by Smith, Skye
Before the crew could jump to Mick's words, Daniel yelled out, "Belay that! Keep your oars out of sight until I give you the order. I want to draw the bitch in closer to us before we turn into the river channel.” Sure enough, the brigantine began to move slowly towards them under light sail. It certainly looked like the same ship that had chased them out of Holland. "Run up our colors Rob. The English flag this time."
The minutes passed like hours as the Dutchman came closer, within an eighth of a mile. "Mick!” Daniel yelled forward, "is the Dutchman inside the outer bank yet?"
"Aye, just!” Mick yelled back. "Aye, she must be, she's running out her own oars."
"Then you've got command Mick. Take us through the channel,” Daniel called out loud enough for everyone on the ship to hear. Especially the oarsmen who were standing by their oars, and getting ready to push them out and then use them from a standing position. "Run out your oars and take your orders from Mick. Everyone to the oars.” He and Rob leaped down from the aft castle and each ran to an open oar position. The only two men now not on oars were the helmsman at the rear and Mick on the bow.
"Starboard oars dig! Larboard oars rest!” Mick called out, and almost immediately the nimble ship began to turn towards shore and into the river channel that cut through the inner banks. "All oars, dig!"
They picked up speed towards the river mouth, which gave rudder control to the helmsman who did his best not to interfere with the steering that Mick was doing with the oars. Instead he kept an eye on the Dutchman, now right behind him, and yelled out to Mick what she was doing. "They've reefed the last of their sails and they've got at least ten oars aside in the water!” And then at the top of his lungs, "Cannon smoke!"
It was the call they had all feared the most. The Dutchman's bowchaser could blast a ball from one end to the other of the Swift, splintering every timber and man in its path. It was senseless to duck, so everyone kept rowing. "A warning shot!” the helmsman yelled out as a funnel of water splashed up well ahead of them in the channel.
"Larboard oars, dig, starboard oars rest, helm hard a'starboard!” Mick yelled out, in a far less cocky voice. The Swift turned sharply. "Ease off on the oars, let her drift a bit. Alright we are behind the inner bar. Evenly now, both sides together, row. Helm, watch for my hand signals, we'll use the rudder to steer from now on.” He motioned starboard, waited, larboard, waited, starboard. "Rudder amidships, We are through to the inner channel. What's that bugger Dutchman doing."
Daniel and Rob shipped their oars and ran back up onto the aft castle to help the helmsman, but the whole time they never took their eyes off the brigantine. She was using her oars to turn in the same direction as the Swift. There was only one reason for her to turn. To bring her larboard cannons to bear so she could fire a full broadside at them. "That answers my question,” Daniel grumbled. "Her orders are to sink any suspicious ships. They don't want word of the convoy spreading in front of them."
"She's run aground!” Rob yelled. "The bitch has run aground while trying to turn!"
There was no stopping the crew from loosing their concentration as they stretched their necks and twisted their bodies to see around the aft castle of their own ship, and sure enough some of the oars clipped each other and tangled. Mick yelled at the oarsmen to stop gawking and get back into the swing, but even he was gawking. The channel the brigantine was in was too narrow for the ship to turn, and her bow had shuddered to a halt. "They've not a gun that can shoot at us!” he yelled out in joy. "They've ruined the sighting of their bowchasers without bringing their larboard guns to bear."
With every stroke of the oars the Swift was pulling north a dozen feet further away from the Dutchman. Daniel yelled to Mick, "Now we are through the wiggly bit, is this channel wide enough for us to raise some sail?"
Mick checked the wind, and then looked hard into the water all about the bow. "Aye, yee can raise the two aft sails. Leave the foresail down until we reach open water again."
Daniel told six men to ship their oars and raise the mainsail, and then he saluted Mick. His clan now ran nine small ships with crews of four or five on each, which meant that almost every man in his clan had spent some time in command. When a simple seaman was put in command of a small sailing ship, even for just a trial watch, or under the eye of a more experienced hand, it changed that man forever. Suddenly all of the bits and pieces he had learned about ships and rigging, wind and currents, ... and men ... all came together at once. All fitted together. He wouldn't trade this crew for the best crew in the Dutch navy, because each of these men could leap to any job going begging and would do a good job of it. Why, because they understood how everything fit together.
"She's trying to back off the bar with her oars,” Rob said with a nod towards the Dutchman. "They'd best be quick about it. The tide is ebbing. If she's not off in the next half hour, she'll be stranded til late afternoon.” Rob stared out over the Wash and saw the sails of the convoy now halfway across the mouth. "Though I suppose her sister ships may come and help her."
"Mick!” Daniel yelled, "come back here and take over the watch. Rob and I have to go below and do some planning.” It was time that the men who commanded their smaller ships had some time commanding their larger one. When Mick reached them, Daniel told him. "Speed. We need speed. We need to get all the way to Newcastle before that convoy reaches Bridlington. Call us back on deck when you reach the Humber."
* * * * *
There were dark heavy rain clouds looming over the western reaches of the Humber as they came within sight of the light house on the end of Spurn Head spit. The Sou'wester which had allowed them to speed along the coast of Lincolnshire was winning the battle for control of the skies with the Nor'easters which had brought so much cold air across the North Sea this winter. Though there was still a good two hours of daylight left, the heavy clouds had made it seem like twilight already, which was why the lighthouse on the head was already lit up.
"Mick, if you and the Friesburn Four were waiting to pass a message to the convoy, where would you be?” It was a question that Daniel and Robert had bandied about for an hour while looking at the chart of the mouth of the Humber.
Mick stared out towards the shore they were passing and then ahead towards the Humber, and then across the mouth to Spurn Head, and all the while he was muttering to himself, which caused his jaw to crack, snap, and crinkle. "I'd pull her in behind the light house on the head, and send some men ashore to keep watch from the light tower. That way you could see the convoy for miles, and at night you could see their lanterns for miles. From the head it would be a quick trip to reach them, and meanwhile you'd be out'a the weather."
"Yeh, that's what we thought too,” Daniel told him. "Make for Spurn Head, and let's see if there is a ship hiding behind it.” He turned to his friend and said, "Rob, it's time for a bit of a ruse. Me and my clansmen will have to stay out of sight, cause we are known in these ports, so you and your men will have to run the ship and pretend to be Dutch. Go on, go and find that military coat of yours. Meanwhile I'll run some Dutch colors up fore and aft, and have the ship's name covered with sail cloth."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Invasion by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-15
Chapter 27 - Letters from the King in the Humber in February 1643
The small ship that had come out to meet them from behind Spurn Head was the same size as one of their own Friesburn ships, but since it was square rigged rather than Bermudan, it needed double the crew to man the oars for the many times that the square rig was wrong for the wind. This one was keeping its place in the tidal currents with eight men on the oars, a man on the tiller, and another in a military uniform standing in the bow.
Robert Blake was standing above them on the aft castle of the Swift and using the hailing cone to speak with them. He was making believe that he spoke little and trying to convince them to speak Dutch instead. Dutchmen rarely learned much English, and why would they, but the
English seamen along this coast all spoke some Dutch. Daniel and his clan were crouched low and out of sight with their dragons cocked, while listening to every word.
"I vus told to expect a message for my admiral!” Rob yelled in falsely accented English, "und vat other reason could you have for sailing out to meet me? Come along side and toss us a line so ve can speak vith softer voices.” Under his breath he spoke to Daniel, who was crouched at his knee, "Something’s put the wind up 'em. Five to one they turn up wind and try to row away from us."
"Don't give them the chance, Rob. They've seen us and you've told them that we know about the message. We can't let them escape."
Rob put the cone to his lips and yelled, "Ve have not time for such foolishness! Come along side, else we have no choice but to blow you out of the vater as spies. There is too much at stake for vord games."
Daniel listened. There was a sound of oars scraping locks and he was to the point of ordering his men to leap up and shoot, when there came the unmistakable sound of the two hulls bumping against each other. A minute later there was a sound of a man scrambling up the boarding net. As soon as that man stepped aboard, Daniel gave the word and his clansmen stood up, manned the swivel guns, aimed their pistols, and waited for the order to fire.
"All of you come aboard!” Rob yelled to the crew of the small ship in accentless English. He already had the first man, the military officer, getting down on his knees on the Swift's deck. "Hop to it. If you don't make trouble you won't earn any. We can't afford to let you loose to tell tales, so we have to take you with us. Come on, hurry up. We just mean to tow your ship north. You'll have it back by tomorrow or the next day."
The oarsmen did not need convincing. There was no arguing against swivel guns loaded with pistol shot. Swivel guns were designed to repel boarders. Even if the pistols all missed them, they would be torn to pieces by the swivel guns. One by one they scrambled aboard and knelt down so their hands could be tied behind them. Once tied they were all searched, disarmed, and then led down into the hold and put under guard. At least it was warmer in the Swifts covered hold than it had been in their small open ship.
Rob's men had leaped aboard the small ship, the "Ella” out of Hull, and had used fenders and lines to snug her up tight to the Swift. Rather than tow her, which would slow the Swift down, they were going to raft her onto the windward side. Rafting her would hurt their maneuverability, but not their speed. It was a straight run north to Newcastle, so they didn't need maneuverability. Leslie came back with a pouch of papers, a weighted pouch, weighted to sink it if necessary. With the officer already aboard the Swift, none on the small ship had thought to throw it overboard.
"Take everything of value off her,” Rob called to his men still on the other ship. "In case we are forced to set her adrift."
"Be a shame to do that, Rob,” Mick said from the helm. "She's a stout little craft and would convert well to our new rigging."
"Aye, but how do we get her back to the Wash? You saw. She needed a crew of nine in this weather. We don't have the men to spare."
While Rob and Daniel took the royalist army captain into the command cabin with them, where they could ask him questions about the papers in the pouch, Mick took charge of questioning the captured crew. Mick with his brutalized face. Mick with his uneducated, illiterate way of phrasing himself. Mick with a wink to the men who were helping him with the questioning. "Who sent you, and what were your orders?” he asked the first man.
The man shook his head and wouldn't speak. Mick drew back his fist, and the man whimpered and braced himself for the hit. It never came. "Take him aft and throw him overboard,” Mick told his helpers. He and the prisoners listened to the howls of protest as the man was dragged away, and up onto the deck. There was a pause, and then a big splash and then the screams of a man overboard which faded into the sounds of ship and wind and waves.
Once his two helpers had returned, Mick turned to the second man and asked "Who sent you, and what were your orders?” All of the prisoners began to speak at once, some yelling out to keep quiet, others telling everything they knew, and some pleading for their lives.
Later, once the army Captain Thomas Metham from Newcastle had been returned to the hold, and with him the man who Mick's helpers had pretended to throw overboard, Mick left his prisoners and joined Rob and Daniel in the command cabin. Mick and Daniel compared the stories from the prisoners, but Rob was still fully busy translating and copying the papers he had found in the pouch. The letters in Dutch and English were simple enough, but those in French and in Latin were taxing his knowledge of those languages. He spoke French well enough from his trade with Normandy, but had never had much cause to learn to read it. He hadn't read Latin since he had learned it at Oxford.
Daniel summarized what he and Mick had found out from the prisoners. The queen's invasion was hoping to land at Kingston-upon-Hull. For that reason, the northern royalist army led by the Earl of Newcastle was camped at Beverly, just a few miles north of Kingston. The governor of Kingston, John Hotham, and his son Captain John Junior were amenable to surrendering the great fortress on the mouth of the Hull as soon as the invasion convoy arrived with their escort of Dutch warships. With the Dutch warships threatening the town, Hotham would have good cause for the surrender, thus not angering Parliament, while setting himself up to receive a barony from the king..
Bridlington was the secondary landing site if the fortress at Kingston did not surrender. It was currently being held for parliament by Hugh Cholmley, the governor of Scarborough, but he was willing to allow the landing in return, not for a barony, but for a knighthood. The diplomatic pouch that Captain Metham was supposed to hand to the Dutch admiral contained letters from Charlie to the Prince of Orange and to the King of France. The Ella was the sole ship waiting for the convoy, and presumably there was no other such pouch waiting at Bridlington.
"I was suspicious of all of this when I first read the reports from our Dutch spies in The Hague,” Daniel told Mick. "Wasn't I Rob?” He looked at Rob. The man didn't look up from his scribbling so he turned back to Mick. "At the time I told the ambassador that landing at Kingston served the king the best. Why would you bother landing at Bridlington, or Scarborough, or Newcastle, if by landing at Kingston you will not only be closer to York but you will gain control of the one fortress that controls all the ships traffic on the Humber."
"So if the Dutch don't find the Ella waiting for them,” Mick asked, "will they continue on to Kingston?"
"No,” Rob said, looking up from his scrawl for a moment. "One of these letters is Charlie's permission for the Dutch fleet to fire on Kingston if that will ensure Hotham's surrender. Without this letter in hand, no Dutch admiral would give such an order, for it would be the equivalent of the Dutch declaring war on England."
"So will the admiral sail up the Humber towards Kingston, in hopes of being handed that letter, or will he sail directly to Bridlington?” Mick asked.
"Kingston,” Daniel told him. "The invaders would be fools not to press Admiral Tromp to sail them to Kingston."
"Bridlington,” Rob corrected. "Think of it from Tromp's point of view. He doesn't know where along the coast the English fleet is. He doesn't know whether he will be fired upon by the fortress at Kingston. He doesn't know how many English warships are in the Humber or at Kingston. He was counting on that information being in these papers. Since we have them and not he, then he has no choice but to make for Bridlington to find out what is happening."
"That will just delay the inevitable for a day,” Daniel said. "He will find out that Kingston is his for the taking and sail back into the Humber."
"But Daniel, a lot can happen in a day. For one thing, it gives us an extra day to fetch the English squadron down from Newcastle to challenge Tromp. Besides which, the Earl of Newcastle in Beverly sent this pouch. He will be waiting impatiently for the Dutch squadron to arrive off Kingston. How long will he wait before he realizes that something has gone wrong? How long
will it take word of Tromp's arrival at Bridlington to reach Beverly, and then for the Earl's response to get back to Tromp. We may have two extra days, not one. And will Tromp even believe the messenger? We, after all, hold the official documents from Charlie's hand."
Daniel and Mick smiled at each other. "Then we've done it?” Mick asked with a grin. "We've stopped the invasion?"
"Nay, Mick,” Daniel told him. "We've just delayed it for a few days. Four English man'o'wars are no match for Tromp's warships. Isn't that right Rob? It's just delayed?"
Rob sat back from the low table. Everything in this command cabin was low. Most men did not even use the low three legged stools, but sat on rush mats on the floor because the ceiling was so low. The table was of a height for a man sitting on a mat. He leaned back against the post behind him and sighed. "You are right, but you don't know the half of it,” he grumbled. He felt completely depressed and defeated by what he had just translated and copied. Their own mission was going quite well, and yet these papers he shown him that their mission meant nothing in the great scheme of things. Absolutely nothing.
He could feel the vibration of the smaller ship grating against the fenders. He had forgotten how stable one of these Bermuda rigged ships became once they were rafted to another ship. Usually on this tack with the wind, the Swift would be heeled over by the sideways force of the wind in the sails, but the second ship was balancing those forces. The deck of this cabin was slightly domed as was any ships deck, and but he was sitting almost level rather than having to brace himself. Perhaps he should hold off telling Daniel the full import of these documents until they had all had some sleep. Yes, that would be best. The stable ship would allow everyone to have a good sleep.
"Spill it, Robby,” Mick told him. "Whatever it is, the secret you're keeping from us has made yer face go grey."
"And my hair,” Rob laughed. He was ten years older than Daniel and fifteen older than Mick, and come September he would be forty-five. His once dark hair was ever more streaked with grey. "All right, I'll tell it to you now, but don't blame me if it ruins your night's sleep.” He pushed at the pile of papers he had been copying and told them, "Some of these letters bore Charlie's seal."