by M. C. Muir
‘What is it, Mr Mollard?’
‘Mr Parry sends his respects, Capt’n, and said to tell you that the small boat is secured.’
‘Good. And the man also, I presume.’
‘Aye, Capt’n, but he ain't really a man. Not much more than a lad, though he’s long legged and gangly a bit like a young horse.’
‘Does this colt have a name? And tell me, Mr Mollard, what delivered him to us in that rudderless coracle?’
‘Don’t rightly know. The men have dubbed him, Fish, because they caught him on the grapple. Like a fish on a hook – if you gets me meaning, Capt’n.’
‘Yes, Mr Mollard, you do not need to explain further.’
‘Anyway, he says his name’s Will – William Ethridge, and he says he comes from Buckler’s Hard, wherever that might be. Says the boat belongs to him and says he built it.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I told him straight off what the penalties was for stealing on one of his Majesty’s ships but he swore he didn’t steal it. A taste of the bosun’s cane would squeeze the truth out of him, I reckon.’
‘Like dunking a witch in a duck pond to rid a village of a plague of grasshoppers?’
The midshipman from the streets of London scratched his head. ‘Beg pardon, Capt’n?’
‘Could it be perhaps that this Fish is speaking the truth?’
The midshipman shrugged his shoulders in response.
‘Thank you Mr Mollard, that will be all.’
‘Tell me about the midshipmen,’ Oliver asked, refilling his lieutenant’s glass from the Waterford decanter. ‘Has any one of them got the makings of a second lieutenant?’
‘Early days, Captain, but I am being mindful.’
‘And the prize taken last night?’ he said, with a glint in his eye.
‘If only they were all so easy to take!’ Simon Parry said, savouring the aroma of the brandy before taking a sip. ‘A fine wine,’ he added.
‘Indeed. That is one thing the French do well. But what of the youth on board?’
‘He’s a man, Captain. Full twenty years of age but he lacks the gall of a common sailor so he appears younger.’
‘And the seaworthiness of the boat?
‘He claims he built it himself but I’m not entirely convinced of that. It certainly looks and smells new from the state of the timber. It’s lacking a rudder and rowlocks and is in need of paint or varnish, but otherwise it’s a serviceable craft. I’ve spoken with Mr Sparrow and he said he will attend to it.’
Oliver leaned back in his chair enjoying the wine. ‘I suggest you ask the carpenter to speak with him. I’d like to know if there is any truth in his story.’
Chapter 7
Mr Sparrow
The shrill of the whistles greeted Captain Quintrell on his return from the flagship. Stepping on deck he raised his hat to the quarterdeck.
‘Welcome back, Captain.’
‘Humph. I will speak to you in my cabin, Mr Parry.’
The lieutenant turned to Mr Nightingale. ‘This is your watch is it not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Make sure the captain’s boat is swayed up and properly secured.’ After advising the sailing master that he was leaving the deck, Mr Parry made his way down the accommodation ladder in the waist to the captain’s cabin.
‘Sit down, Simon,’ Oliver said.
‘I trust you enjoyed a good dinner, sir.’
Oliver huffed. ‘Stuffed quail. A little dry but otherwise an excellent meal. However the subsequent converse…’
The lieutenant waited while Oliver composed his thoughts.
‘Damn the man. Until I boarded the flagship, I was content. Content with my commission, content with the composition of my crew. My only concerns were that the vessel was seaworthy and that we would proceed from harbour without incident, which we did. I had my current orders, and all was well with the world.’
‘And now, if I might venture to enquire?’
‘A direct conflict of orders, damn it.’
The door opened and Casson appeared balancing two bone-china cups on a silver tray.
‘Can I get you anything else, Capt’n?’ the steward enquired, as he placed the tray on the table.
‘Thank you, Casson. That is quite sufficient.’
Oliver sniffed the rich aroma and relaxed back in his chair.
‘I shall explain my frustrations as best I can. Firstly, like you and everyman aboard, I do not know our final destination, or the purpose of this cruise. My orders are cloaked in secrecy and also some degree of urgency. We are to sail at the same time as Admiral Ingram’s squadron and this motley fleet of merchantmen and make for Madeira with minimal delay. From there we all head south to the 15th parallel.’
‘With a large fleet, delays could be inevitable. I have known it take a convoy over twenty days to clear the Channel, partly because of bad weather and partly due to the state of the merchant vessels. I believe they were eventually ordered back to port until the weather cleared.’
‘That cannot be allowed to happen! This voyage is of utmost importance to the Admiralty and, it is suggested, to the future of the country – though I fail to fathom how. Let me explain my concerns. In my conversation with the commodore over dinner this evening, I discovered that he assumes Elusive is part of the naval contingent which is acting as escort and therefore directly under his command.’ He paused. ‘Yet his orders contravene my written orders from the Admiralty.’
‘I’m not sure I understand, sir.’
‘My orders are to make for Madeira without delay and from there to the tropics. I am to sail with the merchant fleet but not as an escort ship. It states categorically that I am to avoid confrontation and not enter into any engagement with enemy forces. The commodore however, who I had assumed would know something of my mission, insists I act under his direct orders and he was not prepared to listen to my argument.’
‘That could prove a dilemma should any action present itself.’
‘Indeed. Should I avoid conflict, I will be deemed a coward by both my men and the commodore, and could likely face a court-martial for disobeying orders. Contrarily, if I follow instructions from Admiral Ingram and engage with an enemy, whosoever that may be, I will be disobeying the instructions of the Admiralty. Whichever way I choose, my fate is sealed. Do you have any comment, Simon? Please speak freely.’
The lieutenant was hesitant. ‘A fleet of ships carrying valuable cargo is always a temptation to privateers, not to mention pirates, false lights and similar malevolencies. I hear the Barbary pirates have become increasingly bold of late, attacking ships in the Bay of Biscay and as far west as Madeira and the Canaries. Hence the reason the rich merchants have requested a naval escort, no doubt. But a secret mission dedicated to a single ship, and a frigate to boot. That is unusual, to say the least.’
‘I speculated about that also,’ Quintrell mused, looking down at his hand lacking three of its fingers. ‘All I know is that we are attached to this convoy like some useless sixth digit and if we suffer any damage which delays us, all will be lost.’
‘Perhaps we should consider the advantages of our present situation.’
‘Indeed, Mr Parry. We are only thirty-eight guns, and alone we may be vulnerable. However, I think no right-minded pirate or privateer would consider engaging such a large fleet especially with the combined cannon fire of a 100-gun man-of-war and two 64s plus two other frigates besides ourself. In that regard clearing the Channel should not be a problem.’
‘But the fleet can only travel at the speed of the slowest vessel,’ Simon added.
‘Then we must pray for sound ships and fair winds which will deliver us with all haste to Madeira and thence south to the Canary Islands and the tropics where we can bid this wretched fleet farewell.’ He drank his coffee leaving only the dark dregs in the bottom of his cup.
‘Thank you, Simon; I believe I will sleep well. The fleet sails tomorrow at nine o’clock. We will replenish our water in Func
hal.’ He smiled. ‘There is some excellent venison on that island and fruit of every variety but I trust our stay is no more than three days. However, that decision will rest with the commodore.’
‘Ample time I would think.’
‘When we are there, I intend to go ashore for a few hours.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘But on the morrow we will discover if Elusive is equal to our expectations.’
Eight bells summonsed the ship’s company to breakfast. By nine o’clock scores of sails were unfurled and shaken out by the topmen who dotted the yardarms like wooden pegs. To the casual observer, Spithead had assumed the appearance of a giant’s washday. Now all that was lacking was the wind to fill the squares of canvas, but little moved in the vapour-heavy morning air save the idlers on the ships’ decks busily performing their regular morning rituals.
Noon came and the fleet of merchant ships were still swaying idly from their anchor cables. Still only the lightest breeze could be felt in
St Helens Road. Occasionally, it lifted a vessel’s flaccid sails and teased them for a fleeting moment before dropping them against the silent masts. Then, suddenly the wind freshened, blowing crisp salt air across the Channel towards the flowered fields of Normandy. The noisy clapping of a thousand sails and the creaking of moving timber woke the listless crews. An hour later a dull thud and a puff of smoke rose from the signal gun on the deck of the flagship announcing that it was time to weigh anchor.
‘Don’t trust those merchantmen, Mr Parry. If I am not wrong, they will be as unpredictable as rabbits on a common. I suggest you give them a wide berth.’
‘Aye aye.’
‘Take her to sea, Mr Parry.’
‘Anchor aweigh! Let fly the topsails!’
Like ribbons unwinding from around a maypole, the fleet of closely packed vessels slowly began drifting apart. After falling back, the breeze tantalised the sails before catching the rattling canvas and punching it out. Like ripples flowing out from a stone dropped on a pond, the distance between the vessels slowly widened.’
‘Set the courses!’
At the pin-rails scores of sailors hung bodily from lines hauling them home before securing them around the smooth belaying pins.
On the quarterdeck, Mr Mundy, the sailing master studied the event through the lens of his telescope. But a glass was not necessary to notice that three of the merchant ships had already come to grief. Turning recklessly in front of a brig, a schooner had climbed onto its deck. A bark had joined the ménage-à-trois and no amount of cries and abuse was about to dislodge them.
Quintrell shook his head.
‘Keep us well to the south, Mr Parry. Out of harm’s way.’
The first lieutenant looked comfortable. ‘South by west, helmsman. And Mr Nightingale, report any signals from the flagship, immediately. Or from any other ship for that matter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Mr Tully, I want you to go aloft. I want to be advised of anything afloat in the channel that is not part of this fleet.’ The midshipman, who had served before the mast, was happy to scurry up the ratlines.
With the commodore’s 100-gun first-rate in the van, followed closely in her wake by one of the 64s, the fleet of merchant ships fanned out behind them like a flock of uncoordinated ducklings. And while the fighting ships sailed smoothly throwing up little spume, some of the smaller craft struggled against the increasing swell. Elusive’s bow hit each successive rolling wave with a resounding thwack shooting a cloud of spray across the fo’c’sle. But the mist was fine and was blown off the larboard bow before it had chance to reach the foremast. With seventy hulls raking the surface, the sea’s surface bubbled and spat like a cauldron of salty water.
Two hours later the tail of the convoy stretched back as far as the eye could see, and the signal from the flagship to close up had little effect on consolidating the group.
‘Deck, there! Ship off the larboard beam.’
‘How does she bear?’
‘Can’t rightly tell, sir, Can only see her t’gallants. But from the angle of her sail, I’d say she’s on the same course as us. Probably running along the coast of Brittany.’
‘Can you see her colours, Mr Tully?’
‘No sir. She’s not flying any.’
‘Thank you, Mr Tully. Keep a close eye on her. I want to know if she changes course. And Mr Nightingale, signal the flagship of her presence.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘Come in, you don’t have to knock.’ Mr Sparrow stroked the plane along the length of timber, smoothed his hand over its surface and angled the piece of cedar towards the light to examine its shape. Then he glanced up at the tall slim silhouette in the darkened doorway.
It was always gloomy on the orlop deck but the carpenter’s workshop was lit by a couple of lanterns, one hanging over each end of the workbench. The lamps swayed rhythmically casting shadows on the ruffled sea of curled shavings scattered across the bench. The carpenter’s shop was of substantial size. Bigger than the bosun's lockers and larger than the cooper’s domain. Even bigger than the galley.
‘Come in. I’ll not bite you,’ the carpenter called. ‘You’re not on watch right now are you?’
‘No, why’s that?’
‘You’d be in trouble if you were caught below decks when your watch is on. You should know that by now.’
Will nodded. Hearing the Yorkshire accent reminded him of an old fisherman who used to sail up the Beaulieu River and moor his boat at the jetty at Buckler’s Hard. He arrived every Saturday afternoon regular as clockwork to sell his catch to the villagers. He usually did a good trade and Will’s mother was one of his customers. What stuck in his mind were the yarns the fisherman used to spin. He hailed from Whitby originally, a fishing village in the north where the fisher-folk made their living from herring or whales. The old man had been a whaler in his younger days and told tales of days spent following the pods and of harpooning the massive sea creatures. He told how the boats were often dragged for miles until the beast was dead. He talked about seals too; of how the snow was red with blood by the time they had finished a kill.
Being born on the Montagu Estate, Will had never seen much snow, nor blood for that matter, but the thought reminded him of the jelly-like pool which had oozed from his grandfather’s leg. He shuddered involuntarily.
‘I was told you wanted to see me, sir.’
Percy Sparrow wiped a dusty palm across his brow then rubbed his hands down his leather apron. ‘That’s right. You feeling better than when you was brought on board?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘You don’t need say “aye” or “sir” to me. A simple “yes” or “no” will do.’
Will nodded.
‘That’s a tidy little craft you floated here in. I heard you claim you built it, but there’s them on board who think you’re stringing a yarn.’
‘I’m not. It’s God’s truth. I made it with my own hands, though I got some help from my grandfather.’
‘Ah, so he’s a boat builder is he?’
‘Shipwright, sir, like my father was, only he’s dead. But I’m going to be a shipwright too,’ he said proudly. ‘My seven years is up in a few months time.’
The carpenter huffed. ‘You’ll be lucky to get out of His Majesty’s service if the war with the Frogs starts again. How old are you, lad?’
‘Near twenty one, sir. I was took on when I was fourteen.’
‘You’re not pulling my tit are you? You look like nowt but a lad to me.’
‘No, sir. Honest.’
The carpenter glanced along his bench to the tools hanging on the wall. ‘Pass me a two inch auger and an inch gouge.’
Will looked around. The augers were hanging up and easy to locate though there were several in various sizes. The gouges, however, were stored in a box beneath the bench but it didn’t take him long to find the right one and hand it to the craftsman.
‘Put ’em back,’ Mr Sparrow said. ‘I believ
e you. I got a couple of hands sent to me as carpenter’s mates. Dead-wood they are, both of them. One can’t read a twelve inch rule, and no wonder – his eyes are fixed in two different directions. I wager he’ll never saw a straight line. The other fellow tells me he’s a good man on the end of a saw. Spent most of his time in the bottom of a pit, breathing sawdust. Must have taken in a lungful of it because he does nowt but sniff and sneeze when he’s in here. It’ll drive me batty listening to him snuffling all day.’
Scooping up a handful of shavings, the carpenter dropped them in a half-barrel almost full of sawdust. ‘Maybe they’ll rate you as acting carpenter’s mate if I ask. I’ll put the word to Mr Parry and see if we can’t get you allocated to me. More money for you down here, that’s if your wages aren’t claimed by your master on shore.’
Will looked puzzled.
‘That’s the rule, lad. If you’re indentured when you come aboard, then whatever you earn can be claimed by your master, if he has a mind to. There’s nowt no one can do about it not unless they change the laws.’
‘Don’t seem right somehow.’
‘There’s a lot that don’t seem right, especially when you’re on one of His Majesty’s ships. But I’ll tell you this, if you work down here with me there’ll be no watches cos you’ll be what’s known as an idler. You’ll work daytime from eight in the morning till eight at night and that’s all. Unless of course there’s a call for all hands, then you go where you’re put. Bad weather will probably find you on a pump or swinging on a line. And if we get into a fight you might find yourself in the magazine or helping on a gun or carting bodies to the cockpit.’
He looked at the lad ‘Don’t worry. You’ll soon get used to it. Are you afraid of heights?’
‘Don’t think so. I’ve climbed plenty of ladders.’
‘I’m talking ratlines and rigging, lad.’
‘I don’t see what’s the difference. The ladders at the shipyard reach above the top of a ship’s side. That’s around thirty or forty feet high depending on how many decks she’s got. If you’re standing on the slipway beside a ship of the line even without her rigging, she’s as tall as an oak before it’s felled. Besides, them ladders aren’t always fastened at the top like the ship’s rigging is.’ He laughed. ‘I reckon it’d be no harder climbing the rigging on a ship at sea than climbing up the side of a ship’s hull in a strong wind.’