The Oliver Quintrell Trilogy – Books 1-3 (BOX SET) (Under Admiralty Orders - The Oliver Quintrell Series)

by M. C. Muir

  Tommy could understand that feeling.

  ‘I was twelve-years old and already tall and strong, so when I reached the quay I joined a line of men rolling barrels of rum onto a schooner. I heard it was bound for Boston, so before it sailed, I sneaked aboard and hid till the ship was clear of land. The captain was an American and a fair man. He gave me a whipping but, because of my size, he didn’t put me ashore and he added my name to the muster book. Everyone thought I was a run-away slave so I talked like a slave and pretended I knew nothing. That was easy,’ he said, looking at Bungs, ‘because no one expected anything more from a black man. When the ship reached Boston, it unloaded and then headed to Barbados.’

  ‘And you stayed with it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And from there?’

  ‘After a while, serving on a schooner trading with the American ports, I joined a West India Company vessel bound for London. But when it arrived, I learned it was returning to the Caribbean, so I signed on a 74 heading for the Mediterranean.’

  ‘Fighting for England against the French,’ Bungs laughed. ‘And is that how you came to Gibraltar.’

  ‘Yes,’ Eku said. ‘The ship came in for fresh supplies.’

  ‘So,’ quipped Bungs, ‘here you are, pretending to be a common black tar, yet talking more like a toff with every breath.’

  ‘I don’t pretend to be anything I am not, and I care not what others think of me. How I speak is my business but for the present, I am a sailor, a black Jack, and that is how I earn my bread.’

  ‘But them black slaves who died on the wreck, don’t you grieve for their souls?’

  ‘As men of any colour, I pity the misery they suffered,’ Eku said. ‘But as slaves, I say they should thank God that their fate befell them before they were branded, sold in the markets like cattle and whipped till the skin was peeled from their backs and their minds turned against their masters and themselves. I have no more feeling for the men who perished on the ship than you do, but I have a burning hatred for the black men who captured them and traded them in Africa, and for the white men – English, French, Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese who transported them in irons over the seas. It is a hatred which simmers in my breast and I fear one day it will explode.’

  From the deck, the ship’s bell rang calling the starboard watch back to work.

  ‘Your mother,’ Bungs asked, as they headed for the companionway. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eku said. ‘She was with the women who were dragged from the house by the rebels. I can but guess her fate. My only prayer is that her end was quick and that her suffering was short.’

  ‘I’ll say amen to that.’

  Perpetual’s progress was painfully slow – only two to three knots – but with the aid of Adelina’s Portuguese charts, the frigate navigated the maze of channels and myriad of islands littering the western end of the strait which Magellan had first navigated. As the ship swam towards the Pacific Ocean, Captain Quintrell was drawn by the water’s pulse and thrust of the distant tides flowing in from the open sea many miles away.

  In this part of the passage, strong wind was something he did not want. Yet he had to ensure the frigate kept moving because the channels were so deep that the lead failed to find bottom, and without hope of a secure anchorage at night, there was always fear they would run aground and be unable to get off. Navigating was difficult enough by day. By night it was impossible.

  From the small rocky islands, seals barked at each other or yawned lazily, ignoring the frigate drifting by. The penguins, more wary of the trespassers, paddled violently to escape the approaching leviathan. High above, the condors hung motionless, their enormous wings resting on invisible columns of air. At times, their constant presence was intimidating. Were they following the frigate?

  ‘Canoes, dead ahead!’ the lookout cried.

  The men on the forward deck jostled for view.

  ‘Native Indians?’ Quintrell asked.

  ‘Aye, Capt’n. Three canoes. Crossing our bow.’

  From the deck, all eyes gazed at the dark-skinned natives; the men wrapped in warm fur-skin cloaks; the women, daubed only in white markings, naked from the waist up.

  ‘How come they don’t freeze,’ Tommy asked.

  ‘I guess they are used to it,’ Muffin said.

  ‘Maybe the fire in the boat keeps them warm.’

  Smithers laughed, then looked. ‘Well I’ll be. Wonder how long afore it burns though the bottom. Fools,’ he cried.

  Despite calls from the sailors on deck, the Indians showed no response or interest, paddling speedily from the path of the great ship to the sanctuary of one of the many inlets.

  As the channel narrowed, the steep-sided mountains closed in on Perpetual. Above the layers of rocks skirted with grey tangled scrub, thick snow covered the peaks. In places, great tongues of ice, several fathoms thick loomed over the water’s edge revealing deep cracks and inner caverns of intense cornflower blue.

  Later in the day, when rain and sleet wet the deck, solid sheets of water poured over the scoured mountainsides transforming the dull rock faces to tear-streaked cheeks of shiny steel. Waterfalls appeared everywhere offering an abundance of fresh water. But with no stretches of beach to run a boat onto, refilling the barrels with crystal clear water was not possible.

  ‘Does anything survive here?’ Tommy asked.

  No one answered.

  ‘How many more days?’ Mr Parry enquired.

  ‘If these charts are correct, according to my calculations, we will slip into the Pacific tomorrow. Then we will stand away from the coast and head north.’

  ‘And what of Captain Crabthorne?’ the lieutenant asked, pulling his boat cloak around him.

  Oliver sighed. ‘If the good captain is lost in this maze, we could search for a year and never find him. I can only pray that he has navigated a course without incident.’

  Oliver didn’t fail to recognize the quizzical expression on Simon’s brow.

  ‘What puzzles you?’

  ‘Unanswered questions,’ Simon Parry said. ‘It puzzles me why Captain Crabthorne was so insistent on sailing around the Horn?’

  ‘Orders, Simon. Like me, he carries Admiralty orders and it is his duty to comply with those orders to the letter and not to question the reasons behind them.’

  ‘I understand that fact but, from the information you have provided, his mission is to deliver a diplomat to Peru.’

  ‘The new ambassador. Indeed. Continue.’

  ‘But the captain chanced losing both ship and men by attempting to round the Horn at the most unfavourable time of the year. Surely it would have been more sensible to disembark the ambassador at Buenos Aires in order for him to travel overland to Valparaiso. From there, he could have taken passage on any ship and sailed north to Lima?’

  ‘It is possible, but I see two obstacles to your argument. Firstly, a journey over the Andes is fraught with danger no matter what the season. There are few known routes and in winter the high passes are blocked with snow. Secondly, apart from the dangers from avalanche or melt water, that inhospitable countryside is inhabited by Indians, brigands and mountain cats. I’m not sure which would be the worst to encounter.

  ‘However,’ Oliver continued, ‘I must admit, a similar notion had crossed my mind. If Crabthorne had sailed north to Panama, he could have sent a party across the isthmus by land. For more than two centuries the Spanish have been using that route to transport silver from the mines in Peru. Had the ambassador followed El Camino Real – the old

  Royal Road, he would have arrived in Lima far quicker and safer than by taking the perilous sea voyage round Cape Horn. Captain Crabthorne is obviously no fool and his dogged determination speaks to me of something more important than merely accompanying an official representative of the British Government.’ ‘Then perhaps there was more than one supercargo aboard Compendium. A regiment of troops, perhaps, or a consignment of specie, certainly something of significa
nce that he would not have trusted to anyone else’s hands.’

  ‘But the chance of losing everything in the Southern Ocean was a big gamble to take.’ Oliver paused for a moment. ‘Tell me, what is currently known of the viceroyalties of Chile and Peru?’ He needed to clarify his own ideas.

  The lieutenant considered the question. ‘At present the people of Chile are itching for their independence. Peru wants it also. However, it is said that while the Chileans are united in their efforts to gain freedom, the Peruvians are less organised or committed. Even if they decided to rebel, I’m afraid the firm grip which Spain holds over them will be difficult to dislodge.’

  ‘And of course, Spain does not wish to lose control of such a valuable territory, which has provided it with immense wealth for well nigh on three-hundred-years.’

  ‘The gold of Incas,’ Mr Parry added.

  ‘Not only that, but silver and emeralds, plus quicksilver, copper and other minerals from its mines. It is hardly surprising French noses have been drawn in this direction. Britain and France are both aware of the treasure ships that carry precious cargoes to Spain two or three times a year. What the spies do not know, however, is when they sail and by which route.’

  ‘Is it known which ports they are dispatched from?’

  ‘Mainly from Callao in Peru. At other times from the Viceroyalty of Río de la Plata at Buenos Aires. That was one of my reasons for not entering the River Plate. French ships are never far away.’

  ‘But to take a treasure ship from an ally would be an act of piracy.’

  ‘Correct. But who is to tell?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘So with the war waging in Europe, wouldn’t it be safer for Spain to leave its wealth in the treasuries in South America?’

  ‘Spain cannot afford that luxury,’ Oliver said. ‘It knows full-well that Napoleon is its greatest threat. He has the power to overrun Spain with his ever-growing army. The alliance Spain made in May was to keep Bonaparte at bay. And its guarantee was secured with Peruvian silver.’

  ‘But the time may come when Spain can no longer meet France’s demands.’

  ‘Then Spain will be invaded and its people, its monarchy and its wealth will fall into French hands. Mark my words, Napoleon will waste no time in usurping the Spanish throne and the government’s only option to safeguard its sovereignty will be to enter the war on Napoleon’s side.’

  ‘What I cannot fathom,’ Simon said, ‘is what connection, if any, exists between the war in Europe and Captain Crabthorne’s mission to Peru?’

  Oliver shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nor can I. Compendium is a single ship, probably an ageing frigate, not a second or third rate with a naval escort. It will be carrying only twenty-eight or thirty-two guns, and by the time it reaches Callao, it will probably be in need of a refit. I understand a handful of marines are aboard, but certainly not many, and I am not aware that the ship has any other additional crew. Boris Crabthorne is an experienced seaman and,’ he said, with a smile, ‘we are told, he is a good gardener to boot. But I fear he has little experience in action.’

  ‘Perhaps that is one reason he was dispatched to the Pacific and not to Admiral Nelson with the Mediterranean fleet.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Oliver mused, realizing he too had been consigned to the far side of the world.

  ‘Do you think we will find him?’

  ‘I can only pray so,’ Oliver said, taking a chart from the box he had seized from the slave-ship and rolling it out on the table. ‘We know he was delayed. We also know that there is a vast expanse of ocean before us still to sail.’

  ‘You intend to sail all the way to Callao, Captain?’

  ‘If necessary. Only then will we know whether he reached his destination. In the interim, I intend to quiz the Governor or Intendant at Valdivia, and if Compendium has not ventured into that port, then I will do the same at Conception and Valparaiso. Captain Crabthorne would need to stop to take on wood, water and victuals after his arduous passage and, hopefully, somewhere along the coast, we will receive news which will allay our concerns.’

  Having completed their meal, Oliver waited for the coffee to arrive.

  ‘Gentlemen, it is regrettable that we have not located His Majesty’s Frigate Compendium, however, because we found no trace in the straits, I am presuming the captain successfully navigated his passage and, like ourselves, is now being tossed by the rollers of the Pacific Ocean.

  ‘Captain Crabthorne’s orders are to sail north and I anticipate he will have set a course some miles from the shore. I intend to follow. Valdivia is the first major port on the Chilean coast that offers a safe harbour and I feel certain the captain will have stopped there. I will enter the harbour, providing we meet with no objection from the Dons. The town itself is on a river, several miles inland from the coast. For your information, it is possibly the best protected settlement in all of Spanish America.’

  ‘Can we be certain that if we enter the harbour, we will not place ourselves in danger?’

  ‘We cannot be sure. If there has been a change in the fortunes of Europe, since we left England, news would have been passed to the viceroyalty in Buenos Aires, and from there word would have travelled overland and reached Valdivia before us. Until we are advised to the contrary, we must assume we will be safe, but I will not enter the harbour until given a guarantee by the Governor or Intendant of the region. I intend to take a boat into the port and speak with these officials personally.

  ‘You have visited Valdivia before?’ Mr Parry asked.

  ‘Several times but long before my days of naval service. As a boy, I sailed with my father. As master of a coastal trader he visited all the ports on the coast of South America. His voyages then took him north to San Francisco, but that is not our destination on this cruise. However, it was during those visits, I learned many things and gained much knowledge from my father’s charts. He painstakingly recorded information about every harbour including the depth of water, the currents, tidal flows, landing places and, most importantly, the position of the ancient fortifications.’

  Oliver turned to the young midshipmen around the table. ‘I would advise you to stay on deck when you are not on watch. Keep your eyes and ears open for one day you may have command of your own ship and, who knows, next time you sail into these waters you may be seeking a safe harbour to refit, or searching for an enemy ship hiding in one of the many inlets.’

  ‘You said ancient fortifications, Captain. Does this mean they have been abandoned?’

  ‘By no means. They are old but heavily armed. They were built by the Spanish conquistadores two-hundred years ago to protect the coast from foreign invaders who were eager to relieve them of their treasure. Over the years, new forts and battlements have been added and all are armed with heavy cannon. These defences are impregnable against attack as they are located on the cliff tops. Believe me, when I say, the mouth of the Valdivia River is better guarded than the River Thames or any other port in England. From memory there are ten forts located on various points around the bay.’

  The midshipmen were amazed. ‘Is the treasure stored there?’ one asked.

  ‘Not now. Not since the early days of Spanish conquest. But that does not mean that either Chile or Peru is devoid of wealth. It is considered by unspecified authorities, claiming to be more astute that even the Admiralty, that once or twice a year a ship loaded with the riches of these regions is consigned to Spain.’

  The eyes of the young men around the table sparkled.

  ‘Are we going to take a treasure ship?’ Mr Lazenby asked eagerly.

  ‘Ha!’ laughed Oliver. ‘And on what grounds can we take a friendly ship sailing from its home port, no doubt under the escort of a man-of-war or a pair of frigates. A tempting prize, maybe, but taking it would be an act of piracy.’ He turned to the young men at the table. ‘Be mindful of your allegiance to the Crown and curb any thoughts of gross avarice. If you are sailing with that thought in mind, then I suggest you adopt another garb and I will thank
you not to grace my table.’

  Oliver’s expression mellowed. ‘Patience, young man, sea war will bring prizes when you least expect them. But remember that death also lurks over the next wave.’

  The midshipman shuffled down in his seat.

  ‘In answer to the question that is teasing the tips of your tongues, the treasure ships sail mainly from Callao, the port which serves Lima in the north. Also from Buenos Aires on the east coast. If we do not locate Captain Crabthorne in Valdivia or Valparaiso, then Callao is where we are heading. So, Gentlemen, I suggest we drink a toast to Callao and our voyage north.’

  Chapter 13

  Valdivia

  When Perpetual emerged from the western end of the Magellan Strait, it stood out to sea, clear of the fragmented jigsaw of islands that stretched northwards for almost eight-hundred miles.

  As the frigate headed to Valdivia, sailing parallel to the coast, the colours of the land changed from dull grey and white to verdant green and rich brown. Gone were the fjords and frozen inlets of the south. Gone too the icy winds blowing up from the Southern Ocean. With the sun growing warmer each morning, along with the mercury, spirits rose bringing welcome relief to everyone aboard, especially the topmen.

  Though the land was still part of Chile’s long coastline, it appeared like a different world, the only constant feature was the line of distant mountains. By day the serrated peaks of the Andes melded in a haze of mauve on the far horizon. By late afternoon, the backdrop of snow-capped peaks and volcanic cones glowed golden in the dying rays of the evening sun.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Oliver mused over a glass of brandy, ‘what a difference a few degrees of latitude make to the men’s temperament.’ It was a statement which demanded no answer, and the captain was comfortable with his first lieutenant’s silence.