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

by M. C. Muir

  ‘Aye, Captain.’

  Chapter 17

  Pomba Branca

  At first light, with no sign of sails in any direction and no activity seen on the beach, Perpetual worked slowly around and hove to a mile off-shore. Although it was a long pull for the crews, the captain was not prepared to take the frigate in any closer.

  In accordance with his orders, two boats were lowered. Apart from the crews, six marines and a dozen sailors armed with cutlasses and pistols accompanied the captain and Mr Tully. Although the state of the sunken vessel was a troubling sight, not a word was spoken as the boats swam past the submerged hull.

  As the boats drew nearer to the beach, the captain was confronted with an appalling sight. The objects he had observed on the sand, but paid little attention to, were not seals that had hauled themselves from the water to bask in the sun, but naked grey and purple bloated carcasses. Lying face-down on the beach they little resembled the scrawny olive-skinned sailors who, until recently, had served on one of the Portuguese naval frigates.

  ‘Don’t touch them,’ Oliver said, as he climbed from the boat. ‘We shall bury them later.’

  ‘Do you think these men were washed up from the wreck?’

  Glancing back to the remains of the hull, Oliver cast his eyes around the bay and shook his head. Prising the toe of his shoe under one of the victim’s heads, he lifted it from the ground. A tiny crab instinctively retracted its feeding claws and sidled back into the gaping hole that stretched from one side of the man’s throat to the other. There was no blood. What the sand hadn’t swallowed, the sun had baked into a hard black lump the size and shape of a large ship’s biscuit. It was under the victim’s head.

  ‘It is obvious these men have been murdered,’ he said. ‘Be cautious. Corporal, guard the boats. You men come with me.’

  The beach was firm under foot, as the group of ten headed along the sand. Having found nothing unusual after a brief search, the party split into two groups to check the rocks at each end of the bay. Again their search uncovered nothing, not even the men’s clothing. Any footprints that had been tramped in the sand the previous day had been washed away with the previous high tide.

  Overhead the equatorial sun burned down from a clear sky dotted only with circling birds. While the forest would have offered some shade from the sun, Oliver was unwilling to venture into the steep-sided woods that appeared so thick they were almost impenetrable. Frustrated, the captain returned to the waiting boats.

  Unable to offer the deceased a formal burial service, the captain decided the bodies should be buried on the beach where they lay. Trying to drag them from the sand would have been impossible. He remembered the fate of the sailor who had been cooked in the boiling waters of the volcanic island in the Southern Ocean. The dead man’s arm had slid from his shoulder like a bone from a well-cooked piece of salt pork. In Oliver’s estimation, the condition of the dead men on the beach would be similar. The combined heat from the hot sun and burning sand would have cooked the carcasses within the casing of stretched skin.

  ‘Corporal, remain here with your men, I shall return to the ship and send a party to bury the dead. I have a group of Irish men who are eager to step ashore.’

  The crew were anxious to return to the ship, but when the boats were being pushed back into the water, a faint call was heard from the woods. Though the words were incomprehensible, the tone was disturbing. A moment later, a young man emerged from the trees. After waving his arms over his head, he stumbled to his knees. The marines grabbed their muskets, cocked them and aimed.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Oliver called.

  Regaining his feet, the man tried to run to the boats but his legs would not carry him. After falling face-first in the soft sand, he crawled on all fours. His strength was sapped and when his arms collapsed, the desire to stay alive started ebbing from him. He was only twenty yards from the water.

  Oliver Quintrell and several of the sailors jumped from the boats and hurried to the man’s aid. With the sand dusted from his eyes and a flask of water pressed to his lips, he responded. The expression on his face showed his relief at being found.

  ‘Are there others?’ the captain asked. ‘Were you alone?’ But the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids closed.

  ‘Mr Tully, get this man aboard as quickly as possible and have the surgeon attend to him. I need to question him. I need to find out what occurred here. He is our only hope to learn the true facts.’

  Several hours later, with the five Irishmen relieved to return on board from the distasteful job of burying the corpses, and with the boats secured on deck, Perpetual bore away from the coast.

  In the cockpit, under the care of the ship’s surgeon, José, a Portuguese sailor was resting peacefully. He was young, little more than sixteen years of age but, though his thirst and hunger had been replenished, his face and hands washed and a clean shirt put on him, fear still creased his face during his waking moments. That was not something which could be easily washed away.

  The captain spoke slowly and, once again, his every word was translated by Ekundayo. ‘Where are the men you served with? Where is the other Portuguese frigate?’

  ‘I do not know,’ the young man replied. ‘I don’t know where anyone is.’ A tear trickled down his cheek and sank into the cot’s pillow.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Oliver asked. ‘From the beginning.’

  After a rush of words and an outflow of sobs, Eku related his story as best he could. ‘He said the two frigates had sailed together to Fernando de Noronha. The crew had heard the captain was to rendezvous with a British ship. He said that some of the men argued he was looking for two ships, others said he was meeting three. He explained that, below deck, the stories often get confused. He said they had already sailed around the islands once and didn’t meet any, so while the other Portuguese ship intended to continue searching, the captain hove to and ordered two boats off to collect wood.’

  ‘Did you go with one of the boats?’ the captain asked.

  The seaman’s eyes glazed and his head rolled to one side. ‘I went with the woodcutters.’

  The doctor gently eased José’s head back on to the teased-oakum pillow and dabbed his forehead with a damp cloth. ‘Is this really necessary at this very moment, Captain?’

  ‘It is,’ Oliver replied, and continued with his enquiries. ‘Was your ship attacked?’

  ‘Not then. My ship Pomba Branca sailed off to continue searching and left a party of us on the beach. We were told the captain would return to collect us later.’

  ‘Were you not worried?’

  ‘Why should I be?’ he said, through the interpreter. ‘I was with my friends. We were happy. There was no senior officer with us, only a carpenter’s mate. We felt free, even though we had a job to do. After dragging the boats up on the beach, we climbed the steep hill and went into the woods. We had our orders and knew we would be in trouble with the lieutenant if we didn’t get the work done quickly.’

  ‘How long were you away from the beach?’

  ‘Three hours or more,’ he replied. ‘When we returned down the hillside, the men were loaded with wood. They carried it in their arms and had their axe handles stuffed through their belts. Some had tied twine around the bundles of kindling and balanced them on their shoulders. I had charge of the two saws. They were the length of pit saws and, as I walked, they swayed like waves on the sea. Because they were cutting into my shoulder, I stopped to find some leaves or soft bark to make a cushion to rest them on.’ He pulled back his shirt and showed where the saws’ teeth had chewed into his skin.

  ‘I was last to arrive on the beach and when I came from the trees, I saw the boats were still there but Captain Espada and Pomba Branca had not returned. But there were two ships flying British flags hove to only a few hundred yards from the sand. One was a ship and the other a nice looking tops’l schooner. I had seen it in the harbour in Ponta Delgada. The sailors from those ships landed two boats
on the beach. I thought they must be the ships the captain was meant to rendezvous with. The sailors from the boats seemed friendly and held out their hands to assist the wood cutters with their loads. But no sooner had they arrived near the boats and put down their axes, than these scoundrels leapt on them, throwing them on their backs and cutting their throats in the manner you would a sheep’s.’ The Negro translated José’s faltering words. ‘I could see the blood spurting from their throats and, from where I was standing, I could hear the gurgling sounds of my friends dying.’

  The doctor looked anxious, but the captain persisted.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I turned and ran like the Devil himself was after me. I knew if they caught me, I was a dead man.’

  ‘Were you followed?’

  ‘Yes, but they didn’t catch me. I raced up the track we had cut through the woods and climbed as high as I could. I went so far I was over the top of the hill and looking down on the next bay. When I stopped, I remember my heart was thumping so loudly I was sure it would be heard on the ship. I don’t know how long I was there.’

  The captain and his interpreter waited for the boy to continue.

  ‘I never saw Pomba Branca return but the noise I heard was like all Hell had broken loose. Even though I was scared for my life, I had to see what was happening. I climbed higher till I found a clearing where I could look down on the beach and see everything.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Oliver begged.

  ‘Pomba Branca had returned, but Captain Espada could not have expected the sudden bombardment he received from the two ships waiting for him. Canister, chain and bar shot sliced across the frigate’s deck, ripping the sails from the yards, the yards from the masts and tearing the men on deck to pieces. The captain was not in a position to fight though he managed to get some shots away.’

  ‘Dear God, didn’t I warn them?’ Oliver cursed. ‘Why did they take no heed of what I said?’

  With no response from the small group gathered around the cot, Eku took José’s hand and held it until the captain had composed himself and returned to his questions.

  ‘You saw this as it happened?’

  The young sailor nodded. ‘I watched the tattered remains of our colours being hauled down and heard the firing stop.’

  ‘Was Pomba Branca boarded?’

  José nodded again. ‘Four boats went alongside. I saw bodies being thrown into the sea. Those who had survived climbed down into the boats and were rowed away under guard. Then the schooner moved alongside and barrels were hoisted from Pomba Branca and transferred into it.’

  ‘Just as I expected. Provisions and powder,’ Oliver said.

  ‘And cannon,’ José added.

  ‘God in heaven, imagine how many guns van Zetten now has at his disposal!’

  After a sip of water, José continued. ‘It took several hours to clear the ship. I was hungry and thirsty, but I dare not move. It was almost dark when the remaining stays were cut and the mizzen crashed to the deck smashing the wheel as it fell. The hull was listing badly but it was still afloat. The boats returned to collect the yards, and then the remains of the masts were sawn off and towed away. When they had taken everything, the hull was abandoned and left to drift. I hid in the forest all night and in the morning climbed to the top of the hill again. This time, the only sound I heard was the birds. Below, there were no ships apart from the wreck of Pomba Branca floating in the bay. The hull was sitting low in the water and the tide was washing her closer to the beach. As the day wore on, she went down and settled on the sand. Not knowing what to do or where to go, I stayed in the woods for another day and night. I was too afraid to return to the beach. And then you arrived and I recognized the red coats of the British soldiers and I knew my life was saved.’

  Oliver leaned back from the swinging cot where the boy was resting. It was just as he had expected. This disastrous event confirmed his worst fear that Fredrik van Zetten now had two ships under his command. Not only was he well-supplied with ample provisions and powder, but had sufficient men to work both ships and guns, albeit the Portuguese sailors would probably be working with a cutlass blade held to their throats.

  The sailing master scratched his head. ‘It beats me how an undisciplined horde of pirates aboard a merchant ship managed to take a well-armed 22-gun frigate. And how could an experienced Portuguese naval captain be so easily deceived? Such a catastrophe could never happen to a British naval vessel.’

  Captain Quintrell raised his eyebrows and scowled at the sailing master. ‘Did it not almost happen only a few weeks ago? The only difference being that Perpetual was careened on a beach and could not be taken to sea. And were the frigate’s officers not also fooled into complacency?’

  Having been on the beach when van Zetten first came ashore, the sailing master recoiled from any further comment.

  The captain continued. ‘I put nothing past the cunning of this individual.’ Then he turned back to Ekundayo. ‘Please thank this seaman. Tell him he need have no fear now he is aboard my ship. And inform him that I intend to find this cut-throat and rescue his captain and the rest of the crew.’

  The sailing master, Lieutenant Parry and the ship’s surgeon regarded him quizzically.

  ‘You heard what I said. I intend to catch this man and, when I do, I will make sure he swings from the royal yard and remains there until every ounce of flesh has rotted from his foul-smelling carcass.’

  The sailing master shook his head. ‘With respect, sir, he has more cunning than a starving alley cat. This atrocity happened two days ago. For all we know, he could be half-way to the Caribbean by now or on the coast of Brazil skulking in one of its slave ports.’

  ‘I wish that were the case, but I think not. I sense Fredrik van Zetten is lurking not far from here. I cut him to the quick when I took his ship and turned him over to the authorities in the Western Isles. Little good that did.’ He laughed coldly. ‘In my opinion, this mongrel will not be satisfied until he has taken his revenge. It is me he wants, not my ship or my men. Me. And I don’t doubt he has given a considerable amount of thought and evil imagination to the way he intends to see me die.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we make for Rio immediately and alert the authorities there?’ Mr Mundy suggested. He was aware other members of the crew were of a similar mind.

  Oliver Quintrell was adamant. ‘Prepare to make sail. Follow the coastline.’

  The expression on the sailing master’s face was blank.

  ‘That is an order, Mr Mundy. Follow the northern coast until you raise the last stone or pebble belonging to this island group, then tack and head back along the southern coast. I intend to circumnavigate the archipelago. The other Portuguese frigate is somewhere in these waters and I must locate it. As for that felon, van Zetten, I will not leave here until I have found him.’

  Chapter 18

  The Storm

  Gazing blankly through the stern window, Oliver Quintrell clenched his teeth. ‘Damn his eyes! I cannot believe he is at large again.’

  Simon Parry tried to appease him. ‘It’s no fault of yours, Oliver. You did all you could. You delivered him into the hands of the authorities and passed the responsibility of dispensing justice to the Governor of the Azores.’

  ‘Hah!’

  ‘Your conduct goes without question.’

  ‘You think so?’ the captain replied sharply, not seeking or waiting for an answer. ‘I had the point of my blade to his throat. I should have run him though and thrown his carcass to the sharks. Why on earth didn’t I?’

  ‘A code of honour, perhaps?’

  ‘Honour!’ he scoffed. ‘Huff! Would you spare a rat if you found it in the bread room?’

  There was nothing more the lieutenant could say to mollify his captain’s black mood. Nor was there anything that could be done to alter the situation that now existed.

  Oliver stared at the empty horizon. ‘I promise you this, I will not rest until I find him.’

  Simon placed hi
s hands on the edge of the table and took a deep breath before speaking. ‘The men are not happy that we continue to circle the islands.’

  ‘Damn the men. Damn the mission. Damn my orders. This is my command!’

  The lieutenant continued unperturbed. ‘They know you are searching for van Zetten. It’s all they talk about.’

  ‘What of it? I shall continue to search for him as long as I deem fit. I don’t understand what the problem is.’

  ‘There is an underlying current of discontent. I’m not sure what has caused it. Perhaps it is fear. Perhaps it was sparked by the atrocities the men witnessed on the beach or by the treatment received by those who were held captive on the San Nicola. But whatever tales are circulating about this pirate, they are growing out of all proportion. Besides which, the crew are aware this scoundrel now has two ships and probably more guns in total than we carry.’

  ‘Tittle-tattle, Simon. I am surprised you listen to it.’

  ‘With respect, sir, if you walked the deck, you would recognize that morale is low. While the crew that has served with you for several years has always held you in high esteem, questions are being asked. The men are anxious to sail from here and reach Rio de Janeiro but, I fear, if this state of tension continues, when we make port many will depart the ship and sign on any available ship heading north.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Oliver demanded.

  Given the opportunity to speak, he continued. ‘The men argue that sailing into the Southern Ocean offers little chance of rich prizes, or any prizes for that matter. At the present, they are confronted with the possibility of being blown to pieces, or being captured and subjected to torture and death.’