Pistoleer: HellBurner

by Smith, Skye

  Though the tall ships from afar looked like they were clustered close together, in truth they were hundreds of yards apart. It was a deception caused by the size of the frigates. Luckily these were the seagoing Dunkirkers and not the coastal Dunkirkers, and they were on their way to join the Armada, so a little coastal trader would be of little interest to them. Hopefully.

  Except, of course, that they had the one small ship with them. Once the Freisburn changed course for Calais, the smallest of the Dunkirkers turned to intercept them. It took the Dunkirker just a half an hour to close the distance enough to fire their bowchaser cannon at them. Daniel yelled out to Cleff, but he had already done the logical thing as soon as he saw the smoke of the cannon.

  Cleff had changed course away from the line of interception and yelled at the crew to run the oars out. That was when the thunder of the cannon finally reached them. Instinctively the entire crew ducked, but the splash of the ball that had arrived with the thunder was well to the west of them. Well, at least three paces west. These bloody pirates knew their business. They were professionals, not like the pirates-of-opportunity that fished along the English coast.

  "Row for your lives!" yelled Daniel, "and someone trim those sails before we start sailing backwards!"

  Rolling thunder reached their ears. They looked all around, searching for the source. The closest of the tall ships had fired a cannonade from at least two miles away, but their aim was high because the Freisburn was so small. There was a lot of confusion on the Freisburn caused by panic but eventually the sails were trimmed and enough crew were rowing to give Cleff some rudder control. Just in time, because there was a puff of smoke from the bowchaser again, and Cleff immediately changed course, this time the other way.

  This time there was no big splash, but hundreds of little ones. "Grape!" Cleff yelled. "Keep your bloody heads down!"

  Then the tall ship's battery had another try at them, but they were still beneath the lowest angle of their guns. And then the bowchaser again. Cleff was now the only man still standing out in the open. Everyone else was hiding behind solid wood. This time they could hear some of the grape hit the mast and the sail.

  The small ship was giving chase but though they were a much faster ship, their only oars were sweeps designed for port work. To keep up with the Freisburn's combination of sail and oar in this light wind, the Dunkirker was having to tack continuously. The Freisburn was slowly pulling away. Too slowly. At the top of each tack, the bowchaser came to bear and bellowed at them.

  "Danny, can you not use your new toy to give them something to think about?"

  "Our canisters are short range ammo,” Daniel complained in a long version of 'No'. "I've never tried it with a cannon ball. What if it blows up?"

  "Did it come with balls?"

  "A couple," replied Daniel.

  "Then it's got a couple more than you do,” Cleff called out jeeringly, "shoot at the fuckers!" He watched impatiently as Daniel scurried about, not just searching in the bottom of the cannon chest for the balls, but finding a plumb-bob and some kind of measuring device. "I didn't ask you to tell me how long it is, I asked you to shoot it."

  "Don't hurry me. The man who sold it to me explained how to calculate the angle for the range. I think I remember how. How far do you think she is behind us?"

  "Close enough for you to hail them and ask them what bloody angle they are using." By now Cleff was almost jumping up and down. "Just shoot the bloody thing to worry them a bit!"

  "Bloody hell! Get out of my way!" Anso, a tall man with shoulders on him like an ox shoved by Daniel towards the stern rail. He was carrying his grandfather's Yew longbow and a handful of four-foot arrows. All of the oarsmen carried bows and arrows, but this was the only longbow aboard. With a grunt he strung the bow and then selected an arrow to nock. He waited patiently until the trailing ship changed tack to bring its bowchaser to bear again. The wind was light and he was pondering the effect on his aim at this range. The worse pondering was accounting for the wallow of the waves and the movement of the ships.

  "Ask the crew to stop rowing for a moment,” Anso called out without taking his eye off the bowchaser. The lurch of the oars stopped. The stern rose up on the next wave and then the movement halted for a split second. He drew and loosed. The arrow flew and arched gracefully ever so slightly higher and then continued its arch down, and slammed into the gun crew who were busy aiming the bowchaser.

  There was no way of knowing whether the arrow drew blood but it delayed that shot, so they were safe until the next tack. On the next tack, the gun crew of the bowchaser were expecting an arrow, but instead a cannon ball whistled just above their heads and through the foresail. The Dunkirker immediately changed course, and on the next tack, they didn't tack but put about and seemed to give up the chase.

  Daniel and Anso were hugging at each other and laughing while Cleff was dancing a jig. Cleff lurched himself back to the tiller when he heard a rumble of thunder from the closest frigate of the fleet. No longer being chased, he could afford a major change of course just as a half-dozen cannon balls killed some fish to north of them.

  That was the last of the thunder, but unfortunately the small Dunkirker had outwitted them. The course they had taken that made it seem as if they were giving up the chase, was actually so they could play the angles and the wind and make one long tack that would put them ahead of the Freisburn and with the windward advantage.

  It was Cleff who worked the angles and realized that they were still in trouble. He was discussing a change of course with Daniel when there was a call from the bow watch. "Sail ho! Tall ship dead ahead and coming for us. Fast."

  With the looker in his hand, Daniel scrambled forward. The crew did not stop rowing but they were all looking over their shoulders trying to catch sight of this new ship each time the bow dipped into the trough of a wave. "She's a Dutchman!" Daniel called out, and there were cheers up and down the ship.

  At the news, Cleff changed course to keep the Dunkirker away from them until the new ship could sail closer. He wanted to be under the protection of Dutch gunners as soon as possible. The Dutchman was closing the miles between them at a hell of a rate, so she had to be a very fast ship. That meant that she would be of the new, purposefully built war frigates, and the small Dunkirker would be no match for her.

  When they were close to the Dutchman, Cleff spun the Freisburn like a top to be parallel to the Dutchman's course. The Dutchman spilled some wind to slow herself, and ran in parallel within hailing distance for a few minutes. The ship was the Gideon out of Frisia. In his best olde Frisian Daniel hailed her captain, Captain Kamp, who was another that Daniel knew from the alehouses of Sluys.

  "Hendrick!" he yelled out, "the bastard following us is a Dunkirker. We carry a message for the Dutch Admiral about the Spanish fleet, and that bastard is trying to stop us."

  Hendrick yelled back, "Make your fastest course for Calais while we chase the Dunkirker!"

  "Nay, nay, nay!" yelled Daniel. "He is just a scout for an entire fleet of Dunkirkers. Don't let him draw you towards them." That was all they had time for. Try as she might, the Gideon could not slow to the speed of the Freisburn, and Cleff was all too eager to turn onto a course for Calais to try to keep up to her.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  THE PISTOLEER - HellBurner by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14

  Chapter 17 - The Dutch fleet at Calais in October 1639

  A few miles after parting company with the Gideon, the Freisburn entered an eerie fog floating low on the water. Eerie because above them was blue sky, yet they could not see more than a hundred paces in any direction. Eerie because they could hear everything very clearly but see nothing. Eerie because the sounds were strange, very strange. Then the little ship hit something solid and everyone fell to the deck.

  The crew scrambled to their feet to regain their oars. If this was a submerged rock, then they were in big trouble and would need their oars to save the ship. Eerie becau
se the waves were not breaking over this rock to mark its place. Eerie because the bow watch reported that there was no rock, no sand bar, only some wooden flotsam floating along in the current. At first small pieces, but as they rowed there were entire planks, and then entire wooden walls. All of them blackened and charred and all of them barely floating in the ripples of the windless sea.

  "It's a ship, Daniel,” the watch called out. "Or at least it used to be a ship." And then, "A body in the water, face down. Swing to port a quarter so we can take a look."

  Daniel scrambled forward and reached the bow just as the body floated by. It was also blackened and charred and was bloated and was missing its arms. And then there was another body, and another. The crew stopped rowing and stared all around in silence. As far as they could see in this mist of a fog there was the charred wreckage of a ship and the charred bodies of the men who had sailed her.

  "Let's get out of here!" Cleff called out from the tiller, and the crew agreed and grabbed at their oars.

  "Nay, belay that,” Daniel called out. "There may be survivors." He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out, "Ahoy, is there anyone alive?" The entire crew went silent and cocked their ears to hear if there was a response. Daniel's words echoed eerily through the fog, but that was all they heard.

  Cleff called to them from the stern, "Row slowly and quietly. I will spiral outward from that wall floating over there. And only one man call out for survivors so the rest of us can listen."

  For an hour they circled ever further from the big flotsam until they lost it in the fog. Bodies, broken bodies, burned bodies, bloated bodies were all they saw. Nothing alive. No one using flotsam as a raft. They gave up and used the sun to set a course towards Calais and land. The lad on the bow watch did not want to give up the search and he continued to call out and listen as the oars churned them up to speed.

  Daniel stood next to Cleff and said softly, "From the clothing I think they were Dutchman. The Spaniards wear brighter colors and silver jewelry."

  "Poor lads. What do you think happened?"

  "Either she burned to the waterline, or she blew up. By the number of charred and broken bodies, I would guess that she blew up."

  The lad on the bow yelled at everyone to shut up and stop rowing.

  "Oyay,” it was faint and the fog made it echo, but there was someone alive out there. The lad called again, and again a reply. "Starboard a quarter,” the lad called. They were long clear of the wreckage of the ship. Perhaps this would be someone on flotsam and trying to paddle it to shore. "There!" The lad was pointing and Cleff caught sight of what he was pointing at and put the ship hard over to starboard. There was a man floating along on a thick, broken spar.

  They hauled the man aboard and asked him the obvious question. "Are they any more alive?"

  The man's voice was weak, barely a whisper between his madly chattering teeth. "No entiendes."

  "E's a Diego,” Cleff announced. "Well, I'm going back to the tiller to steer for Calais. I'll not waste more time searching for effing Spaniards." The lad who had found the Spaniard pushed Cleff out of the way and tried to roll the Spaniard onto his side so he could work at pushing the water out of the man's lungs. Another of the crew brought a blanket and helped to wrap him in it.

  Daniel knew a little Spanish. After all, he had been fighting them on the borders of Flanders off and on for five years. "Que paso?"

  The Spaniard chattered out some weak words. Daniel tried to interpret the words for the crew "There was a big battle with many Spanish and Dutch ships. Many Spaniards were knocked into the water. Then a Dutch fire ship exploded. I think he was calling it the Gellandi or a hell-something-or-other. Perhaps Hellfire. The Spanish fleet fled leaving their own men in the water. He is very cold."

  The lad looked down at the Spaniard, whose teeth had stopped chattering. He put his hand near his mouth but there was no feeling of breathing, so he closed the man's eyes. The lad claimed the silver chain the man wore around his neck, and a silver ring, and then helped to roll the corpse back into the sea.

  * * * * *

  As they approached Calais, Cleff yelled out what every man aboard was thinking. "Another effing fleet." This time it was a Dutch fleet of about twenty tall ships, and they were busy taking on provisions at the quays. As they passed the first of them, they hailed them to find out which was the flag ship and then they went in search of the warship Aemelia, out of Rotterdam.

  The admiral must have had his commanders aboard because there was a string of manned jolly boats floating beside the Aemelia. Daniel hailed the bridge in Dutch and told the watch that he had vital information about the Spanish fleet. Only Daniel was allowed to climb on board, and even then he was immediately surrounded by four tough-looking sailors.

  The officer of the watch was a very clean-cut young man. He was the first to question him, but after just a few sentences of Daniel's summary of their night's adventure, he was shown the way to the Admiral's cabin. Daniel had never before stepped foot on a Dutch warship and he was stunned by what he saw. Everything on this ship was designed for two things. Speed and firepower. The only cargo this ship ever carried was its own supplies. The English Navy ships he had been on were built for both cannon and cargo, and had removable walls on two of their cannon decks that allowed the switch from one to the other.

  Daniel was hurried along to the stern where a guard opened a cabin door for the officer and stepped aside out of their way. Inside the cramped cabin there were a dozen men dressed as Dutch officers. The man who was speaking stopped immediately and pulled a tablecloth over the chart map they had been gathered around. Only then did he turn to the intruders and ask what they wanted.

  The young officer saluted and began to speak but Daniel interrupted and spoke over him. "I am Daniel Vanderus, master of the coastal trader Freisburn out of Ely in England. We have just come here from Dover by way of Dunkirk to warn you that there is a Spanish fleet anchored east of Dover, and a Dunkirker fleet sailing towards Dover."

  A tall man, a captain, stepped forward from the shadows of the cabin and said, "I can vouchsafe this man, sir. He is a pistoleer of the Rotterdam militia, and an Anglo-Frisian." It was Captain Gerblandzoon of the Omlandia out of Frisia. Another man that Daniel knew from the alehouses of Sluys.

  Every head in the cabin nodded. There was no such thing as a Papist Frisian. The Frisian folk had kept freedom alive in their culture across six hundred years of popes and emperors and invasions while all the other folk around them had submitted or had been conquered. The chart was uncovered again, as a man stepped forward and grasped Daniel's arm in a warrior embrace. "I am Martaan Tromp, Admiral of this Confederate fleet. We welcome you, though not your news. It is foul news indeed. Come to the chart and show us the details."

  It took Daniel less than five minutes to explain his trade, his course, the storm, the location of the Spanish fleet, his escape over the sands, the Dunkirker fleet, his escape due to the Dutch warship, and the eerie ship's graveyard. "Never in my life did I expect to see a Spanish fleet being protected by an English fortress, or to see English ships carrying a Papist army. Our King Charles is a traitor to all Englishmen, and our good Queen Bess must be turning in her grave."

  The captains were all leaning over the chart, and now the questions began. Questions about the shore battery at Deal, about Goodwin Sands, about the depth of the bays, the width of the bays, the harbours all around and whether there were English tall ships in any of them. Daniel answered them as best he could, but kept explaining that he did not trade with the southern coast and therefore had no pilot skills in those waters.

  The discussions between the captains continued, and Daniel was pushed slowly back into the shadows, where to his joy there was a tray containing spiced coffee and spiced cakes. After a half a cup and two small cakes, his mouth and tongue were burning. The Dutch navy used hot peppers in all of their drink and food, both as a preservative and to keep the crew from coming down with scurvy. Only the Dutch co
uld afford to serve up costly spices to ordinary seamen.

  He turned to a knock on the door, and saw Hendrick Kamp of the Gideon stride in and salute, and then remove his hat. He saw Daniel and came and shook his hand. "I spoke to your crew as I came alongside. They say you exchanged cannonades with the Dunkirker fleet. And you in a coastal trader. You are either the bravest man I have ever met, or a damnable fool to risk his ship and his crew."

  Daniel shrugged and smiled. "I had important news to deliver to the admiral here, and the Dunkirkers were in my way. What else could I do but to pretend I was a Dutch captain?" At this, all the captains smiled, well-pleased with the backhanded compliment, but remained silent as Hendrick made his own report about the Dunkirker fleet.

  When Hendrick was finished, the Admiral began giving orders. "We set sail in two hours. We will use the dark of night to move the fleet to stand off the English Downs and block the Spaniards in. We have two duties in all of this. The first is to make sure that the Spanish army does not land at Dunkirk, and the second is to sink or capture as many Spanish ships as possible. That is all for now. We will do more planning when we see for ourselves how the English are treating their guests. Please return to your ships and prepare to sail."

  The Admiral then turned to Daniel. "You are in the Rotterdam militia, yes?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "And your crew?"

  "Nay sir,” Daniel said more slowly as he felt his stomach churn. A stomach reacting to where this questioning was leading, rather than to the hot peppers.

  "You will join the crew of the Flagship as a pilot. Your ship, your crew, and your cargo will sail with the fleet in case we need use of her as a fireship. I assume that your mate is capable of running your ship?"

  With a weary sigh, Daniel agreed. He had no choice but to agree.

  * * * * *

  The Freisburn pulled up smartly to lie beside the Aemelia so that their passengers could scramble aboard the flagship. For almost a month the Freisburn had played ferry boat for all the navy officers and all the politicians and ambassadors who were visiting the three admirals of the three fleets in the Downs. Admiral Maarten Tromp of the Confederate Fleet of the United Dutch Republic, Admiral John Pennington of the English Royal fleet, and Admiral Antonio de Oquendo of the combined Spanish and Portuguese fleet.