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

by M. C. Muir

  ‘Did they touch you?’

  ‘They had no interest in an old lady like me. Their eyes were set on Consuela. When they grabbed her, I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t.’ She sobbed. ‘Her arm was pulled from my grip, and in an instant, she was pressed against the wall and her dress almost ripped from her. Oh John!’ she cried, ‘I called out and begged them to stop, but they jested and jeered and jostled each other. When I tried to pull one of them away, he turned on me and sent me reeling to the cobbles. The next I remember was waking to the sound of heavy footsteps, like clogs on paving stones. It was a group of soldiers. They, too, were young and when they surrounded us, I feared they would take up where the others had left off. I tried to crawl over to Connie to help her. She was lying in a heap beside the wall. I feared she was dead. I begged the soldiers to help us and they asked questions of me, but we did not speak the same language. I answered the only way I could. I said we were English off a ship and I remember pointing to the harbour.

  ‘With my mind in a fog, I felt myself being lifted up and carried along, but I had no idea where I was being taken or if Connie was with me. I admit, in my weakness, I allowed myself to succumb to sleep. The next recollection I have was being bundled into the bottom of a boat. I could feel the rocking motion and hear the splash of the oars. I opened my eyes and could see the heavens above and, I thanked the Lord, I could feel Consuela beside me. Best of all, I could hear her breathing. Then, it was like my prayers were answered. I awoke up in this bed and heard Dr Whipple speaking softly as he attended to her. Poor Connie, I hear she is in a terrible state. I can only imagine what horrors she endured.’

  Mr Crosby was distraught. ‘I should have left the ship with you. I should never have signed on this voyage. I should be heading home with you to England.’

  ‘Hush, husband. It is over. We are safe now.’

  ‘But,’ he said anxiously, ‘the captain will not allow you to stay on board. You will be returned to the shore as soon as you are recovered.’

  Captain Quintrell stepped out from the shadow of the doorway. ‘A word in your ear, if you please, Mr Crosby.’

  The carpenter stood upright. ‘Beg pardon, Captain. I did not mean to speak out of turn.’

  Oliver drew him aside. ‘I suggest you do not tax your wife any further. The doctor tells me she needs rest if she is to recover quickly. But let me say that I understand your concern. However, you must give a little thought to the unfortunate position I find myself in. I have strict orders to adhere to, but I am human and will not tolerate the mistreatment of women such as your wife and her companion have been subjected to. Under less traumatic circumstances, I would order them ashore. Furthermore, I would permit you to rescind your warrant without penalty and to leave the ship in order to accompany your wife back to England.’

  The carpenter listened closely as the captain continued.

  ‘The facts are, the women are far from fit and, under no circumstances, would I return them to such an inhospitable place as this. As to your situation here, my decision is not founded in the goodness of my heart. My reasons are purely selfish. I need you aboard my ship. We are embarking on a long voyage and it will be over a year before we return to England. As ship’s carpenter, your services are essential. Therefore, I will permit your wife to accompany you on this voyage and allow Mrs Pilkington to travel as her companion. I charge you with ensuring they continue to behave in the manner they have so far demonstrated. Do I make myself clear?’

  Tears welled in the carpenter’s eyes. ‘God bless you, Captain. God bless you.’

  ‘I have already spoken with Mr Tully. At first light, only an hour from now, you will go ashore. I have suggested to the lieutenant that you visit the boarding house where the women were lodging. Hopefully you can recover some of their possessions. Failing that, I would encourage you, with whatever money you have between you, to purchase some women’s attire suitable to clothe them for a long sea voyage. Mr Tully and two of the marines will go ashore with you.’

  The carpenter was unable to express his gratitude.

  ‘I will speak with you later in the day. In the meantime, let us pray both women survive this ordeal. I would not wish this sort of violent unprovoked attack on any of my men, let alone a pair of defenceless females. But, let me assure you, Mr Crosby, they are in very good hands. Mr Whipple is an excellent doctor and will do all he can.’

  Oliver glanced across the sick berth to the young woman lying in the swinging cot. The sight of her long black hair on the pillows, her warm olive skin, her slender neck and the bloodied saliva running from the side of her mouth brought back memories of Susanna. As he turned away, he could feel tears filling his eyes. Brushing them with away on the back of his hand, he headed to his cabin.

  After three days in port, although most of the stores had been loaded aboard Perpetual, van Zetten’s crew was still being held in the hold of the captured ship. At times, their cries, curses and complaints could be heard half-way across the harbour. Despite having fought to the death on San Nicola’s deck, they argued they were not pirates but common sailors who had no particular allegiance to the captain. They also claimed they despised the man and would rather throw themselves overboard than serve on another voyage under him. They complained about being held in irons and being given little to eat.

  As a result of the disturbance and the adverse reports from the soldiers who were guarding them, the ship received a visit from the colonel of the garrison’s guard. The outcome was received with mixed feelings. While all shackles were removed, the prisoners had to remain confined and under the supervision of the local military. The colonel guaranteed they would be adequately fed and a decision as to what to do with them would be made very soon.

  Captain Quintrell regarded the whole affair as unsavoury and unsatisfactory. He conceded that the picture both Mr Mundy and Mr Read had painted regarding the state of affairs on the Islands was not far from the truth. He did not intend to remain in port to bear witness against van Zetten at his trial, but trusted that the statement he had dictated and left in the hands of the British Consul provided sufficient evidence to damn the pirate and see him hanged for his crimes.

  ‘I should have run him through and sent his body to the bottom,’ Oliver vowed in frustration. There was nothing more he could do or say. It was important he serviced his own vessel and was off the roadstead and heading for Brazil as soon as possible.

  When one of the ship’s boats returned with members of the ship’s company who had spent several hours on shore, Captain Quintrell was surprised to receive Mr Read, who had taken the liberty, and the only spare seat in the boat, to travel with them.

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ the captain said. ‘For what do I deserve this pleasure?’

  ‘I have come to beg a favour of you,’ the consul said.

  ‘Anything,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘I am asking on behalf of six men who are seeking passage on a ship heading west.’

  ‘Local men?’

  ‘No, sir, British from Liverpool.’

  ‘Sailors?’

  ‘I think not, but good workers and sober men besides. They have been working on my farm. They desire to sail to America, but there have been no suitable ships willing or able to take them. It is their wish to stay together. If you can assist them, this will be the only favour I ask of you.’

  At this stage of his mission, Captain Quintrell had no desire to embark anyone on his vessel who did not have papers, or a trade, or was known to him or his men. However, Mr Read had been an invaluable help over the last few days and, without his assistance and guidance, it was likely van Zetten would still be his responsibility. With this debt to repay, and with no specific reason why the men could not be signed, he was obliged to accept.

  ‘I will speak with my first lieutenant. I am sure he will find something useful for them to do. I trust they are aware we are not heading to America. My next port of call is Rio de Janeiro.’

  ‘I made that clear to them,�
�� Mr Read replied.

  Having agreed to accept them without first seeing them left Oliver doubting his decision. A stream of questions ran through the captain’s head. Why were these men at liberty on the Azores? Had they been stranded, shipwrecked or merely arrived at Ponta Delgada from a ship heading south with the intention of taking passage on another ship? Did they have money? How old were they?

  He was putting his trust in Mr Read’s recommendation and he had faith in the consul. He would not go back on his offer. Any question that arose would be for Mr Parry to pursue but, for the present, he had more important matters to deal with.

  ‘Are you aware I am sailing tomorrow?’

  ‘I am,’ the consul replied.

  ‘Where are these men presently?’

  ‘They are waiting on the wharf for word from me.’

  ‘Do they have their dunnage with them?’

  ‘They have very little baggage and are ready to come aboard immediately.’

  Oliver considered it odd that six men had few possessions but presumed there was good reason for it. ‘Return to the wharf and inform the men they can come aboard. Tell them to report to Mr Parry when they do so.’

  Bidding his visitor farewell, Oliver remained by the rail until the boat had pushed off. He then headed for’ard to speak with his first lieutenant.

  He could well do without further encumbrances at this time. Much had transpired in the last few days and dealing with the various problems had occupied more time than he would have wished. Because of this, the captain had given little thought to the voyage ahead. It was imperative he speak with the sailing master about plans to depart the port the following morning.

  He was not sorry to be leaving the Azores and looked forward to heading out into the Atlantic. As to the fate of Fredrik van Zetten, although he had wiped his hands of him, he was finding it hard to convince himself that this was the last he had seen of the blackguard.

  The following morning, as the sun rose over the mist-shrouded peaks to the north, the crew waited the order to weigh. Since daybreak, they had watched the activities and listened to the buzz of foreign voices on the nearby Portuguese warships. Like ants, hundreds of sailors had followed each other up the ratlines and swarmed out along the yards. Gaskets had been unfastened and some of the sails unfurled in preparation to sail.

  Though there was little wind, the outflowing tide meant there was sufficient current to float the ships out of the bay. With permission granted to depart before the fleet, Oliver Quintrell had no intention of waiting and becoming entangled with a mob of more than thirty vessels heading east. His course was west-south-west to the coast of Brazil.

  With the first kiss of breeze from the north-west, which favoured the fleet more so than the frigate, Oliver gave the order to make sail. Fifteen minute later, Perpetual was sliding across the bay leaving the Portuguese fighting ships in its wake.

  Looking back to the island, Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. He was not sorry to be leaving the Azores―The Western Islands the French had once named Les Ȋsles Fortunées. A more apt name in his mind was The Unfortunate Isles.

  Three days later, at his villa in the hills, Mr Read relaxed in his armchair. Although he had been home two days, he was still a little stiff in the joints after deciding to ride to his farm in the country rather than being driven.

  His wife had been delighted at his unannounced arrival. She complained that he worked too hard, was at everyone’s beck and call and that she did not see enough of him. Mrs Read was very fond of her husband and pampered him whenever she had the opportunity.

  Sitting on the tiled veranda, which surrounded his home, the British Consul inhaled the fragrances from his orchard and listened to the music of the birds. Perched on the hillside, the villa offered a commanding view of the city and its spires, the harbour and its fishing boats, the roadstead and its ships, and inland to the cultivated fields, farms and villages. The rich soil that produced fruits, flowers and vegetables at every season of the year masked the layers of marble-hard lava hidden just beneath the surface.

  Having soaked in the surroundings, the consul asked for his bag to be brought to him. His wife immediately obliged. A well-worn leather case contained a bundle of letters recently arrived in the port from England on a ship heading to Cape Town. Apart from Bills of Lading and invoices, there were assorted papers including local correspondence, invitations and appointments that needed his attention.

  His wife was delighted when he announced he would accept the invitation to dine with the governor upon his return. She relished the rare opportunities to partake in the social events of the town. Also included in the case was a newssheet that he had folded carefully and put aside to read later. It had been delivered to him personally, fresh off the press the morning he left Ponta Delgada. Being British Consul, he always received a copy. The same newssheet, containing lists of local events and shipping movements, was distributed to all government offices and businesses in the town. Spare copies were displayed in shop windows or nailed to lampposts for the townsfolk to read.

  Having opened and read his letters and put aside those that demanded a reply, by the time he turned to the newssheet, his eyes were drooping. It was printed in Portuguese and, because his eyes were tired, he begged his wife to sit with him and read out the items she thought would be of interest to him.

  Mrs Read was only too pleased to oblige him and began: ‘A fire destroyed part of the slaughter yard and spread to three adjoining cottages. Six cows were burned alive and the owner of one of the cottages also perished.’

  ‘That is not good,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she continued. ‘The collapse of five houses and damage to the walls of several government buildings was blamed on ground movement caused by activity from the volcano on the island. Because of the fear of collapse, the prisoners currently held in the jail were removed to the watch-house at the garrison.’

  Movements in the earth were not uncommon. ‘Pray continue,’ he said. ‘I am more interested in the shipping news.’

  ‘The East India Company’s schooner, Silver Cloud, made an unannounced departure from the harbour overnight, leaving its cargo of pottery sitting on the wharf. And,’ she read, ‘the ship, San Nicola, slipped its mooring overnight. Its destination is not known.’

  ‘One problem less for the authorities to concern themselves with,’ he commented. ‘Is there anything about the price of oranges? I heard they were selling for two dollars and a half a case.’

  Chapter 13

  Bungs

  The cooper’s gaze was intense, as he leaned from his perch on the sea chest and studied the caulking between the timbers on the floor of mess. After tracing the pitch-stained lines down the length of the deck, his eyes returned to where he had started and began again. He was mesmerized.

  Tommy looked at Eku, broke a piece of hard tack in his teeth and threw it at the cooper hitting him on the chest. It fell onto the mess table and rolled to the deck, but Bungs was oblivious to it.

  Tommy laughed.

  William Ethridge, sitting opposite the lad, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Eh! Bungs,’ he said, tapping the cooper on the elbow. ‘We’ve hardly heard a peep out of you since yesterday.’

  He got no reply, so tried again. ‘Ain’t you got no yarns to tell us or complaints to make? What’s got up your nose recently?’

  Bungs sat up straight and looked at the empty seat at the end of the table. ‘Where’s Muffin?’ he said.

  Tommy Wainwright laughed again but Eku elbowed him in the side.

  ‘That’s a daft thing to say,’ Tommy said.

  ‘He’s late again,’ Bungs continued.

  ‘He’s no longer with us,’ Eku said slowly.

  ‘What do you mean? Didn’t he sign for this cruise?’

  Tommy was about to answer, but his West Indian shipmate elbowed him again. Harder this time.

  ‘Watch it!’ Tommy cried, rubbing his ribs.

  With no answer to his question, the cooper
got up from his seat and headed for the companionway mumbling to himself, ‘I know where he’ll be lurking. I’ll find him.’

  Tommy was open-mouthed. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ he said innocently. ‘He sat with Muffin every day in the cockpit. He nursed him right up to the day he died. I should know, I was there too.’

  Ekundayo shook his head. ‘I’ve seen it before. Sometimes the mind blots out things best forgotten.’

  ‘That’s not like Bungs,’ Will said. ‘From the stories I heard him tell in the past, he’s seen men cut to pieces and he’ll tell you all the grizzly details. He knows the whys and wherefores and whereabouts of everyman on the ship, better than Mr Parry does. And, besides that, he’s a damned good worker and a fine craftsman. I’ve heard it said he can turn out a barrel quicker than any other man in a shipyard, and a sounder one at that.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Eku said, grabbing Will’s arm. ‘You come with me. We best go look out for him before he gets himself into any strife.’

  But, by the time the pair had left the table and climbed the forward companion ladder to the deck, it was already too late. When they found Bungs, he was standing over a seaman who was rolling about on the deck, his hand over his nose with blood oozing between his fingers.

  ‘Belay!’ Mr Hanson yelled, running along the deck. ‘Belay, Bungs. What did you hit him for?’

  The cooper rubbed his knuckles and turned to go.

  ‘Don’t you walk away from me, sailor. Marines!’ he called. ‘Restrain this man. You there,’ he said to one of the ship’s boys, ‘go fetch Mr Tully.’ But, before the lieutenant arrived, Eku and Will had rested their mate against the windlass and were supporting him, one on either side.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Mr Tully asked.

  ‘Just a misunderstanding, I think,’ Eku said.

  ‘Well, it is pretty clear to me. It looks like Bungs clobbered Prescott and, for that, Mr Hanson has put him on a charge. And rightly so. There will be no fighting on this ship. Take that man below. The captain will decide his punishment.’