by M. C. Muir
‘Is there anything else you require – spare spars, rigging or sails?’
‘Thank you, no. The ship is well supplied.’
‘And the second matter?’ Oliver asked.
‘Do you have a surgeon on board?’
‘Indeed, I do.’
‘After the battle, most of the Spanish wounded were taken aboard Lively and Amphion and because there were so many, Captain Moore requested I send my surgeon to help treat them.
‘In all there were seven British casualties as against seventy Spanish wounded, not counting the men rescued from the sea who suffered severe burns. Many of those injured had limbs torn off or bones crushed – some terrible cases – I fear many of those men will require amputations, and many will die because the wounds have been left too long unattended. But their need was far greater than mine. Although badly damaged, Medusa suffered no loss of life or injury to her crew. However, it has left me without a surgeon.’
Captain Gore added. ‘I would not ask the garrison commander for the loan of his physician as, with this contagion, I imagine he has more than enough to deal with.’
‘If you have no injured men on Medusa, might I enquire why you need the services of a doctor?’
‘I need a second opinion. My assistant surgeon tells me that a number of my men who are bleeding from the mouth, are suffering from scurvy. Yet because we have been patrolling the coasts of Spain and North Africa, the ship has never been short of limes or lemons. Therefore, I question his diagnosis and I need a physician to give an educated opinion as to the cause of the malaise, and to recommend what treatment is required. I have already forfeited some of my crew to sail Santa Clara, so I cannot afford to lose any more men to sickness.’
A tired smile softened Gore’s expression. ‘Medusa will be welcome in England with its hull filled with Spanish silver, but she will not be welcome if she returns with a cockpit full by dying men.’
‘It is my pleasure to offer the services of my surgeon, Dr Jonathon Whipple. I am sure he will oblige you. I will have him rowed over to you as soon as he has prepared his chest.’ Oliver paused. ‘And the third request?’
Captain Gore spoke in a hushed tone.
‘There is one other reason I came into Gibraltar Bay. When I received my orders, I was instructed should Medusa detain any Spanish treasure but then be in danger sinking, the cargo should be transferred to another Royal Navy vessel bound for England.’
‘Do either of those situations apply?’
‘Even with the help of your carpenters and superficial repairs, I cannot guarantee my safe return to Plymouth. Amongst the treasure transferred to Medusa from Santa Clara are several chests containing specie – doubloons, silver dollars and Spanish reals. With your permission, I beg to transfer four chests to Perpetual. You will be provided with a detailed inventory of the contents, along with a copy of my original orders. When the chests are delivered, you will sign a receipt which I will deliver to the Admiralty. Are you in a position to oblige me in this matter?’
‘A little unusual is it not?’
The pain Captain Gore was suffering showed in the creases on his brow. ‘This whole affair is a little unusual,’ he said.
‘But of course, I will oblige,’ Oliver said. ‘How and when would you like the transfer to take place?’
‘At dawn tomorrow. Kindly be ready to receive it. The less delay the better. That will provide me with some peace of mind should Medusa go down on the Bay of Biscay, or be taken by the French or Spanish privateers on our return passage. At least a portion of the treasure will have been saved.’
‘One question,’ Oliver said. ‘This treasure is not actually a prize of war, is it?’
‘That is a moot point, Oliver and something which will no doubt be argued over for some time to come.’
On the following morning, visibility was poor and although daybreak had arrived, any evidence of the sun was swallowed by the mist. The conditions were ideal for the transfer of the treasure to take place.
Four sets of oars sliced the water, making barely a ripple, each boat accommodating a wooden chest lashed to a thwart amidships. Each timber box was criss-crossed with metal straps and had a large lock hanging from the lid. Each boat also carried a pair of marine guards seated in the bow, their muskets upright between their legs. Two more marines sat in the sternsheets, much to the annoyance of the boats’ coxswains. Captain Gore was passenger in one of the boats, the doctor, with his apothecary’s chest, was returning in another.
Perpetual’s main yard was already rigged and ready to lift the unusual delivery. Apart from water dripping from the oars, there was no sound from the approaching boats, no shouts announcing their arrival and no acknowledgement returned from the frigate.
On deck, the officers were anticipating the delivery with subdued excitement. There were few sailors about except those required to haul the cargo plus a dozen armed marines and a gun crew. The arrival of the Spanish treasure had been timed to coincide with breakfast.
Captain Gore climbed aboard without the necessary pipes and was greeted by Captain Quintrell. Dr Whipple immediately retired to the cockpit. From the quarterdeck, the two captains watched as the transfer of the four chests proceeded.
‘Steady, now!’ Mr Parry instructed, when the first chest was hoisted, swung across the gangway and lowered into the waist. There was no indication of its contents aside from the fact it was of considerable weight.
From the waist, it took four men to carry the first chest into the Captain’s cabin where it was placed into a large fixed locker. When the last box had been delivered, a lock was placed on the door and an additional marine guard was stationed outside the cabin, much to the chagrin of Casson who was halted every time he wanted to pass.
‘The cases I have delivered contain only specie,’ Captain Gore explained. ‘Coins of various values – doubloons, reals, and silver dollars, some cut into pieces of eight. There is no gold. I have here a receipt for these goods for the benefit of their Lordships.’
Captain Quintrell accepted the receipt and read through it carefully. Turning to his desk, he flipped the lid on the inkwell, dipped the sharpened quill, shook off the excess ink and signed his name on the paper.
‘And this is a copy of the itinerary,’ Captain Gore said. ‘It was signed by Captain Moore when the chests were taken from Santa Clara and transferred to Medusa.’
Oliver paused. ‘I must admit to finding this transfer a little unorthodox.’
‘No more unorthodox than me removing the treasure from Santa Clara’s hold. Similarly, Captains Moore, Hammond and Sutton are all carrying some of the treasure from Santa Clara and La Fama. All the treasure is being returned to England to be detained according to Admiralty orders.’
‘It leaves a nasty taste, though. Would you not agree?’
‘Like you, Captain. I follow orders and it is not for me to question them.’
Oliver was still slightly puzzled. ‘But Perpetual played no part in the battle off Cadiz. Did you speak with Captain Moore about transferring the specie to me?’
‘It was at Captain Moore’s suggestion, when I made him aware that I intended to return to Gibraltar Bay.’
Oliver was satisfied. ‘Then you have my word, as soon as I receive orders to sail, this consignment will be conveyed to Plymouth.’
‘Excellent. Captain Moore should arrive in the Hamoaze within a week and, if Medusa remains afloat, I will sail in ten days later.’
‘I pray for the safe arrival of all the ships,’ Oliver said.
‘Amen to that.’
‘In the meantime, I intend to speak with General Trigge and request permission to leave this port. I shall also write to the Admiralty and request they reconsider my orders. But, I fear, while the epidemic continues to spread, I will not be at liberty to leave Gibraltar Bay. With the current quarantine situation the colony is totally isolated.’
Captain Gore agreed. ‘It is not a good state of affairs and it brings me to a less pleasant
matter. This morning, I was told there are a dozen men in Medusa’s sick berth. After examining them, Dr Whipple advised me they are suffering from the malignant fever. It is what I had feared. In the last week three men have died and your surgeon tells me that will not be the end of the death toll. The sooner I can reach England and depart from this region, the better.’
‘But how did your men contract the contagion? You did not touch land off Cadiz, I think.’
‘That is correct. Before the action we spoke only with yourself but never once stepped ashore. We took no victuals or water on board from either Gibraltar or the Spanish mainland. And when we left the Strait’s patrol, I had a fit crew. The sailors of the Spanish treasure fleet were fitter than mine before the battle.’
‘That would confirm Dr Pym’s argument that the plague is carried in the air.’
‘It can only be,’ Captain Gore said. ‘Unfortunately your carpenter has succumbed to the illness. He is not dead but I would not return him to you in his present condition. I suggest his mates also remain on board my ship, as they have been working together.’
Oliver frowned. ‘I do not like to return to England without a carpenter.’
‘I am sure you will find a replacement at the dockyard here on the peninsula. In response to the request from Admiral Nelson, the Navy Board has recently allocated a dozen shipwrights to Gibraltar and, because the port is closed, they will have little work to do. They are naval wrights and not attached to the garrison and I am sure there will be a few eager to grab the opportunity to sail home from this disease-ridden place.’
‘Thank you,’ Oliver said. ‘I will make enquiries.’
As the sea mist rose and evaporated with the miasmic cloud drifting down from the top of the Rock, Oliver and his men watched the four boats return to Medusa. From the caprail, little was said, but there was a feeling of envy amongst the men. Medusa would be sailing for England later in the day. When Perpetual would sail was anyone’s guess.
Oliver had other concerns. Although the chests of specie had been transferred to his care, Captain Gore was still carrying a considerable amount of valuable cargo in his hold which would make a valuable prize for a privateer. In the meantime, if word of the treasure reached Algeciras, it was unlikely the gunboats would allow him to make it further than the Strait.
Despite Captain Quintrell’s unanswered questions regarding Dr Whipple’s background, he was pleased to have the surgeon returned to the frigate and invited him to share breakfast with him.
‘The task was not too strenuous, I trust.’
‘No,’ Dr Whipple replied tentatively, a troubled expression on his face. ‘Not physically, at least.’
‘What then?’
‘I examined Captain Gore’s men and found they were not suffering from the mariner’s disease. They were vomiting old blood – Vómito negro as the Spanish call it.’
Oliver was already aware of the situation. ‘But you have returned after having close contact with them. Is it possible you are carrying the malignant fever and might infect the my crew?’
The surgeon was forthright in his reply. ‘I can assure you, Captain, that will not happen. I have seen this type of sickness before. I suffered it myself in Jamaica. But because I recovered from it, I will not contract it again. That is the case.’
Oliver inhaled deeply. ‘I hope you are right. So, for the present, we must remain anchored in a pond surrounded by infectious disease. And I am now minus my carpenter and his mates.’
He continued. ‘I would give me right teeth to see real action rather than being stuck here faced with an enemy one can neither see, nor hear, nor touch. Such a situation is not documented in any of the manuals.’ He paused. ‘I reiterate what I have said before, I shall never accept a desk job within the confines of the Admiralty’s walls. Let me face the enemy’s broadside and die in battle and I will die a happy man.’
‘I trust that will not be for a long time,’ Dr Whipple replied.
Oliver leaned forward and reached for a folded letter on the table in front of him. ‘On a more serious note,’ he said. ‘I received word this morning from General Trigge.’
‘Is the epidemic coming under control?’
‘Unfortunately, it is not. According to his records the number of deaths outside the garrison has risen to over a 100 a day. There is not a single doctor left in the town. They have either escaped or died. Sir Thomas has sent an urgent dispatch via Barcelona to Lord Nelson requesting assistance but who knows how long it will be before the message reaches him.’
‘That is not good news.’
‘No,’ he sighed, ‘but I have a request to put to you. Sir Thomas Trigge has asked if you can assist the colony’s medical officer, Dr Pym, with the sick and dying, both at the garrison and in the town. By obliging him, you will be placing your life in grave danger.’
‘Captain Quintrell,’ the doctor said sympathetically. ‘I am aware you do not fully understand my way of thinking, but I am not a coward or an imposter. I am a good doctor and I have devoted my adult life to the study of medicine and healing the sick.
‘If you will allow it, I will gladly go ashore and do what I can to help in the fight against this terrible disease. I shall leave my assistant, Abel Longbottom, here to care for the men on Perpetual, but I will need some assistance. However, I fear, because of the malicious rumours, it will be easy to recruit a volunteer.’
‘Doctor, you have not sailed on a fighting ship long enough to realize that all seamen, be they officers of foremast Jacks, are prepared to face death whether it is cloaked in a cloud of miasmic air descending down the side of a mountain, or enveloped in a burst of flaming powder fired from a gun’s muzzle at close quarters. What help do you require?’
‘A loblolly or dispenser. Someone to carry my bags and assist with the handling of the patients.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I may sleep at the garrison on occasions. That will allow me to attend to the patients at any time, night or day. It will also reduce the risk of carrying any infection back to the ship.’
‘Could the garrison manage without you?’
‘I think not. From what I hear, Dr Pym is already unable to cope with the increasing number of deaths being recorded in the town. In answer to your question, I see no alternative. I must go. But I will need help.’
‘What of the men you already have?’ Oliver asked. ‘Can the lad, Tommy Wainwright, do the job?’
‘The young man is keen and willing, but he is small in stature and I think he has never suffered the fever. Besides, he will be useful here and will help Longbottom while I am away.’
‘What is the situation in the cockpit today?’ the captain asked.
‘Two new patients. I am keeping them isolated from the other men.’
‘Why was I not made aware of this?’
‘I have not had the opportunity to prepare my report, and the sickness only presented itself this morning.’
Oliver was not happy with the news. ‘What of Longbottom, the surgeon’s mate?’
‘While I am ashore, Abel will act in my place. I cannot take him and leave the ship with no one to attend the sick berth.’
‘So what manner of man do you require?’
‘A man who will not baulk at handling the dead and dying. He must have a strong constitution not easily sickened by what he sees or smells. Also, being able to defend himself would be useful. There is danger in the shadows when death lurks around every corner. Finally, I want a man who has suffered from fever in the past and survived. A man who will not die while he is helping me.’
‘I will ask for a volunteer from amongst the men,’ Oliver said. ‘One final question, Doctor. In your opinion how long will this epidemic last?’
‘It will pass when the winter arrives and the winds change direction.’
‘Two more months.’
‘It has happened here before and if this is the same fever as before, by December it will be over.’
‘I pr
ay you are right.’
Oliver had mixed feelings. Although relieved that the doctor was willing to help, he was unsure if it was the correct decision. He also felt guilty. Whatever his opinion of Dr Whipple had been in the past, the surgeon was proving himself to be both conscientious and obliging.
‘I am grateful,’ Oliver said, ‘but for the present, you look tired and need a little rest.’
The doctor smiled a weary smile and replaced his hat. ‘Until tomorrow then.’
The captain did not wait until the morning to muster the whole crew.
After lining the men up around the waist, Mr Parry posed the request the surgeon had put to the captain only half-an-hour earlier. However, with not a single response to the first call for a volunteer, the lieutenant scanned the line assessing the faces for a suitable candidate.
‘You two. Step forward!’ he ordered, pointing to a pair of foremast Jacks.
‘I ain’t fit,’ the first claimed, standing his ground.
‘I ain’t had no fever,’ the other argued.
Mr Parry looked along the line.
‘I’ll go.’ The deep voice belonged to Ekundayo, the seaman from Santo Domingo who had first sailed with Captain Quintrell on his previous voyage. He took a step forward.
‘And why would you want to volunteer?’ Mr Parry asked.
‘Because young Tommy is my mate. He works in the cockpit and he ain’t afraid of no fever nor no breeze of wind. And neither am I. I’ve seen fever and massacres and worse where I come from.’
‘I’ll go too.’ The voice came from a sailor leaning against the lines coiled to the pin rail.’
‘Step up. Show yourself.’
‘So,’ Mr Parry mused. ‘Zachary Irons from Portsmouth. I trust you do not see this as an opportunity to run, because you’ll find no escape from the peninsula at this time. Remember Lompa, the mate of yours who ran earlier. He did not fare too well, did he?’
‘He was no a mate of mine.’
‘So why do you wish to volunteer to go with the doctor?’
