by Smith, Skye
"Leslie and his troops have raced ahead to slow the English army in case they cross the River Tweed before the Covenanter army is ready for them,” Ham called back. "They'll be in the town of Duns by now. The closest harbour is the mouth of the River Eye. That is one river north of the Tweed."
"It would be more helpful to know name of the river one north of the Eye."
"Oh, right you are. You sail past Saint Abb's Head and across the next bay. You can't miss it. I'll send word to him so he will be expecting you. When do you think you'll get there?"
"Shit man, we're overloaded for the open sea. It'll be slow going and if any bad weather comes up, we'll have to find a harbour to hide in. Say no sooner than tomorrow this time."
"Then Godspeed, Daniel Vanderus. Oh, and I should warn you that some of the King's warships have been sighted off the Firth, so try not to bring attention to yourself."
"You mean like signaling them for help if the weight of our cargo is sinking us?" They were on the sea side of Ham now. Daniel's last hail was, "Just make sure that no one from the quay gets a message off to the Kameel before she leaves Edinburgh for Holland." Ham waved, and then turned his horse to head back to the quay.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE PISTOLEER - HellBurner by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 12 - To Duns near the Scottish Border in May 1639
The local dory they had captured at the mouth of the River Eye had carried an old man who smelled like he had been a fisherman all his life, and in all that time had never washed. Other than the reek, he was well worth the shilling Daniel had promised him. With armies ranging on both banks of the River Tweed, there were few homes on shore that dared to show lights. The old fisher was rowing Daniel ashore in his dory blind through the blackness of pre-dawn.
Only once on their way into the harbour did the dory run up onto a shoal, but that was just a gentle nudge since he was rowing slow with muffled oars. He backed off and then continued towards shore. Hopefully Ham's message would have arranged for a welcoming party at Eyemouth, but there was no sense taking chances. There was a risk that the king's men would be waiting for them..
Daniel was eager to be rid of the muskets and get back to Rotterdam to collect his profit. It was one thing to run guns into an almost civilized place like Edinburgh, but quite another to run them to the likely battlefield. Some would say, foolhardy. If something went horribly wrong and they were met by the king's men instead of General Leslie, his only defense would be to tell them that the muskets had been sent by the king's allies in Spanish Flanders.
The old-fashioned matchlocks were unmistakably Spanish, so it was a believable story. Everywhere you heard rumours that the King was getting help from the Spanish Empire. That was one of the reasons why the Scots were so upset with him, and why they needed these muskets.
Muskets or no, the Scots were still outnumbered along this border. What were the numbers told to him by this reeking man in front of him in this reeking dory? Twenty thousand versus were protecting their homes from invaders. The Scots held the home turf, where they knew every bog and hillock. Like this fisher. He was navigating through the black night by the sound of the waves on the rocks and the smell of the kelp beds.
"Heads up" came a whisper from the man as he raised his oars and allowed the dory to glide silently. They both stared into the blackness. Daniel could see nothing, but the fisher could and dipped one oar to adjust his coarse. Adjust it north. Daniel had asked him to land on the north bank of the Eye.
Daniel cocked his two pistols. The one in his left hand was his dragon, his fire-breathing dragon. The one in his aiming hand was loaded for killing. He had polished the lead ball before loading it in hopes that it would fire straight and true and long. The fisher shushed him severely without uttering a sound. He was throwing his whispers to someone on the shore, and they were throwing whispers back.
"Friend or foe?" Daniel asked softly as the whispers stopped.
"No Englishman alive speaks that tongue,” came his answer in a hushed voice. "We've arrived." The fisher looked at his two pistols and swore under his breath. "You told me that you were carry eels to feed the Scottish army. You were lying to me."
"Aye,” replied Daniel in a whisper. "Forgive me the lie, for what we carry may win the battle for either army. This cargo may be worth a kingdom. We carry muskets."
"You say that your cargo is muskets and yet your own crew were armed with old-fashioned yew bows. Your first lie about eels is more believable."
"Show me the musket that can shoot ten aimed and deadly shots in a minute and I will have my crew throw the bows overboard." Daniel stopped speaking and listened. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen the glint of metal on the shore. He aimed his killing pistol at it and waited. There was nothing else to do but wait.
With every breath the raised pistol seemed to gain a pound. Whoever was in the bushes had better show themselves soon, else his taut wrist would begin to cramp. He should have brought a blunderbuss, why didn't he bring a blunderbuss? Anso had offered him one. He cocked his ear towards shore. His eye stared hard into the darkness. His trigger finger twitched.
A voice called out from the bushes. "Captain Vanderus, is that you?"
"Aye, but if it please you, could we speak in Dutch? My English is poor, and my Scottish poorer." The Freisburn’s crew had covered the name of the ship, and had demanded that he make everyone believe that they were a Dutch ship and crew, not an English one. It was a sensible precaution, considering they were running guns to the King's enemies. He switched to Dutch and called out, "Come forward out of the bushes so I can relax my trigger fingers."
A man step cautiously out of the bushes carrying a white flag. A dozen men followed him. The man with the flag called out in halting Dutch interspersed with Swedish words, "With your permission I will set up guard posts around the river mouth to protect us while we unload your ship. Lords Montrose and Argyll have been informed, but I doubt they will come here. The earliness of the hour, you know."
"Set up your pickets, man. What do I call you?"
"General Leslie, Alex Leslie, and you are Daniel, Daniel Vanderus." The man turned to his aides and sent them off at a run. "I am willing to serve as hostage if you mistrust my intentions."
"I don't know about hostage, but if you'll let me come ashore, I'll share my flask of best Genever with you."
"Step ashore, and see if I don't hurry to your side. I've been putting up with the foulness of Scottish malt whisky for weeks now."
The dark figure joined Daniel as soon as he stepped out of the dory, and waited impatiently while he shoved his killing pistol under his belt so that he could find his flask. The man took it from him, and lifted it in a slight toast, though more likely to gauge how full it was. He then took a long drink of the Genever and let it burn down his throat before he spoke again.
"Ahhh." He sighed long as the warmth of the aquavitae pushed the morning chills away. "I will keep your ruse, sir,” Alex whispered. "There may be spies about, and it's for the best that they think you are connections of mine from the continent." He looked down at the single bundle of muskets in the dory and laughed. "Is that all of them? Hamilton led me to expect more of you."
"Those are samples only, General. The full cargo is on my ship, but we didn't trust bringing it into the river mouth in the dark."
"So how many guns in total?" asked General Alexander Leslie, "and call me Alex."
"Near enough to five hundred, and all ready to be used. I had my crew work hard for a week to turn seven hundred in poor condition into five hundred in best condition."
"That still means my army has less than a thousand muskets all totaled, which is far fewer than are carried by the army facing us. Worse is that I have no horse to speak of, whereas they have light and heavy cavalry, perhaps five thousand. Can you bring me more muskets, and soon?"
"Not soon enough if the King's army is in Berwick-upon-Tweed. That is what? Just eight miles south
of here. Five thousand horse? Then you're fucked if they want to do battle."
"Hush that kind of talk!" Alex hissed. "Would you have such a rumour make the rounds of my camp?"
"You don't, you know,” Daniel said softly as he took his flask back and took a mouthful..
"Don't what?" Alex said, taking the flask again. He was quite happy to continue in Dutch for it was better than his English. His main languages were Scottish and Dutch, and he knew more Swedish than English, and almost as much Spanish as English.
"Don't want a battle. Even if you were sure to win, you don't want a battle on this, your home turf. No matter which side wins, the folk and farmers hereabouts will lose everything. Thirty thousand men bashing about, armed to the teeth? The towns, villages, and farmers would never recover from it. Why not lead the King's army somewhere empty of folk and farms? I hear there are many such moors inland from here. Better yet, make peace with them."
"Well he, they, are not likely to make peace when they outnumbers us in horse, men and muskets. And don't speak to me like I am new to planning battles. I was facing armies larger than this before you were born. What battles have you fought?"
"Skirmishes in Holland. I was a pistoleer with their militia, but I was at Breda and Kallo." The early morning twilight was growing brighter, so he was having a look around at the river and the banks and the lay of the land. "Does the King have many spies? Are they any good?" His biggest risk was Royal spies. He was suddenly very glad that the crew had covered the ship's name.
"Every man you see could be a spy. There are English tradesmen living north of the border, and Highland Reivers watching us from the hills. It is unfair of me to complain, however. The longer the King's army keeps up their thieving ways, the more spies they nurture to feed me with news."
"Aye, well it's getting light, and your pickets will be set by now. The muskets weigh two and a half tons, so if you will order your carts to back in along this bank I will signal my ship to come into the river and come in close. We may as well unload them directly onto your carts."
He was talking to Leslie's backside because the man had bent over to open the sample bundle and have a look. Leslie finally got one loose and as he straightened up he raised it to his face to have a closer look.
"This is a matchlock. From Hamilton's message I was expecting snap-locks."
"Aye, well, Ham meant Jocklocks. They are a bolt-on lock that converts a matchlock into a snaphaunce I have a sample of one with me,” Daniel reached under his cloak and found the lump of metal and held it out. Alex took it and then began turning it around and around next to the musket. "When the light improves I'll give you a demonstration."
* * * * *
The general found it hard to believe that such a small open ship had brought such a valuable cargo all the way from Holland to Scotland. He said this while they watched bundle after bundle being carried from ship to cart. Daniel did not explain to him about the Kameel or of John Stewart's involvement. Let Ham do that telling. Until the Freisburn was safely away from Scotland, the less said the better.
"That was the last bundle,” Daniel eventually told him. The sunrise colors were giving way to full daylight. If they sailed soon, they would be well offshore before any spies could report them to the King's army in Berwick.
"And still no sign of Melrose or Argyll,” Alex replied after a quick scan of the road. "Typical. I do all the work and they take all the credit. Damn their eyes, for they have left the issue of payment to be my embarrassment." He held a folded paper out to the gunrunner. "All that Argyll gave me to pay you with was this paper. Please forgive me for not mentioning that payment was by paper, not in coin. I was fearful that you would refuse to unload your ship, and I do so desperately need these muskets."
For a moment Daniel was at a loss. Ten years of running kegs of booze and he had forgotten the first rule of smuggling. See the coin first. Not that he had been expecting the full value of the muskets, for these muskets had already been paid for by John Stewart. Well, in truth they hadn't, not in full, not yet. Not until Daniel claimed his profit from the Rotterdam banker.
He wondered how much Ham had told his general in the message that had sent to set up this meeting. Had he mentioned Stewart at all? Perhaps not, else this welcome may not have been so friendly. He took the paper and unfolded it. It was a purchase order for forty casks of Scottish whisky and it was marked 'paid in full'. This army had just paid him a cask of bad whiskey per dozen muskets. Bloody cheap bastard Scots. That was less than half their Edinburgh value, never mind being delivered just-in-time to a battlefield.
Leslie read it over his shoulder, and said. "This is so embarrassing. I must apologize. I had expected at least a promissory note naming Argyll's banker." Promissory notes were how gentleman normally paid off gambling debts.
For a few moments Daniel weighed his options. He could rant and rave and make trouble. It was a bit late for that because the guns were already being carted away under guard. Besides, had he really expected to be paid for them? In truth he had been doing this as a favour to Ham.
He could go back to Edinburgh and claim this cargo of whisky. It would give him a cargo to take back to England. Was it worth the effort? The Freisburn would be overloaded all the way home, so it would be a slow sail hugging the harbours. As aquavitae, Scottish whiskey was alehouse quality at best, which hurt the price and the profits.
His preference was to sail directly from here back to Rotterdam to pick up his profit from John Stewart's banker before Stewart could cause any trouble about it. Directly, as in not making a stop at Wellenhay on the way, which would lead to more delays because the crew hadn't been home for over two months.
The sound of Leslie walking away from him to follow the carts reminded him of the general's own words. "Not so fast, Alex!" he called after him. "I've decided to accept your offer of hostage until your Lord Argyll explains this invoice."
Alex was by this time surrounded by his personal guard, his lifeguard. Hardened veterans of a dozen battles against the Imperial army in the Germanies. They all understood Dutch, and the call of the ship's captain was enough reason for every one of them to point a cocked pistol towards that captain. "Stand easy,” Alex barked at his guard, and then in a calmer voice, "Come then, Daniel. One of my guard can double up and you can ride beside me back to Duns."
There was a slight delay while Daniel told Anso to take the Freisburn north two miles and wait for him at Saint Abb's. "I'm riding to Duns to see about turning a promissory note into coin,” he was forced to explain, shamefaced. Anso just shook his head and sighed at Daniel's explanation. The reason for going ahead with the dory fisherman not just to make sure it was safe to land, but to agree on price and terms before delivery. "Don't say it, just pass me what is left of that pin of Genever. It may help with the bargaining."
* * * * *
General Leslie and Daniel accompanied the slow procession of carts laden with muskets and therefore did not arrive at the largest manor in the town of Duns until the afternoon meal was already being eaten. The manor served as the headquarters of the Scottish Covenanter army, and therefore both James Graham, the Earl of Montrose and Archie Campbell, the Earl of Argyll were at the 'lords' table. Leslie insisted that a place be set for his newest ally, Captain Daniel, and they joined the second table set for other than 'lords'.
It surprised Daniel that this other table did not seat military officers, but clerics. The man at his other shoulder from Leslie, for instance, was a lawyer. The man beside the lawyer was a church elder, which in Scottish came out as Kirk Presbyter. They were here to discuss treaties and terms with the King's agents in Berwick. While Alex and Daniel discussed muskets and locks and Dutch pistoleer strategies, the lawyer and the Presbyter discussed their interpretations of passages of the Bible.
Eventually the table of Lords acknowledged Leslie's new guest, and on finding out the almost-truth that he had just sailed the cargo from Rotterdam, immediately began asking about the latest news fro
m the continent. It was with great lament that Daniel was kept speaking for almost an hour, and in a falsely-accented English. The greatest lament however, was that while he answered questions, the choicest cuts of meat were disappearing down the gullets of the religious nuts across the table from him.
Both of these Lords reminded Daniel of the politicians he has met in London through Henry Marten. Their words were filled with fire and fury, but they didn't seem to know how to actually do anything for themselves. They were both aristocrats, so their solution to the out-of-control King Charlie was for the aristocracy to be given more power to keep the King in check. Argyll and Montrose seemed to hate each other, despite being sat together, and Daniel assumed that they were competitors to becoming the leading aristocrat in Scotland once Charlie was tamed.
Eventually the questions ceased, and Daniel could fill his mouth with other than words. At least the pin of Genever was holding out because only the general, the lords, and he were imbibing. The clerics were avoiding it like the plague.
"It is against our sworn covenant,” the lawyer, a man by the name of Archie Johnston, hissed at him. He stared with disgust at the two lords who were swilling it back. "As it is against theirs."
"What's a covenant?" Daniel asked him.
"Not 'a' covenant,” the man replied with a smile only for him, "but THE covenant. It is a petition by Godly Scots to the King that all here have sworn to and signed."
"Archie here helped to write it,” Alex interrupted. "How many have signed it so far, Archie? Half of Scotland yet?"
"Over half," Archie replied with pride. "And today we will go and propose that King Charles also sign it. I carefully worded it so that both kings and subjects could sign the oath. Would you like to sign it, Captain?"
"I'll certainly read it." Because of the legal fight against the draining of the Fens, Daniel had signed many petitions to the courts and the King. They were short and easy to read, mostly because the Fens folk were not strong at reading. He certainly wasn't expecting the sheaf of papers that was carefully laid down in front of him.
