by Smith, Skye
"Aye, typical navy thinking," Daniel jested. "You get paid whether you sail or not. For me to get paid, I must first get my Genever to London. Besides, any day now the first of the winter storms will hit. I don't want to spend the winter in Flanders when I have lusty women waiting to keep me warm in England."
Daniel had thought that Charlie's fleet was still blockading Scotland so he had chosen not to do another whisky run, and instead he had brought the Freisburn to Sluys to buy Genever from the brewers of Zeeland. Because of the time of year, with winter storms building, it was prudent to take the shortest way across, and that meant the Dover narrows. Sluys was closer to Dover than was Amsterdam or Rotterdam.
Joris put his fingers to his lips and then whispered. "If you are determined to sail today, then wait until the tide ebbs and leave with our squadron of fireships. We have a frigate escort to get us safely passed the Dunkirkers." He looked around nervously after telling this navy secret. The Dunkirkers were Spanish-Flemish privateers based in Dunkirk, who were encouraged by the King of Spain to prey on any ships that traded with the United Dutch Republic, and especially to prey on any inbound galleons of the East and West Indies Companies.
Dunkirk was the only major port on this coast still under the control of the Empire. It had been a thorn in the side of the Dutch and the French since the days of the original Spanish Armada launched against Queen Bess fifty years ago. The huge Spanish invasion army that should have invaded Bess's England was to have been picked up at Dunkirk and carried across. For the past four years Cardinal Richelieu of France had refused Spain the use of French roads, so the port of Dunkirk had become the Spanish lifeline to the Imperial Army of Flanders.
Daniel thanked the two young commanders for their offer, and paid for their breakfasts, since minor masters of minor navy ships were notoriously underpaid. He had to leave for his crew would have already quit their lodgings and be waiting for him at the Freisburn. His crew liked Sluys because it was a small and friendly port.
It took almost two hours to get clearance from the harbour master to slip their moorings, because the Navy did not want any spy ships leaving the harbour and sailing to Dunkirk to tell of the departure of the fireships. Once they were aweigh they raised their one square sail and pushed out their oars and rowed at a fair clip in hopes of catching up to the small convoy of fireships.
Daniel had convinced old Cleff, the prior captain of the Freisburn, to ship as his tillerman and continue teaching him about ships and the sea. Now he joined him at the tiller. The most dangerous part of this journey would be the first twenty miles, until they were far enough out to be beyond the Dunkirker patrol ships.
For this journey they had both of their swivel cannons, seventy pounds of bronze each, mounted one on each side of the aft castle. He was temped to load them. It was a silly thought, because it took less than a minute to load it, and loading it now would just risk the powder sock getting wet from the spray of the waves.
To the north there was an ominous-looking fog bank, but it seemed to be billowing away from them towards the Nor'east so hopefully they would have clear skies to match the calm waters. They could almost see the white cliffs of Dover ahead, which looked like a white blob lifted out of the whiteness of the mists by some trick of a mirage.
Their luck with the weather held until they were but three or four miles off from Dover and were about to change tack to sail into the Thames estuary. Before they could make their turn, they were hit from the north by a rogue wind caused by a towering thunder cloud. The waves of these treacherous narrows turned first to an unpleasant chop and then to rearing horses and it became impossible to keep to a course without risking being driven onto Foreness Head.
Daniel thought about making for Margate for the shelter of the harbour, but wise old Cleff had been there before and told him that the harbour mouth was treacherous in a Norther blow. Instead, he gave the order to come about and fly with the wind south towards Ramsgate. They would hide from the storm in that small harbour.
The crew didn't need the order. They all knew there was no choice and were already shipping their oars and working the cleats.. They came about sharply and then with the standing horses behind them, they flew south in front of the thunderstorm's wind. The crew no longer needed to row, so they all scrambled to the stern to help balance the ship against the forward power of the square sail that seemed to be trying to bury their bow under the waves.
The fast and mad dash in front of the wind took them to Ramsgate in a hurry. They were the only small ship to be seen on the sea. The rest of them had not tempted the fates as Daniel had. There were breaking waves at the harbour mouth at Ramsgate, so they did not turn in and instead dropped the sail, ran out a few oars and rowed beyond Ramsgate to the end of the headland where they turned into its lee.
They thought about entering Pegwell Bay, but it was getting dark and they could see whitewater breaking over the shifting sand bars that formed the bay. Without a local pilot on board they could not risk it. By the time the thunderstorm left them it was pitch dark, so instead of making for any port they rigged a storm sail and spent a sordid night without much sleep drifting south along the coast of Sandwich Bay. By tacking back and forth aimlessly, they slowed their drift and kept far away from both the shore and the barrier sand bars that ran between them and open sea.
First light came late due to the fog and low clouds, and they peered out searching for any landmark that would tell them their position. Every mile they drifted south would become a mile of hard row back. They could see the occasional headland through the fog, so they moved closer in towards the shore and tried to figure out which headlands they were. Cleff eventually decided that the night's drift had carried them beyond Sandwich Bay and south into the Small Downs.
When the fog finally billowed away from the shore and their ship, a call of "Tall ships!" came from the bow watch. "A fuck of a lot of tall ships. Anchored in the Downs under the fortress of Deal."
Daniel grabbed his looker and scrambled forward for a better view. There was a lad of not yet fifteen with the watch, and he passed the lad the looker. Young eyes saw so much clearer through the looker than old ones. Something about the young eyes more easily adjusting to the focus of the spectacle lenses.
The lad stared hard through the looker while he tried to remember the flags that he had studied only last month. "I count almost seventy ships, mostly Spanish, but with a dozen English."
"Well, so much for good King Charlie's neutrality in the Papist wars. A Spanish fleet being protected by an English fortress. Unbelievable!" Daniel yelled loud enough for the entire crew to take an interest. "A dozen English ships you say? Are any of them warships?"
"Perhaps fifty."
"Of the English, lad. Any English warships? Here, give me the looker." Daniel searched from ship to ship. "Troop carriers. Galleons stripped of two decks of guns so they can carry troops. That bastard Charlie. This is bad news for the Netherlands, very bad news. This lot have been waiting out the storm just as we were. When they leave here they will cross to Dunkirk and offload those troops. In a few days all hell will break loose for our friends in Sluys and Rotterdam. Bugger the Spanish! Bugger Charlie!"
Daniel scrambled back to the tiller, and more importantly, to the tillerman. "Cleff, do you know of any channels through Goodwin Sands?" Sandwich Bay and the Downs were not actually bays but a coastline that was protected from heavy seas by the shifting sand bars of Goodwin just offshore.
"Aw Danny, yee can't be serious. The channels change with every blow."
"What's the tide? Do you think we would make it over them if we miss the channels?"
"Aye, perhaps, if we are not capsized by the breaking waves. It's like a reef out there right now, Danny. I'll not steer you into it. I refuse. I'll call the crew together to veto your orders." Daniel was the master of the ship, but not the owner. The ship belonged to the clan. Every man aboard had a voting share. With a strong vote they could overrule any order, or even replace th
e master. After all, he was not the only man aboard who could run this ship.
"We've no choice Cleff, look,” said Daniel pointing, "we've been spotted. There's a Spanish patrol on an intercept course with us. They will treat us as a spy ship. Why else would we be here in this blow? They will hang us all. Worse, they will drink all our Genever without being polite enough to offer us a last drink."
Cleff was silent and thoughtful for a moment, but then shrugged his shoulders. Seconds later he sang out a warning to the crew and then turned the bow into the light wind.
Daniel cupped his hands and shouted out, "Lively now lads! Hoist the sails before them Spanish bastards overhaul us." A dozen men were instantly active along the ship. As soon as their own tasks were done, they pushed out their oars and made ready to row. In a light wind this ship was slow to respond to the rudder, but she obeyed the oars without question.
Two of the small, fast Spanish rowing yachts were almost upon them by the time they had the sails filled with wind and were on course straight out from shore towards the white line of breaking waves that marked the sand bars of Goodwin. The Spanish had not raised their sails because their oarsmen had been rowing directly into the wind. That gave the little Freisburn a small head start, because with both sail and oar she was faster than them, but not by much.
A few minutes later the advantage was gone. Now all of the yachts had filled sails and had oars beating double time. It was a race the Spanish must win, even though the intercept angles gave them further to row. Their waterline length was double the Freisburn's so they could sail half again faster. Daniel wasn't watching the Spaniards. He was too busy with his looker trying to read the line of breaking waves, trying to spot a place where there was not so much white water. A change in the continuous line of waves that would mark a channel.
"A hundred yards, Danny!" Cleff called out. "The lead ship is a hundred yards dead astern and closing. Find me that channel, you beauty! Find me that channel." He watched Daniel search for another few minutes. "Fifty yards, Danny. You're out of time."
Daniel didn't want to start a firefight with an entire fleet of warships, but he had no choice. The only reason they had not been fired on by the Spanish yacht which was now only forty yards behind them, was because the Spaniard's bowchaser cannon was bouncing up and down so much at this speed in the chop that no one would risk the recoil from firing her. The Freisburn's swivel gun was loaded. It had been loaded as soon as they had seen the tall ships.
The aiming took patience. Not just to wait until the range was point blank, but also to wait for that special moment when the now boiling seas that were throwing two different-sized ships about in different directions would accidentally throw them the same way at the same time. The moment came. Daniel gripped the wooden handle absolutely still, pulled the string which released the flint hammer, and closed his eyes so he wouldn't be blinded if something went horribly wrong.
The roar of the thing echoed in his head three or four times as he felt soot and grit hit his face. Only after the ringing left his head, did he hear, or at least understand Cleff's words. "You've got horseshoes up yer ass, Danny. You've made a tangle of the bloody starboard bank of oars."
He opened his eyes and watched as the Spaniard veered sharply south at right angles to them. Then the Spaniard's sails were caught by the wind, and with all the confusion with their oars there was no turning the ship back onto an intercept course.
"Second ship at three hundred yards, Danny! Stop gloating over your new toy." And then to the crew, "Raise your oars lads. Take a rest while the sail keeps us going. Swallow your aleskins."
Daniel rubbed the soot away from his eyes and again began searching for a pass through the breaking surf. "There!" he pointed. "Can you see it, Cleff? It's small, but then so are we." He was pointing at a barely visible calm spot of water surrounded by a maelstrom of white surf. "When you spot it, don't take your eyes away, else you will lose it."
"Got it, Danny!" then to the crew, "hurry your drinks lads, we've got more work for ye!"
Running Goodwin Bar in the high seas caused by last night's storm was perhaps the most frightening and the most foolishly risky bit of seamanship that any of the crew had ever experienced. The Spaniard fell behind and circled round to wait for the Freisburn to founder. The standing waves of white water that had seemed like a thin white line from afar, were well over a man's height as they closed on them. Before he could lose his nerve and order Cleff to come about, the current in the channel had caught them and the tiny ship shot forward towards the towering waves.
Despite their speed in the current, Cleff kept yelling at the lads to row like hell. Unless they were going faster than the current, he had no rudder control. The faster they went, the more control. Eventually he was calling the rhythm to them, "Row! Row! Row!" Daniel was standing on the other side of the tiller with both hands on it and his shoulder braced in case Cleff lost his grip. A second of loose tiller would twist them in the current and into the waves side on.
It was truly frightening to watch the small ship moving with the current through a gap in the wall of white water, but not nearly as frightening as their next discovery. There was second wall of white water further out where the current they rode was disappearing under the surface of the sea. The current was causing a huge standing wave just beyond the waves caused by the outside edge of the sandbar.
Cleff yelled out a warning to the crew and then slapped Daniel's hands to make him leave go of the tiller. With all the strength of his body he pushed the tiller hard over, and the bow begrudgingly swung south. The wind was now fully behind them, and although they raced along just inside of this taller standing wave, they were outside of churning white froth that marked the edge of the bar. And then they were clear of all of it and wallowing through normal sea swells.
Their preferred course was north back to Dover but as that was impossible in this wind, they made for the coast of France instead. As they got further from land the wind lessened and became more of a Nor'wester ... perhaps due to the Dover headland. It was a welcome change because it meant they could angle more and more towards the North East, towards Sluys, and towards the Dutch Navy. They must warn their friends in the Netherlands that a Spanish Armada was on its way to Dunkirk.
The men were exhausted and lay about panting wherever they could between sea-chests and Genever casks. Cleff stayed on the easiest course to put as many miles between them and the Spaniards while using just the sails. It was a course that almost cost them dearly, for it took them too close to Dunkirk.
* * * * *
"For the love of Freyja, another effing fleet ahead!" Cleff shouted to Daniel and the crew to wake them out of their snooze.
Daniel leaped to his feet while feeling for his looker in its waterproof purse. He used it to scan the horizons all around them, in a closer and closer spiral. When he was satisfied that there were no other ships close to them, he focused the looker on this new fleet. "They are Dunkirkers, damn it! They are on their way to join the Spaniards at the Downs."
"You do realize,” Cleff called out, "that as soon as we change course they will send some ships after us."
"They won't bother. Not a one of them has fewer than two cannon decks. We aren't worth the effort." Daniel spotted something through the looker and then called out, "No, I lied. There is one small ship. It must be for ferrying officers between the tall ships. Wait, there is another, no, that's just a jolly boat under tow. So just one small ship."
"So now what?" Cleff asked. Below them along the ship the men were shaking each other awake and looking out over the gunnels at the fleet of tall ships they were making for.
"If we change course, they may send a gunship after us and blow us out of the water, so don't you dare change course until I think this through." The wind was their enemy. If the Freisburn could use the wind, then so could these larger ships, and they were faster under sail. The wind was still from the North.
The logical answer to this puzzle seemed so
insane that he was afraid to tell it to Cleff. "You got any ideas, Cleff?"
"Only thing that comes to mind is to keep this course as if we know them, and then sail between them until they realize that we aren't stopping, and then turn her north into the wind and row like our lives depend on it."
"That's insane, Cleff."
"I know it."
"I can't think of anything else either,” Daniel muttered and then smiled. "So we are both insane."
"At least they can't blow us out of the water once we are amongst them. I don't mind a drowning death, but I don't want to go to paradise missing arms and legs, or worse, my cock. Think of the disappointment of all those angels that I am surely meant to fuck."
Daniel went amongst the crew to explain the plan. There was not much to explain. Sail on their present course to get as far as they could using the wind, and when that didn't work any more, turn into the wind and hope that none of these ships were rowing galleys.
It was the lad on the for'ard watch that punched holes in the plan. "What if there are musketeers aboard the Dunkirkers?"
Daniel felt a right bloody fool. Of course, even if the ships couldn't fire cannon balls at them for fear of hitting their own ships, anyone with a musket would climb the rigging and take pot shots at them. He stumbled back to the tiller and told Cleff, "Make for Calais. Those ships will have musketeers aboard. Calais is our closest friendly port."
"Friendly,” Cleff laughed derisively. "Fuckin' frogs, they'll take our cargo and then give us five days to leave port. The minimum under sea law."
"Better to lose the Genever than everything. We have no choice. Change course."
