Agent Provocateur

by Christopher C Tubbs

  “Oh, so we pose as a privateer to cover up the fact we are really Navy!” Campbell exclaimed.

  “Yes, so find yourself a pirate costume and practice talking like a common sailor as you aren’t Midshipman Campbell anymore but First Mate Campbell. Understood?”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  Marty raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, I mean yes, skipper!”

  Marty smiled and said, “Better. Just keep practicing that. Off you go.”

  Campbell stood and was about to salute when he saw the raised eyebrow again and stopped about half way up. He grinned and turned to leave.

  “By the way,” Marty said, stopping him in his tracks. “If you have any ideas about how to make the Louise look less British than the Lark, feel free to put them forward.”

  “Aye, I mean yes, skipper,” he said as he left.

  After the door closed, Marty grinned to himself and thought, It’s a start! But then he had a thought, Why would they take the risk of sending the tax by ship through hostile waters when they could safely send it by land? That thought was troubling. What if someone was setting Jeroen up? Or what if Jeroen had been caught and they were sending fake messages to try and see if the network actually existed?

  He went up on deck to check on the progress that was being made and was mildly surprised at the change that had come over his ship. Campbell was supervising the removal of the yards on the mast that could be used for setting square sails. He also had a couple of men altering the apparent cut of the sales by folding and stitching seams along the edges.

  “Well, Mr. Campbell, I can understand the bringing down of the yards, but please explain what the men are doing to my sails,” Marty barked.

  “Och ay, Skipper,” Campbell replied in a broad Scottish accent, causing Marty to raise both eyebrows in surprise. “We be making them look like Swedish cut sails.”

  “And you have experience of Swedish sails?” Marty asked.

  “Och ay. I spent six months in Malmo on me last ship and sailed a Swedish cutter for fun.”

  “Well, they better work as well as ours or you will be unstitching them yourself,” Marty joked and slapped him on the back. “And you can drop the Scottish accent until we board a prize.”

  Tom, Marty’s coxswain, and Matai were working on a new name board. They had painted Louise in dark blue on a red background, which Marty found hard to read in itself. Now, they were bashing it with chains to make it looked aged, which obscured some letters even more.

  Tom got one end and Matai the other, and they held it up for Marty to inspect.

  “That is bloody perfect,” he said in honest admiration. “Let’s get it mounted.”

  He looked around and if it wasn’t for the carronades, she could be from anywhere. The carronades! he thought, how can we disguise them? He waited for Tom to return and then called him and John Smith (his quartermaster) to him.

  “We need to do something to disguise the carronades,” he said, “Any ideas?”

  “It’s the slides and that great, gaping gob of a barrel that gives them away,” said John.

  “Yes, they look nothing like six or even nine pounders, do they?” Added Marty, “I think we need to keep them covered and mount as many swivels along the sides as we can. We will need to get in close and board if we are to make any money. If we need the carronades, it will be as a last resort anyway.”

  With nothing else to do, he had a game of tug with Blaez and then went to the charts to check on their position. Satisfied, he gave the order for a change of course toward Calais.

  Chapter 3: Ambush

  They made their way up the French coast from Calais looking for any Batavian merchant ships heading the other way. They stopped and took a couple of French coasters to help bulk up their cover story, but they were unexciting and only nabbed them some fresh stores and a barrico or two of cheap wine.

  They took their time and looked in every cove and estuary as they went in case their prey was hiding during daylight hours. They reached the Northern tip of France and Marty decided to ‘hang around’ there rather than go up past Antwerp. They reduced sail to the minimum overnight and resumed their search at false dawn the next morning.

  By lunchtime, they hadn’t seen anything. Marty wondered if anything had passed then in the dark, so he headed back to Calais under full sail.

  Again nothing, and they reversed course to try again and with nothing else to do, started weapons training to keep the men occupied.

  He donned his weapons harness and went to find Campbell. It was time to assess his capabilities. Blaez was curious and followed him on deck.

  “Mr. Campbell!” He called and the mid turned from watching some of the men going at it with wooden cutlasses and walked over to him.

  “I heard you were a fist fighter, but can you use a blade?” Marty asked

  Campbell ran his eyes over Marty’s weapons rig noting the hanger, fighting knife, and pair of double barrelled pistols. He then looked down at the hessian boots Marty wore and noted that there was an additional knife in each of them.

  “I feel underdressed, Skipper,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh, this little set up?” grinned Marty, “It’s all the rage for us pirates, you know.”

  “Wooden blades?” He asked hopefully.

  Marty drew his hanger and said,

  “I think steel is much more of a test, don’t you?”

  “May I get my sword from by cabin?” Campbell asked, putting a bold face on it.

  “Of course,” Marty replied and bowed him away with a flourish.

  Campbell returned with what looked like a cavalry sabre on his waist. Heavy that, Marty observed and when it was drawn, he could see it was both longer and heavier than his hanger with a curved blade designed for chopping. It also had point so it could be thrust as well.

  Marty assumed his customary knife fighter’s stance, and Campbell took up his guard in preparation. They circled, assessing each other. Campbell swung first. A scything slash to the midriff, which Marty avoided by stepping back and letting it past. He noted that Campbell didn’t have any trouble controlling the blade at the end of the swing and used the momentum to bring it back to guard. Then Blaez came out of nowhere snarling viciously and hit Campbell high in the chest with his front paws, knocking him flat on his back. Campbell found himself looking straight into the eyes of what looked like a very angry wolf. The dog was stood on his chest with his nose inches from his and his lips drawn back in a snarl.

  Marty rushed in, grabbed Blaez by the scruff, and speaking softly, eased him off the shocked and frightened mid. He beckoned Tom over and asked him to lock the dog in his cabin after he had praised him and given him a good neck scratch to let him know he wasn’t angry at him.

  Campbell got to his feet.

  “Sorry about that,” said Marty, “I think he thought you were really attacking me. He’s never seen me practice before. Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, apart from a bruised behind. Damn, he was fast. I didn’t even see him coming! He will be deuced handy in a fight.”

  They both laughed at that, and Marty noticed that all the men had stopped practicing to watch. He inclined his head towards them and said,

  “Shall we continue? The boys look as if they want a show.”

  They took up their guard positions again and resumed a slow circling anticlockwise. Marty suddenly reversed the direction they were circling and simultaneously launched a high attack, forcing Campbell to parry and then reversed the swing to cut low at his thigh. Campbell skipped back out of range and took up his guard again.

  Marty grinned, and they both advanced swinging and parrying, setting up a clamour of crashing steel. It stopped suddenly as they came together, blade to blade, and Campbell felt the point of the fighting knife pressed against his side.

  “You’re dead,” said Marty.

  “The knife?” asked Campbell, not moving even a fraction of an inch.

  “Yup. Don’t get in close if
the other man has one. Lesson learnt?”

  Campbell nodded and as they stepped apart, bowed and saluted with his sword.

  “You have a good sword arm, but that cleaver is heavy and if the fight goes on for too long, will wear you out,” cautioned Marty, “So either sw…”

  “SAIL HOE! COMING FROM ASTERN FAST,” yelled the lookout, stopping Marty mid-word.

  Marty sheathed his blades and raced to the quarter deck to get a telescope. He stood on a carronade to get some height. He could see that whatever it was had a gaff rig and was carrying all the sail she could.

  “Make all sail,” he commanded, and the men ran to obey.

  “ANOTHER SAIL. DEAD AHEAD AND COMING RIGHT AT US,” cried the lookout again.

  “What the hell! Mr. Campbell, get up there and check them both out.”

  “THEY BE BOTH FRENCH!” reported Campbell in a voice that could have been heard half a mile away.

  “Beat to quarters!” Marty ordered as Campbell slid down a stay to the deck.

  “Two French luggers, sir. The forward one is steering to cut us off. The one astern is closing fast and has the weather gauge on us.”

  Marty knew that French luggers carried up to fourteen nine-pounders and had a significant punch.

  “I knew this was too good to be true,” he cried, “It’s a fucking trap!”

  “DECK THERE. A THIRD SAIL TO LARBOARD. SAME TYPE AND IS CLOSING.”

  “Trying to box us in,” Campbell noted.

  “WHICH IS GOING TO GET TO US FIRST?” yelled Marty to the lookout.

  “THE ONE FORRAD OF US,” came the reply.

  Marty turned to Campbell and saw Tom and John Smith close by.

  “Mr. Campbell, I would be obliged if you would get the carronades loaded on both sides. Chain and Langridge larboard side and Ball Starboard!”

  Campbell went straight to work yelling orders to the gun crews. They were overmanned by the measure of the Navy but just right for a privateer, so they could easily fight both sides if they needed to.

  “John, I want you on the wheel. Get an extra man to help you.”

  Marty ran to the foredeck and looked long and hard at the lugger approaching from in front. He then looked at the other two, calculating closing speeds and angles in his head.

  “John! Steer straight for him,” he ordered as he got back to the wheel, pointing at the forward lugger.

  Marty saw that their target was healed over with the wind on his starboard side. If he could pass him on his larboard side, it would restrict his gunnery even if it gave away the wind gauge. It would also give his carronades an easier shot at his rigging and deck.

  “Mr. Campbell, I will steer straight for him. I don’t think he is fitted with bow chasers, but if he jinks, expect some incoming. Bow on, we are a small target. When we be one and a half cables from him, I will veer to starboard and you can let him have it with the Larboard battery. I want that gun,” and he pointed at the foremost carronade, “to go for his quarter deck. The rest, take down his rigging. We will then wear to starboard and as we pass him again, we will serve him with the other battery into his hull. After that, we will go head to head with that ship astern of us.”

  This is going to be really close. I won’t have more than a few minutes to get sorted if we get damaged and I want to get on that second bastard’s starboard side so he will shield me from the third, Marty thought.

  Marty knew he had to use the advantage given by his carronades. Their smashing power would help even the odds, but he had to get in close enough! The last thing he needed was a long-range slugging match.

  The range to the forward lugger was closing rapidly. Marty saw the twitch of their sails just before he jinked to starboard and loosed off a broadside at about half a mile.

  “Hold fast, boys!” Marty shouted to encourage his men. “Them Frenchies can’t hit a cow’s arse with a paddle,” he taunted.

  The range closed fast, and he held his nerve until they were easily less than one and a half cables apart. The French didn’t have a single gun run out! He had beaten them to it! He slashed his right arm down to signal John Smith to go to starboard, and he watched the French ship as they started to pass down her side.

  Campbell held his fire until they were almost broadside to broadside and four of the carronades coughed as one, followed a couple of seconds later by the forward one. The effect on the other ship was devastating. The mast took at least a couple of direct hits, and the rigging was shredded. The mast shuddered and snapped off about half way up. As they passed her stern, he could see no-one on her quarter deck. Whoever aimed that forward gun had done a good job.

  He commanded them to wear, and they swung around through the wind to reverse their course. It took only a few minutes to come up on the stricken ship and as he was about to order the starboard guns to fire, he saw her flag fall to the deck.

  “They’ve struck!” called Campbell.

  Marty ignored them and turned his attention to the second ship that he was now going head to head with. He took the time to look to starboard and check on the seaward vessel. She was closing but not fast enough to get to them before they met the other.

  Marty knew that if the other captain had been watching, he would expect Marty to try the same tactic again. So, he had to think up something else bloody quickly.

  He looked up at the pennant and at the tell tails on the sails. The wind was coming from their forward starboard quarter, and they were steering as close into it as they could. He had an idea. It would be dangerous, daring, and could go horribly wrong, but if it worked, he would throw the Frenchman into confusion.

  He ordered John to drop them off a point so it would look like they would try and pass down the starboard side of their adversary. Then he told the men to prepare to tack to starboard on his command. He had the larboard carronades loaded with a double load of ball but not rolled out. That made them into monstrous sawn-off shotguns with twelve 4 Lb balls per gun. The crews were to aim for the enemy’s bow. This would test their gunnery to the limit.

  They raced closer.

  Half a mile apart.

  The enemy had his starboard guns run out. That part was working.

  He waited.

  Six hundred yards.

  Four Hundred Yards.

  “Roll out!” He ordered.

  “Skipper?” Prompted John Smith.

  Marty ignored him.

  Two hundred.

  One hundred and fifty and,

  “Hard to Starboard! Tack the ship! Fire as you bear!”

  He kept his eyes on the other ship and as they swung across her bow… Had he left it too late? Their bowsprit looked like a spear heading straight for their Larboard side!

  The guns coughed their deadly loads one after the other. The enemy ship seemed to shake from end to end and her bow seemed to cave in on itself. Then her head started to swing around as her captain instinctively tried to avoid a collision that would sink them both.

  After that, the Lark’s sails grabbed the wind and she shot forward as the Frenchman passed her stern. Marty braced as he half expected the French to rake him but only one gun fired and hit their transom.

  Marty heard furious barking coming from his cabin as Blaez swore at the intruder. Seconds later, there was a crash and he appeared on the deck with the hair from the back of his head to his tail standing on end making him look twice as big and one angry dog. He jumped up and put his front paws on the rail and barked furiously at the other ship.

  The men cheered him.

  Their opponent had almost come to a stop and was noticeably down by the bow, so Marty turned his attention to the third one.

  “SHIT! EVERYONE DOWN!” he shouted and grabbing Blaez, threw himself to the deck with the dog beside him.

  The third lugger had closed in and had swung broadside on about three cables away. Her guns flashed as her broadside rippled down her deck and chain and bar shot howled overhead ripping the mainsail from top to bottom and taking several large ch
unks out of the mast.

  “Larboard battery is ready, sir,” shouted Campbell as Marty got his feet.

  Bugger this, he thought.

  “We will close and give her one broadside and then board her. So, make it a good one! Marines, are you ready?” There was a load cheer!

  “Boarders, are you ready?” An even louder cheer.

  “LET’S DO THIS!” He shouted.

  They steered for the French to get them alongside at close pistol shot. He checked his weapons and told Blaez to sit beside him. He could see the French frantically trying to reload.

  Ten yards separated them, and the French guns were being rolled out when he shouted, “FIRE”. At that range, the carronades were devastating and the side of the lugger was peppered with star shaped holes. They ground up beside her and he yelled,

  “Grapples away!” Then once they were tight,

  “Boarders away!” And launched himself over the Rail onto the other deck.

  He had both pistols out and shot one man in the chest as he stood up from behind a cannon and another in the face as he rushed at him sword raised. He was suddenly aware of a third to his left about to spear him with a bording pike when a brindled shape threw itself at the sailor, sinking its teeth into his shoulder, dragging him to the floor. Then his men arrived, and he was swept away from his dog and its victim.

  The fight was short, nasty, and deadly with no quarter given or asked for. The numbers were about even on both sides, but the superior weapons training of the Larks made a big difference.

  The French surrendered after their captain was killed when Campbell’s sabre almost split him in half.

  Marty accepted the surrender from a wounded and visibly shocked junior officer then stood back and tried to figure out what to do next.

  His eyes popped open in realization and he cried,