A Baltic Affair

Chapter 4 The Pride of Ebbsfleet

Chapter 4

The Pride of EbbsfleetPetroc was relieved when John Hunt heaved himself through the entry port, his wide grin evident even in the darkness.

“I’ve never had so easy a task,” he declared as he saluted. “The only sentry was asleep on his musket and Guzewski had him tamed before he even knew we were there.”

“There was no resistance? How did you get so close?”

“Klesc is from these parts. He brought us ashore on the east of the isle and led us over the ground to the landing. He walked down the track as if from the barrack while Guzewski got behind the sentry, but the fellow never heard either of them. Sound asleep he was until Guzewski grabbed him.”

Petroc nodded. “Good. A Frenchman?”

“No, sir, a German – no more than a boy. They obviously did not expect anything to come against them here, and the crews live in a barracks some little distance from the dock. We brought the boats and the guard with us since he was in fear of being shot if he remained, and the boats may be useful elsewhere.”

“I should think so; the boats will be invaluable. A sentry asleep on watch is a serious offence. Where is he now?”

The lieutenant looked around and signaled the seaman named Klesc. “Where is our captive? Bring him here.”

The heavy-set man stepped forward, thrusting a bedraggled youth in an ill-fitting uniform before him. “Here, Herr Hunt.” He noticed Petroc and touched his hat. “Kapitän.”

Petroc struggled to keep from laughing; the youth was obviously terrified, probably expecting some frightful fate, but doing his utmost to hide it. “A fine prisoner, Mister Hunt. Take him below and see that he is fed – he looks as if even our salt pork will be a welcome feast.”

The seamen clustered around them laughed, although the youth looked even more terrified when they did. Petroc took pity on him and asked in German, “Have you eaten? Go with Klesc – he will give you some food.”

An almost incoherent babble of thanks burst from the youth, and Petroc smiled as the boy was led to the companionway. Now he had only to wait, hiding his concern and his nerves, for news of the capture, or otherwise, of the brig. He clamped his hands behind his back and nodded to the lieutenant. “Well done, Mister Hunt. I’ll keep the watch. Refresh yourself. I’ll call you when we have the brig.”

As the lieutenant turned away, Petroc was startled by a soft laugh from the shadows. “You are a surprising man, Kapitän. Do you show all your enemies such kindness?”

“Certainly not,” Petroc replied, “only to those who are not trying to kill me.”

It took some effort to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t help feeling boyish when Silke spoke to him thus, accompanied by that quick upturned glance of her lovely eyes.

The brig lay at her anchor as the boats approached, their muffled oars moving slowly to create as little disturbance in the water as possible. A solitary riding light hung from her forestay casting a little light on her fo’c’sle and creating a deep shadow below her bows.

“Easy, oars!” Ben hissed through clenched teeth. He studied the brig through his night glass, seeking signs of the watch. Surely, the damned French would set at least a watchman aboard? He caught a slight movement in the shadows aft. “Aha,” he said softly, “There’s at least one watch keeper on the quarterdeck.” A glow showed briefly, illuminating two faces as one lit a pipe. “There’s two of ‘em. Stood by the binnacle.” He signaled the second launch alongside.

“She looks quiet enough, sir,” said Midshipman Trewellyn.

“She does, but I don’t want to rouse anyone they have below just yet.” He looked about. “Reimann…Keber…Lindsay – we’ll idle up to her beakhead. Get aboard her and work your way to the foremast. Stand ready in case anyone comes forward. Mister Trewellyn, take your boat round to her portside and stand ready to get your people aloft to loose the sails as soon as we have her deck secured.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Make sure your boat is secured for towing.” Ben laughed and added, “The Captain will send us back to fetch it if you lose her!”

The boats parted company, with Ben moving the oars just enough to edge up to the brig. He allowed the wind at his back to drift them easily toward the target. Silently, he prayed the French had not got a guard boat out, or that the watch keepers would not take it into their heads to come forward. Mind, this early in the morning – two hours before sunrise at least – the watch might not be as eager or as attentive.

The bowman reached out and gripped the sturdy timbers of the beakhead, cursing softly as a splinter tore his skin. The three seamen scrambled aboard with cat-like agility while the other members of the boat party held the boat clear of the anchor hawser. So far, so good, thought Ben. He nodded to the coxswain, “Right, time to see what we have here. Ease us round to his forechains, we‘ll use the cargo rails to board him.”

“Right with you, sir.” The Master’s Mate hefted his boarding axe and signalled several men to follow him.

Ben hauled himself up onto the wide rubbing strake and peered through the open gun port in the ship’s gunwale. The gun, a six-pounder, was secured clear of the port itself, but obstructed it sufficiently to make this a foolhardy point of access. A sudden exclamation from above warned that the deck watch had been alerted by something, and now he stood at the ready.

Ben shouted, “At ‘em lads!”

Around him, the boat crew and the Marines flung themselves over the gunwales and ran to intercept the startled watchmen. One raised a musket and took hurried aim, and as a well-flung knife caught his shoulder, he let out a cry of pain, jerking the musket upwards as it fired.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over, the remaining watchman surrendering in a babble of French.

“Easy, lads! Secure him, and let’s see who else we have aboard. Mister Trewellyn, cut the cable and let’s get her underway before anyone comes to enquire about that musket shot!”

The next few minutes passed in a flurry of activity and noise, the thud of an axe forward coupled with the loosing of the foresails and the topsails. The cable parted suddenly and the ship paid off, the wind driving her slowly astern and toward the eastern headland.

“Get those yards trimmed! Mister James, set the spanker and the staysail please.” Ben took the helm and caught the ship as her head responded to the wind in her headsails. He felt the rudder bite, and the ship gathered way as the yards were trimmed and caught the wind. A seaman joined him. “Here, Reimann, take the helm; steer south by south-southwest.”

“Ja, mein Herr.”

He caught sight of the Marine Sergeant. “Sergeant, is all secure below?”

“Aye, sir. It be. The ship’s ain crew be secured below, sir. Durst you want ‘em released?”

“Her own crew? Englishmen?”

“Aye, sir.” The Sergeant grinned. “Some’s a bit sick-like. The Frenchies didn’t clear the Brandy store, so the seamen done it fer ‘em.”

Ben laughed. “Get ‘em on deck then and sober them up. And make sure there’s no more liquor down there. Make sure it’s all under lock and key.”

Aboard the Kestrel, Petroc paced the weather deck impatiently. The ship made slow headway toward the open sea; the three large gunboats towing astern and very reduced canvas meant the ship barely maintained steerage way.

“Deck there! Ship on the Port quarter. Looks like a brig, sir.”

Petroc raised his night glass and swept the indicated quadrant. He held his breath. Nothing in sight. Then a burst of spray caught his attention. He focused the glass carefully and there she was. Relief flooded through him as he peered at the inverted image, the ship and her sails just a darker shape against the dark seascape and sky. He turned to Midshipman Poole and said, “Make the signal.”

“Signal’s acknowledged, sir.”

“I expect you are relieved, Captain?”

Her voice, close beside him, startled him. He’d forgotten Miss von Dieffenbach was still on deck. “Yes, Miss.” He lowered the glass and turned to look at her. “I certainly am. Had anything gone wrong, it could have gone badly for my men.” He hesitated. “It is not easy to send men on a mission of this sort, knowing they may not return.”

She studied him for a moment before replying. “No, I could see that.”

The eastern horizon was noticeably lighter now. He smiled. “Well, I think your father may be concerned if he awakens and finds you absent. At least you may tell him that the Pride of Ebbsfleet has been freed and will be released to her owners as soon as we have reported to our Admiral.”

The little flotilla hove-to out of sight of the land.

“Das ist unbelievable. Wunderbar!” The Freiherr was almost beside himself with pleasure. “Die Franzosen will be furious.”

“We were fortunate, sir. The French had no more than a guard on the sailors aboard, and being soldiers, they weren’t keeping a proper watch.”

“Ja, ja – typical! What now, Herr Kapitän?”

“We must rejoin our Admiral. I’m afraid he will decide what becomes of the Pride, but I think he will return her to her owners. As for these,” he gestured toward the three gunboats drifting in their lee, “I suspect they will be taken into service to protect our vessels in the Belt and the Sound.”

“Gut, gut. Ja, when you find the admiral, perhaps he will permit you take us to Stockholm.”

“I think he will wish to meet you, sir, and I am certain he will make a suitable arrangement for you and your family once we do.”

“Meine tochter hat gesagt,” the older man said, and then he paused, searching for the words in English. “My apologies– my daughter spoke of your actions while you waited for the return of your people. She also tells me you were kind to a prisoner taken by your men – a boy aus Brandenburg, I think?” He held out his hand. “You are a real kapitän – a guter kommandant!”

Flattered, Petroc took the proffered hand. He hoped the admiral would agree. He’d taken a gambler’s risk and won.

Next time they might not be so lucky.