by M. C. Muir
He took Midshipman Durling and one of the seamen. They had a rifle each and a cutlass.’
‘Thank you, young man. Considering what you have told me, we will wait here for two or three days for his possible return. In the interim, the carpenter will evaluate the damage and assess if Scorpion can be made seaworthy once again. If so, my men will dig her out and tow her from the beach, stern first. But we will need a high tide to assist us. If she floats and remains upright, I intend to sail her to the prize agent in Cape Town. She may still be of some value.’
Sighs of relief spread through the men, whose hopes of rescue had been getting slimmer by the hour.
‘Mr Keath, return to the ship. Tell the officer of the watch to raise two working parties and send them ashore as quickly as possible. Tell him also to alert the lookouts for a ship, in the event Mr Brophy returns by sea; however, I doubt that will be the case. For now, those of you who are able, I need you to dig a channel around the keel. If you don’t have tools, then find a rock or stick or dig with your hands. Now, set to it.’
No one objected to the orders they were given. The men were conscious of their dire situation and eager to take any measures that might help deliver them to safety.
Stepping aboard Scorpion, with the carpenter alongside him, Oliver inspected the work that had been done following the storm and considered what additional work was needed before the ship could be put to sea again. In its present condition, it would never make an ocean-going voyage but, with fair winds and seas, handled judiciously under tow, it could make the short distance to Cape Town.
‘Do you have sufficient rations for the men?’
‘Enough for a week, at least, Captain.’
‘And water?’
The midshipman nodded. ‘Ample.’
‘The carpenter estimates the work will take several days. From then on, we will be dependent on wind, waves and weather. Mr O’Brien, check Scorpion’s hold and magazine. If you find ammunition and dry powder, transfer it to Royal Standard.’
‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ the boatswain replied.
‘It is possible Mr Brophy will return but it’s more likely any activity on this beach will be from local tribesmen or wild beasts. Are the sentries aware the local natives could attack from the jungle? And that there are lions roaming these hills? I do not know which would be more threatening.
‘Finally, any man not employed can collect dry wood. We need fires burning around the ship. Everyone must keep a close watch and, before nightfall, I want all hands to return to Royal Standard. No one is to remain aboard the frigate. We can keep a watchful eye on her from the water.
‘I have lost this ship once,’ the captain added. ‘I do not wish to lose it again.’
Six days later, with Scorpion’s keel sitting in a shallow man-made lake on the sand, cables were run from Royal Standard’s stern and attached to the frigate. All that remained was to wait for high water and sufficient wind to fill the 50-’s canvas.
With suction gripping the frigate’s hull, Royal Standard strained to release it, stretching the cables to the limit. At first there was no movement but with perseverance and by adding more sail, Royal Standard succeeded. A cheer rose from the sailors both on the beach and on the ship’s deck as the frigate was slowly hauled from the beach and slid smoothly onto the water. Once it was afloat, no time was wasted. With the crew quickly returned aboard, and with Scorpion put in tow, both ships made sail, heading around the Cape of Good Hope and back to Cape Town.
Having regained almost all of his original crew after retaking Scorpion, Captain Quintrell was only minus his first lieutenant, plus Midshipmen Durling and an able seaman: Andrew Wallis.
Since his recent promotion, Mr Weir had performed well in his position as first officer. Though only a young man, Weir had been aboard a Royal Navy ship since the age of twelve. He knew the routines and respected naval discipline, and he could be relied upon to uphold the Articles of War to the letter. In the captain’s views, he only had two shortcomings. The first was his tender age compared with that of most of the hands, many of whom were twice as old and knew every devious way of wheedling their way out of duties. The second was that that his father was a clergyman and he was not born a gentleman. But he was intelligent, industrious, and had manners and charm which in the captain’s eyes were more than enough to compensate. Hopefully time would prove him right.
Chapter 20
Cape Town
Since 1488, when the first European explorer rounded the Cape of Good Hope, the perils of the passage have been legendary. Portuguese navigator, Bartolomeu Dias, had named it Cabo das Tormentas – the Cape of Storms. Despite the hazards created by conflicting oceans and surging sea currents, Cape Town, near the gateway to the Indian Ocean, had long been an important provisioning stop and a haven for repairs. With the Peace of Amiens in 1802, the colony of South Africa was handed back to the Dutch by Britain. Now, with the Cape’s strategic value fully recognised, Britain had sent Sir Home Popham to re-instate British sovereignty at the Cape.
Having achieved success in that mission, Sir Home Popham had departed the Bay on the 15th of April, only days before Royal Standard rounded the Cape. Popham was now heading across the South Atlantic transporting several battalions of soldiers, commanded by Major General Sir David Baird. Their mission was to wrest control from the hands of the Viceroyalty of New Spain in Buenos Aires. Some considered it an ambitious proposal and unlikely to succeed.
Sailing into Cape Town Bay was not without challenges. The years of wild seas and disputed possession had left a legacy of shipwrecks that littered the harbour floor.
At low water, the masts of wrecked ships poked up from the bay. Without warning, a ship’s hull could be scraped by a spar, capable of ripping strips of copper from its hull, gouging a groove in the worn timbers and thus inviting the ill-reputed worm to feast on its rich wet timber.
When Royal Standard sailed into Table Bay, the wharfs and jetties were already busy. Fortunately, the fleet of over fifty British East India Company ships had departed on its journey north. With only an American whaler, a Baltic timber trader and a Chinese spice ship anchored on the bay, little attention was paid to the two British ships when they entered, even though one was under tow.
It was unusual for a Royal Navy ship to bring in a damaged vessel but Scorpion was in a poor condition and would never make the journey back to Portsmouth. Captain Quintrell’s main worry was that it would sink while moored against the town jetty. In his estimation, Scorpion was only fit for the wrecker’s yard. And the sooner it was taken there the better.
After speaking with the port admiral, regarding the local prize agent, the captain was obliged to wait for a response. Not knowing for how long, he turned his attention to the various commodities Royal Standard was carrying: gunpowder, troops, convicts and several unmarked chests that had been stored in the hold.
The first and easiest to disembark were the soldiers. Mustered on the deck’s gangboards, their swaying green kilts created considerable interest from the locals. Wearing plumed shakos, the troops of the 42nd regiment appeared almost a foot taller than the average British sailor and, as such, they reminded the populace of the re-instated British rule in the colony.
Following a brief inspection, the soldiers were marched to the barracks in the town. They were a welcome addition to the colony.
After delivering a box of despatches from Whitehall to the port admiral’s secretary, Captain Quintrell moved to the bond store to arrange for the receipt of six cases of specie. The wooden chests of coins had been sent from the British Treasury to assist in establishing the colony’s new administration and to bolster the flagging finances of the province. Oliver wished to see these items removed from Royal Standard as early as possible.
The following morning, in the pouring rain, six unmarked chests were hoisted from the ship’s hold and swung out to the dock, where six artillery wagons were lined up to receive them and deliver them to the government’s treasury
. Most of the coins consisted of Spanish doubloons, pieces of eight and guilders. They would replace the need for written promissory notes. The consignment was escorted by foot soldiers and mounted guardsmen.
Oliver smiled to himself as he watched the wagons depart. Although the coins had come aboard during Captain Chilcott’s command, and Captain Brophy had, no doubt, seen them when they were stowed in the hold, he had been blissfully unaware of their contents and made no effort to examine them. No one else on board knew of the contents but, when they were carried ashore, it took four men to lift each chest. Their weight alone raised a few eyebrows.
When one hundred and fifty barrels of gunpowder were being hoisted from various parts of the ship, Mr Larkin supervised their unloading. On deck, three midshipmen were posted to ensure that none of the sailors lit a pipe or struck a flint on or near the ship. Later in the day, convoy of bullock wagons rumbled along the dock to transport them to the ordnance depot. Oliver Quintrell was relieved to see them go also.
On gaining an appointment with the port admiral, an ageing naval officer – it took a considerable amount of time explaining the details of the discovery of the abandoned French frigate, Scorpion; its subsequent loss; and then the eventual recovery of the same vessel. Having had the forethought to document all the facts and have his secretary prepare an accurate copy, Oliver had to content himself with leaving the details and the matter of the ship’s future in the hands of the Admiralty’s officer in Cape Town.
While salvage money usually amounted to only one twelfth of a vessel’s value, he realised any resolution about Scorpion’s value could take longer than usual. Even then, any remuneration for the recovered vessel was unlikely to be made before they departed the port and, whatever figure was offered, it would be nominal, meaning it was unlikely the crew would benefit greatly, if at all, from it.
On arrival in port, the captain ordered the seven men and three boys to be separated from the other convicts. After being removed from the orlop deck, they were held in the recently erected compound on the foredeck.
Wasting no time, the captain spoke to the prisoners. He outlined his concerns and expressed his fear that the proposal he presented to the port admiral would be rejected. He offered the convicts two alternatives. Firstly, they would to be delivered to a Cape Town jail and face years of hard labour under ruthless overseers and toil till they dropped from exhaustion under a burning African sun. Secondly, they could return to England and face British justice once again. It was his intention, once on English soil, to write to the Board of Transportation to plead the commutation of their sentences to five years of maritime service. Such offers had been made to prisoners in the past, allowing them to choose between a prison term and five years service in the Royal Navy. But this offer was usually made at the time of conviction and, not being a general practice, reflected the inconsistences in the judicial system. As such, he emphasised that he could make no promises. The best result would be that they could serve out the rest of their time on a British ship. The worse outcome would be that their original sentences were upheld. That being the case they would be returned to jail to await transportation again.
Without exception, every one of the prisoners chose to return to Britain with the ship in the hope of serving in His Majesty’s Navy.
Equipped with the names of the convicts who had been delivered to the ship in Cork, Oliver Quintrell presented all that information to the port admiral, informing him that of the forty-six convicts who had boarded in Cork, he had lost none during the voyage. But, because the ship had been short-handed, he had made use of ten of them. He added that these men had filled valuable roles aboard Royal Standard, and were needed for the return voyage to England. Oliver asked the port admiral to accept delivery of only thirty-six prisoners.
Having been at his post for only a week, the admiral was bewildered. He adamantly denied any prior knowledge of the expected arrival of the convicts and, being unaware of whose jurisdiction they fell under, he washed his hands of the whole affair. In his estimation, because the original sentences had been pronounced by a magistrate in Ireland, he was not prepared to interfere with those rulings.
With that decision being final, Captain Quintrell repeated his proposal of returning the ten prisoners to England, assuring the admiral he would refer the matter to the courts as soon as he reached home. Reluctantly, that was agreed to.
Satisfied with the outcome, Oliver returned to Royal Standard.
With ankles and wrists manacled, and eyes screwed to the bright sunlight, thirty-six convicts lined up on the wharf. They were dirty and dishevelled and dressed in the same clothes they had worn when they were put aboard in Cork. On his return to the ship, Captain Quintrell ordered the seven men and three boys, who had served on the guns, to remain in the compound on the foredeck temporarily. He did not give the reason.
Half an hour later, a group of armed prison guards collected the convicts from the wharf and Oliver Quintrell heard nothing more about them. He intended to release the selected prisoners when the ship sailed and let them take up active duties as would any able seaman or lubber on the ship.
On the second day in port, news quickly spread through the town and to the wharfs of a massacre that had occurred in the hinterland some days earlier. Unfortunately, it was often the hard working Boers – the Dutch farmers, who were set upon by natives who objected to them usurping their land. As this type of occurrence was not-uncommon, it did not create much of a stir in the town.
As was the usual practice, the remains of victims having been collected were brought into town on the back of a wagon. In this instance, the decapitated heads had been impaled on stakes; the torsos torn to shreds by spears, and little more than bloodied fragments of clothing hung from the three bodies.
With no reports from the local farmers of missing field hands or workers, the lieutenant, who had charge of the soldiers who had delivered them, turned to the ships in the harbour to enquire if any of the crew had deserted. With no local police, it fell to the military to handle the local skirmishes.
Fragments of blue cloth and the cockade from a bicorn hat led them to the only naval ship in dock. Captain Quintrell was called and asked if he could identify the bodies.
It was a sickening task. The condition of the remains was appalling but, with the help of Dr Hannaford, the identifications were made. The decapitated bodies belonged to Captain Brophy and Midshipman Durling, the third man was an able seaman – his name was Andrew Wallis.
When asked why the three had been trekking inland across the country, Oliver Quintrell explained that their ship, Scorpion, had run aground and he had learned that its captain had set off on foot to reach Cape Town to seek help for the rest of his crew.
Those facts were truthful and, as such, were reported in the daily newspaper the following day. What was distasteful and untrue, were the editor’s comments that Captain Quintrell of Royal Standard deeply mourned the loss of the senior British officer.
Unfortunately, that was not the end of the matter. The next day, the captain was obliged to attend the burial of the deceased. Dressed in full uniform and with the sailing master, Lieutenant Weir and two midshipmen alongside him, Oliver Quintrell fulfilled his naval obligation. He deeply regretted the loss of the young midshipman and the sailor. Both men had unwittingly been dragged along by the whims and wiles of Mr Brophy. As for the Irishman, Oliver was satisfied he had eventually received his due deserts.
Before leaving Cape Town, Royal Standard took on fresh victuals, exotic fruits, and eight beasts for slaughter, plus four pigs, and several geese and chickens. At least for a few days the officers and crew would eat well.
Two days later, the 50-gun ship sailed out of Cape Town Bay with slightly more crew than when it had departed Cork. Ten Irish names had been added to the muster book, while the word dead was marked against four names – those of Brophy, Durling, Wallis; and Amos Bickersdyke, who had died in the jolly boat when escaping from Scorpion.
R
elief was etched on the faces of the crew as they worked the ship out of Cape Town Bay. Ahead were over 7000 miles of open ocean and at least two months of sailing during which time no one could predict what they might encounter. Yet the crew were happy they were heading home and Oliver Quintrell shared their feelings.
Sailing north-westerly across the Southern Atlantic Ocean, Royal Standard was assisted by the north flowing Benguela Current. Although the waters flowing up from the Great Southern Ocean were cold, on deck there were few places to hide from the unbridled sun as they neared the tropics.
Four weeks out from the Cape and two large ships crossed their path and Royal Standard reduced sail to allow them to pass. Sailing from the coast of Africa and heading west, their colours revealed they were Portuguese – probably slavers heading from the Guinea coast to South or Central America. Having left Africa with a fresh cargo, their passage would have been north-west in search of the trade winds to carry them over the Atlantic in the best possible time. Being stuck, for days or even weeks in the Doldrums, could mean a loss of valuable live cargo necessitating much of it being cast into the sea. The unkempt appearance of the ships, even from a distance, confirmed to both captain and crew what they carried. They posed no danger to the 50-gun ship, and Captain Quintrell had no desire to engage with them in any way.
He always swore he could smell a slave ship before the lookout even saw it.
Chapter 21
Heading home
Rising from the horizon, many miles to the west, was the giant peak of Mount Fogo on one of the Cape Verde Islands. Though it was breathing no smoke at this time, most passing ships were wary of it and chose to steer clear of it.