by M. C. Muir
‘Can nothing be done to stop this heathen practice?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘Steel railings erected around a grave seem to have little effect. The best defence is a watch kept over the grave, for two or three weeks, by relatives of the deceased.’
Oliver poured himself another drink. ‘But you appear to be an upstanding God-fearing man. Surely you regard life as sacrosanct even after death.’
The doctor took a deep breath. ‘There have long been debates about the relationship between body and soul, and men have suffered the most diabolical tortures for speaking the words I now utter. I firmly believe that when death occurs, the spirit departs the body and all that remains is flesh and blood. No different to a side of beef or a ration of pork.’
He continued. ‘Until the law is changed and body snatchers can be charged with their crimes in a court of law, or surgeons can legally obtain cadavers for vivisection other than from the gallows, the practice of the resurrectionists will continue. It is the only way the surgeon’s knowledge of anatomy can advance. It is better for them to practice on a corpse than on a screaming patient.’
‘This is your belief?’ Oliver asked.
Dr Whipple nodded. ‘It was Mr Cooper’s belief also.’
Oliver paused for a moment and looked across at the ship’s surgeon. ‘I have heard of Mr Astley Cooper,’ he admitted.
‘He is well known in London and well respected at the Borough Hospitals. One day he will be physician to the king.’
‘Do you regret you were unable to continue with your training in surgery?’ Oliver asked.
‘Indeed. When I could no longer afford to continue my apprenticeship with Mr Cooper, I had hoped to maintain my job as a demonstrator at his lectures. However, that was not to be. My position was quickly taken up by another fee-paying student.’
‘Is this the reason you applied for a warrant on a navy ship – to give you access to fresh cadavers from sailors felled in battle?’
The doctor appears surprised at the forthrightness of the captain’s question.
‘No, sir. Without membership of the Royal Society of Surgeons, if I remained in London, I would be nothing more than an apothecary dispensing medicines prescribed by a physician. On a ship, however, my duties are those of apothecary, surgeon and physician, and I can choose to designate whatever potions I see fit.
‘Furthermore,’ he continued, ‘a ship visiting the Indies provides the opportunity to see first-hand exotic diseases, such as leprosy and yaws, which do not often present in the Borough Hospitals. I had also heard that naval surgeons were entitled to receive a proportion of prize money during times of war.’
‘And, you had also heard that I had been particularly successful over the past few years in falling upon rich prizes?’ Oliver heard the old vein of cynicism creeping into his voice.
‘I learned that only when I received my appointment from the Navy Board.’
‘And if you were to receive a sum of money whilst in His Majesty's service, would you return to the Borough Hospitals and complete your training?’
‘Indeed I would. To qualify as a surgeon would be my dearest wish.’
‘I commend your intentions,’ Oliver said, ‘although I doubt there is a man aboard Perpetual who would not toss you overboard if he learned of your participation in the evil trade of body-snatching.’
‘And why would you not condemn me, Captain?’
‘Because I know the surgeon you speak of – Mr Astley Cooper. Several months ago, I visited him at his private address in London for a consultation about my wife’s recurring ailment. That visit cost 200 guineas. I consulted with him because he was recommended as the best surgeon in London.’
Dr Whipple was silent for a moment before offering a response.
‘Captain Quintrell, I understand why men like yourself find dissection revolting and offensive. And the practice of surgery is not far removed from that. Mr Cooper once advised me that to be a good surgeon one required, “an eagle’s eye, a lady’s hand, and a lion’s heart”.’ He smiled. ‘I have a keen eye and a steady hand, but I could never qualify with the latter. I have the heart of a lady not a lion.’
‘Yet you sail into battle on a navy ship and appear afraid of nothing.’
Jonathon Whipple nodded his head slowly. ‘While I am intent on hardening my heart, in the meantime, I believe I can provide the services required of a ship’s doctor more than adequately.’
‘I thank you for you honesty, Dr Whipple. And you must forgive me for not speaking of this before.’ Oliver’s voice faltered. ‘I must thank you for what you did for my friend in the town.’
‘I am sorry I was not able to save her,’ the doctor replied kindly. ‘I only wish I could have done more.’
CHAPTER 17
The Windsor Gallery
‘Mr Parry, I will require forty good men to work the guns – twenty sailors and an equal number of marines.’
‘Forty Perpetuals would be a better choice,’ Simon Parry suggested. ‘The marines are mere slips of lads lacking in both strength and intelligence, and they have never seen action.’
The captain turned from his first lieutenant to the marine sergeant. ‘I cannot blame you for that, however, at times your men do appear to be lacking in discipline. Yet, when I put them to practice on the Bay of Biscay, they were eager to perform and quickly learned from my men how to aim and fire a gun on a rolling deck. Now I offer them a chance to return the favour.’
Mr Parry looked sceptical.
‘Another opportunity to work together will be good for them.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mr Parry replied. ‘Which guns shall I have run out?’
‘No guns, Mr Parry. I will be going ashore at first light. The garrison needs our assistance. I want volunteers and I am sure there are men who will jump at the opportunity to leave the ship. In case any are reticent and fearful of contracting the fever from the local residents, you can inform them we will not be going into the town. Tell them they can look forward to breathing fresh sea air directly from the Mediterranean.’
‘At Europa Point?’
‘No, Mr Parry – at the Windsor Gallery, near the top of the Rock, overlooking Catalan Bay and the Eastern Beach.’
‘But I thought the Royal Artillery manned the cannon in the gallery.’
‘That was the case until a week ago. For the present, those defences are unmanned because many of the gunners and artificers have died of the fever. The few who remained well have been brought down to serve on the Line Wall.’
‘But the Rock is not under attack, is it?’
‘No, not under attack, but yesterday two French ships were observed cruising off Catalan Bay. They headed south but never rounded Europa Point. Whilst the presence of Captain Barlow’s advance guard usually deters them in the Strait, Triumph has not been sighted for over a week when it was seen heading out into the Atlantic. In its absence, there is nothing to stop the French from sailing into Gibraltar Bay or attacking the promontory from the east.’
‘I thought the Great Siege had taught both French and Spanish forces a lesson,’ Simon Parry observed.
‘Memories fade, as time passes. Presently, the garrison’s defences are the weakest they have been in decades. Soldiers are dropping at their guns not from enemy fire but from the fever. And if the French are aware an opportunity to strike exists, they will take it.’
‘Beg pardon, Captain. But how could the French know?’
‘Sergeant, one only has to step ashore in Gibraltar to know what a cosmopolitan town it is. Several hundred of its citizens are French. Beside that, the guards on the gates have long been taking bribes, as seen with the smuggling activities back and forth into Spain. Plus the traders here are as unscrupulous as anywhere in the world. It would not be hard for word to get out, and with Napoleon’s semaphore towers stretching across France, it is very probably the state of affairs on the peninsula is already known across Europe. Add to that the fact General Trigge has departed the garrison
and until General Fox arrives in December the garrison is without a commander and the colony without a Lieutenant-Governor. If the French intend to launch an attack, now would be a likely time.’
He turned to the sergeant. ‘The orders I received from the Admiralty indicated I must do all in my power to help protect Gibraltar.’
‘Will I be accompanying you?’ the lieutenant asked.
‘No, Simon, Perpetual will be yours while I am ashore. Guard her well. She would make a fine prize for a French privateer, not to mention the Spanish gunboats, should they discover we have a consignment of Spanish silver on board. I shall, however, require the bosun, Mr Tully and Mr Nightingale to accompany me.
‘Sergeant Wilkie, you will accompany your men. Choose them carefully. I want no weaklings, boys or anyone who is ailing. The guns in the gallery are 32-pounders. Of the Perpetuals – I require sailors from the best crews who can fire and reload in under two minutes. I want no idlers, waisters or topmen. Kindly make a list of those who will be going with me and have the boats in the water before dawn. I want to depart from the beach at first light.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’
When the call went out for volunteers, the cooper and his mates were at the head of the line.
‘Count me in,’ Bungs crowed. ‘Anything to get off the ship for a spell. I like the idea of breathing some sweet air. Better than having the stench of sulphur and vinegar up your nose all day.’
The men pushed forward.
‘One at a time,’ Mr Parry ordered. ‘No, not you, Smithers. Didn’t you hear me say the captain doesn’t want topmen?’
‘Aye, and he’s too old anyway.’
Smithers sneered. ‘Younger than you.’
‘Shut your cakehole!’ Bungs replied. ‘Hobbles, come here,’ he yelled, grabbing his gun captain by the arm and dragging him forward. ‘Add Hobbles’ name to the list. He’s just volunteered.’
Mr Parry questioned the cooper. ‘I doubt Hobbles heard a word of what was said.’
‘Not to worry, Mr Parry, I’ll tell him where we’re going later. There’s no better gun captain than Hobbles and you know it.’
‘But he’s not fit. I doubt he can make it up the hill.’
Bungs glanced down at the gun captain’s bad leg. ‘He’ll make it all right. Me and Eku, we’ll make sure he does. Aye, and write Ekundayo’s name on your list next to mine.’
When the lieutenant glanced at him, the Negro nodded and his name was duly marked down.
‘Brickley, I don’t want you. You're a topman, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. But I can worm out a gun as quick as any man.’
Mr Parry shook his head. ‘No topmen, I said.’
The sailor mumbled and stepped back.
‘What about you, Muffin?’ Bungs said, elbowing his mess mate to join the line. ‘Why aren’t you volunteering? Don’t you want a change of scenery?’
‘I’ve got a sore head.’
Bungs laughed. ‘Been drinking someone else’s ration of rum, have you? A breath of fresh air’ll do you good. Put him on the list, Mr Parry. I guarantee he’ll be all right in the morning.’
‘What about me?’ Tommy asked.
‘I said no waisters or idlers. The captain don’t need a loblolly on the Rock.’
‘But he’ll need a powder monkey,’ Tommy argued. ‘I did that on my last cruise. And now I’m bigger and stronger, and I can keep a gun supplied double-quick. Strikes me that if you’re planning to fire guns, you’ll need quills and cartridges. So, you’ll need a powder monkey to fetch ’em—’
‘Enough!’ Mr Parry declared, entering Tommy Wainwright’s name as number 10 on his list.
Although dawn had broken, it was still dark in the shadow of the Rock. On the summit, however, the rays of sun rising from the Mediterranean Sea burnished O’Hara’s two-hundred foot tower on the top of the promontory.
From the frigate’s deck, Simon Parry watched the three boats arriving on the beach at Rosia Bay. After glancing to the ridge, he was relieved to see the strange bulbous arms of the signal tower were still. However, he was concerned the frigate’s best gun crews and 20 marines were going ashore leaving the ship vulnerable. It was a time to be vigilant.
For the men, stepping ashore after weeks confined within the frigate’s bulwarks, the feeling of freedom brought with it a burst of euphoria. Although the excursion was to be only for a day, the men’s mood changed instantly to that of paid-up seamen returning home after a year at sea.
‘Shut your yap,’ Mr Tully shouted. ‘Stand in line. Double file.’
The uniformed marines made a better show of responding to marching orders and once the sailors had fallen into line behind them, Mr Nightingale joined Captain Quintrell at the head of the troop with the sergeant flanking his marines. Only six of the soldiers were carrying muskets. The rest were pleased to have their hands free.
From the beach, they headed for the main road which ran from the town on the north of the peninsula to Europa Point in the south. But the party merely crossed it and headed up a long set of stone stairs. It was an arduous climb that led to the tower on the top of the promontory. However, half way up, they turned onto a track which ran, with a slow incline, along the lee side of the mountain. It was the scratch across the Rock they had seen from the frigate.
After a while, they were climbing again, the track twisting back and forth to accommodate the incline.
‘Looks like we’re heading for the top,' Bungs said.
‘No talking! Save your breath,’ Mr Tully ordered.
The rough-hewn path was little more than a donkey track, just wide enough for the double file to walk shoulder to shoulder. Once on the hill the marines were no longer able to maintain step and were pleased to be without their muskets.
For men whose eyes had grown weary looking at miles and miles of endless sea, the view from the side of the Rock was refreshing. Looking west across the bay to Algeciras, a rolling mountain range rose from behind the Spanish port, while around the bay, a frilled petticoat of breaking surf decorated the treacherous coastline. To the south, from Europa Point, the silver waters of the Strait extended to the north coast of Africa.
The captain stopped occasionally, allowing time for the party to catch their breath and an opportunity to refill his own lungs. Walking a quarterdeck did not equip him for such an arduous climb. But he was not alone. For the sailmaker’s mates, caulkers, and men who spent most of the voyage working in sedentary occupations, it was a hard climb. The young marines again fared better.
It was becoming obvious to the captain that the longer Perpetual stayed in port, the more unfit his men were becoming. Even the topmen, who could hang from the yards like monkeys and run up the ratlines with the speed of scared rodents, were becoming indolent. With no need for sail handling, the only exercise their forearms were getting was holystoning the deck. It was of no consolation the frigate’s decks had never been smoother.
But of real concern to the captain, was the weed tightening it grips on the frigate’s hull. Despite the copper plates preventing tiny shipworms eating a honeycomb of holes into the timber, the warm waters of the Mediterranean were promoting a verdant growth of weed sprouting from every joint and nail hole. And it was increasing every day.
After climbing for half-an-hour, the captain raised his arm. ‘Halt!’
The sailors stumbled to a stop behind the marines.
‘Gun crews, up ahead there is a job for you to attend to.’
The sailors craned their necks to see what awaited them.
‘Two weeks ago, a group of Royal Engineers attempted to haul a gun up this track but the soldiers were debilitated with sickness. They reached this point but could go no further.’
The information was passed in whispers down the line. ‘It’s a bloody 32-pounder!’
‘Surely we’re not going to fire it here!’
Oliver’s hearing was acute. ‘No, Mr Entwhistle, our task is to haul it up the hill to the Great Siege tunnel t
o replace one that blew.’
‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but that’s a big ’un. It must weigh near three tons.’
‘I am sure you are right, Bungs, but there are enough of you and if you have had your eyes open during the climb you will have noticed iron rings set into the face of the rock at every twenty or thirty yards.’ The captain pointed at one alongside where the men were standing. ‘They were put in place over 20 years ago and have successfully been used to haul dozens of guns up this hill.’
The blocks and tackle, used by the soldiers on the previous attempt, were still lying beside the cannon.
Oliver turned to the bosun. ‘Take your mates and rig the lines. The men will be ready to haul. Take it slowly and carefully. I want no accidents. Thirty yards at a time.’
Running out a gun on a smooth timber deck was something the gun crews were adept at. But running out a gun on a deck that was heeling and pitching took strength and skill and was sometimes near impossible. Yet here on a narrow stony path cut into the side of a precipitous mountain with a steep decline on one side dropping hundreds of feet below, the men were expected to push, pull and heave a monstrous cannon weighing several tons up a hill rising to over 1000 feet. Not only was the gun far bigger than any of Perpetual’s guns, but it was seated in a iron carriage. All in all, it was a monster.
But if the hill’s incline and the path’s limited width were not enough of a challenge, the track was littered with broken rocks, small stones and large boulders that had been dislodged from higher up the slope and rolled down the mountainside. Added to the danger of more falling rocks, the men’s footwear was ill suited to the climb. Through the thin leather soles of their slops’ shoes, every man could feel the broken rocks beneath his feet.