by M. C. Muir
It was a busy day – as noisy and industrious as an average workday at any dock or shipyard on the coast of England. Elusive’s deck took on the appearance of a carpenter’s workshop, as every spare plank, box, empty barrel, butt and cask was hoisted to the quarterdeck to be converted to a container to hold the ambergris. Will, the carpenter’s mates and any man who could handle a hammer were busy constructing wooden crates while the gunner and his mates scrubbed out the empty barrels which had contained salted pork or beef.
The crew were aware of the captain’s instructions that the cargo had to be handled carefully and packed correctly. ‘If the ambergris chafes it will crumble and fall to pieces. Each piece must be packed individually,’ he had said.
On board there were no regular watches and everyone worked the same hours as the idlers.
The sail-maker, who had been up since early, was sitting with a team of men in the waist finishing a batch of sailcloth sacks. Nearby a brazier burned fiercely fanned by the prevailing steely wind. The blacksmith’s hammer resounded in rhythmic bursts on the anvil as he bent or straightened hoops according to requirements. Nails, latches and hinges were all carefully forged.
From the fo’c’sle came the buzz of a dozen saws, as lengths of deal were cut to construct crates of various sizes. The beehive of activity extended to the bowels of the ship where the cooper and his mates were busy rearranging the stores to make space for the additional cargo; making sure that the cargoes’ bulk and weight was evenly distributed throughout the frigate’s hold.
While work proceeded on deck, the longboat ferried men back and forth to the shore. The task of removing the boulders of ambergris from the ledge had commenced early, the sailors wearing shoes and extra stockings to protect their feet from the sharp cinders and hot vents on the beach through which the earth belched its sulphurous breath. The master and bosun were responsible for the ferry transport while the captain observed all aspects of the work from the quarterdeck.
As the ambergris was collected, the smaller pieces were placed in baskets like clusters of ostrich eggs. These were then delivered onboard with the solemnity of chapel offerings at harvest festival. From the rock ledge, the larger lumps were rolled to the water’s edge making sure to avoid the hazardous hot holes in the sand. From there they were placed in hemp netting and transferred to the ship. Meanwhile, two of the ship’s boys ran back and forth like rabbits, picking up broken fragments and tossing them in bags to ensure none of the ambergris was left in the path of the rising tide for fear it would float away
The objective was to maintain the integrity of the largest blocks wherever possible but such was the size of some they had to be sawn with a pitsaw before being transported to the ship. The strong musky fragrance of the floating gold hung heavily over the beach. It would certainly announce, to any passing ship, the nature of the cargo they were carrying.
Despite the fact he could see the shore activity from the deck, Oliver made two trips to the beach to satisfy himself that the loading was proceeding as he had specified.
‘It is not only important for us to stay afloat on our return journey, but it is essential that we are not apprehended. This scent can be recognised far quicker than a farmer can sniff a dog-fox in his yard.’
The seamen, seemingly in awe of their cargo, rose to the occasion. The largest pieces of ambergris were hoisted on Elusive’s deck with considerable care and laid out along the quarterdeck in rows, like casualties of battle awaiting committal to the deep. Each consignment was treated with the reverence one would afford a corpse, and the work was conducted in silence.
From the rigging the bosun’s mates watched Mr Mundy and his boat crew heading back to the bay where Elusive had first anchored. After a while they were but a blot on the water and once the boat had headed into the broad bay they were completely lost from view. Everyone knew that their climb to the top of the cliffs would be both difficult and dangerous and all prayed that the weather remained favourable.
As the job of loading the ambergris progressed, the cutter, carrying Mr Parry and his party, set sail towing in its wake the wooden boat which Will had constructed on Buckler’s Hard. In it was an assortment of canvas sacks, knives and cutlasses. The distance across the lagoon was several miles.
With the hand-drawn map to refer to, Simon Parry identified some of the obvious landmarks as he searched for the patch of grass the captain had identified on his previous exploration. But as the cutter drew closer to the inhospitable shore what he found was a broad river of solidified lava decked with the overnight sprinkle of snow. Ahead on the mountain’s wall a glacier hung in ominous stillness but from its base the only streams emerging were flows of rocky grey moraine. Forlorn eyes gazed at the formidable landscape wondering if the captain’s eyes had deceived him. There was not a single blade of grass or bush, in fact no evidence of life at all. It truly was a God-forsaken place.
While Mr Parry studied the scenery his thoughts drifted along a similar vein, though he was loathe to admit the fact even to himself. Perhaps Captain Quintrell had seen a patch of moss or lichen. Perhaps the combination of sun and cold misty air had refracted the light swathing the earth a coat of dappled green, creating an illusion.
‘Over there, Coxswain. Put us in that sheltered bay in the lee of the mountains!’
As the cutter rounded the next headland the wind dropped and the boat glided forward.
‘It’s there, dead ahead!’ the lieutenant shouted gleefully. Almost not believing their eyes, the men stared at the patches of grass. It was not the soft sappy variety which is welcomed each spring in the English meadows, but a coarse, short, grey-green tussock variety, strong enough to cut a man’s hands if he attempted to break it. But the men were prepared. The cutlasses and knives they had come armed with would make satisfactory sickles and scythes.
Once ashore, everyone worked, cutting, hacking and packing – stuffing the short tufts in the sacks that the sail-maker had manufactured. It proved a fine way to counteract the chill. As each sack was filled, it was loaded into the small boat till the craft was packed to the gunnels. The remaining sacks were squeezed into the cutter till there was barely room for the men’s legs. But when they sailed out from the lee of the headland and were caught by the icy wind, no one complained about the bundles of insulation protecting them. Crouching low, with arms wrapped around themselves, the crew closed their eyes and prayed the journey back across the lagoon would be over quickly.
As soon as the boat returned from the harvesting expedition, the job of lining the containers with a protective layer of matting began.
‘Looks like a bleeding manger,’ one of the sailors jeered. ‘All we need now is the sheep!’
‘And frankincense and myrrh.’
‘And what about the wise men?’
‘Not many of them around here. In fact anyone would say we’re all damned potty being in this place!’
‘Quiet there, Smithers. Keep your mind on the task!’
The work progressed methodically, the largest lumps of ambergris being placed carefully in the crates with fistfuls of grass stuffed around them. A valuable lamp or clock or heirloom could not have been more painstakingly packed were it to be transported by wagon across the pot-holed roads of Portsmouth.
After satisfying a final inspection by one of the officers, the lid of each crate was nailed down, the barrels sealed by the cooper, and the containers lowered to their rightful positions in the hold.
All hands worked feverishly throughout the day and no man shirked his duties. Perhaps it was the thought of the valuable cargo which excited them. But whether the crew realised it or not, this was no prize of war and not a single man aboard, including the captain, would see a penny of profit for their labour. A few men toyed with the idea of secreting pieces into their sea chests, or layering it in their shoes, hats and pockets, but if they were caught with any ambergris in their possession they would be charged with stealing, a crime punishable by hanging. Nevertheless the men worked
with no complaint, their only reward – an extra tot of rum at the end of each working day.
While the deck fires continued to burn and the hourglass announced it was night time, daylight remained as the men gathered in the mess. With the sound of laughter and music it was hard to imagine Elusive was anchored in the most unforgiving corner of the globe.
It was just after midnight when a freezing squall hit the ship heeling it over and forcing it up on the shore.
Despite previously checking the shallows for submerged rocks, no one knew what dangers were hidden beneath the cinder beach. The consequences of being holed again would be devastating but there was little anyone could do. Men were sent aloft to lower the yards in an attempt to prevent the frigate being driven any further, and for the next two days Elusive sat out the subsequent blizzards, laying at a perilous angle hard against the shore, shrouded in several inches of fresh snow. From the rigging, icicles up to a foot long pointed like daggers at anyone brave enough to walk the deck below. The only signs of life on board were from smoke coiling up from the galley chimney and from the larboard gunports which were opened occasionally for the sailors to relieve themselves as best they could.
But the cloud which covered the ship was not from the sickening atmosphere. By now, the thrill of finding the floating gold had dissolved and any positive energy which had been generated while loading the cargo had melted as quickly as ambergris in boiling water.
Expressions were as dark as the scree on the slopes, words as sharp as the jagged headlands, hearts as cold as the outside air. And as the days slipped by hopes dwindled while apprehensions rose. The crew feared that this wooden ship would be their coffin. That if they got off the shore they would never make it across the lake. That if they reached the entrance the keel would be clawed apart by the unseen finger of rock lurking somewhere beneath its surface. That out on the ocean the patched hull would burst open and Elusive would sink. They feared crossing Drake Passage. It had been kind to them on the outward voyage, but they feared it would make them pay on their return to the Horn. Finally they feared that if they crossed the Atlantic without being becalmed or dying of thirst, there was still chance they would be set upon by pirates and sunk along with their cargo.
But the crew of His Majesty’s Frigate Elusive did not need to stretch their imagination any further. On the morning of the fourth day the sun shone. The icicles melted and the seamen resumed their watches blissfully unaware that their worst fears were still to be realized.
Chapter 19
The Barrel
The southerly blizzard, which had blown for three days and turned the ship into a snow-castle, had died during the night and, as if in answer to the captain’s prayers, a mild morning breeze was blowing from the north-east almost exactly as he would have wished. Providing it held, it would carry the ship from the island and back to a world of human habitation.
Stepping on deck Oliver screwed his eyes to the glaring whiteness all around. His nose twitched like that of a hunting dog. ‘Dear God, what is that smell?’
He sniffed again. The disgusting odour carried on the chilly air was not from the sulphurous fumes coughed up from the earth’s crust. Nor was it from the volcanic dust which the wind occasionally whisked around the crater walls like flour in a pudding basin.
As he came on deck, he was greeted by the sailing master. ‘Good morning, Capt’n.’
‘Morning, Mr Mundy.’ Oliver tried to sound agreeable but he felt mildly annoyed. Apart from the offensive smell, he had slept too long and he had pondered over his coffee unnecessarily and should have been on deck at least half an hour earlier. Already the ship was alive. The decks had been swabbed of snow. The rows of stalactite-like icicles had been fractured from the yards and tossed overboard – save for those which had slipped from the sailors’ wet fingers. From his cabin he had heard the cries, ‘Deck there!’ delivered simultaneously as the ice daggers struck the deck shattering into hundreds of glassy pieces. He had not been amused.
With the crew back to their regular watches, the junior officers were busy with their own divisions. They acknowledged the captain as he paced the deck before returning to the con.
‘Morning, Captain. A beautiful day.’
Oliver reluctantly agreed with his lieutenant. The sight of the sun in a clear sky was welcome in more ways than one. The barometer had risen dramatically. The air was already several degrees above freezing point. And the temperature was still rising.
Along with the temperature, the men’s spirits had soared noticeably. For the first time in days the sailors were emerging from below deck like rabbits on the common venturing from a frozen warren. Aloft the topmast men scurried through the rigging, bare hands happy to renew contact with the ratlines. The occasional burst of song, the sound of laughter was music to the officers’ ears.
High overhead a solitary albatross glided by, its colours reflecting those of the island, black-on-white.
‘The sun surely does make a difference,’ he admitted. ‘Apart from that diabolical smell.’ Scanning the ashen beach he noticed the line of human excrement which had blown from the ship and been washed up with each succeeding tide.
Mr Parry distracted his attention. ‘Yonder beyond the point is a dead whale. Been there some time I gather. Probably the sun is causing it to rot.’
Oliver thought for a moment. ‘Speak with old Jeremiah. Mr Tully told me he collected some whale’s teeth. Ask him if the seals and skuas have left any fat on the carcase. If so, I want Bible-sized pieces of blubber – any whaler on board will know what I mean.’
The lieutenant raised his eyebrows. ‘The flesh could be foul.’
‘Well it may be,’ Oliver said, considering the smell. ‘Strange, is it not, that a whale produces a substance used to create the finest perfumes, yet once beached, it smells worse than a dozen dead cats in an attic?’
‘Indeed.’
‘However, the decomposition of the fat is not a concern, though, no doubt the men will baulk at the fetid odour. Hopefully the flesh will still be frozen in which case it will be less offensive. I suggest you make ready a boat and take my crew. But first tell the cooper to find another dozen large barrels.’
Simon acknowledged the order without question, allowing only the slightest puzzled look to cross his face. ‘Barrels of blubber,’ he repeated. ‘And if we find none, would the flesh from some seals serve the same purpose?’
Oliver nodded. ‘You will attend to that as soon as possible. If the wind holds, all that remains here is to extricate ourselves from this beach and proceed across the lagoon. I intend to drop anchor in the sheltered bay adjacent to the entrance. We will remain there overnight and if all is well, the following day we will bid this island farewell.’
‘I pray the wind holds.’
‘Amen to that.’
Within minutes a boat was swayed out and lowered onto the silver-grey inland sea. In the waist the cooper scratched his head when more containers were requested. Every spare barrel and hoop had already been used for packing the cargo.
‘I can break open some stores,’ Bungs explained, ‘or take out some of the ambergris and re-use those butts.’
‘Open new stores,’ Mr Parry said. ‘Speak with cook. Ask him what he can use but be quick about it. Tell him he must store the food in the galley or even in cauldrons on deck. There is little chance of the food rotting in the near freezing temperature. Quick as you can, man. There is no time to lose.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’ The cooper mumbled, as he descended the ladder down to the hold. He knew that neither the purser nor the cook would be happy.
For the frigate, it was the first time in several days that the topmen had been aloft. But they were eager to sail home and with a flat sea and no immediate urgency, their work was done carefully and to the satisfaction of the captain of the top. Water dripped like rain onto the deck below as the frozen sails finally thawed
By the time Mr Parry and the boat crew returned, a line of empty barrels was aw
aiting them on the quarterdeck. The cooper grumbled as he returned once again to the hold in an effort to try to procure more containers. There were scowls too from the hands at the thought of manhandling the layers of part-decomposed, part-frozen blubber packed in the bottom of the longboat. It was a morbid prospect.
‘Mr Tully, help get that stuff aboard and be quick smart about it.’ The captain was anxious not to lose the wind. ‘And you there, Mr Smith, stop shivering! When the blubber’s on deck get the slime swabbed from the longboat while it’s still on the water. I’ll not have this deck swimming in greasy water and resembling a frozen duck pond.’
‘Aye, Capt’n.’
‘Bungs! Where’s Bungs,’ Oliver called.
‘Here, sir,’ the cooper answered, poking his head from the companionway leading down to the waist.
‘When those barrels are filled with blubber, top them up with seawater and seal them. Then I want space made on the fo’c’sle to store them. And make sure they are well secured. Have you got enough men?’
‘Beg pardon, sir.’
‘I asked if you had enough men.’
‘Aye, sir but…’
‘What is it, Bungs? We don’t have all day.’
‘Permission to toss this one over the side, sir? Most of the brine must have seeped out.’ He pointed to a barrel set aside. ‘By the smell of it, the meat’s gone rotten. Just as well it’s part-frozen or the stink would have been worse than the whale’s.’
‘Belay that, Bungs. We can’t afford to forfeit a barrel. If it’s holed I’m sure you can use the spare staves. As to the foul smell, you should be used to it by now. Besides we will be underway as soon as this job is done.’ There was no time to attend to it now. ‘Leave it aside for the moment and concentrate on the job in hand.’
Though the week’s work transporting and packing the ambergris had been conducted in a spirit of reasonably good humour, the work on the blubber again brought out the worst in the men. They were all aware that the fatty substance smeared over their jumpers and jackets carried a fetid smell which would stay with them for weeks and months. On deck there was an unspoken feeling of disgust.