In Dangerous Company: The Dorset Boy Book 4 Read online

  He wandered back to the house, checking his back trail regularly to make sure he wasn’t followed. Once he got there he went straight to Armand’s room, retrieved the documents from the fireplace and collected Armand’s personal belongings. He said goodbye to Francoise with a promise to let him know how Armand was and left.

  It took him the whole day to make the ten-mile trip to Wissant because he had to avoid all the checkpoints on the way. He trekked through ditches, pushed through hedges and wadded across streams. By the time he got there he was tired and thoroughly fed up.

  He hid out in the dunes until dusk and a fishing boat appeared with a red light over a white. It was time to go home.

  Back at Deal he paid a visit to Armand, Susie and their daughter and spent the day with them, catching up. Armand was on rest leave to recover from the beating he had taken, and Marty wanted to check up on his friend, and to ask him if there was anything extra to his notes that he wanted to add to the report. There were a couple of things but in the main they drank wine, ate Susie’s pies and played with the baby.

  Marty turned his mind back to his orders concerning Dieppe once he got back to the farm. He needed to source a couple of sailing barges. He took a trip in the Lark down the coast to Dorset and had a chat with a couple of barge operators in a bar in Poole. They told him about an old boy in Weymouth who had a couple of barges, who was too old to run them now and his sons weren’t interested in continuing the family business.

  They moored up at the quay and Marty asked where to find Matthew Fitch. He was told he needed to go up river a way, he would know when they’d gone far enough when they saw the barges. Marty got the ship’s boat manned and they rowed him upstream. Clear of the town and just as they entered Radipole Lake he saw a pair of barges moored up at wooden dock on the west shore. They pulled over and Marty climbed up on the dock and called out.

  “AHOY MR FITCH!”

  An old man about five feet four tall came out of a house at the end of the dock and walked with a sailor’s roll towards him. His legs were so bandy he couldn’t stop a pig in a poke! The old boy had huge forearms, biceps and shoulders. Testimony to the hard life of a bargeman, hauling on tackles to load and unload heavy cargo and hauling up sails with just the minimum number of hands that they could get away with.

  “What can I do fer you sor?” he asked, his Dorset accent pronounced.

  “Well I heard that thee were lookin’ to get rid o’ these barges of yourn.” Marty drawled back at him.

  The old boy looked at him and the uniform and asked.

  “Where be ye from son?”

  “I be born in Arne on the Frome,” Marty replied.

  “Purbeck family?”

  “Surely. I be Martin Stockley.” Martin introduced himself and held out his hand which old man Fitch took and shook warmly.

  “You had a relative called Cecil? Worked the mines at Worth Matravers?”

  “Yea, he were my uncle. Bin dead now ten year since.” Marty told him.

  “Ay I ‘eard. He were a friend o’ mine back when.”

  The old boy looked at Marty closely.

  “You ‘ave is look abou’ yer. Now what kin I do fer ya?”

  “I be in need of a couple of barges and I ‘eard that yer were lookin’ to get rid o’ yourn.” Marty told him.

  Old Fitch looked at him and over at the boat. He scanned an expert eye over the crew and then at Marty.

  “Now what do a Navy man want with a working man’s boat?” he asked.

  “I honestly caint tell yer tha’ as it be Navy business,” Marty explained, “but I can say it will help us deal a proper smack in the chops to old Bony.”

  The old boy got a shrewd cutty look to his eyes and opened the bargaining.

  “Forty quid each.” He stated, spat on his palm and held it out.

  Marty knew this game as he’d been with his father and uncles when they had bargained. He also knew that the two old barges were not worth that.

  “I needs to cast me eye over ‘em afore we start that,” he laughed.

  The old boy grinned at that. He was happy his first impression of Marty had been right. He had figured the boy was no fool and would be as smart as his old friend Cecil. He had looked him over as he had walked up to him and seen the well-muscled frame and confident stance. He had recognized him immediately as the family resemblance was startling. He and Cecil could be brothers. He thought as he watched him go over the first barge.

  He was surprised when he called a big tattooed man with a broken nose out of the boat. While Martin was obviously the officer, he treated the man with a lot of respect and asked his opinion in an accent decidedly different from the one he used when talking to him. ‘His Navy voice I s’pose,” he thought. There was also a familiarity between them that told him these two had been through a lot together.

  Marty took off his jacket and he saw the large knife on the back of his belt, he looked closer and saw another knife in his boot. Marty handed the jacket to the big man who he heard him call Tom. He could tell by the way it hung that there was something heavy in the pockets. ‘An’ I bet it aint just gold coins.’

  The boy was down in the bilges of the barge and when he came up he had the big knife in his hand. The blade caught the light and he could see the patterned steel. ‘A beautiful piece of work’.

  He suddenly remembered something he had heard in the pub about a boy from over Corfe way that had done well in the Navy and had married some titled woman from up north. He wondered if this was the same one. He would have quite a yarn to tell if it were. He could drink out for free on that for months!

  Marty finished his inspection and with Tom concluded that the barges were well worn, old, but still sound and serviceable. He asked Tom what he thought they were worth, and he laughed and just said. “What yer pay for them.” ‘Very helpful,’ he thought.

  He walked back up the dock to where old Fitch was stood watching him. He saw he was looking at him speculatively and wondered what the old boy was thinking.

  “Ye said forty each?” Marty asked.

  “Tha’ be where I be.” Fitch answered.

  “Fifteen each.” Marty said, spit on his hand and held it out.

  ‘Cheeky young pup!’ Fitch thought but spit on his own hand and said.

  “Thirty-five!” He grabbed Marty’s right wrist with his left hand and slapped his palm.

  “Twenty!” Marty countered and returned the compliment.

  “Thirty!” Fitch came back.

  “Twenty-five!”

  “Twenty-eight!” Fitch held his wrist and when he slapped his palm, he left it touching.

  Marty looked at him and grinned.

  “Done!” he said and closed his hand on Fitch’s.

  They shook.

  Marty took his jacket back from Tom and dug into one of his pockets. He pulled out a barker and then a pouch.

  Fitch raised his eyebrows at the gun but was more interested in the pouch.

  Marty took him over to a table on the porch of his house and sat down. Fitch sat opposite him. Marty poured the contents of the pouch onto the table. There was a cascade of silver guineas. Marty counted out fifty-six and pushed them across to Fitch who raised his eyebrows in question.

  “You been straight, and you were a friend of my uncle Cecil.” Marty said. “The Navy pays in guineas. That’s twenty-one shillin’ to the pound. Let’s call it a bonus.”

  Fitch thanked him and then gave him a straight look.

  “Be you the boy I heard about who wed the lass from up north?” he asked.

  “Aye, that would be me,” Marty admitted.

  “Be she as beautiful as they all said?”

  “You be asking the wrong man, I have a biased view on that particular subject, but I would say she be even more beautiful, and our kids are as well.”

  Old Fitch laughed and looked at Tom who grinned and nodded.

  They both stood.

  “Will you be safe with that much cash lying around her
e?” Marty asked.

  “I be fine. Anyone unwelcome who be visiting will get a hot welcome from old Bess.” Fitch responded nodding to the biggest blunderbuss Marty had ever seen propped up by the door with the hammer at half cock.

  “Sides it will be stowed away where no bugger but me will find it as soon as you shove off.”

  Marty shook his hand and walked down to his boat.

  “I’ll have a couple of crews here before the end of next week to pick them up. Mind you don’t shoot them!” he called in parting.

  Once back on the boat he sailed around to one of the docks where they loaded barges with stone near Winspit Quarry, which was half way between Weymouth and Swanage. They tied up and Marty went ashore. He talked to the owners and explained what he wanted. They were more than happy for him to take the rubbish and they agreed just a loading price for the time their men would use. They even agreed to mix mortar and pour that in on top once Marty explained that the barges would be scuttled to block a French harbour.

  Marty went back to the farm and started organising crews and planning routes. He decided to put the two midshipmen in charge of the barges with eight-man crews. He would take them down on the Swan and escort them up to Winspit where they would load.

  He then had a choice, he could either have them cross the channel directly from Swanage to Cherbourg, a distance of some sixty-six miles, and follow the French coast East past Normandy to Dieppe, or sail up the English coast to around Dungeness and cross over North of Boulogne, a distance of just twenty-five miles, and then south down the French coast to Dieppe.

  The crossing was the dangerous part. The barges would be heavily laden and if the sea got up, they could be swamped. It was late in the year and the weather, while fine at the moment could turn in a moment. In the end he decided discretion was the better part of valour and opted for the longer trip up the English coast and across the narrower part of the Channel.

  The plan was simple in the end. Pick up the barges, fill them with stone and then mortar, sail them up the coast to Dungeness, cross the channel to the point north of Audressells and sail south to Dieppe. Scuttle them and run home victorious.

  What he didn’t know and never could have known was that down in the Caribbean a storm was brewing. It was just a child in the Atlantic south west of Trinidad, but it was growing fast and as it grew it tightened in on itself and got stronger. It gathered energy and moved Northwest up the islands causing death and destruction wherever it touched. It came to adulthood just to the North of Cuba. Its winds hit almost one-hundred miles an hour and shoved a wall of water along in front of it.

  It turned and visited the coast of the Carolinas, decimating fishing ports and any buildings within ten miles of the coast. Then it turned Northwest out into the Atlantic and matured into a tropical storm. It had its eye focused on a landfall at the Lizard.

  The S.O.F, meantime, continued to prepare for Operation Dam as they named it. Marty ferried the crews down to Weymouth and had them prepare the barges. Once they were ready, they moved them down into Weymouth Harbour and then up the coast to the quarry. It took a week to load them with stone and another week to make mortar and pour it into the holds. They were lucky that the quarrymen had pre-prepared the lime putty from quicklime before they got there, or they would have been there a month.

  The trip up the coast to Dungeness was slow. The barges couldn’t handle anything over a moderate sea so as soon as it picked up, they had to find shelter somewhere. At least they knew their cargo wouldn’t shift, but in the end, it took two weeks to get to the point where they would make the crossing.

  The weather looked fine as they started but around half way across the waves started to grow. The barges were only making three or four knots at best and the sea was coming in on the beam. Marty fretted and had to put the Alouette under minimum sail to stay with them. The crews on the barges were having a horrible time of it their flat bottoms didn’t help at all.

  They had the Leeboards down but were still making about as much leeway as they were heading for the last three hours of the crossing and they made landfall closer to Calais than the point at Audressells. Marty recognised Wissant and they decided to moor up in the bay for the night.

  The next morning dawned fair. The wind had dropped and was more from the West. Marty got them under sail again and they headed South. They had about seventy-five miles to go.

  They flew French colours and Marty stood The Alouette off, as it would look strange for barges to be escorted by a corvette. He stayed close enough that he could keep an eye on them and run interference if anybody tried to interfere with them be they French or British.

  The wind continued to increase as they turned South around the point and headed down the coast past Boulogne. Now the waves were coming in from the west and increasing as well. The storm was reaching the Lizard and shoving a wall of water in front of it which was being channelled into the English Channel causing a storm surge. The wind was now veering to the North as the edge of the storms effect was starting to be felt. All of that added up to wind against tide and one confused sea.

  Marty looked to the west and could see the dark swirling clouds on the horizon, they were moving in fast. He made the decision that they would all have to take shelter and the closest he knew of was Le Touquet where they could at least anchor in the inlet. He steered in towards the barges and raised a signal spelling out ‘anchor Touquet’ he got acknowledgements from both of them.

  They got into the estuary, worked their way in to where they thought they would be safe and dropped anchor. They weren’t far from the boatyards they had burnt earlier that year and Marty thought he could still smell the burnt remnants. Marty ordered a stern anchor run out as well for The Alouette and thought that would be enough. They were set facing upstream to the East.

  The sky got darker and darker. Soon it was as if night had fallen in the middle of the day. The wind started to shriek through the rigging from the North and the pennant was a stiff iron bar. The crew huddled below and only a minimum watch was kept.

  Marty couldn’t believe it, but the wind got even stronger and the ship was canted over as the gale pushed against her rigging from the side and he could hear the creak of the stern anchor cable that ran out from above his cabin. He put on his coat and went up on deck. If he were a religious man, he would have thought that Armageddon was on its way. The sky was black, and the waves were coming into the estuary and hitting his ship on the stern.

  He looked at the shore and was shocked to see that the water level had risen to the point it was lapping against the top of the slips in the boat yards. He called the hands, they needed to let some slack out into the anchor cables, or they would start to drag. He ran forward and tried to see the barges. He could see one but not the other. He hoped it was just further upstream and obscured by the other one.

  The ship eased a bit as they let out some cable, but the wind just kept increasing and was swinging rapidly from North towards the West. The Alouette was at odds with the wind and the sea. The sea trying to get her keel to go one way and the wind pushing her upper works the other.

  There was a load bang and Marty froze, feeling through his legs for any unusual movement. Then he saw one of the lookouts waving at him from up forward. He fought his way to the foremast and the man cupped his hands and shouted.

  “The barge’s aft anchor cable parted! She is swinging towards shore!”

  Marty ran to the rail and could just see the barge swinging away from the wind held only by her bow anchor. As he watched he could see that she was slipping closer to the shore. There was movement on her decks as her crew were trying to use sweeps to pull her away, but she was too heavy, the wind was too strong, and she swung around so her stern was almost rubbing the bank.

  The wind continued to swing around the compass from North to West and then South which was testament to how strong and concentrated the storm was. The worrying thing was that the barge stopped swinging with her stern against the bank.
Marty watched while its crew frantically pushed with poles against the bank trying to get her to move. It looked like that she was well aground.

  The water level hadn’t gotten any higher and the storm was still raging after it got dark. All they could do was sit tight and wait for it to pass. Marty didn’t sleep and when it got light, he could see that The Alouette had dragged her stern anchor during the night. The water level was much lower, and he could see that the barge nearest them had her stern high and dry on the bank.

  He got his gig to take him over and boarded her. He was greeted by a disconsolate Midshipman Campbell who looked absolutely exhausted.

  “We tried everything Sir,” he all but sobbed. “She got hung up on the bank and was too heavy for us to move.”

  Marty went to have a look and it was obvious that the barge was going nowhere. He crossed to the starboard side and looked for the other barge. It was most noticeable by its absence.

  There was only one thing to do and that was to get back in the boat and go and look for it. He was concerned for his men most of all, after that for the mission. They headed upstream past the stricken barge and further up the river, which was navigable all the way up to Etaples, but looking ahead he couldn’t see the barge anywhere. The rounded a shallow curve and there was a shout from the North bank. Marty looked and could see Midshipman Thompson and six men stood on the bank waving their arms.

  Tom steered the gig over and they threw them a mooring rope so Marty could scramble ashore.

  “Well, where is my barge and two of your men?” he asked Thompson.

  “My apologies Sir, but the barge is sunk in the middle of the channel over there,” he said and pointed to a spot about halfway across the river.

  “Her anchor broke loose in the night and we were pushed upstream on the flood. I think we hit a tree or something large floating on the water which stove in a couple of planks at the bow. She went down in a few minutes. We all got off and swam over here but it turns out Miller and Davies couldn’t swim, and I couldn’t find them in the dark.”