by M. C. Muir
‘Were you with the Mediterranean fleet?’
Simon nodded. ‘For a while. I was patrolling the northern beaches of Mediterranean when I was surprised by three French corvettes. With the fleet some distance away, I was outnumbered and outgunned. I fought back and dismasted one, but with the odds and the weather gauge in their favour, there was little hope. Had the fleet not returned and given assistance, Gallant would not have remained afloat. She lost her mizzen but fortunately the fore and main held and rather than refit in Gibraltar I was ordered back to Falmouth. When the new mast was stepped and she was re-rigged, we joined the Channel fleet scouting the northern end.
‘No doubt you fell foul of a French man of war.’
‘No, sir. I fell foul of the Goodwin Sands.’
Captain Quintrell ground his teeth.
‘There was a storm brewing and I was not far off the white cliffs. The barometer suddenly plummeted and I decided the safest option was to head for the Downs and wait until it had blown itself out. We crept in close hauled and anchored off Deal but in the night came this enormous storm. Both cables parted and I was woken to learn Gallant was drifting towards the Sands. The only solution, I thought, was to navigate the deep water channel which runs between the northern and southern outcrops.
‘I took all precautions and had men on the lead on either side but as we headed through a seemingly safe channel I suddenly discovered it was a stew of quicksand. The deep water passage no longer existed and we were soon stuck as solid as a brick in mortar with a gale shredding our sails and the sea sucking on our hull.’
‘And what state was the tide at the time?’
‘Receding.’
‘You were hoping she would lift on the next high?’
‘That was my only hope and a faint hope it was. I had heard stories of ships that had succumbed, but for me it was inconceivable to think that my ship would become one of them.’
He sucked in a heaving breath and continued. ‘Early the following morning the sea was calm with little or no wind and we were on a bar which encroached into Kellet Gut. Gallant had sunk in the sand almost to her gun ports and was sitting bolt upright with not the slightest inclination to heel over. I remember thinking it lucky that the tide was on the ebb.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘Even before light, I had all hands down on the sand digging with whatever tools they could muster, even their hands. Surprisingly the surface was hard and dry and they dug with the fervour of wild dogs unearthing a cadaver. But the constant digging served only to create a six foot moat around the ship. The keel was another twelve feet below held by suction that gripped as tight as a barrel's stave.’
‘An impossible task.’
‘Impossible, indeed.’
‘But if your fate appeared fixed, surely you had no alternative but to abandon ship and get your men ashore.’
‘Of course. But even with the predicament as it was, that was not a straightforward decision to take. So while the sand was hard and the men dug, I encouraged them. But there were Deal and Ramsgate men amongst the crew – men who related tales their fathers and grandfathers had passed down to them. They spoke of the ferocious storms of 1703 when fifty-three ships went down, of ghost ships and ghost crews appearing at night, and wrecks by the hundreds fixed to the chalky bottom. The men were bewitched by the tall tales and despite my attempts to bring them to order they were stirred to a point of near panic. When a local boat came out from Deal and the fisherman shouted to us to get off while we still could, the men went crazy with the idea of rescue.’
‘So what fate befell your crew and what of the ship’s boats?’
‘The tide was on the make and we could see it sliding along the sands towards us. Its pace was such that the men who had gone out to hail the local boat had to run to outstrip it. But as the water drew closer, the sand around us changed. I felt it soften beneath my own feet. What appeared to be firm ground was an illusion. It was thinner than the skin on a bowl of custard and at times it quivered like jelly. I could do nothing. I watched helplessly as my men tried to make it to the ship but as they ran their feet sank, and within minutes they were up to their knees unable to pull one leg out and place it in front of the other. Fortunately I was near the ship and was able to climb aboard. From the deck I watched helplessly as those sailors sank deeper in the stew and were slowly sucked under. When I close my eyes I can still see their faces – hear their gurgling screams as the liquid sand ran down their throats and choked them.’ He sighed. ‘Quicksand provides an evil death.’
The captain stirred the sugar which had settled in the bottom of his cup. ‘And you say the gale had died?’
‘Completely. Daybreak brought bright sunshine, light winds and a flat calm sea. I entered it in the log that morning.’
‘But what of the other men. A frigate of that size would have at least one hundred and fifty men aboard.’
‘One hundred and sixty.’ He drained his cup and continued, ‘As the tide rose we realised the ship had sunk lower and before long water was seeping in around the lids on the gun ports. I ordered the boats swung out and waited as long as I dared before having them launched. Eighty men scrambled into the three boats. That was all we had.’
‘And you were in one of the boats.’
‘No. I stayed with the ship with a handful of volunteers.’
‘A brave decision.’
‘Not so,’ he sighed. ‘I had little choice. The boats were already overloaded and would carry no more. Fortunately those men were in luck. The sea was calm. When they left I instructed my officers to send a boat back to collect those of us who had remained behind. At the time, I did not share my thoughts with the others but my concern was that when the tide reached its full and the sand returned to its fluid state, it would release its grip and the ship would heel over. I also held grave fears that the boats would not return quickly enough.
‘We, who remained, watched the tide as it rose. We watched it running across the deck, sliding like spilt wine over a polished table; smooth as quicksilver, silent as the grave, slithering into every vacant nook and cranny.’ He sighed. ‘It was not the shipwreck you would imagine. No raging torrent crashing over the bow, just clear translucent water trickling across the quarterdeck and pouring almost delicately through the open hatches – the level growing visibly deeper with every passing minute.’
‘Did she go over as the tide filled?’
Simon shook his head. ‘No. The sand did not release its grip on the keel as I had expected, in fact the suction increased, so with the remaining men, I climbed the rigging. All we could do was cling to the yards and pray she would stay upright until the boats returned.’
‘Obviously you eventually made it to shore.’
‘A group of boats appeared. They were not the ship’s boats but local men from Deal. They were familiar with the area. They knew the tides and winds and above all the moods and movements of the shifting sands. But above all, their boats were almost flat-bottomed which allowed them to skim the surface without danger of becoming stranded.’
‘Were all your men saved?’
‘Not so, unfortunately. In their panic, two of my men dived from the rigging but being exhausted and unable to swim far did not make it to the boats. The fishermen did their best though I must admit some seemed more interested in what items of value could be salvaged from the flotsam.’
‘But you were rescued and taken ashore.’
‘I was, sir, along with several of my men.’
The lieutenant paused as the captain refilled the cups.
‘I never saw Gallant slip under the water but by the next day there was not a sign of her to be seen.’
Oliver shook his head.
‘As a dozen other ships broke their moorings that night, and three merchant vessels were never seen again, the court martial board deemed that the loss of the ship was not entirely of my doing and exonerated me. However I was reprimanded for my ill chosen decision of trying to sail through Kellet Gut rather than the
Gull Stream to the north. Apart from the reprimand I was made to forfeit the prize money due to me from my service in the Mediterranean.’
‘A bitter pill to swallow.’
‘Indeed.’
‘At the time, how did you receive the board’s findings?’
Simon pondered for a moment. ‘I respect the findings of the court martial but let me say, if the same events occurred today, I doubt I could or would do anything differently. Had I tried to make it through the northern passage, with the wind blowing at gale force, I would have been pushed onto the North Goodwin bank. Unfortunately, I was unaware, at the time, that every seven years the Sands move from east to west and back again and that the channel which flows between the two banks has a habit of closing up.’
‘I did not know that either.’
‘But I am thankful that almost ninety of my crew survived and the officers and seamen who served with me bore no malice. However, the fact remains, I lost one of His Majesty’s frigates and sacrificed men’s lives – not in the cause of battle – but as a result of a woeful decision. I alone am responsible and every day when I look out at a flat calm sea I am reminded of it. As for my rank - I know full well I will never be raised to that of captain again.’
Carefully pouring two glasses of port wine, Oliver chose not to be drawn into conjecture on that score. ‘The sea and the weather are as nebulous as the thoughts and desires of a woman. We are teased and tormented by both and yet cannot resist the temptation to return to them. He is a clever man who can predict how a woman will behave and a clever captain who can predict the changing moods of the sea. As far as the fair sex are concerned, knowing what is simmering beneath an innocent visage can sometimes be more challenging than setting forth on an uncharted ocean. I propose a toast,’ Oliver said raising his glass. ‘May we gain wisdom from past experience of which every ounce is worth its weight in gold?’
‘Wisdom from experience,’ Simon Parry echoed. ‘Worth its weight in gold.’
Chapter 12
Rio de Janeiro
Not long after the coast of South America was sighted, the hold became the centre of activity. Having inspected the vacant space in the bowels of the ship, the captain decided it could be put to good use until it was needed for more important cargo. Anticipating the inhospitable conditions facing the crew as they headed south, Oliver considered that a contribution of fresh meat to the men’s diet would improve both their physical and mental wellbeing. When they anchored in Guanabara Bay, he planned to go ashore and order three beasts which he would pay for out of his own pocket.
Percy Sparrow, Will Ethridge and the two other carpenter’s mates made up the team engaged in the construction of three wooden cattle pens. The work in itself was not heavy, but the air in the hold was thick and stagnant and the stench from the bilges was foul enough to turn a strong man’s stomach. After working with the smell for a few days, however, the men appeared to become accustomed to it, or at least they complained less.
For Chips and Will building the pens was a satisfying job as they enjoyed working together. Firstly they constructed a wooden platform above the shingle ballast and on it erected a row of three holding pens each one strong enough and broad enough to take a full grown beast. The sail-maker was charged with the responsibility of containing much of the excrement before it could seep into the ballast and foul the ship. After much deliberation he did this by lining the floor of each pen with canvas and venting it to allow the waste to be channelled into collecting troughs. Because it would be necessary for the troughs to be emptied several times a day, one of the crew would be designated to undertake that unenviable task. Apart from the carpenters and sail-maker and his mates, the only other person involved was the cooper. Barrels had to be relocated to make way for the pens.
A veil of liquid air hung over Rio de Janeiro as Elusive sailed into the broad expanse of Guanabara Bay. White lace beaches circled the bay stretching as far as the eye could see. From the waters edge giant near-vertical granite domes, skirted in verdant forests, sprouted from the steep slopes. Beyond them a backdrop of rugged angular mountain peaks zigzagged the skyline. Nestled on the eastern shore was the town with its dirty wharves and opulent white mansions. On the water numerous small boats dotted the sheltered anchorage together with many large merchant vessels – cutters and packets, brigs and sloops bearing the flags of various nations. Some of the ships were ready to head home to Europe while others were preparing to face the most hazardous part of their journey – around Cape Horn.
Resting along the frigate’s yards, the topmen furled the squares neatly, while on the bowsprit the staysails were neatly pleated and tied down. On deck Mr Smith was responsible for the ship’s boats being swayed out while Bungs, the cooper, had come up from the hold to supervise the hoisting of water barrels. As soon as the containers appeared on deck they were lined up in readiness for being ferried ashore. In the next few hours, Elusive would take on almost two hundred tons of water.
Within less than half-an-hour of dropping anchor, a small convoy of local craft stood alongside. On board, colourfully clad vendors offered a bounty in exotic fruit, fish, tobacco and crabs for sale. However, as Percy Sparrow’s stories about shellfish had circulated the mess, no one was prepared to chance eating seafood of any description.
‘Get that damned monkey down from the rigging,’ Mr Parry shouted, as it leapt for the ship and ran up the ratlines. Two topmen scampered up the rigging in pursuit but the animal was too agile and led the sailors a merry dance before scurrying to the top of the main mast. A chorus of cries imitating the animal’s shrieking commenced, much to the amusement of the men below. Sitting on the truck atop the mast – the highest point on the ship – the monkey let out a frightening screech of defiance and bared its teeth. The topman who was only a yard beneath it shot out his arm in an attempt to grab the plaited twine fastened to a leather collar around its neck. But with no intention of being caught, the monkey leapt through the air, dropped to the standing rigging and slid down the stay, landing neatly on the narrow cap rail, to the applause of the crew and the mounting frustration of the first lieutenant.
‘Silence, you men. You think it amusing having a disease ridden fiend let loose on the ship? You’ll not be laughing if it bites you.’ When the monkey hissed revealing its long pointed incisors the men backed away.
‘In future, Mr Smith, you’ll make sure any local boats are fended off before they get within an oar’s length of the ship.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the Honourable gentleman replied.
As he spoke, a bolt of half-chewed tobacco was lobbed across the deck distracting the animal’s attention sufficiently for the cooper to get a firm hold on its lead. With a quick tug, he jerked it down to the deck and slapped a vice-like grip on the back of its neck. Being held at arm’s length, the monkey screamed, writhing and twisting itself around the man’s arm. But despite its contortions and high-pitched screeching, it couldn’t escape the cooper’s hand.
‘Well done, Bungs. Get it off the deck and over the side. I don’t care which boat you drop it on.’
No sooner had he tossed it unceremoniously from the rail than a cacophony of curses exploded from craft below. And though the language was foreign it was not hard to decipher what was being said. The sailors revelled in the commotion.
‘Get back to work!’ Mr Smith ordered in an uncharacteristically commanding voice. ‘We don’t have all day! And Bungs go below and find out how many more empties there are left to sway up.’
‘Another dozen to my reckoning, but I’ll make sure.’
Mr Parry, who had been checking the anchor cables, returned to the deck. ‘A word in your ear, Mr Smith. It’s half an hour since we dropped anchor and the cutter is still not in the water. If you or any of the men want to go ashore while we are in port, I suggest you get a move on.’
Whether it was the heat and humidity and lack of any sea breeze, or the fact that the men had grown a little lazy after the easy sailing they had endur
ed down the South American coast, the crew were lackadaisical in the performance of their duties and needed constant prompting. But despite their tardiness, their half-naked bodies glistened as if smoothered in whale oil, and as work proceeded the deck was decorated with a polka-dot pattern of salty sweat.
A loud thud reverberated through the ship as a barrel swung loose smashing against the companionway ladder and crushing a man’s fingers.
‘Take more care, down there!’ the midshipman shouted, observing the blood dripping from the man’s hand. ‘You’d better be quick and see the surgeon. He’s planning to go ashore and he’ll not be too happy to attend to you right now.’
As the final containers were being swayed out to a waiting barge, the hemp netting split.
‘Watch out below!’
But the warning did not prevent one of the local victuallers overbalancing and falling overboard. Fortunately none of the barrels hit him but they splintered the side of his boat before splashing into the bay.
‘For goodness sake, you men. Who checked the netting?’ Mr Smith was conscious that Mr Parry was watching from the quarterdeck. ‘Someone get those barrels out of the water and get another net rigged up.’
‘And get the longboat out of the way!’ Mr Parry ordered.
‘It’s this place,’ Smithers mumbled, from the deck. ‘Bad vibrations. I can feel it in my bones.’
‘Don’t be daft! We ain’t in the Caribbean.’
‘You might scoff but just you wait and see. I’m telling you, this is just the start. You mark my words, no good will come of this place.’
‘You two!’ Mr Parry called. ‘Stop chattering and smarten up. We do not have all day!’
But the job of watering took until four o’clock in the afternoon.
The sun was just setting over the mountains and the sky changing from mauve to gold when the barge carrying three surprisingly healthy looking beasts and a quantity of green fodder drew up alongside. But swaying the cattle aboard was not an easy task and proved to be painstakingly slow. The last bullock was particularly boisterous and seemed intent on launching itself into the sea. With horns as sharp as any pike and each one the length of a man’s arm, the job of securing the harness under each beast’s belly, without someone being gored, was extremely hazardous. The fast approaching darkness added to the danger.