“Thanks to all the food and fresh stuff we ‘liberated’ from our various prizes and ports we are well supplied.” He scanned the list, “in fact, we have better food than we get from the port supply office. We can stay at sea for another couple of months easily.”
Marty pondered that; they had a list of pick up points where they had to be on particular nights at specific times. Enrique and Linette would be at whichever one was allocated for the day when they needed to get out. He had no option but to stay on this stretch of coast until that time. Well, they would make the most of it.
Chapter 21: Run and Fight
The Eagle returned more or less on schedule and they continued their depredations of the East coast reaching up as far as Perpignan in France. They took out semaphore towers, and kidnapped officers and any French officials they came across, causing the French and Spanish to dedicate more troops to defending them. The Spanish even stationed cavalry units at strategic points to try and ambush the raiders when they struck.
That strategy almost worked the first time the French tried it; the raiding party just got back to their boats in time. However, they had overlooked he fact that the first thing Marty’s team would capture was the tower and the extra height that gave them allowed them to see the cavalry coming from a long way away.
The second time they tried it the tables were turned, and the ambushers became the ambushed. Volley guns are devastating against horse, and they deployed a dozen or so grenades to decimate the attacking force.
It was on James’ watch that Linette and Enrique returned.
James had taken the Alouette to the scheduled pick-up point for that week and arrived a half mile off the beach at Salou just shy of midnight. As per standard practice, they had a boat pulled around ready to go ashore if a signal was seen.
They were to stay hove to until three AM and then make their way to the rendezvous with the other ships, but James had a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach and an odd feeling of anticipation, so when three AM came, he stayed just where he was.
At a quarter to four they saw a flash of light from the shore followed by the signal. The boat was manned and heading in as he replied with a shuttered lantern.
It was a very dark night with no moon and a light overcast and he couldn’t see the shore so was surprised when there were a number of flashes followed by the sound of a volley of shots from close to where the signal had been given, there was a volley of shots in reply.
“Load the guns with cannister if you please, Archie,” he commanded his midshipman.
The signal lamp was left un-shuttered to guide the boat back, there were flashes from the beach followed by the report of muskets.
“Note the location of those flashes if you will, Archie, and as soon as the boat is alongside, I would be obliged if you would answer with a broadside.” If there was anyone on the beach, they had better have dug a hole as it was swept by a maelstrom of shot.
“Get us underway as soon as that boat is secured,” he ordered the master.
James walked down to the entry port to find the boat crew, Linette and Enrique boarding. Two of his men were wounded and being helped. Enrique was slumped against the mainmast, blood coming from a wound to his shoulder, Linette was being held up by his cox, Simon Allen, and had a shallow slash wound across her back.
“What the hell happened?” he asked her.
“We were followed, and they ambushed us on the beach. I was hit from behind as I was climbing into the boat. Enrique was shot trying to help me.”
At the rendezvous they transferred Linette, Enrique and the two wounded men to the Formidiable to be treated by Shelby then Marty set a course for home. They were passing through the gap between Ibiza and Valencia when they spotted sails coming from Valencia.
“A ship o’the line and a pair of frigates!” reported Antton from the mainmast. “Headed straight for us with all sail set!”
“Let me know what that liner is as soon as you can!” Marty called up to him, then to Ackermann,
“We better run for it. Wolfgang make as much sail as she can carry!”
It was a half an hour before Antton slid to the deck via a stay.
“She’s a new seventy-four, French built,” he reported.
“And fast, damn it!” Marty finished for him. The French made superbly hydrodynamic hulls and, when well-handled, were very fast. “What about the frigates?”
“This one’s twins, both Spanish-built and -rigged.”
“Are they catching us?” Marty asked after taking a long hard look at what he could see from the quarterdeck.
“Slowly. We have about seven miles head start on them.”
Marty gathered up the first mate and master and went to the chart table.
“The one ship they will not be able to catch, in any wind, is the Eagle. Ryan is to take Linette and Enrique and get to Gibraltar as fast as possible to hand over the information they have on the agreement about Portugal. We will just have to stay ahead of that liner in a stern chase.”
They slowed so the Eagle could sail up beside them and then hove too so they were close together and the two spies could be transferred with the minimum delay. To save time the boat crew stayed on the Eagle as well.
Then all three ships piled on as much sail as they could and sped off a couple of points West of South, as close to the wind as they could sail. It didn’t take long for the Eagle to take a lead as she was the better sailor close to the wind and she gradually pulled away.
“God’s speed,” Marty murmured to himself as he watched their stern disappear into the distance.
“Pump the water over the side, leave only enough to get us home. If the wind stays out of the West like it is, we will take around forty hours to get to Gibraltar.”
Staying ahead of their pursuers for forty hours was a very tough call and they would need every knot they could muster. Marty set about lightening the ship even more by dumping all the non-essentials over the side. James on the Alouette was doing the same.
By dark they had almost completed the Southern leg of the trip and were preparing to turn Northwest for their first long tack against the Westerly wind. Their saving grace was that the French and Spanish ships couldn’t sail any closer to the wind than they could. This was a true stern chase.
They tacked to the Northwest for the one-hundred-mile leg towards a point South of Cartagena where they would tack again to the Southwest.
There was only one problem.
As dawn broke, they saw sails to their North.
“What the hell?” Marty exclaimed as the lookout called out the sighting.
“What are they?”
“Xebecs!”
Marty realised the French had set a trap and had sent ships out of Cartagena on the expectation that with the prevailing weather conditions they would have to make a tack that would bring them somewhere into that area. Now they had another pair of ships in pursuit that could sail closer to the wind than they could.
“Suggestions, Wolfgang?” he asked.
The phlegmatic German looked at the pennant and then at the two sets of sails closing inexorably in on them.
“Pray for a storm and that those Xebecs are poor shots if they have bow chasers,” he deadpanned.
The storm didn’t appear, and the gap steadily closed as the made a series of tacks to get them as far west as they could.
Marty was reluctant to throw the guns overboard as every mile brought them further into the British dominated region of the Mediterranean and he was determined not to go down without a fight.
They were almost due South of Malaga off the coast of Morocco and getting close to making their final tack when the first shot was fired. One of the Xebecs had got close enough to try a shot with its single chaser. From the sound it was a twenty-four-pounder.
The shot was well wide.
Fifteen minutes later the second one joined in.
“Another thirty minutes and they will be in range of our stern chasers,�
�� Ackerman coolly observed.
“In another hour that bloody seventy-four will be in range of us as well,” Marty replied.
It turned into a running fight with neither side able to reduce sail to bring a broadside to bear, and for the French and Spanish their target was tantalisingly close. One lucky shot and they would find themselves surrounded and pounded.
The range gradually closed, the Xebecs got better at shooting and it would be only a matter of time before one got lucky.
“If they get close enough for us to use the carronades, we should be able to take them out of the chase,” Marty said, knowing that was a faint hope.
A shot flew above his head cutting some rigging and narrowly missing the mizzen mast.
“Bugger this!” he said, deciding it was time to do something other than run.
“Prepare to wear!”
“Starboard battery double shot and run out. Larboard load and be ready! Wear to starboard!” The men, who were ready and waiting for just such an order, flew to their tasks.
The ship turned and Marty looked across at the Alouette, James had dropped his ship back to a point off their larboard quarter anticipating Marty’s move.
“As you bear, fire!” Marty roared.
The guns coughed and fire ripple down the side. The lead Xebec took it on their starboard bow and shuddered as shot hit home and again as the Alouette followed up with their broadside. Her foremast went by the board, taking her out of the chase.
This was satisfying but brought the three original ships into range. Marty continued to wear for a minute or so to make it look like he would take them on head to head and then changed course to the Northeast to open the range.
This caused a small amount of confusion amongst the pursuing ships and allowed him to recover a few cables of distance. It wasn’t long, though, before the bow chasers were throwing shot at them again, but at least the Xebecs were out of the game as the second one had stopped to aid its compatriot.
“Sails to the Northwest!” cried a slightly worried sounding lookout.
“Get up there with a glass, I want to know what they are as soon as possible!” He told Midshipman Grey who grabbed a telescope and shot off up the ratlines.
Marty was calculating what he could do to avoid being caught in another trap when a much-relieved hail came down,
“It’s a British liner and the Eagle!”
Marty grinned at Ackerman and Trenchard, who had joined him. This changed things completely.
“Fancy a fight?”
The two lieutenants grinned, and Ackermann shouted,
“get those guns loaded,” he looked at Marty who decided,
“chain let’s go for his rigging.”
The altered course slightly to close the gap between themselves and the approaching English ships, Marty had been hoping there would be more than just the two, but it was just the Eagle and,
“Well bugger me, its Smith in the Pompée!” he said as he recognised the ship through his telescope.
“The French have seen the other ships! They are bearing away!”
“Oh no you don’t!” Marty cried. A quick glance showed James was holding station and had his guns run out.
“Helm to Starboard, steer straight for their bows!”
Marty knew they needed to slow the French ship down and the best he could do was to try and get as close as possible to shred her rigging.
“Fire a gun!” he ordered, hoping that a challenge wouldn’t be ignored.
One of the bow chasers barked and they all watched the Frenchman for a reaction.
He ran out his lower deck guns. He could fire those without reducing sail and with the wind on his quarter the ports were well clear of the sea. He eased a point or two to the north to bring his guns to bear.
“Thirty-six-pounders,” Ackermann observed.
“Quite,” Marty replied dryly, as if he didn’t already know. “We will have to take his first broadside to get in close enough to do any real damage.”
The angle was not in the Frenchman’s favour as it would force many of his guns to be trained around to the limit to get even close to bearing. They got a warning as he jinked to starboard.
The French fired before the gun crews could settle their aim and most shots flew wide. Marty could only assume the officer in charge of them was inexperienced.
Marty ducked as a block fell on to the nets, but it bounced and settled without breaking through. Some shots had found their mark. They had also picked up a couple of holes in their sails. He checked the range and ordered,
“Two points to larboard. FIRE AS YOU BEAR!”
The bow slipped around, and the guns barked at a range of four cables. The air shimmered as the chain shot flew across the half mile gap towards the big ships rigging. Then the smoke obscured the view.
The gun crews were calmly and efficiently reloading, the carronades were ready first and about twenty seconds later the mains.
The smoke had cleared, and Marty could see they had shredded his mainsail and there were men frantically trying to splice other damage, but the main thing was they had slowed them.
The Formidiable fired again as the range closed to three cables and this time the Alouette joined in with her carronades. It was at the edge of their accurate range but any hits at all would help.
On the French ship, Capitaine de Vaisseau, Cedric Semillon, looked at the two smaller English ships in wonder. They were barking and nipping at his heels like terriers and doing some damage. Their first broadside was well aimed and even at around eight hundred meters had done enough damage to slow them.
His mouth opened in astonishment when they fired their second in around half the time his big eighteen-kilogram guns could reload. The range had come down to around six-hundred meters and this time the corvette fired as well.
He ducked as chain shot howled through his rigging cutting ropes and stays and causing spars and blocks to fall to the deck.
He looked astern where the two Spanish frigates were – not where they should be.
“Traitors! Cowards!” he shouted at them as they bore away with the wind, abandoning him.
He had no choice he would have to make a fight of it.
“Reduce sail and run out.”
Marty saw the damage his second broadside had caused and the Spanish frigates making a run for it.
“Mr. Williams, please signal the Alouette’s number and the letter B,”
“Mr. Ackermann double shot and get us in closer, try to stay as much towards his bow as possible.”
James saw the signal and knew exactly what he had to do, this was something they had planned and rehearsed. He ordered a wear to larboard away from the Formidiable, a casual observer could think he was abandoning them. He ordered all his carronades to be loaded with smashers. He kept one eye on Marty and saw he was running slightly more sail than you would normally in a firefight so he could stay on the bigger ships bow.
Smoke blossomed from the Frenchman and he saw the Formidiable shudder as she took a hit or two. He continued the wear, swinging around in a great arc that would bring him across the Frenchman’s stern. As he rounded the corner, he could see he had four large stern chasers, two on each gundeck.
This wouldn’t be painless.
In the Eagle, Ryan put on more sail and was out running the Pompée, such was his eagerness to get into the fight. He had seen Marty’s signal to the Alouette and knew his part in that attack plan. He just needed to get there to realise it.
Sir Sydney was urging his flag Captain to go faster but there wasn’t much William Tremayne could do; the Pompée was going as fast as she could. They were getting close enough to try the bow chasers. He was impressed with the way that the two smaller ships were harassing the big, two decked, third rate.
“We will get our chance Admiral. Captain Stockley and his men know what they are doing, I believe.”
“I know!” Smith barked back at him, “they may finish the blighter off before we get there!
”
Marty had no intention of trying to ‘finish the blighter off’ as he knew the Frenchman would be carrying around eight hundred to a thousand men and even with all three of his ships, he could only muster six hundred. That meant a boarding strength of around five hundred and he didn’t like those odds. No, he was happy to harass and nibble at their heels for when Smith arrived and could deal the coup de grace.
He looked over in the direction the support was coming from and saw the Eagle speeding down under full sail. He grinned, good for you, Ryan.
James was almost in position astern of what he could now see was the Viala when the stern chasers fired. There were only four, but they were eighteen-pound longs and could do some real damage to his sloop of war.
Two of the incoming balls went wide, one punched a hole in his foresail and the last crashed into his hull about three feet above the waterline.
They fired and the thirty-six-pound balls from the carronades crashed into the big ship’s transom, creating gaping holes and upending at least one of the chasers. They created havoc as they crashed down the open gun decks.
James had looked up and seen the French captain look over the stern, when he was slammed to the deck as a musket ball took him in the thigh.
Archie Davidson was summoned from the guns as his captain was carried below. He assumed command without batting an eyelid, this was another of those things they had planned for and rehearsed.
Another musket ball sent splinters up from the deck at his feet and he called up to the marines in the tops,
“Would be obliged if you sorted that chap out, he’s making himself a nuisance.”
The crew who heard that grinned at each other, they liked the phlegmatic young midshipman who modelled himself after Captain Stockley.
The guns roared again.
Ryan had almost gotten into the fight and was steering to swing around the Formidiable and cross the Viala’s bows. The Eagle sailed like a witch and he was making the most of her excellent qualities.
Smith was watching and admiring the way the three ships worked together in such an unconventional way.
“We can learn something from these young men, they are like wasps around a honey pot!” he crowed. “Dammit, man, get in there before that ruddy Frenchman strikes!”
Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Page 22
