Thunder On the Sea: A Tim Phillips novel (War at Sea Book 11) (2 page)

Andrew had the wreck of an old chaise out in the stable. He harnessed an elderly mare to it and delivered him to the Admiralty. There, he gave his name to the porter and was immediately ushered in to one of the minor staff members. This man was most distressed concerning the delay in Phillips’ reporting. After listening to the sharp side of the man’s tongue, Phillips was left alone for a half hour and then was led to an ornate office where he was met by Lord Melville.

The First Lord had a severe look on his face that mellowed, once he learned the funds aboard HMS Active were safe and ready to be unloaded. Melville wondered what had possessed him to be so late in reporting.

Listening to Phillip’s explanation of the circumstances, his marriage, the birth of a child and the desperate illness of his wife, Melville immediately offered the services of his own doctor, a man with an excellent reputation on Harley Street.

Phillips accepted the offer, explaining both his ship’s surgeon and a local physician were dubious of the outcome, although he himself was confident.

Melville came over and put his arm round his shoulder. “Put the matter of the treasure at rest. Go back and take care of your family. Someone will be sent to the ship to handle the transport of the specie.”

He continued, “You have been away from Europe for a while Captain, and may not be aware of recent developments. There is real reason to believe the war may be coming to its end. Wellington’s troops are in France and Bonaparte is hard pressed. You have been an important asset of the Royal Navy, Captain. If matters continue to proceed as they have, your services may not be so desperately needed in the near future.”

Phillips told the official he planned to take the child to his home where there were people that could help him care for the infant. Melville advised him to be gone as long as he liked. It might be politic to send a note occasionally informing the Navy of his intentions.

On the way back to the inn, Phillips stopped at a livery and arranged the hire of a large, well-sprung coach that would serve to transport his new wife, baby and wet nurse to Essex. He had his own carriage at the town house, but he would never get everything and everyone in it.

The landlady at the inn chided him at the needless expense of hiring the coach that pulled up in her yard with a clatter. She said it would surely be weeks before Mrs. Phillips would be able to travel. Once inside, he made a quick inspection of his son and then went to Dorothy’s room. He was dismayed by her condition. She was burning up with fever and was not responsive. As he stood beside her, he heard another carriage clatter up outside and soon a strange gentleman entered accompanied by the flustered landlady.

Sir John Anderson, MD was Viscount Melville’s personal physician and assured Phillips he did not ordinarily take on new patients, but had done so this time on the personal plea of the First Lord.

He ordered everyone out of the room except Mrs. Jenkins. When he emerged, he was extremely dubious of the outcome, regretting the patient had not received proper care during her confinement. He said it was all in the hands of her Maker now, but he had given Mrs. Jenkins a draught to administer to give her a little ease.

Dorothy was gone the next morning, without saying another word. The Reverend Lawson was called and he gave her the last rites and agreed to have her put to rest in the tiny cemetery at St. Anthony’s.

Phillips remained at the inn for another week, while he took care of arrangements and made a last trip to HMS Active to remove his belongings. The frigate had a new captain now, and the specie had since been delivered to its destination.

The replacement captain, long on the beach, had feared he would never get another command, especially now that rumors of peace were rife. He thanked Phillips for delivering such a well-worked up ship, and promised to treat her well.

It was now time to leave. Phillips’ sea chests were loaded onto the coach. Andrew found a sturdy crate just big enough to fit the two infants into its well-padded interior. As it happened, Mary had no extra clothing, so the coach driver was instructed to stop at the market where she could purchase clothing and such accessories as she might need for herself and the children. While guarding the infants, waiting for her, he had a thought. Climbing up on the top of the coach, he opened one sea chest. Digging down into it, he retrieved two pistols he had purchased long ago in Halifax.

These weapons had a most unusual means of ignition. Instead of the normal flintlock mechanism, these each had a simple hammer, which in the act of firing, dropped upon a little nipple connecting with the pistol’s chamber. A tiny cap, containing fulminate of mercury exploded, sending the flash of the explosion into the chamber, igniting the charge. This was a much more certain means of ignition than the old method of firing the charge with a shower of sparks into a pan filled with loose powder.

There was no powder to be blown away, and the sealed cap was not liable to become wet and misfire. Britain’s highways were not altogether safe these days. Although captured highwaymen were given short shrift and were usually hung soon after capture and conviction, there were always more lads that thought they might like to try their hand.

It had been months since these weapons had last been fired, so he used a little screw on the end of his ramrod to extract the patch holding the ball in. A sharp rap on the coach drew out the ball. And the powder was spilled into the wind. Both pistols were charged afresh and new caps put on the nipples.

The driver had watched him and approved of his care. “No telling who we might come up against, this trip. With the crops so poor lately, many farm laborers have been let go, and some have taken to the highways.”

Phillips saw no sign of a weapon on the man. “Would you have a firearm, at all?”

“No your Honor, I do not. I believe it is the best policy to give them what they want. There are sometimes more than one and by myself, I might not be able to fend them off, even if I had a gun.”

Phillips answered. “We will be carrying a young woman as well as two babies. I am afraid I do not wish to depend on any highwayman’s mercy to protect these charges. If you wish, I will buy you a firearm here to help defend the coach.”

“Well sir, seeing you have those pistols, maybe I can see my way clear to use a gun on a highwayman. If you want to go to the expense, I know a man with a double-barrel eight gauge Manton who has guarded coaches in his time. Would you like me to call on him and see if he would be interested in travelling with us?”

They agreed to ask the gentleman and Mister Taylor was willing. Max was a short, stocky fellow of middle years, sporting a tremendous growth of whiskers. He was armed with a heavy fowling piece such as market hunters sometimes used. He assured Phillips he had two ounces of swan shot down each barrel and assured his new employer that any highwayman coming within range would regret it.

Max was able to furnish the driver with a short barreled weapon with a bell muzzle that he warranted was deadly to evil-minded people. He explained the advantage of this weapon was its ease of loading. Having fired the weapon, one just dumped a large quantity of powder down the bell muzzle, following that with a quantity of large shot. If one wanted to be nice about the matter, one could add a pinch of priming powder to the pan, but that was not really necessary.

The vent in the barrel was large, so one could just jar the butt down on something hard, and sufficient powder would fall into the pan. Enough to fire the gun, at any rate. The bell-shaped muzzle enabled one to load it on the top of a jolting coach with no difficulty.

Seeing all of this artillery prompted Phillips to take his long-rifle from the case in which he carried it. The rifle was not loaded, so he charged it with powder and the elongated ball the weapon fired. It used the same caps as did his pistols, and he felt he was ready to face the dangers of the road.

Not wishing to frighten the young woman, he stowed the rifle in its case on the floor. The case looked like an innocuous wooden box and should not alarm anyone. The pistols, he slipped into his pockets, where they would be ready for emergencies.

When Mary stepped into the coach, she thought the box for the infants a good idea. She carefully arranged the baby’s blankets and first placed the box on the seat beside her. Phillips convinced her the box was liable to fall to the floor of the coach and advised her to place the box there so the babies could not fall.

Mrs. Jenkins had packed a basket of food to carry with them, and a dozen bottles of wine rested in their own padded basket. Phillips told Mary they had better stick to drinking either beer or wine on this journey, since any water they were offered was likely to be suspect.

The driver initially started slowly, so as not to upset the infants. The coach was well-sprung and its continual rocking motion soon put the babies to sleep. Once out in the country-side, the horses increased their pace. They were big coach horses, four of them, with a light load, so they began making good time. Before he expected, they were at the first relay inn where the horses were to be exchanged.

Phillips reminded Mary this was a chance for her to visit the necessary should she need, and make any food or drink purchases. When she went around back to the necessary, he bought a pail of beer and some stoneware cups. Mrs. Jenkins had taken him aside and advised him to furnish Mary with plenty of beer, explaining it would make her milk flow. Bemused, Phillips did as he was told, and the two of them had almost finished the pail before they reached the next inn.

The innkeeper’s wife offered to serve them dinner, but after looking at the evidence on another traveler’s plate, Phillips declined and bought another pail of beer, with the pair lunching on the provisions supplied by Mrs. Jenkins. The driver and guard ate their food on the coach, and they were ready to travel as soon as the fresh horses were hitched. The drive was becoming boring as the afternoon wore on. Mary was painfully shy and had no opinion on any subject, except the price of bread, of which she was indignant.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and there were several more hours to go when the driver rapped on the coach roof. Phillips put his head out the coach window and wondered at what he saw. Up ahead, three men were wielding axes on a roadside tree. His first thought that one of them was sure to be hurt, with three axes flying at the tree like that. Then looking off to his right, he saw a horseman, on top of a nearby hill, silhouetted against the gathering dusk. Behind was still another horseman following.

A curt word to Mary bade her to get on the floor of the coach. As she did, he extracted his rifle from the case beside his seat and placed his pistols beside him. The driver whipped up the horses to rush the people ahead, but then the tree fell across the road, blocking it. Pulling up the horses, the driver warned Phillips to ready his rifle. He would only get one shot from it, since it took a while to re-load. He hoped the driver and guard had their own weapons prepared.

He cringed when he heard the driver’s blunderbuss roar. It was strictly a short range weapon and they were better than a hundred yards away from their target. Well within range of his rifle though, so he steadied it on the window frame and waited for the coach to come to a halt. As it did, he took careful aim of one fellow’s belly and squeezed off a shot. He was not trying to be fancy, he just wanted to get one man out of the fight as quickly as possible.

The blunderbuss roared again, without result, on the coach top, and Phillips shouted for the driver to wait until the target was closer. The horsemen were approaching cautiously, while two on foot were crouching over their downed comrade. Knowing he would not be able to reload in time, nevertheless Phillips reached into his hunting bag and withdrew a paper cartridge. Tearing off the rear of it he shoved it into the muzzle and wielding his ramrod, manage to push the load down the barrel. Now, the two on foot began to advance purposely for the coach. One, in the remnants of a foot soldier’s uniform and carrying a bayonet in his hand, the other still carrying his axe.

As they closed on the coach, the guard fired his Manton. On his first shot, one of the bandits dropped like a pole-axed bullock. The next shot wounded his comrade, but he still kept coming, with his bayonet ready. The driver had his blunderbuss loaded again and fired. In range this time, the man fell twitching into the ditch. His rifle loaded now, Phillips eased a cap on the nipple and looked for the horsemen. One was on his way somewhere else, his mount throwing up clods behind his hooves. The other stood his horse behind the coach, as if unsure of what he was supposed to do.

Again, Phillips lined up his sights, more carefully now since the target was at the limit of his ability, and took the shot. As he saw the smoke spurt from the muzzle of the rifle, the bandit drove his spurs into the animal and the mare started her leap forward. Had he not done so, Phillips thought after, the shot would probably have missed, but the horse’s jump took it into the bullet’s path. The leaden projectile barely missed striking the horse but took the man in the side, right above the pelvis. The panicked animal had his rider off before he made a few more jumps and left the scene, running.

Phillips realized Mary was screaming in his ear and both babies were wailing. He ordered her to shut her mouth and take care of the children while he attended to the downed robbers. Both the guard and driver were off the coach now, their weapons loaded and ready.