He rode with Blaez trotting by his side, tied the horse to one of the hitching rings set into the front wall of the Wagon and Horses and walked in through the front door into the dimly lit bar. He had forgotten he was in full uniform and the room went silent as he was silhouetted against the light from outside.
Then with a squeal Susie, Armand’s wife came around the bar and wrapped him in a huge hug,
“Marty! We didn’t know you were back!” she cried after kissing him soundly.
Marty returned the hug then held her at arm’s length so he could see her. “It’s a flying visit, can you put me up for the night?” he laughed.
Armand came out from the back room to see what all the fuss was about and stepped up to hug him and kiss him on each cheek, French-style, in greeting.
“Mon Amie! Look at you! Captain Martin Stockley! Where is your ship?”
“Anchored in the Downs, she’s too big for the dock.”
“Wickham said you had a Frigate. He joked that you used royal connections to get it.”
“No joke, Prince George intervened on my behalf, he thought as I had taken it, I should have it.”
“Friends in high places indeed but be careful my friend he can turn in a moment,” he cautioned. Blaez went outside with Susie and Armand’s daughter, Jessica, who was old enough to play ball with him now.
They sat to chat over an ale and Bill Clarence, the head of the Deal smugglers joined them. The chat became an extended drinking session, when Bill’s son turned up, that went on long into the night. When Marty woke up the next morning, he had the mother and father of all hangovers.
The ride back to the dock was, to say the least, uncomfortable as every jolting step the horse took rattled his poor aching head and turned his stomach over, but he wouldn’t have changed last night for anything!
He didn’t have to say anything when he finally rode up to the dock, the wince he made at every loud noise said it all. Private Dibble from the tool shed team found a hammock and slung it for him in one of the empty store houses where he could sleep it off.
His headache was still with him on the trip back to the Downs and Sam took great delight in singing a hymn in his deep tenor to set a rhythm for the rowers that vibrated through Marty’s skull as if he was inside a drum. He climbed the tumble home and winced as the bosun’s pipes welcomed him home. A quick word with Ackermann and he concluded the ship was looking after itself without his interference and went to find Shelby.
“A modicum more ale than you are used to?” Shelby asked with a completely straight face. It was true he hadn’t ever drunk that much ale in his life, preferring wine, so he just nodded miserably.
Shelby mixed some powder with carbonated water from a bottle with a strangely shaped neck with a marble in it. He looked at it closer and saw that the marble was forced up the neck by the gas and sealed itself against the neck. When Shelby wanted to pour some out, he inverted the bottle and pushed the marble down with his finger releasing the water under pressure.
“Drink this, it’s an infusion of willow and when mixed with the carbonated water has good pain killing properties,” Shelby informed him.
Marty drunk the bitter potion.
“Christ! I don’t know if the cure is worse than the malady,” Marty sputtered.
“If the cure was nice to drink people would be more encouraged to get ill,” Shelby quipped.
With that nugget of wisdom ringing in his ears Marty went to his cabin.
Morning dawned and they prepared the Formidiable for sail. She was loaded with all the stores they could get aboard while still having room for an extra forty marines. They waited until the lookout called down that he could see the Alouette and Hornfleur approaching.
They came up to the anchor, sails were set and as they took the wind John Smith at the wheel caught her and steered Southwest. The Hornfleur fell in next in line with the Alouette bringing up the rear. Marty didn’t want to get into any kind of fight with the ships so heavily loaded and manned, so he took them well out into the Atlantic to the West before turning South to clear Ushant by a healthy margin. That had the unfortunate side effect that the seas were rough, and he had a lot of sick passengers.
It was with a real sense of relief that they sailed into Rosia Bay where they were greeted by a gun from the barracks and their skull and crossed pistols flag, which was run up as they anchored.
“That will annoy the admiral,” Ackermann noted with a smile that said he didn’t care.
“Probably, but pretty much anything out of their control is annoying to them,” Marty replied, “let’s get this ship unloaded so we can get on with business.”
Rosia Bay was where they had towed the Victory after Trafalgar so they had a good depth of water to work with right up to the old stone dock where they could moor one ship at a time. There was a road that sloped up to the barracks and Fletcher had managed to get a couple of four wheeled wagons pulled by oxen to move the heavier stores.
They unloaded the Formidiable first, then the Alouette and finally the Hornfleur. It took four days to get everything in and the men settled.
There was a tower in one corner of the barracks where a lookout could be posted but it wasn’t very high. Marty had a wooden platform built on top of it with a railing, to raise it another twenty feet, and set a lookout.
A scruffy urchin of a boy turned up at the newly made and hung gate and asked for Marty. When he was let in, he demanded in a broad Eastend of London accent that he get a shilling.
“Why should I give you anything except a clip around the ear?” Marty asked.
“’Cus I got a message from Mr. Ridgley fo’ ya! An’ he said you would give me a shillin’ if I give it to yer person like,” the wretch replied cockily.
“Well when you have given it to me you can have this,” Marty replied, holding up a sixpence.
“That aint no shillin!” he squawked indignantly.
“Are you sure?” Marty said, “look closely,” and when he peered at it, he performed a simple magician’s switch and the sixpence turned into a shilling.
“Cor blimey! How’d you do that?”
“Work for me and I will show you, now what was the message?”
“Oh, right! He said he is set up at Devil’s Tower Road in number 17b. He has made contact wiv somebody called Enreekay.”
Who Enreekay was Martin had no clue, but he must be someone significant, it was time to go and visit their Intelligence Officer.
“What’s your name young man?” Marty asked as he twirled a florin across his knuckles. It was an exercise he used to keep his fingers supple and dexterous.
“Billy Hooper, Owdoyoudothat?”
“Well, Billy Hooper, show me where 17b Devil’s Tower Road is and I will show you.”
Sam turned up with Blaez. Billy looked at him with his mouth open and his eyes wide and when he saw Blaez ran behind Marty.
“It’s a bleedin’ wolf and a giant!” he squeaked.
Marty laughed and knelt so Blaez could nuzzle him and lick his nose.
“It’s just my dog, Blaez, and my cox, Samuel. They will be coming with us.”
Billy edged his way to the door, keeping well away from both of them.
It was around a forty-five-minute walk and the last part up hill. Marty’s calves were burning by the time they reached number seventeen. Billy was now walking between Blaez and Sam, strutting like he was the king of the walk knowing he was totally safe for one of the few times in his short life. Marty had shown him how to shuffle a coin across his fingers and back again and had given him a penny to practice with.
Billy led them in through the door and up a flight of stairs to an upstairs apartment. He banged on the door and pushed it open before there was an answer.
Marty looked around; Ridgely obviously didn’t slum it; the apartment was furnished with expensive comfortable chairs and a well-made dining room table and chairs. There was a fireplace in which a merry fire burned, and the room was pleasantly warm. T
here was a small kitchen to one side through an archway. The big windows at the front led out to a balcony from which he had a panoramic view to the border between Gibraltar and Spain and across the bay to Algeciras. He had an enormous telescope mounted on a tripod on the balcony.
Ridgely came through a door set into an alcove on the far side of the room and Marty caught a glimpse of a large four poster bed.
“Thank you, Billy,” he said and flipped him a shilling which disappeared as soon as it was caught. “I will call when I need you.” Billy tugged his forelock and left giving Marty a wink and Blaez a pat on the head.
“Captain Stockley! So pleased you could visit,” he smiled and held out his hand. The grey suit had disappeared, and he was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a cotton shirt with a ruff down the front, open to his chest. Around his neck he had a gold chain with an odd looking pendant and the glasses had disappeared.
Marty shook his hand and looked him up and down. “I assume you have taken a new persona to cover your activities?” he asked.
“Absolutely, rake in exile, father is so disgusted with my behaviour back in England he sent me out here to learn restraint!” he grinned, “but I expect you will want to see where the work is done.”
He took Marty by the arm and led him to a bookshelf. He took the pendant, pressed a stud and a sprung loaded key swung out. He inserted it into what looked like a knot hole in a shelf and turned it. There was a click and a section of the bookshelf swung open revealing a staircase to what must be the attic.
They made their way up after the door was closed behind them, light filtering down from above. Marty noticed the walls were lined in cork and the stairs covered with thick sound deadening carpet. They emerged into a loft with skylights letting in light but with thick black material fixed so they could be covered at night. The walls were also covered in cork and the floor had more of the thick carpet, the room was soundproof. Lamps stood in a row on a shelf waiting to be lit.
There were maps pinned to the walls and a rack of charts in one corner. A row of cabinets with numbered and labelled drawers were lined up along one wall and the end wall was covered in an array of weapons that Marty would have been happy to have in his chest. A desk with clerk’s chair, a sofa and two comfortable chairs provided a workspace and somewhere to sit.
“Made yourself at home then.” Marty observed.
“Absolutely! Cup of tea?”
Marty nodded and Ridgley went to a corner where there stood a samovar with an oil burner under it, a wisp of steam escaping the lid.
“I have something for you already, it came from Admiral Collingwood,” he told them as he served the tea.
“Good! By the way who is Enreeekay?” Marty responded.
Chapter 10: Scouting
The Formidiable coasted along under minimum sail just North of Sicily following the Calabrian coast. They were passing Tropia and swinging more East as they made their way towards Pizzo. The smell of the land drifted out to them, a mixture of dust, olive trees and dry grass. Marty was struck by the clarity of the air and the way the light played on the rocky coast casting different colours.
It was an hour past dawn, and they were heading for the estuary of the river Maida where they would put a team ashore to perform an advance scouting and mapping exercise. In the process they would also contact local partisans who were rebelling against the French occupation.
Marty had been briefed that the Army, with Major-General Stuart in overall command, and Navy, with Admiral Sir Sidney Smith commanding the fleet, were planning on landing an expeditionary force of over five thousand troops to take on the French General Jean Reynier. It was estimated he had a force of around five and a half thousand based somewhere near Maida.
Their mission was to scout the landing area, map it, locate the French army and estimate its size and make up.
Marty had brought Lieutenant Ryan Thompson, who spoke Italian, to lead the landing party. They would meet a contact called Francesco, who was a Sicilian and would introduce them to the partisans. Marty would stay with the ship and patrol off the coast until it was time to pick his men up after five days or so.
Ryan had his hand-picked landing party assembled on the main deck. Six marines with appropriate skills. Three of the marines were scouts, ex-poachers or countrymen who knew how to move silently through the land, two were close combat specialists and were bodyguards for Ryan and the sixth member of the team who was an artist and cartographer. He could have taken more but in this case he though less was best.
None of them wore uniforms, the bright red jackets of the marines would have stood out like beacons in the brown and green landscape, instead they wore non-descript grey jackets and trousers and could pass for locals at a distance. They would forage for food so each only carried a pack with ammunition, emergency rations for two days and a canteen of water. Ryan checked that the canteens only had water in them as he didn’t want anyone smuggling alcohol ashore. They also carried French muskets rather than their own rifles.
“All set?” Captain la Pierre asked him
“Yes, we are as ready as we will ever be,” Ryan replied
“Corporal Evans don’t let the scouts get too far ahead, they are there to warn not to engage and no messing with the local women,” la Pierre warned.
Marty was watching the shoreline and comparing it to drawings the Master, had in his extensive records. He had sailed the gulf of Santa Eufernia in the past and like all good masters had made sketches and watercolours of the coast for future reference. The Amato Estuary came abeam, and he ordered the sails backed to bring them to a halt.
“Man the barge!” he ordered and Ackermann shouted the orders to get it pulled up alongside and manned.
He stood at the starboard rail and scanned the shoreline with his telescope, then checked the time with his watch. It was six AM. They were on time according to the instructions that Ridgley had given him. He scanned again and saw a man step out of a copse of trees on the north side of the estuary. He looked up and down the beach before walking down to the shoreline and waved.
“The contact is on the beach,” Marty told Ryan. “Ridgley said we can trust him but be careful. I don’t want to have to find a new commander for the Eagle.”
Ryan grinned and shook his hand before following his men down into the waiting barge.
“We will be back for you at dawn on the sixth day and return at dawn for the following three days if you aren’t here or get a message to us,” Marty called down to confirm the arrangement.
Ryan waved and gave a thumbs up as the barge pulled away. Marty watched as they disembarked, the scouts disappearing rapidly into the tree line. Their contact was shaking Ryan’s hand and then all of them walked up the beach with one marine sweeping out the footprints with a leafy branch.
“Make way Mr. Ackermann, if you please,” Marty ordered as soon as the boat had tied on, “they are on their own now.”
He had complete confidence in Ryan and knew the men he had with him were solid and the best for the job. They had a week to gain as much information as they could and to map out the area so that Stuart could choose where he would meet the French.
Marty intended to use the time to patrol up the Italian coast to Naples and beyond, pick up a prize or two if they presented themselves and to have a look into the bay to see if there were any French country ships there.
He flew a Spanish flag and cruised under topsails and royals making around eight knots. It was about one hundred and forty miles to Sorrento, and he was timing it so they would be there around dawn the next day.
He retired to his cabin for breakfast and Cooper served him bacon, procured in Gibraltar, and fried eggs from the hen coop, washed down with coffee, black and unsweetened like the French took it. Blaez was fed some dried meat and ships biscuit which he chewed vigorously giving forth with a satisfied belch after he finished it.
He had just settled down to read a book he had picked up in England when there was a shout from
the lookout closely followed by the rattle of feet on the ladder and an announcement by the marine guard at his door,
“Midshipman Williams Sah!”
At least he didn’t bellow it, Marty thought as he called for the youngest of his Mids to enter. He had been educating all the marines that they didn’t need to use a parade ground bellow to announce visitors.
Williams was twelve years old and the fourth son of a business associate of Caroline’s. His father was a wealthy trader from Liverpool and the boy had a pronounced Liverpudlian accent.
“Mr. Ackermann’s compliments Sir, and there is a sail to our Northwest. He thinks it’s a snow,” he announced pronouncing snow as snew.
“Thank you, Mr. Williams, and how are your lessons progressing?” Marty asked.
“Mr. Grey says my Navigation is improving. I was only twenty miles off on the last sighting!” Williams replied with enthusiasm.
“Lucky we were in the middle of the Mediterranean and not close to shore then,” Marty observed. “You need to work on that. Ask Mr. Stamp to help with your mathematics.”
“Aye Aye Sir!”
“Now, please go and ask Mr. Ackermann to set a course to intercept and I will join him in a few minutes.”
He smiled as the boy left, he was showing promise and Marty took a particular interest in all his young men as he saw them as the future of his peculiar branch of the service.
Sam came out from the steward’s galley and took Marty’s weapons harness from his weapons chest.
Suitable attired in a silk shirt, his third best uniform coat and his weapons harness complete with pistols, fighting knife and hanger, Marty came up on the quarterdeck. He checked the log, said good morning to the helmsman then spoke with Ackermann.
Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Page 9
