by M. C. Muir
It took almost three hours and two boats to carry the young gentlemen’s personal possessions, packed in wooden chests, to the King’s Stairs at the dockyard.
Through unable to witness the scene from Spithead, it was not hard for the captain to visualize Dorrington and his cohorts being met on the dock and escorted to their waiting carriages. Shaking his head, he crossed to the starboard rail.
Still awaiting the arrival of the prize agent, the captain’s gaze moved to the large East India Company ship anchored a cable’s length away. Named, Bay of Bengal, it was a four masted ship and it dwarfed the diminutive 50-gunner.
‘How long will Royal Standard remain on Spithead, Captain?’ Dr Hannaford asked.
‘At least until the Saint Lucia is towed away. I still have a prize crew aboard her. Then we will wait for the men to be paid off. After that, I do not know what plans the Admiralty has for her.’
‘Are you going ashore, Doctor, or heading to Whitehall to secure another warrant?’
‘I intend to stay in Portsmouth for a few days, Captain – one never knows what might blow in. And you?’
‘I shall not leave the harbour until the prize agent has visited Saint Lucia and decided on her future. She’s a sound ship, and will need only minor repairs. With the number of fighting ships lost at Trafalgar, she may well be converted and, with alterations to her gun deck, put into naval service. But first, her cargo must be unloaded and she will need to be taken into the dockyard for that to happen.’
‘Did her cargo remain dry?’ the sailing master asked.
‘I believe it did,’ Oliver said. ‘And will be worth a small fortune.’
‘A tidy prize.’
Oliver did not respond. He had no call for the money, as he was already quite a wealthy man – not from lands and titles, but from prize money he had been awarded in the past. Many naval officers in his position bought country properties to retire to in their dotage, but he had no desire to farm an estate or live inland or buy a seat in the government.
When he had sailed close to Madeira, he had been struck by a desire to return to the island, to climb the hill, balanced on the back of a donkey, and visit the house in which Susanna had lived. Since her demise, he had learned that she had owned the villa and thought, perhaps, if the house was tenanted or for sale, he would purchase it. But for what purpose? Perhaps one day his daughter would wish to return to live on the island. But to go there to visit an empty house and mourn Susanna’s loss would achieve nothing.
From the quarterdeck, Captain Quintrell surveyed Spithead and observed the large John Company vessel – Bay of Bengal – swaying from her cables to the slow ebb of the Solent’s main tide. He was joined by the doctor who had come up on deck once again to fill his lungs with fresh air. ‘Tell me what you have discovered of that East India Company ship, Doctor,’ Oliver asked, ‘Is she damaged?’
‘Not that I heard,’ the doctor replied.
‘I see no yellow flag. Is she under quarantine orders?’
‘No. I spoke with the port’s medical officer yesterday evening and he said the ship was free of disease.’
‘That is well.’
‘I admit, I was a little surprised.’ Dr Hannaford added. ‘It is several years since I made a voyage to India, but the Hooghly River, where Calcutta stands, is a disease-ridden place. You see it as you sail in. While many of the dead are burnt on the river bank, some bodies become stuck on the mud flats. Others float out to sea. Some are carried for many miles.’
‘What malignant fever wreaks such a heavy death toll?’
‘The plague, leprosy, cholera, malaria, yellow fever —’ the doctor replied. ‘Take your pick. They all run rampant there. And not a cure for any one of them.’
‘I am pleased that you survived,’ Oliver said.
Doctor Hannaford nodded. ‘I took sick for several weeks but managed to recover.’
‘And will that ship be returning to India?’
The doctor was unsure. ‘I presume so or to China and the East Indies – when it can find a crew. Word is out that as soon as it arrived in port many of the sailors ran – even foregoing their pay.’
‘Indeed.’
‘The medical officer said that while away, she had lost a quarter of her crew and struggled to sail home. She was heading for the East India Docks in London but, being short-handed, was unable to sail. The captain was hoping to sign some sailors in Portsmouth before heading up the Channel.’
‘Not an easy task. Even without the fear of fever, many sailors run from John Company ships before the impressment gangs grab them and haul them into naval service.’
Oliver Quintrell continued to study the ship. She was considerably bigger than Royal Standard, with many guns, but without sufficient crew to man her. It spawned an idea in the captain’s mind.
After pondering his thoughts for some time, Oliver approached the group of sailors who had been embarked as convicts and broached his suggestion.
‘Since we arrived here, I have spoken briefly with the port admiral at the dockyard about the future of you men. He argued that because he has no jurisdiction over convicts, when the ship is paid off, you should be shipped back to Ireland and returned to the jail whence you came.’
‘You promised, Captain,’ O’Leary said, accompanied by sighs of bitter disappointment at the thought of being returned to Kilmainham by some of the other men.
Oliver turned to the Irishman. ‘That is something I did not do, nor could I. And since arriving here, I have learned that the quarter sessions do not meet for another two months, so I cannot present your cases until then. Even then, I cannot guarantee your sentences will be commuted.’
The look of acceptance on the men’s faces revealed they had already considered this would be their fate.
‘However, I have one suggestion,’ the captain said. ‘But you may not like it.’
The men listened.
‘There is a ship on Spithead.’
‘A navy ship?’ O’Leary asked.
‘No, it’s the large East India Company vessel you may have seen. She is in dire need of able seamen because she lost many of her hands to illness and desertion. She is heading for the Port of London and from there will be sailing back to the East. She may be away for two years or more. If you are content to remain at sea, I will speak with the captain, explain your situation and ask if he would take you on board.’
The sailors looked questioningly from one to another.
‘You must make the choice quickly. There is little time to waste.’
The group hastily discussed the captain’s offer between themselves. All agreed they did not want to return to jail – but nor did they want to die of fever in some god-forsaken country they had never heard of. But, the fact the ship would call at other ports on the way, meant the possibility of running.
‘What about Kemp and the two boys?’ O’Leary asked. ‘We all came aboard together.’
‘I commend you for considering your mates,’ Oliver said. ‘Be assured, I will endeavour to ensure the three are not returned to prison.’
The men huddled together again, then after only a brief discussion, O’Leary, acting as the spokesman for the group, replied: ‘We are prepared to serve on the Bay of Bengal, if we are allowed to sign.’
‘Good,’ Oliver said. ‘Let me speak with the captain. If he is amenable, I will arrange for a boat to take you to her, as soon as possible. You may be due to receive some wages for your time aboard Royal Standard, serving from Cape Town to Portsmouth. I will speak to the purser about that but, be aware, deductions will be made for your slop clothing. In the meantime, return to your quarters and clean yourselves up as best you can.’
The men were surprised at their possible change in fortune and thanked the captain. They all agreed nothing could be as bad as going back to an Irish prison.
It was not until later in the morning Oliver had time to sit at his desk to examine the batch of letters that had been forward to the ship.
There was one from Dr Whipple. It was in a pouch enclosing other letters, presumably from the legal firm in Lisbon. Plus, there was a single letter from his wife. He had expected more, but then he had penned only one letter to her and doubted she would have received it.
Her letter had been written in March soon after he had departed from Portsmouth heading to Cork. It had been mailed from Bath. It read:
My dear Oliver,
I trust this letter finds you well.
I am well, but my sister is ailing. I called Dr Wilberforce to attend her soon after you sailed.
Because the house is cold and we are so far from a hospital, the doctor’s advice was to remove her to her own home in Bath.
Obviously she could not travel alone, so I offered to accompany her. I am sure the temperature will be more clement in that town than it is on the Isle of Wight.
Bath, Seventeenth of April
My sister resides in a very elegant terraced house on a fashionable avenue.
I have been given a very pleasant room overlooking a park.
I have every comfort I could require and have no desire to return to the cold winds of the Channel.
I intend to stay with her for as long as she needs my company.
It was merely signed – Victoria.
Having re-read the letter twice, Oliver shuffled through the other correspondence but, despite the fact it had been written several months earlier, there was no other envelope bearing her handwriting.
After reading through all his mail, Oliver spent a further hour pondering over the fate of the remaining convicts. Sadly, one of the three boys had died while running the deck as a powder monkey. Now, only Andrew Kemp, his nephew, Johnny, and one other Irish lad remained.
Late that afternoon, with the sun far from setting, Captain Quintrell was rowed to the East India Company ship. Although his arrival was not expected, he was welcomed aboard and spent an hour speaking with the Dutch captain. His offer to transfer seven young able seamen, of sober habits, to the Bay of Bengal, was accepted by the ship’s master. Having had their backgrounds explained to him, Captain de Graaf stipulated that he would accept the seamen but would confine them below deck during the time they were moored in the Thames. He could not chance losing any more of his crew. Oliver decided not to relate that stipulation to the men.
He was satisfied when he watched the men depart to join the Bay of Bengal.
Early next morning, Oliver instructed Mr Holland to bring Andrew Kemp to the great cabin.
Standing before the Royal Standard’s captain, the Irishman looked uncomfortable. He knew he had done nothing wrong and wondered what crime he had been summands for.
‘Mr Kemp,’ Captain Quintrell began, ‘you will have noted that the other Irish prisoners have been transferred to the East India Company ship. I did not include you and the two boys in that arrangement.’ He paused, and studied the face of the red-haired young man standing before him.
‘Tell me, Kemp, you were a smuggler, were you not?’
‘That is what the constables charged me with and it was the crime the magistrate sent me down for.’
‘And the boy too?’
Kemp nodded. ‘We were only scouring the beach, Captain – picking up pieces of flotsam – it’s what we did some of the time. You’d be surprised what washes ashore.’
Oliver nodded.
‘Other times we fished and sold our catch in the local villages.’
‘You said you had your own boat.’
‘Aye, Captain, but the British soldiers took it.’
‘Hmm. And were you a fair sailor?’
‘Been sailing all me life, Capt’n.’
‘Thank you,’ Oliver said. ‘Return to your watch. I will call for you later, if I need you.’
Andrew Kemp left the great cabin more confused than when he had entered.
Early that evening, with the days lengthening as the year drew towards summer, it was pleasant on deck. The waters of Spithead were calm. The tide was on the ebb.
‘Put away Scorpion’s jolly boat, Mr Holland. But before you do, have the carpenter scrape the name from its transom. It is not a name I wish to remember.’
‘And what do you want to do with the boat, Captain?’
‘Load a small barrel of water and a bag of ship’s biscuits with a cheese and some onions. And add a few hooks and a fine line. Step the mast, and put a pair of oars on board.’
The lieutenant looked surprised but did not question the captain’s order.
An hour later, the captain called Kemp and his nephew to attend him on the quarterdeck. The other Irish boy came along with them. Standing against the rail, the captain glanced down to the boat. It reminded him of a young man who had floated across the Solent in a small hand-crafted boat, some years ago. That same lad – William Ethridge, shipwright – was now helping to repair Nelson’s ship, Victory at Chatham dockyard.
Captain Quintrell looked across to the sailor. ‘I offer you the chance to take these two boys and go free.’
Andrew Kemp was puzzled. ‘That’s a navy boat, Captain. I can’t take that.’
Oliver Quintrell shook his head. ‘It is not a navy boat now and never was.’
‘But why?’
‘As I said earlier, the British justice system is, at times, fickle and unfair. Magistrates are often rich landowners. Most are unqualified, yet they have the power to make decisions over men’s lives. In my opinion, their judgements and sentences are inconsistent from one part of Britain to another.’
The Irishman was confused.
‘Some months ago, you told me you were committed to jail after the uprising in ’98. You spent years in Kilmainham awaiting transportation. Your sentence was five years beyond the seas. The year is now 1806 and in my opinion, you have served your time.’ Oliver handed the man an envelope sealed with wax. ‘I have written these facts in a letter which you will carry with you. I have also enclosed the wages you were due.’
‘Wages?’ The man was shocked.
‘The purser calculated you worked for three months and has classed you as a seaman. For that you have been paid two pounds fourteen shillings and sixpence after deductions were taken out for your slop clothing. You are required to sign your name or make your mark in the ledger.’ The purser was waiting at the binnacle with pen and ink.
‘There is no money due to the boys but they are permitted to keep their clothing.’
Andrew Kemp did as he was instructed and, after making his mark, returned to the rail and the two anxious youngsters.
‘There is one favour you can do for me,’ Oliver said.
‘What’s that, captain?’
‘I believe your nephew has a liking for Captain Chilcott’s dog.’
The boy looked up, his eyes glinting.
‘Too right, he has.’
The captain nodded. ‘Then take the boat, and take the dog with you and give it a home. It is a long way to the shores of Ireland from here, but there are many coves and inlets on the Cornish coast where pickings from wrecks are not uncommon. I wandered them myself when I was a lad.’
The Irish convict and his two charges were astounded.
‘Chalmers,’ the captain called. ‘Bring the dog and a length of line, and rig up a hoist to lower the animal into the boat.’
Turning to the trio, the captain added: ‘Go now, while the sea is calm and the Solent is running out. Take care and God speed.’
With that matter attended to, Captain Quintrell looked to his lieutenant, nodded to him, turned his back and returned to the great cabin.
Chapter 23
Epilogue
With one final outstanding matter to attend to while at the dockyard, Oliver paid a visit to the Naval Academy and asked the College’s head-master, William Bayly, for an audience with Charles Goodridge.
Seated in a comfortable chair in an elegantly furnished drawing room on the building’s second floor, Captain Quintrell waited for five minutes until a knock on the door announced the
boy’s arrival.
‘Enter,’ the captain called.
Neatly attired in the Academy’s uniform, Charles Goodridge entered the room accompanied by a midshipman.
Having grown two inches or more since he had last seen him, Oliver hardly recognised the young man. Wearing a single breasted blue frock-coat with white waistcoat, breeches and shirt with frilled cuffs, his hair was tied back with a black satin ribbon.
After taking two strides forward, the young man stopped and bowed deeply from the waist. With hands clenched behind his back, he waited politely for the captain to speak first.
‘Good day to you, young man. How are you?’ Oliver enquired, standing to greet him.
‘Very well, thank you, Captain.’
‘That is good to hear.’ Without further ado, he had one pressing question to ask: ‘What are your impressions of the Academy, young man?’
‘It is a well respected institution, sir.’
‘That was not the question I asked, Charles,’ Oliver replied.
The boy glanced down to the silver buckles on his shiny black shoes before looking up again. His face and tone lacked the exuberance that had once personified him.
The captain continued: ‘How do you find the young gentlemen you are studying with?’
‘I do not share many interests with them,’ Charles admitted politely.
Oliver could not help but cast his mind to the behaviour of the young gentlemen he had suffered on Royal Standard. He wondered if the lad carried his own fighting stick with him and if he had had occasion to challenge the other young aristocrats with it. However, he chose not to pose that question and continued: ‘I have just returned from sea, and have not yet spoken with Dr Whipple, but I have another question for you.’
‘I will answer it, if I am able,’ the young man replied.