“Which makes them fair game.” James observed with a feral grin.
“Absolutely. Now the Royal Navy is spread very thin over there and cannot hope to be able to escort every convoy, let alone single traders making it easy pickings for the pirates.” Marty continued. “We are going to get in amongst them, find out where their bases are and eliminate as many as we can.” Marty continued.
“Are you part of the Navy?” Shelby asked.
“Yes, but that is all I can tell you for now.” Marty explained.
Shelby thought about that for a minute or two.
“Answer me one question then,” he asked. “If you are Royal Navy, why do you need a letter of marque?”
Marty looked at him steadily for an uncomfortably long time.
“I want you word of honour that anything I tell you from this point on will never be repeated to anyone.”
Shelby looked a little startled but then gave his word. Marty then explained their role and involvement with the Intelligence Service and their mission.
“Now I fully understand if you object to being involved on the grounds of honour or whatever and will put you on the first ship bound for England that we meet.” Marty concluded still giving him the same flat stare.
“Oh, my no! I mean certainly not! No don’t do that!” Shelby spluttered. “This is just what I need, and this trip will further my studies into tropical diseases.”
Marty looked at him quizzically.
Shelby sighed and explained.
“I was married to my childhood sweetheart, but I got so tied up in my studies that I neglected her. We were never wealthy, because I spent more time researching than practicing professional medicine, so she couldn’t even circulate with the ladies of her own class as she was ashamed of her wardrobe and appearance. In the end she met another man, fell in love and left me. I was, and still am, devastated by that and must admit that I immersed myself in my studies to an even greater extent. My friends tried to lift me out of it but I wasn’t interested and so they too started to leave me in my misery. Only two stayed in touch, one of whom, probably, introduced me for this position knowing that I would be attracted to the chance to study in the tropics first hand.
I have now rediscovered my love of medicine in general and am fascinated by the challenge life aboard a ship presents. The mission is intriguing, and I must confess somewhat exciting.”
Marty grinned at him and raised a glass.
“Then I propose a toast. To excitement, discovery and rejuvenation!”
They drained their glasses to heeltaps and banged them on the table for refills.
Marty awoke before dawn as usual and took the time just to lay in his cot and feel the way the ship was handling. He could hear the watch coming up on deck and before they were called to quarters (even though they weren’t Navy he did that as a precaution) he got up and dressed. He climbed up on the quarterdeck and quietly checked the log and the compass. If he was right, they should be around half way across the Bay of Biscay. The weather was fair, and he could see high scudding clouds just showing in the pre-dawn light passing from the West.
He watched as the horizon turned first grey, then started to brighten and was surprised when the lookout called.
“Sail Ho! Fine on the Larboard Quarter! About a mile away!”
He grabbed a telescope and climbed up on to a carronade, steadying himself on a stay.
He spotted it almost immediately. A brig flying the French flag.
“Three points to Larboard! Load the Larboard guns, chain shot!” He cried.
He leapt back onto the quarterdeck and was met by James who had left his cot and rushed on deck to see what was afoot.
“French brig, looks like a merchantman but I’m not sure about that.” Marty told him. “He hasn’t seen us; we are still in the shadow.”
Marty was right the sun hadn’t risen enough yet to show them and he thought that they could close to within half a mile before they were spotted if they were lucky.
“Carronades load with cannister over ball and target his quarterdeck then rigging once we are within two cables.”
‘Time to show them and the crew our new colours,’ Marty thought with a smile. He had secretly had a new flag made and now sent James down to his cabin with instructions to fetch it from where he had left it. James was back in minutes with the package.
“Raise it on the mizzen,” Marty instructed.
The flag soared up the lanyard. It was black and emblazoned on it in white was a fighting knife depicted point down through a skull over a pair of crossed pistols. As it unfurled a cheer went up from the men and they shook their weapons or gun tools in the air.
Tom appeared and he was carrying Marty’s fighting harness and a silk shirt. Marty changed into the shirt and Tom helped him into the harness. When Marty was set, he held out his double-barrelled pistols.
“Loaded and primed,” he growled as he handed them over.
Blaez jumped up from the deck and came to stand by Marty. He had his spiked collar on and looked fierce. Marty patted him on the head and thanked Tom for both of them.
Marty checked the range and saw that there was some frantic activity on the deck of the brig.
“Take in the mains! Topsails and royals only.” Marty commanded in preparation to engage.
John Smith had taken over the wheel and Tom was down commanding the main guns. He had the quoins almost all the way out to send their chain into the brigs rigging.
“Bring her up beam to beam John,” he barked over his shoulder.
The Tempest swung so she was sailing on a slightly converging course with the brig at around four cables so she could bring her main guns to bear. Marty looked at Tom and nodded.
“By Broadside,” he bellowed and then paused waiting for the ship to start the up roll, “FIRE!”
The twelve-pound guns went off almost together, the chain howled across the gap and thrashed through the brigs rigging. The effect was satisfying as stays were cut and the main yard was sent crashing to the deck, but the brig wasn’t finished, and her gun ports swung open. Marty watched with almost detached interest as her guns were run out. He counted nine nine-pounders which spouted fingers of flame, followed by a cloud of smoke.
Tom had his crews reloading when the French shot howled through the rigging. A couple of blocks fell, one barely missing one of the ship’s boys. The marines in the tops got away without injury as the French had fired a little early on the roll and their shot went through at around main yard height.
John had closed the gap while the guns were being reloaded and as soon as he saw they were ready, swung the wheel for them to fire. The second broadside was even more devastating than the first. The brig’s foremast took a direct hit above the futtock shrouds and snapped off, falling over their larboard side. The sails on the main were both shredded.
The French guns ran out again. That was fast. Marty thought. Too fast for a merchant. The muzzles blossomed with fire and part of the transom disappeared in a shower of splinters leaving several men lying on the deck wounded.
They were now two cable apart.
“Carronades!” Marty ordered.
CHUFF-BOOM they spoke almost simultaneously. Marty was pleased that the gun captains had obviously agreed that the forward one would target the Mizzen mast and the aft the quarterdeck.
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Marty thought as the smoke cleared and he could see that the quarterdeck was no longer manned, and the mizzen was wobbling.
Tom had reloaded the twelves with grape and as John closed the gap to a cable let go the broadside straight at their gun ports.
CHUFF-BOOM the carronades spoke again and this time they both aimed to sweep the deck.
At near pistol shot, there was a ripple of fire from the swivels mounted along the rail and grapnels sailed across to put the brig in a death grip. Paul La Pierre was marshalling the boarders.
The ships ground together, and Marty called.
“BORDERS AWAY!
”
“YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEEEEHHHAAAAA!” came the battle cry from the former Larks as they swarmed over the side onto the French deck.
Marty was almost the first over, had his sword in his right and a pistol in his left. A screaming French sailor launched himself at him swinging a cutlass in a huge roundhouse blow which Marty ducked under while skewering him through the abdomen with his sword.
A second later a boarding pike passed about an inch in front of his nose from his right, followed by a scream. A glance showed him that Blaez had his jaws clamped on the unfortunate man’s arm. Marty ignored him as he was no longer a threat but turned his attention to a new assailant coming in from his left.
This one looked more dangerous as he was advancing in a controlled way and looked as if he knew how to use the, what looked like, a three-quarter length rapier. A gentleman’s weapon.
Marty turned to face him cocking his pistol against his forearm. He raised it, pointing straight at the man’s face.
“Yield.” he said in French.
The man stopped dead and after looking into Marty’s eyes lowered his weapon and stepped back. Marty turned away as he saw a movement at the edge of his vision and parried a blow from a marlin spike that was aimed at his head. He shot the man at point blank range though the centre of his chest.
A warning shouted in his mind and he spun back to the ‘gentleman’ just in time to knock a thrust from his sword aside with his pistol barrel. They faced off.
Marty dropped the pistol and drew his knife, dropping into a fighting stance.
His opponent feigned an attack in low, which Marty parried with his hanger, and then followed up with a main gauche that he had hidden behind his back.
Marty blocked with his knife and disengaged.
The circled counter clockwise. Marty wasn’t aware but the fight was over around most of the ship and the men from both sides were watching.
He stepped in and attacked high, swinging for the eyes.
His opponent parried, letting Marty’s blade slide up and over his head and instead of backing away, stepped forward to attack with his left.
Marty caught the blade with his knife and the two men ended up face to face, their swords locked above their heads and their knives locked between their chests.
Marty grinned and headbutted him on the bridge of the nose.
His opponent staggered back, stunned by the unexpected blow.
Marty stepped in to run him through the heart with his hanger, but a blind swing slapped his blade away.
The main gauche slashed around keeping him at bay.
Blinking his eyes free of tears, his opponent resumed the on-guard position. Blood ran from his nose which was obviously broken. ‘That has got to hurt.’
Marty defended a two-handed series of attacks as his opponent tried to finish the fight. It ended when he stepped on an eyebolt and momentarily lost his balance.
Marty thrust with his sword piercing his neck, cutting the carotid artery sending a spray of blood across the deck. He followed up with slash of his knife that all but decapitated the man.
There were cheers from The Tempests and groans from the French.
The brig was theirs. The man Marty had fought was the Captain who hadn’t been on the quarterdeck when the carronades had spun their deadly load.
She was the Faisan and was a country ship dressed up to look like a merchantman to trap unwary British ships. They stripped her of everything of value or that might be useful then sailed her down to Gibraltar.
Shelby went over and treated the wounded that could be saved, and they dispatched the ones without hope. Of The Tempests, several had splinters removed and others had cuts stitched. There were no amputations. Marty noted that Shelby cleaned his instruments with brandy, which was flamed off, before every operation.
Once they moored up in the harbour Marty went ashore with Blaez, Tom and Fletcher to find an agent to sell the brig. They called in at Coutts to open an account in his assumed name and enquired after an agent. They were directed to a man called Eldritch who ran a shipyard.
“Good afternoon gentlemen, what can I do for you?” greeted Eldritch as they entered his office.
“We have a prize we want to dispose of, and we were given your name as someone who could help.” Marty said shaking the man’s hand.
“She’s a French built brig, slightly damaged but nothing that a man like you couldn’t put right in a moment.”
“You mean the one moored over by that Jackass Frigate over yonder?” Eldritch asked nodding in the general direction of their mooring.
“That’s the one.” Tom answered.
“If I sell her for you, I want twenty percent of the sale price for my fee.” Eldritch opened.
“She still has all her guns and sails; I think ten percent will be enough.” Fletcher replied.
Eldridge looked at him steadily and held out his hand.
“Fifteen percent and we have an accord.”
Fletcher looked at Marty who nodded, “Agreed,” and shook the man’s hand.
“Now get her over here to my yard and I can get her cleaned up ready for sale.” Eldridge said as he poured them all a glass of port.
The three of them left the boatyard slightly worse for wear as Eldridge turned out to be quite generous with his port and wanted to catch up with any news they had of England. They decided that a good dinner was what was needed so they selected a nice-looking restaurant and sat at a table. Blaez plonked himself down underneath and waited for the titbits to arrive.
The proprietor came over and explained what was on offer.
“Tonight, gentlemen you are extremely lucky. We have fresh caught Sea Bream, Flounder and Dabs, lobster and brown crab. On the meats we have a fresh roasted side of beef, young lamb, and some Spanish pork. Can I suggest you have onion soup to set your stomachs up right, followed by flounder cooked in butter with shallots, a selection of meats with potatoes and fresh greens and finish with our special Muscadet Posset and cheeses?”
They could only agree as they were drooling with hunger. They were served with a delicate Spanish white wine to go with the soup. The fish was everything that was promised, delicate, swimming in a white wine and butter sauce with very finely chopped shallots and brown crab meat sautéed into it and served with a salad. The meat course was substantial, with rare beef, pink cooked lamb and, to their surprise, slightly pink pork. They were assured it had been killed just that morning and was perfectly safe. Safe or not it was delicious! Like all sailors they found the vegetables most interesting and the cabbage had been lightly sautéed with nutmeg (one of the most expensive spices you could buy) grated over it. There were carrots and boiled onions as well.
The Muscadet Posset was sweet, alcoholic and refreshing. The selection of cheeses was unusual as they were all local and nothing like the cheeses they got in England.
By the time they finally finished it was quite late and they were so full they could hardly walk. They found a boatman who could ferry them to The Tempest and made it onboard by ten o’clock.
Chapter 23 A Craftsman At Work
The next morning Fletcher went ashore with Shelby to stock up on vegetables, fruit, medicines and livestock for the trip across the Atlantic. Shelby was fascinated by Fletcher’s skill at getting the best possible price and Fletcher was educated by Shelby on what to buy to keep the men healthy. Shelby surprised Fletcher by asking him to help buy a pair of pistols and short sword similar to Marty’s. When he asked him why, he answered that he didn’t feel that he could ask Marty for any of the bodies the others had killed, for him to perform autopsies on but if he killed them himself it would probably be alright.
Fletcher choked a bit on that idea at first, but Shelby explained that one had to know one’s way around a body if one wanted to heal it or mend any damage that had been done to it. He also explained there were gaps in his knowledge that could only be filled by dissection.
They visited the hospital and once he had int
roduced himself Shelby was invited to examine a man with acute stomach pains which he identified as an inflammation of the appendix. He told that he had witnessed an operation by Professor Claudius Amyand in London hospital to remove one. The doctor asked him if he could show them the procedure and Shelby agreed.
Fletcher discovered in himself a morbid fascination to see what they did and made his way to theatre where the operation would take place. He was accompanied by a couple of student doctors and sat in the tiered seats around the central operating area.
The doctors entered dressed in their normal day clothes and the poor patient was brought in on a stretcher which was just placed on the table. Shelby was the only one to wash his hands in brandy that he got from a flask in his pocket. The man on the table was in obvious agony and was only partially sedated by a large dose of Laudanum. Several burly attendants held him down and secured him with straps.
Shelby stepped forward and said. “May I?” The local doctor stepped aside and watched as Shelby carefully made an incision about four inches long in the man’s abdomen, followed by two more incisions through the muscles to expose the intestine. He then inserted a tool that held the wound wide open and swabbed the blood away with a clean cloth. He delicately reached inside the wound with his fingers and pulled up a section of the intestine. Fletcher couldn’t see what he did next, but he was sure he used a piece of catgut to tie something off and then cut it off above the tie. He deposited the severed piece in a dish and then proceeded to stitch up each layer of the abdomen in turn finishing with the skin. He washed the wound finally with brandy and dusted it with sulphur before they bandaged it.
The man was immediately quieter after the procedure and all the doctors shook hands with and congratulated Shelby on his work.
“Will he live?” asked Fletcher as they walked back to the port.
“He has a reasonable chance.” Shelby answered. “The appendix had not perforated so there is little chance of internal infection. He could be up and about in a couple of weeks.”
In Dangerous Company: The Dorset Boy Book 4 Page 18