by Smith, Skye
"They are fast though. I wonder how fast she is under oar? I counted ten rowing positions a side. At two men per oar, that is forty strong backs. We are lightly crewed, so we would have had only eight on the oars. I doubt we could have escaped him if it had come to a rowing race."
"We'd have won,” Daniel told him, "cause our sails would have helped us along, whereas his sails would have been a drag.” He patted the ship's gunnels affectionately. "Make for Yarmouth,” Daniel told the helmsman while he busied himself with straightening out the mess he had made of the flag chest.
"Why Yarmouth? Why not the Thames?” Rob asked quietly while pulling down the Carnet flag.
"The Thames afterwards. First we must warn our patrols out of Yarmouth about the convoy so they can spread the alarm up and down the coast."
"Nay Danny,” Rob said in a whisper so as not to undermine his authority with the crew. "Making for Yarmouth just wastes time. The Yarmouth patrols will soon enough see the convoy for themselves, and spread the alarm. Make directly for the Thames. The faster our navy knows the course of the convoy, the faster they can do something about it."
It was always like this when they were together. Rob planning for the battle, Daniel planning for the fight. On the Swift's voyage to the New World, Rob had been the commander even though the ship was Daniel's. This because the crew had been Rob's, and in his youth Rob had made voyages to Morocco. Perhaps he should cede the command of the Swift to Rob again? No, not yet. "I've changed my mind,” Daniel called to the helmsman. "Make for the Thames."
* * * * *
The Swift made a fast crossing and sailed the 150 miles from The Hague to the Thames Estuary in less than twenty hours which included sailing through the night on light winds. Just off Southend they hailed the first navy ship they met, and were joyous when they found out that the ship was the Happy Entrance. They were even more joyous when they were told that it was still mastered by Captain Bowen, who was completely loyal to the Earl Admiral Rich.
They scrambled aboard the tall ship so they could put the diplomatic package addressed to Vice-Admiral William Batten directly to Bowen's hands. It was Bowen who told them the good news that he had been left in charge of the Thames squadron, because Batten was already in the North with four warships waiting for the invasion convoy. That was the end of the good news.
"Excellent,” Rob told him. "Then we brought this package to the right ship. The invasion convoy is escorted by Admiral Tromp with three Dutch ships-of-the-line and four lighter fighting ships. Batten will be out-sailed and out-gunned, so you must gather your squadron and sail north to help him. There is still time to reach Bridlington if you leave today."
"And leave the Thames Estuary undefended? That I cannot do. Not without orders. You say that this invasion plan was from information gathered by spies. What if those spies are double spies. What if they want us to leave the Thames undefended so they can land the invasion close to London?"
"Say you are right and they plan on landing near to London,” Rob replied. "So let them. The London mob will chase them back into the sea."
"Not if they land in Kent,” Bowen told him. "The place is filthy with royalists. Nay, I cannot sail north without orders."
"Right then,” Daniel said while pulling Rob away to return to the Swift. "Our next stop is London and the Committee of Safety to deliver the main diplomatic package. We will bring you back the orders you need."
The fastest way to London was to put in at the quays of Tilbury and hire a fully crewed longskiff to row them there. The sleek long craft with six men rowing took them up the River Thames to London in three hours, and within another hour they were admitted to John Pym's house. Unfortunately John Pym was not there. No one was there save his servants, and they refused to tell them where the great man could be reached no matter how many times Rob waved the diplomatic pouch under their noses.
Eventually they did find out that the Committee of Safety usually met at Holland House, and so they rushed back to their hired trap for a fast trip there. Or at least they wanted it to be fast, but the cobble streets of London were slippery with half frozen mud and black ice so the trap driver refused to push the horse to anything more than a trot. At Holland House they were told that the committee was not sitting that day, as the members were attending the great parliamentary debate at Westminster Palace.
The sun was already low when their trap reached Westminster Palace. They leaped out of the two wheeled carriage and ran into the building, but were immediately stopped by the guards who were made suspicious by their lack of undertaker clothing, their brace of pistols, and their great bullying hurry. They would have been disarmed and locked up to await the captain of the guard if Oliver Cromwell had not been hurrying by the front door while they were making a commotion.
"I know these men and can vouchsafe them,” Oliver told the guards, but the guards decided to be stubborn and would not let them enter the palace.
Rob handed the diplomatic pouch to Oliver, and told him, "Please place these into the hands of Pym, or Warwick, or Hampden or anyone else on the Committee of Safety, and tell them that an invasion convoy may be off the coast of Lowestoft as we speak."
"I believe Pym is at his physicians house today,” Oliver replied, "and Warwick is still in Portsmouth. Hampden is with his troops. In truth most of the committee members are with their troops. Denzil Holles is here, but he is no longer Warwick's ally. The man is now a leading spokesman of the peace party who are trying to gain a cease fire with the king. He is the reason for the current debate No, I doubt he is the man you need for this. How about Henry Marten?"
"Henry will do,” Robert replied. Henry was a staunch republican.
"And while Henry is reading the pouch,” Daniel added, "send anyone from the admiralty to speak with us."
"The admiralty is in tatters at the moment,” Oliver replied. "Algernon Percy is here, but he no longer has a role with the navy, and in truth is siding with Holles in pushing for peace. I'll go and get Henry. Perhaps he will think of someone."
Robert and Daniel sat, still under guard, and waited impatiently while Oliver disappeared down the hallway. "It seems to me,” Daniel told him, "that if you can't speak to Pym, Hampden, or Warwick, then nothing gets done around here. Henry Marten is to be trusted, but he is a loner and not a shareholder in the Providence Island Company, so don't expect much from him."
They were prophetic words. Henry came to thank them on behalf of the committee for delivering the diplomatic pouch, and the warning about the Dutch fleet. He promised that first thing in the morning he would personally hand them to John Pym. As for issuing orders for the Thames squadron to sail north to help Vice-Admiral William Batten, he would also speak of it with Pym. In the meantime he would send a courier with copies of the documents, and the whereabouts of the convoys to Warwick in Portsmouth.
"Henry, we have the acting Rear Admiral of the Thames squadron waiting for us to return with orders to sail north,” Daniel told him. He and Rob had first met Henry around the time of the first Bishop's War with Scotland. They had actually met his wife first, by saving her from footpads, but afterwards had stayed at Henry's London townhouse for a time. He was a man they could level with. "All he needs is an order from the Committee of Safety or the Lord Admiral. Since the Admiral is in Portsmouth, that leaves you. Write up the order and sign it on behalf of the Committee."
"The problem is,” Henry explained, "and Robert here will confirm it, that there is currently a quorum of committee members here in this building as we speak. Unfortunately, they are all the members who are here to push for peace with the king. Do you really think they would agree to send an order that may sink the queen's army? Your best chance is with Pym in the morning, or with the Admiral in Portsmouth."
"That will be too late,” Daniel told him. "There are fair winds and light seas so the invasion convoy will already be on this side of the North Sea. Give them two more days and they will have landed."
"Ah, well, I know nothi
ng of ships or their speeds,” Henry replied. "You came here under orders from Strickland, our ambassador in The Hague, yes? What were they?"
"To give the information to the Thames squadron,” Rob replied, "and to the Committee of Safety, and then catch up to the invasion convoy and follow it, and then report back to Strickland as to what became of the invasion."
"Then your task in London is complete and you should continue on with your orders. We have other men here who can carry these messages, and argue the merits of action, and issue orders, but we have no one but you who has a ship fast enough to catch up to that convoy. That is my advice to you, and frankly, you would be fools to ignore it. An ambassador's order carries as much weight as a general's."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Invasion by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-15
Chapter 26 - Sighting the Invasion off The Wash in February 1643
"Sails ho!” came the call from the bow watch. "A dozen ships coming north out of Brancaster Roads to cross the mouth of The Wash."
Robert and Daniel had been catching up on some sleep in the command cabin, but the call had them trading their blankets for their cloaks and racing each other for the fore castle, which was where the bow watch was standing in the lee of the foresail so as to keep out of the wind. The watch moved carefully along the sail to make room for them.
It was dawn and the many sails of the tall ships were glistening white above the horizon. "They seem further away than they really are,” Daniel said immediately, "because we are still deep inside the Wash and sailing almost at right angles to them. We can still beat them to Skegness if we put our wings on.” He turned away from the view to ask the watcher, "Where do you think we passed them? Why aren't they further north?” He and Rob had expected the convoy to be north of the Wash by now, and had expected to spend this day catching up to them again. The man shrugged.
Daniel pictured his charts in his head. "We expected them to slow down at night so as to keep together, but even in the dark we should have seen them."
The watcher, as if in his own defense, told him. "The coastline turns more westerly after Cromer, so while we kept up our speed and hugged the shore all through the night, the wind would have drifted them out towards Haisborough Sands. That far out they'd a'been fools not to stay further out until they were around Sheringham Shoal. At that distance we'd no chance o' seein'em in the dark."
Daniel stepped further away from the foresail so he could get a wider view. He was relieved to know where the queen's convoy was, and even more relieved that there was a good chance of them staying ahead of it. They had taken a gamble last night, by turning into the Wash instead of crossing it, so they could land at Fishtoft in hopes that some of Wellenhay's ships would be there. There had been two ships, so they had sent word into the village to roust the crews, five men apiece. Ten seasoned seamen. Now with twenty hands on the Swift they had enough extra men to either man the oars or man the cannons.
"That worked out rather well,” Rob said, fully pleased with himself. It had been his idea to take on more men, and had been his calculated risk that the invasion convoy would not sail hard through the night. Not along the Norfolk coast with its tricky currents and shifting sands.
"Yeh, maybe,” Daniel told him. "I still want to beat them into the Humber."
"So you still think that there will be a messenger ship waiting for them in the mouth of the Humber?"
"I don't know, but I want to know.” Daniel turned aft and yelled to the helmsmen, "Whistle a watch out of their beds and get more sail up! Let's race ahead of the convoy.” By the time he had given orders to the fresh watch, Rob was sitting in the "carriage cabin” rolling out the charts on the table. Daniel waited impatiently while Rob found their location on a chart, and then did the reckoning for them and then the convoy in relation to the mouth of the Humber. Daniel didn't need to look at the charts. He had been sailing the Lincolnshire coast since he was a boy. "Well? How long?” He meant how long until Spurn Head, the treacherous spit that closed off half of the mouth of the Humber.
"Four hours or less. Six for the convoy.” Rob replied while doing the sums in his head. "That's assuming an average of ten knots. The Swift can do that easily."
"Today she will do better. Twelve or fourteen, for the sou'wester is holding stiff, and if we hug the lee of the shore there won't be any waves. She should be able to get up and surf."
"Aye, but that means that the convoy will be moving faster too,” Rob told him soberly.
"Nay Rob, the convoy will have to sail further out because of the sand banks and shallows. They will be slowed by waves, while we won't.'
"Assuming that we don't run aground on one of those sandbars, and assuming that running so close to the land won't rob the sails of the wind. Are you forgetting that there are Dutch brigantines with the convoy? Of The Hook we almost lost a race with one, remember, and all because of how high her topsails were? They are sure to have sent a brigantine ahead of the convoy as a scout."
"Don't be insulting,” Daniel growled back. "The Wellenhay clan have been trading along this coast since before the Vikings. Them Dutch captains know only what is noted on their rudder logs."
The bow watch yelled out, "We've got company! Up ahead off Skegness, and right in our way. It's either that same bloody brigantine that chased us out of Holland, or a sister ship."
Robert gave Daniel an "I told you so,” look and they rolled up the charts and hurried back up on deck. The crew were all topside now, and the sails unreefed, and the Swift was skimming across the calm shallow waters of The Wash making for the northern head and Skegness and the treacherous shifting sands and channels caused by the River Steeping. Just coming into view and making sou'east around the northern point of The Wash was a Dutch warship.
"She'll be waiting for the convoy to catch up a bit, and then she'll sprint north again,” Rob pointed out, just as the brigantine changed courses. "Damn the luck. She's seen us."
"What do you think their orders are?” Daniel grumbled to Rob, meaning the orders of the brigantine that was now on a course that would block them from leaving The Wash. "To inspect us to make sure we mean no trouble, or to force us back to port, or to blow us out of the water just in case?"
"I think we are about to find out,” Rob told him while mentally trying to calculate how quickly the distance between the Swift and the brigantine was closing. "I think it's time you found out which of your clansmen was the last to sail these waters."
That was Mick, of course, because he had skippered the Friesburn Four which was now at Fishtoft, and which had just come back from delivering a cache of powder and shot up to the Eastern Association militia stationed in Skegness. Daniel hailed his cousin-in-law, who was supervising the covering of the cargo well with old sail cloth so the larger crew would have more living space out of the weather. A moment later he trotted towards them to join them.
For a Frisian clansman Mick was short, but still taller than Rob. He had a broken nose which made him snore terribly, and a broken jaw from a fist fight which hadn't heeled properly, so it clicked when he ate or talked. In a clan of tall handsome men, he was quite homely, and yet he never wanted for the company of willing women. There were no secrets in the communal sweat lodge, so everyone in the village knew why women sought ought his bed, and why they affectionately called him their mule ... and it wasn't because of his bulbous nose.
"Let 'em come,” Mick told them after a minute staring through the looker. "You'll beat 'em to Wiggly Channel, and that will lead you inside of the outer bars off the point. With their draft they'll have to stand well off them bars in deep water."
"There is no Wiggly Channel marked on my chart,” Rob replied. "Just warnings about shifting sand bars."
"An' the Dutchmen will 'ave worse charts than you, Robby,” Mick snickered. "I only know about the Wiggly because I followed some o' the local crabbers through it just two day ago."
"I fear to ask why it's called Wigg
ly,” Daniel snickered. He reached over Rob's arm to point to a place on the chart that Rob had half unfurled. "There. Off the village port of Gibralter at the end of the Boston Deeps. The bars run parallel to the bend of the shore with long channels between them. Sometimes there are three bars, sometimes more."
"It's called Wiggly by the locals because that's what it is. Wiggly. It's where the flow of the River Steeping meets the tidal currents and pushes its way through the bars. You turn into the river channel as if you were going into Gibralter, but then you turn north as soon as you are through the bars. You can't miss it cause there are some wrecked hulls that help keep Wiggly open."
"How many wrecks are there?” Rob was almost afraid to ask. "This is twice the ship of your Friesburn you know, and twice the draft."
"No problem, matey,” Mick chortled in a way that made his jaw click and crack in a way that sent shivers up Robs spine. "I'll stand on the bow and mark the course with my arms, while you lot answer the helm, and keep the oar strokes even."
"So we row through?” Rob confirmed.
"Well rowin' is how I would do her,” Mick replied, "though Danny here is touched enough in the head to do her with every bit o' cloth stretched."
They kept up their speed and flew along the Boston Deeps past Fiskney Flats towards the inevitable confrontation with the brigantine. When they reached Wainfleet sands they followed its curve in towards the shore and began to shorten sail. By this time they were almost adjacent to the brigantine but she was a quarter mile further out in deep water. The Dutchman fired an empty gun at them as a warning, so Daniel ordered the crew to finish dropping the sails and drift. A few minutes later Mick yelled out that they were close enough to the river channel to run out the oars.
