The Tempest: The Dorset Boy Book 5

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Marty looked down into the crystal-clear water and saw great silver barracuda sliding along below the ship and what looked like a large bat with blue skin covered in white spots winging its way past. The reef came closer as they passed a small headland and he could see myriads of colourful fish.

  They crept Northwards into a long shallow bay. They could see goats wandering around near the shore and a couple of donkeys as well. A sandy beach showed strange tracks coming out of the sea, and Marty wondered what caused them when he saw a solitary great green turtle hauling itself up the beach. Marty wondered what it was doing but they passed it by before he had a chance to see.

  Ahead, the small uninhabited island of Klein Bonaire came into view. The main anchorage was in a channel between the small island and the big one. Pieter told him there was a stone fort that guarded the entrance from the South. He also said the privateers tended to moor further North in the shelter behind the island and that you could just sail in from the South and out to the North.

  They sailed in line astern, under topsails only, right into the bay past the fort, which neither showed nor requested any kind of recognition signal. It didn’t even dip a flag in salute. There was a small town that paralleled the shore with stores and warehouses. There was no sign of a shipyard, but he did recognise one sign in English proclaiming it was a ship brokerage.

  Marty was halfway up the foremast ratlines looking ahead and saw several fast-looking ships flying no flags. He could also see that de Faux’s schooner was nowhere to be seen but a couple of the ships looked to be American schooners, and another had definite Spanish lines. They were all moored with their bows towards the shore into the wind. In between them, were moored what must have been their prizes, which were being unloaded into small boats.

  Returning to the deck, he ordered the starboard guns run out. Behind him, the Eagle and Falcon followed his lead. He let the Tempest run on until the third ship was right abeam of them and backed the foresail to bring them to a stop.

  The sight of the three ships with their cannons run out caused immediate consternation, and a man appeared at the stern of the ship abeam of the Tempest and shouted,

  “What the hell are you doing? This is neutral territory by the convention,” an American voice bellowed at them.

  Marty didn’t respond. He just nodded to the gun captain of the carronade nearest to him. The man grinned and pulled the lanyard. Thirty-six pounds of chain shot screamed across the water down the length of the schooner, which was called the Patsy. Her rigging was shredded, and her mast took a direct hit about halfway up, snapping it off. The Eagle and Falcon both fired chain into the rigging of the ships opposite them.

  The small boats all rowed for shore as fast as they could, and men were seen diving over the sides of the privateers and swimming to shore to get away from the broadsides they guessed would be coming next. The American skipper picked himself up off the deck where he dived as the carronade fired. He shook his fist at Marty, who just responded by having the second carronade fire its load into his rigging as well.

  Taking the hint, the man ran the length of the deck and dove over the bow, stroking out strongly for shore.

  “Boarders away!” Marty called and his men, who had pulled his boats up to the larboard side and manned them ready for the order, pulled around the stern of the Tempest and made their way to the merchant ships.

  Marty watched as his men took control of the two merchantmen nearest to the Patsy and Ryan, Antton, Matai, Garai, and Rolland went to the schooner to search the captain’s cabin. There was a single shot from that direction and then silence. Rolland appeared at the stern rail and waved that all was OK.

  He had his lookouts watching the shore carefully in case the privateers staged any kind of counter-attack and had the carronades reloaded with grape. If they tried anything, they would regret it.

  Ryan and the boys just got back into their boat when a lookout reported there was a rowboat with a white flag flying approaching from the direction of the fort. Marty went to the rail and looked back to see what was going on.

  A big man in European dress was waving a white flag that looked like it was a sheet, or maybe a pillowcase, and urging his oarsmen to go as fast as they could to the Tempest. Marty instructed a welcoming party under Ackermann to meet them at the entry port.

  He noticed Shelby leaning on the rail making notes. He saw Marty looking and grinned at him. Marty noticed the physician had his sword on and concluded he was looking out for more victims to cut up. In the name of science, of course.

  The boat pulled alongside, taking the risk of going under the guns.

  ‘Brave or foolish,’ Marty thought as a head appeared over the level of the deck. The man had a good head of grey hair, was slightly overweight, and stood at about five feet six tall. Ackerman told him to stand still in German, causing a surprised look but instant compliance when he saw the doubled hander hilt sticking up over his shoulder.

  Ackermann thoroughly searched him, missing neither a crack nor a crevasse, much to the man’s discomfort. Then, he led him aft to where Marty was lounging on the quarterdeck in his chair, Blaez at his feet.

  “Are you in command of this outrage?” the man demanded in English.

  Marty cocked his head to one side and replied,

  “And who the hell are you?” with just a hint of a French accent.

  “Kees van den Bosch, I am the Burgermeester.”

  “Really,” Marty sneered, putting all the scorn he could into that one word.

  He then looked past him to Antton and Matai, who were carrying a casket between them.

  “Put that in my cabin,” he told them in French.

  He turned his attention back to van den Bosch.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked with disdain.

  The man was, by now, red in the face with indignation and anger, and he took a step forward. Blaez interpreted that as a threat, shot to his feet, and gave forth with a blood curdling snarl, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Be polite,” Marty drawled, “my dog hates people who don’t show respect.”

  He was enjoying himself immensely.

  van den Bosch composed himself and did a double take as he recognised Blaez for a Dutch dog.

  “We are a free port, and we don’t ask questions about where cargos come from, which is to the benefit of your kind, so why are you attacking these people in our harbour?”

  “You assume that I need your pathetic little harbour or give a rat’s fart about any convention. Soon, the whole of the Caribbean will be under French rule and you will all pay to stay here.”

  van den Bosch paled visibly.

  “Now, get off my ship. You have three minutes before we fire a broadside into that wreck over there.” Marty dismissed him.

  Without any dignity whatsoever, van den Bosch practically jumped into his boat and yelled at the oarsmen to get clear. Marty waited until they just cleared the aft most gun and ordered the broadside to fire. The concussion from the muzzle blast knocked the man sprawling down the centre of the boat and put his oarsmen into total disarray. The schooner was destroyed as the balls smashed their way from stern to bow. Behind him, the other two ships suffered the same fate. Marty smiled. It would have been easier just to burn them, but this was much more fun.

  They sailed out from behind Klein Bonaire to the North with six merchantmen in line behind them. They found the crews of three of them locked below. Of the other three crews, there was no sign. Five of the six were British while the sixth was Portuguese.

  The coastline curved to the West, and they followed it, looking out for masts that would indicate moored ships. You could say they dawdled but Marty had men sketching the coastline as it slid past and he had two men in the chains slinging their leads to record the depth.

  They turned North, following the coast around a headland and continued their search. Pieter said there was a bay on the North end of the island, and Marty wanted to take a look into it. The island was m
uch hillier in the North and they could see it was covered in thick scrub like trees with ferocious two-inch-long thorns and cactus. The only land animals he saw were large lizards, some up to a yard long and the occasional goat.

  ‘Not the prettiest of islands,” Marty thought as he caught site of a flock of green birds flying above the trees squawking and screeching at each other. Then, a hawk like bird flew close to the ship looking fierce with its striking red face, and white chest.

  They rounded the headland and could see into the bay. Behind it was a large lagoon stretching away almost as far as they could see, separated from the sea by a beach of white sand. There was a building at the back of the beach on the South end of the beach. There were two ships anchored close in, a small coastal cargo ship being loaded with barrels of something, and a larger merchant vessel taking on water and wood. Marty decided it wasn’t worth the powder to attack them, so they hove to and sent over a boat instead.

  Ryan returned and reported,

  “The smaller one is being loaded with castor oil. They told me they make it on the island and gave me a sample.” He held up a bottle. “They say it’s good for you but tastes bloody awful.”

  “Give that to Shelby then,” Marty replied, “and the bigger ship?’

  “Dutch trader going to go to the south to fill up with salt. She’s no spring chicken and worth practically nothing.”

  Marty shrugged and ordered them to get under way. They would make their way across the twenty-five miles of water to Curaçao, round the little island on the East tip, and make their way up the South coast looking in on the many landing places. They would need to be careful of a pair of sandbanks and a sunken rock near to Fort Amsterdam, but other than that, it was relatively simple sailing.

  Chapter 19: A Diplomatic Solution

  With the prevailing current and wind, the merchantmen could still only make seven to eight knots at best, so they made the crossing in a little under four hours. They rounded Little Curaçao, a small island on the southern tip of the main island, and slowly made their way up the coast.

  This island was very different than Bonaire with a ridge of hills ranged up the centre, trees fringed the lower slopes at the Eastern end, and there was a fresher, greener look to it.

  The first sign of inhabitation was a castle near a bay marked as the Fuyr on the map. Marty examined it through his telescope and saw men manning the guns on the walls. A puff of smoke as one fired and seconds later, the sound. The shot fell harmlessly half a cable from them, but it was a clear signal to stay away.

  Antisocial lot! thought Marty and maintained a steady course.

  Next was Santa Barbara bay, a safe anchorage accessed by an inlet that ran Northeast. Hard to get into with the prevailing wind but easy to get out of. The guns from the castle covered that as well, so they just had a look and kept going. They could see that several small craft were anchored up inside, they could probably row their way in, but there was nothing worth taking a risk on.

  The harbour of St. Ann was coming up next and the entry to the harbour was protected by Fort Amsterdam. There was a small town around the inlet called Willemstad. Marty kept a careful eye on the fort as he read in the gazette that Blye temporarily captured it the year before and he expected the Dutch to be wary of any strange ships.

  There were, again, men manning the guns as they approached, but this time no shot came. He ordered them to heave to and had the lookouts have a good look into the harbour. Almost immediately, a boat under sail came out of the harbour and headed their way.

  It came up on their leeward side and hooked onto the chains. A man in uniform shouted up for permission to board.

  “Permission granted,” Marty called down.

  “Captain Stanwell, I assume,” the man said as he made the deck, and when Marty confirmed that he was, “Colonel de Vier, Royal Dutch Marines.” He introduced himself and snapped a short bow.

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Marty said curiously.

  “I regret to inform you that we have been notified that you have been declared persona non grata and are not welcome in any of our harbours,” De Vier stated in a formal way.

  “Oh? And why is that?” Marty asked.

  “We have received information that you wish to disrupt trade and to overthrow the normal order of things here in the Caribbean.”

  “Let me guess. A certain American called de Faux told you that?” Marty replied with a slight sneer to his voice.

  The colonel’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the statement.

  “You know of Mr. de Faux?”

  “Yes, and he’s no more an American than I am,” Marty told him.

  “He is a respected trader in these waters. He has been here for years,” the Colonel scoffed.

  “Maybe, but in the windward islands, he is marked as a pirate and an agent for the French government. Was he limping the last time you saw him?” Marty replied.

  “Yes, in fact, he was. He was using a cane to help him walk.”

  “That was because he caught a load of shards from a grenade I threw into the middle of a conclave of privateers and pirates he called to organise them against the British. Would you attend me in my cabin?” Marty asked, deciding that now was a good time to reveal some truths.

  “Mr. Ackermann, would you be so kind as to signal Captain Graumans to come over, please?”

  Once in the cabin, Marty had them both served with wine as they sat waiting for Pieter to arrive. Blaez sat beside Marty and eyed the Colonel suspiciously.

  “That is a Hollandse Herder, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. He was a gift from a friend near Den Hague. He is a wonderful dog and very loyal,” Marty replied, stroking Blaez’s head.

  “You were in Holland?” the colonel asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” was all Marty said.

  The sound of a bump as a boat came up against the hull alerted them that Pieter had arrived, and he came down the steps to Marty’s cabin at a run.

  There was a knock at the door and Marty called, “Enter!”

  Pieter entered and looked with surprise at the colonel,

  “Hans, is that you?” he cried.

  “My God! Pieter?” De Vier replied.

  The two men hugged and shook hands, exchanging a stream of Dutch so fast that Marty had no hope of following it. It sounded like they were growling at each other. He let them carry on for a couple of minutes then coughed to get their attention.

  “I am sorry Martin, but this is my friend from when I was at school, Hans de Vier. We haven’t seen each other since we were sixteen or seventeen!”

  Marty smiled benevolently; this was going to be easier than he thought.

  “Pieter, why don’t you tell Hans about how you got here, your dealings with de Faux, and why you are now working with me.”

  Hans sat and listened while Pieter told him his story. He did it in Dutch, so Marty excused himself, went up on deck, and made sure both boat crews were passed down refreshments. He then chatted to Ackermann and Paul.

  After ten minutes, he went back down to the cabin. Both men were still chatting in Dutch but switched to English as he entered.

  “From what Pieter has told me, we have been duped by Mr. de Faux or whatever his real name is. Did you hang his informant at English harbour?” Hans asked.

  “Yes, he was tried by the Navy and executed.”

  “And what is your relationship to the Navy?” Hans asked shrewdly, “I can assure you of my confidence. I am no lover of the French.”

  Marty looked at Pieter, who nodded then got up and went to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out his commission. It was time to gamble big, and he had made sure that only his men were on the quarterdeck and able to overhear what was being said.

  “Pieter doesn’t know this either, although I think he suspects,” Marty said and smiled at him, “I am Captain Martin Stockley of His Majesty’s Royal Navy’s Intelligence Service. My mission is to disrupt the piracy in the Caribbean that is tar
geted at the British and her allies. One of which, I hope, will soon be the Dutch.” He handed his commission to Hans, who scanned it and handed it back.

  Pieter whistled and said,

  “I thought your ships ran way to well to be just privateers. Are all your men Navy?”

  “No, just a core of around one hundred. The rest are all civilians,” he looked at them both intently. “I am telling you this, Hans, because I want you to know that I am not lying about de Faux. If you listen carefully when he speaks, you can hear certain words that he pronounces with a strong Nantes accent. He sent men to kill me in Martinique- none of whom lived to explain why they failed. When I identified the leader of those men was his man, I killed him and blew up the conclave. Pieter can tell you about that as he was there.”

  “He already has. It was an effective ploy,” Hans stated, “and he told me about the five-ship trap and your honourable conduct and treatment of the prisoners.”

  Marty nodded and replied,

  “I do what I have to in order to get the job done. Sometimes honour comes second. Now, what are we to do about de Faux?”

  “It’s not just de Faux. The Burgermeester of Bonaire is on shore and telling everyone how you stole ships and blew up innocent traders. He is a greedy fool and has been making money from trading stolen goods for years. As long as he doesn’t actually break any Dutch laws or trades in stolen Dutch goods, he has been allowed to get away with it.”

  “Is de Faux still here?” Marty asked eagerly.

  “I’m afraid he left two days ago,” Hans replied with a shake of the head.

  Marty swore but had an idea that he wanted to put forward.

  “We have taken back pretty much all the islands the politicians gave away to get the peace, which makes Britain the dominant power in the Caribbean and I am pretty sure we will return Aruba to you once we are officially allies. I can talk to the admiral in charge of the West Indies and ask him to order that Dutch ships are left alone, but in return, we want a stop to the trading of pirated ships and their cargo. Can you talk to the powers that be here and get that agreement?”