Nelson's Wake

by M. C. Muir

  Oliver was puzzled. ‘How was that possible?’

  ‘One day, while three of the officers were sitting with him, he suddenly rallied and for a short time spoke quite lucidly. Naturally, I was called and heard him order the ship to be turned around and returned to Cork. With the order coming from the captain himself, there was nothing the lieutenant could do but pass the order to the officer of the watch for the helmsman to alter course.’

  ‘And the other officers accepted the change.’

  ‘Why would they question it? It came from Captain Chilcott’s own lips. As such, all hands were called and the ship was put about.’

  ‘And did the captain remain in reasonable health until you made the Irish coast?’

  ‘No, sir. He declined very rapidly over the next two days and was barely conscious when we dropped anchor. I remained with him for most of that time.’

  ‘And what was the captain’s condition when you transferred him to the hospital in Cork?’

  ‘As no doubt you have heard, he died the following night. Had he remained aboard and died at sea, the first lieutenant would have got his wish.’

  Oliver considered that statement for a moment. ‘Thank you, Doctor, I appreciate your candour.’

  When the doctor left the great cabin, Oliver pondered on the news he had just received. Taking time to examine the papers the doctor had provided, he was satisfied his qualification, character and experiences both on land and sea were admirable.

  That evening, having invited the officers to join him for supper in the dining cabin, Oliver took the opportunity to relate a short anecdote which seemed fitting in the light of the loss of Captain Chilcott.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘as you may have heard, I recently attended the funeral of Admiral Viscount Lord Nelson. It was a lengthy, yet stately affair stretching over several days. As you can imagine during that time many stories were told of life in the navy and of lives that were sold cheaply on some of His Majesty’s ships. However, there was a ring of truth about all the stories coming from Nelson’s flag ship, HMS Victory and the brave men who served aboard her.

  ‘When Lord Nelson fell, struck down by a musket ball fired by a marksman from the upper rigging of the French ship, Redoubtable, he passed word to his flag officer, Captain Hardy, to advise Lord Collingwood to signal the fleet for all ships, including the captured prizes, to drop anchor due to the fear of an impending storm.’

  He paused and looked at the faces around him. ‘That order, which Nelson had pronounced, was never officially followed, or it was ignored, or countermanded somewhere along the line. The truth of that matter is yet to be ascertained. But, no doubt, you have heard the outcome. The storm that hit the coast was said to be the worst in a century. A virtual hurricane of wind blew from the Atlantic and hit the fleet off Cape Trafalgar almost immediately after the battle. As a result, four valuable prizes that had not been secured were swept onto the lee shore or sank due to the damage they had suffered. As a result, many lives were lost.

  ‘Having been aware of the impending storm, Lord Nelson in his wisdom, although he was dying, had the foresight to see the likely disaster about to unfold. From the ship’s decks, the sailors could do nothing but watch as the prizes, they had fought hard to win, were dashed to matchwood, and the prize money they should have received sank with them.’

  Mumbled comments passed around the table.

  ‘Gentlemen, I say this to you, Captain Chilcott, who I never had the pleasure of meeting, was obviously an astute man and, despite his illness, like Lord Nelson, his main concern was for the safely of his ship and the welfare of his crew. He made the correct call by ordering his ship to return to Cork.’ Oliver pondered in his mind what might have happened if Royal Standard had not returned to port and the Captain had died at sea.

  As there was no response or comment from those around the table, he considered they had missed the analogy.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but did you fight at Trafalgar?’ one of the midshipmen asked, immediately changing the subject.

  ‘No, I did not, for two reasons. Firstly, I was serving on the Jamaica station when the fleet departed. And secondly, my recent commands had been frigates and not ships of the line.’

  ‘So, Gentlemen, let us set our sights forward and not dwell on past events that cannot be changed. I propose a toast, to a sound ship, a safe voyage and fair winds.

  ‘Join me, Gentlemen, if you please.’

  Chapter 10

  The convicts

  ‘Thornhill, Capt’n. Ship’s carpenter. You asked to see me.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Oliver said. ‘Come in and close the door.’

  The carpenter pulled the knitted hat from his head, releasing a tangle of brown curls with not a hint of grey, belying the fact he was possibly twenty years older than Captain Quintrell. Away from his usual surrounding, swathed in clouds of sawdust-filled air, the artisan looked uncomfortable in the pristine elegance of the great cabin. As a hardy tar and integral part of the ship’s company, he swayed from one foot to the other, even though the deck was relatively still.

  ‘Relax, Mr Thornhill.’

  ‘Aye, Capt’n.’

  ‘I just need you to answer a few questions for me.’

  The carpenter nodded – the look of apprehension continuing to weigh heavily on his face.

  ‘How long have you been with this ship?’

  ‘Royal Standard? Near on six months.’

  ‘Indeed. Tell me about her.’

  The carpenter’s brow furrowed deeper for a moment, wondering why the ship’s captain would ask such a question of him. Then, discounting the reason, he gave the question due consideration and spoke. ‘She’s sound, she is. Built in ninety-eight. Only seven years old. Been used mainly as a troop carrier, I was told. No rot. No worm. And, last time I checked, not an inch of water in the well. Stone and gravel ballast. Spars are all good and plenty of spares. Masts are sound and securely stepped. I can vouch for that.’ He paused. ‘But she’s been lucky, Captain. Never had a broadside levelled against her. Never suffered a fire below deck. Never been in tropical waters and never run aground. Bottom’s clean as a whistle. She was careened only a few months ago, and the copper plating is new and all in tact. I checked it myself. Not much weed to speak of. Best ship I’ve ever served on,’ he said, then added, ‘though there’s them what sails her might say different.’

  ‘And why would that be, Mr Thornhill?’

  ‘She’s not a fast sailer, sir. Eight or nine knots at best, if you’re lucky. And she can yaw a bit when running a straight course.’

  ‘Indeed. And what of her guns?’

  ‘Not heavy enough to make it into the line. Fifties are not popular any more. She’ll probably end up carrying cargo or troops or being razeed to a hulk. As for the iron – you’d best ask the gunner or boatswain, Capt’n. But I can say all the trucks are sound. I checked the wheels only yesterday.’

  ‘I understand you erected the enclosure on the orlop deck to confine the prisoners.’

  The carpenter nodded, still wondering what the questions were leading to. ‘Me and me mates. We built that soon after we arrived in Cork about a month ago.’

  ‘Have you seen the manner in which the hulls in Portsmouth harbour were converted to become prison hulks?’

  ‘No, sir, I’ve only eyed ’em across the water from the Portsmouth dockyard.’

  ‘Are you satisfied with the structure you built.’

  ‘It’s not for me to say, Captain. I just did what I was asked. It serves the purpose, but I wouldn’t like to be held on the orlop for any length of time. Foul air down there.’

  ‘I understand Captain Chilcott intended to have an exercise compound built on the fo’c’sle.’

  ‘I did hear a murmur about it, but nothing came of it.’

  Oliver acknowledged. ‘I need you to construct a small compound on the foredeck with enough space for a dozen men to exercise during daylight hours. I will instruct the blacksmith and coo
per to assist you. Do you have sufficient timber?’

  ‘Yes, sir, we got plenty on board.’

  ‘Good. I want you to start tomorrow. And when that is done, divide off an area separate from the main mob on the orlop deck, large enough to accomodate the boys. Do you understand?’

  ‘Aye, Captain. You intend to quarter the boys on their own?’

  ‘The captain nodded. ‘Just one more question and I will not detain you any longer. Do we have a schoolmaster aboard?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. Greenstreet is his name. Pleasant fellow. About my age. He instructs the young gentlemen – some of them barely old enough to be weaned off their mother’s tits, if you ask me.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thornhill. You have been most helpful.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Capt’n,’ the carpenter ventured to ask when he reached the door. ‘Are we likely to see action on this cruise?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ Oliver replied honestly. ‘We are not chasing any action but the Frogs are ever vigilant and, no doubt, will be seeking some sort of revenge for the drubbing they received at Trafalgar.’

  ‘Were you there, Captain?’

  ‘Sadly, no.’

  With that the chippie knuckled his forehead, pulling his woollen cap over his unruly locks and departed the great cabin.

  Stepping down into the hold at the bottom of the ship, the captain adjusted his eyes to the gloom. Sitting at his horse, amidships, the cooper was constructing a new barrel. ‘I understand you have a problem, Mr Larkin.’

  Without standing up from his work, the cooper pulled off his hat and scratched his bald head. ‘No, sir. Managing just fine.’

  Oliver quizzed him again. ‘Come along, man, that is not what I heard. Kindly explain yourself. I cannot read your thoughts.’

  The old artisan stopped and rubbed his fist on his leather apron. ‘Well, it’s like this, Capt’n. Problem is that when we sailed to Ireland under Captain Chilcott, no one told me about the additional cargo I had to make space for.’

  ‘You are referring to the convicts brought down from Dublin. Am I not correct?’

  ‘No, it weren’t that, Captain.’

  ‘The additional soldiers then?’

  ‘Not that either. We’d heard there were prisoners for transportation, so them extra guards was necessary. I can tell you, none of the crew was too happy about convicts ’cause a fair few of the lads are Irish and some were sympathetic to the rebels. Most folk know of at least one person taken to Kilmainham Gaol during the ninety-eight and later skirmishes. Some know of those that were hung whilst in there.’

  That almost a third of the crew was Irish was no surprise to Oliver Quintrell. That fact applied to most British ships. He’d been reminded, only recently, that of the men who’d fought on Nelson’s flagship, Victory, ninety-four were Irishmen. However, the revelation that many aboard the Royal Standard could be Irish sympathisers surprised him. ‘I trust we don’t have a rebel crew on board,’ he added.

  ‘Don’t worry, Captain, there’s been Irishmen on every ship I’ve served on, but what they think is their affair and, for most, it’s never spoken of.’

  ‘Indeed. But if that is not the problem concerning you, what is it?’

  ‘It was all them extra barrels we had to find room for in the hold. We loaded them off the wharf only a week ago.’

  ‘I see no problem with a well-stocked ship.’

  ‘No, Capt’n, you don’t understand. It weren’t wine or beer, or spuds or pease. It was powder. One hundred and fifty barrels of gunpowder.’

  Oliver knew nothing of the nature of this additional cargo and was a little surprised to first learn of it from the cooper. He was well aware Cork was the main supplier of gunpowder to the British forces, both on land and at sea, though he had never loaded this type of cargo in Ireland. ‘I was not advised about this specifically. Tell me, Mr Larkin, how many barrels does a 50-gun ship, such as Royal Standard, usually carry?’

  ‘Three hundred when stowed correctly.’

  Having quickly digested the figure, Oliver considered that as the 50-gun ship had not been in any action recently, it seemed unlikely it would be necessary to replace dwindling supplies of more than a dozen barrels.

  ‘We resupplied in Portsmouth,’ the cooper confirmed, as if in answer to the captain’s thoughts. ‘A ship of this size can take three hundred barrels – that’s the quota. So taking on an extra one hundred and fifty was not easy. But Captain Chilcott said he had no choice but to accept the extra cargo as they were needed in Cape Town following the recent fighting there. That applied to the soldiers also,’ he added.

  Oliver was not concerned about the men, but stowing such a consignment of dry powder was a worry.

  ‘Was the magazine large enough to accommodate them all?’

  ‘No way. Not the magazine. That was already full. Lieutenant Brophy said we were to shift other barrels in the hold to make space for them.’

  ‘And that is all?’

  ‘And to use the forward area under the fo’c’sle deck.’

  ‘Were any special provisions made to keep the powder safe when you loaded it?’

  The cooper thought for a moment. ‘The lieutenant had us build a wooden fence around them – nothing metal that could cause a spark, and when all the barrels were loaded, we covered the pile in damp sacking and tarpaulins. We were told to remove the lanterns from that area and the crew were told not to go near. Oh, yes, and a marine was posted in the hold.’

  Alarm registered in Oliver’s face. ‘But since I came aboard, I have seen men in the fo’c’sle smoking. And knocking the ash from their pipes on the deck. Lighted sparks could slip between the deck beams. Have the crew been ordered not to smoke?’

  The cooper shrugged his shoulders. ‘Most of the men knew what had happened as they’d helped haul the barrels aboard and lower them into the hold. If not, they’d have seen them on the wharf or being swung cross in the netting. I reckon Captain Chilcott or Mr Brophy would have said something to them. Can you imagine if this lot went up? Whoosh! It’d take us all to Kingdom Come.’

  ‘Indeed it would,’ Oliver said. ‘Indeed it would. I should like to see where and how your have stowed this volatile cargo. I need to satisfy myself.’

  On returning to the waist, after spending more time than he had expected familiarizing himself with the locations where the powder was stowed and checking barrels, casks, chests and other items in the hold and magazine, Oliver squinted at the brightness. Though there was little sunlight, it was far brighter in the waist than the limited lantern light glimmering in the nether regions of the ship. Once accustomed to the daylight, Oliver headed up to the quarterdeck and invited the first lieutenant to attend him in the great cabin.

  ‘Mr Brophy, I have just learned of the additional one hundred and fifty barrels of powder that are stowed in various locations below deck.’

  ‘That’s right, Captain. We took delivery of them in Cork.’

  ‘And do you not think such an item would have been worth reporting to me?’

  ‘I thought you would be aware of it. It was on the manifest.’

  Oliver glared at the officer who he should regard as his right hand. ‘Mr Brophy,’ he said, without raising his voice, ‘I have been aboard for less than forty-eight hours and I am neither familiar with the ship, nor what it is carrying, nor the officers and men who are aboard. I would appreciate being advised of any other incidentals that you might regard as unimportant – for example, a potential fuel source with the capability of blowing this vessel sky-high stored in several inappropriate locations about the vessel.’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘While the idea of taking on the enemy in a 50-gun ship came as a welcome challenge to me, I was looking forward to meeting it. However, commanding a potential fireship is not my idea of a propitious posting.

  ‘From today, Mr Brophy, I want no smoking in the fo’c’sle and no smoking anywhere below deck. And I want no additional lanterns or open flames in the hold. I want more marine
s posted below and make sure they are wearing slippers.’

  ‘That won’t be very popular, Captain. The men like their baccy.’

  ‘Damn it man, I am not here to be popular. I am here to fulfil a job, as I trust you are.’ He paused. ‘Furthermore, I require the inventory that was taken when the convicts were embarked.’

  ‘Inventory?’ The first lieutenant returned a blank expression.

  ‘When the convicts came aboard, did Captain Chilcott order a detailed record to be made of all the prisoners? I am thinking of a manifest with every man’s details on it – namely weight, height, colour of hair and eyes, distinguishing marks – any scars and tattoos, plus his previous occupation, the offence he committed, the jail he came from the length of his sentence. Are you not familiar with this type of record, Mr Brophy?’

  The first lieutenant’s face remained expressionless.

  The captain continued. ‘Such facts had been recorded for some years for convicts delivered to the hulks in England prior to them being shipped across the seas. A second set of records was also made when they prisoners were embarked on a transport ship.’ There was no response. ‘Were you not on deck when the forty-six prisoners were brought aboard?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I was,’ Mr Brophy said. ‘As were the other officers.’

  Oliver took a deep breath. ‘I am not asking the other officers, I wish to know who made the inventory that accompanied the convicts and where it is now?’

  ‘Captain Chilcott did.’

  ‘And who wrote up this record?’

  ‘The Captain’s clerk wrote up the ship’s record. He copied the details from the list that accompanied the prisoners from Dublin. The surgeon referred to this and checked each man before he was put below.’

  ‘And who else was present at the time?’

  ‘Almost all the crew,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Nosey, as always. Didn’t want to miss anything. Most of them lined the rails or sat in the rigging, ogling. They know these types of rebels will take the first chance they can to escape.’

  ‘Ogling, you say.’ Oliver frowned. ‘And the marines?’