The Oliver Quintrell Trilogy Omnibus

by M. C. Muir

  The captain frowned.

  ‘I am advised that they are fit enough to serve.’

  ‘And I don’t doubt that they have served their country well, but on this particular voyage I am not prepared to carry any sailors with deficiencies in either their mental faculties or the number of their limbs. The only purpose I see they serve is to save the nation the cost of their disability pensions. No, Mr Parry, we do not want them. If the Clerk of the Cheque is adamant, I will speak with him myself!’ He paused for a moment. ‘As to the position of sailing master, gunner and bosun, my steward has remained in London with the sole purpose of locating some men who sailed with me previously. If he is successful, Mr Mundy will be our sailing master. He is an excellent navigator. And with Mr Eccles as bosun, I can assure you we will have good working ship. Once he locates them, my steward will return with them to Portsmouth with all speed.’

  The lieutenant nodded.

  ‘As for the junior officers, the Admiralty assures me they will have no problems filling the midshipman’s berth.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  Oliver relaxed his expression. ‘You have done well, Mr Parry.’ The compliment was genuine. He was satisfied with his first lieutenant’s achievements in less than a day on board Elusive, but that degree of efficiency raised a question in Oliver’s mind. Here was a well-bred officer only a few years younger than himself who, besides the apparent benefit of patronage, showed considerable aptitude, initiative and intelligence. So why was he still only a lieutenant?

  He thought of his own situation and of the numerous letters he had addressed to the Admiralty which had been unanswered. Yet if a man of Parry’s background had written a single letter asking for a commission, the no-doubt crested seal on his envelope would have guaranteed that his correspondence was placed directly in the hands of one of the Sea Lords.

  ‘Now, you will excuse me, Mr Parry. I must return home with all haste and deliver the news of my commission to my wife.’

  ‘I trust she will be delighted for you.’

  A quirky smile crossed Quintrell’s lips. No, he thought, she will be less than delighted. In fact she will be quite miffed that her husband will be unable to attend the dinner party at the Armitage’s.

  ‘I trust she will be,’ Oliver said. ‘However, I must be careful to stifle my enthusiasm in case my desire to depart from home and join the ship is misconstrued. The fair sex have the extraordinary ability of viewing news though kaleidoscopic eyes so that the end result, as they see it, is a total distortion to what was originally presented. Would you not agree?’

  ‘I have not had the fortune of marrying.’

  Quintrell wondered about this type of fortune but refrained from continuing the inconsequential conversation.

  ‘I shall come aboard and read my commission tomorrow at four o’clock in the afternoon. One more question, Mr Parry. Do any of the furnishings remain in the main cabin?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m afraid the great cabin is an empty shell. It appears the ship was raked by French guns and the furnishings were reduced to splinters.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Parry.’ Quintrell sniffed the air. The fresh breeze was holding. ‘Until, eight bells tomorrow afternoon then.’

  The pair parted company, the lieutenant heading down The Hard to the wherry while Oliver headed to the Gun Jetty where a launch was waiting.

  He was tempted to take a boat up the harbour. He wanted to see Elusive for himself, but that could wait. She would go down in the water as the victualling continued but nothing would alter her line or beak or stern, and he would see that soon enough.

  A group of men smelling of ale and stale smoke stepped aside to let him pass. One of them knuckled his forehead and mumbled the word, ‘Capt’n’ as he walked by. Oliver nodded but his mind was on other things.

  It was only in the final moments of their conversation that he had detected a flicker of emotion in his lieutenant’s hazel eyes. But like reading signals in a sea fog, the message was difficult to interpret. Was it melancholy? Jealousy? Pride? He thought not. Then perhaps tiredness? But the strange haunting expression had come and gone quicker than a flash of gunpowder.

  Whatever lay behind his lieutenant’s steady eyes would be revealed in the course of their voyage. In his experience, the sea was a great unraveller.

  Chapter 4

  Portsmouth

  At precisely four in the afternoon, the shrill notes of the bosun’s mates’ whistles warbled on the placid air of Portsmouth Harbour announcing unequivocally to every ship anchored within half a mile that the captain was coming aboard.

  As he climbed the steps to the awaiting salute, Oliver’s expression showed not the slightest hint of the youthful exuberance which was coursing through his veins. It was the same feeling he had experienced as a midshipman, a lieutenant, and as master and commander when he had gone aboard his various ships, and the feeling was more exquisite every time. He wanted to reach out his hand and touch Elusive’s hull, but resisted and satisfied himself by merely flaring his nostrils to inhale the smell of fresh paint, tar and turpentine, and the salty scent of the sea.

  It was a relief to be back at last, and though the pipes were not entirely appropriate as he had not yet taken up his command, he was not about to reprimand his lieutenant for ordering the welcoming gesture.

  Within minutes of his arrival Captain Quintrell had read his commission to the seamen assembled on the deck of His Majesty’s frigate, Elusive, and once the formalities were completed; he scanned the crew and spoke: ‘I trust you men will regard yourself lucky, especially those of you who served on Constantine. You are lucky to have survived the sinking of your ship and to have been delivered safely from the sea. You should also regard yourself as lucky to be transferred to this vessel. As you are aware, peacetime has thrown many good seamen into unenviable situations.

  ‘I speak for the officers and myself when I say we too are fortunate to have a crew who have all served previously in His Majesty’s Navy. Some of you fought at the Nile, others in the Mediterranean, others with the Channel fleet. I believe those of you who served on Constantine did so to the best of your ability under Captain Bransfield.’

  He paused and breathed in deeply. ‘It is with regret I must inform you that Captain Bransfield departed this life, at his own hand, within the last week. ’

  The simultaneous sigh of a hundred and twenty men rolled across the deck. It was like a final rumble of distant thunder long after a storm has passed.

  ‘Captain Bransfield accepted full responsibility for the loss of his ship – as any captain must – but the weight of that burden was too great for him to bear. I ask you to not think ill of him or accuse him of cowardice, and I ask you to remember him in your prayers. Furthermore,’ he said, glancing at the rheumy eyes of some of the sailors, ‘I ask that the trust and loyalty you showed to your previous captain is transferred to the officers of Elusive. And I ask the same of you men from other ships also.

  ‘Finally let me say, I expect every man, be he able seaman, idler or officer to be alert at all times. Any man found not discharging his duties to the fullest will suffer the consequences. Furthermore, any man showing disrespect for this ship or its officers will suffer punishment according to the Articles of War.’

  Having been reminded of those consequences according to the said Articles at least once every week since the day they entered the service, there was little response from the potted assortment of faces.

  ‘Two days from now, we sail out of the harbour and, in the meantime, there is much work to be done.’

  ‘Enter!’ Oliver Quintrell was seated on a three-legged stool at a small circular table barely broad enough to accommodate his leather-bound logbook.

  His first lieutenant entered, his head stooped beneath the deck beams.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Parry.’

  Crossing to the locker beneath the stern windows, he sat down and waited.

  ‘Mr Parry,’ Quintrell said, turning and looking him directly i
n the eyes, ‘in the waist of the ship I distinctly saw one man with a wooden peg strapped to the stump of his amputated leg, and another man with a disfigured face and half of it missing. Did we not speak of the thousands of sailors begging for a berth? Did I not make it clear to you that patients from the Haslar Hospital were not to be signed?’

  ‘Captain, I only accepted four of them, and then only after I had questioned each one individually.’

  ‘And in what unhappy condition do you find the two I did not see?’

  ‘One suffered burns to his torso and the other has lost his left eye.’

  ‘Ha, a good pair of eyes shared between two!’

  ‘If I may speak, Captain. I can assure you all four men are fully recovered and half-vision does not prevent a man from hauling a rope or climbing the rigging. The man with the turned leg assures me he can sew a sail or serve a plate of gruel as quickly as any other. And the man who was burned swears his back is strong. He can heave on the capstan, haul a line, holystone a deck or fill bags of powder as dexterously as any other able-bodied man. If you had seen them, sir, I do not think you would have rejected them. The Clerk of the Cheque was most insistent I take them. I turned eight men away and obliged him by accepting these four.’

  ‘You obliged him, sir! And what of obliging me?’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but I was unable to seek your advice and took it on myself to make the decision.’

  ‘You were already aware of my decision, Mr Parry. I stated clearly that I did not want any invalids foisted on us from the Haslar Hospital. Take heed, mister, when I express a decision in future I will expect you to respect it and follow it to the letter. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Oliver rose from his chair and glanced out to the dunes of grey mud rising steadily from the bed of the harbour. Between the sandy islands the narrowing channels flowed with only sufficient depth to carry barges and small boats. It would take the incoming tide to refill the empty pound. He was conscious he had not yet checked the tides.

  ‘So, Mr Parry, How many men do we have on board?’

  ‘One hundred and eighty presently and twenty more expected.’

  ‘Two hundred men for a frigate. Adequate, perhaps, but not excessive. A few more would have been preferable. You think that number will suffice?’

  ‘I do, Captain. The reason being, I judge a dozen able seamen from the Constantine equal to fifty landsmen any day. The sailors are all fit and willing, and despite their sudden transfer, are eager to get back to sea. It is my opinion, sir, that with a healthy crew and the present peace, we should suffer few losses.’

  ‘Wishful thinking, Mr Parry, and I note you did not include pirate attack, collision, fog or the state of the wind and waves in the vagaries of your equation. Furthermore, there is no guarantee that the Treaty of Amiens will last, and there are pirates and privateers only too willing to snap at the heels of an unruly herd of merchantmen once they poke their noses out into the Atlantic.’

  ‘In my opinion, Captain, two hundred men is a fitting crew for Elusive.’

  ‘So be it, Mr Parry, as first lieutenant, the crew is your responsibility. In two days we join Commodore Ingham in

  St Helens Road and, when the merchant fleet is fully assembled, we sail with them for Madeira. However, I can tell you in confidence, we are not on escort duty, though to all intents and purposes we will appear to be so. It appears the Navy Board has been seduced by a group of wealthy merchants to act as nursemaids.’ Oliver recognised the cynical tone in his voice and sighed. ‘It peeves me somewhat to say this, but my orders state categorically that we do not commit ourselves to action unless there is no other alternative. We must avoid confrontation like the Yellow-Jack. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That is well. Now, I would like to speak with the surgeon as soon as he comes aboard. Let us hope he spends this cruise relaxing over a good book and not battling to stand upright on the blood-soaked sand of the cockpit floor. Would you not agree?’

  ‘Indeed, Captain.’

  ‘Congratulations, Captain. She’s a fine ship.’ The captain’s steward was grinning from ear to ear as he gazed around the cabin with its paucity of furnishings.

  Oliver’s delighted expression was genuine. ‘Good to see you aboard, Casson. Have you just arrived?’

  ‘Not more than five minutes ago, Capt’n. I made myself known to the first lieutenant. He said you wanted to see me right away.’

  ‘I trust you did not come aboard alone.’

  ‘No, sir, I came on with a boatload of middies and their dunnage.’

  ‘Did you find Jack Mundy?’

  ‘Aye, indeed, Capt’n. I took a wherry up the Thames to Putney and asked around. Several folk in the parish knew of him, but not exactly where he was. I was led a merry dance trying to find him but eventually tracked him down. What a stroke of luck – I found him as he was on his way to the docks to sign on an Indiaman. Another half day and he’d have been gone. He’s following in the next boat with the surgeon who we came across waiting on the gun jetty.

  ‘Good man, Casson. I knew I could depend on you. And what of the other men you were looking for?’

  ‘I couldn’t find the gunner, Capt’n, though I did try.’

  ‘Not to worry about him. We have a couple of gunner’s mates from the Constantine. I will get Mr Parry to suggest one of them to be stepped up. And what of the bosun?’

  ‘I found out where he lived but his wife swore she’s not seen him in three years and didn’t rightly know if he was dead or alive. By chance, I came across another man on the docks who had just collected his warrant. He has over twenty years service as bosun on both merchant and king’s ships. I brought him along. Mr Taplin, his name is.’

  ‘Thank you, Casson, you did well. And tomorrow you will take a launch to Ryde and find out what has happened to my furniture. You must agree it is rather barren in here.’

  ‘I can’t say as how I’d noticed, Capt’n.’

  Oliver smiled. ‘It will also give you the opportunity to collect your own dunnage. I’m sure you will be looking forward to being back in ship’s rig again.’

  ‘Too right, Capt’n.’

  On deck, Mr Parry was reviewing the six recently arrived midshipmen. They were lined up on the quarterdeck and although the angle of Elusive’s deck was swaying less than a few degrees from the horizontal, two of the young men appeared to be having difficulty maintaining their balance.

  ‘Stand still, you there!’

  The lieutenant ran an experienced eye over all six. As usual, though their dress was identical, the men within the uniforms were all quite different.

  The first in line could not be described as plump. He was without doubt fat and his ageing uniform bore witness to his excess appetite. The peace had not been good for his figure. Mr Parry ascertained that his name was Peter Wood – nicknamed Pud – and that he had sat for the examination for lieutenant the previous year.

  ‘And passed?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. A flush of red rising over his rounded cheeks.

  Simon Parry tutted. With few ships of the line in commission, it seemed odd to him that the Admiralty continued to examine young midshipmen when there were no positions available for them. He moved on.

  Next was an untidy looking fellow. His neck cloth was askew and a length of his hair had come adrift from its ribbon. By all appearances, he would have been more at home in a stable than on the deck of one of His Majesty’s frigates, and when he announced his father ran a string of cabs in Camberwell, the lieutenant was not surprised. His name was Reginald Mollard and he had a sharp look about him. Parry made a mental note that this man would need watching.

  The third in line was an older fellow. Quite old. Too old in fact for a midshipman.

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘’azzlewood, sir.’ The midshipman raised his hat as he answered.

  ‘How long have you been in the service, Hazzlewood?

 
; ‘Fifteen years, sir.’

  ‘Do you have problems with geometry?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and algebra too.’

  ‘Can you maintain the log-board?’

  ‘Certainly can, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ He moved on. ‘And your name?’ the lieutenant quizzed a much younger man whose very stance was quite superior to the rest.

  ‘Algernon Biggleswade Smythe, sir.’

  ‘Ah. The Honourable Algernon Biggleswade Smythe?'

  ‘That is correct, sir.’

  ‘Let me welcome you aboard Elusive, young man.’

  The midshipman smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m very pleased to be here. My father said …’

  ‘On this ship whatever you father said will be of little account. From now on you will be addressed as Mr Smith. I presume from the state of your uniform that you have just entered the Royal Navy.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And no doubt you will tell me that you excel in geometry and algebra.’

  ‘Yes, sir. And trigonometry also, sir,’ he replied confidently.

  Mr Parry moved to the next in line.

  ‘And you, sir?’

  ‘Tully, sir. Ben Tully, sir. Twelve years in the service – three before the mast, two years as bosun’s mate and seven as master’s mate.’

  ‘Hmm. And what inspired you to re-enter the service as a midshipman?’

  ‘I came by some money, sir, when an old uncle died, so here I am as a middie. I intend to make sailing master one day, if I can.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘And you?’

  The last man in line had his head bowed.

  ‘Look at me when I am speaking to you!’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ Lifting his head the young man revealed a disturbing twitch which affected the left side of his cheek. Unfortunately the muscle spasm gave the impression that he was winking at the lieutenant. Simon watched for a moment. The effect seemed to amuse Mr Mollard. Again, he made a mental note.

  ‘And what brought you to Elusive?’