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

by M. C. Muir

  Oliver Quintrell was sickened by the fiasco and impatient for his boat to be on the water.

  After what seemed like an age, the launch was pushed off from the frigate’s hull but, despite the best efforts of the boat crew, by the time they reached the mole, the two local boats were swaying off an iron ring in the stone sea wall. On the quayside, four prisoners, under heavy guard, were being marched under the great arches of the old town to the jail. Fredrik van Zetten was one of them.

  ‘I pray that is an end to it,’ Oliver said, more to himself than to any other ears. Glancing across the water to the Indian-built San Nicola, he considered its motley crew confined in the hold and wondered how long it would be before they engineered some plan of escape.

  ‘Return to the ship,’ he called to his coxswain.

  ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’

  The sailors who had been granted a few hours leave to go ashore gave not a thought to the events of the past few days. Like most sailors, their one desire was for the swarthy-skinned women selling pineapples, seafood and sexual liberties. Others preferred to titillate their palates with the locally grown grapes, crushed and bottled and flowing cheaply in liquid form in the taverns. For a few of the older hands, sitting on the quay under a warm sun, tempered by the fragrant breezes, invigorated them. Others preferred to take a stroll along the lanes lined with flowers and enjoy the sound of the land birds flitting about above their heads. Despite the way each man chose to spend his leisure time, it passed all too quickly and after four hours they were obliged to return to the boats waiting for them at the wharf.

  An unexpected visit from a navy boat that pulled alongside Perpetual’s hull delivered an invitation for Captain Quintrell to meet with Captain Ruiz on board one of the Portuguese ships. Oliver was delighted to accept, and two hours later, accompanied by Mr Parry, he climbed aboard Principe de Brazil, a 74-gun third-rate built in 1802―a little over two years old.

  Wearing full dress uniform, with elegant swords hanging from their belts, the captain and his lieutenant were afforded a formal welcome on deck, where they were greeted by the Portuguese captain before being conducted to the great cabin. It was a very fine large and airy room, elegantly furnished with galley windows stretching the full width of the ship’s stern and wrapping around on both sides. The cabin smelled of cigars and beeswax.

  After an offer to partake of some refreshments, the Portuguese captain apologised profusely that the admiral was unable to acknowledge the British frigate. He had not sailed with the fleet due to an indisposition which, on the advice of his surgeon, had necessitated him remaining in Lisbon.

  With the formalities quickly observed, Captain Ruiz wasted no time in embarking on the matter that was of interest to him. His English was excellent. ‘I hear that you successfully delivered Fredrik van Zetten into custody?’

  ‘Indeed I did.’

  ‘That name is not unknown to me. That rogue is well known on the coast of Brazil.’

  ‘A truly unsavoury character,’ Oliver said, then anxiously added, ‘I trust he has not escaped.’

  ‘No, Captain Quintrell, you need have no concerns on that score, although it would have been more fitting that you delivered him into the hands of the naval and not the civil authorities here. I can assure you, with the evidence you have provided, our justice would have been delivered more expediently.’

  ‘I regret, that was not the case,’ said Oliver, concealing his frustration. ‘Unfortunately, I had difficulty involving the local authorities, despite my written report detailing the crimes he committed against the villagers on Santa Maria.’

  The Portuguese captain’s expression was grim. ‘You may not be aware, but this man at times flaunts our flag and was previously engaged in the slave trade. As both merchant and master of his own vessel, he has purchased and transported slaves from West Africa and delivered them to Peru. I believe they were destined for the Potosi silver mines.’

  Captain Quintrell did not take his eyes from the speaker. He was anxious to hear more.

  ‘It was a particularly lucrative business for him as he was accused of barely feeding his charges once he had them chained in the hold. Two years ago, reports reached Lisbon that he had been lost in a storm around Cape Horn. It was thought that was the last anyone would hear of him. But it appears he escaped that watery grave.’

  Memories flooded into Oliver’s mind. ‘Do you know the name of his ship?’

  Captain Ruiz’ brow furrowed. ‘I fear I cannot remember.’

  ‘Could it be Adelina?’

  ‘Yes, Adelina. Does it mean something to you?’

  Oliver shook his head in disbelief. ‘It foundered in the Strait of Magellan.’

  ‘On the outward or homeward voyage?’ Captain Ruiz enquired.

  ‘As the hold was packed with African slaves, I would assume it was the outward passage.’

  ‘All souls went down with the ship, I believe.’

  ‘Indeed. They all perished. A terrible loss.’

  ‘Not for the ship’s master,’ the Portuguese officer replied. ‘The insurance would have paid handsomely, both on the loss on the ship and on such a valuable cargo.’

  Simon Parry was also shocked by the revelation. ‘Captain Ruiz, are you saying the master of that slave ship was van Zetten?’

  ‘It is quite likely.’

  The pirate’s evil laugh came into Oliver Quintrell’s head. He thought of the old men from the village, strung from the gallows on the beach. Then his thoughts shifted to the scene that confronted him when he boarded Adelina in the Strait of Magellan.

  He cursed himself. And cursed, once more. He had had the scoundrel at the end of his sword but, being a man of honour, he had not run his blade through him. Now he wished he had severed every vein, muscle and sinew in the scoundrel’s throat and cut through to his yellow backbone. The best he could now hope for was that this pirate and his band of cut-throats would be given a brief hearing and would be delivered in chains to the gallows where a short drop on an old rope would guarantee him a slow death.

  The meeting left a foul taste in Captain Quintrell’s mouth, though he could not blame the Portuguese captain for the information he had shared. ‘If you will excuse me,’ he said. ‘There are several matters I must attend to.’

  ‘I understand,’ Captain Ruiz said. He stood and bowed politely. ‘However, there was one question I wished to put to you. Are you able to advise me of the intentions of the British fleets?’

  Oliver was instantly aware this very leading question was probably the main reason he had been invited aboard the Portuguese ship.’

  ‘Sir, if I was privy to such information, I would not be at liberty to share it with you. I am sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course.’ Captain Ruiz smiled diplomatically. ‘I raised the question because I was surprised to see a British frigate in Portuguese waters so far from home. We had heard that all the British fighting ships, apart from those engaged on blockade duty, had been urgently recalled by your Admiralty.’

  ‘And why would that be?’ Oliver asked bluntly.

  ‘How long have you been on the water, Captain?’

  Oliver’s brow furrowed. ‘I sailed from Gibraltar in mid-December and, for your information, I am heading across the Atlantic and have no intention of returning to England at this time.’

  ‘Then you are not aware that Spain succumbed to Napoleon’s overtures. Having signed an allegiance with France, that country is now at war with Britain.’

  ‘What? When did this happen?’

  ‘In December. This sort of news travels fast in Europe. It was conveyed across France by semaphore immediately after an alliance was reached. Days later the Spanish fleet sailed out of Ferrol and headed south to Cadiz. I understand it presented an impressive sight off the Portuguese coast. Imagine what a formidable force the combined fleets will present when they join up with Napoleon’s ships.’

  In Oliver’s mind, it would be an invincible force that would stop at nothing to gi
ve the British Navy a thrashing it would not forget in a hurry. He also wondered if the treasure taken illegally from the Spanish treasure fleet at Cape Saint Mary had been the spark that had ignited the allegiance. The King of Spain was dependent on his treasure ships to pay the dues demanded by Napoleon. Without that silver, the Spanish Royal House was penniless and had no alternative but to comply with Napoleon’s demands. If Spain had failed to capitulate, Napoleon would have marched over the border and taken the country.

  Though the likelihood of a Spanish/Franco alliance had been spoken of for several years, confirmation of the pact hit Oliver like a bolt from the blue. His mind churned. From now on, no matter what direction he headed, every sail that poked up from the horizon would be regarded as a potential enemy.

  If what Captain Ruiz had told him was correct, perhaps he should return to a British port and report for fresh orders. But Gibraltar was the closest British garrison and he had no intention of sailing back into Algeciras Bay and the arms of the waiting Spanish gunboats. Alternatively, he could head north and report to the Commander of the Channel Fleet or sail home to Portsmouth. However, in his cabin, he had his orders from the Admiralty and until he received instructions to the contrary, he must follow them.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Captain Ruiz,’ Oliver said. ‘May I venture to ask what the views of your country are on this catastrophe?’

  The officer needed no time to contemplate his answer. ‘Both our military and naval forces are committed to defend Portugal’s borders by land and sea. Like Great Britain, it is our intention to withstand any invasion force should Napoleon choose to follow that path. Unlike England, however, we do not have a convenient channel of water separating us from our neighbour.’ He stood up and wandered to the stern window and gazed at the fleet of ships at anchor.

  ‘It is apparent that Napoleon intends to bring Europe under his command and place his relatives on the thrones of those countries he conquers. As you will have observed, the Portuguese Navy is prepared for action. Our fighting ships are well equipped and well maintained. Though I admit our sailors lack the discipline of the British tars, I am confident their performance will improve. Our fleet, though not huge, is capable of defending the Portuguese coast from our naval base in Lisbon, but providing sufficient trained soldiers to guard our inland border with Spain is not such an easy proposition.’

  With that, Captain Ruiz moved towards the door. Oliver Quintrell and Lieutenant Parry followed him. The interview was over.

  As the officers emerged onto the deck, sunlight glistened on the glassy waters of the bay. The fleet of fighting ships, taking up much of the harbour and roadstead, was impressive―90-gun ships of the line, 74s, 64s, frigates and numerous others. Amongst them were Perpetual and a black-hulled Indiaman, several schooners that traded between the Azores and the mainland, plus the now infamous three-masted San Nicola, hanging off her anchor only a cable’s length away. Before Captain Quintrell was piped over the side, the officer had a final question for him. ‘When do you intend to sail from here?’

  ‘If all is ready―two days from now. In the morning.’

  ‘We sail then, also. Therefore, I bid you farewell and God speed.’

  ‘And to you, sir. I pray this war will soon be over.’

  Not waiting for an answer, Oliver Quintrell followed his first officer down the steps to the waiting boat. A faint smell of sulphur wafted across the bay reminding him of the shivering island in the southern ocean that he had visited two years earlier.

  ‘Let us hope the smoke and steam rising from the craters in yonder mountains will not erupt into the fires of war on these islands.’

  Chapter 12

  Ill Fortune

  ‘Captain.’ The voice came in a whisper rousing him instantly from his fitful sleep.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half an hour after midnight,’ Casson whispered.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Mr Parry says he’s sorry to disturb you, but requests you join him on deck.’

  ‘Tell Mr Parry, I will join him directly.’

  ‘Aye, aye,’ the steward replied.

  Being in a neutral port, surrounded by a neutral fleet, with a deck beneath his feet as still as the bedroom floor at his house on the Isle of Wight, and with not a single creak or groan from the frigate or a sound from the men who were sleeping soundly in their hammocks, he was puzzled as to the reason for the call.

  Having had no undue concerns the previous evening, he had taken to his bed and allowed himself the liberty of undressing and donning his night shirt. It was a luxury he seldom afforded himself when at sea. The light from the lantern was dim, though his eyes quickly adjusted to it. The glim revealed his clothes draped over the back of the chair where he had left them.

  The possibility of the frigate casting its anchor and drifting close to one of the other ships came to mind, or the possibility of a fire on board, or a sailor falling from the yard, or of being boarded, or water rising rapidly in the well. But, in any of those instances, he would have heard the shrill of the pipes and the rumble of feet, and his steward would surely have informed him.

  Dressing as quickly as he could and slipping bare feet into his shoes, he left the cabin with his neckerchief in his hand. Climbing the companionway and emerging from the waist to the quarterdeck, he noticed a few sailors leaning over the cap rail on the larboard side near the entry port. But there was no sense of urgency or alarm.

  He joined his first officer. ‘You wanted me, Simon?’

  Mr Parry looked weary. ‘I have a dilemma on which only you can pass judgement.’ He moved to the rail and glanced down to the water. ‘If you would care to take a look.’

  The captain joined him.

  It was a black night with stars dotting the sky with a half-moon shining, but the larboard side of the hull was shrouded in darkness. The nearest lantern was at the wheel but it threw only a dim puddle of light on the deck. Looking down to the water, the captain could make out the shape of a small boat pulled up alongside. It carried no light. Two figures were seated side by side on the central thwart while another figure sat with an arm resting on the rudder. Whether the occupants were male or female was impossible to tell. Behind the rowers, in the bow, was the boat’s cargo. Was it a bundle of skins, or a crumpled sail? Or bags of oranges covered with tarpaulin. Oliver concentrated his gaze.

  ‘I’m afraid it is Mrs Crosby and her friend returned from the town. From what I can understand from these local fishermen, both women have been sorely beaten. Apart from that, I do not know their condition. I have not been aboard.’

  ‘For goodness sake, man, call the surgeon.’

  ‘I have done so already,’ Mr Parry murmured.

  ‘And muster enough hands to help get the women aboard. You will need rig a sling to lift them.’

  The orders were conveyed quickly and quietly. Hands were soon standing by.

  Leaning over the side, the captain could detect no movement in the boat. ‘We need more light,’ he demanded, as two sailors climbed down into the boat. ‘As soon as you have the women aboard, have them taken to the sick berth. I will speak with Mr Whipple later.’

  Mr Parry nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Oliver looked quizzically at his first lieutenant. ‘As I have said before, I am not entirely without feeling. I merely endeavour to follow the strict regulations that every man in the service is obliged to follow.’ Then his defensive tone changed and he lowered his voice. ‘I suggest you do not rouse Mr Crosby until his wife is settled in the cockpit. Seeing her in this condition may cause undue distress. And,’ he added after a pause, ‘I appreciate your diplomacy in dealing with this matter. Any commotion would have raised unnecessary questions from the crew, and tittle-tattle is best kept to a minimum. Hopefully the answers to those questions will be forthcoming in the morning.’

  Mr Parry could not resist the question burning within him. ‘Will the women be permitted to stay with the ship?’

  The
captain avoided a direct answer. ‘I will know more in the morning. For the present, attend to the women. Thank the local boatman and, if payment is required, pay him off, then see the boat away from the side as quickly as possible.’ Turning away and heading to the waist, Oliver shook his head and spoke aloud to himself. ‘What is so damned special about these islands? I have found nothing fortunate about them.’

  On his knees, beside the fixed bunk his wife had been placed into, Mr Crosby dabbed a dampened cloth to the cut on her lip. ‘I should not have left you,’ he said.

  Her voice was faint, her mouth appeared twisted from the swelling and her left eye was closed. ‘You cannot blame yourself,’ she whispered. ‘It was my fault. I should have known better.’

  ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Don’t talk.’

  ‘But I must explain. I want you to know the truth.’

  The carpenter tried to quieten her, but her mind was made up.

  ‘One minute it was twilight. The next it was dark. Night fell so quickly. Connie and I were hungry and had stepped out onto the street to buy some supper.’

  ‘And you were set upon and robbed.’

  ‘That would have been a kindness,’ she said, reaching her right hand down to her pocket and fingering the bundle of coins still safely tied in her handkerchief. ‘We had only walked a few yards when a group of men surrounded us grinning and making lewd gestures. They were young―little more than lads and it was Connie they were interested in. I told her to keep her head down and not look their way, but they began taunting her, reaching out and touching her in a disgusting manner. I linked my arm in hers and we hurried to get away from them, but they followed us. It was obvious what they wanted.’