He first picked the locks on the shackles that chained them to the bulkhead then reached through the bars and deftly picked the padlock that secured the door to the cage. It took him a few seconds, then the door swung open. He slipped out and, warning Blaez to stay back, he quietly tried the handle of the main door. It was unlocked!
The brig on the Santa Maria was on the Orlop deck just forward of the bread room. It opened onto a corridor across from the spirit room. He opened the door a crack and peered through. The guard had his back to them and was looking up at the deck above, the other guard across the corridor, guarding the spirit room, was also looking up. Marty signalled to Samuel to take the guard nearest them. He expected him to use the garrotte, but he just grabbed him like he had McElvoy and snapped his neck. It was quick and brutally efficient. Marty launched himself across the corridor and slashed the guards throat with the razor. Much messier but just as deadly.
They felt the ship turn and then heard the rumble of cannon fire; the deck shuddered. The Santa Maria was hit but not wounded badly as she continued the turn and they heard the guns run out. Marty knew that the Alouette would have an extremely tough time taking on this forty-gun monster and he needed to do something to even the odds. Then the ship shuddered again and there was the crash of something big smashing its way through its timbers. Too big for the Alouette’s twenty-four-pound carronades and for the Eagle as she didn’t have any.
He stripped the dead guard of his weapons and then picked the lock of the spirit room. Instructing Samuel to keep a look out and to keep a hold on Blaez, he went in and had a good look around. There were cases and cases of Spanish brandy. He used the guard’s bayonet to prize the top off of a couple of cases, took out the bottles, smashed the necks off and poured the brandy over the deck and other cases. When he had emptied both cases, he took the guards powder horn and laid a trail of powder out of the door. Stepping out into the corridor he fired the flintlock musket into the powder igniting it.
Now he needed to buy enough time for the fire to take a hold. The corridor ended behind them at the bread store and the other end led to the stairwell to the main deck. Marty and Samuel with Blaez between them set themselves to stop anybody from getting to the store and putting out the fire that was already sending smoke along the ceiling and up the stairwell, which would soon attract attention.
The main guns went off and they could hear the sound of men hauling on lines to reload them. Then there was a shout from above and the sound of feet running down the steps. A mate came into the corridor and ran right onto the point of the sword Marty was holding out in front of him. They threw his body behind them to give themselves room.
Blaez stiffened and his hackles went up. Someone else was coming. By now the flames were getting stronger by the second and there were small explosions as bottles shattered in the heat and their contents added to the conflagration. Smoke was billowing along the ceiling causing Marty and Samuel to crouch to avoid choking. Marty decided it was time to go and he threw down his weapons and ran out into the arms of the approaching sailors screaming FIRE! At the top of his voice. The men took one look at the gathering inferno behind him and turned as a group to run up the steps.
Marty and Samuel followed and found themselves in the middle of chaos. A quick look around showed the frigate had suffered extensive damage to her rigging. Samuel grabbed his arm and pointed. There was the Alouette running across the stern, flowers of flame blossoming from her guns as she raked the frigate. There was an almighty crash from forward and he turned around gaping in surprise.
“What the fuck is the Bethany doing here!” He yelled at Samuel who looked confused as he had never heard of anyone called Bethany.
“And where did she get those carronades?” He continued as the unmistakeable roar of big carronades echoed across the deck.
Meanwhile the crew of the frigate were realising that their ship was on fire as well as getting shot to pieces. Smoke was billowing out of the stairwell and the few crew throwing buckets of water down the steps were making no difference at all. Marty and Samuel grabbed a pair of discarded cutlasses and headed towards the quarter deck. A mate realised who they were and attacked but they just cut him down and moved forward. Other crewmen saw them but stayed away as they were developing a strong sense of self preservation and more interested in avoiding the flames now shooting out of the hatch.
They reached the quarterdeck where they could see the captain leaning against the binnacle. There was a red stain growing steadily larger just under his ribs. Marty approached him and said,
“Captain, you should strike, your ship is doomed. Save as many men as you can.”
The man looked at him.
“Who are you that three ships would come to free you?” He asked.
Marty knew he was dying so replied with a salute with his sword.
“Martin Lord Stockley, the Baron of Candor, at your service.”
“Then I was defeated by a nobleman not a pirate.” He smiled and slid to the deck, dead. Does that make a difference? Marty thought as he laid the man down tidily and closed his eyes.
Marty ran to the lanyard that held the colours and slashed it with his sword, letting the flag blow away on the breeze. He grabbed a lieutenant and told him to abandon ship. The wild-eyed man didn’t register what he said at first, but Marty shook him and pointed to the body of the captain then at the smoke and flames and the man got the idea.
The Bethany came alongside, risking the fire and Marty, Blaez and Samuel jumped across to the deck along with some Spanish sailors that hadn’t already jumped over the side. Marty had taken two paces when he was confronted with the sight of Caroline dressed in trousers, calf length boots and a white shirt covered by a leather bodice laced almost all the way to the top, a wide belt around her hips from which hung two pistols. She held a sword and was the sexiest damn thing he had ever seen! He barely had time to register that Captain Turner was on the quarterdeck beside Tarrant when he was enveloped in her arms and was soundly kissing her.
Blaez was going crazy, saying hello to all his old friends, whining and jumping up, licking faces and running around in circles. Marty disentangled himself from Caroline and looked over at the Santa Maria. She was well ablaze, and Tarrant was sailing to put as much distance from her as he could. He looked across to their larboard and saw the Alouette matching them for speed.
There was suddenly an enormous explosion as the Santa Maria’s magazine went up. They felt the concussion from where they were sailing, and Marty was thankful they had gotten as many of the crew off as they could. He could also see The Eagle side by side with The Tempest, both flying his colours. He felt a familiar presence beside him and looked across at John Batrick who gave him a punch on the shoulder in greeting.
“You growed up alright,” the cox observed, “still got that knife Evans gave you?”
Marty grinned at him and replied, “I hope it’s over there on the Tempest with the rest of my weapons. But the Spanish might have taken them all.” He finished a little worried that that would indeed be the case.
They decided to head for Jamaica to effect repairs and to get rid of their Spanish prisoners. Marty transferred to the Tempest with the shadows and Caroline went over with him. Before he left, he got the whole story of the attack on the Santa Maria.
The Bethany and Alouette had taken on the frigate while the Eagle went after the Tempest. Captain Turner had worked out a strategy where the two ships would work together, making the most of their superior manoeuvrability to avoid the frigates superior armament, and attack the frigate from fore and aft. Meanwhile the Eagle would attack and attempt to board the Tempest, free the crew, overrun the Spanish and then add their fire power to the fight with the frigate. They had no idea, of course, that Marty was on the frigate which is where it could have all gone wrong.
Marty setting the frigate on fire changed the odds of course, but all his friends were convinced that they could have taken the frigate without his help and they
had lost the prize, but nobody minded… really.
Once in his cabin they made up for lost time, as quietly as they could, and then shared a diner prepared by the irrepressible Roland who assured them, with a very Gaelic wink that the dishes he had created would give them energy. While they were eating, she asked where the pictures and his watch were. He almost choked on the sweet sugary concoction they were having for desert; he had forgotten to check the hidden compartment!
He slipped into the head and depressed the hidden catch, the door swung open and he looked inside. The chest was still there with its locks intact and he pulled it out and placed it on the table between them. He went to get the keys from his desk when Caroline stopped him and said.
“Allow me!”
She pulled two probes from her hair that she had piled up in a loose bun and proceeded to try and pick the locks. It took her a full minute to open the first and another fifty seconds for the second, but she did it and looked up proudly at Marty.
“Where in god’s name did you learn how to do that?” Marty asked his mouth open in amazement.
“Linette and John Smith showed me while we were sailing around trying to find you.” She told him with a satisfied smirk. “I thought it might come in handy some time.”
They checked over the contents and, satisfied nothing was missing, Marty relocked it with his picks and only took ten seconds on each lock earning him a good natured, “Smarty pants!” from Caroline. He refrained from commenting about all the times he had tried to show her how to do it and she had got mad at him for ‘bossing her about.’
He had asked what happened to his weapons and was disappointed to find that the Spanish frigate had confiscated all of them. They had even taken his weapons chest complete as they couldn’t find the keys. He was particularly upset to lose the fighting knife and silently resolved to get it back if he could.
They arrived in Jamaica and anchored in a row. Marty went ashore and visited the house of the courtesan, that the admiral was so fond of, to leave a packet of reports. Some for him and some to be sent on to Hood and Wickham. He discovered that she was quite a beauty. Long blond hair artfully arranged in the Greek style, so it hung over one shoulder, a beautiful face with large blue eyes, and a Rubenesque figure on show through an almost transparent gown she was almost wearing. Marty thought she was very similar to an image of Venus he had seen in a painting by some Italian fellow. The name she went by was Delphia Truelove, an obvious nom-de-plume. Marty noticed that every now and then he heard a hint of the accent from the Northeast of England slip out.
She gave him a bag of mail she said had accumulated since the last time he was in port and invited him to stay with a very suggestive wiggle of her assets. His polite refusal made her laugh and he joked that if ever his wife left him, she would be the first to know.
He took the time to visit the widow of one of the ex-slaves who had died on the Eagle in the exchange with the Tempest. He gave her his belongings and a gold doubloon. The Spanish coin was commonly used around the islands and could be cut up into smaller pieces that were exchanged by weight. It was a small price for a man’s life, he thought, but any more would just make her a target.
Before he left her, she begged him to take her young son with him. He was around eight years old and as undernourished as all the children in the ghetto. Marty immediately identifying with the child’s plight, gave in and walked back to the ship hand in hand with the little waif, wondering what he could do with him.
On his way back to the dock he stopped by an armourer’s shop. He selected a pair of pistols and a hanger to replace the ones he lost. His Durs Egg Carbine was lost as well and there wasn’t anything comparable in the shop, so he bought a Navy pattern Brown Bess as a stop gap. Replacing his knife was more of a problem and he settled on one with decent balance, a slightly shorter double-edged blade, brass cross guard and antler hilt.
Captain Turner was waiting for him when he returned to his cabin. He had deposited the child with Tom and asked him to put him in with the other ship’s boys for the moment. Caroline had made herself scarce by going over to the Alouette to visit with Linette.
Over a glass of wine Marty waited for Turner to say what he had come over for.
“I have to get back to England. My ship will be finishing her refit in two months and I need to get my men and myself back on board on time.” He told him. “The problem is your wife seems intent on sticking around here and Tarrant wont sail unless she or you tell him to.”
“Well she can’t stay here.” Marty said emphatically, she needs to get back to the children and its dangerous.
Turner laughed.
“She loves the danger! I nearly had a heart attack when she appeared on deck dressed like that. Armed to the teeth she was. Two pistols, a sword, and I’m damn sure she had knives in her boots too! She stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of your team ready to take on all comers,”
“Did she? Be damned!” Marty exclaimed; he had seen how she was dressed but had no idea about her behaviour. He was inordinately proud of her.
“All the same she needs to go home,” he concluded “Armand also needs to get the Alouette back as well.”
Suffice to say the argument with Caroline was long, tearful, agonizing and the result was inevitable. She would stay, the Bethany would go back to England and return with a cargo of wine, brandy and the children.
“I should have known she would come up with a way of staying,” he grumbled to Tom over a glass of wine. “She is finding a house and setting up camp.”
Tom sighed, looked troubled and then resigned. He looked at Marty and said,
“I will be staying here with her,” Marty looked at him in surprise, “The yellow jack has taken a lot of my strength and I’m not up to another fight yet, and I can take that young lad with me, he will be better off as a house servant,” Marty noted he still had a pale tinge to his skin.
While Marty was happy to have Tom look after Caroline, he would miss him terribly.
“You will get it back!” He reassured him.
“Maybe but not for a while,” Tom sighed, “I am tired all the time and need to be ashore for a while as Mr. Shelby keep telling me. He says rest is the only cure.”
Later that afternoon Marty discovered a note hidden amongst the letters he had picked up from Miss Truelove. It was written in a delicate hand and smelled faintly of perfume. It was concise and to the point.
Martin
One of the captains you are looking for is a client, he fancies himself a civilised man, but he is a pig. He also likes to boast. He told me there will be something called a conclave at the end of November at Porte Royal in Martinique. I do not know what they will talk about, but he thinks it’s important.
It was signed with a stylised D.
Chapter 11: The Hunt Resumes.
Repairs done, the Alouette went on its way with the Bethany in formation, the Tempest and Eagle set sail for Guadeloupe and from there to Martinique. They had a new first mate for the Eagle. Wolfgang Ackermann, a qualified first mate, had turned up on a bum boat and asked for Marty by name. Marty was highly suspicious as he hadn’t made it known they needed a first mate.
Ackermann was a German out of Hamburg and his story was that he had fallen out with the captain of his ship who had taken to drink. He refused to sail with a drunk under any circumstances as he was a strict Lutheran Protestant. He was referred to Marty by a mutual friend, who he refused to name.
A man of medium build he had a shaved head, piercing blue eyes under bushy eyebrows and a spectacular moustache that gave away he was a blond. He was well muscled with a whipcord strength and a voice that could be heard across the harbour. He wore a cut down Zweihaender sword that was a fearsome thirty-nine inches of heavy steel in length. The original had probably been eighty-four inches long and would have been a liability on a ship with all the rigging getting in the way. Even so Marty could imagine the damage even this dwarf bade could do.
He ran the s
hip with an iron discipline but so obviously knew his trade that the men accepted it in good humour, especially as his sense of humour was dry and cutting.
“Oy! You on the fore sheet you’re pulling a rope not your prick! Your prick isn’t long enough to get both hands around!” Was fairly typical.
He got on well with the master and treated Marty with respect. He liked Ryan Thompson, who had asked to stay on the Tempest, took him under his wing, teaching him how to get the best out of the sails and hull.
As they were passing Haiti, they spotted a sail and the Eagle moved ahead to identify it. The signal came back “Enemy sighted.” And spelled out “S.P.A.I.N.”
Marty was not about to miss the chance for revenge of any sort on the country that had locked him up for months. He gave the order to make all sail and set off in pursuit. James on the Eagle waited for him and fell into formation in line astern. He was giving the Tempest the honours.
The Spaniard was a fat merchant and Marty wasted no time in reeling him in and putting a shot across his deck. Their flag came down immediately. She was loaded with sugar and spices, a nice little prize that lifted the men’s moral. They put a prize crew on board and got back on their original course.
A day later they spotted a five-ship convoy, four merchantmen being escorted by a frigate. They were flying the Spanish flag, and why shouldn’t they? They were in Spanish waters after all and in sight of their home port. But that didn’t deter Marty and James.
Using their superior speed and sail handling they swooped down on the convoy. The Tempest attacked the frigate to leave the Eagle to pick off the now undefended prizes one by one. All this within sight of the port of Santo Domingo. To give the Spanish frigate captain his due he put up a fight, but he made the fatal mistake of letting Marty get in close where his carronades were devastatingly effective.
The Tempest: The Dorset Boy Book 5 Page 8
