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

by M. C. Muir

  ‘I do not envy you your situation, Sir Thomas. But what of yourself and your family?’

  The sixty-year old general shrugged, ‘I am due to be recalled in December. I survived the Great Siege here, over twenty years ago, but I wonder if I will survive this.’

  Oliver tried to sound positive. ‘Let me assure you, sir, that my ship is at your disposal and I await your pleasure.’

  ‘Hardly a pleasure, Captain Quintrell, but seeing a British frigate in Gibraltar Bay offers some comfort. But, you must excuse me, there are many pressing matters that require my attention. In the meantime, you have a visitor awaiting you in my private chamber. I took the opportunity of offering your guest some hospitality, as it was necessary for me to speak with you first.’

  Oliver was puzzled. Who would be calling on him in Gibraltar? An Admiralty representative with fresh orders, perhaps? That was unlikely as no naval ships had entered the bay. A messenger arrived overland from Barcelona or Cadiz? A naval officer who had served with him on a previous mission seeking a berth on Perpetual? Or a rich merchant willing to pay any amount of money to escape the peninsula?

  From the doorway, the commander of the garrison called to the guard posted on the corridor. ‘Kindly escort Captain Quintrell to my quarters. And, when his audience is over, organise transport to return him to the beach.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the guard snapped.

  ‘I will take my leave,’ General Trigge said. ‘But I am sure we will speak again very shortly.’

  Oliver responded with a customary bow but by the time he had lifted his head, the general had left leaving no opportunity to ask any further questions.

  ‘This way, Captain,’ the corporal instructed.

  Oliver followed, his hat held under his arm.

  On reaching the general’s private quarters, the soldier tapped on the door, stood back and allowed the captain to enter.

  The view from the doorway was refreshing. A large French window looked out across the plateau which stepped down to Europa Point, the southernmost tip of the peninsula where sheer cliffs dropped vertically to the sea. Across the rippling waves, white sails of feluccas glided bird-like over the cobalt water of the Strait and in the distance, the irregular outline of the mountains of North Africa rose into the cerulean sky.

  When the door closed behind him, a breeze teased the lace curtains.

  ‘Oliver,’ a voice whispered.

  The captain quickly turned his head. ‘In the name of Heaven, Susanna! What are you doing here?’

  She smiled impishly. ‘That is hardly the greeting I had expected.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t be here,’ he cried, shaking his head in disbelief.

  The smile disappeared from her face. ‘I had hoped my being here would have pleased you.’

  ‘This place is not safe.’

  Her laugh was forced. ‘Are you afraid of rumours being spread about us? I feared I might be an embarrassment, which is why I came here to the garrison and did not wander along the seafront searching for you.’

  ‘You do not understand,’ Oliver said. ‘Gibraltar is falling into the grip of an epidemic. For your own safely, you must get away from this place, as soon as possible, and return to Madeira.’

  ‘But, Oliver, I have just arrived.’ Reaching for him, she gently took his hands in hers. ‘Tell me you are pleased to see me.’

  A pained expression crossed his face. ‘More than anything in the world.’ He drew her closer to him, ‘but not here and not now.’

  Closing his eyes, he held her in his arms and for a moment neither of them moved, save for the rise and fall of their chests heaving together.

  Oliver’s mind was milling. ‘How did you arrive here?’

  ‘When I received your letter, I took passage on the first ship from Funchal to Lisbon. There, I was fortunate to find a brig bound for Gibraltar.’

  ‘Conception?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I saw it arrive this morning. When is it due to sail?’

  ‘This evening, when the tide is full, but only across the bay to Algeciras. It will return to Lisbon, when it has delivered cargo there and its torn sails have been repaired.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘I understand your concern and I am sorry. I only learned of the sickness, when I arrived.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘But what of you and your men? Can you leave this port or must you stay?’

  Oliver lifted a curl from her shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter about me. I have my orders, and until I receive word to the contrary, this is where I must remain.’

  From the window, the surface of the Strait appeared smooth and inviting, yet Oliver knew that the currents lurking beneath the surface could be unpredictable and destructive.

  ‘What shall I do?’ she whispered.

  ‘How long does Conception’s master intend to remain in Algeciras?’

  ‘Perhaps a week.’

  ‘And where is your baggage?’

  ‘On the ship. I did not know for sure if I would find you here.’

  ‘Then promise me this,’ he said, gripping her hands tightly, ‘that you will sail to Algeciras with the brig. Do you know of anyone who lives in the town?’

  ‘Yes, I have friends who have invited me to stay with them for as long as I wish.’

  ‘Then, so be it. Return to Conception immediately. Take the brig across the bay and, after one week in the town, return to Lisbon where hopefully you will be able to secure a passage to Madeira.’

  ‘But Oliver,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Listen,’ he insisted. ‘Do as I say. Do not linger in Gibraltar.’

  Susanna was confused.

  ‘Do you have money?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I have adequate funds for myself and my maid, who is travelling with me.’

  ‘How did you arrive here at the barracks?’

  ‘I walked.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Isabella accompanied me. She is waiting for me on the parade ground.’

  ‘Then go now. Return immediately to the North Mole.’

  ‘But when will I see you?’

  Drawing her closer, he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her. ‘Promise me this, you will not come back here.’

  Her eyes welled with tears. ‘I promise,’ she whispered, her forehead resting on his shoulder. ‘I will not see you again.’

  He touched her fingers to his lips, but did not answer. Opening the door and stepping out to the corridor, he called for the guard. ‘Kindly escort the lady to the parade ground.’

  ‘Take this,’ she said, pushing a slip of paper into his hand. ‘It is the address where I will stay. If you cannot spare the time to visit me, perhaps you will write.’

  ‘I can promise nothing,’ he said.

  ‘Then au revoir,’ she whispered. ‘Until we meet again.’

  Again there was no reply. He squeezed her hand, turned and headed along the corridor without looking back.

  Staring from his cabin window, Oliver’s mind was churning, as he watched the brig, Conception, drift out from behind the North Mole and head across the bay to the old Spanish port only five miles away. Being a regular visitor to both ports, the Portuguese coastal trader failed to attract attention from either the gunboats or the fighting ships in the Algeciras roadstead.

  ‘Captain, may I speak with you?’ Simon Parry’s voice came like a knife slicing through his train of thought.

  ‘Yes. Come in,’ he answered impatiently.

  Casson followed the first lieutenant into the Captain’s cabin with a tray in his hands.

  ‘Put the damned stuff on the table and leave us!’ the captain ordered. ‘And bring a cup for Mr Parry.’

  Glancing at the lieutenant, the steward’s eyebrows raised slightly. ‘Aye aye, Capt'n.’

  ‘And watch your tone, Casson,’ the Captain warned.

  His steward shuffled out leaving the door ajar.

  ‘I can come back later, if the time—’

  ‘No! Sit down, Simon. But I
advise you not to ask me if everything is all right.’

  ‘Of course.’ The lieutenant seated himself at the table and waited.

  ‘What of the pressed men who ran?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘Lompa and Styles. Nothing more heard of them.’

  ‘Then let them rot in this Hell we are presently stuck in.’

  The lieutenant paused for a moment. ‘Should I send a party ashore to search for them when the quarantine is lifted?

  ‘Certainly not. That is an order. Not now and not when the ship is cleared. And if by chance they should attempt to come back aboard with stories that they fell overboard, I do not want them within a cable’s length of the ship.

  ‘In the meantime, I will dispatch a message to General Trigge advising him that if they are found in Gibraltar they are to be taken to the garrison lock-up where they can be held awaiting a court martial. If it were not for the epidemic, I would bring them back here and keelhaul the pair of them then hang their bodies from the topgallant yard until the gulls have pecked every morsel of meat from their bones.’

  Casson interrupted, placed an additional cup and saucer on the table and left closing the door behind him.

  Oliver sighed long and hard. ‘It’s this place. This fortified colony. It’s an open cesspool, smouldering with infection that is spreading like the plague.’ He laughed was affected. ‘Perhaps it is the plague.’

  ‘Did the Admiralty prepare you for this?’ Simon asked quietly.

  The captain could not commit himself. ‘I was told there had been a few cases of fever in the past. But there are many ailments which manifest themselves with a fever, so a few deaths amongst a garrison of five thousand men is to be accepted.’

  He continued. ‘When we sailed from Portsmouth in early August, there had been no word of an increase in the number of deaths in Gibraltar. I have since learned that no official record of civilian deaths was maintained. However, when I attended their Lordships in Whitehall, I was asked if I had ever suffered from the fever during my previous visits to the West Indies.’

  Simon interrupted. ‘Yellow Fever? Is that what the contagion is?’

  ‘I did not say that, did I?’

  ‘No, sir, I presumed.’

  ‘Presume nothing, Simon. For the present, the nature of the infection is not known.’ Oliver stood up again and walked back to the window. ‘What aggravates me is that we have been sent here to face an invisible enemy potentially more lethal than a dozen ships standing in line. Furthermore, we are not at liberty to retaliate, or even withdraw but must remain here, like a straw target waiting for the marksman to pull his trigger.’

  ‘Dare I ask if your meeting with the governor achieved anything positive?’

  Oliver returned to the table and poured the coffee. After untying his neckerchief, he dragged it from his neck and threw it onto the table.

  ‘I am sorry, Simon,’ he said. ‘It appears, I always vent my frustrations on you. It is not often such matters get under my skin but I fear while we are here, we are in danger of losing some good men and to no fault of their own. Besides which, their deaths will achieve nothing in the service of their country.’

  ‘But what of the quarantine?’

  ‘Quarantine, indeed,’ he mocked. ‘Who can say I am not already carrying this infection and have brought it back onto the ship with me.’

  ‘I think that is unlikely. You are a healthy man.’

  Looking down to the remnants of his right hand, he scratched at a stain on the cloth with his index finger. He had no answer.

  Simon continued. ‘Where does the garrison’s commander stand in this situation?’

  ‘As you know, Gibraltar is regarded as a fortress, not as a colony. The town and port are merely appendages to the garrison. Despite General Trigge having less than 5000 soldiers housed at the garrison, there are around 10,000 residents in the colony, and his jurisdiction as Lieutenant-Governor extends over all the inhabitants of the peninsula.’

  ‘Is he sympathetic to the situation?’

  ‘As sympathetic as is appropriate for a military commander to be. Sir Thomas is an astute man who is doing all that is possible with very little outside help or support. He is also ensuring the troops are well fed and housed and has introduced strict adherence to hygiene for his men, and cleanliness in the barracks. But water is in short supply. There is no natural supply of water on the promontory. This was a problem both St Vincent and Nelson insisted on rectifying when they were here.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Yes,’ Oliver said. ‘I want the ship fumigated from top to bottom – every deck, every beam, every grommet, gun and gunnel. Better to be choked with the fumes of brimstone and vinegar than the putrid stench of corpses and human waste.

  ‘Also,’ he continued, ‘I want the men stripped naked and disinfected. The doctor can supervise that. From today, pass the message, if any man falls ill and fails to report to the sick berth, he will be flogged. I insist that the cockpit remains out of bounds for everyone apart from those admitted as patients, or those in attendance. An armed marine should be posted outside. Should any deaths occur, the bodies will be disposed of quickly, and the burials will be conducted with little sentimentality. Am I making myself clear?’

  Simon Parry acknowledged.

  ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ Oliver sighed, ‘I dearly wished for a commission such as this, to be ordered to Gibraltar as part of the Mediterranean Fleet’s advance guard under Lord Nelson’s command. Now I curse my orders.’

  Simon was sympathetic. ‘Hopefully that feeling will soon pass.’

  ‘I trust so,’ the captain said, draining his cup. ‘Did you have anything to report in my absence? Has the seepage in the hold been attended to?’

  ‘It has. In the carpenter’s words, “it’s the product of Perpetual’s age soon fixed by a parcel of oakum, a dose of hot pitch and a plaster”.’

  Oliver smirked, ‘It will take more than dab of tar and strip of timber to resolve the situation here.’

  ‘Will there be anything else, Captain?’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘If only there were more officers like you, Simon. I do declare, I have never once seen you lose your temper.’

  ‘Perhaps I have learned to hide my feelings although, at times, I think it is better to express them the way you feel.’

  Oliver considered his lieutenant’s words.

  ‘I am afraid you will bear the brunt of the men’s complaints. It is best to keep them fully occupied. On this occasion, an extra ration of rum occasionally might help them swallow the bitter taste of resentment. Kindly have all hands on deck in one hour. It is only fair I advise them of our situation.

  ‘Thank you, Simon. That will be all.’

  CHAPTER 10

  A Warning

  Jumping up and down against the rail, and pointing to the water, the youngest midshipman was attracting the attention of everyone on deck. ‘See that! Over there in the water! Mr Parry, come quick!’ he yelled.

  ‘Mr Tully, Kindly advise Mr Hanson to refrain from yelling in the manner of a fishmonger’s wife.’

  The second lieutenant walked across to the frigate’s youngest midshipman. ‘With that voice, you have now managed to alert all the guards on the defences at Algeciras. I suggest you control your lip in future and try to behave like a young gentleman is supposed to behave.’

  The midshipman’s elation was snuffed out as quickly as a candle’s flame and with all eyes on him, and the captain approaching from the quarterdeck, the colour drained from his cheeks.

  From the gangway, the seamen were pointing at the water and whispering.

  ‘You have my full attention, Mr Hanson,’ Oliver said. ‘What is it you want to show me?’

  ‘There’s a sailor in the water, Captain, and I think he’s swimming for the ship?’

  Oliver had already looked and drawn his own conclusion. ‘Is that so? Perhaps your powers of observation can provide me with a little more detail.’

>   The middie turned from the rail, his jaw open, lost for words.

  ‘Look again, Mr Hanson, and tell me what you see.’

  The young gentleman did as he was bid, but still had no reply.

  ‘When you sit down this evening to write this incident in your journal, I suggest you note that the man is not swimming for the ship, but that the tidal swell is lifting him and heading him this way. You should also note his face is down and his chin does not appear to be lifting from the water, therefore, it is unlikely he is breathing.’

  Mr Hanson returned a blank expression.

  ‘What you will be reporting is observing nothing more than a piece of inanimate flotsam.’

  ‘But he’s wearing common sailors’ slops, not the sort of dress the folk in Gibraltar wear. That made me think he must belong to us.’

  ‘A reasonable assumption, Mr Hanson. But there is more. I suggest you look a little harder.’

  The boys screwed his eyes and rubbed them.

  Oliver examined him quizzically. ‘Do you have trouble reading a book?’

  ‘No, sir, not if I hold the print up close.’

  ‘Hum. Perhaps you should speak with the doctor about your eyesight.’

  ‘There’s blood on his sleeve,’ one of the hands announced.

  ‘Thank you, Smithers. That was the answer I was hoping I would hear from Mr Hanson.’ He turned back to the midshipman. ‘If you look a little closer, you will note there is no hand protruding from the end of his sleeve.’

  The midshipman had no further comment to make.

  ‘Do you want me to get some men to haul him aboard, Captain?’ Mr Tully asked.

  ‘No,’ Oliver replied, turning to the bosun’s mate who was standing behind him. ‘You there, get a pole. When he’s close enough, fend him off and turn him over. I would like to see the man’s face.’