by M. C. Muir
‘Nothing, Mr Parry. That is the fourth consecutive morning I have circled the whole lagoon and I am beginning to fear that we shall be leaving this island without achieving our objective.’ He sighed. ‘Whatever cargo was supposedly here has been well hidden – buried in the ash or removed before our arrival.’
‘Or it is sitting at the bottom of these moody waters.’
Oliver sighed and rubbed his hands together. ‘We have been lucky, the weather has been kind but the days are ticking by and we cannot stay much longer without risking both the ship and the health of the men.’
‘Morale has improved these last few days,’ Mr Parry said. ‘I think the men are getting used to it.’
‘And how go the repairs?’
‘The work is finished and the hold is dry. There is a stagnant smell in the ballast which will create an unhealthy atmosphere but there will be no means of airing it until we are in warmer latitudes.’
‘The carpenter and his team are to be congratulated.’
‘I will pass that message on.’ Simon paused before putting his next question. ‘As no treasure trove has been discovered, will we sail without it?’
Oliver sucked in a long breath of cold air. ‘Today is Saturday, and it is the first day of a new year. Tomorrow the crew will be allowed time to relax a little, then if the weather is fair we will sail on Monday, but we must have the full of the tide and a favourable wind to take us out.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’
As he watched his lieutenant stride gracefully along the deck, Oliver Quintrell felt satisfied. The Admiralty had selected well. Then he turned and looked across the body of water which he was beginning to know intimately. With the sun reflecting on it, the surface of the enclosed lake shone like quicksilver and, at times, moved in a similar manner.
Standing for a moment, he recollected his first officer’s words: ‘There is a stark beauty in this isolated place.’ Oliver had to agree. In his opinion there was no other place on earth quite like it.
Suddenly the ship shuddered as if it was about to keel over. But Elusive was not alone. The island had felt it too and for a moment the whole surface of the inland sea shivered.
‘What have you got in the bag, Jeremiah?’
‘Whale’s teeth that’s all.’
‘Let me look,’ the midshipman said, turning his nose up at the smell.
‘Captain said we was to keep active, so I took myself on a walk and found a dead whale. I prized some of the teeth from the jaw bone. It’s just for my scrimshaw. Folks back home will pay a shilling or two for my carvings.’
‘All right, so long as you wash them before you take them below. And keep quiet about them. I don’t want every man on your watch hauling a sackful of rotten whale’s teeth into the mess.’
Overnight the beach turned white. It was Sunday, the second morning of 1803, and the crew rose to half an inch of snow covering everything. Since breakfast however the fall had stopped and the sun was shining from a clear blue sky. With more leisure time than usual, and fresh snow to amuse themselves with, several of the young foremast-jacks were having a snowball fight on the shore. From their laughter and antics they might well have been on a village common not stuck in the crater of a volcano on the bottom of the world.
Wandering through the snow the captain was pleased to hear the merry voices. It rekindled childhood memories. Leaning down he picked up what appeared to be a ready-made snowball. Roughly rounded, it fitted snugly in the palm of his left hand. He examined it and scratched it with his claw-like finger. It released a strong musky smell. He recognised it. There was nothing else on earth quite like it!
Spinning around, he stared at the shelf of rock at the base of the cliff.
‘My God! Why didn’t I see it before? Mr Parry! Mr Parry!’ he shouted.
The games stopped and the seamen looked at their captain wondering what was amiss.
Simon raced across the beach towards him. ‘What is it, sir?’
Oliver pointed towards the cliff. ‘It’s been sitting there all this time right in front of our eyes. See over there! Those boulders!’
The lieutenant looked, as did the other men nearby. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘Those snow covered lumps of rock, the rounded ones lined up along the ledge.’
‘What of them, sir.’
‘It’s ambergris, Mr Parry! Floating gold! Call it what you will. If I am not mistaken every one of those boulders is a solid lump of ambergris and, if that is the case, it’s worth more than a king’s ransom!’
Chapter 17
Ambergris
First mention of the word ambergris attracted the attention of the sailors like bees to a honey pot, and from the beach the message was quickly relayed to the frigate. The seamen on board who had served on East Indiamen were familiar with its fragrance and its uses in making fine perfumes and pomades. But no one had previously seen it or held the valuable product and all were anxious for a closer look. Two seamen who had worked on whaling ships boasted their knowledge, but even for them the reeking cheesy content they had raked from the stomach of a harpooned whale was a far cry from the crusty grey object the captain was cradling.
Oliver regarded the small sample, turning it in his hand and assessing its weight, the same surprised expression still fixed on his face. ‘I thought it was a ball of snow coloured with ash. Then I thought perhaps a piece of pumice.’ He turned to his first lieutenant. ‘What a damn fool I was! How could I not recognise it for what it really is?’
Simon followed him as he clambered up onto the ledge and walked eagerly along the line of boulders, touching some, shaking his head at others and gazing in awe at the sheer quantity of the cache.
‘So much of it,’ he said.
‘But how did it accumulate here? Could it have floated to this inland lake?’
‘Highly unlikely. There are very few beaches in the world where clusters of ambergris have been found. Usually it is in tropical waters and most often only a solitary lump is washed up. Unless it is broken apart to reveal its aroma, it may never be recognised. Single pieces are sometimes seen floating in the sea and often they are no bigger than this.’
‘But we haven’t seen a whale in the lagoon itself. Do you think this collection just floated in? But if so, how is it the pieces appear to be neatly aligned along this ledge? Were they washed up on a flood-tide, perhaps?’
‘I think not. I believe this precious commodity has been collected over many years and stored here. For what reason, I would not hazard a guess. This is an uncharted island which no ship would choose to visit unless blown badly off course but someone obviously knows of it and has visited here many times. I think this location has purposely been kept secret, as indeed I have been instructed to keep its exact location a secret.’
‘Then who holds the key to this treasure trove? Whalers? Privateers? The Dutch East India Company?’
Oliver thought of the trading ships, of the wealthy merchants and of the value they put on their exotic spices. But ambergris was different. ‘It is an unprocurable product,’ he said. ‘It cannot be grown in the ground, picked from a branch or squeezed from a flower stem or pod. It comes from the foul smelling excrement vomited from the stomach of a sickly whale. Once in the sea it changes in consistency and appearance. Rolled by the waves and currents, it is moulded into roughly rounded balls. Slowly its outer crust hardens while its soap-like centre becomes soft and waxy concentrating its unmistakable aromatic perfume.’
The lieutenant sniffed a sample. ‘And in that state it wanders the oceans until it is washed ashore or plucked from the water?’
‘Correct,’ said Oliver, his mind leaping ahead. He had heard that an ounce of ambergris would fetch a golden guinea. Yet here, before their eyes, were scores of great boulders, some weighing almost one hundred pounds. This quantity would fill the frigate’s hold and if it could be returned to England the cargo would be worth about ₤1 million.
‘My guess is that the Spanish are the
bankers and the last thing they want is for this valuable treasure to fall into the hands of the French. You must realise, Simon, to the Turks and the French, ambergris is prized more highly than common gold.’
‘Then it has a very apt name – floating gold!’
‘Indeed.’
As they strode back along the ledge, the captain broke a piece from one of the blocks. Immediately the distinctive smell pervaded the cold air. It brought back a flood of long forgotten memories. A privateer. A battle. A prize. Then the satisfaction of acknowledgement. That action had earned him promotion to post captain not to mention a full column in the Gazette. Was it the success of that cruise which had prompted the Admiralty to select him to command this voyage?
But what stuck in his mind from that past event was not the sea battle, the boarding, the condition of the ship, or the handsome prize money he received, but the overpowering perfume which the ship emitted. It was unmistakable.
On the voyage home the loose pieces of ambergris, which he had transferred to his ship, had rubbed together releasing the distinct musky odour, and over the weeks at sea the smell had permeated every plank and joint of the ship. The perfume had even invaded his skin sufficient for his wife to comment on it when he returned to the Isle of Wight. Yet the amount of ambergris in that cargo was miniscule compared to the vast hoard lined up on this rocky ledge.
Oliver wondered how he could possibly carry this quantity back to England without the smell being detected by every passing ship.
By now a crowd of inquisitive sailors was gathered at a polite distance.
‘Mr Parry, it will be impossible to post a guard on the beach overnight. Any man would freeze standing out here. I suggest you get the crew back on board and tell the marines to make sure that no one leaves the ship without my permission. Once word of the ambergris is passed around it will be no time before the men start helping themselves, breaking it up and secreting lumps in their pockets or under their hats. After two hundred pairs of hands have sampled it, we will find ourselves left with nothing but sweepings.’
By the time the captain and Mr Parry climbed back on board, news of the find was being talked about across every table in the mess. Those men who knew little about its properties learned quickly, but what most excited the seamen’s attention were the tales of its inestimable value.
That night, despite the posting of marine guards, the precautions, and the direct orders, two sailors slipped overboard and braved the freezing waters to swim ashore. After loading their pockets and canvas bags the pair set off swimming back to the ship.
As they neared the hull and were almost within reach of the rope dangling from the side one of the men let out a blood curdling scream. It broke the silence of the night.
Seamen muffled in blankets and scarves crept up from the mess. Mr Tully, who was officer of the watch, leaned over the rail. ‘Get him out of water before he freezes!’
As they hauled the sailor from the water and dragged him onto the deck, his body appeared red and mottled. Someone commented that the water dripping from him was still warm.’
‘It’s the devil’s own cauldron,’ he gasped. ‘I was near boiled alive!’
‘Were you alone?’ the midshipman asked.
The seamen’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably and he was unable or unwilling to answer.
‘You’ll be for in it when Captain Quintrell hears.’
‘What you got there?’ Mr Tully said, wrenching the hand-made bag from the man’s hand.
‘That’s mine. I made it.’
‘And what you got in it?’
‘Nothing.’
The midshipman reached his hand inside and was surprised. The man was right. The bag contained nothing but a distinctive smell.
‘Didn’t get what you went for, eh?’
The sailor looked confused. ‘Give it here,’ he said, pulling himself free from the man holding him. ‘Where is it?’
‘You idiot, don’t you know, ambergris melts in boiling water.’
The sailors huddled nearby laughed.
‘Get him below! Get him some dry clothes, and then put him in irons.’
The following morning six men set out in the small boat to retrieve the body of another seaman. It had been spotted bobbing in the shallows beneath the columns of steam.
When they reached the floating corpse the coxswain tested the temperature of the water before reaching in and grabbing the man’s wrist to drag him aboard. But the hand parted from the arm like a bone slipping from a lump of meat in a well-cooked mutton stew.
‘He’s been boiled alive!’ he cried.
The starboard oarsman in the bow leaned over the side and returned his breakfast to the tepid sea.
‘Fools!’ shouted Oliver. ‘I fail to understand why some sailors are such fools. Most times, they are brave beyond measure, they withstand the extremes of temperature, of heat and cold, and they accept the discipline meted out at the gratings without complaint, but one whiff of ambergris and some of them go crazy.’ Oliver shook his head. ‘It’s as potent to these foremast-jacks as the smell of a woman’s purse and God knows, after weeks at sea, every man amongst them is festering to have a woman’s legs wrapped around him.’
Mr Parry looked concerned. ‘I’ll double the guard tonight, sir, but even after this, it’s not going to be easy keeping the men’s hands off the stuff and returning home without some being pilfered.’
‘I agree and I have been giving that matter considerable thought. The sooner it is loaded the better. Pass the work for the carpenter and cooper, if you please. Tomorrow you will take a party around the lake. You will need some good workers on board. Supply them with cutlasses, dirks, galley knives, anything sharp. And you will need sacks or bags or sheets of sailcloth. I want you to cut some grass.’
‘Grass?’ Simon laughed.
The captain’s expression was serious. ‘It will prevent the blocks from chaffing.’
‘But where do we find grass here?’
‘There is grass. Tussock grass. I have seen it. You will find it growing in a cove across the island. I will draw you a rough map. Take the longboat and tow the small hand-made dingy behind it. When you locate the vegetation, cut as much as you can. Fill the bags and boat and return with it as soon as possible. I intend to pack it around the ambergris. We must handle it like the finest Waterford crystal. I don’t want the French or Spanish or even English pirates getting wind of what we are carrying.’
The next day, Monday, came and went and Elusive did not sail as had been planned. Nor did Mr Parry and the longboat venture across the lagoon in search of vegetation. It was the same on Tuesday and Wednesday as the howling blizzard kept everyone confined below decks. There was not even a marine guard posted but neither was one necessary and no one was foolish enough even to stick his nose out into the wind. Blowing from the south, the wind channelled directly through the chink in the mountain’s armour and swept across the water whipping the erstwhile lifeless lake into a smouldering maelstrom. Wind and waves lashed across the lagoon rocking the ship and threatening to lay it over on its side. Oliver held grave fears that if the ship was forced up on the cinder beach and heeled over, it would be impossible to either right it or float it off.
With the wind came sleet, shooting icy darts at anyone in its path. After ripping the canopy which protected the waist of the ship to shreds, the tattered remnants were pulled down and all attempts to replace it were aborted. Below deck, the mood was black and as the truth about their volatile location became known, the men grew increasingly unsettled. Some argued that the worsening weather was aggravating the volcano itself. Fear was that if the island seethed, its submarine activity would increase. The officers remained positive reassuring the hands that the wind had blown the ship around on its anchor and set it closer to the steaming springs, providing some form of heat. The men were sceptical. Initially the warmth felt through the hull was welcomed until a rumour spread that the hull could easily catch fire.
This poppycock was the least of the captain’s worries but in turn, he did not want to lay the ship directly over the hot currents. He was not sure what affect the heat and poisonous gases would have on the copper sheaths and the fact that the paint was beginning to peel from the hull below the gunports worried him considerably. But any attempt to move the ship until the blizzard passed would have been foolhardy, if not entirely impossible. Oliver knew there was little he could do. Like the crew, he must bide his time and be patient.
Thursday morning brought calm and the crew emerged from below to walk the deck and see what effect the bad weather had had. It was now almost two weeks since they entered the lagoon and everyone was becoming anxious to get away. The sight of the sun lifted the men’s spirits. Although low on the horizon it shone clearly from an azure sky. The colour reflected on the lagoon which was as placid as a tropical atoll. It was as though the previous three days had never happened. Only the snow-capped mountainous walls surrounding them reminded Elusive’s crew where they were. Those remained unchanged – layer upon layer of dense white ice plastered haphazardly over angular and precipitous black rocks. Black and white. Completely colourless.
‘Mr Mundy. Now it is fine, I want you to take a couple of fit men. I need you to reconnoitre the ridge near the entrance. Be very wary of the jagged rocks and keep well clear of the scree. I do not wish to lose any more good men.’
‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but we could row to the entrance and glimpse the ocean beyond.’
‘I realise that, but I need to know what the conditions are outside this unnatural enclave. Besides the sea, the wind and the weather, I need to know what else is visible – ice islands, solid islands, whales, seals? I must be aware of any moving currents or partly submerged rocks – anything that might prove a potential hazard to the ship.’ He rubbed the whiskery stubble on his chin. ‘While we are here, we are cocooned within a false cloak of security. We are like prisoners in the Round Tower whose only world exists within the confines of its stout circular walls – like condemned men who have no idea of what is happening in the outside world.’