by M. C. Muir
The Irishman glanced at the captain’s black sailor. ‘I see from the expression on your face, young man, that you have some understanding of the type of treatment to which I am referring.’
Eku nodded in acknowledgement.
‘But this country also has a large number of black slaves, does it not?’ Oliver asked.
‘Indeed it does. There are many here who were transported over the seas. And of those many have mixed with the native Indians. But unlike the plantation slaves of the Caribbean, who have faint hope of freedom, the slaves brought to Chile can work and save to purchase their freedom and farm their own land. Unfortunately, however, Spain has observed the product of their industry and is greedy. It takes advantage of their work, levies high taxes and sends the profits from their labour to Europe.
‘Today, the peasants you see working in the valley, the descendants of the Incas and other native races, are uniting against the viceroyalty’s hold over the various regions. Believe me, Captain, Chile will be the first of the Spanish colonies to seek and gain its independence. Already there are minor skirmishes in the countryside and the underlying feeling of resistance is strong.’
‘Will it come to civil war?’ Simon Parry asked.
‘One day, perhaps.’
‘But you, Señor, are a representative of the government, are you not?’ Oliver observed. ‘Does that not place you in an unfortunate position?’
‘That is a matter I will discuss with you over a glass of wine. I have spoken too long and said too much, and you have your own problems to contend with. Order what you will of live stores or fresh produce and I will ensure that your requirements are met quickly and efficiently.’
‘Thank you, Señor. I am honoured to accept your generous hospitality and look forward to joining you tomorrow for dinner.’
‘And my wife and I will look forward to entertaining some English guests.’
As he rose to leave, Oliver turned to his host. ‘Just one question, Señor McGinty, did an English ship, Compendium, Captain Crabthorne, visit your port recently perhaps to replenish its supplies?’
‘Indeed it did, and what a delight it was to entertain the good captain. He allowed me to conduct him around my various estates and even took a ride with me into the foothills of the local cordilleras. I thoroughly enjoyed his company.’
‘Ah,’ Oliver responded, relieved to hear that Compendium was still afloat and its captain obviously in good health, but surprised and a little perplexed to learn that a British captain, engaged by the Admiralty on an urgent mission, was idling his time away galloping around the Chilean countryside. ‘Captain Crabthorne was in no hurry then?’
‘He had little option, sir. His ship had suffered much damage on its voyage around the Horn and he was lucky to limp into Valdivia unassisted.’
‘Strange. I had word from Rio de Janeiro that he had intended to travel through the Magellan Strait.’
‘Your information was correct. Captain Crabthorne attempted that passage but failed. He thought he had an experienced pilot aboard, but the man proved unreliable. As you are no doubt aware, the Strait is not an easy waterway to navigate and when he became lost, he had little option but to retrace his steps, sail south and face the Cape for a second time. But from what he told me, the sea was no kinder to him than it had been several weeks earlier, and when he arrived off our coast, he was minus half his main mast and had lost much of his rigging. He was most grateful to utilize our shipyards and the skill of our wrights to assist with the repairs.’
‘Might I ask how long Captain Crabthorne stayed in Valdivia?’
‘More than three weeks. He sailed about a week ago. He would have gone earlier but a few of his men decided they preferred our warm climate to the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean. I later heard that all the deserters were rounded up.’
‘The Admiralty is indebted to you, sir.’
‘Think nothing of it. Both my wife and I enjoyed the pleasure of his company.’
Oliver smiled and bowed. ‘Until tomorrow then, Señor.’
After struggling to his feet, their host did not accompany them outdoors, instead he choose to sink back into his chair.
During the ride back to the waiting boat, Oliver was deep in thought and said nothing.
His conversation with Señor McGinty had answered some questions, but raised even more. That the man currently left in charge of the region was Irish had surprised him, but whether that man had arrived in the country as a naval commander, military officer, pirate, adventurer, investor or itinerant worker would remain a mystery. The most positive aspect of the meeting, however, was the news that Captain Crabthorne was alive and heading north as intended. For the present, however, Oliver was looking forward to an interesting conversation during the meal on the following day.
Chapter 14
Señor McGinty
Having removed their coats for the ride, due to the sweltering heat, the two officers dismounted in the courtyard and attended to their dress. As they were led into the grand reception room which Oliver had visited the previous day, the smell of sweet orange blossoms pervaded the portico. Waiting to greet them was the acting Intendant, Señor McGinty and his family.
‘Welcome, once again, Captain,’ he said, not rising from his chair. ‘Let me introduce my wife, la Señora McGinty and my daughters, Isabella and Charlotte. As you will see from their names, I show allegiance to both Spanish and English queens.’
Stepping forward in turn, his wife and daughters curtsied to their guests – their satin gowns, fashioned in the style of the
Spanish Court, rustled to the slightest movement. The jet black hair of the subdelegado’s wife contrasted with the aquamarine of her gown reflecting the sea’s colours by night and by day. Fortunately, the girls showed nothing of their father’s ruddy Irish features, their elegant pale necks complimented by the exquisite emerald necklaces that adorned them. Unlike her husband, Señora McGinty spoke with a marked Spanish accent. ‘I trust you had a safe passage, Captain Quintrell,’ she said. Appearing twenty-years younger than her husband, her smooth olive skin had a warm glow about it.
‘Thank you, Señora. Rounding the continent is always a challenge but, on this occasion, not a soul was lost to the sea nor a single barrel dislodged.’
‘Then I trust, when you return to England, you are equally blessed.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’
Mr Parry broke the moment of silence that followed. ‘Have you resided in Chile for long, Señor?’
‘My family has been in this country for many years and have established several successful estates in this particular region. We are fortunate,’ he said. ‘Our soil is fertile and our land quenched by the pure melt-water from the cordilleras that almost encircle us. In springtime the valley is ablaze with a profusion of wild flowers. Which reminds me,’ he said, turning his attention to Captain Quintrell, ‘of our conversation, regarding Captain Crabthorne. He displayed a rare knowledge of flowering plants and their propagation, and was kind enough to give my wife and daughters some practical instruction. Is that not so, my dear?’
The señora smiled.
‘Captain Crabthorne was very interested in the possibility of growing grapes here, but I believe this region is too cold in the winter time. Further north around Valparaiso would be more suitable.’
Oliver acknowledged with a nod but it was not a line of conversation he could entertain for any lengthy period. Fortunately, the talk of grapes prompted a call to sample a glass of Chilean wine. When it had been served the acting Intendant suggested that his wife and daughters take their leave.
‘Yesterday, I spoke briefly of the political unrest simmering here. Not only in Chile, but throughout Spanish America.’
Turning to Mr Parry he added, ‘Our country is preparing for the day when it will gain its independence. For far too long, Spain has squeezed its territories in South America dry – from Peru in the north to Chile’s frozen south, over the Andes and across the vast open pampas
to the fertile lands of the River Plate. I hear that the viceroy of Río de la Plata lives like a king on taxes collected from our peasants, while our gold and silver is melted down and sent to Spain. Today men burrow like tucu tucu – desert rats – to find more precious minerals and gemstones, not for our benefit, but to satisfy the overlord. I fear Spain will only grant us independence when every ounce of ore has been stripped from our mines.’
He sighed. ‘And if and when that day arrives, Spain will turn its back on us. Then we will have no protector and no means of protecting ourselves.’
‘Forgive me for asking, Señor, but is this country ready and able to rule itself?’
‘I believe Chile is almost at that stage. But not so Peru. The capital, Lima, with its port at Callao, is an outpost of the
Spanish Court, just as Buenos Aires is. Throughout Peru, bribery and corruption are rife, and even the influence of the Jesuits, though the sect was expelled long ago, is still felt. Sadly the people there are weak, because their financial and familial ties to Spain remain strong. They lack leadership. Lack Hope. Spain will not release its grip on Peru, because the rich silver mines of Potosí are within its boundaries. For Chile, however, yes, I believe we are almost ready for independence and the next few years will prove me right or wrong.’ ‘Señor, if you will pardon my candour in pointing to the obvious, but you are an Irishman by birth and Chile is only your adopted land.’
‘On the contrary, sir, I am of the people and for the people, because I grew up here and have lived amongst them for fifty years. They trust me, despite my position. But because of my position, as a representative of the government, I am privy to all that is happening both here, in Valparaiso, Santiago, Conception, Lima and in Buenos Aires. And even across the Atlantic in Madrid.’
‘I am a little puzzled,’ Oliver said. ‘Why you would wish to share this information with us? Surely, in some circles such expressions of opinion would be regarded as treason.’
Señor McGinty smiled sadly. ‘I am an old man but I speak to you in all honesty because I love my country and I fear for my people. This land may be rich, yet most of its inhabitants are poor. The peasants toil ceaselessly to pay their taxes, and Spain is a hard taskmaster.’
‘And the future?’
‘No one knows what the future holds. But soon, I fear, Spain will crumble under the weight of obligation it has to France and when it throws its lot in with Napoleon, sadly our two countries will be at war. That will be catastrophic for us. Already we are stretched to the limit and, if we are called on to find more money to fund the fighting, it will bankrupt this land. Believe me, Captain, before long the people of Chile will rebel and, like the French and American revolutionaries, they will gain their independence. And when that glorious time arrives, this country will need a friend and ally, and Britain could be our saviour.
‘But, I must be mindful of what I say. While there are those in this town who would gladly rise up against the old order, there are many here who are loyal to the Spanish Crown. The difficulty is knowing where individual allegiances lie.’
‘I am obliged, Señor, for your forthrightness and for your most cordial hospitality. If there is any way I can reciprocate, please feel at liberty to ask.’
The Irish immigrant, subdelegado to the Intendant of the region, was about to struggle from his seat, when he hesitated. ‘There is one matter, I will broach. However, I am a little reticent to do so for fear of breaking a trust placed in me by Captain Crabthorne.’
Conscious of his host’s quandary, Oliver was puzzled.
‘Mr Parry, would you be so kind as to entertain the ladies for a moment. My wife would be most happy to show you the wonderful view we have of the Río Valdivia. You can see as far as the Bahia de Corral. I promise I will not detain your captain long.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ Simon Parry said, bowing his head to his host before heading in the direction of the cooking smells drifting from the dining room.
‘Please sit for a moment, Captain. What I must share with you relates to one of your men.’
‘My men?’ Oliver retorted. According to the explicit orders he had given, none of his men had been allowed ashore since they had arrived in port, and he trusted there had been no inappropriate behaviour from members of his boat crew. Or was it possible a man had jumped ship and run without him being aware?
‘I am referring to a young British officer – a midshipman brought ashore during the time Captain Crabthorne was in Valdivia. I was told he had been unwell before the ship arrived and I understand his condition had deteriorated while the vessel was undergoing repair.’
‘An infectious malady? A contagious disease?’ Oliver was concerned. ‘Scurvy perhaps? What ailed him, Señor?’
‘From my limited knowledge, I gather he was suffering from an irritation of the brain which made him completely unaware of his surroundings.’
Oliver tensed slightly. Firstly, he was relieved to learn that the officer in question was not one of his own. However, the mention of brain fever, reminded him of the spell he had endured as a patient in the Greenwich Seamen’s Hospital which had robbed him of many months of his naval career. Because of that experience, he felt sympathetic towards the poor unfortunate sufferer.
‘Did the young man recover?’ Oliver enquired.
‘Indeed he did, but unfortunately not until after Captain Crabthorne had sailed.’
‘So, he remained in Valdivia. In your hospital, I presume?’
‘Not quite so. He was brought ashore soon after the ship anchored in the river. I am told Captain Crabthorne’s surgeon thought his removal from the ship was for the best. I understand the young man was in a confused state, though I never met with him myself. However, as we do not have a hospital to equal your British standards, the captain asked if there was a private dwelling where he could be lodged until he returned from Peru. Because the captain had some relationship with the young officer, he generously offered a substantial fee to ensure he received the best of care. In response to the request, a widowed lady of good breeding was happy to provide her house and offer personal care for the period of his recuperation.’
He paused and explained. ‘The arrangement was most satisfactory, as it was not considered politic to have him cared for by an official body. As a result, Captain Crabthorne asked that this matter remain confidential between us. I would have honoured that promise, but for the fact I heard yesterday that the young man had completely regained his mental capacity and was anxious to return to his ship with all haste. Even in the last day or two, he has been seeking arrangements to travel overland to Valparaiso where he intended to take passage to Peru and thereby rejoin Compendium. Your arrival, therefore, is opportune, for I fear the young man’s presence has led to some awkward enquiries. There are those amongst the community who question the intentions of an English officer residing in the viceroyalty. I am sure you understand the types of rumours I am alluding to.’
‘Indeed, and, if it will save any further embarrassment, I will be happy for this officer to sail with me.’
The subdelegado looked relieved. ‘I am beholden to you, Captain. I will arrange for him to be transported to your ship tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Señor. In turn, I will deliver him safely to Captain Crabthorne who will be delighted to learn of his full recovery.’
‘Now, Captain,’ Señor McGinty said, ‘it is time to join the ladies. And I can guarantee that after months at sea dining on a diet of salted pork and beef, my table will offer some local produce that is sure to tempt your appetites.’
Oliver waited until the Irish-born gentleman had struggled to his feet. The worn joints in his knees were obviously painful and a problem to him.
‘Might I ask the young man’s name?’ Oliver enquired.
‘Mr Edward Atherstone.’
The smartly dressed midshipman, who climbed nimbly aboard Perpetual late the following morning, was sallow-cheeked and appeared a little breathless, but otherwise appeared shar
p-eyed and eager. Mr Parry, who had been advised of his imminent arrival, was on deck to receive him.
After saluting the quarterdeck, the young man announced in an elegant tone, ‘Edward Atherstone, midshipman, recently of His Majesty’s frigate Compendium, Captain Crabthorne. Permission to come aboard?’
‘Welcome, Mr Atherstone. Mr Nightingale, here, will show you to the midshipmen’s berth. Once your dunnage is stowed, kindly present yourself to Mr Greenleaf, the sailing master, on the foredeck. His morning class is almost finished but he will be taking the sightings at noon and I see,’ he said, glancing at the sand in the hour glass, ‘that will be very soon.’
‘Aye aye, sir. Then, may I speak with the captain?’
‘The captain will speak with you when the captain requires.’
‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ With that, the midshipman was directed down the forward companion to the galley and thence along the length of the mess deck to the midshipmen’s quarters.
Strolling the weather deck with Mr Parry, Oliver felt revitalized after his brief time in Valdivia. The welcome extended to him and members of his crew had indeed been a warm one, and he would have accepted the Acting Intendant’s offer of a ride to the foothills of the mountain ranges had he not been obliged to continue on to Callao. Things may have been very different if he had been received by the Intendant himself or the Governor of the region. But as they were absent, that was a matter for speculation.
‘What are your first impressions of our new arrival?’ Oliver asked. ‘I am told, he has been severely ill for some time.’