Nelson's Wake

by M. C. Muir

  There was little time for the two ship’s captains to sit down to refreshments, however they managed a toast to the East India Company’s safe return home after a long and tiring voyage and to Royal Standard – a safe and successful mission.

  For almost half an hour the two captains exchanged stories, the conversation flowing back and forth non-stop after which time, Captain Yollander gave his apologies, thanked Oliver Quintrell and returned to his ship. As the fleet were sailing well, he did not want to be left far behind.

  As soon as the visiting boat cast off, the call went out for all hands. The yards were braced around, the helm responded and the breeze filled the belly of the canvas returning Royal Standard to the heading it had originally been on. Though the wind was light, it was better than no wind at all.

  That afternoon, spirits were piped up later than usual but a double ration of rum was issued. It was gratefully received by every man and boy. The servants, volunteers or young gentlemen, as they were referred to, hovered around the scuttlebutt and were the first in line when the ration was served. Were it not for the eagle eyes of the boatswain, a couple would have crept back for a second serve and chanced having a taste of the boatswain’s starter.

  Re-joining the captain, the sailing master asked, ‘Should we take a more westerly bearing. We might find more wind.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Brannagh, but I have no desire to encounter the Doldrums again. Continue south on this heading towards the Verde Islands.’

  ‘Wood and water?’

  ‘No. Once we reach that latitude, set a course south-south-west and maintain that bearing until we cross the Equator. From there we shall head due south.’

  ‘St Helena?’

  ‘I think not. Ascension Island is my choice.’

  The destination was met with a questioning look. ‘Are you familiar with that island, Captain?’ the sailing master quizzed.

  ‘Only from what I have read,’ Oliver replied. ‘It is an uninhabited barren outcrop and seldom visited but it will serve us well to break our journey for a few days. I think we will not be troubled there.’

  ‘I heard it was a God-forsaken place,’ the sailing master added.

  ‘Indeed. But it is British and of no strategic interest to our enemies.’

  ‘Is there a garrison there?’

  ‘No garrison and no settlement. To the best of my knowledge, it is unpopulated but has ample fresh water springs and a good supply of goats and sheep running wild, courtesy of the early Portuguese explorers. Plus, it is visited by giant sea turtles around this time of the year. They come ashore to lay their eggs. Plenty of fresh meat for the taking. A party of marines and marksmen should be able to supply the galley with enough fresh meat to feed us till we reach Cape Town. What say you?’

  ‘Most acceptable. I never say no to a bowl of turtle soup. Perhaps, also, a chance for the men to bathe and scrub their clothes and hammocks, and in this heat the ship will have a chance to dry out a little. But it will take a month of sailing to fetch us there.’

  ‘Do you have another pressing engagement?’ the captain asked glibly.

  The sailing master smiled. ‘No, sir. Ascension Island it is.

  Chapter 14

  Ascension Island

  Clouds of black volcanic dust rose from the broad stretch of loose cinder scree that covered half of the distant hill, as a mob of boys padded across it. Above it were inhospitable rugged cliffs and, scattered below, the jagged volcanic rocks that had, long ago, been vomited from the volcano’s mouth. Not a tree or bush could be seen on this part of the island, nor any other living thing. Like the pimpled face of a pubescent schoolboy, the island was marked by dozens of cone-shaped hills – the forty extinct volcanoes that had once formed the island’s landscape.

  ‘Captain Quintrell,’ the second lieutenant hailed from the quarterdeck rail. ‘The young gentlemen are heading back. I can’t see the schoolmaster but he must be amongst them.

  ‘How many? Oliver asked.

  ‘All of them, I think. I counted twenty.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Weir. I shall go ashore to speak with them. I am interested to hear what they have learned from their venture across the island and if they have made any significant discoveries. ‘My boat, if you please, Mr Weir.’

  With an hour of sunlight remaining, the returning party were making no effort to hurry. Some sauntered, walking arm in arm, totally immersed in their conversations. One or two stopped to examine a plant or pick up a stone to add to already bulging pockets. A pair ran about taunting, teasing and annoying their companions. A couple made balls of scree and threw the black dust into their companion’s faces, much to the annoyance of those who were targeted. Time meant nothing to any of them.

  As the boat was being lowered from Royal Standard’s davits, the captain examined the group carefully through the lens of his glass, taking note of their less than gentlemanly appearance – the unruly hair, the neckerchiefs tied around their foreheads, collars unbuttoned, shirt tails flying, stockings rolled down to their ankles, while sleeves were rolled up higher than the elbows in the fashion of a common wharf worker. While he could not see their features clearly, he assumed they would be carrying as much dirt on their faces, hands and shoes as on the roots of the botanical samples they had set off to collect.

  In the days prior to embarking on the excursion, the schoolmaster had introduced the young gentlemen to the voyages of Charles Darwin, pointing out that they were walking in his footsteps on ground not unlike that of the land the great man had explored fifty years earlier – new land that had risen up from underwater volcanos and been given the name – the Galapagos Islands. Perhaps Ascension Island was given its name because it also had ascended from the sea bed many millennia ago.

  To inspire some interest, Mr Greenstreet had assured the young men it was quite possible for them to discover some new variety of plant which could be credited to them and presented at a future Royal Society meeting, or to Kew Gardens later in the year.

  If nothing else was achieved, the captain conceded that at least the boys would expend some pent-up energy during their time on land, rather than causing a disturbance aboard the ship. Unfortunately, the disruption caused to nesting birds and crabs was an unavoidable incidental. Being inspired and engaged would be a bonus.

  From Royal Standard’s hull it was only a short pull to the small beach and the ship’s cutter, where one of the midshipmen and the boat crew had been idling their time all day waiting the return of the young gentlemen in order to ferry them back to the ship.

  Relaxing in the balmy atmosphere, the peace the boat’s crew had been enjoying for several hours was disturbed only by the sound of birds and the gentle lapping of the waves. Finding any shade from the overhead sun had been the sailors’ greatest challenge. When the captain’s boat was seen approaching, the group quickly rose to their feet and dusted themselves down.

  ‘Anything to report, Gentlemen?’ Oliver asked when he stepped ashore.

  ‘No, Captain, just enjoying the scenery until a few moments ago when we thought we heard the young gents returning.’

  From a distance, the high-pitched cries from young voices heralded the disorganised mob as they drew closer. The sound increased, as the group ran helter-skelter to the beach. It was quite evident from the faces that each one was eager to relate what had happened. Weaving between the boulders, they arrived exhausted at the shore, immediately dropped their knapsacks and threw themselves headlong onto the soft warm sand. Panting, they rolled over and sprawled out as if dead.

  Oliver considered the dishevelled mob of precocious manhood but reserved his judgement. ‘Where is Mr Greenstreet?’ he asked.

  The response came in unison from at least a dozen voices each trying to out-shout his mate with the news.

  ‘Silence,’ the captain called, before pointing to the boy sitting in the sand closest to him. He repeated the same question to him.

  ‘He’s back there, Captain.’ The boy stood up and pointed and,
as if prompted, the whole group turned their heads and extended their arms to point back up the track they had come down. ‘He’s following behind us.’

  Oliver turned to his second lieutenant. ‘Mr Weir, kindly ensure the young gentlemen attend to their dress, dust off the sand and return to the ship immediately. I shall return to the ship with you and speak with the schoolmaster later.’

  ‘Aye, Captain. On your feet, all of you,’ Mr Weir ordered. ‘Do as the captain said.’

  Dragging themselves up from the sand, picking up their knapsacks, and dusting themselves off, there were a few low grumbles but, with the captain standing within earshot, they complied with the lieutenant’s orders. The sight of the midshipman pulling the boatswain’s starter from a red bag emphasised the call.

  ‘Any more disruption and you will all be kissing the gunner’s daughter before the day is out,’ he growled.

  The threat of punishment worked a treat. With nothing more said, the boys helped the sailors drag the cutter from the sand, climbed or fell into it and sat silently on the thwarts or in the bottom of the boat, not daring to make a murmur until the boat’s crew pushed off.

  Eight oars splashed each time they dipped into the crystal clear water disturbing the shoals of tiny fish that were unused to intruders. As for the boys, their expressions became doleful as they neared the ship’s hull. The eyes of the captain, watching them from the stern sheets, didn’t leave them until they climbed to Royal Standard’s entry port. Throughout the time, not a word was uttered.

  It was almost thirty minutes before the schoolmaster returned to the beach. Hardly able to walk and in a very distressed state, he was supported by two of the stronger young gentlemen. His face was etched with the pain of his journey. His neckerchief, blackened with blood, was wrapped around his ankle and secured with a bandage made from his stocking.

  On seeing him, two sailors from the waiting boat, hurried along the track to meet him and carried him the rest of the way to the beach. The boys who had supported him along the track were totally exhausted.

  ‘Welcome back, Mr Greenstreet,’ the midshipman said sympathetically. ‘The men will help you aboard.’

  ‘I would prefer to sit for a moment, if that is in order. Did the boys tell you what happened?’

  ‘Indeed,’ the midshipman admitted. ‘The boys arrived full of wind and a cacophony of voices that I was hardly able to interpret. Perhaps you can explain.’

  ‘I must report to the captain urgently,’ the teacher said, struggling against his aching limbs to raise himself up. Gazing across the narrow strip of water to where Royal Standard was anchored, he was obliged to admit, ‘I have lost three of the boys.’

  ‘Lost,’ the midshipman repeated. ‘Are they headed this way? Were they following you and perhaps gone off the track?’

  ‘I wish that were the case. No, they deliberately took leave on their own, early in the day, and failed to return. I have no knowledge of where they are. I have searched without success and must convey this information to the captain so he can decide what must be done.’

  ‘All in good time,’ the midshipman advised. ‘You must sit for a while and rest. Wait for the captain’s boat to return.’

  Anxious but relieved, Mr Greenstreet rested on the beach leaning against the boat with the crew gathered around him. They all listened intently as he explained what had transpired.

  ‘All went well, at first, until eight of the boys ran ahead of the group. Despite my calls for them to wait, reminding them to show some semblance of respect for the other fellows, my pleas fell on deaf ears.

  ‘After only half an hour,’ he continued, ‘five of the younger boys returned, deflated and full of apologies. If truth be told, they had been unable to keep pace with the three biggest boys who were intent on heading off on their own. Fearing being lost and never being found, the youngsters were relieved to return to my care.’

  The midshipman, who was not much older than the young gentlemen, chose not to comment. ‘As you are aware, the majority of the boys reached the ship well before you. They were spurred on by their exuberance to convey the bad news.’

  ‘That three of the boys were missing?’

  ‘Indeed, that was the story they shared only half an hour ago. And the captain was on the beach at the time.’

  ‘Oh!’ was the schoolmaster’s only reply.

  Sitting down on a black boulder that had once been spewed from the vent of an active volcano, he stared at the sea, shaking his head.

  ‘Water for Mr Greenstreet,’ the midshipman called.

  The man drank thirstily. ‘Thank you.’

  Though there was not a cloud overhead, the sky was suddenly darkened by a reeling mass of thousands of birds returning to the island for the night. The sound was ear-splitting. Over the years, the squawking and squealing had been likened to the haunting calls of the souls of sailors lost at sea. The sound grew louder as seething masses swooped lower and circled the ground eager to return to their nests and reunite with their eggs.

  ‘Time for us to leave,’ the midshipman said. With the return of the Captain’s boat, two of the sailors helped the schoolmaster to his feet, assisting him across the sand and into the cutter.

  The water in the cove was still as any pond as they were rowed back in silence to Royal Standard.

  When the boys and Mr Greenstreet had been safely delivered back to the ship, the captain requested one of the middies return to the beach and remain there until the three lost boys returned. Mr Adams, who had stayed aboard Royal Standard all day, was happy to volunteer to go ashore. But he did not go alone. Six sailors from the boat crew and two marines accompanied him.

  On the beach, the sailors immediately collected driftwood and built a large bonfire to serve as a beacon for the lost boys. It was thought unlikely they would attempt to trek across the island in pitch darkness. While there was no danger from natives or wild animals, the volcanic terrain was treacherous, the surface littered with holes from which sprouted bushes bearing evil thorns.

  As the evening progressed, the sea turned black and the contours of the island disappeared under a heavy veil of grey. Despite the clear southern sky being dotted with a multitude of stars and a bright moon shining, undertaking even a short journey across the island would have been foolish for anyone to attempt.

  The sailors took turns to stand watch during the night.

  ‘Damned young fools,’ Oliver Quintrell cursed.

  Sitting with him in the great cabin, Mr Greenstreet merely inclined his head in agreement. Having exhausted his thoughts, words and constant apologies, his face was white and drawn.

  ‘Which boys are they?’ the captain asked. ‘Do you have their names? Is Dorrington one of them?’

  The schoolmaster looked surprised. ‘He is.’

  ‘The ringleader, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘You are right, Captain. I believe he convinced two of the other boys to go with him and, from the onset, had no intention of following my instructions. I was told Dorrington’s plan was to climb to the top of the highest point on the island so he could get a 360 degree view of the ocean.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘So I was told.’

  ‘Has he not discovered he can achieve the same by climbing to the top of the main? Perhaps I shall remind him when he returns.’

  ‘I should have stepped in,’ the older man said apologetically. ‘I’d heard them whispering and ignored it but, some time later, discovered the three boys were missing.’

  ‘You should have taken two marine guards with you,’ Oliver said. ‘However, it is too late now.’

  ‘With your permission, Captain, I will head off in the morning and take a party along with me to conduct a thorough search for them.’

  ‘I think not. You are not fit to walk on that injured leg. In the morning a search party will be raised. You will draw up a rough map with directions of the route you took and advise the possible locations where you think the boys might be.’


  ‘But I should accompany the party. Those boys were under my care. They were my responsibility.’

  ‘Let me remind you, Mr Greenstreet, as captain of this vessel, those boys are my responsibility. I can assure you, however, they will be found, even if it takes us a week to find them. This rocky outcrop, in the middle of the Atlantic, measures only eight miles in both width and breadth. And while the terrain is not easy, there are no wild beasts, to my knowledge, and nothing harmful except perhaps a few snakes. At these latitudes, it is never cold so they will not freeze. Also, it hardly rains but, if they are thirsty, by all accounts, there is good water rising in springs on the higher ground. They will just have to search to find it. And if they have a modicum of intelligence they will not starve. They can feed on land crabs and nesting birds to their hearts’ content.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Indeed, I do.’

  ‘What will you do with them when they are found?’ Mr Greenstreet asked.

  The Captain chewed over the question for a few moments. ‘That depends on several things. If some accident has befallen them, then I will deal with them sympathetically and leniently. But, if I find that they have blatantly disobeyed the instruction they were given, then I will regard their deliberate actions as tantamount to desertion. And you know the penalty for desertion from one of his Majesty’s ships.’

  Oliver paused and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I find myself in a difficult situation. These boys are very young and, as servants, are officially not yet in the King’s service, therefore I cannot deliver them to a court martial nor hang them,’

  The schoolmaster was shocked.

  ‘But mark my words, any report I write about their behaviour will be submitted to the Admiralty. That might mean they will never make it to midshipman on a fighting ship.’

  ‘Dorrington’s father is a cabinet minister in the government – a close friend of the Prime Minister,’ Mr Greenstreet advised tentatively.