by Smith, Skye
Rob watched the Friesburns leap away from the Alice and then asked his crew, "What do you think, lads? Do we wait her a while longer to see what the convoy will do?"
"Yee can't be serious,” Les called out. The iciness of the wind took his breath away, literally, for the howl of it blew the mist from his breath away from the ship. He raised his voice to be heard. "Look at the sky. In a few minutes it's going to start snowing. Then you won't be able to see the convoy, nor the shore. Then what, eh. There's sandbars 'tween us and the River Yare, or had you forgotten."
"He's right, Rob,” Daniel called out into the wind. "The convoy is still moving towards us, so as we sail towards land we will still keep them in sight. If we lose sight of them due to the storm, then we would have lost sight of them in any case."
Rob shrugged and then gave the order, "Bring her about and head due west. We'll sail with just the reefed main for now.” He said this full well knowing that none of the crew would have volunteered to walk along the slippery cabin deck to change the reefing in any case. "Break out the safety lines and tie them to yer belts. I don't want any of yee lost overboard.” For lost they would be. In the brewing storm there would be no chance of going back to find a man swept overboard.
Danny and Rob stood on either side of the helmsman and trained their lookers aft towards the convoy. "Well one thing for sure,” Daniel said, "they can't turn north, not with their square sails. What's their best chance of making port in a nor'easter. Lowestoft, but the channels are tricky there. Yarmouth would be safer. They could turn back. The Dutch ports will be in the lee of the wind."
"They'll fly towards the Thames,” Rob guessed. "Running before this wind they could be through the Straits of Dover faster than word could warn our navy."
"I don't see it that way myself,” Daniel said. "If they had set out to make for the south coast then why would they be here. The queen's brother is the King of France. If they had set out to land in Devon or Cornwall they would have stuck to the other coast and sailed halfway to Normandy before making the crossing."
"Ere,” Les interrupted, "let me have a go with that looker thingee. You lot are lookin' the wrong way."
They expected Les to swing Rob's looker around and search for buildings on the shore, or for the white line of waves which would mark the sand bars that sheltered the Yarmouth Roads. Instead he pointed the looker to the south of the convoy. "I thought so,” he told them. "There's a bloody Dunkirker galliot shadowing the convoy."
Daniel lifted his looker to his eye. Rob snatched his back from Leslie. Dunkirkers were bad news for everybody. They were the cream of pirates and privateers, and the most successful, because they were licensed by the Spanish and had a safe port in Dunkirk because it was protected by the empire's army in Flanders. Their ships were the equal of the Dutch, different but equal. "It can't be Dunkirkers, not in this weather. The key to their success is that they are heavily manned for boarding and capturing ship, passengers, and cargo intact. You can't board in foul weather."
"You beauty, you slinky little beauty. Just look at how fast she is overtaking that convoy,” Rob was saying. "She's no Dunkirker. She's the Swift Daniel. You can tell her by the sails. There is no other galliot on the seas that is Bermuda rigged."
Daniel didn't hear him because at the same moment he was calling out to the crew, "The convoy is turning. Their rigging is filled with men. They're coming about across the wind. They've decided to make for Holland.” He cheered. The crew joined in.
Rob shook his arm and said, "Danny, did you not here me. The galliot is the Swift, and she is heading straight for us. Do you want us to spill the wind and wait for her."
Daniel swung his looker around and stared hard at the largest of the Wellenhay ships. "Nay, keep your course. I know what Anso is up to. He wants to follow us in through the sandbar channels. Light some storm lanterns to make it easier for him to keep us in sight. Without us as his pilot, he won't risk the channels, which means he'll have to make for the Thames."
Leslie had a sudden thought and called it out. "I hope he lights some lanterns too and gets some o' them friggin' fluyts to follow him into the Yare. Can you imagine the prize money then? Eh? Eh? We'll be as rich as lords."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Invasion by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-15
Chapter 22 - With the Swift at Great Yarmouth in February 1643
By the time they had docked at the Little Yarmouth quay, battened the ships down, and made it to the shelter of the Admiral's Inn, the nor-easter was howling. It brought with it a cold so bitter that the sea foam was freezing, but as yet no snow or freezing rain, not so far. Further north along the coast they would be having snow, a lot of snow, where ever the wet sou'wester and the crisp nor'easter had collided. The crews, all of the crews, were safe ashore and being well fed courtesy of Daniel's deal with the local. Meanwhile their ships bobbed and bumped at the fenders between them and the quay with one crewman aboard each as a watcher.
Anso, the commander of the Swift, was well pleased to be housed in a coach inn rather than a seaman's shanty, that is, until Daniel told him that the cost of the inn was part of salvage fees for the Avontuur. Both of these commanders were considered warlords within their clan, which was a traditional rank gained through votes of confidence by the able men of the clan, rather than gained through inheritance. In the past a warlord need not have been a ships commander, but these days the clan owned so many ships that it was a given. Daniel took Anso aside and explained the logic of Avontuur deal to him in private, not just because he was due a private explanation, but also because Daniel didn't want to lose his teeth. Anso was taller than he, outweighed him by four stone, and had fists the size of a child's head.
It took Anso a while to calm down but eventually he admitted, "All right, let's put that one down to one in the hand being worth two in the bush. The comfort of this inn is proof that we are at least benefiting from a debt that has gone uncollectible for some three months now.” Eventually he even smiled. "So how did Wellenhay fare through Freyja’s Yule, Christmas Yule, and the big freeze?"
Daniel put away his story telling hat and reported everything military fashion to Anso, meaning just the facts in as few words as possible. He would fill in any details, when and should Anso ask about any of it. The man nodded much and asked little.
"I'm glad Rob didn't die,” Anso said. "He and his shipping connections in Lyme are a big part of our plan to move to Bermuda.” He did not mention that he quite liked Rob, and respected him. "So you must have your fingers crossed that Rob takes Sarah off your hands?” This was typical of Anso's direct way of speaking of women, feelings and relationships.
The rough barb, however, hurt Daniel's sensibilities because beyond Sarah being his second wife by law, she was a friend and a lover and still a most comely woman despite being in her thirties. Without thinking he lashed back saying, "So you'll soon learn that your bed and your woman have been well filled while you were gone.” He immediately regretted the saying because Anso's face drooped. The man loved his wife, even if he was occasionally seduced by other women.
Anso's face went from drooping to flushed with anger and he hissed, "Who? Why? There is a shortage of men in our village so there is no need for poaching another man's wife. Who?"
Now Daniel really regretted the telling, but on second thought he decided it was best that the news came from him and not from the crew. "I chose my words badly, friend. Calm down. To sate her lust for you, your wife volunteered to tutor a lad in the ways of women. It was all according to tradition and with everyone's consent. You were away so your children gave your consent for you."
"Who?"
Daniel took a deep breath, hoped for the best and told him, "Teller, Sarah's son Teller."
"What? The whelp whats goin' ta school in Cambridge. Well that's all right them. He was too much of a boy for his age. She'd a made a man of him right quick. Aw Danny, you shouldn'ta frightened me like that. I hate re
jection. I just can't abide it."
They looked at each other, eye to eye and both let out a roar of laughter, for life was good. The laughter didn't last long however, because they were both shivering. For privacy they had retired from the big tap room of the inn and up stairs to Anso's bedroom. "Come on,” Anso told him. "The others will be holding back on news and stories until we join them."
* * * * *
This stoutly built Inn once again proved to the Fen's clansmen that no matter how many modern chimneys you built in a brick building, you couldn't keep it warm during a big freeze. That was because all the heat went up the chimney and thus sucked cold air in through ever crack in the walls and windows. If you tried closing down the damper to keep the heat from escaping, the smoke filled the room. If you were burning coal, the smoke did not just make you cough, but made you sick as if some of the smoke was poisonous. If you built the fire up hotter, your chimney would catch fire, and that could cost you your roof.
To solve the heating problem, the men had fetched some braziers from their ships, and were burning peat bricks in them. Though the peat created some smoke with its heat, the smoke was sweat smelling and did not choke you. They soon learned to put the braziers in the center of the room, but closer to the chimney, and keep a small fire going in the hearth. The hearth fire then pulled the peat smoke towards it, and up the chimney. To keep warm the men were sitting in a circle around the braziers, facing the heat with their backs covered by blankets to keep the draught away.
The crew of the Swift had not been home to Wellenhay since Freyja's Yule, which had spanned the shortest days of the year from December ninth to nineteenth, and they were sorely missing their families and women. This evening they spent listening to stories about the true Yule, and also the second Yule held for their Christian brethren from Fishtoft and Freiston. They swapped stories of the big freeze just after Christmas which had also struck Holland hard. Then they told of their own adventures running a diplomatic shuttle from London to The Hague so that the English and Dutch parliaments could confer about the seeming alliance between Charlie and the Dutch Stadtholder, Frederick Prince of Orange.
"You have to keep in mind,” Anso explained, "that deep down inside him the Prince of Orange really wants to be a king.. Whether of the Netherlands or of England doesn't matter much to him so long as he is a king. As the Stadtholder, he is almost a king, because he is the warlord of the military including the admiralty."
"Since when did you become so learned?” Tom asked.
"I've just spent six weeks with diplomats,” Anso chuckled. "Some of it was bound to rub off."
"Yer diplomats must be right nobs not to be down here with us celebratin' bein' safe ashore."
"They aren't staying at the Inn. They were invited to the grand homes of the bailiffs."
"How could the Prince of Orange ever claim the English Crown?” Daniel asked. "That's a bit far fetched."
"Bah, you should hear all the conniving and plotting that goes on in The Hague,” Anso told him. "It's a hotbed of intrigue. Makes me sick to my stomach to hear about it. Bunch of useless nobs that have never worked a day in their lives or done anythin' useful.” This sounded more like the old Anso. "William, the son and heir of the Prince of Orange, has just married Mary, the daughter of Charlie and Henrietta. Their children will 'ave strong claims on the thrones of France, Holland, England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. Meanwhile Charlie’s sister, Queen Betty of Bohemia, is also in The Hague with her eldest son Prince Karl. It's said that Karl wants his brothers Rupert and Maurice to arrange an 'accident' for Charlie so that he can claim Charlie's crowns until Charlie's sons Charles Too and James Too are of age. I mean, not that them lads will live that long."
Everyone was shaking their heads at the vicious perversity of royals. Weren't royals supposed to set a good example for their subjects. "Anyway,” Anso continued. "That convoy out there is full to the gunnels with German nobs and mercenaries who are so vile and bloodthirsty that they make Prince Rupert look like a flower vendor. So here's a toast.” He stood and crashed his head into the rafters and had to sit down again. He was a very tall man. "May the moon tides and the weather sink them ships and drown every one of them before they spread their murdering ways across England."
It was not so much a toast, as a curse, and a curse that Christian and Pagan alike could raise their pots of heated ale to confirm. You could tell the Pagans because they were the ones that then spat on the floor and then ground the spit into the floor with their boots to seal the wish as being a true curse rather than just words spoken in anger.
"I've been with them diplomats too long,” Anso told them once his head had stopped ringing in pain. "I need to get back home and spend a week squeezing and hugging some real folk."
Daniel saw his opportunity and took it. He would never forcibly replace Anso as commander of the Swift, for only a vote by the crew could do that, but this was different. Anso needed a break. "Why don't we swap crews,” he suggested. "You and your crew take over the two Friesburns. Once this storm quiets, they are sure to be sent to The Wash with men and supplies, which will get you home. Meanwhile we can take the Swift on to wherever those diplomats are going next."
"It don't work like that Danny, and you know it,” Anso scolded. "Gather the crews, all of them,” he called out to all around, and then settled back on his creaking, overburdened stool to finish his cooling spiced ale. Once all the crews were standing around him in the Inn's tap room, he announced, "I am surrendering command of the Swift to Daniel and he will finish the shuttling of diplomats. Them that wants to sail with him, step over to the hearth."
A few men moved towards the hearth. Everyone wanted to go home, especially if there was going to be another big freeze. "Come on lads!” Anso yelled out. "He'll need a crew of nine or ten in this weather.” A few more moved over.
Rob stood and walked over towards the hearth, and when he did, his own crew stood and followed him. "The Alice will be safe enough here until we return.” Another man crossed to the hearth.
"That's nine,” Anso called out. "That's enough to get us all thinkin', but we won't hold yee to anythin' until this nor'easter stops and yer minds are clear of grog.” The men went back about their business, all mumbling and speaking amongst themselves. Rob came back to his ale and sat down beside Anso. "Why you Rob?” Anso asked him. "Just an hour ago you told me that you were in a hurry to get back to Devon to take up command of your infantry company again and help them hunt down that Hopton feller."
"This is more important,” Rob replied, but he was staring across the table at Daniel. "And who better than I to help. I was once a member of parliament, and therefore speak the same lingo as the diplomats, and I once lived in Holland so I speak formal Dutch?” Daniel had offered his hand across the table and he took it and gave it a hard shake.
"Tomorrow will be soon enough to let the diplomat know,” Anso said, and the other two agreed.
"Anso, you haven't yet told us yet how you ended up running a diplomatic shuttle to and from The Hague,” Daniel said as he topped up everyone's ale, "when you were supposed to be running more pistols into London for the Earl of Warwick and his Providence Company."
"Ah, yes, that. Well it's all your fault. Remember when we wus floating that barge of cannons down the Thames and had that spot of bother at Brentford.” Anso's crew groaned at this story being told yet again, so they wandered off to find their beds. "One of them nights you told a story about a fella named George Goring, who was the turncoat who refused to surrender the Portsmouth arsenal to Parliament. After we delivered the cannons to Wellenhay, we decided to make one more trip to Rotterdam for another load of pistols for the Admiral Earl before the weather closed in. It was still early in December when we arrived in Rotterdam and the first place we went was to speak to our old friend Jock.” Jock was the one legged Scottish gunsmith who served as an agent for them in Rotterdam. "Jock told us that a fella named Goring had been offering to trade jewelry for guns, and that
caught our ear 'cause of the Portsmouth thing."
"I have heard rumours that Henrietta is trying to trade the crown jewels for guns, but I didn't believe them,” Rob interrupted.
"Well the very next week an Englishman approaches the crew offering them good pay to sail to Newcastle and join the king's fight against the evil rebels. Well Davey over there. Where's he gone? Anyway, Davey goes along with it, just to find out what the deal is. Turns out it was this same Goring fella. He's been helping Henrietta buy guns and recruit men, but she keeps delaying the invasion, see, so he's decided to go on ahead by himself.
Goring shows Davey and the other recruits his ships, and that's when Davey does a runner. The ships were all shapes and sizes of coastal traders that must have carried royalist nobs to Holland when word spread that Henrietta was in The Hague. There were seven ships in all but Davey said there were only two sound ships in the lot. A few days later, there we are almost loaded and ready to sail, when these seven ships pull by our quay heading out to sea. We slipped our lines and followed them, which was a bit of a bore 'cause the Swift was so much faster, and they led us across the Sea to Lowestoft. Once there they stood off rather than going in to port."
"Probably waiting for a message from shore that it was safe to land,” Rob speculated.
"We didn't wait around to find out. We jammed on the sail to whip down to the Thames squadron and tell them about it. I mean, we were on our way to London anyway to sell the pistols to the Providence Company. Who do you think is with the navy squadron we report this to in the Thames estuary. Why Robert Rich, the Earl Admiral hisself, and he was mighty interested in them ships we had followed. The lads tell me that I forgot to tell the navy that they were just poor small ships, and that might be true, because Rich ordered all three warships to make for Lowestoft to capture Goring and his ships. Three ships-of-the-line he sends, when any one of them could have done the job."
