The Oliver Quintrell Trilogy Omnibus

by M. C. Muir

  ‘So who said we was going to be carrying slaves? If that was the case, we should have been heading for the Guinea coast by now.’

  Will looked across the mess table to Percy Sparrow. ‘Is that right, Chips?’

  The carpenter nodded. ‘Glad we aren’t going there. It’s a killer coast.’

  ‘Aye, it’s breathing all that gold dust that kills you. Floats in the mist from the swamps,’ said Bungs. ‘Yellow clouds of it. No man lives long once he’s breathed that in.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Will, looking to his mentor.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of him, lad. Kidding you, he is.’

  ‘But is there gold in Guinea?’ Will asked.

  ‘Too true, there is. Both black and yellow,’ said the cooper.

  ‘I never heard of black gold.’

  ‘Slaves, lad. That’s what he’s talking about.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Bungs, ‘just like some of them on this ship.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft!’ the carpenter quipped.

  ‘Slaves ain’t no different to pressed men. They have their liberty taken from them.’

  Wotton, the captain’s coxswain, had been listening. ‘I’ll agree with you there, Bungs, though not many will. The Press was evil. They treated a lubber no better than a black slave. I’ve seen poor devils herded round the street of Portsmouth, beaten with rattans and whips like they were animals, while fancy folk stood by and watched and no one lifted a finger to stop them. And no one cared that those men were taken from their wives and families. At least the blacks can take their wives and bairns along with them.’

  ‘That’s true, Will. They take whole families on the slave ships.’

  ‘Of course, when a sailor don’t come home, his missus thinks he’s been murdered or run off, and after a time she gives up on him and takes up with another man. If he ever manages to get back to land and go home then there’s hell to pay.’

  ‘Well there ain’t no pressed men on here,’ Foss added.

  ‘You speak for yourself,’ Percy Sparrow said.

  At the table, the seated men, swaying in unison with the pitch and roll of the ship, studied the carpenter’s face.

  ‘I was pressed back in ’84. Young I was then. Married with two little ones. A gullible fool in them days.

  Bungs laughed. ‘A sparrow caught in a cage!’

  Chips ignored him. ‘A well-dressed fellow offered me a shilling to deliver a package to a ship in the harbour. Said I must be sure and to hand it to the lieutenant in person. Fool that I was, I jumped at the chance of making the extra pennies. Of course, when I stepped on board, that was the last I saw of London for five years. I’ll never forget the gent who set me up. I suppose he collected a nice bounty for his trouble.’

  ‘So what made you stay?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t rightly know. At first I hated it but after I was put to work in the carpenter’s shop, I got to like it. Aye, and being young, I liked the excitement. After a while, I was made carpenter’s mate and eventually I got a warrant. Now I’ve got my own workshop with no watches, and down there no one to tell me what to do. I have a hammock to sleep in and plenty of rations and, beside the wages, there’s always a chance of prize money.’

  ‘In war time maybe and providing the agents are honest!’

  Ted Trickett was seated at the far end of the mess table, his shoulder leaning hard against the side of the ship. With his eyes shut, he appeared to be asleep.

  ‘What about you?’ said Bungs, flinging his empty plate along the table.

  Trickett jerked his head up as the wooden plate struck him on the knuckles. Picking it up, he shoved it back. ‘I ain’t got nothing to complain about. I’ve made gunner’s mate and one day I’ll make gunner.’

  ‘Aye, if you live long enough.’

  ‘I’ve done all right so far, ain’t I?

  Bungs laughed. ‘I hear you were running a scuttle from Shields to Woolwich for seven years. I doubt there were many Frenchies scouring the coal run.’

  ‘Well there were a few didn’t make it home thanks to me. And I don’t mind admitting, I made my mark to get me hands on the five pound note they were offering.’

  ‘I ain’t never seen a five pound note,’ said Will.

  Chips laughed. ‘Well, you’re not alone. Bungs wouldn’t know what to do with one if he found one. He’d probably use it for wiping his arse.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough from you, Sparrow-brain. Let’s see how loudly you chirp without any teeth in your mouth.’

  The two men eyed each other while Trickett grinned.

  ‘So, Mr Know-it-all,’ said Bungs, the cooper, ‘where do you think we’re heading?’

  Chips stretched his neck. ‘I got it from the master we’re likely heading round the Horn.’

  ‘And what, pray tell us, are we going to fill our empty hold with – gold from Eldorado? Chests filled with Dutch florins.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll take a Spanish ship loaded with emeralds and rubies and take it a prize. Imagine what that would be worth. We’d be rich men.’

  ‘And it wouldn’t sit in your pocket long before you spent it.’

  Bungs shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Do you think we might sail to the Sandwich Islands and bring us back a ship full of natives?’ Trickett asked.

  ‘You’ll not get me tangling with them women.’

  ‘What? Scared of a good woman are you, Chips?’

  The mess table shook with the cooper’s laughter but the carpenter’s expression didn’t change.

  ‘It’s said they can take you to heaven by just looking at you,’ Bungs added.

  ‘Well,’ said Chips, ‘they’ll not take me anywhere, because I don’t leave the ship when we anchor in foreign ports.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll go to Mexico,’ said Bungs. ‘I hear there are places where the natives paint themselves like skeletons and dance on the graves to wake the dead. In the mornings the spirits rise and float down to the sea in the mist. Don’t it make you shudder?’

  ‘Is that right, Chips?’

  ‘Shut it, Bungs! Don’t take no notice, Will.’

  ‘So, if it weren’t for the press, why would men go to sea?’ the young shipwright asked.

  ‘I’ve known men…’

  ‘Listen to Sparrow,’ Bungs said. ‘Chirping again. From the way he talks, he must know more folk than live in the whole of London.’

  ‘Well, perhaps I do. And perhaps I wash my ears out regular, not like some folk who wouldn’t know a piece of soap if he slipped on one.’

  ‘What you trying to say?’

  ‘Not trying to say nothing. Just answering the lad’s question.’

  ‘Aye and what were that?’ said Bungs, scratching his head.

  Percy Sparrow’s eyes glinted. ‘Why do men go to sea? Why don’t you tell him, Bungs? Could it be the Governor of Newgate Prison didn’t give you much choice in the matter?’

  The handle of the cooper’s knife reverberated, as he thrust its point deep in the mess table. ‘Volunteer, I was!’

  ‘That’s not what’s written in the muster book.’

  ‘Tweet, tweet. You like to sing, Mr Dickie Bird, don’t you? Well you’ll not sing so sweetly with you throat wrung!’

  ‘Stow that talk, you stupid blighter!’ Chips replied, quite unconcerned. ‘His bark’s worse than his bite, Will, and everyone knows it.’

  ‘Just you wait!’ Bungs said, pulling his knife from the deal and pointing it threateningly towards the carpenter. ‘I’ll get you one of these days!’

  Froyle was tired of listening to Bungs. The cooper was forever hogging the conversation. ‘Well, I’ll admit to being taken by the Press but I didn’t complain. Glad to sail off and see the back of my missus, I was. Bad sort, she was. I heard later she was sentenced to swing, and good riddance, says I. Then I heard she was put on a prison ship – like them slave ships only worse. Ha! Perhaps the hangman’s noose might have been kinder after all.’

  ‘He
y! Muffin man. What about you?’ said Bungs, pointing his knife at the sailor's face. ‘You don’t say much either, do you?’

  ‘Me? I got picked up in an alley when I was eight or nine years old. I was fitted up with a set of clothes and put on board my first ship. Kissed the gunner’s daughter the first week. Thought I was going to die.’

  ‘What you do? Piss on the poop deck?’

  ‘No. Some evil bastard, like you Bungs, thought he’s have a bit of fun. Sent me down to the magazine with a lighted lantern in my hand. Told me to sweep the place up. I was lucky the powder hadn’t come aboard. But I learned quick after that. And I waited my time and eventually got my own back.’

  ‘What you do? Blow his head off?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  The sound of feet dancing to the tune of a hornpipe brought a lull to the conversation.

  ‘I once seen a man…’ Chips continued.

  ‘Here he goes again.’

  ‘I once seen a man eat a foreign crab and his tongue swelled up so much it killed him. At first he couldn't talk and we thought the shell was stuck in his throat. Then his face went bright red like the colour of the crab itself. Then he went white as a sheet and couldn’t breathe. Stone dead within a few minutes, he was. Surgeon said it was the crab meat that killed him. I ain’t never eaten a crab since then and if I were you Will, I wouldn’t chance it.’

  ‘And when were you last served a crab for supper on one of His Majesty’s ships?’

  ‘Oh, shut your face, Bungs. I’m trying to give the lad good advice.’

  The cooper laughed and threw his arm around Will’s shoulder. ‘Don’t have to worry your head about things like crabs. But step ashore on the Ganges River and you’ll get snapped up by crocodiles. And there are lions on the beaches of the Barbary Coast.’

  ‘Aye,’ added Muffin, trying hard to keep a straight face, ‘and the Barbary pirates take Christians and eat them alive.’

  ‘And if you fall overboard in the Amazon the fish will pick your bones clean in a trice,’ Foss added.

  ‘Don’t worry about the wild beasts, Will. You don’t even have to step off the ship in Panama to be cursed by the Yellow Jack.’

  Though tears rolled down the faces of two of the men, Will’s face never flickered as the mess-mates’ banter continued.

  ‘Ignore them, Will. You’ll hear no pearls of wisdom here. Take it from me, lad, you’ll be all right if you keeps your nose clean.’

  As usual, Bungs made sure he had the last word. ‘I’ll give you something to think about when you’re in your hammock wishing you were back sucking on your mother’s tit. Just mark my words, as sure as there’s water under this ship, the Devil will get you one of these days and believe me he wears lots of different disguises.’

  The following morning Will limped into the carpenter’s workshop carrying one of his shoes. The skin on the back of his heel was a weeping mess.

  ‘Happens all the time to lubbers. Barefoot for you, lad, for a while. Keep your feet dry, if you can, though a splash of sea water when they’re swabbing the decks won’t do them no harm. Best medicine is a dose of hot sun. Do as I say and they’ll heal up a treat in no time.’

  Will watched the spiralled shavings curling from the hole the auger was drilling.

  ‘Can you write, lad,’ Percy Sparrow said.

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘Then why don’t you write and tell your mother where you are. I’ll hand your letter to the purser when we get into port and I’ll ask him to send it for you. At least you can put her out of her misery as she probably thinks you’ve drowned by now.’

  ‘I’d like to do that.’

  ‘You’ll find a pencil in that box yonder and I’ll get you a piece of paper. Tell your ma that Chips will keep an eye on you.’

  Will smiled.

  ‘And don’t take too much notice of the men in the mess. There’s two hundred Elusives and most will mind their own business and not trouble you. But be careful who you choose to confide in. There’s always one or two rotten apples in a wooden tub like this one, them that bears a grudge against everyone and everything. Them sorts are born with a nasty streak in their blood and a temper strung tighter than a forestay in a roaring gale. I don’t mind a man who goes off like a vent full of powder. No,’ said Chips, ‘it’s the ones that smoulder like a yard of slow match you’ve got to be wary of.’

  Chapter 10

  Neptune’s wrath

  Captain Quintrell donned his hat as he stepped on deck. It provided some relief from the equatorial sun that was almost directly overhead, but none from the glare mirrored from the sea and from every metal plate and eye on the frigate that blinked constantly in response to the pitch and roll of the ship. On the quarterdeck, the officer of the watch touched his hat.

  Oliver glanced at the latest entries on the log-board. ‘Maintaining nine knots. That is good. The winds are in our favour, are they not, Mr Mundy.’

  The sailing master sniffed the air. ‘Aye, Captain. Let’s hope they stay that way.’

  Scudding along under full sail, Elusive encountered the smooth Atlantic rollers beam-on and with more than a ship’s length between each trough, the ship dipped and swayed like a drunken man navigating an alley.

  Nothing marked the clear tropical sky save a single speck of black and white. This silent blue world, far from any continental land, was the domain of the great sea birds, the petrels, fulmars and shearwaters. But occasionally the broad Atlantic heaven became a highway for huge flocks of land birds moving as one, sailing and wheeling in a kaleidoscopic feathered cloud; each bird as independent as a single raindrop, yet from the ship the flock appearing as a dusky smudge on the watercolour backcloth of sky.

  Aloft, the man in the foretop relaxed against the creaking mast which swayed lazily with the rhythmic swing of an inverted pendulum. From the sea’s surface flying fish, glistening like silver arrows, darted from one wave to another, at times shooting across fifty yards of sea.

  ‘Where is Mr Parry? Is he on deck?’

  ‘Aye, Capt’n. He’s gone for’ard. Said he was going to speak with the bosun.’ Mr Smith turned the half-hour glass and nodded to the marine whose job it was to strike the time. It was two bells.

  Both watches had eaten and under the present idyllic sailing conditions there was little for the seamen to do. Some dozed on deck. Some read. The bosun’s mate was aloft with a tar brush and rag, while on deck the sail-maker and his mates were seated cross-legged against the starboard gunnel sewing a long patch into a torn staysail.

  Under the canvas awning in the ship’s waist, the bosun was instructing four of the midshipmen how to splice rope, while in the shade of the longboat, two seasoned old salts sat patiently picking oakum. Though it was a chore often given as a punishment, the men were happily stuffing the loose fibres into hand-sewn linen bags. As feathers were not available, teased oakum made for a comfortable pillow.

  The laughter quietened as the captain stepped onto the quarterdeck and the men on the larboard side shuffled automatically across to the opposite side and out of his way.

  Oliver leaned over the rail at the waist and listened to the voices coming from below. The tone was healthy. The men appeared content. But the lull of the ocean and the idyllic azure surrounds could be a deceptive cradle which easily rocked a ship to sleep. It was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  In the bow, a group of men were unaware of the captain’s attention. They were laughing and pointing. Porpoises, no doubt, he presumed.

  ‘Pass the word to Mr Parry,’ the Captain said to the officer of the watch.

  Mr Smith, the youngest of the midshipmen acknowledged the order and hurried for’ard.

  Oliver watched as his first lieutenant immediately came aft, walking as smartly as if the ship were not rolling at all.

  ‘Well Mr Parry?’

  ‘Checking the hawse-holes, sir.’

  ‘Indeed. And those men who you were examining the hawse-holes with seemed to fin
d some amusement in your company.’

  ‘Not at all. Merely distracted for a moment by a group of porpoises.’

  ‘And have you never seen a porpoise frolicking in a bow wave before?’

  ‘Indeed I have, Captain. Many times.’

  ‘And no doubt the men have seen them also.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The lieutenant was somewhat puzzled at the line of questioning.

  ‘Let me put this to you, Mr Parry, from my brief observation, those sailors appeared to be exuding a considerable degree of over-familiarity with a senior officer. Furthermore that senior officer appeared to be condoning and, might I add, encouraging that over familiarity.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Captain. I did not mean that to be the case but they are…’

  ‘They are what, Mr Parry? In my eyes they are common seamen, nothing more or less. Or am I missing something? Should I use a glass to examine them more closely?’ He glared straight ahead, as if his view of the men standing near the heads was not obliterated by the sweeping canvases of the fore and main courses. ‘No! I should not! But perhaps you will give me your educated opinion of those men who were wasting time in the fo’c’sle, sir.’

  Simon Parry looked uncomfortable. ‘They are men who served with me on my previous ship.’ He paused for a moment before continuing. ‘Men who, like me, at one time thought there was no hope of rescue and yet were miraculously plucked to safety. It is my belief that when men face certain death and share a similar fate, they carry a bond of allegiance.’

  ‘Interesting philosophy, Mr Parry. However you are neither dead nor maimed, nor are any of those men. And pray tell me this, how many times have you been under fire from an enemy’s broadside; or on a deck raining masts and spars; or on a ship when it is boarded?’

  ‘Many times, captain.’

  ‘And in such instances is not every man in imminent danger of meeting his maker? In such instances, doesn’t everyman on the ship share the same fate?’

  ‘Yes, undoubtedly they do.’

  ‘And wouldn’t you agree that almost every seaman with more than ten years service has suffered at least one shipwreck in his career. And has not every man aboard this ship, excluding the young gentlemen, fought in a sea battle.’