by M. C. Muir
THE UNFORTUNATE ISLES
by M.C. MUIR
Under Admiralty Orders - The Oliver Quintrell Series
Book 4
© December 2014
ISBN – 9780992365004
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 1
Gibraltar Bay - December 1804
A gentle wave curled from the ship’s bow and rippled along the hull. Another followed. Aloft, the masts creaked when the yards were hauled around. Staysails, hardened by sun and salt-air, luffed then clapped loudly, as if applauding the breeze and announcing the fact the British Royal Navy’s frigate Perpetual was under-way.
Having lost count of the number of circles their feet had trudged around the capstan’s drum, the crews’ efforts had raised the best bower from the seabed. Draped in weed, the vessel’s largest anchor now hung suspended from the starboard cathead. Mr Hanson, the youngest midshipman aboard, had watched the cable as it had slithered through the hawse-hole and flopped onto the deck slippery as an eel.
The stout hempen line, almost double the thickness of a man’s forearm glistened, not from the seawater saturating it but from the coat of slime, pitted with sand and dotted with barnacles, covering it. Also decorating it were growths of bright green weed. It bore little resemblance to the cable that had followed the anchor to the bottom and settled there over three months ago.
Having concluded his business with the garrison and come aboard only half an hour earlier, Captain Oliver Quintrell was anxious to get underway. From the quarterdeck, he observed the ship’s company and was satisfied with their performance, but the state of the anchor cable concerned him. It raised a disturbing question in his mind: What is the condition of Perpetual’s hull?
While copper plating partially protected the frigate’s hull from attack by the hungry Teredo worm, the sheathing failed to prevent slime, weed and barnacles attaching themselves to it. According to the captain, it would take a maelstrom or a spell of hard manual work in dry dock to clean the ship’s bottom. As neither was immediately available, for the present, he had no alternative but to accept the drag the weed would create with the resulting reduction in speed. Like his men, he did not wish to delay his departure from Gibraltar any longer than necessary.
The explosive thunder from one of the frigate’s 12-pounders sent a shudder through every timber in the ship. It attracted the attention of those on board and prompted the flocks of gulls bobbing on the bay to take to the air. Though the tongue of orange flame that poked out from the gun port was visible for only a few seconds, the acrid smoke that filled the waist lingered a while before slowly floating skywards.
A spontaneous round of huzzas rang from the deck as the crew considered the port they were farewelling. Not a soul aboard the frigate was sorry to be leaving. Unlike a shot fired in anger during close action, the gun salute, signalling their departure, was music to the seamen’s ears.
On the quarterdeck, Captain Oliver Quintrell was conscious of the sound hitting the Rock of Gibraltar and echoing across the bay to the ships anchored at the Spanish mainland port of Algeciras only five miles away. A few minutes later, one of Gibraltar’s big guns responded. The grey smoke, accompanying the deafening discharge, drifted from the stone ramparts of the Parson's Lodge Battery, the largest of the garrison’s defensive battlements overlooking Rosia Bay. It raised a second round of huzzas from the crew and put a further furrow in the captain’s brow. No doubt a thousand ears in the Spanish port would have heard it and a thousand eyes would now be observing the frigate’s departure.
Mid-way across the bay, a single dhow with its lateen sail furled loosely to the yard, rocked on the water. On board, a pair of white-clad Moroccan fishermen hauled in their net paying not the slightest attention to the British ship or the gun salutes.
With the necessary formalities duly completed and satisfied his vessel was safely underway, Captain Quintrell turned to his first lieutenant. ‘Take us into the Strait, Mr Parry. Let us pray the wind holds and carries us through to the Atlantic. The deck is yours.’
With the northern Pillar of Hercules on its larboard side and the entrance to the Gibraltar Strait less than two miles away, Perpetual proceeded slowly across the bay. Not a single man aboard was going to miss the landmark. They had watched the sun rise over it every morning for the past three months and observed the ominous tear-drop shaped cloud swirling around its summit. They had smelt the miasmic mist that rolled down the mountain’s flank and engulfed the town with its deadly vapours delivering death to the residents and claiming the lives of half the population of the colony in a matter of weeks. Fortunately very few of the frigate’s crew had fallen victim to the malignant fever.
With the quarantine declared over, the lassitude, the sailors had worn like a cloak, was cast off. The sooner the frigate was heading for the open sea the better. But when the frigate made its turn into the Gibraltar Strait, the Levanter, which had them carried from the bay, showed little inclination to follow, giving precedence to a stronger north-westerly blowing down from the Iberian Peninsula and making their onward passage arduous. Any remaining cobwebs on the staysails were swept away as Perpetual was obliged to tack back and forth between the southern coast of Spain and the north coast of Africa.
An hour later, when the ship’s bell indicated time for the watches to change, several of the sailors remained on deck. After months of breathing stagnant air, they had little desire to go below. They preferred to relax in the fo’c’sle, sleep under one of the boats or hang in the rigging where they could fill their lungs with fresh air and appreciate the fact they were at sea again.
William Ethridge nudged alongside the old cooper who was leaning his shoulder against the hammock netting above the cap rail. ‘Are you glad to be sailing?’ the young shipwright asked.
‘What sort of daft question is that?’ Bungs snorted. ‘Every man-Jack of the crew, from ship’s boy to lieutenant, is glad to see the back of that place. Or haven’t you noticed? Gibraltar? A waste of time and lives, to my mind. Stuck like pigs in a cesspit, we were. Beats me how more men didn’t die.’
Will knew better than to argue with the cooper. For the next few minutes, he contented himself with watching the sea as it slid by.
‘Remember the Muffin-man?’ Bungs asked. ‘He was one of your mess-mates when you last sailed with the captain.’
Will nodded. ‘Of course, I remember him.’
‘The fever took him. The doctor did all he could to fix him and I tried to cheer him up. But he never pulled through.’
Will shook his head. ‘I remember Muffin. He never said much, but he was a good mate. I’m sorry.’
‘What’s for you to be sorry about?’ Bungs said. ‘You didn’t give him the fever, did you? Anyway
, you were in yonder navy-yard at the same time. How come you didn’t cop a dose?’
Will shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just lucky, I guess. There were some in the yard that did.’
‘Well,’ the cooper said, his tone mellowing. ‘That’s over and done with now and best forgotten.’ He changed the subject. ‘So what became of you after you jumped ship at Greenwich and left us with a sinking hulk?’
‘I didn’t jump ship,’ William said indignantly. ‘I was one of the last to leave. It weren’t my fault she was sinking. I did what I could to keep her afloat. I got you safely back to England in her, didn’t I?’
The cooper winked. ‘Too right, you did, lad. She was a good ship.’
‘Elusive,’ Will mused, thinking about the frigate he’d been dragged onto against his will. It was the ship he’d served on for over a year; the vessel on which he’d honed his craft and where he’d formed true friendships. It was where his life had changed and he had grown from boy to man, but not without enduring some pain. ‘Do you know what became of her?’
‘The frigate? Do you think the Navy Board would have told me?’ Bungs asked cynically.
‘But you always know what’s going on.’
‘Well, between you and me and the keelson, I heard she had her hull patched up, had her innards ripped out and was towed into the Thames to serve as a coal hulk. The Admiralty hasn’t got time or money to waste on rotten old frigates. It’s a crying shame, but that’s how it is these days.’
William shrugged.
Mr Hanson interrupted the pair pointing to the bunt-lines and clew-garnets hanging loosely at the fife rail. ‘Make yourself useful. Tidy those lines.’
The cooper looked up to the sweep of the sails and ambled over to the rail. After taking up the slack, he coiled the lines, placed them on the belaying pins and returned to his conversation.
‘Has Captain Quintrell spoken with you yet?’ the cooper asked.
‘Why would he want to talk to me? I doubt he even knows I’ve come aboard.’
‘You’d be surprised. There’s not much goes on he don’t know about. But, I’ll tell you this, the captain ain’t been himself recently. Hardly seen hide or hair of him this last week.’
A pair of seagulls wheeled and dived only twenty yards from the rail. Their cries caught the men’s attention. ‘Do you know where we’re bound?’ Will asked.
Bungs shook his head. ‘That way,’ he said with a straight face, pointing his finger towards the ship’s bow. Will punched him on the arm.
‘Another thing I can tell you for certain, we won’t be going far. We’re almost out of water and provisions is low. I reckon we’ll bear off for the coast of Portugal and fill some casks like we did when we sailed out.’
‘Then Portsmouth?’
‘You best chew the captain’s ear if you want an answer to that. All I knows is that most of the barrels is empty and the captain knows it. And the bellies of everyman aboard will be too if we don’t pick up some victuals before long.’
‘The crew seem happy enough.’
The old cooper shrugged his shoulders. ‘Aye, the crew’s in good spirits. You heard them whooping when we left the Bay. But watch their faces lengthen, quick as a flash, when the rations are cut in half. It’ll be frowns, not smiles, that’ll crease their fizzogs, and moans and complaints not huzzas you’ll hear. You mark my words, but I don’t need to tell you that, you’ve seen it before.’
Will nodded. It was true. He had witnessed the rapid change in a crew’s temperament whenever the word rationing was mentioned. It appeared to him that hunger affected sailors’ brains more than it affected their bellies.
‘Enough of that,’ Bungs went on. ‘This talk of food makes me hungry.’ He poked his elbow into the young man’s side. ‘You’ll sit by me in the mess, like you used to. I’ve got a spot saved for you and two new mess-mates for you to meet.’ Then he stopped abruptly and pointed to the Spanish coast. ‘That’s Terifa over there and, if you take a gander over the larboard side, you can see the coast of Africa. The captain’ll be happy we cleared the Strait without meeting any other ships.’
William scanned the sea. ‘Frogs, you mean?’
‘Aye.’
‘Are there many of them about?’
‘How in Hell’s name am I supposed to know? Boney don’t tell me where he sends his ships.’
An involuntary smile lit Will's face. The cooper’s bark hadn’t changed.
‘All I know is they steered clear of Gibraltar Bay when the fever was at its worst. Not only them, but the bloody British, too. No one was allowed in and we weren’t allowed out. Then his face broke into an involuntary smile. ‘But we sent two of them Frenchies to the bottom of the Mediterranean. They got the surprise of their lives, when we showered ’em with shot from the top of the Rock.’
‘I heard the guns,’ William Ethridge said. ‘Everyone in the colony heard them. It must have been quite a sight. I wish I’d been there to see it.’
The smile on the cooper's face faded as quickly as it had formed. ‘It’ll be a while before we see another fight. If we stay with this heading, it’ll take us across the Atlantic. With most of the Frogs bottled up in Brest and Toulon, it’s not likely we’ll meet any action out there.’
‘No prizes then?’
‘Not likely,’ Bungs said.
Leaning against the hammock netting, the shipmates watched a pair of porpoises slicing through the waves before diving under the hull. Several others leapt clear then sped effortlessly along beside the frigate. For a full five minutes their antics entertained the two mates, then, as if orchestrated, they all dived together and never reappeared.
Standing upright and stretching his back, William Ethridge glanced to the south-east. The coast of Africa was but a hazy smudge in the distance. ‘I best get back to the carpenter’s shop,’ he said. ‘Mr Crosby will be wondering what has become of me.’
‘Aye, piss off,’ Bungs said. ‘I don’t have time to stand here blathering all day.’ But just as the wright turned to go, the cooper grabbed him firmly by the arm. ‘So what are you hiding in the carpenter’s shop?’
Will was shocked. ‘What do you mean, what am I hiding? I ain’t hiding nothing.’
Bungs looked him straight in the eye. ‘Come on, you can tell your old mate. I know something’s going on in there. I ain’t never known that door be closed all day. There must be a reason.’
‘Beats me,’ said Will, tugging his arm free. ‘If you find out, let me know.’
When the broad Atlantic presented itself ahead of them, the order was given.
‘West-north-west, helmsman,’ Mr Parry called.
Standing beside the binnacle, the sailing master could not resist making an observation. ‘That course will carry us out of the path of any French ships making for the Channel.’
‘Thank you, Mr Mundy. I believe that is the captain’s intention.’
The first lieutenant was satisfied they had cleared the Strait and cast his eyes over the top hamper. Apart from the studding sails, every stitch of canvas was flying but, because of the weed dragging on the hull, Perpetual was only making four knots. Unless the frigate was careened and the bottom scraped, it would be impossible to outrun an enemy ship. It was a fact everyone was aware of.
Chapter 2
Heading West
Will Ethridge descended the companion ladder to the galley hoping to slip quietly into the mess without being noticed, but sailors have keen eyes and are always on the lookout for any chance to deride some unfortunate fellow, especially if he is unable to defend himself.
‘Well I’ll be, if it ain’t the fish we pulled out of the Solent!’ Smithers yelled, drawing everyone’s attention.
‘Built any more boats lately?’ another man called, to the encouragement of the mates sitting at his table. All eyes turned to see the new arrival and the banter continued.
‘Have you learned how to steer a boat yet?’ one asked.
Another cooed, ‘I suggest you fit a ru
dder on the next one.’
‘And how about a thwart to sit on?’
By now, the deck was vibrating from the stamping feet, and the tankards on the swinging tables danced to the slap of hands. Will’s cheeks coloured slightly. He smiled and shrugged. For him, the well-meaning taunts meant he was back amongst friends.
‘Stow it, you lot,’ he said, making his way down the centre of the mess, unable to avoid a punch on the arm by one sailor, a poke in the ribs from another and several well-meaning thumps on the back. A leg shot out from under a table to trip him, but he was too canny for that and jumped over it. Then the jibes subsided as quickly as they had begun.
Of the faces that glanced up at him, there were those he didn’t recognize, but there were a lot of mates he remembered from two years earlier. How could he forget the weeks spent in the high southern latitudes cooped up in the mess with the same faces day after day, while a blizzard raged outside and pendulous icicles hung like organ pipes from the yards threatening to spear a man’s skull, if he happened to be standing beneath one when it fell? Those images were imprinted on his brain, but there were other memories of that cruise Will Ethridge preferred not to remember.
‘Welcome back, Will,’ one of the older hands said quietly. ‘Cast adrift again, were you?’
Will smiled again.
‘Let the lad alone,’ Bungs growled.
‘It don’t worry me,’ the young shipwright murmured. ‘I’m thankful to be back. I couldn’t have wished for anything better.’
‘Just as well, because that’s the only favour you’ll be getting on this ship. We’ll all be living off rations of fresh air before long.’ Sliding out from the mess table and indicating for his mate to join him on the sea chest. ‘Stop your jabbering and sit your body down next to me.’
Will ignored the remark and nodded to the Negro sitting opposite Bungs, and the young lad perched next to him. They were both strangers to him.