Courtenay and the Mercenaries

by Brian Withecombe

  On the low headland to the nor’east of the brig, Major Berisford halted his men and looked through a small spyglass at the battery in front of them. It was very quiet. There was not even the sign of a sentry and all he could see in the inky darkness was the rough outline of some shelters or huts where he assumed the artillerymen serving the guns slept and ate whilst on duty. He even fancied he could still smell in the air the remains of their supper. He rolled onto his back and tried to look at his watch. His sergeant crawled up next to him.

  “All quiet sir. Like the bloody grave!”

  “Let us hope it stays that way. Remember the Admiral’s orders Sergeant Fuller. No bloody noise!” He looked again at the watch. “Ah, almost time. I hope Lieutenant Irvine is in place also.”

  Lieutenant Henry Irvine was indeed in place. He had found the battery he was to attack and was spreading his men so that they could swarm over what defences there were and take anyone awake by surprise, not that there appeared to be anyone awake at all in any event. Midshipman Anstey had had the sense to bring a sword with him rather than his dirk, and he now laid it on the grass in front of him, tying the lanyard around his wrist.

  Irvine nodded. “Good lad Toby. Present?”

  “Er,. yes sir. A young lady.”

  Irvine smiled broadly in the dark and slapped him on the shoulder. “Then you will have quite a tale to tell when you next see her, yes?” The Midshipman nodded and swallowed hard.

  All was ready for the next part of Vice-admiral Courtenay’s plan.

  TWELVE

  Major Berisford checked his watch again, then nodded to his sergeant. “Let us go, eh, and no noise!” His sword was already drawn and he now picked it up and hefted it in his meaty right hand, then checked to make sure for the last time that his pistol had the flintlock firmly closed. He rose, turned and looked at the silent Marines behind him, then simply gave a small movement of his hand and the men in their distinctive redcoats with their black leather shakos rose as one, and moved forward towards the battery. Not a sound was made apart from the slight scuffing of boots on dried grass, then they were into the battery itself, climbing over a low stone wall and surprising a sleepy sentry. The man looked on in astonishment at the sight of the grim-faced Marines, but was relieved of his weapons, his mouth gagged and his hands tied, and taken out of the way by a smiling Marine who pressed his sharp bayonet point against the man’s throat and said quietly in a language anyone would understand.

  “Not a sound mate, got it?” He emphasised what he was saying by pressing the bayonet tip against the man’s throat. The man nodded, eyes wide open in sheer terror. The Marine smiled again. “Good, glad we understand each other mate!”

  Berisford’s men moved through the silent battery and looked into the buildings. There were men asleep there on low beds, their weapons conveniently stacked at one side. There was also a small room off the main one and Berisford guessed that would be where any officer would sleep. He gestured to the men to look after the sleeping men and went into the room where a man lay asleep in a more comfortable bed than his men had, and where there was an officer’s uniform hanging over the back of a rickety chair. Berisford smiled, sat down on the bed and pointed his sword point at the man’s throat. The man showed no sign of awakening, so he gently rocked the bed and that woke him. He jerked upright, and felt a sudden pain as the Major’s sword point pushed against his throat. He looked in surprise at the dark figure sitting on his bed and opened his mouth.

  Berisford raised a finger to his own lips, shaking his head in the gloom and looked at the entrance to the room. The bulk of his sergeant had filled it, and there was a huge smile on his face. “All taken care of Major. Lads are going through the other building now.”

  “Good.” He turned to the officer, now leaning back against the wall that was behind his bed. “Now then, do we speak English?”

  “I know a little, yes.” The voice was shaking with terror.

  Berisford smiled pleasantly. “Jolly good show, what? Right then, young man, this is what is going to happen. Neither you or any of your men will make a sound, understand? We have not had to hurt anyone yet, and my orders are that no-one is to be hurt unless they resist us. You know who we are?”

  “No sir.”

  “We are His Britannic Majesty’s Royal Marines, that is who. We are not known for our kindness to anyone who gets in the way of what we have to do, and right now, what we have to do is to take this battery silently and to stop you and your men making any noises. If you disobey…” The man recoiled as Berisford gave an evil smile and drew a finger across his throat. “Believe me young man when I say all my men are trained killers. Do nothing, behave, and all will be well and you will be free again soon safe and sound. Do you understand me?” The man nodded, clearly still terrified. “Good, then we shall get along well.” He turned again as his sergeant returned.

  “All under control Major. Some of them, er, found the need to relieve themselves suddenly when the lads woke them up. They are clearing up the mess now!”

  “Jolly good sergeant. Well, with everyone trussed up like the proverbial Christmas Turkey, I suppose we can sit back and wait to see what the Admiral does, what? Just make sure there is no drink around first.”

  “All done sir.”

  “Good man sergeant. Very well, secure this agreeable young man and place him with his men and then we can await further developments.”

  On the other low headland, Irvine rose, patted the Midshipman on the arm and said, “Time Toby lad.” He moved forward and the line of seamen spread out from him moved towards the stone wall that constituted the defences for the battery. Each man had been hand-picked and for the most part they had relied on moving quietly to earn their living before they had either been pressed into the King’s service, or, more unusually, volunteered. There were thieves, poachers, gamekeepers and even one or two who had admitted to causing the early departure from this world of certain people. Now, they all served the King.

  The men silently crossed the wall, and there was a quiet thud as one of the men brought a cudgel down on some unsuspecting sentry’s head. There was one building, a short distance behind the guns that looked out over the roadstead and also the bay. Another man rose from between two of the guns, looked at the men advancing on him in the dark, with what light there was shining on naked cutlasses, and immediately started to open his mouth to scream a warning. He never got there. Irvine was on him in two fast strides, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Not a word, got it?” He rammed the point of his sword against the man’s Adam’s Apple and the man knew what he meant all right. He nodded. “Mr Anstey? Search that building, you know what to do. Smack about it lad!”

  Anstey grinned in the gloom and beckoned to the rest of the men to follow him. They entered the low building and surveyed the sleeping men. “Mr Rivers? Wake ‘em up, and then tie ‘em up good and proper.”

  Rivers, a Bosun’s Mate, smiled evilly. “Can’t we just slit their throats Mr Anstey sir? Save the rope like?”

  Anstey sighed. “No Mr Rivers, you cannot, much as I know you would like to, but the Admiral was at pains to explain why he wished no-one to be harmed. And do not forget that man out there that you hit.”

  “Aye aye sir. OK, lads let’s wake them from their sleepy-byes!” All the men in the hut were rudely awoken and some, seeing the grim eyes of the sailors standing over them with their cutlass points pressing into their throats began sobbing hysterically. “Jesus!” exclaimed Rivers. “What do we have here, a bunch of babies?”

  The ‘babies’ were trussed up and sat down in a corner of the hut, where they were joined by the two from outside. There did not appear to be any officer.

  Irvine said quietly to the Midshipman, “No officer Toby? That is unusual. Should be one around somewhere.” He turned to Rivers. “Two men on guard outside Mr Rivers and the rest in here. We are going to look for their officer.”

  “Aye aye sir.”

  The two men went outside and look
ed carefully around the rear of the hut and searched the rest of the battery. They were standing at the back, looking towards the small town when Irvine thought he heard a noise down a small track that obviously led from the battery along the headland to the town. Drawing his sword again, he motioned Anstey to follow him and they both walked slowly and quietly along the path. The noise grew a little louder and then Anstey gave a broad grin as he detected a woman’s voice, speaking very quietly and in something of a passionate manner. Irvine turned, looked at Anstey and smiled even more broadly, then they both moved further along the path until they were to one side of the noises they had heard. They moved off to the side, then stopped at a small clearing in the dried grass where a man and a woman were clearly enjoying themselves. There was a uniform tunic on the ground, and clearly it belonged to an officer. Neither of them heard the approach of the two Naval officers.

  The woman suddenly opened her eyes, saw that she and her man were not alone was going to scream when Irvine placed a finger against his lips, smiling as he did so in an understanding way. The man saw the expression on the woman’s face, looked around and rolled away. He scrambled to his feet, breeches tangled around them, but saw two sword points at his chest. He looked at the two men in the blue uniforms of the Royal Navy and sank to his knees, holding out his hands in an imploring manner, clearly thinking that he was going to be killed on the spot. The woman, adjusting her dress, looked at him with something approaching contempt and even went so far as to spit on the ground in front of him.

  “Do either of you speak English?” asked Irvine.

  “I do.” The woman said. “I have had lessons from a Missionary.”

  Irvine smiled and bowed to her slightly. “Good evening Ma’am. Who I am is not important, but we are from His Britannic Majesty’s Royal Navy and for the time being, you are our prisoners. Forgive us if we have to apply gags, but we cannot have you making any sounds.” Irvine and Anstey tied the hands of their prisoners and applied gags, then led them back to the battery much to the amusement of Rivers.

  “So that’s where their officer got to sir.” he said. “Havin’ a bit of fun, like, whilst his men were supposed to be keeping watch. I don’t know sir, it’s all right for some, init?”

  Irvine gave him a withering look and went out to join Midshipman Anstey, who was staring out across the anchorage. Although it was a dark, moonless night, they could just about see the shapes of small boats that were moving away from where they knew the captured brig was anchored in the direction of the ‘Spanish’ frigate.

  “Get the rocket ready to fire Toby.” said Irvine. “If the Admiral is able to do his part, he will wish to know we have done ours.”

  Down in the anchorage, the boats containing the rest of the boarding party had left before that in which Courtenay was travelling, and Lieutenant Hawkins had gone at the same time, but had sheered away so that he could attack from the bows.

  Courtenay’s boat came level with the entry port, and he pulled himself up and onto the stairs, which he had noted were badly maintained. The ropes were greasy and far from the white they would have been in a proper Navy ship. Trafford came after him and silently they rose to the top. Courtenay had expected a guard to have seen him and to have issued a challenge in which case he had an answer ready, but no-one did, not until he reached the top, when a surprised man suddenly rose from where he had been sitting and levelled a musket at him.

  “Captain Samuels, come to see your Capitaine.”

  “Que?”

  Courtenay was going to reply, when there was the slight bump from up forrard that told him Hawkins men were arriving, so instead of saying anything, he grabbed the barrel of the musket, yanked it away from the man’s grip and swung it across his face and head. The man collapsed like a pack of cards. Courtenay turned and looked down into the boat. “Get up here lads, follow your orders!”

  The men swarmed up the stairs and through the entry port, at the same time as the first of Hawkins’ men, with the Lieutenant the first to board, came over the bows and surprised the anchor watch. There were some yells and the clash of steel on steel was clear. Courtenay’s men dropped to the main deck below the gangway just as Courtenay heard the boats on the other side coming alongside and soon more of his men were swarming over the gangway and down onto the main deck. They started securing the hatches and companions, so that no-one could get on deck, but someone must have realised all was not right because suddenly a small party of men appeared from a companion yelling and waving weapons. Courtenay spun round as there was a pistol shot from the bows, then a scream as someone was cut down.

  He motioned to Trafford. “Get three men Alex and come with me. I want to get Peron before he can rally his men!”

  Trafford called to some of the men who had come up the stairs and together they all plunged down the companion that would take them to the Captain’s cabin. As they did so, a man appeared, half-dressed, and waving a pistol, although it was obvious he did not know what was happening. Courtenay jumped the last few steps and knocked the man flying. His pistol clattered across the deck, and Courtenay brought the butt of one of his own pistols down on the man’s head to silence him. A cabin door opened and a man appeared, only to try and shut it again when he realised what was happening. There was a scream from inside that clearly said he had female company, but Trafford kicked the door open and went inside. There was another scream, a loud grunt, followed by the sound of a body hitting the decking, then he reappeared wiping his cutlass on some of the man’s clothing. He turned to one of the men. “Ford, get in there and stop that bloody doxy screaming! Shove something in her mouth and tie her up if you have to!”

  The man called Ford smiled. “Right you are ‘swain!”

  The door of what was clearly Peron’s cabin opened and the man stood there, sword in one hand and pistol in the other. He saw Courtenay, recognised him immediately, and raised his sword. “Well, if it is not Capitaine Samuels. You might have called at a more, ah, decent hour, but I suspect that your calling is not a friendly one, judging by the noise of fighting. I suppose you realise that by attacking a ship of His Most Catholic Majesty you are showing yourself to be a common pirate, one who will be hunted down by my country and then hung?”

  “We both know very well, Capitaine, that your ship is not one belonging to your King at all, and if it is anyone who is the common pirate, it is yourself. My name is not Samuels. It is Vice-admiral Courtenay, of His Britannic Majesty’s Royal Navy, and in his name I call upon you to surrender your ship.”

  At the name ‘Courtenay’ Peron’s eyes widened a little, then he smiled, but made no effort to lower his sword. “Courtenay, eh? I have most certainly heard of you, but I have no intention of surrendering. I have more than enough men to fight off the number of men you can call upon from that small brig!”

  Courtenay smiled. “Ah well, the fact of the matter is that when I returned I came with extra cargo. There are men and Marines from my flagship, and from the quiet which seems to have descended on the ship, I would say my men are in charge up on deck.”

  “Yes, but there are all the men below decks Amiral. do not forget?”

  “You can order them to lay down their arms. They will be humanely treated.”

  “I would rather die first!” Peron screamed, and launched himself at Courtenay. Courtenay stood his ground and parried the first blow away. The two men circled each other warily in the small space outside Peron’s cabin, each watching the other carefully, and each time Peron attacked, Courtenay was able to deflect it and then force the other man back. Peron tried a running lunge, and Courtenay stepped aside, allowing the man to blunder past, then to add to his discomfort, he raised a foot and kicked the man in his buttocks so that he slammed against a bulkhead. There were some other noises now, from further along the deck, and as Hawkins came down the companion, Trafford ‘suggested’ he might like to take the other men and investigate.

  Peron gathered himself, pulled himself upright and looked at the s
miling Courtenay with hate in his eyes. Which was wrong. He again launched himself at his antagonist, making a wicked sideways slash with his sword, only to find it pushed away with almost contemptuous ease. He had always prided himself on being a good swordsman, and indeed had killed many a man in swordfights, including more than one duel, but he realised here was someone who just might be better and that did him no good either, because he just became angrier. This time when he launched an attack, he stamped his right foot forward in a more controlled fashion, but his arm swung his weapon in more of a flailing motion, reflecting his anger, and the next thing he knew the sword had been slashed away, and Courtenay’s sword was at his throat. He dropped his weapon. “It seems, Senor, that I am your prisoner.”

  “Yes Captain Peron, you are. I require you to order your men to lay down their arms. I wish there to be no more bloodshed.”

  Peron looked at the sprawled figure of the man Trafford had killed in the cabin off the companion and gave a rueful smile. “Poor Philippe. He had designs on taking over this ship one day.” He looked at Courtenay. “You will not harm any of my men if I do as you say?”

  “You have my word. However, strictly speaking, you and your men are pirates, so you will have to answer to someone at some stage. That is not, however, the purpose of what I have had done here tonight.”