The Tempest: The Dorset Boy Book 5

by Christopher C Tubbs

  “Captain Graumans, I have a dilemma.” Marty said after settling him in a chair and giving him a glass of lemonade.

  “And what is that?” Graumans replied.

  “What to do with you and your men. I can cast you adrift, set you down on some island or the mainland, or throw you all overboard.”

  Pieter Graumans was twenty-six years old and came from Rotterdam. His family were merchants for generations, and he had broken away to make some money with one of the family ships. Unfortunately, he omitted to ask his father if he could take it and lied to the crew that he was sailing with his father’s blessing. He was drawn into collaborating with de Faux by the weight of the man’s personality and charisma and was at the conclave. Luckily, he was on the other side of the room when Marty and his men had thrown their grenades, getting away unscathed, apart from a ringing in his ears from the blasts.

  He was now in a hole and was looking for a way out. His instincts told him that this man with his Dutch dog may be the answer to his problems.

  “I never attacked you or any British traders and have nothing against the British,” he stated.

  “Then why ally yourself with a French agent?” Marty asked.

  Graumans looked confused and replied.

  “I didn’t know de Faux is-”

  “A French agent pretending to be an American.” Marty finished for him.

  Graumans was nonplussed and didn’t know whether to believe him or not. One of the reasons he left home and had stolen the ship was because he hated the occupation by the French.

  “My God!” He exclaimed and swore for a minute or so as a lot of little details suddenly clicked together in his mind and he knew Marty was right.

  Marty was reading his expression and body language and made up his mind.

  “There is another possibility,” he offered and when he saw the hope in his eyes continued, “you and your crew can join me. We will take prizes and confound de Faux’ plans.

  “I will get my ship back?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, she will be sold,” Marty replied and when he saw the crestfallen look on the man’s face continued. “You will take over the Falcon.”

  “The French corvette?” He gasped; hope followed by excitement in his eyes.

  “Yes, she is a better match to the way the Tempest and Eagle sail,” Marty explained, “and she carries more guns. My men will be disappointed at the loss of the money, but we will make up for that.”

  “What will you do with the French crew?”

  “We will offer them the chance to join us as not all are French or loyal to France. I have Frenchmen in my crew already and they will speak to them. Those who don’t want to, or we don’t want will be put ashore in Venezuela.”

  Blaez, sensing the change in atmosphere stood and walked over to Pieter. He stood a little back and sniffed the hand that was held out. Deciding he was no threat he stepped forward and placed first one front foot and then the other on his knees, so he was face to face with him. He looked him straight in the eyes and held his gaze for several seconds then without warning licked him on the nose.

  “You have been accepted.” Marty stated with a laugh.

  Fletcher returned and told him there was a shipyard the other end of the port that would take the prizes and was also offering their services for any repairs they needed. Marty told him of the decision to keep the corvette which they would rename the Golden Falcon. Fletcher was disappointed but could see the potential in having three ships at their disposal.

  Marty went aboard the Falcon with Graumans, Ryan, Antton, Garai and Matai. He stood the former captain and his first mate on the foredeck under guard and told them to keep quiet or he would shoot them out of hand. He had the rest of the crew that were fit, or deemed to be on the mend by Shelby, gathered on the main deck. The Basques stood in front of them in a row on the main deck

  He addressed them from the quarterdeck in French.

  “I am going to make you an offer, those who don’t accept it can join your captain on the foredeck and you will be put ashore in Venezuela. The Falcon is going to join me under Captain Graumans. If you want to join me as well, you will be welcome if you are fit and able. We run fair ships with crew from many nations and work on equal shares.”

  He let that sink in for a moment then continued,

  “My friends down there,” he pointed to the Basques, “will tell you how we work and what is expected. You have ten minutes to talk to them and decide.”

  A number of men immediately walked to the foredeck and joined the captain, Marty wasn’t surprised when more left and the number remaining reduced to about half. The ten minutes were up.

  “If you haven’t decided go to the foredeck.” He commanded. Three more men left.

  “Pieter, please have your crew move over to the Falcon immediately. I will leave you Franco as an interpreter if you don’t have any French speakers on board.” Marty offered Graumans.

  “No need for that, I have a number of French speakers in my crew and I speak a little myself but nowhere near as fluently as you. With these men and my crew, we will be at full strength.” He looked up at the rigging and at the fished foremast repair that they had rigged to get them to Trinidad. “The first job is to get that replaced.”

  It took a week to get the Falcon repaired with the dedicated help of the yard and all the carpentry capable members of the entire flotilla working together, and while they were port bound, they took the chance to recruit a few more men to replace the injured from the last fight and top up their overall complement. Marty’s birthday came and they had a small party in his cabin. He missed Caroline and wondered what she was doing. Had he known he would be worried.

  In Jamaica Caroline was spending her time while she waited for the Bethany to return, creatively. She had contacted the local branch of Coutts and arranged a line of credit. She had established a household staff made up of Europeans and freed slaves. She had decided that Benjamin, the young boy Marty had found, was too small and young to be put into service and instead she had put him in the care of one of her older servants as a kind of foster mother and would ensure he was educated. She was sure Marty would approve.

  She had the idea that there was an opportunity to provide a private security force of fast, heavily armed ships that could be hired by the shipping cooperatives for protection. Accordingly, she was actively looking at options to buy a shipyard either on Jamaica or one of the other windward islands. When the Bethany arrived, she would sail her to the new yard and have them make models to use as patterns to have similar ships built by.

  She wished Fletcher were around to source the weapons she wanted but she had found a very corrupt official at the Navy yard who was being bribed to supply her with some, and she had it on good authority that the yard at English Harbour could supply more.

  There was a knock on the door and her maid entered with a tray full of letters. She went straight to the one from Marty and opened it. It was dated over a week ago and had come from Diamond rock, wherever that was. It appeared he had made an enemy and was about to go looking for him. He was also planning on visiting Trinidad and the leeward islands of Bonaire and Curaçao before heading back to Jamaica.

  She sat back and tapped her fan against her chin, deep in thought.

  Matai walked up to the tavern and looked around the tables filled with diners and drinkers. He spotted Marty talking to an elegant looking man at a table set in the corner. He wandered over and when Marty nodded to him, he pulled out a chair and sat.

  “Mattai this is Don Manuel de la Sirenca, he was a former member of Government here and decided to stay when the British took over the island.”

  “Hola Senior, I am very pleased to meet you.” Matai said in perfect Spanish causing Marty to give him a surprised look.

  “The Don is opposed to the alliance between France and Spain and thinks that it will be only a short time before Napoleon installs a puppet government.”

  “Si, he is after the wea
lth that our Spanish colonies in the Americas can provide. The gold and silver will go straight into his war chests.” De la Sirenca told him with an unhappy frown.

  “He was telling me that a convoy leaves from near Cartagena for Havana three times a year carrying gold, silver and pearls. The last left in late January, at the end of the Hurricane season, the next is due to leave in May, but could leave as late as June.”

  “I have agreed to use my contacts on the mainland to ascertain more precisely when they leave and will send a fast ship with the information to Jamaica.” The Don added.

  He will be expecting a cut of the take then. Matai sneered inwardly; he didn’t have a lot of time for the Spanish Dons as they treated the Spanish Basques as badly as the French in his opinion.

  Back on board the ships, resupply completed, and crews redistributed, Marty gave the order to set sail. He had agreed to escort a small convoy of traders to Aruba. They would provide excellent bait for privateers and hopefully draw them into a fight.

  To get out of Port of Spain you have to sail Southwest as the southbound current running from the Caribbean into the Gulf of Paria, through the Bocas del Dragon, plus the North-easterly trade wind made it impossible to exit the way they had come in.

  Trinidad is shaped like a boot with the foot sticking out at the bottom to the west and they had to round the toe before changing course to the Southeast to pass through the Columbus Channel, then sail far enough into the Atlantic to get the sea room needed to tack West-northwest to get back into the Caribbean.

  The good thing was the weather was brisk enough to give all the crews the chance to get used to their new crewmates. Gun drill was held for an hour every day with competitions to see who could load fastest or shoot straightest. The merchants were a pain in the arse, and he had the Eagle running sheepdog at the back of the convoy trying to make them stay together. The Tempest was stationed on the windward side and the Falcon at the head of the convoy.

  It took two days to get back into the Caribbean and they were making only seven knots during daylight hours and four at night when the merchants were lit up like Christmas trees while his escorts stayed dark except for a stern lantern on the Falcon.

  Marty was sitting writing his report for Hood on the evening of day three when a knock came at the door and Samuel’s head appeared.

  “The Eagle is burning a blue flare,” he announced in his deep, dark voice as he stepped into the room. “Mr. Ackermann says he got the lookouts doubled and are looking for where the trouble is coming from.”

  Marty nodded in acknowledgement and took one last bite before standing to accept his weapons harness and tools of the trade. Blaez stood up from his blanket and stretched, his front legs extended, and head back followed by both back legs. He shook and then stood still to allow Samuel to fit his fighting collar. He grinned wolfishly at Marty in expectation.

  On deck Marty scanned their little fleet with a night glass. He couldn’t see what had caused James to light the signal. Then the Eagle fired a starboard gun and a green rocket flew into the air. That was the signal that the enemy was to his starboard or windward of the merchants. Marty swung his glass across their stern just as a lookout called.

  “There’s something off our rear starboard quarter I saw it shadow the stars.”

  Marty ordered the ship to quarters and John Smith and Ackermann to reverse course by wearing. Orders rang out and the ship quickly turned through the wind. Marty reduced sail.

  A flash! A cannon was fired, and the light silhouetted a brig making for the middle of the five-ship convoy. Marty ordered a course change to intercept him and added sail to speed them up.

  The Eagle had turned and was beating up to windward. James spotted a second ship behind the first and was moving on him.

  Marty could now see the attacking ship silhouetted by the merchant’s lights about four cables ahead. He pointed the Falcon straight at him and ordered the bow chasers to engage and closed his eyes just before they fired to try and protect his night vision.

  When he opened them, he couldn’t see if they had scored a hit so continued to close. The raider fired a broadside of, what sounded like, around ten, six-pounders, at the Tempest then started to turn away to try and pass behind one of the merchants to use it as a shield. The chasers spoke again having been reloaded in around a minute even in the dark, and Marty could see the raider lurch as she was hit. The forward carronades, that were mounted so they could be trained over the bow, now joined in sending chain shot into her rigging.

  They were close enough to see the raider now, it was definitely a brig, and he was still trying to get past the stern of the merchant.

  ‘Too late mate!’ Marty thought and ordered the helm two points to larboard to bring them across his stern. The carronade fired again and then the twelves started to fire as they bore. As soon as they passed the stern of the now stationary ship Marty ordered the helm over and brought them alongside.

  Grapnels were fired across and they pulled the hulk up snuggly against their side. Howling like banshees Paul la Pierre led the boarders across.

  James, meanwhile, was trying to sneak up on the second ship that he guessed would keep on heading for the last ship in the convoy. He had a rough idea where it was as the lookout had seen it pass in front of the stars. “Time to cast a little light on the subject,” James thought and ordered Wilson to fire a couple of the rocket flares they had used in Martinique.

  The rockets went up and burst into white life above them, illuminating the sea for a good distance around and there he was, almost where James thought he would be, a cable ahead off the larboard bow working his way towards the merchantman to board him. Having no bow chasers James started a turn to larboard designed to bring him alongside the other ship. But the flares had also given their position away and the raider was turning and putting on sail to make his escape.

  James tightened his turn calculating that instead of passing down the larboard side of the raider they would come up on his starboard. He switched his gun crews over as he wanted to keep as many men for boarding as he could so hadn’t manned both sides. The Merchant fired his four six-pounders as the raider passed him nearly hitting the Eagle by mistake as she was coming up on him quickly.

  As soon as they could, the Eagles were firing their guns, the raider responded, giving as good as she got. The Eagles second broadside was aimed straight at his gun ports from a close pistol shot away, hit with devastating effect and the grapnels fired.

  The two ships came together with a crash, the Eagles lined the rail and fired volley guns into the crowd of men across from them then, dropping the guns into the scuppers, drew cutlasses and sprang across as a howling mass firing pistols as they landed. It soon turned into a melee, men died others were wounded and James found himself on the quarterdeck facing what could only be the captain.

  James held his sabre at low guard, the raider captain had a cutlass and stepped forward to bring him close enough to launch an attack. There was little finesse in the swings, they weren’t wild, but they were predictable, and James circled as he evaluated his opponent. He parried another swing designed to decapitate him and stepped in close. He made no move to swing his sword but simply punched with the knuckle guard right into the man’s face. There was a crunch of bone as his nose was shattered and he staggered back with blood pouring down his face. James slapped his blade against the cutlass near the hilt, knocking it out of his hand. Kicked him in the balls and as he collapsed hit him on the head with the pommel of his sword rendering him unconscious.

  They hove-to until dawn. As the sun came up, they were able to see and assess what the nights work had brought them. They had captured a medium sized brig and a cutter. A search and some gentle interrogation revealed both were carrying French letters of marque, and after a couple of hours had the convoy underway again.

  An examination of the logs showed the raiders had left Guadaloupe around two weeks before and a letter found in the brig captain’s desk revealed the
y were forewarned that the convoy would be leaving Trinidad and when. An interview with the master of the lead ship of the merchantmen revealed that he wrote to English Harbour requesting a Navy escort but was refused.

  “Owen,” Marty muttered under his breath, louder he ordered that all the papers be transferred to his cabin.

  Shelby was attending the wounded and when Antton and Garai arrived asking for the officer that James had knocked out to be brought to Marty’s cabin he tagged along to see what was going to happen.

  They dropped him on a chair that Marty had placed in the middle of the room. He was still groggy from the treatment he had received from James’ Sabre and looked around with a confused look on his face.

  “Did you bring smelling salts?” Marty asked Shelby and when he nodded, he inclined his head to the man in the chair.

  Shelby held the open bottle under the man’s nose and he immediately started to cough and his eyes water as the ammonia vapour hit him. But when he looked up the confused look was gone and replaced by one of fear.

  “What is your name?” A young but very dangerous looking man asked him in French.

  “Cedric.”

  “Cedric what?”

  “Travers, Cedric Travers.”

  “Give me good reason why I should not hang you.”

  His eyes popped open wide.

  “What?”

  “You heard what I said, now give me a reason.”

  He looked around the room at the hard-unsmiling faces of the men around him. Then a large brindled dog with a viciously spiked collar walked up to him and sniffed him. He recoiled as it looked him in the face and growled, baring its teeth.

  “Even my dog doesn’t like you, I’m still waiting for a reason.”

  Cedric thought fast.

  “I am not the leader, that was Captain Fabron, I am just a mate.”