Christ, I thought, I am being outwitted by a halfwit. If he succeeds, I will literally not live this down. Fear turned to rage in that moment. I had survived some of the worst battles in Europe, North America and India; I had a wife and child to go back to. We had overcome unbearable hardships just to reach this unknown shore; was I really going to let it all end like this? No, I would find a way to fix this mad bastard yet and beat him at his own game. I stared ahead again; there were the rocks, closer than ever, but I looked beyond them and saw a stone outcrop jutting from between the trees beyond.
“Is there a castle on that shore of yours in Portugal? Because I think I can see it. The sail is blocking your view, but it is just over there,” I called, pointing at the distant crag.
“Do you think I am a fool?” Jonah laughed. “If I come over there, you will try to push me overboard.”
“No,” I told him, and for once I was answering honestly. “I want to go back there and take the rudder to steer us around those rocks.”
He hesitated for a moment, staring briefly at the sail as though he could see a familiar fortress beyond it. Then he agreed. “All right, but if you make one sudden move, I will shoot you.” Slowly, we changed places, me moving forwards on my hands and knees while Jonah stood, always keeping a couple of paces between us. As I climbed up onto the stern thwart I glanced over my shoulder. Jonah was peering around the mast to look at the shore and I took the opportunity to drop something over the side. I settled onto the seat and took the rudder in one hand, grabbing the rope attached to the yardarm in the other.
“Hold on,” I shouted, “I am pulling us round to the right.” It was probably too late, but now at least the bow was pointing towards the gap in the rocks. The boat heeled over and Jonah’s boots scrabbled as he tried to balance, before jamming them under one of the coils of rope at his feet. I gave a grim smile of satisfaction and glanced at the other end of the rope that was now slowly disappearing over the stern of the boat. We were close inshore now and the waves were getting bigger and faster as they sped us towards the rocks. Another one lifted the back of the longboat and hurled it forwards. The rope snaking over the seat beside me suddenly accelerated into the water. The anchor I had dropped when I had sat down had finally got a grip on the seabed below. The first two coils on the deck were already going overboard and I watched eagerly for movement among the coils that were wrapped around Jonah’s legs.
I had naively hoped he would not notice, but the rope made a whirring noise as it sped over the wooden side. He turned and raised the gun at me again. “What are you doing?” he demanded. The boat was slowing again as the wave passed under it, but Jonah noticed the rope going slower now, over the stern. “Have you dropped the anchor?”
“I had to,” I told him. I did not dare glance down at his feet to see if they were still entangled in case he looked down as well. I just needed to buy another second or two and wait for the next wave. Instead I peered over the side and pointed. “I had to anchor to avoid that.” He glared at me with distrust before I added, “If that is not God’s work, I do not know what is.”
That did it. As the stern of the boat started to lift once more he snatched a look around and then everything happened at once. The boat lurched forward, more rope hissed over the side and Jonah reached out a hand to steady himself on the mast. But this time I could not afford to wait for another wave and so I sprang forward and yanked on the rope around his legs.
“What are you doing?” he shouted. Then the wave tore him off his feet. There was a gunshot near my head and he was lying half on top of me. I was winded, deaf now in one ear and I could feel a sudden wetness around my shoulder. Christ, I thought, he has shot me, and then I twisted around to see the Collier lying discarded on the planks. I grabbed it up and rolled away, surprised not to feel pain in my injured shoulder.
“You are going to die, you mad bastard,” I snarled at Jonah. He must have dropped the gun as he was busy scrabbling with both hands at the ropes that were now tightly bound around his ankles. I suppose I could have shot him then, but something made me shove the gun in my belt, grab at the loose end of the rope and tug it tight.
“Nooo,” he wailed. His feet were braced against the stern of the boat, holding us against the anchor I had dropped. I could see another big wave rolling in. There was a roar as the previous one crashed on the rocks ahead and it was hard to say which of us was likely to meet his maker first. As the stern started to lift again I wrenched his feet over the gunwale and with a shriek, he disappeared over the side.
There was not a moment to lose. I flung myself down by the rudder and once more pushed it over. But it was too late. Water was pouring into the boat; glancing down I saw a pistol ball-shaped hole in the bottom, which explained my wet shoulder, but that was the least of my worries. A moment later the bow of the boat hit the rock ahead and the stern rose high in the air. I remember gripping the rudder stanchion as though my life depended on it. João’s body was dropped into the spray as the front planks were smashed to matchwood. Then the stern was dropping back into the water as another wave swept us on to the shore. I must have been buffeted at least a hundred yards, much of that underwater as I stubbornly held on to what was left of the boat. Then I felt it touch the bottom again and as the wave receded, pulling me back out to sea, I let go and tried to stumble ashore.
Five minutes later, half drowned, I finally crawled out of the sea on my hands and knees. Wooden wreckage was washing up around me, most little larger than kindling. Then I saw João’s body in the surf. I staggered over and pulled him clear, but as I laid him down it was obvious he was dead – part of his head had been smashed in. There was no sign of Jonah. He was hopefully still anchored to the seabed. If he was eaten like his namesake, it would be no less than that which he richly deserved.
I stared around me. I was alone on a strip of sand, which stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. There was no sign of any civilisation. Beyond the sand was a green jungle, and I could hear the cries of birds and animals within it above the roar of the surf. At least there was water, I thought, as I could see a river running down from the forest and across the beach to the sea. And then, as I watched, a creature moved onto the beach and my jaw gaped wide open in astonishment. It was huge. As big as a rhinoceros I had seen in India and of a similar colour. It had no horn, but a big bulbous snout. I froze as it surveyed the beach with small piggy eyes.
Wherever I was, it sure as hell was not Portugal!
Historical Notes
I am indebted to none other than Thomas Cochrane himself for much of the source material of this book. He has written a comprehensive account of his South American adventures, in two volumes, which are now back in print through some booksellers: Narrative of Services in the Liberation of Chili, (sic) Peru and Brazil from Spanish and Portuguese Domination.
While these volumes go into inordinate detail about how he was deprived of prize money by both the Chilean and Brazilian governments, they also describe the effects of the earthquake in Chile and how impressed he was on meeting the emperor of Brazil, and his various naval engagements as admiral of the Brazilian fleet. He confirms the chaotic condition of his ships’ crews, which led to the aborted attack on the Portuguese fleet. He describes details such as marines refusing to clean their own quarters and the two Portuguese sailors who stopped the supply of powder during the battle. He also describes the extraordinary night-time discovery of the hidden bay full of Portuguese shipping in the river near Salvador. This includes how, when trapped there by a lack of wind, he used a ‘stream anchor’ to escape using the tidal flow.
There are some points that do not accord with Flashman’s account, for example he confirms that he put all the marines ashore at Morro de São Paulo, but does not mention a small number boarding again for his subsequent adventures. However, it is evident that some did, as when he arrives in São Luis he states that he sent a party of marines ashore to maintain order in the city.
The sma
ll Brazilian fleet really did take on the immense armada of vessels that sailed from Salvador and succeeded in capturing or destroying many of them as described. As Flashman explains, the Nitherohy pursued them to Lisbon where it burned four of the surviving vessels in sight of the city. The Emperor pursued others, as covered in the book, with the capture and re-sighting of the Gran Para as described by Cochrane. Perhaps the most extraordinary aspect of this scarcely credible tale is the capture of São Luis, which is confirmed by various sources. Cochrane really did use the threat of a phantom army to persuade the governor and leading citizens of Maranhão to surrender their province to the emperor of Brazil. To support this deception, he used the flags captured from various troopships that he had pursued from Salvador. To keep order, he had the garrison of the city placed on troopships anchored opposite the guns of his flagship.
Cochrane also describes in the volumes the difficulties he had in installing a provisional government after his capture of São Luis. This includes how one faction of citizens tried to dominate proceedings, killing those in their way. Flashman is the only source for the assassination attempt, but a similar attack nearly killed Lieutenant Grenfell when he successfully captured the province of Pará, using the same deception method as Cochrane. Grenfell later became an admiral in the Brazilian navy.
From the point where Flashman left him, Cochrane spent several more weeks trying to install a model system of local government. But reading between the lines of his memoir, it seems he failed. He set sail for Rio on the twentieth of September, 1823. On arrival, he was made Marquis of Maranhão by his emperor in recognition of his achievements and was also granted various other honours. However, his immense claim for prize money soon soured relations with the imperial government, who had no resources to meet such a vast demand. He continued to serve in the Brazilian navy for another year, continually arguing over what he felt was due to him and his men. Then, in May 1825, he set sail in the frigate Piranga, and while he claims he intended to return to Rio after patrolling the Azores, he ended up in Portsmouth Harbour in England. A short while later he accepted the command of the Greek navy.
Following the accession of Queen Victoria to the British throne, Cochrane was exonerated from his stock exchange conviction and allowed to re-join the Royal Navy, with his other British honours also restored. In 1854, when the admiral was seventy-nine years old, he was considered by the Cabinet for command of the Baltic fleet during the Crimean War with Russia. With most of the action taking place in the Black Sea, the ministers were seeking an admiral to fight a holding action in the Baltic. Despite his age, however, they felt that this near-octogenarian was too ‘adventurous’, and so ultimately declined to offer him the commission.
Some months later, with the British Army suffering heavy casualties at the siege of Sebastopol in the Crimea, Cochrane approached the Admiralty again, this time with a proposal for ‘stink vessels’. These were fire ships with a mixture of chemicals in their holds that would create great clouds of noxious fumes, forcing a defending army downwind of their approach to abandon their position. An attacking army could then move in quickly when these vessels sank and the fumes then dissipated. In the event, the siege was over before a decision could be made on their use. The details were covered by the Official Secrets Act until poison gas was used in the First World War.
Cochrane died a few weeks before his eighty-fifth birthday. His grave is in the central part of the knave of Westminster Abbey, and even now, on one day every May, the Chilean navy holds a wreath-laying ceremony at his tombstone. You can see a photograph of Cochrane, taken when he was an old man, on my website www.robertbrightwell.com.
Maria Graham
Another key source, particularly for the part of the book set in Chile, was Journal of a Residence in Chile by Maria Graham. As well as various incidental details of living in Chile, she describes meeting Cochrane and his failed attempt to use the Rising Star to reach his estate up the coast from Valparaíso. In her memoir, she also declares her passion for Byron and describes how an (until now) unknown admirer gave her a copy of his latest book while in Chile.
She sailed with Cochrane to Rio and found a post as governess to the royal family, as Flashman describes. She stayed in that role until August 1824 and became a close friend of the empress, but left the post suddenly for unknown reasons and returned to England. She went on to write numerous books, remarried and despite a disability in her leg, lived a full life until she died aged fifty-seven. In 2008 the Chilean government restored her grave to mark her as a friend of their nation.
The Rising Star
This ship, with its revolutionary design, was commissioned by Cochrane for use by the Chilean navy. It was only the second steam war vessel built, the first to cross the Atlantic from east to west and the first to go into the South Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. As Flashman describes, it arrived too late to participate in the Chilean fight for independence. Consequently, Erskine Cochrane was unable to agree a sale of the vessel to the Chilean government. It was eventually sold to a merchant from Buenos Aires in Argentina and was sunk in Irish waters in 1830.
Emperor Pedro I
Cochrane’s emperor was not destined to achieve the noble ideals he set out, but these were accomplished by his son, Emperor Pedro II of Brazil. In 1825 Pedro I signed a peace treaty with Portugal, then still ruled by King John, his father. John died the following year with Pedro still his heir. It was obvious that after so recent a conflict, neither the citizens of Brazil nor Portugal would be willing to share a monarch. So Pedro abdicated the Portuguese throne in favour of his eldest daughter, Maria, then aged seven. Pedro struggled to keep out of Portuguese affairs while still protecting his daughter’s interests. Eventually, he agreed to allow his younger brother, Miguel, to act as her regent. However as soon as he was in place Miguel, supported his and Pedro’s mother, usurped the throne of Portugal and was acclaimed King Dom Miguel I. In 1831 Pedro left Brazil and returned to Europe, having abdicated the throne of Brazil to his son, Pedro II, then aged five, who he left behind. Pedro I did not return to South America but went on to command forces loyal to his daughter; he helped her to re-secure her throne against soldiers commanded by his brother. He died in 1834 aged just thirty-five. His son, Pedro II, went on to rule Brazil for fifty-eight years before he was overthrown in a bloodless military coup.
For details of the court in Rio and living generally in that colourful city in the early 1820s, I am indebted to, amongst other sources, Empire Adrift by Patrick Wilcken.
Thank you for reading this book and I hoped you enjoyed it. If so I would be grateful for any positive reviews on websites that you use to choose books. As there is no major publisher promoting this book, any recommendations to friends and family that you think would enjoy it would also be appreciated.
There is now a Thomas Flashman Books Facebook page and the www.robertbrightwell.com website to keep you updated on future books in the series. They also include portraits, pictures and further information on characters and events featured in the books.
Copyright © Robert Brightwell 2017
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