dressed a little better than the others and wondered if he was an officer of sorts. He quickly bound his hands behind his back then retrieved and reloaded his pistols.
Shoving the man ahead of him he led his men into the Petit Coq. The room fell silent as they pushed through the door and all eyes were upon them. De Faux and Dyer sat together at a table in the centre of the room.
“Anybody want to claim this?” Marty asked in a pleasant tone. Nobody said anything.
“You sure? This is your last chance,” he asked again looking around the room.
“You’re out of luck then mate,” he said to the bound man as he pulled a stiletto from his sleeve. His hand moved so fast that many who saw it weren’t sure what they had seen. The man gasped looked straight at De Faux, took a step forward and folded to the ground, dead.
De Faux stood and glared at him.
Marty grinned back, reached over to a sconce and took down a candle.
“You will find the other ten men you sent to kill me out on the street,” he told them over his shoulder as Ackermann and Wolverton reached into their pockets and offered the objects they retrieved up to the flame. Marty also took something out of his pocket and did the same.
“There is a price for that kind of treachery.”
Five shortened matches sparkled and spat as they lit, and five grenades were tossed into the centre of the room.
The three of them crashed out of the door one second before the grenades started to go off. Screams and shouts echoed from the tavern following them down the road as they ran for the docks. James appeared from an alley and dropped into step beside Marty followed by a half dozen of their men.
“Conclave called off?” He asked as they ran.
“Yes, message sent,” Marty replied.
Back on board their ships they prepared to set sail but didn’t leave just yet. They watched by the light of an almost full moon as boats set off from the shore taking the surviving captains back to their ships. Marty had The Tempest cast off and as she swung, he fired a broadside at Dyers Schooner, The Tallon. He had loaded with chain and her rigging was shredded.
The Tempest was now bow on to the Southern Star and he gave her the full benefit of his twenty-four-pound chasers into her hull.
Onboard the Southern Star mayhem ruled. The thin hull was no match for the big twenty-four-pound balls that smashed through it and water was pouring in through a large hole on the waterline. The crew watched on horror as the Tempest glided past them in the moonlight and her side lit up as her mains and carronades spoke. Behind them James also served The Tallon with a broadside then steered so his unused broadside passed the Southern Star and served them with a load as well. The Tempest and Eagle then re anchored in line astern to the seaward side of the now sinking Southern Star across the entrance to the harbour. They let the wind back them up, dropped stern anchors, attached springs and used their capstans to position themselves so they could cover any ship that tried to leave port.
They checked their guns by firing another broadside each at The Tallon rendering her a floating wreck, then checked the range to the inner roads by sending them a broadside as well. Marty set a dedicated a lookout to just watch Fort St Louise which was behind them and to the North. Most of the guns covered the approaches to the harbour and they were behind them at the moment, what Marty didn’t know was how many pointed into the harbour and if they would intervene in an argument amongst privateers. So far, they hadn’t fired on any French country ships, they were moored in the Baie de Flamands under the protection of the guns of the Fort not in the mercantile port.
They waited and watched. Some people were spotted on the Fort watching them with telescopes but that was all, there were signs of activity in the harbour, so Marty climbed the mast with a night glass and spotted a large number of boats moving around laden with men.
The moon would set behind them in a couple of hours and that is when Marty expected the first attack. He ordered all lamps extinguished except one and that was suspended from the main yard. He didn’t want the boats to miss them, but he also didn’t want them to know what to expect.
Paul la Pierre was in his element. He deployed the fighting element of the crew with professional efficiency. He ordered every swivel gun mount put into operation and loaded with cannister. He had the luxury of having an excess of guns so ordered all the spares loaded and placed on the deck behind the gunners. Spare cartridges and canisters were stockpiled next to the swivels along with Nock volley guns and four of the jug grenades. He set all the men not manning the swivels along the centreline organised in squads. Each squad could be deployed independently to repel boarders or to replace gunners if they fell. He sent snipers into the tops along with more swivels and hoped that Marty’s plan would give them light to work by.
It was all done in absolute silence. Not a click, creak, whisper or groan was heard from either ship. They could have been manned by ghosts.
Preparations made, he took position amidships on the landward side, waited and listened. Was that a splash from shoreward? Yes! And a curse as someone was reprimanded. But how far were they away? His mouth was dry and his palms sweaty, he wiped them on his trousers. A clunk and then another and Marty ordered the swivels to fire.
He closed his eyes, as they were instructed by Shelby, the ship’s Physician, to preserve his night vision. The guns cracked and less than ten seconds later there were another series of cracks as the replacement swivels were mounted and fire
d. He opened his eyes and ordered the men designated as grenadiers forward to drop their loads of death on the boats pulling up at the side while the swivels were reloaded. Once they were out of grenades they grabbed the volley guns and fired those down into the boats.
A shout from the bow and he saw heads appear over the side, a squad of men moved forward to repel them. He shouted an order and the rest of the squads held fast. He felt a moment of pride as the men’s discipline held and they waited, letting the forward squad do its work. He glanced to the quarter deck and saw Marty, flanked by Blaez on his right, and Samuel on his left watching the whole tableaux unfold before him.
Marty called an order and men lit special rockets that went up high and burnt slowly as they fell to the sea giving out a bright light. The scene before him was biblical. Around the Tempest floated the wrecks of, probably, a dozen boats filled with dead and dying men. Beyond them more boats were approaching trying to get to the sides of The Tempest to try and board.
He jumped as he heard Marty order the carronades to fire.
CHUFF BOOM. The smoke drifted back across the deck, and the screams of the men in the boats echoed across the water. It was slaughter.
Marty stood on the quarter deck, Blaez beside him. He waited until the smoke cleared and looked out on the devastation the carronades had caused. The water around the Tempest was covered in the flotsam of broken boats and bodies. Familiar grey fins appeared, cutting through the water, feasting on the remains of the men who had died and searching out the fresher meat of the ones still living.
The flares died out and they were once again plunged into darkness.
“Starboard guns! Open ports and run out!” He ordered in a voice that could easily be heard on the Eagle.
“By Broadside, FIRE!”
The guns on both ships spoke with one voice, the recoil causing them to sway slightly. They would repeat that five times, increasing their elevation a little in between each broadside to cause as much damage as they could in the harbour.
Blaez stood suddenly looking towards the after larboard quarter, his hackles raised. Marty didn’t notice but Samuel did, and pulled both his pistols cocking them against his forearms. The six men on the quarter deck heard the hammers click back and went straight into a state of readiness as well, which is why when a line of boarders surged over the rail, they were met with a volley of pistol fire and a wall of steel.
Blaez launched himself forward to defend his pack, he joined Samuel, the Basques and John Smith fighting the sneak attack over the stern. He simply attacked the nearest body he didn’t recognise, going for the places he knew were the most vulnerable. In this case, unfortunately for his victim, it was the part of his body that was exposed as he swung his legs over the rail.
The man screamed as Blaez’s teeth sunk into his groin and one of the inch and half long canines pierced his scrotum. Blaez tasted blood and violently shook his head, ripping flesh and cloth causing irreparable damage. The man beat on his head but that just made him clamp down harder. Something came loose in his mouth and he let go to spit it out before it choked him. His victim fell back over the rail, screaming until with a load clunk he landed in the boat that was still alongside.
As the sun rose the Tempest and Eagle were well out to sea. Marty had ordered them to set sail on a compass bearing as soon as the surviving boats had headed back into the now burning harbour. The light from the fires gave them a reference to steer from so they had exited Porte Royal quite comfortably despite the odd, searching shot from the guns in the fort.
Marty was on the quarter deck despite having had no sleep. Blaez was sniffing something on the deck by the stern rail. He stepped over and examined it. It was a piece of cloth. He took his knife and moved it aside. Underneath was a hairy patch of skin and a plumb shaped lump of flesh with what looked like a piece of string coming from it.
“Now how did a testicle get there?” Shelby asked who had come up into the quarterdeck to report on the very light casualties from their night’s work. “And a piece of scrotum as well, if I’m not mistaken.”
Marty looked at Blaez, who sat watching them with a doggy grin on his face.
“He caught one of the boarders by the balls when he came over the side. I guess he left one behind,” he replied with a wince.
William de Faux was sequestered in the cabin of a fellow Frenchman’s ship, his legs heavily bandaged, blood seeping through staining them red. The grenade had gone off under the table next to his, which was lucky as the heavy wood had shielded his upper body from the razor-sharp shards of cast iron that had blasted out in every direction when it had detonated. His legs, however, hadn’t faired so well. His shins were shredded and his thighs were punctured by multiple shards, one of which was still embedded in the bone.
He got off better than some, his friend Eric Dyer blead out because his femoral artery was severed. He died so fast and grasped de Faux’s hand at the last. Now, he was left with half a crew and no ship after the disastrous attack on that devil last night. They hadn’t even got close to boarding. From the reports of the survivors the enemy ships had some kind of fantastic rapid firing swivel guns that had decimated the crews as soon as they pulled up alongside. Added to that, one of his men was found the next day, still alive, in a drifting boat with wounds too horrific to dwell on. Savaged by some wild beast was the rumour going around the ship but he guessed it was Stanwell’s damn dog. He would live but would never be the man he was.
He looked out of the window at the smoke from the smouldering remains of one of the ships that was moored in the harbour.
“You won this round Stanwell, but I will have my revenge,” he vowed clutching the crucifix he always carried on a chain around his neck.
He picked up a pen and started to write a report to his masters, at the Ministry of Marine in Paris, explaining why their scheme to unite all the privateers and freelancers together against the British had failed. He signed it ‘Bernard le Bonne, Captain French Navy.’
Chapter 13: Diamond Rock
Marty’s first thought was to sail straight to Jamaica and make a report, then he remembered that HMS Diamond Rock was very close by, so he ordered a change of course and headed back towards Martinique.
It took a day to beat back up against the trade wind to make the Rock and then they had to sail around it to get to the point where they could drop anchor and row ashore. Marty flew a British flag and made the recognition signal of the day but was still greeted by a reception committee of marines. He eventually got to meet Lieutenant James Maurice who was in command of the stone frigate and got a tour of the rock, which involved some serious climbing of ladders.
They had a couple of twenty-four-pound cannons protecting the approach and entrance to the cave at the base of the rock, another twenty-four-pounder about halfway up and two eighteen-pounders on a flat area they had blasted out of the top. All in all, they could command the approaches to Port Royal from everything but the North and that was an extremely difficult entry as Marty could testify.
Marty left an encoded message to be forwarded to Hood and one in plain English for Admiral Duckworth with a brief report of what they had seen in Port Royal/Forte de France and a caution that it wasn’t their main base as Diamond Rock made it too difficult to use.
Back on the Tempest, Marty called everyone together to discuss their next steps.
“Well, we have now well and truly posted our visiting card and I will place a bet that a message is winging its way to Paris right now because if I’m not very much mistaken de Faux is no more an American than I am.”
“What makes you think that?” James asked.
“Just a feeling that he isn’t all he seems, and something in the way he talks is all, and ‘de Faux’ translates to ‘the fake’,” Marty replied.
“But that’s as maybe, we need to decide where to go next. I was checking a few things in Jamaica and it seems the sudden raise in piracy against the British started just after we gave Bonaire and Curacao ba
ck to the Dutch. Apparently during the last wave, they were lawless islands and gave shelter to many pirates in exchange for trading with them.”
“You think the base is there?” Ackermann asked.
“I’m not sure there is a base, more centres where they go to resupply and trade their prize cargos.” Ryan said thoughtfully.
Marty looked at him in surprise, Ryan wasn’t known for making intuitive leaps and he had just made a big one that had caught Marty completely by surprise. He suddenly realised he had become locked in his thinking and had obsessed about finding a base.
“So, what we need to do is find those centres and raid them when the privateers are there or hit their ships and prizes on their way there. Ryan you’re a genius!” Marty exclaimed.
Ryan looked totally abashed at the sudden praise but asked.
“Why on the way there?”
“Because they will be low on men if they have taken any prizes and will be easier targets,” Marty explained.
Ryan blushed again, ‘I should have known that!’ he remonstrated with himself.
Marty wrote another coded message to Hood updating him on their plan and took it over to the rock himself. He was met by Lieutenant Maurice who shook his hand as he came ashore.
“Thought you might like to know that our lookouts have spotted five ships leaving Port Royal this morning. They stayed as a group, skirted around the edge of our range and headed Southwest. Here is a list of what he thought they were,” he informed Marty and passed over a sheet of paper.
Marty looked at it and frowned, it was obvious that these were five of the seven ships he had seen in the harbour. Did that mean he had sunk or damaged the other two? Why were they sticking together?
The Tempest: The Dorset Boy Book 5 Page 10