Tremayne grinned and ordered the starboard battery run out. It was time to get ‘stuck in’.
Marty looked for the liner as the Formidiable absorbed another few hits from the Viala.
“About bloody time too.” he said to no one in particular.
“Get us out of his way, John,” he ordered the quartermaster.
“Make more sail!”
Tremayne saw that Marty was moving ahead and swung the Pompée to bring them alongside. It was time for the big boys to play and the two liners exchanged broadsides. The British gunners reloaded much faster than the French and poured a second broadside in. The two giants exchanged blows for another fifteen minutes until Capitaine Semillon knew it was over. He had fought with honour and struck without a conscience.
Chapter 22: The fruits of our labours.
Marty visited James in the infirmary they had set up in the re-purposed barracks the S.O.F. called home on Gibraltar. The ball had hit from a high angle and had broken his femur about a third of the way down. He was lucky the ball hadn’t shattered the bone but had snapped it fairly cleanly.
They had transferred him across to the Formidiable as soon as they could after the fight. Shelby had removed the ball and aligned the break before clamping the leg in splints while his assistants held James down.
Now it was a question of whether he would heal cleanly or gangrene would set in. Shelby had taken every precaution, kept his instruments clean and even used sulphur powder on the wound, as there was a theory it would help. If the rot did set in, he would lose the leg, and no one wanted that.
Josee was his nurse and the tall, beautiful Dutch girl made sure that Marty didn’t overstay his welcome. Marty had to remind himself she was only eighteen as she was so level-headed.
Marty left the two of them together and went to see the other men that had been wounded in the fight. Shelby was paying a house call on Admiral Collingwood so there was no one who could hurry him along.
He chatted with them and asked if they needed anything. The men appreciated that and knew if that whatever they asked for would arrive sooner rather than later. The other thing that made their confinement bearable is the fact that Lady Caroline and her maids were their nurses.
After leaving the hospital Marty headed down to their prize agents and met up with Mr. Crabshaw, who he had been with since his first year as a midshipman on the Falcon.
“Good afternoon Sir Martin,” Crabshaw greeted him as he was shown into the man’s office. It hadn’t changed much over the years though he did notice a new decanter set on the sideboard.
“Mr. Crabshaw,” he replied and shook the proffered hand. “Do you have an estimate of the prize valuations from our last trip yet?”
“An estimation, yes,” Crabshaw replied, “but the prize court will not sit for at least another month, so my estimate of the French capital ship is only indicative.”
Marty nodded and waited for him to continue.
Crabshaw knew Marty from when he was just thirteen years old and was amazed at the change in the young man. He was still only twenty-six and was calm, assured, and confident. Fatherhood hadn’t changed him, either, even though he had four children now.
The dog that followed him around was slightly intimidating as it sat beside Martin and stared at him. He had a thought that this must be how a rabbit felt. The big brindled herding dog was a little grey around the muzzle, but its eyes were intense, and it had enormous canine teeth.
He brought his thoughts back to the present.
“The merchant vessels and their cargo should nett around twenty-four thousand pounds once we have auctioned off everything. The olive oil was very high quality and will attract a premium.
“The Viala is a relatively new ship and even though she took a fair amount of damage should fetch a good price. Then there is the head money for the Xebec as well.”
He paused, checked a sheet of paper and seemed to add up the column of figures again to be sure they were right.
“After the Admiral takes his share you will be left with around the value of a frigate to share amongst your ships.”
“And that is?” Marty asked.
“Oh, sorry, that’s about one hundred and thirty thousand pounds.”
That gave a total of one hundred and fifty-four thousand, and if they split it as normal then everyone from Hood down to the cabin boy would make a tidy sum.
His next port of call was Collingwood on the Flagship. He was announced and shown directly in by a beaming, junior flag lieutenant who was shiny new and totally in awe of the young Captain he had heard so much about.
Smith was already there and greeted Marty warmly. Collingwood looked well and shook Marty’s hand firmly, but Marty knew better. After they were all settled, he opened the meeting,
“The French and Spanish have signed a treaty to divide up Portugal and to kick out the sitting royal family. Sir Sidney will command an expedition to Lisbon that will either assist the Portuguese to resist the attack or destroy the Portuguese fleet and blockade the Tagus. We would like you to accompany him with your flotilla and lend your special skills to the endeavour.”
Marty grinned and shook Smith’s hand. This should be fun!
Epilogue
Hood was in his office reading a letter from Admiral Collingwood when his secretary opened the door and announced,
“Mr George Canning, Admiral.”
Hood stood and came around the desk to greet the Foreign Secretary of the British government and the successor to William Wickham.
“Hello George, lovely to see you, make yourself comfortable.”
The secretary offered coffee or tea and left to prepare what was ordered.
“You said you had some news from Gibraltar.” Canning opened without ceremony.
“Yes,” replied Hood and held up two letters.
“Our agents have reported that the French and Spanish have signed a treaty at Fontainebleau to drive out the Braganza’s from Portugal and divide up the country between them.”
“I thought the assassination of the ambassador would slow that down,” commented Canning.
“So did we, but they brought in Gerald Duroc and he got it done relatively quickly. We managed to get a copy of the treaty, which was why our ships were pursued as they tried to get back to Gibraltar after the pickup,” Hood replied.
Canning considered this for a moment, “I don’t believe Napoleon has any real interest in dividing up Portugal, this could just be a ruse to get his troops into Spain without a fight.”
Hood nodded,
“I agree, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. However, I have also heard from Collingwood and he has tasked Sir Sidney Smith to lead an expedition to either assist the Portuguese or blockade the Tagus and, if all else fails, to burn their fleet as we do not want Napoleon to get his hands on that!”
“Hmmm, Smith. Can we trust him not to go off at a tangent?” Canning frowned in concern.
“Well the man is brilliant if unpredictable, so Collingwood asked Martin Stockley to support him with the Flotilla in the hope he can influence him. They have apparently become good friends.”
Canning raised his eyebrows,
“Good grief! Those two working together? Are you sure? That could explode in any number of ways!”
Hood laughed. “Well we can be sure that whatever happens it will be damn uncomfortable and inconvenient for the French and Spanish.”
Canning harrumphed and took a sip of coffee,
“Well, at least Stockley and his cutthroats will be in place for when Arthur Wellesley enters Portugal and then Spain to take the war to Napoleon,” he commented.
It was Hood’s turn to raise his eyebrows.
“You know that he and Martin are friends as well.”
Canning smiled,
“Wellesley mentioned that.”
Both men just sat and sipped their coffee for a while.
“1808 looks like it will be a very good year!” Hood concluded in sat
isfaction. He looked at the clock,
“Sun’s over the yard arm old chap, can I tempt you with a Brandy?
Author’s Note
The incident with the Prince Regent is pure fiction but could well have happened as he was a womaniser and had a sequence of mistresses. It was inspired by something a friend once said, “a wife is expensive, but a mistress is ten times the cost.” I guess he should remain nameless!
The years covered by the book were relatively quiet, historically. The Peninsular War was just beginning to fulminate at this time and the British could see the storm clouds on the horizon so moving the whole operation down to Gibraltar made sense.
I was researching that when I came upon the war in Calabria and specifically the Battle of Maida and lo and behold there was Sir Sidney Smith! I have been looking for an excuse to get him together with Marty for ages and that dropped right into my lap!
But the meat of the story is in the counter espionage exercise in Malta and the arrival of de Faux, aka le Bonne, in the Mediterranean. Marty picked up on the horse’s head idea in Sicily and I have no idea if it was common practice at that time but it did the job of enraging de faux and setting him off in the right direction, so I put it in regardless.
I tried to put in more details as that’s what people have been asking for so this book is 10 – 15% longer than the previous ones and I’m hoping I can beat that in the next one.
I do hope you enjoyed this instalment of Marty’s life and I look forward to taking to you again soon.
And now!
An excerpt from Book 7
Chapter 1: Family time
Marty lay in bed and traced the scar that ran across Caroline’s ribs with his fingertip and marvelled that she had already started to recover her figure after the birth of the twins. Caroline said she was blessed that even after having them she was returning to her former slender self. She practiced dance and fenced to keep fit and rubbed oils into her skin during the pregnancy which she said helped prevent stretch marks.
He shuddered at the memory of Shelby stitching up the wound that had been the result of a close encounter with a splinter in a sea battle in the Caribbean. An inch further in and it would have killed her.
It was dawn on a wet November morning in Gibraltar and he was relishing the quiet. None of the children were awake yet, Blaez was asleep in his place at the foot of their bed and the only sound, beside his gentle snoring, was the rain on the window.
The previous month the French had signed the Fontainebleau accord that committed them both to kicking the legitimate rulers of Portugal out and dividing up the country between them. Marty’s friend, Rear Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, had been given command of a task force to blockade the Portuguese port of Lisbon or destroy their fleet to prevent it falling into enemy hands. The Special Operations Flotilla, S.O.F. was going to be attached to the expedition in the hope that Marty could act as a moderating influence on the mercurial Smith.
But today was for his family, Marty had promised to take the children down to his ship for the morning. Beth and James were both excited and he knew that his followers, the Shadows, would spoil them rotten.
He leaned forward and kissed Caroline on the stomach, she opened her eyes and reached for him, a smile on her face that promised much. Then the door burst open, Beth and James rushed in and climbed on the bed. Timing was impeccable, he smiled ruefully and grabbed his daughter to tickle her, making her giggle.
The Formidiable was tied up at the dock and had a faint smell of sawdust, paint and tar hanging over her as they had just finished repairing the damage caused by their encounter with the Viala a French 74. Sir Sidney had arrived just in time win the battle after the Flotilla had been mercilessly harassing her to stop her running away.
Marty carried Beth and Caroline James; Mary had the twins in a pram. Wilson, a six-foot eight giant of a man and one of the Shadows, strode down the gang plank and walked over to Mary. The big man looked shy and quietly offered to help her get the pram on board.
Caroline exchanged a knowing look with Marty, they knew that Mary had been seeing someone on her evenings off, now they thought they knew who! Mary giggled at something he said then he picked up the pram and carried it up the gangway.
“Uncle John!” Beth cried as she spotted Marty’s Quartermaster stood on deck and struggled in his arms to get down. Marty laughed and put her down so she could run over to the laughing sailor brandishing her favourite toy, a wooden sword.
They spent a pleasant morning sat under an awning out of the rain. Caroline took over caring for the twins so Mary could spend some time with Wilson. At the end of the morning he approached Marty and asked permission to have a word with him.
“Well what can I do for you?” Marty asked with a glint in his eye.
“Well captain it’s like this, I been walking out with Mary for a while now and I find I have a real care for her.” He blushed and rung his hands before he continued, “We have talked, and we would like to get married if that’s alright with you of course.”
“You don’t need my permission Wilson, nor does Mary but I will give you my blessing. I think you will make a wonderful couple.” He shook hands with Wilson and clapped him on the shoulder. The two of them re-joined the ladies who were already celebrating.
As the rain had stopped, they decided to walk the half mile back to the house. They were about halfway back when a man stepped out from behind a tree in front of them. Marty immediately recognised the blunderbuss as it was swung up in his direction. He was carrying James and couldn’t get to his weapons!
Caroline was walking hand in hand with Beth and saw the man step forward. He was focused on Marty and was swinging the massive, brass, bell mouthed gun towards him. Marty was carrying James and was turning so he had his back to the man to shelter the boy from harm.
The world slowed down.
Her vision zoomed in on the man’s face as it contorted to shout something in French.
She let go of Beth and her hand flew to the muff she wore suspended around her neck and the pistol concealed inside.
She thumbed back the hammer as she pushed the gun through the tube of material.
The pistol, a gift from Marty, was a fifty caliber, rifled, four-inch barrelled Manton sometimes called a muff pistol that was preferred by ladies. It packed a punch and she was an expert shot even hampered by the muff.
The pistol fired and the bullet smashed into the man’s chest, dead center through his sternum, the impact knocking him backwards as he pulled the trigger, jerking the barrel up.
The enormous spread of deer shot flew high missing Marty’s back by inches. However, as he ducked, he exposed Mary who was walking behind him pushing the pram with the twins in. A single piece of shot on the edge of the spread sliced through her scalp above her right eye.
Caroline didn’t hesitate and stepped over to Marty to reach under his coat. She pulled out his fighting knife and turned to the prone man who lay groaning on the floor. She stepped over to him, looked down at his face then knelt and placed the knife on his throat.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The man looked up into the coldest grey eyes he had ever seen, there was no mercy just cold beauty.
“A patriot.” He replied as blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.
“Why?” she asked, her head cocked slightly to one side.
“He killed my love.” He gasped as the life started to fade from his eyes.
“Claudette?”
“Yesss,” he breathed with his last breath.
She turned back and saw Marty kneeling over a prone Mary. He was holding what looked like a spare nappy to her head which was soaked in blood. Beth was crying and James stood looking at Mary not understanding what had happened. The dead man was forgotten as she went to care for her family.
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Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Page 23
