The Unfortunate Isles (Under Admiralty Orders - The Oliver Quintrell Series Book 4)

by M. C. Muir

  Then a puff of tell-tale smoke and a tongue of orange flame shot out from the side of the ship. The blast of thunder from another three guns followed a moment later, the shots hissed across the cove. One landed in the coarse grass at the edge of the beach only fifty yards away. Another thumped into a dune startling the nesting birds. The third thudded into the foothills on the opposite side of the beach close to the track Mr Tully and the boys had taken.

  With a firm grip on Mr Parry, the knife’s blade pressing against his throat, the visitor spoke in good English with the hint of a Spanish accent. ‘Order your men to drop their weapons and I will not spill your blood, otherwise, with one word from me, the next shot will turn your ship into matchwood.’

  Mr Parry had little choice but to give the order and, when the crew complied, he was released from the foreigner’s grip. It had taken less than three minutes for him to fail to comply with the promise he had made to Captain Quintrell. He had lost control of one of His Majesty’s frigate’s, had seen the lives of several marines and two seamen come to an end and, not least, had been made to forfeit his pride in front of the whole crew.

  ‘What can we do?’ Mr Nightingale whispered.

  ‘We do as he says,’ Mr Parry said reluctantly. ‘We wait to discover what his intentions are.’

  ‘At least he cannot take Perpetual while it is stuck in the sand,’ Mr Nightingale said. ‘And hopefully the captain will have heard the shots.’

  ‘Silence!’ The order was screamed into the faces of the two officers. ‘Who is in charge here?’

  ‘I am,’ Simon Parry replied.

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘Simon Parry.’

  ‘Ah, I have heard of you, Captain Parry.’

  The first lieutenant did not correct the visitor’s assumption.

  ‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Fredrik Johannes van Zetten. My ship is the San Nicola recently arrived from Brazil and bound for―who knows where?’

  ‘Then perhaps you would allow me to go to my cabin and attend to my dress.’

  Van Zetten cast a disparaging look at the British officer. ‘To alert your men and return with a weapon?’ He laughed. ‘I prefer you the way you are.’

  ‘So be it,’ Simon Parry said.

  ‘I should advise you, Captain Parry, I have come here to take your ship, but it appears it is not ready to sail at this moment.’

  ‘Your observations are correct. The frigate was taking water so there was no alternative but to run her up on the sand before she sank.’

  The two midshipmen exchanged enquiring glances. Fortunately their puzzled expressions went unnoticed.

  ‘And how long will these repairs take, might I ask?’

  ‘A week perhaps, maybe more. It will depend on the extent of the rot. She is not a young ship and many of her timbers are tired. When the work has been completed, we shall have to wait for the full of the moon and a high tide to lift her from the beach. Even so, it will not be an easy task.’

  ‘Do not concern me with such trivia,’ Captain van Zetten said. ‘If I relieve you of some of your cargo, I will make the job much easier for you.’

  ‘Under what flag and authority?’

  ‘Under my authority, Captain Parry. I sail under whichever flag I find convenient.’

  ‘You are a pirate then?’

  ‘You may call me what you wish. I can show Letters of Marque proving that I am a privateer, but I care little for slips of paper that can be forged or stolen. I am here to take your ship and its cargo.’

  ‘Then I am afraid you will be disappointed on that score also. The ship is carrying no cargo and has virtually no supplies on board.’

  The pirate laughed. ‘You have been fighting the French in the Mediterranean. You must have amassed some plunder?’

  ‘No, sir. We have been anchored in Gibraltar Bay for the past three months amidst the death and suffering of the malignant fever. It has claimed thousands of lives. I am sure you have heard about it. We only escaped the place a few weeks ago. We were desperate for water and food and our sails and cordage are in dire need of replacing. But we needed to repair the hull before we could proceed to Ponta Delgada, and then home to England.’

  ‘Fever is not new,’ van Zetten said scornfully. ‘I meet it everywhere I go. It is rampant on the coast of Africa and the islands of the Caribbean. Tell me why you did not sail to the main port first.’

  ‘It would have been an embarrassment for a British frigate to sink on the city’s wharf,’ Mr Parry replied, the serious expression on his face unchanged throughout the exchange. ‘However, under the circumstances,’ he continued, ‘I cannot refuse you entry to the ship but I assure you, sir, you will find nothing of value.’

  ‘I shall be the judge of that.’

  ‘Mr Nightingale,’ Simon said, ‘kindly advise the cooper we have a visitor coming aboard and to ensure that there are no loose barrels that could roll and injure him.’

  Immediately, the lieutenant headed toward the rope-ladder dangling from the hull. But word had already been picked up by the sailors working beneath the ship and conveyed to the crew who were still on board.

  ‘I invite you to inspect our cockpit while you are there, but I warn you, it is filled with dead and dying men suffering from the malignant fever. That is another reason I did not sail into Ponta Delgada. I would have been required to enter the port under the yellow flag of contagion, and I doubt I would have received a cordial welcome.’

  Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, the visitor dabbed it to his nose, its once smooth line interrupted by an old scar cutting across it. The unmistakable musky scent of ambergris wafted on the air as he flicked the piece of dirty white silk before returning it to his coat.

  ‘Perhaps you had not heard of the epidemic that ravaged Cadiz claiming fifty thousand lives only recently.’

  It was obvious this information was new to van Zetten.

  Mr Parry continued. ‘We buried most of our victims at sea, but the recent deaths and those who will die in the coming days, we will commit to the soil of this island. Three bodies were buried his morning over there.’ He pointed to the area at the far side of the cove where a group of men had been digging a ditch. While it was human excrement and not bodies lining the bottom of the ditch, it served Simon Parry’s purpose.

  ‘But the doctor assures me,’ he said, continuing the charade, ‘the fever is subsiding. He says that if we remain here for a long enough period then, hopefully, the sickness will end and there will be no need to raise the quarantine jack when we enter the port.’

  ‘If I were to set fire to your ship, you would have no more concerns about the contagion.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Parry quickly, ‘but once repaired, she is a good fast ship and will exchange for a considerable amount of gold if she was to be sold on the Barbary Coast.’

  Van Zetten was not amused.

  Simon eyed the man who was a threat to every person on the beach. Was he gullible enough to have believed the story about Perpetual’s problems? he wondered. While he was confident of the truths he had uttered, he was less confident of the untruths he had told. They did not come easily to a man of integrity but, at this stage, he had more than himself to consider and could think of no better alternative. He desperately needed the support of Captain Quintrell. He wondered if the guilt churning inside him was showing on his face.

  By not sending word to alert the captain to the arrival of a foreign ship, he had failed to follow orders, and the following events had unfolded so quickly he had been caught unprepared. The fact the frigate’s company was greatly depleted justified his decision to parley rather than engage in an abortive fight that could have ended disastrously. The bodies of the dead marines and sailors, whose life-blood had already soaked into the sand, furthered his resolve. With the ship, San Nicola anchored outside the mouth of the cove, its guns directed at the frigate, and with a company of renegade sailors pointing muskets at his men, he considered the action he had taken had been for
the best.

  ‘You have ample food and water aboard the ship, no doubt?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Simon Parry said truthfully. ‘Believe me when I say we are desperately short of both water and provisions, but before we could make the victualling yard in Ponta Delgada, it was necessary to repair the damage. We were taking on water so fast we would not have made the distance of fifty miles to São Miguel.’

  ‘You disappoint me, Captain,’ van Zetten scoffed. ‘When I look around, I see many fit men at work. They do not look hungry.’

  ‘It is no lie. We have supplies enough to last us for one week at the most, and until we arrived, we had water but it was limited. I am hoping to find some fresh water nearby during our stay.’

  Captain van Zetten was not interested. ‘You have many men.’

  Simon Parry shook his head. ‘Barely enough to man a British frigate. A ship of this size requires over two hundred men. You can see for yourself, at present, I have less than half that number. He chose his words judiciously. ‘Many good men died in Gibraltar.’

  The pirate’s laugh was scathing. ‘You have more men than I. My ship was becalmed in the Doldrums for six weeks. There I tossed four dozen overboard, either dead or begging for death. It was the seaman’s curse,’ he said. ‘Scurvy.’

  Though van Zetten’s teeth were crusted in yellow and brown, they all appeared to be present. It was obvious to the lieutenant that the ship’s captain had not suffered from scurvy as his men had.

  ‘So, Captain Parry, you will oblige me with half of your men.’

  ‘I protest,’ Simon exclaimed.

  The pirate laughed again. ‘Who are you to protest to me? In other circumstances I would take your ship, your men and your life without uttering a single word. In this instance, I am being exceedingly generous. I will take forty of your sailors leaving you enough to complete your repairs. I will also take your carpenter and cooper. I will return here in five days and will expect to find your vessel sound and ready to put to sea. Consider this, Captain Parry, and be grateful. My ship will tow your frigate from the sand, but once afloat, I will relieve you of it along with the rest of your crew. Do I make myself clear?’

  Mr Parry glanced from the line of bare-chested Perpetuals standing in front of the frigate’s hull, to the foreign sailors standing in and alongside the boats in which they arrived, armed with muskets, swords and pistols. Then he considered the frigate lying on the sand. It was as useless as a shark whose dorsal fin has been sliced from its back. Then he caught the evil grin on the face of the man about to take half of the crew who were present.

  ‘You will come with me to ensure your crew do exactly as I command. They will sail my ship, San Nicola, into Ponta Delgada, where I will buy supplies. When I return, you will inform your sailors that, if they do not comply with my orders, I will use them as fish bait. Take heed, Captain, I do not make idle threats.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Mr Nightingale. ‘I see you are an artist,’ van Zetten said, grinding the sketch pad into the sand with the heel of his shoe.

  ‘I am Lieutenant Nightingale of His Britannic Majesty’s Navy. I was making a sketch of the beach for my captain.’

  Mr Parry’s heart sank, in the event, the young officer revealed too much.

  ‘You will remain here, Lieutenant, and make sure these men finish the work they are doing and do not run off into the hills.’ Then he pointed to the two midshipmen standing nearby, the only men on the beach in full uniform. ‘They will come with me, also,’ he said to Simon. ‘They will be insurance against me being fired upon when I take my leave. Should that happen, you will see two pretty young men wearing hempen neckties hanging from the main yardarm. Do I make myself clear?’

  Mr Parry had no alternative but to accept the conditions, though his feeling of anxiety was increasing with every passing second. Had the sounds from the musket and cannon fire carried to wherever the captain was? Had the men cutting wood and collecting water also been alerted by the noise? If so, would they guess what was happening on the beach or ignore it? There was a possibility at any moment a mob of sailors could descend on the beach only to be cut down in a shower of musket shot. And, on discovering that he had lied about the number of his men, would the ship’s guns be aimed at every man on the beach?

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Parry said reluctantly, for he was in no position to argue or put up a fight. Had he attempted it, many lives would have been lost. His only hope was that, when Captain Quintrell returned, he would find a solution. One small consolation was that Perpetual had not been taken. Contrary to the tale he had told the pirate, the frigate’s hull was sound, and already many barnacles had been cleaned from it. There was a slight possibility, that if the tide was in his favour, the captain would be able to refloat the frigate quickly and save it from being taken as a pirate’s prize.

  Van Zetten was becoming impatient. ‘I want your men lined up on the beach this instant. I want your boats hauled down to the water and the sailors put aboard San Nicola with all haste. I weigh anchor in half-an-hour.’

  With the flash of steel glinting in the sunlight, Simon Parry had run out of arguments and lies, and had no alternative but to comply.

  ‘I beg you to leave some of our boats,’ Simon said.’

  ‘Why? What need have you for boats?’ van Zetten asked. ‘Unless you plan to escape to one of the other islands.’

  ‘No, sir, I assure you we will not do that.’ He knew he was perilously close to raising van Zetten’s suspicions.

  ‘You would do well to mind your tongue, Captain Parry. I have been known to nail a man’s tongue to the cap rail for being greedy.’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Simon nodded. ‘I will assemble the men and have the boats made ready.’

  Captain van Zetten stepped back twisting the greying hairs sprouting from his chin.

  ‘Proceed,’ he said. ‘But remember, when I return to collect the frigate, do not fire on me or my ship. As a reminder, I will have your sailors lined up along the deck and will slice everyman’s throat before pushing him overboard. I do not think you or Lieutenant Nightingale will want that scene playing on your conscience for the rest of your days.’

  Simon Parry remained silent. There was no time to lose.

  Exchanging glances with Mr Nightingale, the first lieutenant was confident he understood what had to be done. The ship’s artist was a sensible man and a good officer. He trusted he would make the right decisions in his absence. Only one thing now worried Simon Parry―as San Nicola sailed along the coast, would it meet the captain’s cutter returning to the cove? He prayed that would not be the case.

  Within minutes, a large group of seamen, including Bungs and Mr Crosby, was marched down the beach in double file.

  Looking back to the third lieutenant, the sailing master and the doctor who were standing together on the beach, Mr Parry and the two middies were rowed out in van Zetten’s own boat and taken aboard the pirate’s ship. The sailors from the frigate followed in the other boats, but before boarding, the men were searched for any weapons hidden in their shirts or tucked under their belt. The knives and chisels that were found were immediately tossed into the sea. As the boats packed with sailors, glided toward the ship, the translucent water was barely disturbed by the dip of the oars. The white sand gleamed reflecting the warmth of the full sun. From the boats’ thwarts, the prisoners watched their freedom drifting from them and tried not to focus on the fate awaiting them.

  Within less time than it takes for the half-hour glass to empty, San Nicola’s anchor had been raised, the sails set and the ship was underway.

  On the beach, the remaining Perpetuals, who had buried their tools in the sand, whispered together. Many had ideas and suggestions and it was not long before they were bombarding Mr Nightingale, the doctor and the bosun with their proposals. The sailing master soon put a stop to the upheaval. In his opinion, Captain Quintrell would be returning shortly and he would know what to do. Being the most senior man according to age, Mr M
undy assumed command and called for the doctor to support him. On the sand, the bosun took it upon himself to attend to the men. ‘Back to work you dogs or you’ll feel the bite of the mate’s starter.’

  But Mr Nightingale, the most senior naval officer remaining, knew where his responsibility lay. Mr Parry had charged him with informing Captain Quintrell of what had happened, but with no boat available to carry him along the coast, his only alternative was to head over the cliff tops on foot. But, with no idea of the distance he must travel, or the location of the beach, the gallows or village, or the route he must follow to arrive there, he needed help. Only Mr Tully and the two boys knew the way, and Mr Tully was with the captain. His only option was to take Tommy Wainwright and young Charles and trust their memories would serve them when called upon.

  Chapter 8

  The Plan

  ‘Captain, is that you?’ Mr Nightingale called. ‘Thank the Lord, I have found you.’

  ‘What brings you here?’ Oliver asked. The unexpected appearance of the lieutenant and the two boys on the top of the headland did not bode well.

  ‘I was sent to find you, Captain. I’m afraid all is not well.’

  ‘What has happened? Is the frigate safe?’

  ‘Aye, Captain, but that is about the extent of it.’

  ‘Tell me all. I must know.’

  The sailors drew closer muttering together, anxious to learn the news.

  ‘Five of the marines have been shot dead and two sailors.’

  ‘What? How?’ Oliver demanded.

  ‘And Mr Parry and two of the middies have been taken prisoner, along with forty of the crew including the carpenter and Bungs.’

  The captain was aghast. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘A ship came and took them. And it will return in five days. Its captain is demanding the frigate be ready to go back into the water. He’s threatened to seize the frigate and take the rest of the men along with it. He’s taken all the ship’s boats, and we can’t defend ourselves because we can’t bring the guns to bear.’