The Unfortunate Isles (Under Admiralty Orders - The Oliver Quintrell Series Book 4)

by M. C. Muir

  ‘What papers?’ Mr Parry asked the ship’s surgeon in private, prior to their meal. ‘What has happened aboard this vessel in the past few days that demands the captain’s undivided attention that he cannot spare an hour or two to enjoy the company of his senior officers?’

  Jonathon Whipple raised his eyebrows. It was unusual to hear Mr Parry’s voice raised in such a manner, but even more unusual to hear him questioning the captain’s behaviour.

  ‘We crossed the yards, raised the anchor, departed the bay and cleared the Strait of Gibraltar. How much paperwork does that entail? I cannot fathom it. Is there anything you would suggest?’

  ‘A dose of tonic perhaps to titillate his appetite.’

  ‘But what, might I ask, will stimulate his brain?’

  ‘Have a care with your choice of words,’ the doctor warned.

  ‘But I do care. I care a great deal. That is the problem.’

  The ship’s surgeon acknowledged the officer’s feelings. ‘Be patient, Simon. Give him time. I have not examined him but, from what I have seen, there is nothing physically wrong with him. The death of his dear friend, however, is smouldering within him like a slow-match and only he has the power to snuff it out.’ He looked into the worried eyes of the naval officer, a fine-looking man only a few years older than himself. ‘Be patient a little longer,’ he advised.

  Chapter 3

  The Squall

  Overnight, a breeze picked up and carried the frigate in a north-westerly direction. By morning the wind had freshened, but the strength of the sudden squall that hit in the afternoon was not predicted. The gathering clouds had hung ominously above the western horizon for more than two hours, but although they indicated a storm, they appeared distant enough to be of little concern. Then, with an unexpected wind change, black clouds swirled overhead and the thunder of a thousand galloping hooves bore down on the ship. Moving faster than any coach and six, the rain approached, bouncing off the sea’s surface and cutting visibility to almost nothing. The efforts to reduce sail came too late.

  With lightning streaking the sky, the first gusts struck Perpetual on the starboard quarter throwing the frigate onto her beam ends and almost dipping the tips of the larboard yardarms into the sea. It bowled two of the middies on the quarterdeck off their feet. They went down like a pair of wooden skittles. White water and foam rushed in through the scuppers and washed the deck, sending water cascading into the waist. It was fortunate the gunports had been secured. With no time to rig lifelines, the sailors grabbed onto any line or pin or rail that was fixed to the ship.

  Of the men who had been sent aloft to reef tops’ls, when the most powerful gusts hit, their scramble inboard was desperate. Wrapping their arms around a stay, weaving their legs through the rungs of the ratlines, they clung on, watching helplessly as the main tops’l blew out of its boltropes. The topman, who hadn’t made it off the yard in time, dropped like a stone into the churning sea.

  The call of man-overboard went out, but at the time, preventing the ship from going over was the all the crew could hope to achieve. Then, less than five minutes after it had arrived, the squall passed and the sun broke through the clouds. The deck gleamed white and the beams of light catching the metal plates shone like mirrors.

  When the noise and wind subsided, the hull righted itself. The worst of the weather died as abruptly as it had blown in and the vessel was immediately worn around to face the rainbow that decorated the eastern sky. The missing topman, identified as Andreas Hutt, had been a popular hand. Aged in his forties, he had a family in Plymouth but, though the sea was scoured for half an hour, no sign of the man could be found.

  Annoyed at the loss of a valued topman and frustrated at the lost opportunity to collect the tons of fresh water that had washed over the deck, the captain remained on deck while a new tops’l was bent and the frigate was returned to the course it had previously been on. With the rain falling steadily, though less heavily, Oliver shook the water from his hat and boat cloak, and wiped away the rain running into his eyes.

  Glancing forward, the captain didn’t expect to see a bucket appearing out of the forward companionway. It was followed by a figure obviously struggling to make it up the ladder. Wearing a dark coloured cloak, he decided it must be one of the middies in an over-sized cape, but when the wind whipped the cowl from the figure’s head, he knew instantly it was a female.

  In complete disbelief at what he was seeing, Oliver wasted no time, left the quarterdeck and headed for’ard. With the cloak billowing around her legs and her rain-soaked hair streaking across her face, the woman made two attempts to empty the contents of the bucket over the rail, unaware the captain was approaching.

  ‘You there,’ he yelled. ‘Whosoever you are, stop what you are doing! Put that down!’

  The woman turned abruptly, placed the bucket on the deck and, at the same time, dropped an awkward curtsy.

  ‘What you are doing on my ship?’ Oliver demanded.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir—’

  But Captain Quintrell had no time to listen to her explanation. ‘Believe me, I will find the person who brought you aboard without permission.’

  ‘If I might—’

  ‘Females aboard a ship augur bad luck. They distract the men and lead to nothing but mischief.’

  ‘But, sir, if I could only—’

  ‘If you could only step ashore this very instant, madam, that is the only thing you could do that would appease me.’

  ‘Then what the men said about you is not true.’

  The captain looked from the woman to the handful of seamen who had crawled from under the boats where they’d been sheltering from the storm. Each man turned his head away in an effort to appear uninterested in the conversation.

  Teeth clenched and brow furrowed, he dashed the wet hair from his face. Inside, he was seething, but despite his exasperation, the woman’s words had struck a chord with him. What had the men been saying? Not that mess talk concerned him unless there was some underlying resentment or sinister motive behind it. No captain could ignore murmurings that were the possible harbingers of mutiny. Complaints were nothing new, and being captain meant unpopular decisions had to be made. He put the ship on half-rations when supplies were short. He ordered punishments for crimes as set down by the Articles of War. He sent men aloft to shorten sail when a storm was about to hit. He never liked giving such orders, but that was what command entailed and issuing them would always make him unpopular with some members of the crew some of the time.

  ‘I do not give a hoot what tittle-tattle you have been lending your ear to,’ he stated after ordering a group of men back to work.

  Being given no opportunity to explain herself, the woman politely asked if she might be excused.

  ‘No, you will not be excused for being aboard my ship. Nor will the person or persons responsible for your presence here. You are, however, excused from this deck and I suggest you crawl back into whatever hidey-hole you emerged from and do not show your face again until we reach port. There, I guarantee, you will go over the side with all possible haste.’

  ‘Captain, if I might—’

  Mr Hanson climbed from the forward hatch. He was out of breath. The sailors standing nearby tried to make themselves look busy recoiling lines on the pin rail.

  ‘Take this person below and return her to wherever she came from.’

  The woman, of matronly age, was confused. While Mr Hanson was tugging on her cape in an attempt to draw her towards the waist, she was anxious to head for the forward companion ladder and return below by the same way she had come on deck.

  The captain stormed aft, glancing around. ‘Mr Parry!’ he bellowed.

  The officers on the quarterdeck exchanged glances. It was the first time they had heard the captain raise his voice when they were not engaged in action.

  ‘Mr Nightingale, you are officer-of-the-watch are you not?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Locate Mr Parry and have him
present himself in my cabin immediately.’

  ‘I think he is resting.’

  ‘Then wake him up, damn you.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  The midshipmen needed no further instruction. One hurried forward while the other made for the companionway, almost colliding with the captain’s steward who had just stepped up onto the quarterdeck balancing a tray in his hand with a cup and saucer on it.

  ‘Can I tempt you with a cup of tea, Capt’n?’ Casson asked.

  ‘Damn your tea!’ Oliver yelled, as he stormed past him almost knocking the tray out of his hands.

  Casson turned, rolled his eyes and followed the captain down the ladder.

  Less than two minutes later, footsteps stopped outside the door and there was a sharp rat-a-tat.

  Oliver Quintrell was already seated at the table. Leaning forward with his elbows firmly fixed on the table, he faced the door and issued a response to whosoever was outside. ‘Enter,’ he called. Despite his aggressive pose, his voice was completely composed.

  Simon Parry, with his hat pressed under his arm, stepped through the doorway bowing his head beneath the low beams. ‘I understand you want to speak with me,’ he said. There was no need to add an apology, the expression on his face was sufficient.

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Oliver said, tapping the table with his index finger and thumb, all that remained of his right hand. It was an indication for the lieutenant to sit.

  ‘Casson,’ he called and waited for the steward’s head to appear at the door. ‘I will have that drink now. Coffee, I think, and bring one of the bottles of fine French Brandy I received from the garrison commander.’

  The steward knuckled his forehead and glanced at the first lieutenant, but Mr Parry’s eyes were firmly fixed on the captain. A mischievous smile played on the corner of the steward’s lips. ‘Coming up in two ticks, Capt’n.’

  For several slightly awkward moments the two men sat opposite each other, neither speaking. With the squall having cleared completely, there was only gentle movement as the frigate slid from one broad trough of ocean into another. The smooth motion was insufficient to draw any audible response from the tired timbers.

  As if he had been interrupted in his work, Oliver looked at the chart rolled out on the table, appeared to study it for a moment, then pushed it aside. When he eventually spoke, his voice remained calm though his tone was cynical.

  ‘I am hoping you will convince me that I have been seeing things. That I only imagined the presence of a female person on my deck.’ He paused for breath but not long enough for the lieutenant to reply. ‘This apparition was carrying a wooden pail and attempted to discharge the contents over the side―the windward side, I might add. Needless to say, the bulk of the bucket’s contents was returned to the deck. This person then proceeded to scoop water from the scuttlebutt into the pail, swill it about and repeat the abortive effort of emptying it. If I am not wrong, the reflux from some person’s stomach is now decorating the side of the hull, while in the meantime, at least one man on watch has been deprived of his ration of drinking water from the butt. Tell me this incident is a figment of my imagination or convince me that you were deceived in the manner I was.’

  This time the captain waited for an answer, his eyes glaring at the officer.

  ‘I can assure you,’ Mr Parry said, ‘there was no intention to deceive or withhold information. I wished above all else to consult with you prior to sailing, but your affairs at the garrison consumed all your attention, and when you returned with orders to depart the port, you immediately retired to your cabin and the opportunity to speak with you never arose. The matter has troubled me since we sailed, and I can only offer my apologies.’

  Oliver leaned forward, his elbows still anchored to the table. ‘My affairs in Gibraltar are irrelevant to this conversation. Did I or did I not see a female on my ship? Do the articles not specifically state that females shall not sail aboard Royal Navy ships? And are you not aware of my personal views on this regulation? By now you should know I abhor the presence of women aboard His Majesty’s vessels, be they wives of petty officers, passengers, stowaways or dowager duchesses.’

  The lieutenant could not argue.

  ‘In God’s name, where is this washer-woman hiding?’

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but she is not a washer-woman, and she is not hiding. She is the wife of one of the artisans who came aboard in Gibraltar. She is being housed in the carpenter’s shop with another woman and a boy. I gave my permission for them to come aboard.’

  ‘Another woman? And you did what?’

  Entering unannounced, as was the prerogative of the captain’s steward, Casson put on a cheery voice. ‘Here’s your coffee, sir. And I thought you might fancy a bit of cheese and some olives to go with it.’

  Rolling up the chart, Oliver turned in his chair and placed it on top of the pile of papers on his desk. Then, concentrating his attention on the two cups, he waited until his steward returned with a bottle and two glasses and deposited them on the table. ‘Now leave us and shut the door. I do not wish to be disturbed.’

  Knuckling his forelocks, the steward hurried out.

  After pouring two glasses, Oliver pushed one across the table to his first officer. ‘I am still waiting for your explanation, Simon.’

  ‘I had little choice, sir. I could not refuse to sign the carpenters as I knew Perpetual desperately needed skilled tradesmen. As to the women, may I explain?’

  ‘I think you had better do so and quickly before my patience runs out completely. At the moment, I can see no earthly reason to account for such a blatant breach of my orders.’

  ‘Captain, despite the directives—’

  ‘The directives were revised in ’49 and ’57, and I call them naval regulations.’

  ‘—many ships of the line carry women, often the wives of warrant officers, and though their names are not entered in the muster book, I understand many of them prove useful on long voyages, for example, filling cartridges or tending to the wounded.’

  ‘And are these two females you are referring to particularly adept in such skills?’

  ‘I don’t know, though I don’t doubt they could learn.’

  The captain leaned back, waiting to hear the rest of the lieutenant’s feeble explanation.

  ‘Mrs Crosby is the wife of one of the carpenters who recently joined the ship. The other is the wife of a shipwright who died at the navy yard. Mrs Crosby begged me to allow them to sail with us. She feared they would both die if they remained in the colony. She assured me her husband had some money put aside and he was willing to pay for their passage. I might add that she has sailed with her husband before.’

  ‘Huh! If they have money, why did they not depart the colony on another ship?’

  ‘Might I remind you, Captain, that since the quarantine, no British ships were allowed in or out of Gibraltar Bay?’

  ‘Enough! I have heard enough,’ Oliver cried, shaking his head. ‘At this point in time, there is little that can be done barring throwing the pair of floozies overboard. And I presume that would not be deemed acceptable.’

  Mr Parry offered no comment.

  Oliver sat for a moment, tapping his finger-nail on the table. He was conscious of his shortcomings and regretted his outburst of temper in full view of the men. It was uncharacteristic and it troubled him, though he was loath to admit it to anyone, even to himself. He also didn’t need to be told he had been withdrawn of late and made himself unavailable to his men while pondering the events that had occurred in Gibraltar. He was well aware that a captain’s moods and personal feelings had no place on a ship in His Majesty's service. But the fact he had been reminded of his failings by a woman, and a woman he had never ever met before, made him realize he must leave the past behind and move on.

  His reply came slowly and deliberately, allowing the tension in the air to relax a little. ‘I am prepared to make the following allowances,’ he said. ‘You will inform the women I am not happy tha
t this situation was ever allowed to arise. However, as it appears we are stuck with them for the duration of this cruise, inform them I will permit them to air themselves on the deck for twenty minutes in the morning and a similar length of time in the afternoon, providing they do not so much as look at any of the crew.’

  The lieutenant acknowledged the arrangements.

  ‘As soon as we reach Ponta Delgada, they will be conveyed to the quay and deposited there. If the woman’s husband intends to leave the ship with them, he will need to speak with me prior to that time so I can release him. Once the women are ashore, I take no responsibility for their welfare or for their onward passage to England. Do I make myself clear?’

  The lieutenant agreed. ‘I assure you, sir, the women will cause no disruptions in the time it takes for us to arrive there.’

  ‘Unless we find some wind, it could take us a month to raise the Azores.’ The vein of cynicism had ruptured again.

  Simon Parry excused himself from the table and turned to leave, but hovered for a moment by the door.

  Captain Quintrell was about to take a drink, but as the glass touched his bottom lip, he stopped. ‘Is there something more I should know that you have not told me?’

  The shadow of guilt that flashed across the first lieutenant’s face provided the answer. Oliver raised one eyebrow and waited.

  Without his face changing expression, Mr Parry added, ‘A milking goat, four laying hens and a pair of piglets also came aboard in Gibraltar―courtesy of Mrs Crosby and Mrs Pilkington. The purser was notified and the livestock had been installed in the manger with the other animals. The carpenter’s wife indicated that the eggs and milk, and the piglets would contribute to the cost of their accommodation.’