by M. C. Muir
The only other alternative course was for the lad to enter the service directly under the supervision of a senior officer. This was perhaps the preferred alternative in Oliver’s mind.
Not having encountered Captain Boris Crabthorne since they exchanged pleasantries in the courtyard of the naval dockyard, Oliver had been unable to arrange anything positive for the boy. But, now that the threat to Britain’s coast had almost been obliterated, the urgency for the Royal Navy to prepare the next fleet was minimal and new commissions would be few and far between. Ships would still patrol the Channel, Ushant and Brest, the French coasts, and the Mediterranean but there was little likelihood of Britain embarking on another major sea battle with France, so both he and Boris Crabthorne could be on the beach for quite some time.
He hoped to have the opportunity to meet young Charles soon and speak with him. If not before, he intended to make a point of it when he returned from London.
‘He’s grown two inches since you last saw him, Captain,’ Mrs Crosby said. ‘He’s still as inquisitive as he always was, but, with a little prompting, he’s learned to curb his tongue, to ask his question politely and to be patient while waiting for an answer.’
‘And with the doctor’s tutelage, his manners have improved,’ Connie added. ‘A real young gentleman in the making, if you ask me.’
‘That is good to hear,’ the captain said, pondering on those thoughts. Despite being the son of a Yorkshire shipwright and Spanish mother and growing up on the streets of Gibraltar, twelve year old Charles Goodridge’s background had endowed him with certain advantages. He could speak Spanish fluently and also had some French and Portuguese. And, having dogged his father’s footsteps in the dockyard, he knew more about the structure and workings of a fighting ship than many a common sailor. At the tender age of eleven he had sailed aboard a warship, albeit with his mother, and had witnessed and played an active and very commendable part in a sea battle. No one could deprive him of those experiences.
Horatio Nelson, on the other hand, had gone to sea at age twelve and been stepped up to the rank of captain at seventeen. But Horatio had been born into a prosperous Norfolk family and joined the navy under the patronage of his uncle, Maurice Suckling. Suckling was a high-ranking naval officer, grandnephew of the first British Prime Minister, Robert Walpole, and Comptroller of the Navy, with a seat in the House of Commons. As such, Nelson had the advantage of breeding, while Charles Goodridge had none and could never be classed as a gentleman.
With his sponsorship, however, Oliver was confident Charles would have access to all the necessities of life befitting a gentleman, if not the privilege of birthright, title or lands.
‘Is the war now over?’ Connie asked timidly, interrupting his thoughts.
‘I fear not,’ Oliver said. ‘Though the immediate dangers have been averted. And while the Emperor is busy fighting his battles over borders and territories in Europe, England will be left in relative peace. But for how long that will last, no one knows.’
Dr Whipple returned from his patient around noon, apologised for his absence and joined the company for a light meal. With a lull in the conversation, Dr Whipple excused himself from the table for a moment then returned with his walking cane.
‘Do you remember this?’ he said to the captain.
‘Indeed I do. How can I forget it?’
‘You will be interested, I am sure, to learn that I have been giving young Charles lessons in stick fighting. When he is home he forever presses me to have a bout with him. He is surprisingly agile and quick and I fancy he will transfer those skills to an épéé in years to come.’
‘I am pleased you maintained your expertise, Doctor. That stick is a lethal weapon in your hands.’
Having enjoyed a pleasant afternoon with Dr Whipple and his companions, Oliver farewelled the ladies and thanked the doctor for his hospitality. Before returning to the waterfront, he visited his bank and the rooms of his lawyer to ensure adequate measures were in place regarding the financial arrangements surrounding the future arrival of his daughter. But, to date, there was no word from Lisbon. However, despite the recent sea war, packet ships were still sailing regularly to and from the Portuguese capital to Falmouth, the journey taking a little over two weeks. Like young Charles, Oliver accepted that he must learn to be patient.
Repair work continued throughout the time Victory was anchored on Spithead until it was agreed she was ready to face the vagaries of the English Channel. On the morning of Tuesday, December 10, the first rate battleship prepared to set sail for Sheerness and the Royal Dockyard at Chatham.
Under an overcast sky, with the anchor dripping water over the new cathead, the yards were raised, stay sails run up and canvas unfurled, as hundreds of pairs of eyes around the waterway watched the departure.
On Spithead and the Mother Bank, naval, merchant and foreign ships, flew their flags at half-mast, including those of the Russian fleet who were visiting the port. Officers, sailors and lubbers alike raised their hats, while women waved their handkerchiefs to say farewell.
Tears streaked many faces, while cheers and cries were supplemented by the regular explosive gun salutes from both the saluting battery and ships’ decks; each sound preceded by a puff of smoke that curled up into the grey sky. The cacophony of noise vibrating the air was in honour of a proud and victorious warship that had returned triumphant and was now departing. But the greatest homage was being paid to England’s fallen Admiral, undoubtedly revered as Britain’s finest seaman.
With a distance of almost 200 nautical miles of Channel ahead of her and making a speed of almost four knots, a sound ship would be expected to arrive at Sheerness in a little over two days. But Victory was still far from sound and despite the orderly appearances on deck, work continued below, the pumps being manned constantly to prevent more water rising in the well.
But the day following her departure, contrary winds blew across the Channel and the smooth passage that had been hoped was not to be. Unable to round the South Headland, Victory had to turn back. This delay meant she did not arrive at the Nore in the Thames estuary until 17 December – one week later.
Having watched the smooth departure of the 104-gun ship from his vantage point in his garden on the Isle of Wight, Oliver Quintrell planned to board a post-chaise in Portsmouth the following day. Without incident or accident, he would arrive in London early the next morning and, as pre-arranged, spend some time with his sister at Grosvenor Square before heading up to Greenwich later in the week.
Michael Casson, his ship’s steward-cum-valet would accompany him.
Chapter 5
The Nore – The Coffin
After a slow and tedious voyage from Portsmouth, HMS Victory entered the mouth of the River Thames – a full eight weeks after the Battle off Cape Trafalgar. At the Nore, she was met by an Admiralty yacht that piloted her along the Medway and into the Royal Dockyard at Chatham where the war-weary ship was to undergo major repairs.
Having been built in that naval yard over forty-five years earlier, a few of the older wrights and chippies raised their hats to her when she swam by. Some had been young apprentices on the day her keel had been laid down. It was not the first time Victory had revisited the Chatham yard. She had returned for refits on several occasions, and every time she returned, she was given the welcome afforded to a long lost son.
But while at the Nore and, before any attention was given to the ship itself, the body of Lord Nelson, still contained within the leaguer, had to be attended to.
First, the liquid was decanted from the barrel yet again. Then the Admiral’s body was lifted from the spirits, stripped and redressed in a shirt, a pair of silk stockings, and his lordship's uniform waistcoat and breeches. A white cambric handkerchief was tied around his neck and another around his forehead. Those in attendance noted that his lips and ankles were a little discoloured but, otherwise, the preservation was excellent.
The body was then placed in a leaden coffin which in t
urn was placed in a wooden coffin made from the mainmast of L’Orient. In 1798, Nelson had been presented with the coffin made from part of the French ship that had blown up and burned when the British fleet, commanded by Rear Admiral Horatio Nelson, had defeated the enemy at the Battle of the Nile. While L’Orient was destroyed, before it sank, Captain Hollwell salvaged part of the mainmast and had a coffin made from its timber. Shortly after the battle, he presented this to his friend, Horatio Nelson, as a memento of his victory.
The coffin measured six feet in length and was rather narrow. But as Horatio Nelson was only five feet and four inches tall in life, it easily accommodated his corpse. The inside of the coffin was padded with cotton wadding and lined with white silk.
On 23 December, 1805, the heavy coffin was removed to the deck of Commissioner Gray’s yacht and with the colours suspended over it, was sailed up the Thames to Greenwich.
Ships on the river lowered their flags, while Tilbury and Gravesend forts did likewise. Minute guns were fired and Church bells tolled.
At 1.00 o’clock on the 24 December, the day before Christmas, the yacht arrived at Greenwich, and was moored off the hospital grounds. However, due to its weight and the tide being low, it could not be landed until evening. At about five o'clock, the boat touched against the stone steps and the casket was lowered from the yacht into a boat, and immediately conveyed to the hospital stairs.
Illuminated by the light of lanterns and flaming torches that reflected on the slow-moving river, the coffin, draped in Victory’s colours was lifted ashore by Nelson’s own – the same loyal sailors who had served with the viscount at Trafalgar and sailed back from Gibraltar with his body aboard HMS Victory.
From the stairs it was carried to the Record-chamber of the Great Hall. While already encased in two coffins, the remains were placed into a magnificent exterior coffin, made of mahogany, in preparation for viewing by the public. Here, in the Record-chamber, several private viewings took place under the ever watchful eye of the Reverend Mr Scott who had served as Lord Nelson’s Chaplain aboard the flag ship.
On 4 January, at one o'clock in the afternoon, the Princess of Wales, attended by her retinue, arrived to pay her respects in a solemn and private manner. She was followed by several other dignitaries.
Neither Lady Nelson nor Emma Hamilton visited.
At no time, during the eleven days the coffin was at Greenwich was it left unattended. Reverend Scott and the undertaker remained with the body throughout each night. During the following days, the Chaplin sat at the head of the coffin along with ten official mourners from the Lord Chamberlain’s office; all were appropriately dressed in deep mourning.
Besides Mr Scott, two naval lieutenants were posted to stand guard. They wore full dress uniform coats, with black waistcoats, breeches, and stockings, with black crepe bands round their arms and hats. Also in attendance were two junior Officers of Arms wearing colourful tabards emblazoned with the coat of arms of the sovereign.
On Sunday, the fifth of January, and for the two following days, the Painted Hall, at Greenwich Hospital, was open from nine in the morning till four in the afternoon. However, when the doors were first thrown open, following the morning service, the throng of thousands waiting outside, pushed forward crushing several women and children. It quickly became apparent that the numbers entering the Hall had to be limited to avoid further injuries. Volunteers from the Greenwich and Deptford Associations were charged with keeping the crowds moving in a safe and orderly fashion.
* * *
Having arrived in London several days before the damaged warship reached Chatham, Oliver Quintrell had plenty of time to attend to several important matters.
His first concern was to visit the Admiralty in Whitehall to remind the Lords Commissioners of his availability and his desire for another command. This time his request was listened to, but no assurances were given that they would be addressed. He was politely informed that not all ships had yet returned from Gibraltar and because of the mounting costs due to the loss of ships and the damage that had been suffered during the battle; the priority for the Admiralty was to see the British fleet rebuilt. A navy without its line of battle ships was not worth its salt. Apart from the loss of ships, several senior officers had perished along with almost 500 seamen and well over 1000 sailors who had been wounded.
He also learned that the defeat of the combined French and Spanish naval forces had depleted the enemy’s reserves of both ships and men to an even greater extent. France had suffered 3370 dead with over a 1000 wounded. Spain had lost over 1000 men and registered 2545 wounded. An enormous butcher’s bill for both countries.
Because of this, the Admiralty felt less urgency to put the fleet to sea again. This, in turn, was another reason for the delay in offering new appointments and granting promotions. While the figures were shocking, the news was as Oliver Quintrell had expected.
Having thanked their lordships, the captain returned to his sister’s residence where he received two letters – one forwarded from his lawyer in Portsmouth and the other from Dr Whipple. Enclosed within the correspondence from his friend was a letter sent from Lisbon. It had been opened in Portsmouth and forwarded to him care of his sister’s address in London. In it were more details regarding Miss Olivia stating that arrangements for her transportation to Portsmouth were being investigated. A nanny could be hired to escort her to the English port. On receiving the captain’s agreement with these tentative arrangements, the party would sail on the packet boat from Lisbon at a date to be determined.
Suddenly the enormity of the responsibility he was taking on struck him. Oliver Quintrell was a father in name, if not yet in deed. The fact he had withheld the information from his wife did not sit well with him. But she despised Nelson’s blatant affair with Emma Hamilton while he still remained married to Lady Nelson, and she was bitterly scornful of their daughter, Horatia.
Being unable to bear children herself, Victoria Quintrell had always blamed her husband for his inadequacy. Now, after learning he had fathered a child of his own, Oliver was privy to the truth. Yet, in all conscience, he could not tell his wife without causing her more distress with the fear he would lose her completely. Perhaps time would offer an amicable solution, though he doubted it.
In the meantime, Dr Whipple confirmed that Mrs Pilkington had agreed to accept the role of fostering the little girl. Consuela Pilkington was a kindly young woman who had suffered much loss and hardship herself and, as such, Oliver hoped the love of a child would bring her joy. In anticipation of the new arrival, a room in the High Street house has been set aside for the new addition. She had taken great delight in showing it to the Captain during his last visit.
Dr Whipple also confirmed his support both to the child and Mrs P – Connie – as he called her, but he was unsure about the insistence on secrecy, however, he accepted the captain’s stipulations.
If nothing else, Oliver would ensure that no financial burden would befall either of them. Though Oliver struggled with the conflicting arguments in his head, in his heart he was longing to see the little girl – his daughter – Olivia – Susanna’s child. Would she look like Susanna? Would she have Susanna’s loving nature? He wondered.
On the Sunday morning, prior to the funeral, when Oliver stepped outdoors, the breeze was bitter, the air chilled and the sun not yet risen. Very soon after leaving the house on Grosvenor Square, he was grateful his sister had insisted he wear a pair of gloves and a muffler wrapped around his neck and tucked beneath his boat cloak.
She had been worried about him and commented that he looked drawn. She was concerned that he was unwell.
‘Just a little troubled,’ Oliver had replied.
‘Can I be of any help?’ she had asked.
‘Thank you, but no. It is a difficult time.’
Thinking her brother was alluding to Lord Nelson’s funeral, his sister had remarked that it would soon all be over, to which Oliver merely nodded and bid her farewell.
/> Striding briskly from the house, in an effort to keep warm, he headed across the Royal parks to Westminster and the Thames where he planned to take a carriage or a wherry to Greenwich.
Even as the day tried to dawn, the grey light of morning persisted until almost ten o’clock. The atmosphere was damp but at least there was no rain. Even with the date of the state funeral still five days away, the number of visitors to the city was swelling daily.
As he walked through St James’s Park, he was reminded of the same walk he took during the Peace of Amiens back in 1802. It was the time the Sea Fencibles were gathering momentum – when thousands of commoners were rallying to the call to support King and country to defend the British coast from an impending invasion force from across the Channel. On the day he visited London that year, a crowd of 100,000 men, women and children had gathered to see the King in Hyde Park. He wondered how many would turn out to see a dead hero.
As he strode on, Oliver considered that the numbers streaming into the city for the funeral could be even greater this time, making him wonder where the masses would be accommodated. As the inns and hotels would have quickly filled, it was likely many folk would be sleeping in the parks and alleyways.
Winter in England was the worst time of the year for this type of event.
With his route taking him across the Horse Guards’ parade ground he could see the roof of the Admiralty building ahead. As he crossed the courtyard a pair of mangy dogs ran across his path almost causing him to fall, but he quickly regained his balance and strode on heading to Whitehall. For a moment he considered hiring a cab but with none lined up in the usual place, he opted to take a boat to Greenwich. With the strong outflowing tide carrying it swiftly downstream, he should make the distance in a little over an hour. By road, it would be a far more uncomfortable journey and with the state of the roads and the number of pedestrians on them, it could take a great deal longer.
