by M. C. Muir
The sun was just setting over the mountains and the sky changing from mauve to gold when the barge carrying three surprisingly healthy looking beasts and a quantity of green fodder drew up alongside. But swaying the cattle aboard was not an easy task and proved to be painstakingly slow. The last bullock was particularly boisterous and seemed intent on launching itself into the sea. With horns as sharp as any pike and each one the length of a man’s arm, the job of securing the harness under each beast’s belly, without someone being gored, was extremely hazardous. The fast approaching darkness added to the danger.
Finally, by the light of lanterns, the cattle were lowered down to the hold where it was discovered that the pens were too narrow to accommodate their sweeping excrescences. The only solution was to cut them off. After various attempts with knife, axe and saw resulting in blood being spurted around the hull as if from a loose hose, a wire, which cook used for cutting cheese, proved most effective. It sliced through the growths quickly and efficiently and cauterised the blood flow in the process. Even the beasts seemed to feel no discomfort and that helped reduce the level of noise.
The smell of bilge water in the hold was now complemented by the assorted animal odours – the cud, the sweat, the urine and seemingly non-stop streams of green excrement which were bucketed to the main deck and thence overboard. The constantly filling canvas troughs of urine also had to be emptied regularly. A seemingly unenviable task, but surprisingly one man volunteered to be responsible for the cattle until they were slaughtered. Tom Masterton announced his mother had a house cow back in Hungerford. He alone regarded the cattle smells as rich and wholesome and said it reminded him of home.
For the others who had to venture into the hold, lumps of teased oakum in the nostrils helped reduce the reek of offensive odour.
By the following day most of the fresh stores had been loaded and the captain gave permission for the crew to go ashore. There were strict orders that no women were to be brought back on board and any man disobeying those orders or returning late was guaranteed a flogging. Furthermore, any sailor failing to return till the following morning, when the ship was due to sail, would be treated as a deserter according to the Articles of War.
After breakfast, the ship’s boats ran a fairly constant shuttle service to and from the wharf. Will Ethridge was on the first to go ashore along with three of the midshipmen and the sailing master. The chance to step foot on South American soil was an opportunity too good to miss.
‘You going ashore, Chips?’ he had asked, his friend.
‘I’ll get a later boat,’ the carpenter had said. ‘I want to check on those cattle pens before I leave. You stay close by the middies and keep your nose clean.’
As the day wore on, the sailors drifted back to the ship, the excesses of alcohol evidenced by the raised voices and singing from some of the boats. Though Guanabara Bay was as flat as any millpond, a few men swayed on the deck before heading down to the mess. For those incapable of standing upright a bucket of seawater soon damped their spirits. For a handful of others the threat of a dozen at the grating went unheeded and the marines were called to escort them below.
The following morning the sailing master re-checked the muster book.
‘What’s the situation, Mr Mundy?’
‘Four men missing, Mr Parry.’
‘Names and rates?’
‘Guthrie and Bigalow – able seamen. Both from Deal. Emile Lazlo – gunner’s mate off the Constantine. And Percy Sparrow – ship’s carpenter!’
‘Chips?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You sure?
‘Yes, I checked. He’s not come aboard.’
‘The captain won’t be pleased to hear that.’
Mr Mundy agreed. ‘I presume his absence will not delay us sailing.’
‘Indeed, Mr Mundy.’
At the frigate’s painted belfry, the marine struck four bells.
‘Prepare to weigh anchor, Captain?’ Mr Parry asked.
Oliver nodded then looked across the bay to the busy town nestled along the coast. It was not the first time he had visited Rio de Janeiro, nor was it the first time he had left the place with a strange feeling of unease. For what reason he was not fully aware, but his impressions of the place were always the same. The town was set on a sheltered natural harbour offering ample fresh provisions and succulent tropical fruits. It was populated with wealthy merchants, rich plantation owners and Portuguese business men who lived in splendid houses furnished with imported pictures, mirrors and marble statues. The vast gardens abounded with water fountains, trimmed privet hedges and lush beds of brightly coloured blooms. The local women were dark, luscious and as exotic as the native fruits.
Yet the wharves, streets, fields and gardens of the fine houses were agog with slaves – hundreds of men and women, boys and girls whose ankles bore the broad scars of shackles, and deep welts engraved in the black leather skin of the men. A permanent reminder of the months spent confined below decks in the transport ships. Then there was the dusty open market where the slaves were penned, paraded and sold in a fashion not unlike that of the cattle he had purchased. Rio de Janeiro was a place of such contrasts. It troubled him.
As the sun rose, the temperature rose quickly with it. It would easily reach ninety degrees that day though for the moment the heat on deck was tempered by a fine veil of moisture which encapsulated Elusive in a pocket of perfumed air. Lulled by the fragrant scent and the harmony of the African voices drifting from the wharf, Rio de Janeiro was beautiful beyond description but for Oliver Quintrell it masked a face of greed and corruption.
From the taffrail, he was gazing at the spectacular granite cone to the south when a flock of black frigate birds flew in from the open ocean. He watched them glide across the sky, swooping and curling in the air; their beaks, wings and tails sleek and pointed, their black plumage shining like polished jet in the sun. As they displayed their six-foot wingspan overhead, the brilliant bloom of the male birds’ throats shone with the rich red of vermillion – a colour far brighter than fresh blood. Looking back towards the clear Atlantic sky, Oliver questioned what the birds’ presence foreshadowed. He was acutely aware that flocks of frigate birds flew ahead of the weather-fronts and that their return to land always heralded a change.
‘Weigh anchor if you please, Mr Parry. The sooner we are away from this place the better.’
‘Aye aye, Captain!’
The call was echoed to the men on the capstan and with the first harmonious creaks, Elusive was free again to shake off her lethargy.
‘Make sail!’ Mr Parry called. ‘Up staysails. Loose topsails.’
Aloft a flurry of activity began along the yards and at the pin-rails sailors, working in unison, hauled rhythmically. As the frigate’s anchor freed itself from the harbour floor and broke the surface, Will galloped up the companionway ladder three steps at a time calling to his mates on deck.
‘Has anyone seen Chips? I can’t find him.’
‘He’ll be around,’ Bungs whispered. ‘Back to your station, Will.’
‘Not till I find, Percy. He’s not in his workshop and I never saw him at breakfast.’
‘Did he go ashore yesterday?’ Froyle asked quietly.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Bungs said. ‘He’ll be about somewhere. Have you tried the cockpit?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Maybe he got a dose of what that monkey was carrying,’ Smithers hissed, then laughed.
‘Loose the courses! Man the braces!’ the lieutenant called.
‘The ship mustn’t sail!’ Will shouted, running along the quarterdeck. ‘Mr Parry, stop! You must wait! Mr Sparrow’s not on board.’
‘Be quiet, lad,’ Bungs growled after him.
‘No. I must tell the captain, Chips isn’t aboard.’
‘Shut up, Will, the captain already knows.’ But the cooper’s warning came too late.
‘Who’s that questioning my orde
rs?’ Mr Parry yelled.
‘It’s me, Will Ethridge. Chips ain't aboard. Something’s wrong.’
‘Silence!’
‘You must send a boat back to find him.’
‘Marines restrain that man and get him below. I will not tolerate insubordination.’
Before Will could utter another word his arms were grabbed and a wooden peg was thrust between his teeth and secured with spunyarn.
‘Take him below this instant.’
Working on the yards the topmen had a bird’s eye view, as Will was dragged away gurgling and struggling. On the quarterdeck, Mr Parry turned to Mr Smith and spoke quietly.
‘Search the ship. Make sure Chips isn't laying injured somewhere.’
The midshipman nodded and headed below just as the staysails filled and were sheeted home. The frigate was making her turn for the open sea when the jib flapped free trailing a length of its sheet out on the breeze.
‘Belay that line before it rips holes in the other sails!’
‘It’s broke, Mr Parry,’ Froyle shouted.
‘Then run it down! And pass word for the bosun.’
Resting their chests on the main yard, Smithers and five other sailors waited for the call to put a reef in the main course.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he said sanctimoniously, ‘That place was just the start of our bad run. You wait and see if I’m not right.’
The following morning, with the coast of South America visible only as a hazy scrawl on the horizon, eight bells rang from the ship’s belfry and the men on charges were brought to the gratings for punishment.
With the frigate close hauled and making ten knots, and in the presence of the whole ship’s company, the charges were read and the punishments administered by the bosun’s mates.
The three Irish seamen, charged with drunkenness, received a dozen lashes each and bore their punishment with no noise, and from the furrows of keloid scarring criss-crossing their backs, it was evident this was not the first time their skin had been kissed by the leather thongs.
But for Will Ethridge, this was a new experience and as he was bound up his body shook with a combination of anguish, fear and anger.
‘Sorry, Will,’ the bosun’s mate whispered, through tightly clenched teeth, before swinging the cat and flaying the boy’s soft flesh. For the crime of insubordination, Will received a dozen lashes and every man, whether he was observing or not, silently counted each stroke as it was delivered. When the punishment was over, Will was helped below.
Emile Lazlo, gunner’s mate, was the last man to be bound up. He had returned to the ship at first light being ferried out on a local fishing boat. When he had come aboard, he had pleaded for leniency, swearing he was not a deserter, and arguing that he had been set upon and robbed. From the bruises he bore it was obvious he had been in a fight, but unfortunately, no one could verify his story.
On this occasion Captain Quintrell was lenient and did not punish him according to the charge of desertion as set out in the Articles of War. Instead, for disobeying orders and failing to return to the ship when ordered, Lazlo was relieved to receive only two dozen lashes. His sentence and punishment were entered in the muster book, but against the names of Guthrie and Bigalow, the two other men who had deserted, and that of Percy Sparrow, the letter ‘R’ was recorded along with the date that the men had run.
Later that day, when Tom Masterton climbed down the ladder into the hold, he was shocked to feel water wash over his feet. ‘What have you been doing down here?’ he shouted, shining the lantern over the water swilling about in the hull. ‘Have you had the hoses going all night?’
‘I swear I haven’t used them once.’
‘Then where’s all this water come from?’
‘I’ve been emptying the pee-troughs, like you told me but I guess them beasts was peeing quicker than I could empty it out.’
‘Don’t be bloody daft. That’s sea water sloshing around your ankles.’
‘Don’t smell like bloody sea water to me.’
Tom shook his head. ‘You’ve no more sense than a deck-beam. Listen to the din them beasts are making. They’ve got more sense than you. An animal knows when things ain’t right. Get up on deck right now! Find Mr Parry and tell him to come down here. And be quick about it. Tell him we need the pumps. Tell him, if I’m not mistaken, the ship’s sprung a leak and we’re in danger of sinking!’
Chapter 13
The ship’s hold
‘Will Ethridge to see you.’
‘Thank you, Casson. Send him in.’
Will appeared to shrink as he bowed his shoulders to stand beneath the deck beams.
‘You are the sailor from The Solent, are you not?’
‘William Ethridge. Apprentice to Master Adams at Buckler’s Hard, sir,’ he said with subdued pride.
‘And I understand that until you came aboard Elusive, you had never sailed on a ship such as this.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Yet from what I heard from Mr Sparrow…’
Will’s gaze dropped to the floor.
‘I understand you had a certain bond with the carpenter.’
‘Too right, sir.’
‘And do you know any reason why he should fail to sail with us from Rio?’
‘No, sir. Something must have went wrong…’ he was about to add more but the sting of the cat’s tails still smarted on every breath he took prompting him to keep his mouth shut.
‘Perhaps. I agree it seems strange that such a man should desert, however what drives a man to disobey orders is a matter for his conscience alone to deal with, although I don’t doubt that in time he will come to regret it. Now to the reason why I sent for you. When I last spoke with the carpenter he told me that in the short time you were assigned to him, you proved yourself to be a trusted hand, showed considerable skill in your craft and demonstrated you had a brain in your head. I might add those were Mr Sparrow’s words not mine.’
Will remembered Chips saying the exact same words to him.
‘I have two reasons for wishing to speak with you. Firstly, I am rating you as carpenter’s mate. Secondly, you will act as ship’s carpenter for the present.’
Will looked puzzled.
‘I realise there are two other rated carpenter’s mates aboard, both with several years service. However in the last few days these men have failed to attend to the most basic tasks required of them and neither appear capable of preparing monthly accounts. I am hoping you will be able to succeed where the others did not.’
Will nodded, ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I can ask for nothing more. Now, that brings me to my third and most important point. I have just learned that the ship is taking water. Mr Parry has men standing by with the pumps but before I give the order for them to commence, I want you to sound the ship. I need to know the rate of seepage and the effect of the pumps. I presume you know where the well is?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Once you have ascertained the current level, find out where the seepage is coming from. Unless it is absolutely necessary, I have no desire to return to Rio, however I do not wish to sail to the Southern Ocean if the hull is riddled with borers. Let us hope the damage is minimal and can be repaired at sea. As soon as you have news, report directly to me.’
Half an hour later Oliver was advised that the acting carpenter begged to request his urgent attention below decks. Without hesitation, he left his cabin and passed word for the first lieutenant to join him below. Climbing down into the dimly lit hold, he was greeted by the bellowing of the cattle, but he could also hear water sloshing about beneath him. The light of the swinging lanterns reflected on the watery surface.
‘This is not good,’ he said, as the cold water filled his shoes.
The three beasts bellowed a response.
Oliver sniffed the stinking air and looked up to his lieutenant gazing down from the hatch. ‘Speak with cook. Arrange for these cattle to be slaughtered immediately.’
Will and the two other carpenters knuckled their sweat-streaked foreheads and stepped back from the piles of stones and pebbles they had been digging through.
‘Over here,’ Will indicated, pointing to a strip cleared of ballast. Though the water slapped back and forth with each pitch and roll of the ship, the evidence he had uncovered was not hard to see.
‘A light,’ Oliver requested, examining the hull and the four wooden plugs protruding from it. He was puzzled.
‘I plugged them,’ Will said. ‘They looked like shot holes but I can tell they’ve been bored with an auger right through to the copper plates from this side.’
‘Is it possible the sheathing slowed the flow a little?’
‘A bit, maybe. I think because they were buried below the ballast it wasn’t obvious that water was pouring in from them.’
‘Are these the only holes?’ the captain asked.
‘Yes, sir. I’ve checked right around and couldn’t find any others.’
Squatting on his haunches, Oliver ran his finger around one of the wooden plugs. ‘Did you make these?’
‘No, sir. I found them hidden amongst the stones. I’d say whoever drilled the holes made the bungs to fit, plugged the holes and, then when the time was right, pulled them out and shovelled the shingles over them so no one would see the water spurting in.’
‘And when would you think that was done?’
‘From the amount of water we’ve taken in and the size of the holes, I’d guess them bungs were pulled before we sailed from Rio.’
‘And can you repair the damage at sea?’
‘No trouble. I’ll plug them up good and proper and seal them so tight you’ll never know there were any holes there.’
‘Good man,’ Quintrell said, ignoring the water staining his white stocking. ‘Set to it and keep me informed about the level.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Mr Parry, you may proceed with the pumps. If nothing else, let’s hope this flush of seawater will reduce some of the stench down here.’