The Captain ordered their fore chasers to fire as they bore as the sails picked up the wind and swung the bow around. He decided he would then continue the turn and bring his larboard broadside to bear.
They fired, and he saw hits on the Englishman’s rigging.
Marty didn’t know how much damage the hit did, but he figured it must have done some as cannon balls didn’t change direction unless they hit something solid. The frigate fired his bow chasers and some of the foremast rigging was cut. Men ran to make running repairs. Marty looked in surprise as the ship continued his turn. He was going for a broadside.
He ran to the side and looked over to the Bethany, which was racing up beside him. He waved at Tarrant and made a T with his hands to tell him to get across the Frigates stern. He got a wave and a thumbs up back. Caroline stood behind Tarrant with Admiral Hood, who was dressed in civilian clothes, and she blew him a kiss.
“We will keep straight at him, John. Steer for his midships,” Marty ordered.
“Keep those fore chasers firing! Reduce sail to fighting topsails! Once he fires, I will swing around so our starboard battery can reply,” he shouted to Ackermann, who passed the orders on to Ryan and the gun captains.
He took a second to look around and see what else was happening. The Bethany was surging ahead now. The Tempest had slowed under the reduced thrust from her sails. The Eagle was homing on the aft galleon, coming up on her leeward side to put her between him and the other frigate which the Falcon was heading straight for. A glance to the North showed the Belle Epoch staying out of the fight for the time being.
The fore chasers fired and before their shot arrived at the frigate, her side lit up in a full broadside. Splashes erupted on either side of them and two balls passed over the deck, one close enough to a sailor for him to drop down dead from the shockwave. The other nicked the main mast in passing tearing a gauge a couple of inches deep out of it.
“Hard to larboard,” Marty called, and John swung the wheel as the sail handlers made their adjustment. The Tempest was a well-oiled machine.
The ports opened and the guns ran out. Ryan waited until they were broadside to broadside then ordered, “FIRE!”
The guns went off in unison, the smoke blowing towards the frigate with the wind. The crews jumped to reload.
As the smoke cleared, Marty could see that John had brought them up to about three cables and the Spanish were about to run out their guns again.
There was a deep boom from astern, and Marty looked to see the Bethany almost astern of the Frigate and only two cables away from it. Smoke was blowing away from the big carronade. Was that Caroline standing behind it?
He didn’t have time to check that out as the Frigate opened fire and this time, scored some hits. The hull shuddered under the impact of a couple of heavy impacts and rigging was cut, falling onto the boarding nets they had slung to protect the crew from just this. He could hear screams as men were wounded, but he ignored them and the shot that blew through the transom six feet in front of him.
The Tempest broadside spoke again and this time, the carronades joined in, sending their big smasher balls across to wreak havoc on the frigates hull. The Bethany fired again as she crossed his stern, and blood ran out of the after gun-ports of the Frigate. Then, as he watched, the Bethany swung away to starboard.
“What the hell…” he started to exclaim when he saw the Belle Epoch was trying to get behind her to rake her stern.
“You bastard, de Faux, I will kill you for this,” he swore.
Meanwhile, the Falcon was harassing the second frigate, which was a thirty-eight called the Barcelona. Pieter was employing hit and run tactics, daring its captain to turn then threatening to cross his stern or bow. He was just doing enough to keep him from joining the fight with the Tempest.
He also saw the Belle Epoch swooping in on the Bethany and breathed a sigh of relief as she turned at the last minute, so the two ships went broadside to broadside. The Bethany’s broadside roared and de Faux suddenly learned how heavily she was armed. His nine-pound cannon were no match for the Bethany’s eighteens and twelves and her thin hull offered no protection from the carronades either.
Onboard the Bethany, Caroline heard the lookout shout the warning that the schooner that was shadowing them was closing in. Forsythe was as cool as you like, letting the carronades send a load of four-pound round shot crashing through the frigates stern before ordering the helm over to bring their broadside to bear on the clipper. The Bethany was extremely nimble and spun on her heal surprising the captain of the other ship.
Caroline staggered against Hood as the ship changed direction and that saved her life. The Belle Epoch fired her broadside, and one of the balls crashed through the transom just feet away from the two of them, sending splinters flying. One large splinter cut through her bodice and silk shirt, slicing through the flesh over her ribs and leaving a bloody gash. If she hadn’t staggered, it would have hit right in the centre of her chest, killing her outright.
She gasped as the pain hit and would have fallen to the deck if Hood hadn’t grabbed her. She shook her head to clear it and wiped the tears from her eyes. She pushed herself away from Hood and stepped over to the rail, anger giving her strength. She looked across at the other ship, which was trying to clew away, and could see the captain standing on what was left of the quarter deck.
It was a long pistol shot, but she pulled the finely wrought Manton pistol from its hook on her belt and pulled the hammer back to full cock. It was a beautifully crafted weapon of seventy-five calibre, with a rifled barrel and front and rear sights. Accurate and deadly.
She steadied herself against the rail and brought the gun up at arm’s length. It was heavy but she practiced and as the gun came to her eye, she already had the bastard in her sights.
She waited a second for the roll to reach its peak and fired.
De Faux was looking straight at the woman dressed in such a startling and stunning way on the quarterdeck of the oversized clipper and saw her raise a pistol and fire. He laughed at the audacity and foolishness and was about to turn away when the seventy-five-calibre bullet smashed into his shoulder, sending him crashing to the deck.
“Oh, good shot!” exclaimed Hood as he stepped from behind her.
“It didn’t kill him,” she grumbled and reached for her second pistol as she watched him crawl across the deck and pull himself upright against the rail. But the range had opened, the Belle Epoch was running away.
Tom had come over and was looking in horror at the bloody gash in her side. “Caroline!” he cried, “You’re wounded!”
“It’s just a scratch,” Caroline replied and promptly fainted.
El Formidiable was a mess. The balls from the Bethany had ripped through her fragile stern and dealt a mortal blow to her gun deck. The four-pound balls had careened through the open space ricocheting of off guns and smashing timbers. Men were literally decimated and the deck was strewn with body parts.
On the quarterdeck, the captain knew he had lost and ordered the flag to be struck. This fight was over.
Marty saw the flag come down and ordered a cease fire. He signalled the Bethany to take control of the stationary ship as once she had seen off the Belle Epoch, she had turned back towards them. As soon as the signal was acknowledged, he ordered John to steer for the second frigate. The Bethany would join them as soon as the prize was secured.
The captain of the second frigate saw what happened to the bigger Formidiable and was coming to the conclusion the gold wasn’t worth it. His ship was old and her bottom foul with weeds, his guns too small to make more than a dent in the over gunned frigate coming up on him, and he was undermanned because of fever. He wasn’t a supporter of the French anyway and thought the government should never have made the treaty with them. The British could have the gold for all he cared. So, he fired a broadside away from the Falcon for honour’s sake and promptly lowered his colours.
It was all over fairly quickly afte
r that. The galleons hove to when the Tempest threatened them with her guns and they soon had all four ships under their control.
Marty made an inspection tour of his ship to thank the men for their efforts and to examine the damage. He was saddened that they lost ten good men during the fight and was visiting the thirteen wounded on the orlop deck to offer them thanks and some words of comfort when midshipman Hart rushed in and gasped,
“Mr. Shelby is required on the Bethany, sir! Your wife is wounded!”
Shelby grabbed a bag and threw some instruments and tools in it and turned to Marty ready to go. But Marty said with an agonised expression,
“See to these boys first.”
Shelby looked at him and replied, “the worst is taken care of. My assistant can take care of the rest until I get back.”
Then one of the wounded who had his head bandaged said, “He’s right, sir. We be fine, go help your lady.” The rest chorused, “Aye, sir,” and “You go.” Marty could have cried on the spot but thanked them and left with the physician close behind.
Once on deck, they found the ship’s boat already at the entry port and manned, the two men tumbled down the side into it. The trip across was a blur and the next thing Marty knew, he was in Caroline’s cabin holding her hand as Shelby removed the temporary dressing that Tom had applied. He then ordered everybody out except Marty and once they were alone, cut off her shirt and undergarment.
Caroline started to protest, but Shelby just shushed her and told her to lie still. He thoroughly examined the gash, which was ragged and deep, then took a bottle from his bag and carefully counted out twenty drops into a glass and poured a measure of brandy on top, swirling it to mix it thoroughly.
“Drink this,” he commanded in a gentle voice.
“Why? What’s in it?” Caroline demanded.
“Laudanum. It will help with the pain and make you a little sleepy,” he replied with a reassuring smile.
“I can handle the pain. I’ve had children,” Caroline replied, eyeing the mixture with distrust.
“Your choice,” he replied and took a large needle and a length of course cat gut from his bag, which he put to one side then fetched out a large pair of forceps. “It should only take twenty or so stiches to close this up once I have all the debris out of it.”
Caroline’s eyes went wide, and she downed the mixture in one.
It only took a minute or two for her eyes to start drooping and become unfocused. She turned her head to Marty,
“I love you,” she slurred, “You are very good in bed, you know.”
Marty coughed and blushed.
“She may say things under the influence,” Shelby told him with a grin.
“Next time,” she continued and started to describe exactly what she would do to him.
Marty was both titillated and extremely embarrassed by her description and was relieved when she finally went to sleep.
“Well, you have certainly got something to look forward to,” Shelby said without a hint of a smile as he went to work removing splinters of wood and cleaning the wound. He then selected quite a small needle from his bag and with some very fine gut, started stitching it back together.
Marty stayed with Caroline until she regained consciousness. She immediately threw up, and Marty had to be quick with the bowl that Shelby recommended he keep handy just in case. He had to support her as she sat to prevent her pulling the stitches out and undoing the good doctor’s work. When she emptied her stomach and settled back down, he told her what she had said. She was horrified that Shelby heard it but smiled wickedly and promised all that and more when they got the chance to be alone again.
“Now, get back to your ship. Tom is here and he will make sure I am cared for,” she told him as she shooed him away. He kissed her and went to the door. Tom was outside leaning on the inside of the hull.
“You know she shot that bastard de Faux?” Marty didn’t and was surprised at the news. “Hit him in the shoulder at long pistol shot with one of those Mantons she carries.”
“Did she kill him?” Marty asked.
“No, last I saw, he was using his other arm to pull himself to his feet. He will be lucky to keep the one she hit though. That’s a big bullet.”
“Well, looks like I’m going to have to kill the bastard myself,” Marty stated then added, “Look after her and try and keep her still for it to heal.”
“I can but try,” Tom replied, anticipating stormy weather ahead.
Marty visited the Formidiable and was met by a grinning Ryan Thompson. He paid the former captain a courtesy visit then unable to restrain himself any longer, stood in front of Ryan and said,
“Well, come on. What has gotten you so happy apart from being in command of a frigate?”
Ryan reached under his coat and pulled an object out from where he had it tucked down the back of his trousers.
“Thought you might like to have this back, sir,” he said and held it out.
It took Marty a second to realise what it was.
“My knife!” he exclaimed and took it with a slightly shaking hand. He drew it, and the Damascus pattern in the blade glinted as he turned it.
“Hello, old friend,” he crooned as he felt the familiar weight in his hand.
“Thank you,” he told Ryan sincerely, “Where did you find it?”
“One of their bosun’s mates had it on his belt. Luckily, it was Antton that was searching him, and he recognised it before he chucked it over the side.”
Marty undid his belt and replaced the knife he bought in Jamaica with it.
“There is something else.” Ryan grinned again and led him aft to the captain’s cabin.
“There isn’t much room in here, so you just as well take this,” he said as he indicated a long wooden chest.
“My weapons chest!” Marty exclaimed and knelt to examine the locks, which showed signs of several attempts to force it open.
“The captain was convinced it was full of treasure and had the blacksmith try and open it. They gave up in the end and were going to get a locksmith to open it when they got to Spain,” Ryan explained.
Marty pulled a set of keys from his pocket and fitted one into the left-hand lock, which clicked open after a bit of wiggling and persuasion. He took a different key and opened the second, which gave way quite easily. Inside were his shotguns, carbine and pistols. Of his hanger, there was no sign.
He felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Looking for this, Captain?” said Ryan and held out the missing sword. “I took it off their captain when he surrendered. He was wearing it as if it was his own, cheeky dago.”
Chapter 22: Keeping Hold of The Spoils
All four prizes in place, they set off in convoy towards Jamaica. Marty knew the job wasn’t done until they got the gold home and Jamaica was the first port of call. De Faux, wounded or not, still presented a threat and if Duckworth was right, there was a large French and Spanish fleet at large in the Caribbean.
They had the two galleons and the captured frigates in the centre of the formation with the Tempest at the front leading them home, the Bethany and the Eagle out to the windward side, and the Falcon bringing up the rear.
A very fast inventory and examination of the paperwork they found in the galleons revealed that they had captured around twenty-five tons of gold, fifty of silver, and four chests of pearls. If the courts awarded prize money in the usual proportions, every man jack was rich beyond their wildest dreams. Just in case they decided Pieter and his crew didn’t qualify, he already re-distributed a fair portion amongst the escort ships.
Fair weather saw them enter Port Royal Jamaica to find it full of warships. Next to Duckworth’s flagship was the Victory flying an admiral’s flag. The Eagle and Tempest fired an appropriate salute and as they anchored, the Eagle’s temporary number and ‘captain repair on board’ soared up the Victory’s masts.
Marty quickly changed into his best and by the time he got on deck, his boat was waiting for
him. He looked over at the Bethany and saw Caroline standing at the rail with Tom in close attendance. He could see their boat being made ready and what looked like her trunks being loaded.
At the Victory, he practically sprinted up the batons and as his hat cleared the deck, a full salute was shrilled on the bosuns silver whistles. He heard a challenge made to another boat that was approaching and the reply, “Admiral Hood,” given and knew the old fox was hot on his heels.
They waited until Hood, resplendent in full dress uniform, appeared beside him, and received the honours due his station, then they were both led down to the great cabin. Nelson himself was waiting to greet them with Duckworth hovering expectantly in the background. Marty felt a little overwhelmed being in the presence of three admirals.
They were all invited to make themselves comfortable by Nelson in his high-pitched Norfolk accent, and when they were all seated, a servant came and served them cold glasses of lemonade.
“Admiral Duckworth has told me of your latest mission. I must say I am somewhat envious, judging from the convoy you brought in, I assume it was successful?” Nelson asked.
“Aye, my Lord, the mission to capture the treasure ships and deny Napoleon the gold was successful. Here is my report with the bills of lading included,” he replied smartly.
Hood looked up at the spirit shelf and indicated to the servant to get him a brandy. Nelson gave a slight frown and nodded when the servant looked to him for permission. He was the son of a vicar after all and didn’t approve of drinking spirits during the day.
Once he had a glass in his hand, Hood spoke,
“Captain Stockley has performed his duty with all the flare, initiative, and boldness that I have come to expect from him. He was especially creative in using his new Dutch ally and one of his own ships to complete his mission.”
The Tempest: The Dorset Boy Book 5 Page 18