He looked up from it and thanked Maurice who grinned and said, “If my guess is right, you will be in for a hot time if they catch up with you, if they are as mad at you as you told me I don’t think they are out for a pleasure cruise.”
Marty laughed and replied, “Probably not but unless they spotted us come around the back of the rock to moor up, they are ahead of us and that gives me an edge.”
“Well you will certainly have the weather gauge on them,” Maurice replied, “god speed and good hunting.” He laughed and clapped Marty on the back.
Chapter 14: Hunter or Hunted?
They left Diamond Rock and headed Southwest with the trade wind on their sterns spread out in their usual horizon to horizon search pattern. James took The Eagle out to starboard of The Tempest until she was just hull up from the mainmast lookout. They both set extra men in the tops with one dedicated to watching the other ship for signals. They didn’t want to have to fire cannon to get each other’s attention as with the wind behind them the sound would travel for miles.
The standing order was that if they spotted one or more ships, they would close up on each other before attacking. The hope was that the five wouldn’t be able to close up in time if they could catch one on the outer edge of their search line. ‘Assuming, that is, they spread out to cover as much sea as possible.’ Marty thought. In any case, they had to get in, take or destroy the ship and get away before the other four could catch them.
He sat on his chair on the quarterdeck, the carpenter had removed the leg prop, and absently scratched Blaez’s ear. He was thinking about de Faux and trying to get into the man’s head. If he were him, what would he do? Was he wounded and in pain? He had lost his ship where would he get another? How much control did he have over the other captains? From the note he was given by Maurice, he could see that there was; a Schooner, a brig, which the lookout said had a Spanish set to her sails, a pair of sloops, probably ex French Corvettes and a Dutch built brigantine.
Individually, The Tempest could take any one of them, with the Eagle in close cooperation they could probably take three as long as they kept it to a shooting match. We need to even up the numbers first, he concluded. Blaez decided he wanted to play at that moment and dumped a soggy rope ball, that was made from a rope’s end tied into a turk’s head knot by one of the crew, in his lap. Marty grinned as he bowled it down the deck giving the dog something to chase. He caught it and brought it back, dropping it at his feet. This game could go on for a while.
Marty had just settled down to lunch the second day out when he heard a hail from the lookout. The rudder chose that moment to creak loudly so he didn’t pick up what was said so he carried on eating, someone would come down and fetch him if it was urgent. No sooner had he formulated that thought than he heard feet on the stairs from the quarterdeck.
There was a pause then a knock on his door. He deliberately finished the mouthful of ham that he was eating and then called, “Enter.” Stanley Hart, the signals boy, stepped in and stood in front of him, eyes wide.
“Well what were you sent down to tell me?” Marty prompted.
Stanley started and stuttered,
“Mr. Grey’s compliments Skipper, but there ‘as been a pair of sails spotted ahead of us one to our larboard and t’other almost dead ahead.”
He had just got that out when there was another hail from above.
“And that’s a signal from the Eagle,” Marty told him, “get yourself up on deck and tell Mr. Grey I will be up directly.”
“Aye, aye Skipper,” Stanley barked simultaneously spinning on his heal and bolting out of the door. Blaez spotting the opportunity to play chase shot out after him.
Marty shook his head, finished his tea, and walked out of his cabin, closing the door that was left ajar behind him.
On deck, there were plenty of men standing around waiting to hear what was going to happen. They had expectant looks on their faces and reminded Marty of hungry wolves. Blaez sat in front of young Stanley with his ball waiting for him to toss it. Marty grinned and nodded for him to go ahead.
“What’s afoot Arnold?” he asked the master who’s watch it was as Blaez shot past in hot pursuit of the ball that was rolling towards the main mast.
“We spotted two ships,” he pointed to the horizon about two points off the Larboard bow, “one over there and the other about half a point off the starboard bow. Then we got a signal from The Eagle that she has sighted two as well.”
Marty pondered for a minute, it was unlikely that The Eagle would have seen the ship off their Larboard bow, but she could see the one off the starboard. That meant they had three of the five in sight.
“Matai! Take a glass and see if you can identify them,” he shouted at the Basque who was leaning on the rail. Matai approached the quarterdeck and was passed a glass by the Master, then sprang onto the ratlines and up to the top of the mainmast, agile as a monkey.
It took him only a minute or so to spot the sails and identify them.
“Brigantine to larboard and the other one’s a sloop,” he reported after shinning down a stay to the deck.
“Any more from the Eagle?” Marty asked, and when they confirmed there hadn’t been any more signals. “Make to The Eagle, ‘recall from chase’,” he ordered. I hope that James remembers to stay out of sight. He thought as he ordered the Master to drop them back out of sight.
The Eagle pulled in astern of them an hour later. She had dropped back out of sight of the ships they were following and swung around in an arc to come up behind them. Marty stood on the rail and waved for James to come up to within hailing distance.
“What did you see?” He yelled across using a brass megaphone.
“A sloop between us and a schooner to my starboard,” James yelled back.
Marty thought it through, the schooner they saw in Martinique was flying a French flag like the two sloops/corvettes, he nodded to himself. de Faux had probably commandeered the schooner, it being the fastest of the three French ships. That confirmed, if his thinking was correct, that they were on the larboard end of the line of ships as, if he had understood de Faux, he would want to be in the middle of the line with the two French corvettes/sloops either side of him.
Marty gave him a thumbs up, signalled for him to drop back into line, then ordered them to change course to swing wide of the brig to take them to its larboard side, outside of the line of ships. He increased sail once he figured they were far enough over and started the attack run.
It didn’t take long for them to spot the brigantine again and the lookout’s confirmed there weren’t any ships to larboard of them. Marty sent them to quarters and laid on as much sail as they could. Even then The Eagle started to out-pace them so Marty waved James on, he could slow the brigantine down and as The Tempest caught up it would give him the option to intercept the sloop if it tried to come to their rescue.
It took less than an hour to close the gap and, as the sloop hadn’t reacted, Marty steered to bring his big bow chasers into action on the brigantine. The Eagle was four cables ahead and stayed over to larboard of their track so not to obscure their shot. The brigantine had spotted them and was signalling frantically.
Marty ran up their colours and ordered the big twenty-four-pounders to fire as they bore. Wolverton had come up from below to take charge of the chasers himself and was stooped over the starboard one sighting down the barrel. He signalled to the helm to steer a little to larboard then held his hand up. John Smith was on the wheel and steered with a delicate touch, smoothing out the waves as much as he could.
The bow dipped and as it started to rise Wolverton pulled on the lanyard triggering the flintlock striker. The pan flashed and smoke and flame whooshed out of the touch hole as the quill burnt down to the charge which exploded with a deep boom belching fire and smoke behind the black sphere of the shot. Marty watched as the ball flew straight for the stern of the brigantine, but he knew it was too high and saw it pass over the transom and splashed into th
e sea ahead of the target.
Wolverton moved to the port gun and signalled a course correction to John who eased their bow a little to starboard. The bow dipped and started to rise, and the lanyard was pulled. The gun belched and Marty watched the ball as the smoke blew away to larboard. This time it flew straight as before but this time landed less than half a cable behind the brigantine, skipped and slammed into their stern.
‘That’ll hurt!’ Marty thought as he saw the brig reduce sail and run out her larboard guns to take on The Eagle that was now closing rapidly.
The starboard chaser fired again, and the shot tore a huge chunk out of the starboard quarter of the brig’s stern. James swung the Eagles bow to larboard to bring his guns to bear on the slowing brig’s larboard quarter and fired everything he had.
That was enough for the brigantine’s captain, their colours came down and they dropped their sails.
“Lookout! Any movement from the sloop?” Marty called.
“She’s turned this way and there’s another sail catching her up from astern of her!”
“He waited for de Faux to catch him up,” Marty said to Ryan who stood near him. “He’s going to be as mad as hell that the brigantine didn’t keep us occupied for longer.”
He looked over at The Eagle and saw they had pulled up alongside the Brig and had boarders swarming over the side to take control of her. He made a decision.
“Make all sail and steer us straight for that sloop,” he ordered.
“Let’s buy them time to secure the prize.”
The skipper of the sloop was Ernest Plagnol, Marty was right that she was a French ship, a privateer out of Toulon. Her skipper was experienced and looked with scorn at the Dutch brigantine that had given in so easily. Of course, he didn’t know about The Tempest’s big chasers and if he had he might have been a little more cautious.
He was surprised when the frigate turned towards him, de Faux had told him the young skipper had balls. His Corvette had twenty-four guns, firing four and a half kilogram shot in the French system or a little over nine pounds in the imperial, and his crews were well drilled by privateer standards able to fire two rounds in just under two minutes. Again, what he didn’t know was the Tempest could fire her twelve pounders at a rate of three rounds every two minutes and her carronades at four.
What that meant was that in every two minutes his corvette could deliver ninety kilograms or one hundred and ninety-eight pounds of iron against seven hundred and ninety-two pounds from the Tempest. He was totally out gunned and didn’t have a clue.
Marty had both batteries manned, he wanted a fire fight and definitely didn’t want to allow the privateers to board. He kept his mainsails set as they approached. The schooner was catching the corvette up and Marty figured that de Faux would try and catch him between their broadsides. Well he would learn that The Tempest was no ordinary privateer the hard way.
They closed to around two miles apart and Marty reduced sail a little to drop their speed and provide a more stable platform for his chasers to do their work. The sea was moderate with the waves far enough apart to make longer range gunnery possible and his twenty-fours had a maximum accurate range of about two miles in these conditions, if handled properly, and Wolverton was one of the best.
At just over a mile and a half the bow chasers fired. Plagnol scoffed as he saw the smoke thinking that the Englishman was nervous and shooting early to boost his confidence. He blinked as he saw a black blob coming towards them, followed shortly by a second. It wasn’t possible but they looked like they were heading straight for him. He blinked as a huge ball howled over his head after ripping through both his fore and mainsails. The second ball hit the water almost beside him and sent up a huge splash.
My God! What were they firing? His mind struggled to accept what his eyes and ears had told him.
Under one minutes later the Englishman fired again. This time the first ball crashed down the deck smashing the boats that were still stored onboard, sending splinters spinning to impale the soft bodies of his crew. The second smashed into his bow sending the figurehead flying and weakening his forward rigging.
The range closed to under a mile, and he saw the approaching ship reduce sail even more. The guns fired again, and he cringed expecting the balls to rip through them again, but to his amazement they flew by missing them completely. He looked behind them and saw the Belle Epoch coming up fast. Her foremast shuddered as it took a glancing blow from a ball.
Marty waited until the range was less than half a mile and shifted his course to take the sloop down his larboard side and ordered the sails to be reduced to topsails and top royals, the best for fighting a running battle. He saw that the schooner had moved out to take him down his starboard side and both the privateers were reducing sail as well. He already had boarding nets fitted and chain preventers fitted to all spars. His ship and his men were eager for a fight.
Samuel had brought him his weapons harness and a silk shirt to change into. Blaez had his spiked fighting collar on and was on full alert, muscles bunched under his glossy coat in anticipation. He enjoyed a good fight as much as the men!
The range closed and time slowed as the three ships converged. The Tempest had slowed to a mere four knots and Marty was ready to order a further reduction in speed to give his gunners as much time as possible. He was gambling that the privateers would go for or his rigging hoping to cripple them so they could board. His tactic was totally different. All his twelve pounders were loaded with double shot and would aim at their gun ports. The carronades were loaded with ball over cannister and would sweep their decks killing as many men as possible.
All the guns were trained as far forward as they could and would fire as soon as they bore. That had the advantage that the hull wouldn’t have to take the shock of both broadsides firing simultaneously, something they had never done, and Marty wasn’t sure what it would do to their timbers.
The privateers were two cables apart, John steered right down the middle, and as their bows passed each other the guns started to roar.
De Faux sat on a chair on his quarterdeck as his leg wounds didn’t allow him to stand and he was gloating that he had the cocky young Englishman just where he wanted him. The two privateers would shred his rigging and then board with overwhelming numbers. The Englishman was reducing sail even more than he had already and slowed his ship to walking pace. Well that suited him, and he ordered his crew to reduce sail as well. He checked The Faucon d’Or (Golden Falcon) and she was doing the same. Excellent! The Tempest’s bow passed his and guns fired from on top of her foredeck. The sound reached him and was an odd Chuff Boom sort of noise he hadn’t heard before. He didn’t have more time to think about it as a hail of shot and grape scythed across the fore deck shattering the transom and mowing down the crew like wheat.
Then, the Tempest’s main guns started to fire, and he realised he had made a huge mistake as the balls smashed through their hull like matchwood sending splinters flying. Gun after gun fired working their way down gun port by gun port. His men fired back but their shots weren’t concentrated or effective.
His ship was being shot to pieces and, as he watched, the strange looking squat gun on the Tempest’s foredeck spoke again killing more of his crew. How did they reload so fast? He looked across at The Faucon d’Or and she was a mess. Her foremast was down, and she was taking a pounding.
“Hard to larboard!” He yelled at the helmsman. “Get us out of here!”
Marty had armed himself with a baker rifle and stood on the quarterdeck watching the schooner turn away. He could see de Faux sat on his quarterdeck gesticulating to his helmsman. The bugger’s going to run for it! he swore and swung the rifle to his shoulder. It was no good, there was too much movement and he was unsteady. He stepped forward and grabbed a stay to steady his aim. He aimed above de Faux’s head and waited for the roll. He squeezed the trigger as the ship reached the top of the roll.
De Faux saw Marty step forward and realised he w
as aiming a musket in his direction. He flipped him a crude gesture, right arm cocked and his left hand slapping his bicep when the ball arrived and tore through his sleeve scoring his forearm but doing no real damage.
“Missed dammit!” Marty cursed. The schooner was setting all the sail she could and was making good her escape. The Tempest couldn’t sail close enough to the wind to chase her, so he just had to stand and watch.
“There will be another time Boss,” the dark voice of Samuel said in his ear. Marty nodded and turned his attention to the sloop. She was dead in the water, her foremast hanging over the side, and her side a mess. Marty called up to the lookout to check the horizon for the other two ships he thought de Faux had brought with him and wasn’t surprised when it was reported that they were hull up to the West and heading to rendezvous with the schooner.
Chapter 15: Trinidad
Prizes repaired enough to make way, they set off for Trinidad and Port of Spain where they hoped to sell them. The Dutch brigantine was old and wouldn’t fetch much but the sloop was relatively new and could make a pretty penny. Marty didn’t worry about de Faux, he figured the man would find him sooner or later, saving him the trouble of looking for him.
They headed South Southeast and passed a couple of British merchantmen who weren’t interested in stopping to exchange news, probably not trusting that they were who their flags proclaimed. They made reasonable time, arrived a day and a half later and anchored in Invaders Bay. While Fletcher went ashore with Ryan to check out the local situation Marty and the crew started cleaning up the prizes ready for sale.
One problem he had was the crews, or what was left of them after the pounding they had taken. Marty invited the Dutch captain to his cabin for a chat.
The Tempest: The Dorset Boy Book 5 Page 11
