Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Three privateers will not attack on their own in daylight. The escort would take them down in half an hour. They will not close us while they can be seen. If they do, then they have consorts in their sight but distant from ours.”

  The mate was reading the Commodore’s flag hoist.

  “Escort to close on the convoy to night positions, sir. Frigate Amphion to chase the privateers away. Points up very well, does Amphion, sir; I remember seeing her five years ago when we was off Cork and a merchantman lost her rudder somehow and she headreached on her and towed her off – very tidy piece of work, too.”

  “Do better to keep her close, Mr Mate! Might be they have shown themselves only to attract the escort out of position. Anything reported from the north?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Don’t like it, anyway. Might be that it’s the start of the war and the privateers are still amateurs, as you might say, with much of their trade yet to learn. Just as likely that they have others of their like waiting to find a gap in the escort at night. They will have to come tonight, if they come at all, because we shan’t be here tomorrow! Load the guns and take their crews off watch; they to stand by their guns all night, so to get some sleep while they may. Break out the small arms and issue to all of the navy men in the crew; they know how to use a musket.”

  Septimus was surprised by that last command; he had heard that the navy was short-handed and could not imagine that they would have released sailors to the merchant service.

  “Deserters, sir, like as not, come to earn three times as much and not be flogged for nothing. I do not ask any questions, and they do not offer any answers, and that satisfies us all, Sir Septimus.”

  “My mother was used to say, ‘ask no questions, hear no lies’, I remember, sir.”

  “Exactly so, Sir Septimus. They don’t tell me what they are, and I don’t ask and that keeps us both happy. And sometimes it’s useful. Add to that, the navy trains its men – two years aboard a naval ship and you are a seaman, sir.”

  Then, for hours it seemed, nothing happened. The passengers ate their dinner and congregated in their great cabin, as was normal, and the ship’s routine continued, all unchanged, every hour bringing them six miles closer to the end of the voyage. Captain Kidlington spoke quietly to Septimus, told him that he had arranged for one of the senior men to accompany each of the ensigns on their watch that night, just in case of trouble.

  “Sleep in our clothes tonight, I think, Captain. Just boots off.”

  There came a banging on the cabin door just a couple of hours before dawn. Ensign Rowlands was almost dancing with excitement, his first qualms mastered, it seemed.

  “Up, sir! No lights! Officer on watch believes he can see a small ship slowly closing us, sir. Setting up a welcoming party, sir.”

  Septimus stamped into his boots and strapped his belt on, savouring the weight of pistols and sword, very willing to come to grips with those who would stealthily attack civilians in the night. Peter and Atkins were at the door, ready for work; they were whispering to the boy, Alfred, trying to settle him and put him into a proper place. The four other servants, all batmen and old soldiers, trotted along, fowling pieces at the high port and placing themselves untold to cover the companionway leading down from the open deck.

  “Stay in the cabin, Marianne! Keep well down, no peering out of the scuttles!”

  Septimus bent low, scurried to the stern where he could pick out movement.

  “There, sir, coming up from astern. One small ship, sir. Lookouts can see nothing else in any other direction. One greedy chap, sir, taking a chance.”

  “Left it late, has he not? A bare two hours of darkness to do the business and get out.”

  “Moon has just set, sir. He waited for full dark, I suspect. Good lookout to spot him!”

  “It was indeed, sir. I shall put ten guineas in his pocket in the morning, with your permission.”

  The ship’s master was happy to allow Septimus to reward his man – it saved him having to do so.

  “I shall give my gunners the word at pistol shot, Sir Septimus. Two of the cannonades are set as stern chasers; they are loaded with grapeshot. They should do some good – we can expect the boarding party to be clustered in her bows, ready to jump the moment she comes alongside us. Close your eyes against the guns’ flash when I shout and then you should keep your night sight. Fire at your own choice then, sir.”

  The ship’s captain had the command, civilian or no; that was the law. Septimus acknowledged his order.

  “Quarter, sir?”

  “Not at night and with privateers, Sir Septimus. As far as we are concerned, they are pirates. ‘Enemies of the Human Race’, sir. While they move, kill them!”

  “So be it. You heard the captain’s order, gentlemen? Obey him!”

  The small ship was no more than a dark mass, a shadow in the night.

  “Sails are painted black, do you see, Sir Septimus? There’s a man who was up to no good! Smuggling, you may be sure, and turned to a more profitable lay, or so he hopes!”

  They watched as the little ship came slowly closer then surged ahead, setting more sail for the last few yards when she might well already have been spotted.

  “Gunners, cock your locks! Shoot!”

  Septimus noticed that the ship’s captain used the naval terminology in the stress of the moment – he had trodden a quarterdeck in his time.

  The loud explosions of the guns told him to open his eyes and he pushed forward to the stern rail, pistol in hand. The American was no more than ten yards distant, her bows a mass of screaming wounded and angry men pointing muskets and firing wildly. He made his six shots, one after another aimed low into the crowd. He stepped back and let the man behind him, Lieutenant Curry, he thought, fire left and right, calmly as if in a pistol gallery. They retired and a pair of men with long guns took their place and shot quickly across the few yards of water.

  The screaming intensified but the privateer continued to close. The ship’s crew were firing their muskets now, aiming further back from the bows, hoping to hit the steersman, perhaps.

  “Step back from the guns! Stand clear!”

  They obeyed the captain and watched as the two cannonades were run out again, reloaded in a bare minute, the great advantage of the very short barrel. Nearly three hundred of two ounce balls swept across the smaller ship, killing men and ripping splinters from the deck and bulwarks in a hail of pointed missiles.

  A few musket balls came back; there was a shout of pain near Septimus.

  Captain Kidlington stepped forward, presented a heavy fowling piece, double-barrelled. He hardly seemed to take aim but his shots resulted in further screams.

  “Ten gauge, sir. I use it for wild geese down on the marshes at home. Heavy slugs rather than birdshot, sir. It seems to work on men as well.”

  “Good shooting, Captain Kidlington. They are drifting off course, or so it seems.”

  “Possibly trying to unmask a broadside, sir?”

  “We don’t want that! Captain! Can you bring us alongside her? We should cut their gunners down.”

  The captain shouted orders and men ran to the sheets and seemed to heave the yards around. The ship lost way and the privateer bumped across her stern.

  Septimus yelled and jumped, landing in the mass of wounded men almost ten feet below on the smaller ship; they broke his fall and he scrambled forward, bellowing and waving his working sword. He could hear men behind him, where they should be; first into the fight again, where he should be. He slashed at a dark figure and ran on, the deck barely twenty paces stern to stem; he was almost at the wheel, there was a man there, shouting something and then howling as Septimus ran his sword through him.

  “I think he was saying that he surrendered, sir.”

  “Then he should have learned to speak clearly, Captain Kidlington! If his parents had only brought him up to speak good English, then there would have been no problem!”

  “I fully agree, sir
! For the while, we must make things tidy here, sir.”

  Light was the first need. The privateer carried a stern lantern, as was the law in every civilised country; they lit that first and then called for lanterns from their own ship.

  “Dead over the side! They are pirates and need no burial!”

  There was a series of splashes and the occasional wail that suggested some of the dead were not quite as mortally wounded as was first thought. No matter; two or three minutes in the Atlantic and they certainly would have finished the process of dying.

  “Prisoners to the stern here. Tie their hands; pirates have no honour; their word is not to be trusted.”

  “Some of them need a doctor, sir.”

  A young voice, one of the ensigns perhaps.

  “The navy will send one across at first light, probably. Have we got all of the ones on deck?”

  There was no call to wait, no dissent.

  “Search below decks. In pairs, pistol in hand. Call them to come up on deck; take no argument or delay.”

  Four more of the privateer’s crew were kicked up the ladders over the next five minutes.

  Septimus returned to his ship, reported to the master that all was settled and was waiting his order.

  “There is a naval longboat coming alongside now, Sir Septimus, full of men.”

  A lieutenant hailed them, asking if all was well.

  “They are taken sir, thanks to my gunners and the passengers from the Army. It would be useful if you could supply a crew for my prize, sir. A doctor as well. I have wounded here.”

  The longboat shifted along the hull, put men aboard the privateer and then stretched out back to the escort, presumably to obtain the doctor.

  “What is our bill, sir?”

  The captain was busy setting the ship to rights, and more particularly, to getting her under way to return to her place in the convoy as soon as there was sufficient light to do so safely. He turned to Septimus.

  “None dead, Sir Septimus, or not yet. One of your young men took a musket ball, is bleeding from the chest, but I do not know whether it is more than a flesh wound. One of my seamen has a broken leg and will be lucky to keep it – he was in the way of the gun’s recoil. A pair bruised where they fell, jumping down behind you, sir.”

  “The passengers?”

  “All safe. My steward has confirmed that no stray musket balls penetrated the cabins. We came off very lightly, Sir Septimus.”

  “We did indeed, sir, courtesy of your gunners, I believe.”

  “You and your soldiers played a part, sir, as I shall tell the owners when we berth. Our agent will no doubt send the report by the Post Office packet and it will be known in London inside a month. Is it normal for senior officers in the army to carry quite so many pistols, Sir Septimus?”

  “Perhaps not, sir, but very useful on occasion. Where is my ensign, sir? I must see to his needs.”

  Mr Rowlands was laid out on a pair of blankets in the great cabin, shirt and coat saturated, crimson, and in some pain, but breathing freely and with no blood bubbles at his lips, which was a hopeful first sign.

  “A musket ball, I believe, Mr Rowlands.”

  “I think so, sir. It felt like a horse kicking me, so hard a blow! On the side of the chest, sir, which may not be so bad, I think…”

  “Far better to the side than in the middle, Mr Rowlands. There will be a naval doctor here soon; a boat has gone to fetch one. Is that the poor fellow who had his leg broken, lying next to you?”

  Mr Rowlands did not know; he had not had time to consider other people’s woes.

  Septimus spent a few minutes in his own cabin, assuring wife and children that all was well with him and that the ship was quite safe.

  “Mrs Colonel Younghusband not here, Marianne?”

  “She returned to her own cabin as soon as all was well, husband. She said that she must set the children a proper example; they must learn not to be panicked, she said.”

  “Right in its way, of course. A little colder blooded than I might wholly approve of. Were the children frightened?”

  “They did not like the noise especially, but Sarah very much wished ‘just to peer out on deck’ so that she might see what was happening in order to write it in her commonplace book. She says she will ask Mr Boatswain, for he is a very polite man who will always explain to her just what is happening on deck, and he will have seen everything.”

  “And Jack?”

  “He sat and waited at my side. He was quite content, I think, to simply listen. I do not believe he will wish to go as a soldier, Septimus.”

  “There will be no need for him to do so, I hope. It is not the life I might wish for him, in any case. There are better ways to spend one’s days, or so I suspect. I am growing old, my dear. Ten years ago and I would have revelled in this night’s work; now it is necessary and I do what I must, but I can think of far better ways of spending my time! I must see to young Rowlands. He is wounded, in the chest. It may not be mortal, I do not know, but one can never be complacent of a ball in the abdomen.”

  The doctor said the same.

  “Heart is clearly untouched, for he is alive. None of the great arteries are severed, by the same definition. His lungs are whole – no blood at the lips, no sucking at the wound. Yet the angle of the wound suggests the pleura to have been penetrated, and that cannot be other than a cause for alarm. The ball left the body – there is an exit wound, which is a source of thanks. I dare not probe the wound for cloth or other foreign bodies – I know not what harm I might do if I took that risk! Thus, I must say, Sir Septimus, that if there is no contamination, and if the ribs did not spread bone splinters in the chest cavity, and if the boy is lucky, then he will not die, but the chances are not in his favour. Of five I saw in his condition, I would be surprised, pleasantly so, if two ever left their beds again. He can be taken ashore as soon as we reach harbour, which is an advantage, for you will be able to fee a doctor to sit with him; provided there is no mortification he has a chance. You will know within two or three days.”

  Septimus interpreted the doctor’s words as meaning that the boy was almost certain to die, which was unfortunate indeed. He did not like to lose an ensign in the first weeks of a posting.

  Daylight came and they resumed their place in the convoy, their prize immediately astern and with a Red Duster flying above the American flag, signifying that she had been taken by a merchant ship, much to the entertainment of the others in the convoy. The convoy commodore sent his launch to beg them to lead the convoy into Halifax, in the place of honour, recognising that he must act graciously.

  The Governor was standing at the quayside when they berthed, to make a show of congratulations and celebration. Septimus was made welcome, the Governor convinced that this first encounter of the war could only be a good omen, a portent of the many successes he had no doubt so notable a soldier was to achieve in his time in Canada.

  # # #

  Thank you for reading Book Five of the “Man of Conflict Series.” Book Six’s projected release date is spring, 2017. In the meantime, please take look the author’s other novels listed on the following pages.

  By the Same Author

  Born in a home for fallen women, at the age of eight the barefooted and waiflike Harry is sent out to work. After years of unpaid toil and hunger, he runs away and is cajoled into believing that the Army is his only option. He joins a battalion that is sent to Africa’s Slave Coast where disease is the biggest killer of men. When the much-thinned battalion returns to England and is disbanded, he drifts into smuggling in order to survive. All goes well until he is betrayed and forced back on the run. Leaving the West Country behind, he enlists in a Sussex regiment which is sent to quell rioting in the north where he faces danger from the angry Mob, and from the rage of a sadistic young ensign who is out for Harry’s blood.

  Universal Kindle Link

  http://viewbook.at/Harry-One

  A Poor Man at the Gate Series: Book One: The Pri
vateersman. Escaping the hangman’s noose in England, commoner Tom Andrews finds himself aboard a privateering ship before fleeing to New York at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is a place where opportunities abound for the unscrupulous. Hastily forced to return to England, he ruthlessly chases riches in the early industrial boom. But will wealth buy him love and social respectability?

  Kindle links to the whole series:

  US/worldwide

  http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man

  UK only

  http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man-UK

  The Duty and Destiny Series: Published in 2014, these superbly-crafted novel length sea/land stories are set in the period of the French Revolutionary War (1793 – 1802). The series follows the naval career and love-life of Frederick Harris, the second son of a middling Hampshire landowner, a brave but somewhat reluctant mariner.

  Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.

  Kindle links to the whole series:

  US/worldwide:

  http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series

  UK only:

  http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series-UK

  When Empires Collide: As The Great War approaches, teenage pilot, Tommy Stark joins the embryonic Royal Flying Corps to train for the conflict. Never far from his mind is his ‘Monkey’ otherwise known as squire’s daughter, Grace. They had been friends since childhood, and as war looms their friendship blossoms into something deeper. With flying exams passed, Tommy is sent to France with the Corps as it haphazardly plans to do battle in the skies above Europe.

  Universal Kindle link:

  http://viewbook.at/Innocents-one

  A Victorian Gent: Studious but naïve Dick Burke is hoodwinked into marrying the wanton daughter of an aristocrat who just seven months later produces a son! It’s the start of a long humiliation that sees Dick flee to America as the Civil War looms. Siding with the Union, the conflict could be the making or the breaking of him.