by M. C. Muir
‘I estimate one week,’ William said, ‘but that depends entirely on the wind.’
The estimation was as Oliver had predicted.
Two hours later, HMS Stalwart stood motionless on the ocean, her topgallant yards aback and tipped at an angle to the deck signifying that a burial at sea was taking place. Perpetual stood alongside with the French frigate a short distance behind.
On the deck of the third rate, the crew assembled to witness the service. After shepherding the men around the deck, the bosun gave the order: ‘Ship’s company. Off hats.’ At the same moment, the bell in the belfry sounded and the 74’s crew, along with the visiting officers of the British frigate, stood in silence as Captain Liversedge conducted the burial service for the young officer who had died as a result of the accident on the gundeck.
Sewn within a canvas hammock and having a pair of cannon balls resting at his feet, the body was placed on a wooden bulwark close to the entry port. The British flag was draped over it.
Captain Liversedge spoke of the death of Midshipman Biggleswade Smythe, not yet seventeen years old, and commended his service to his country. After which, the company joined together in reciting the Lord’s Prayer before the captain turned to the committal, repeating the words that he had spoken many times before:
‘We commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body, when the Sea shall give up her dead…’
With the timber beneath the corpse raised to an acute angle, the enshrouded body slid from beneath the flag and plunged into the deep.
A lump formed in Oliver’s throat.
Lifting his eyes from the now vacant area on the deck, he glanced across to Lieutenant Hazzlewood, the friend and fellow officer who had served alongside Mr Smith from the start of their naval careers. Tears were streaming freely down the officer’s cheeks.
Algy had been like a younger brother, a son and a mentor to the older man and the best friend he had ever had. Oliver knew that for the lieutenant no one would ever fill those vacant shoes. Mr H would miss everything about his friend – his voice, his appearance and his elegant manners but, above all, he would miss the youth whom he had watched grow into a man. No loss could be felt more acutely than within the confined walls of a wooden ship.
The tears that flowed brought no shame.
CHAPTER 10
The Signal
As the cloudless skies continued, the sun bore down on the ships’ decks melting the pitch and loosening the oakum pressed between the planks. In the rigging, the lines sweated tar making the rope slippery to grip on. The sailors climbed with care. With the fickle winds, every attempt was made to harness the smallest zephyrs no matter what direction they blew from. Constant calls to adjust the braces and trim sails had kept the watches busy and, after several days, the patience of officers, crew and the prisoners confined below was wearing thin. Tempers were short and frayed but the situation was beyond anyone’s control.
From Perpetual’s quarterdeck, the sight of a jolly boat being rowed across from the 74 came as a welcome distraction. The midshipman aboard carried a sealed envelope addressed in an elegant hand to Captain Quintrell, R.N. Under normal circumstances, when making such a delivery, the boat would wait for a reply, but in this instance the crew shipped their oars for a few moments only. No lines were tossed and the boat did not tie up. When it bumped up against Perpetual’s hull, a sailor hanging from the steps accepted the letter handed to him, turned and climbed back. On reaching the deck he glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see the boat already heading back to Stalwart.
From the gangway, the envelope was handed to the officer-of-the watch who, in turn, handed it to one of the midshipmen who delivered it to Captain Quintrell. Oliver thanked the young man and indicated for him to deposit it on the table. Having been told the boat had not waited for a reply, Oliver saw no urgency in opening it. He had been expecting a message from Captain Liversedge with confirmation the Perpetuals he had placed aboard the French ship would be returned and that members of the 74’s crew would replace them to man the prize vessel. Also, the captain had promised to transfer some marines from the man-of-war to the prize vessel to guard the prisoners. Oliver was also hoping for news that he would be receiving a few extra hands to assist on Perpetual. Captain Liversedge had indicated he had plenty of men and while relatively calm conditions prevailed, now was an opportune time to conduct the transfers.
For the moment, however, Oliver Quintrell was engaged with Mr Parry. The pair, sitting together at the table in the captain’s cabin, had been studying the chart calculating the distance to their destination in the Caribbean. Presently they were occupied with pen and paper, deliberating over the total number of French prisoners confined in Flambeau plus those survivors from the corvette being held in the third rate.
Unfortunately, because of the preoccupation with the fear of Flambeau foundering when the prize was taken, the French prisoners had never been counted and names and rates had not been recorded. That situation would need to be rectified before the convoy reached Kingston, as an inventory would be required when the prisoners were handed over to the British authorities.
Simon Parry glanced down at the unopened envelope on the corner of the table. ‘Do you want me to leave,’ he asked politely.
‘No, please stay,’ Oliver said, slightly perplexed, as he examined the seal before breaking the wax. ‘A rather formal letter from William seems somewhat unusual.’
‘Perhaps it is an invitation to dine aboard the 74,’ Simon Parry suggested with a grin.
Oliver smiled back, took out the single sheet of paper and opened it. On noting it only contained two lines of script, his expression changed and, after reading the message, his brow furrowed. The correspondence was not what he had expected. ‘I do not comprehend,’ Oliver said, handing the note to his lieutenant. ‘Captain Liversedge is requesting I send thirty able-bodied seamen to serve on the 74.’
‘That is ridiculous,’ Simon said. ‘Didn’t you speak with him about being short-handed and come to an agreement about him sending men to assist us?’
‘Indeed, I did.’ Oliver insisted, reflecting on the conversation he had had only two days earlier. ‘I was expecting the return of Mr Crosby and his mates, and the twenty-five sailors and officers I stationed on the prize plus a few extra hands besides. Now, I am being asked to supply the third rate with thirty of my men.’
‘But we cannot spare thirty men,’ the lieutenant blurted. ‘We barely have enough men to work the ship and man the guns. As it is, the watches are extremely shorthanded. Imagine the situation if we meet with more action. The gun crews would be—’
Oliver interrupted. His tone was abrasive. ‘That is the result of sailing from Portsmouth with only two hundred hands aboard. Did I not state at the time that it was hardly an adequate number?’
Simon Parry reiterated his previous argument. ‘Under most circumstances two hundred men is sufficient for a frigate of our metal.’
‘Circumstances change, Simon. I remember pointing that out at the time. After losing men in Gibraltar and the Azores, what are we left with? A complement of only one hundred and forty. One of His Majesty’s frigates would normally carry two hundred and fifty.’ Oliver felt his blood beginning to boil but reminded himself that a verbal outburst would serve no purpose.
‘What do I do?’ The question was rhetorical. ‘I am obliged to assist my fellow captain – after all, the prize he is towing is mine. But, if I transfer another thirty across, I will be putting my command at risk. The French frigate’s hold is bursting with rampant young French seamen who are ill-disciplined and unruly and have not taken kindly to being locked in a stinking damp hold without fresh air or sunlight. One can hardly blame them for that. But it means these prisoners require constant monitoring and must be guarded day and night. Add to that, the fact Flambeau is a ship that needs careful handling and is obliged to remain in tow until it is delivered into Kingston harbour. I suggest
that is the reason for the request.’
Simon Parry was perplexed. ‘I see no reason why a third rate with a full crew cannot cope with that situation?’
‘I am at a loss also,’ Oliver said, shaking his head. ‘This is one contingency I had not considered. However, when I spoke with William in Guanabara Bay, he advised me he had lost several men, deserters who had preferred to sign on merchantmen, American packets, West Indiamen, anything that was leaving the harbour. Yet he had been optimistic he would be able to sign or press extra sailors in the town. However, when the time came to up-anchor, his officers had brought in only two dozen men – mainly landsmen and the dregs of the dockyards. And recently, he lost a complete gun crew and several men. With every cot in his cockpit occupied by the sick and wounded, he is probably short of about a hundred active seamen.’
Simon Parry awaited the captain’s resolution.
Oliver referred to the figures they had been assessing. ‘From our present location, we calculated the distance to Jamaica is over 1,500 nautical miles. Depending on the wind and weather, providing we can sail without interruption or misadventure and can average six or seven knots, we should fetch Kingston in ten to twelve days or thereabouts.’
Simon Parry was concerned about the French frigate in tow slowing the 74’s progress but reluctantly agreed.
‘Then it is my duty to oblige Captain Liversedge,’ Oliver said.
Simon Parry reminded him that by releasing that number of men he would put Perpetual at serious risk. But the captain was not to be swayed.
‘Then let us pray this leg of the cruise is uneventful,’ Simon said.
‘Hmm. We must manage as best we can, as we always have done in the past. I suggest you muster the crew as soon as possible. Nominate thirty sailors to transfer across. If there are volunteers, so much the better. Let’s attend to this matter immediately and get the transfer underway while we have the benefit of a calm sea.’
With all hands assembled on Perpetual’s deck, the response to the call for volunteers surprised Mr Parry and the other officers. Getting men to volunteer for anything was usually a thankless task. On this occasion, however, twenty men immediately jumped to the call. Strange. What had prompted that response? Was it the chance to serve on a 74? Or was it perhaps the thought of better rations and accommodation that attracted the hands? In Mr Parry’s opinion, there was nothing to complain about on Perpetual and there were certainly no rumblings of dissatisfaction. If the men who volunteered thought they might receive better pay, the lieutenant was quick to dispel such ideas? Perhaps they felt they would be safer on a ship of the line should they come under attack from a French or Spanish convoy. That was a matter of conjecture. But with no answers forthcoming, the officer could draw no conclusion.
The remaining ten sailors, to make up the total, had to be selected and their names added to the list. The old hands who had served with Captain Quintrell on both Perpetual and Elusive were reluctant to move.
Once completed, the names of the thirty men were recorded and they were sent below to collect their personal items. Two boats were lowered and within less than an hour of the demand having been received, the boats were being rowed across to the man-of-war.
That evening, the two young midshipmen on deck commented on the clamorous noise and raised voices coming from the French frigate. Despite the distance between the ships, they were able to observe increased activity on the deck of the third rate and a boat being ferried back and forth between the 74 and Flambeau. The pair joked about the changing of the guards even the possibility of a party being held on deck but decided the noise was coming from the unruly, malcontent prisoners in the hold. As darkness descended quickly in the tropical latitudes, the two vessels soon dissolved into the black of night. The disturbance lasted less than an hour and before the watch ended, all was quiet again.
Following Captain Quintrell’s compliance with the request and the subsequent despatch of the additional men, Oliver was not expecting thanks, but considered that a signal acknowledging the transfer would have been appropriate. At first he dismissed the omission but, when nothing arrived the following day or the day after that, he thought it strange, even rude, although he accepted that Captain Liversedge and his officers had much to contend with. His main concern was for the crew he had placed aboard the prize and for the French prisoners being held below. He wondered about his carpenter and mates and the progress of the repair work they were undertaking. A sound ship would bring a better valuation and financial return from the prize agent. As neither of those matters had been reported to him, he presumed that all was well.
With the first blow from the trade winds, the convoy of three ships was guaranteed good sailing as it headed north. But the danger of meeting French or Spanish squadrons was heightened, as they neared the most southerly islands of the West Indies. Some complaints were reported to the officer-of-the-watch due to the shortage of hands in each division. Oliver had warned his lieutenants that this was to be expected and, until they reached Jamaica, the crew would have to contend with the additional demands and duties. He assured them it would not last for long.
The following morning, a series of signal flags was hoisted on the 74’s halliard. The message was delivered to Captain Quintrell in his cabin.
‘Are you sure you read the flags correctly, Mr Lazenby?’
‘Yes sir,’ the middie said. ‘Mr Tully was on deck. He can confirm it.’
Oliver turned to his first lieutenant, nonplussed. ‘I am instructed to proceed to Portsmouth.
Simon inclined his head. ‘What? Portsmouth!’
‘That is the order I have been given.’
‘Does that mean Stalwart, with the frigate in tow, is no longer bound for Jamaica? Or does she intend to sail into Kingston alone and deliver our prize herself? I fear the men will not take kindly to that proposal,’ Simon said.
Oliver was bewildered. ‘It is unlike William to send a brief signal, such as this, without no prior discussion or explanation. So, why has he suddenly shied away from sailing into the Caribbean? Surely not the fear of meeting enemy ships? Why has he chosen to stand to the Atlantic and return directly to England? What has prompted him change his mind?’
Simon Parry was equally as mystified. ‘And what of his supercargo – the exile he is charged with delivering to Kingston? Has he forgotten about that order? And what of our barrels stowed in his hold?’
‘Damn the supercargo. Damn the barrels,’ Oliver yelled jumping to his feet. ‘I do not care about either. What I do care about are the members of my crew including a lieutenant and midshipman, plus my carpenter and his mates.’
He looked questioningly at his first officer. ‘Whatever the reason, I do not intend to be separated from our prize so easily. Send a signal to the 74. Acknowledge the message and ask Stalwart what her heading is.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’
‘And maintain a safe distance behind the pair.’
The block on the preventer tackle swung pendulously over the deck, as Oliver Quintrell listened to the creak of the braces being stretched under pressure on the belaying pins. Standing at the starboard rail of the quarter deck, he watched the sea hurrying by. Sailing close to the wind, the frigate was making nine knots. Then, after staring for too long at the two black shapes half a mile ahead, his eyes became bleary.
As the sea streamed from Perpetual’s hull, patches of bright light burst on the surface. The brilliance shone like plates of polished silver before disappearing and reappearing a few yards away. The sea’s luminescence was a phenomenon which never failed to captivate his attention. Though he had witnessed it many times before in these latitudes, he could not help but be amazed by its magic.
Distracted, Oliver shook his head in order to concentrate. First, he considered the number of knots they were making and the distance Perpetual was standing from the 74. Then he considered the absence of communication and tried to discount it as not being unusual. He had his orders – to accompany the th
ird rate. The weather was fine, the sea calm, the wind holding. Now they had entered the band of the trade winds, it was likely to blow consistently and carry them to the Caribbean. In these circumstances he would have no occasion to signal the 74 until they neared their destination.
But as the hours and two full days elapsed, with no reply to his signal, Oliver was perturbed and slightly anxious. Pacing the quarterdeck, he surveyed the third rate through narrowed eyes. Standing approximately half a mile ahead, the 74 was sailing easily with the French frigate trailing behind on a nautical leash.
Turning to one of the midshipmen, Oliver ordered another signal to be sent at first light. ‘Will proceed to England on return of carpenter and men. Advise.’ The midshipman headed off to rummage through the bunting in the locker for the necessary flags.
From the belfry, Perpetual’s bell rang out eight times. It was time to set the first watch of the night. Though Oliver waited and listened hard, there was no corresponding echo from the third rate.
‘There is something wrong,’ Oliver said.
Mr Parry, standing beside him, agreed. ‘With our present speed and the sea conditions, it would be impossible to sail a boat across. We could attempt to come up alongside her which would allow you to speak her.’
‘I need to think,’ Oliver said. ‘As night is almost upon us, there is nothing we can do at the moment. Until I discover the 74’s intentions, If the wind holds, I will stay with her and, in a day or two, she will reveal her course by making a turn into the Caribbean or bearing north and east if she intends to head across the Atlantic.’
‘And if the wind drops?’