The Beothuk Expedition

by Derek Yetman

  Despite my earlier suspicions of Rundle and Jenkins, I took note of their shock and revulsion on hearing of our murderous discovery on the river. However deeply they were under the influence of Grimes, I was certain they had no prior or later knowledge of that evil deed. Another matter that consumed me was the information imparted by Mr. Cartwright that Cooper and Rowsell could not be tried for their crimes, whether I returned them in chains or not. Incredible as it sounded, they had broken no actual laws. My reaction was astonishment, followed by bitter disgust to know that the beasts of the field enjoyed more protection from the Crown than did the Red Indians. Contempt for those in authority would not help the kidnapped child, however. I would deal with the furriers when I found them, but for now the immediate concern was the chase and how we were to go about it.

  The only thing I knew with certainty was that they would head to a large settlement and attempt to collect the governor’s reward. Any merchant or justice of the peace would pay them at least £25 on the knowledge that Mr. Palliser was offering twice that sum. Finding them before they sold their hostage would be the challenge, and a difficult one. I would push shallop and crew as hard as they would bear, but first I had to decide in what direction they had fled. The simple answer was east, given that nothing existed to the west save an occasional fishing station. But what route had they taken? They would have to keep out of sight as much as possible and yet stay close enough to shore to escape inland if the need arose.

  These considerations pointed to a channel called the Reach, which lay south of Chapel Island and into Hamilton Sound, which was itself south of Fogo Island. If this was their course, I had the choice of sailing in direct pursuit or going north around the island and meeting them as they emerged from the channel. But if I chose the latter, I would have no way of knowing whether they had already traversed the passage or were still in it. On the strength of this alone I shaped a course southwest after we cleared North Toulinguet Island. My decision to take the Reach was a cautious one but I knew that we could easily overtake the smaller vessel in a day or two. The wind was in our favour, being northwesterly for a time, and then veering true west near evening.

  We had no passengers for this voyage. The Cartwrights, with Atkinson, had elected to await the Guernsey and Reverend Stow was in no condition to carry on. Mr. Cousens had been obliged to return to his plantation, his servants being neglectful of work when left on their own. He was not pleased to leave us but in the end we parted company with many good wishes. We were eight in number on board the Dove and all hands were employed as lookouts from our first day at sea. Grimes was useless, of course, and Rundle and Jenkins were little better, having lapsed into one of their peculiar states where they seemed deprived of their senses.

  It was Greening who spied a fishing room on the south side of Chapel Island that first evening. I ordered up the jolly boat and he and Frost went ashore to make an enquiry while I waited impatiently. They returned with news that was both good and bad; the fishermen had seen a bye boat heading east two days before and considered it strange that it hadn’t called on them. They were uncertain of the number aboard but thought it was either two or three. The less welcome news was that the craft had been under a great spread of sail.

  I swore up and down on hearing this. They had somehow jury-rigged the little boat with extra canvas, which meant they were travelling faster than I’d estimated. With two days’ lead we would need to set every sail ourselves to overtake them before Bonavista or Trinity, or even Bay de Verde. But in speed lay the danger of bypassing them, especially at night. With this in mind I ordered the jib and topsail set but the mainsail taken in a reef, to keep ourselves in check. My discretion was not solely due to the thought of missing our prey. I was also concerned about sailing an unfamiliar passage in darkness, even with Mr. Cook’s chart safely stowed in the cabin.

  That night I learned that the Reach is subject to strong currents and variable winds. The shallop was set to heaving and swaying at the most awkward angles and there was little sleep for anyone on board. Part of the crew worked to trim sail and to keep the cargo from shifting, while others kept watch on our course and the shore to either side of us. When dawn came we were as good as worn out, though Froggat managed to rally the men and they stayed alert throughout the morning.

  Shortly after six bells we sailed out of the channel and rounded Cape Farewell for Hamilton Sound. Right away, the gunner spotted a vessel anchored in Dog Bay and we came off our course to investigate. It turned out to be a fishing craft with half a dozen men hand-lining for cod. On being hailed, the boatmaster answered that they’d seen a vessel the previous morning. It had been off Ladle Cove at the far end of the Sound and bearing east. This new information gave me pause to consider. The bye boat had been two days ahead of us yesterday and now only a day, which meant they were either heaving to at night or were travelling slower than I’d thought. I dismissed the second possibility as unlikely and focused on the first. If they were putting up at night and we were not, there was a chance that we might overshoot them in darkness.

  Tired as I was, I managed to calculate the distance that lay between the two vessels and the time it would take to cover it. I concluded that we would carry on as far as Anchor Brook on the Straight Shore and drop our bower at dusk to wait out the night. I was guessing that the furriers would be doing the same in the region of Cape Freels, some five leagues farther along the coast. If we were underway in the hour before dawn we could, with just the smallest measure of luck, surprise them at first light. Froggat thought my plan a good one, although the warrant officers urged me to press on. They were as impatient as I, but there was nothing to be gained in haste.

  Anchor Brook was marked on my chart as a good place for watering, with favourable anchoring ground and some shelter from the sea. We came into the small cove as dusk descended and I sent the jolly boat ashore to fill our casks. The wind had dropped with the sun to give us a still night under cloudy skies, the white semi-circle of sandy beach being all that we could see around us. I divided the crew into two watches under Frost and Bolger and gave them particular instructions to prevent any man from going over the side. They said they would shoot Grimes with great pleasure, should the need arise.

  The night passed without incident and we set our sails just as a band of light touched the horizon between cloud and sea. The westerly that had favoured us until now was backing to the south. Under mainsail and jib we cleared Deadman’s Point and kept the weather gauge of Outer Cat Island until full light was upon us. I had the tiller while Froggat glassed the shoreline from the poop and Greening did the same from the masthead. We saw nothing before the North Bill of Cape Freels nor had I expected to, though once around the point I thought our fortune might change.

  We rounded the Bill and an archipelago of tiny islands unfolded before us, any one of which could have hidden a boat from view. My hope had been to see the bye boat with its sails up and running, but my optimism faded as we moved among the bald rocks. If they were not under sail and were lying hidden in some tiny cove, they would be nearly impossible to find. I ordered our canvas reduced and threaded the Dove between Pinchard’s Island and the Bight of the same name, resisting the fear that I had miscalculated the speed and distance. Every possibility occurred to me, even that the furriers had kept offshore, perhaps as far out as the Cabot Isles. All hands kept watch as we moved south into Bonavista Bay, although not everyone hoped that we would find the object of our chase.

  We were east of Flowers Island and I had nearly conceded defeat when Greening hailed the deck from the masthead. I looked and saw him point southeast, where a small boat was just visible at the rise of the swell. I called for a glass and Froggat put one in my hand. There, in the centre of the magnified circle, was the bye boat, running swiftly under billowing canvas. Frost let loose our reefed mainsail without my order and the shallop sprang to life on the starboard tack. Her lee scuppers went under as we flew over the foaming bay. I was elated and relieved, knowing
that it was mere boatwork from here on. The furriers were bound to give up when we brought them within range of our guns, any one of which would wreak havoc upon them.

  Grimes began to show signs of increasing nervousness as we closed the gap. He chewed his lip as if it were a piece of salt beef and then took to gnawing his fingers. I was certain that the furriers would implicate him in their crime, a testimony that Grimes feared as much as I welcomed. We were minutes away from coming within range of our prize when Greening shouted again from the maintop. “Sail away!”

  “Where away?” I demanded, even as I looked to see his arm stretched to the southwest. All hands turned to see a brigantine, hull up and bearing down with full canvas drawing. She had neither the cut nor the speed of a merchant vessel and I handed the tiller to Froggat as I steadied myself for a closer look. Her large square sails filled my glass, her bowsprit piercing the crests of the waves. She flew no ensign and as I watched, she yawed slightly, revealing four gunports on her starboard side. Just then the ports flew up to expose the barrels of her four-pound guns. From his vantage above me Greening saw what I already knew. “Mister Squibb,” he bawled. “She’s the Frenchman! She’s the goddamn Frenchman!”

  The fleurs-de-lis ran up the halyard and I ordered Froggat to fall off the wind immediately. He did so and pointed our bow northeast with the wind on our stern quarter. I called for Greening to let loose the topsail and then told the gunner to ready our small arsenal. Our swivel guns were of little consequence against the brig’s four-pounders but we would at least make a statement. I was not about to submit to a French vessel, no matter what she could throw at us. Neither, of course, was I eager to do battle with a ship that was more than twice our size and could throw eight times our broadside weight in shot. But I risked court martial if I allowed us to be boarded without a fight and so I instructed Froggat to put us into the lee of Flowers Island. The heavily wooded islet lay a cable’s length away and a few degrees to larboard. Our pursuer was gaining rapidly and through my glass I could now see the name on her bows. It was the Valeur, and with her mass of sail she would be upon us in minutes.

  Flowers Island came athwart and at my word Froggat threw the tiller over and put the wind abeam. The Dove trembled and hesitated for an instant before shooting ahead like an arrow out of a sling. The manoeuvre put us into the lee of the island but with enough momentum to carry the shallop along its length. I looked back and was encouraged to see that the brig had not managed to come about nearly so well. There seemed to be confusion on her deck, as if ship and crew were not working as one. The effect of this was the loss of her speed, which was further reduced when she cut across our wake and came into the lee of the island. The Dove had by then reached the wind on the other side and was beating southward as eager as you please. At my word Greening had taken in the topsail and Frost had set the staysail. Froggat, meanwhile, played the shallop like a master at the fiddle, bringing out all that she was capable of giving. His fine seamanship gave me time to think on our situation, which was moderately improved by the evasive action.

  All that could be seen of the bye boat now was the top of a ragged sail in the southeastern swell. My first instinct was to follow, until sense prevailed and I realized the Frenchman would catch us in a twinkling on the open sea. My only option was to keep a southerly course into the bay, where the many islands, large and small, would provide us with a chance of escape. How quickly the tables can turn, I thought. One moment we were the cat, and the next, the mouse. I looked astern and saw the brig rounding the island and again I was struck by how slowly her crew brought the vessel to bear. Bolger and Frost were watching as well and the gunner declared that she carried a green crew, without a doubt. I had the same thought, surmising that half her complement of two dozen men were likely fishermen pressed from the French shore. Frost murmured, seeming to have read my mind: “Her four and twenty sailors that stood upon the decks, were four and twenty white mice with chains about their necks.”

  And there could lie our salvation, I dared to think. An unseasoned crew was a great advantage to us. I brought out the chart and considered what lay in our immediate vicinity. My finger traced the maze of rocks and shoals before I gave Froggat a compass heading for Greenspond and its satellite islands, some five or six leagues away on the northwest shore of Bonavista Bay. We would slip through the channel there, I thought, and carry on south to Indian Bay.

  As luck would have it, the Frenchman gave up the chase as we put the Greenspond Islands behind us. He had no stomach for pursuit in close and shallow waters, it seemed, and by dusk we were safely hidden inside of Lewis Island. The men toasted our success with a half-pint of rum and water and even Grimes was in high spirits. Plainly his mood had more to do with the escape of the bye boat than with our own good fortune.

  I told the crew that we would await the dawn and take up the pursuit again, even though the furriers were certain to make Bonavista before us. They might succeed in selling their captive there, I said, and if this were so we would recover the child and carry on. I swore that we would chase them to St. John’s if need be, a statement that met with a hearty cheer. As it died the gunner spoke up, asking if what he had heard was true, that the furriers had broken no laws and were unlikely to be tried or punished for what they had done. His question silenced the company and all eyes turned to me.

  I had no desire to lie to them, nor did I wish to dampen the spirit that was driving them on. I answered that it was true that no law existed, but it was equally true that Mr. Palliser would not allow such a crime to go unanswered. He would find a way, I avowed, to bring this evil to justice. Was he not a post captain, governor of the island and commodore of the squadron, all rolled into one? Did he not have the power of life and death over all of us? The men listened and nodded their agreement. The law was a vague and fickle entity in their experience; it was officers and rank that controlled life at sea. They returned to their rum in good humour, confident that the right course would be taken in the end. I saw Froggat staring into his mug and knew that he was not convinced by my rhetoric.

  When morning came I sent Frost and Greening onto Lewis Island, to a ridge from which they could survey our surroundings. They returned with news that the air was clear in every direction and that the Frenchman was nowhere in sight. This was enough to convince me that we could make a dash for Bonavista. I laid a course that would take us straight across the bay, a decision that I had no reason to regret as the day wore on. We made good seaway with the wind on our quarter and never a sign of the French sloop, though I hardly dared breathe until we tacked to enter Bonavista Harbour.

  Here our luck ran out, for not a soul had seen the furriers or their boat. I could only conclude that they’d skirted Cape Bonavista in the night and carried on southeast to either Trinity, at the top of Trinity Bay, or to Bay de Verde, at the top of Conception Bay. It was the turn of events that I’d been afraid of, and which now unnerved me with the choice I would have to make. It was not the tactical aspect of the decision that filled me with a stew of emotion, but rather the spectre of confronting my past. Trinity was forever in my mind equated with Amy Taverner, and to go there would mean revisiting and renewing the pain that I had tried to suppress these many years.

  Now, as we departed Bonavista, my demons were awakened and I was as fearful as a cat upon the sea. I was paralyzed by indecision at a time when the life of a child, perhaps the fate of an entire people, lay in my hands. I was all too aware that the captive’s return and the arrest of the furriers might bring an end to hostilities with the Red Indians. An example might be made to both sides, proving that we desired nothing so much as peace and would spare no effort to secure it. It was a responsibility that I would have borne well enough, had it not been for the fear that I would choose my course without the benefit of impartiality. I had every reason to avoid Trinity and I found myself searching for reasons why Bay de Verde would be the better choice.

  In the end I decided that if I could not lay claim to log
ical thought then I would ask the opinion of another. It was a simple but important choice and Froggat was more than equal to it. He immediately grasped that the time we would save by proceeding directly to Bay de Verde would be worthless if they were indeed at Trinity, and the assurance that they were not there would be invaluable to the remainder of the pursuit. His counsel settled my mind, if not my stomach, and at seven bells in the afternoon watch I ordered us south without delay.

  On crossing Bonavista Bay earlier that morning we’d made about seven knots with a southwesterly breeze. I was wishing for more of the same, even if we had to beat our way into it after the Catalinas. But it is bad luck to wish for anything, as sailors often say, and they were right enough that day. The wind backed and all but disappeared when we were just a few leagues beyond the Cape. Fog rolled in and during the remaining hours of daylight we made little headway, darkness finding the Dove only abreast of the Catalinas. It was a maddening pace, just enough to make the sweeps impractical and yet so slow that we wallowed along like a barrel with wings. The wind did improve overnight, and all that time I paced a tight little circle on the stern deck with Frost at the helm. The men took turns in their hammocks but few of them slept. There was a general anxiety that Cooper and Rowsell were slipping further from our grasp.

  Finally at dawn we came to Skerwink Head and drifted into the harbour of Trinity, a tiny vessel emerging from the fog with a crew of hollow-eyed phantoms. The town was not yet awake when we let slip our anchor off Admiral’s Rock. We might have tied up at any one of the stages on shore but if the furriers’ boat were in the harbour, I wished to keep it there. We commanded the harbour entrance from our position and no vessel, however small, could enter or leave without our knowing. The inside waters were extensive, with two principal arms and a number of coves in which a boat might hide until the chance came to escape. My nerves were by then stretched to their limit with everything that lay on my mind. I bade the men have their breakfast but I took nothing myself, save a pipe and a glass of grog. When they were done and the town had come to life, I ordered up the jolly boat and Greening rowed me ashore before the numbing effect of the rum wore off.