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

by M. C. Muir

Will explained. ‘Bungs and Percy were old mates. They’d served together on the Calcutta Station long ago before they joined Captain Quintrell in Elusive―a frigate just like this one. That was in 1802 during the Peace. There were some mighty strange happenings on that cruise, not least poor Mr Sparrow being murdered and his body being stuffed in a barrel.’

  ‘Do you think Bungs was guilty of the crime and the fact is still playing on his conscience?’

  ‘That’s not so,’ Will argued adamantly. ‘They caught the ones who did it. The problem with Bungs is that he’s just confused.’

  ‘Thank you, men, you have been very helpful. Now, kindly assist the cooper to the sick berth. This man needs my attention.’

  With the morning sun streaming in from the stern windows and the men at breakfast, Oliver left his cabin and went below to visit the cockpit to speak with the doctor.

  ‘It’s brain fever,’ Mr Whipple said quietly. ‘I have put him in a cot with feather-filled cushions around his head. He did not appreciate having his hands restrained but, the laudanum has taken effect and he is calm compared with his behaviour in the hold.’

  ‘What can you do for him?’ Oliver asked.

  The doctor pondered before replying, ‘Very little, I am afraid. He must remain very still and quiet and be watched day and night. Presently, he is burning with fever, which does not surprise me. Brain fever is a dangerous malady and, of the cases I have seen in the Borough Hospitals, few victims survive.’

  The captain had little recollection of the weeks he had spent in the Seamen’s Hospital at Greenwich when he suffered from brain fever. Only when he was recovering did he recognize the people who were visiting him and become aware of the smell of old, dead and dying men around him. Against the odds, he had survived. He would pray for Bungs to recover also.

  ‘Is the fever infectious?’ he asked tentatively.

  The doctor shook his head. ‘It is possible the blow he received fractured his skull and caused his brain to bleed.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t treat him when we returned to the beach.’

  ‘That is correct. I did not treat him as there was no necessity to do so. I do, however, remember speaking with him briefly, along with all the other men when they returned to shore. But, as a surgeon, one tends to remember the most horrific injuries and forget the minor scratches. I now recollect he told me he had received a blow to the side of the head and pointed to a slight cut on his temple, but when I examined it, the bleeding had stopped. I was certain the injury was only superficial and would heal quickly, but obviously I was wrong. The bruising is deep and, in my opinion, there is now fluid collecting around his brain. This has resulted in a new swelling. My fear, because of his confusion, is that this has led to blood poisoning.’

  ‘Is there anything you can do for him, doctor?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘I can bleed him, but mostly he needs rest and quiet. And someone to attend to him and keep his body cool.’

  ‘Will he survive this?’

  ‘I cannot answer that question.’

  ‘Who is watching him now?’ the captain enquired.

  ‘Mrs Crosby is with him. She is remarkably patient and caring. And young Tommy Wainwright is on hand to call me if I am needed urgently. His other mess-mates, the Negro and William Ethridge, have volunteered to sit beside him when they are not on watch.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘Pray for smooth seas and fair winds. Beyond that, the life of the cooper is in God’s hands.’

  Chapter 14

  The Irishman

  Having spoken Michael O’Connor, the Irishman who claimed he had written letters and made copies of documents in the offices of The Honourable East India Company in Liverpool, the captain sat the man at the table in his cabin. After supplying him with paper, ink and pen, he dictated several lines from the first book that came to hand from his bookcase. The Irishman quickly proved he had a fine flowing hand and his writing was legible. As a result, the captain was prepared to engage him, when necessary, to undertake a small number of secretarial tasks.

  He did not, however, permit O’Connor access to his cabin in which to do his copying. That would not occur until Oliver had full trust in him. In the meantime, with Dr Whipple’s approval, he was allocated a small table in one corner of the sick berth with a lantern hanging above it. He and the two women were given strict orders not to disturb each other, and he was not allowed to invite his Irish mates to visit him.

  There were only certain documents the captain allowed the scribe access to, such as inventories, weekly accounts from the purser and carpenter, warrant officer’s reports and the ship’s daily log. Though Oliver’s hand was much improved from the scratch he had suffered in his fight with van Zetten, he was happy to pass over some of the mundane but necessary tasks he was required to attend to.

  These special duties, however, did not prevent the new seaman from participating in gun practice and daily shipboard chores. Being rated as an idler meant he worked daylight hours, unless all hands were called to action stations at any time of the day or night.

  Michael O’Connor was unmistakably Irish in appearance, with bright orange hair and green eyes. He spoke with a strong accent that had a poetic lilt about it but, because he spoke so quickly, Oliver found it hard at times to understand what he was saying. However, that was something the captain would soon get used to. At only a little over five feet in height and with a soft fair-skinned but freckled complexion, he looked more like a boy than a man, but he assured Captain Quintrell he was all of three-and-thirty years.

  Oliver pondered over the man’s background, but did not question him at length. He wondered if he had left Ireland before the uprising or had escaped to Liverpool after it was over. He had assured the captain he had only met the Irish fellows, with whom he had boarded, in a public house in Liverpool, and though they had their heritage in common, they had not known each other before setting sail on a merchant ship bound for America.

  Like all Irishmen, they believed America was the land of opportunity and, with no families to support, they had outlaid the last of their savings on a passage to New York. What they did not know when they embarked at the Liverpool docks was that the ship was old and wormy and, before they reached the Western Isles, they found themselves working the pumps to help keep it afloat. After everything that could be jettisoned was thrown overboard, the group of Irishmen, along with the other passengers and their families, could do nothing more than pray for a miracle.

  Before that arrived, the ship succumbed to the sea north of the island of São Miguel. Fortunately for most of the passengers, the hull floated for two days but sadly some of the women and children were unable to hang on in the cold and were washed into the sea.

  But the prayers of the remaining souls were answered when a whale-ship was sighted. The captain of the whaler had little choice but to take the survivors aboard, but being in pursuit of a pod of right whales, he had no intention of losing his quarry. This meant that the destitute passengers and crew of the shipwreck were obliged to remain within the whaler’s stinking hull until this was achieved. Confined in the narrow spaces between the barrels, they hardly had space to turn around while the air they breathed was a stinking fug from the pots of blubber boiled on the deck above them. The smell invaded every inch of the ship.

  Though they were adequately fed, they were obliged to endure the discomfort for four full weeks. Only when the captain was satisfied with the number of barrels of oil he had filled, did he agree to deliver the unfortunate survivors to the wharf at Ponta Delgado. It was on the wharf that the six Irishmen, along with the other passengers, were greeted by Mr Read, the British Consul, who offered the men work on his farm for a few weeks.

  Having survived with little but the clothes they stood up in, the Irishmen were grateful for the chance to work and, though their wages were paltry, they were fed and housed and looked after. The warm sun and mild climate quickly healed their memories. Ev
en though they were rough and unkempt in appearance, Mrs Read particularly appreciated their company. They entertained her with descriptions and stories of the parts of Ireland they had originally come from and, though it wasn’t England, she always enjoyed hearing news from Britain.

  Despite their rescue, the group of Irishmen still aimed to reach America and settle there. But, over the past two months, the only American ships entering the port had been heading east and not west. When they learned that a British frigate was about to set sail across the Atlantic, bound for Brazil, they jumped at the chance of a passage. Whatever port the ship stopped at on the continent of South America, they didn’t care. They intended to work and save and eventually make passage north. Word was spreading, however, of opportunities to buy cheap farm land in Chile, and three of them, including O’Connor, considered heading around the Horn and trying their luck in a country that had no objection where a man came from, providing he was prepared to work hard for a living.

  As far as Oliver Quintrell was concerned, the future of the six men was their concern and the least said about it the better. His own concern was to bring Perpetual safely into Rio de Janeiro.

  The wardroom aboard His Majesty’s frigate Perpetual buzzed with the sounds of young midshipmen eager to advance themselves, wanting to learn and anxious to impress―especially when invited to share a meal with the ship’s senior officers. They were all endowed with an ample dose of high spirits and bravado on the outside, but for the youngest ones, not long torn from hearth, home and a doting mother, the idea of escaping on an adventure, of fighting for one’s country, of proudly wearing the uniform of the British Navy and rising rapidly up the ranks and returning home to a hero’s welcome was merely the illusion they brought with them when they stepped aboard. But, within weeks of sailing, that illusion was packed away beneath a pile of neatly ironed shirts and handkerchiefs in the bottom of their sea chests. The few occasions when they donned their best stockings and clean shirts, were the times the illusion was allowed to re-surface. For some, it served to remind them that a successful naval career was generally a glorified dream of their fathers whereas for the young men themselves it was often a nightmare.

  Within the safe and enviable environment of the wardroom, a sanctum just one step away from the captain’s cabin, the proud young middies thrived on the thought of advancement and, for the moment, were in their element. While invited to share their anecdotes and quips with the lieutenants, their lack of worldliness failed to warn them that they were often being goaded and held to ridicule. The longer-serving midshipmen were more cognizant of the fact and often joined in the play at the expense of the tender-aged newcomers. That evening’s ribald tales, teasing and titillating taunts ceased abruptly when Captain Quintrell joined the gathering. Chairs screeched on the deck as the officers attempted to stand upright, though for the taller ones, the height of the overhead beams made that impossible.

  ‘Be seated, gentlemen,’ the captain said, after being invited to take a seat at the head of the table. A servant was quick to fill a glass for the captain and refill those of the officers that were empty.

  ‘Thank you for joining us, Captain,’ Mr Parry said, his words echoed by a murmur of applause from the company. With space for only a dozen chairs placed closely together around the table, several of the middies sat on the sea chests that ran down the sides of the oblong room.

  ‘I appreciate the invitation to dine with you,’ the captain said to the row of young faces eager with expectation. ‘It has been some weeks since we sailed from Gibraltar and during that time we have been obliged to overcome one thing or another that has threatened to engulf our wooden world. At times it has not been easy for any of us. At times you have felt fear. But let me remind you, fear can be an insidious disease. Yet, during battle, when you are faced with a broadside, you have no time to give way to fear. Your attention must be totally consumed by the action―the speed and agility of your gun crews, the correct elevation of the gun, the welfare of the men in your division. Whether you are dowsing a fire on a burning deck or dragging a man’s legs from beneath the wheels of a gun carriage, you must forget all fear. You must do what has to be done and only by those means will you succeed. I give you a toast, gentlemen. To success.’

  The toast was received with the clatter of hands beating on the table, and the atmosphere relaxed.

  The captain continued. ‘You can tell the men in your divisions that the work carried out on the island has proved worthwhile.’ He turned to the sailing master. ‘Mr Mundy informs me that for the past three hours we have been making eight knots. That is most satisfactory. Let us hope we can continue across the Atlantic at this speed.’

  There was a general feeling of approval with heads nodding and glasses being emptied.

  ‘On a more serious note, gentlemen, although we suffered only four deaths when we took the San Nicola, the doctor is still concerned about half a dozen men who have not yet fully recovered from the injuries they sustained in the fight. That includes four from Mr Tully’s division, one from Mr Nightingale’s, and also the cooper. I ask you to include the recovery of these men in your prayers as the good doctor needs all the help he can muster in such cases.’

  ‘You did not include yourself in the list of injured,’ the surgeon ventured to add.

  Glancing down to his right hand bound in bandages, the captain made light of it. ‘There was little of the hand remaining to injure,’ he said flippantly, ‘However, without realizing it at the time, I managed to acquire a scratch from van Zetten’s sword. The doctor tells me I was fortunate the blade was well whetted and cut cleanly. Had it been a rusted cutlass, he would have been less confidant of it healing so quickly.’

  He continued. ‘Let me not hold up the meal, gentlemen. I don’t doubt the cook has been preparing this for hours. I’m sure the smells issuing from the galley oven have heightened everyone’s appetite including the crew’s. I trust the beef, freshly butchered on the island, will satisfy the mess. I am pleased to announce that we now have ample supplies to carry us to Rio de Janeiro. Let us acknowledge our safe delivery from the Western Isles and drink to an uneventful passage across the Atlantic.’

  The second toast was echoed around the table as the first dishes of the meal were delivered to the table.

  Two hours later, when the last of the empty platters were removed and fresh candles lit, the young midshipmen were prompted to take their leave. As was customary, each in turn, politely expressed his thanks to the senior officer of the wardroom then made his obedience to the captain. In a few cases, the apparent lack of balance could not be entirely blamed on the movement of the ship. Once the last of the middies had gone, the remaining company relaxed.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ the captain said, looking across the table at the gathered company, ‘as you are aware, our destination is the coast of Brazil. I know the men have not been idle over the past two weeks, far from it, but their attention has been taken from their regular duties. Therefore, during the coming week, if we lose the wind, and I can almost guarantee that we will, we shall practice the guns. I intend to heave to and take advantage of the open ocean. Let us see the divisions put in their very best efforts. A little competition between the gun crews will not be a bad thing. Besides that, now is a good time to attend to other items that have been neglected.’

  The men waited for further orders.

  ‘The sun, while pleasant, dries out the deck and rots the hammock netting. I have observed much of the netting, running the length of the ship, is encrusted in salt and fraying in parts, not to mention shot holes from previous action. If any man aboard was a fisherman, he will know how to knot a net. Hammock netting, while thicker and bulkier, is little different. It is not a difficult task. I know it for a fact, because I learned that skill from my grandfather and I am sure the sail maker or bosun will be happy to provide instruction. But, let me remind you not to discard any good lengths of hard, dry rope. I want those kept for hanging the next band of pirates we
encounter.’

  Chapter 15

  Unwelcome News

  ‘Sail, astern!’

  ‘How does she bear?’ Mr Nightingale demanded.

  With only a smudge of canvas visible on horizon, it took the lookout a few moments to consider the direction.

  ‘Heading south-westerly, sir.’

  Mr Parry, who was also on the quarterdeck, passed a message to the midshipman. ‘Mr Hanson, please advise the captain that a sail has been sighted. He asked to be informed.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Mr Parry.’

  Standing at the taff rail with telescopes to their eyes, the officers offered their opinions as to what the vessel was.

  ‘Evening, Simon,’ Oliver said, when he stepped on deck. ‘What do we have?’

  ‘Sail astern. The lookout did well spotting it.’

  The captain took the glass offered to him and ran it along the eastern horizon. From the setting sun, the scrap of square canvas was rose tinted, but with the eastern sky already growing dark, it would soon be swallowed up by the night.

  ‘I wonder what its business is,’ Oliver said, more to himself than to his lieutenant. ‘What are we making?’

  ‘Three knots on the last heave of the log, but we are losing whatever breeze there is. Unless the wind picks up, it’s unlikely that ship will gain on us in the next few hours and then we’ll likely lose him in the night.’

  ‘Unless it is following us for some reason,’ Oliver said, holding the glass steady on its target. ‘I suggest you double the lookouts and, at first light, advise me of its position.’

  He snapped the telescope shut. ‘The Atlantic is a broad stretch of ocean. I have crossed it a number of times and found that invariably I can sail four thousand miles and never see another ship. At other times, however, if I see one then I see several.’