Chapter 8: Shake down to Gibraltar
Slightly over crewed, provisioned and in all respects ready for sea, the Formidiable came up to her anchor and as it broke loose fell off to the wind as her sails filled. The wind was fresh from the Southwest and the sea was slight. The rain had stopped, and the clouds parted to allow the sun to glint off her brightwork and newly gilded gingerbread.
She heeled over as more sail was set and made a fabulous sight as she stayed close to the wind and made her way out of the Medway. Marty watched his family recede into the distance as Caroline and the children stood on the dock to wave him goodbye.
Marty intended to use the trip down to Gibraltar to get the ship shaken down and the new watches bedded in. To add a little spice, he intended to enter the Bay of Biscay and look into Bilbao on the way.
Before they had left, he had sent a signal to Hood by semaphore that they were preparing to sail, and he had got one back three hours later telling him that there would be an extra passenger joining them. Francis Ridgely made it on board with an hour to spare and presented Marty with a letter of introduction from William Wickham, the head of British Intelligence.
“So, you are our pet spy then,” Marty said after he had read the letter.
“Well officially your ‘Intelligence Officer’ but the description is apt,” grinned Francis, who was a scholarly looking chap with a shock of brown hair that refused to be tidy no matter what he did. He had dark brown eyes behind round glasses, that Marty wasn’t sure actually had anything but plain glass in and was dressed in a non-descript dark grey suit.
“When we get to Gibraltar, we need to organise shore accommodation and a base of operations like I heard you had in Deal,” he commented.
“Too much to ask that someone had already done that I suppose,” Marty grumbled.
“Admiral Hood suggested that we look at Rosia bay, it’s away from the main docks and has a number of warehouses that could be requisitioned and adapted,” Francis suggested as Cooper served them with tea. “It would also keep us out from under the eyes of the Port Admiral and Governor.”
“Did he now?” Marty said, pulling out a map of Gibraltar and taking a good look.
They made as much westing as they could so that they were able to run just a little West of South to stay out of the Bay of Biscay if they needed to.
Marty stood on the windward side of the quarterdeck as was his right and watched the crew lowering the topmasts. It was blowing hard and was ideal training weather. Ackermann shouted encouragement, insults and praise in the same breath and the men looked to be working in good humour.
He asked Antton what caused the new man to get a punch in the mouth. All he would say was he made a crude suggestion about what he would like to do to Caroline. Marty left it at that, trusting the justice of the lower deck to sort it out.
After the exercise with the mast, he had them exercise the guns, no dumb show on this ship, they practiced live firing. The gun crews were all experienced but unfamiliar with each other. They didn’t start too badly, but he wanted better, so an hour’s practice followed. In the end he was confident that with an hour or so of practice every day they would soon reach his target of three rounds every two minutes.
The bay lived up to its reputation, the wind swung around to the Northwest and increased in power to a howling gale. There was no way they could look in on Bilbao as it was as much as they could do to maintain their course West of Southwest to clear the point at Viveiro. The effort involved, Marty decided, was about the same as picking the ship up and carrying it.
Throughout it all, Ridgely was as sick as a dog, sicker in fact, as the rough weather didn’t faze Blaez at all, who either lay down or stood with all four legs braced out at angles to keep him stable. The spy was so sick that Marty sent him down to the orlop deck with Shelby where the pitching and rolling and corkscrewing weren’t as bad, and the physician could keep an eye on him.
The bad weather lasted until they turned into the Straights of Heracles and they shot into the harbour at Gibraltar under topsails only, swinging her into the wind in a spectacular fashion and dropping the hook with relief as the gunner finished the salute.
The Flagship was in port and a signal soared up the mast requesting Marty’s presence aboard. He got dressed in his best uniform and checked the latest issue of the gazette he had picked up before they left. Yes! Collingwood was Commander in Chief Mediterranean Fleet. Marty had met him on the trip back from Jamaica when Nelson had invited him to dine, and saw Collingwood as the natural successor to Nelson, he just hoped the Navy did.
His boat crew did him proud, decked out in their matching clothes and hats, Samuel stood at the stern dressed the same but in a blue jacket with silver buttons. They arrived smartly and as soon as they hooked onto the chains Marty ran up the side.
He was surprised to see York as Flag Lieutenant. “Hello York!” he greeted him, “didn’t expect to see you here. Managed to escape English Harbour then.”
“Good afternoon Captain Stockley. Yes, my father managed to get a replacement commissioner sent out post haste and I was sent to Admiral Collingwood, joined him just after Trafalgar. Please follow me the Admiral is expecting you.”
Marty was duly announced and entered the great cabin, Collingwood greeted him as one Baron to another, which surprised Marty and after the usual pleasantries and a glass of cool, dry white rhenish, said,
“I didn’t see you at Nelson’s funeral, he thought highly of you, you know.”
“One of my greatest regrets my lord,” Marty replied, “but I was sent to Spain and France on an important mission and was not in England at the time. I did, however, pay my respects at his tomb as soon as I returned.”
“I don’t think I need to know what that was all about, and I can guess who was behind it, the Formidiable was earmarked to come to my fleet when it was diverted by royal ‘request’!”
Marty did his best to look contrite.
“I suppose you are here under the command of Lord Hood?” Collingwood asked.
“Yes, I am to transfer the Special Operations Flotilla to Gibraltar and set up operations here,” Marty replied, knowing full well that Hood would have informed Collingwood in advance.
“How many ships in this flotilla?”
“Four Sir. My frigate, a former French sloop of war, an American Baltimore Clipper, and a converted French Whaler.”
Collingwood looked thoughtful and then asked.
. “You take on difficult or, let us say, clandestine missions and all your men are trained accordingly, am I right?”
“You are well informed, my lord,” Marty replied with a nod.
“Excellent! And as you are in my backyard if I were to pass you the odd, aah, opportunity, then I could rely on you to take care of it?”
“Certainly, my lord, as long as I am still able to fulfil my orders from Whitehall,” Marty replied cagily.
Collingwood laughed and then grimaced as something caused him pain.
“Are you well my lord?” Marty asked, rising to assist him.
He was waved back to his seat.
“You can’t, but I believe you have a physician on board that is of some note?”
“I will have Mr. Shelby attend you at your earliest convenience.”
And with that the meeting was over.
The next day, Shelby returned to the frigate after spending a whole morning with the Admiral. Marty didn’t ask what he had found but the look of worry on his face spoke volumes.
Marty, Ridgely and Fletcher, with Blaez and Sam in attendance, went ashore to look at potential bases for the Flotilla, Fletcher had been ashore procuring stores and making sure that before they left, they would be able to replace the one and a half tons of powder and shot they used in gunnery practice on the way down. He had put the word out they were looking for buildings and he had been tipped off that there was a disused barracks with storerooms, owned by the army, behind Rosia Bay. Marty wanted to have a look at them before h
e met with the Governor, James Drummond, that evening for dinner.
As it turned out there was a small, fortified barracks, big enough for a division of cavalry plus horses sitting empty and falling into disrepair one and a half cables from the shoreline. It was ideal as there was a forge, that must have been the Farrier’s which the ‘tool shed’ could take over. Plenty of sleeping accommodation for the marines and sailors to spend time ashore, a quadrangle for training and a range to practice musketry. Not to mention a fairly large officer’s quarters with space for a kitchen and extensive stables that could be used as storerooms.
At dinner that evening at the Governor’s Mansion, in the company of Collingwood, his flag Captain and Lieutenant, General Henry Fox the Commander in Chief of the Army and two of his aids. Marty was introduced both as Captain Stockley and Lord Candor, which made life difficult as it confused the social order, but it also meant he was given more gravitas than a mere captain of less than three years seniority could have hoped for.
He decided to make the best of it and asked about the disused barracks.
“Hasn’t been occupied since before the fevers,” Fox stated, referring to the epidemic of yellow fever that had decimated the garrison up to as late as the year before. “Used to belong to one of the cavalry units but we don’t have much cavalry here now, except in transit to somewhere else and they stay at the main garrison.”
“So, the buildings can be taken over by Sir Martin and his men?” Drummond pressed.
Fox looked like he had sucked a lemon, the army didn’t like giving up anything to the Navy, but acquiesced with a nod, albeit reluctantly.
“Good that’s settled then, we can move on to desert,” Drummond smiled.
Marty detailed forty sailors under Midshipman Hart and ten marines under Sergeant Bright to start cleaning up their new home. Fletcher volunteered to stay and provision the place with furniture and goods. Ridgley went ashore and disappeared into the town after telling Marty he would find a place to set up shop away from the barracks. That settled Marty set sail back to England to rendezvous with the Alouette and Hornfleur and bring back as many men and supplies as they could without the Eagle.
They had changed the watches to compensate for the men they had left behind, and something wasn’t working as intended. A day or so out he sensed there was a problem, it was the slightest of changes in the rhythm with which the ship ran but he picked up on it and decided to investigate.
He watched each team in turn and finally he spotted it. The larboard watch contained six of the black ex-slaves, four of which were working as landsmen hauling on the mainmast sails when trimming, the other two at the foremast.
When the mainmast men lined up on a halyard to haul, four of the white sailors were jockeying for positions where they didn’t have to be next to them. That was slowing down the trimming of the sails and disturbing the rhythm of the ship.
“Mr. Ackermann, I would be obliged if you would bring those four men to the quarterdeck once their watch is finished,” he said, indicating the four men in question.
The bell rung and the watch changed, four very nervous-looking men climbed the steps to the quarterdeck behind Ackermann.
Marty made a show of reading the log then checking the chart, looked up at the sails and sniffed the wind. Then he called Sam over and, putting his hand on his shoulder, asked him something. When Sam answered he laughed and slapped him on the back as he turned towards the four waiting men.
He stood in front of them and looked each carefully up and down then walked behind them and looked again.
“Gentlemen, you have bemused me,” he said as he came around in front of them again. “You don’t look different from the other men, or smell different, so what is it that stands you apart?”
The men looked at each other in confusion.
“Well there must be something as I have noted you deem yourselves too good to stand beside our African crew members on the line.”
They all suddenly looked defiant and one even a little angry.
“Please go ahead and tell me,” Marty said to the angry man.
“Start with your names.”
“Jedidiah Dollond, and this be Gambier, Garrick and Minet,” he said with a faint French accent,” Marty got an inkling of the problem.
“We don’t associate with heathens and blacks be the worst heathens of all.”
A light went on in Marty’s mind.
“You are all Huguenots aren’t you. Do you see black people as less than you?”
“They are only fit to be slaves or servants, not to stand alongside God’s people.”
Marty looked at the four men one by one and saw only stubborn defiance. He knew when he was on a hiding to nothing when confronted with prejudice like this as it was too deeply ingrained, so dismissed the men to go to their dinner.
“Mr. Ackermann, those men are disrupting the smooth running of my ship,” he said as if in passing, “split them up between the watches and put them in work crews that do the meanest jobs. Once we get back to England, pay them off and put them ashore.”
He was angry. He was all for religious tolerance and he firmly believed in the equality of all men. Prejudice that was blind and fuelled by one man’s conviction that he was superior to another because of his race or colour was just anathema to him. Especially as in this case the Huguenots had been persecuted by the Catholics in France and forced to flee to England to have religious freedom, and here they were doing effectively the same to the Africans. He couldn’t understand it.
Chapter 9: Moving House
They dropped anchor in the Downs and Marty and Blaez took the barge up to the Farm. The Alouette was tied up in front of the faithful old Lark and the Hornfleur. The dock was a hive of activity with piles of stores being prepared for loading in nets. He was expecting to hear about the status of the Eagle once he got to the Farm
Paul la Pierre, Captain of Marines was shouting orders and chivvying men to pile stores in the right place. There was no shortage of men, the extra marines had arrived and were mucking in with sleeves rolled up.
The Barge tied up and Marty stepped ashore. Immediately the call went up,
“Captain on deck!”
And every marine snapped to attention. There are disadvantages to wearing a uniform, Marty thought as he was always uncomfortable with this type of reaction. Paul la Pierre walked over to him and snapped a salute with a grin. Marty shook hands with him in greeting and said,
“I suppose you want me to inspect your band of rogues, thieves and murderers?”
“The men would appreciate it, if you don’t mind.”
Marty sighed, then grinned. “Form them up Captain la Pierre.”
Paul nodded to a lieutenant who was stood nearby, who bellowed,
“Marines! Form up for review!”
“George Fairbrother, loudest voice at Chatham,” Paul commented sotto voice.
Marty schooled himself to be serious and, as soon as the men had replaced their jackets and ranks were formed, followed Paul to the end of the first line. They progressed slowly and Marty greeted marines he knew by name. At the end of it, the two captains moved to a pile of crates and Marty climbed on top of them and called for all the men to gather around.
“As you know we are moving from here to Gibraltar. We have found a base and a team of sailors and marines is there getting it ready for your enjoyment.” He looked for the three marines who made up the tool shed,
“there is a forge you can use as a workshop,” he indicated the rest of the marines,
“a quadrangle so you marines can march up and down,” that caused a laugh and a few disparaging comments about the lobsters from the sailors,
“a range where you can all practice your musketry,” disparaging comments from marines about the ability of sailors to ‘hit a cow’s arse with a paddle.’
“Once there and settled in, we will resume our effort to cause pain and confusion to the French and their allies,” there was a growl of
agreement and he let it peter out,
“and of course, prizes and prize money for all!” which caused a huge cheer.
He called his officers together. James Campbell of the Allouette, with his midshipman Archibald Davidson, Midshipman Angus Frasier of the Hornfleur and Captain Paul la Pierre and his two lieutenants, Edward Griffin and George Fairbrother.
“Are we fully up to strength?” he asked and got confirmation that both ships and the marines were.
“Good, then we will load as much as we can onto the ships we have at our disposal. Use the Lark to ferry stores and equipment to the Formidiable, she draws too much water to get up the river to here. Ackermann is ready and waiting for them so get that started straight away. Any news on the Eagle?”
“She will be in dock for another three weeks and will need another week to re-provision and take on powder,” James reported on Ryan’s behalf.
“Good! We will leave their share of the stores and equipment here to collect along with their marines. Mr. Griffin, I believe you command them?”
“Sah!” Edward Griffin replied in a parade ground bark causing the other to laugh.
“We’re not on parade, a simple ‘Yes Sir’ will do,” Paul admonished him in his relaxed manner causing the red-haired and freckled lieutenant to blush furiously.
“James, how long until we will be ready to leave?” Marty asked.
“Three days should see everything stowed away and us ready to go,” he replied then added, “will you take Will Barbour with you?”
“I had forgotten about him!” Marty admitted. “I have most room so yes that makes sense, he can run the officer’s wardroom on the shore base once we get there.”
After taking care of a few other minor questions he dismissed them and walked to the Farm. Blaez was delighted to be back and hunted the hedgerow for rabbits and terrorized the birds. He was greeted at the door by Will and was slightly saddened by the empty echoey rooms where he and Armand had planned and executed so many adventures. He told Will to get himself and his baggage over to the Lark and then saddled one of the horses. They would be left at Deal for Armand to either keep or dispose of.
Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Page 8
