by M. C. Muir
Simon Parry did not comment.
‘When did we see the American barque?’
‘Four days ago. But that was heading east.’
‘And nothing else sighted until now?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Maintain your course, Mr Parry, but have the men keep a keen lookout. I shall go below.’
As the sun rose the following morning, the golden orb fanned the eastern sky and the lookout reported on the sail in their wake.
Mr Tully was on deck when the captain stepped up. ‘There are two of them, Captain,’ he announced. ‘Frigates, I believe.’
‘What colours are they flying?’
‘The lookout can’t say.’
Oliver acknowledged with a nod.
‘They’ve gained a little on us. Not a great deal. They are maintaining the same course we’re on.’
The captain and his first officer watched Mr Tully scamper up the rigging like a regular foremast Jack. He always appeared more at ease in the crosstrees than in the wardroom.
After joining the lookout, he talked briefly with the lookout, searched the horizon with his telescope and pointed to what, from the deck was but a pair of grey smudges on the rim of the sea. After nodding in apparent agreement, the lieutenant slid down one of the stays to deliver his findings.
‘Two Portuguese Frigates from Ponta Delgada, probably heading for the coast of Brazil and Rio de Janeiro.’
‘How can you know they are not Spanish or French?’
‘I recognized the foretops’l of the leading ship. It was flying the same sail when it arrived in the roadstead at Ponta Delgada.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Absolutely, Capt’n. It’s been patched recently. The whole centre panel is new hempen canvas still thick with gum. It’s almost brown and stands out against the white sun-bleached panels of the rest of the sail. If you ask the sail maker, he'll tell you I’m not wrong. He commented on it when we were entering the harbour. That sail belongs to one of the frigates of the Portuguese fleet.’
Oliver was impressed. ‘Thank you, Mr Tully. A useful observation.’ He turned to Mr Parry and the sailing master who had joined them on the quarterdeck, ‘it appears we may have company.’
‘Do we beat to quarters?’ the lieutenant asked.
‘Not necessary,’ the captain said. ‘It is unlikely Portugal has transferred its allegiance to Emperor Napoleon during the short time we have been at sea. We must welcome our ally. However, it will do no harm to have all hands at the ready.’
With the change of watch, sailors from the starboard watch streamed up from below and the deck hummed with the sound of feet and muffled voices as word of the two frigates passed quickly from one man to another. With an estimated time of many hours for the two ships to come within speaking distance, the captain ordered sail to be reduced. He was eager to receive any news they would be carrying,
Two hours later, the two Portuguese frigates swam alongside and all three ships hove to within half a cable’s length of each other. While preparations to lower a boat to the water from one of the frigates were observed, Perpetual’s officers and crew prepared a welcoming party to greet the visiting captain.
Captain Espada was a man of about forty years. He was accompanied by a lieutenant who appeared to be slightly younger. After a formal greeting on deck, the pair was conducted to the captain’s cabin where refreshments awaited them.
‘I understand you are heading to Brazil, Captain Quintrell.’ The officer’s English was remarkably good.
‘That is so. And you, Captain?’
‘We are heading to South America, also. Our government is concerned about any recent activity by the Spanish on the Rio de la Plata since the signing of the alliance with France.’
‘Do you think Napoleon will try to extend his empire to South America?’
‘It is a long way from France, but who can tell?’
Oliver invited the visitors to join him at his table. ‘Perhaps you would care to sample some of the fine cheese from your Western Islands? I admit I could easily become partial to this particular variety.’
‘Thank you, Captain Quintrell, but this is not a social visit.’
Oliver studied the face of the officer across the table from him.
‘You were in Ponta Delgada a little over a week ago, I understand.’
‘Indeed. After a lengthy stay in Gibraltar, we left the colony in mid-December and sailed to the Azores to pick up food and water.’
‘I was surprised to learn that you were not heading back to England.’
‘I follow Admiralty orders,’ Oliver said.
‘As do I.’
For a moment there was silence.
‘I must be honest when I say I was disappointed when I sighted your frigate last evening.’
‘Why is that, Captain?’ Oliver asked.
‘I was hoping to see a ship and perhaps a schooner sailing with it.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘The only ship we have seen is an American barque heading east.’
‘We saw her also and spoke her briefly.’
‘Do you have a message you wish passed to these ships should we encounter them?’
‘No message,’ the Portuguese captain said. ‘My orders are to find these ships and escort them back to Ponta Delgada. They departed the harbour unexpectedly one day after the majority of the fleet sailed.’
‘I pray the ship you are referring is not the San Nicola?’ The sickening feeling of utter disbelief coursing through Oliver’s veins was reflected on the face of his first lieutenant.
‘Indeed I am. The very ship you escorted into the harbour, I am told.’
‘My goodness,’ Oliver exclaimed, refraining from delivering the stream of the less dignified expletives on the tip of his tongue. ‘How could that possibly be? That ship had prisoners confined in the hold awaiting judgement. Were those men released?’
‘I cannot answer that,’ the Portuguese captain said. ‘I do not know. It was a time of confusion with the fire and disturbance and all the upheaval that was going on in the town.’
‘What?’ Oliver was dumbfounded. ‘Pray tell. I know nothing of these events.’
Captain Espada explained. ‘On the afternoon following the departure of most of the vessels in our fleet, smoke was seen rising from the inner city. It appears it came from two separate fires, one at the slaughterhouse and another at the jail that abuts the courthouse. Both fires quickly spread to adjacent houses.’
‘What caused the fires? Were they deliberately lit?’
‘I understand they were caused by the movement in the earth. It is blamed on the volcanoes from which these islands originally arose. Such activity is not unusual in the Azores. It may be that lighted candles were knocked to the floor igniting straw used for bedding. Who knows? Of course, the jail had to be evacuated and the prisoners relocated to the watch-house at the garrison. It was during the chaos and panic at the fear of the fires spreading that San Nicola hauled its anchor and departed the harbour.’
Oliver took a deep breath. ‘I presume you are aware, I captured that ship and its piratical crew and brought them into the port. When I sailed, I understood those prisoners would remain aboard awaiting the arrival of a judge from Lisbon. Are you telling me that these prisoners overpowered the guards and took the ship?’
Captain Espada shrugged. ‘Again, I do not know what happened, but I am instructed to watch out for her and, if I find her, to escort her to into Guanabara Bay and hand the ship and crew to the Portuguese authorities in Rio de Janeiro.’
‘And the prisoners from the jail? Were they all secured elsewhere?’
‘Unfortunately, a handful escaped. A thorough search of the town was made but the escapees were not found.’
‘What!’ Oliver could not absorb what he was hearing. His worst nightmare was unfolding before him. ‘Do you have the identities of the men who are still roaming the streets?’
‘No, Captain, I do not have that inf
ormation. I sailed before the problem was resolved. If you want to learn more, you will have to return to Ponta Delgada and speak with the civil authorities there.’
Oliver felt the blood draining from his cheeks and clenched his teeth.
Understanding his captain’s state of utter disbelief, Mr Parry politely continued the conversation. ‘That is not good news, Captain. However, we appreciate the information, but what makes you think this ship would be heading this way? After all, it had just completed a long voyage from the South Atlantic. I hardly think it would be retracing its course, especially as it was in dire need of provisions and water at the time we departed.’
‘I asked myself the same question, Lieutenant Parry, but it was sighted south of Pico, one of the other islands of the Azores. The American barque, we encountered two days ago, confirmed he had seen two ships heading west.’
‘Two?’ Oliver queried. ‘The ship I delivered was sailing alone.’
Captain Espada inclined his head. ‘It appears it is now in the company of a schooner. You may have seen it in the harbour―the Silver Cloud, a 400 ton three-masted schooner with a black hull. A Company vessel. It berthed at the wharf in Ponta Delgada two or three days before the fire. It was returning from the East Indies and broke its voyage intending to fill the remaining space in its hold with fruit and pottery. Its destination was London. On the night of the fire, the schooner sailed without advising the port authority and, the following morning, boxes of oranges were found sitting on the quay along with some of its cargo of pottery. There was no sign of the ship. When I was preparing to weigh, the schooner’s master was on the wharf at his wit’s end. He had spent the night ashore at the invitation of an East India Company shareholder. Can you imagine the shock he would have experienced on returning to his ship, only to discover it had gone?’
Oliver shook his head in utter disbelief. ‘In a harbour filled with ships, you are saying that no one witnessed these events?’
‘Believe me, sir, I do not jest.’
‘Captain, I spoke with Captain Ruiz of your navy and warned him of the man who captained the San Nicola. His name is Fredrik van Zetten. He is a murderous cut-throat and a pirate to boot.’
‘Strong words, Captain.’
Oliver continued. ‘Is it too much to hope that this man is not at liberty and has not taken command of one or both of these vessels?’
‘If that is the case and you happen to see either of these ships, it would be wise to steer clear of them and advise the Portuguese authorities of their whereabouts when you reach Rio. If this Captain van Zetten is indeed in command and I find him, I will deal with him myself.’
‘Captain Espada, I wish you luck, but advise you now if I encounter this villain before you, he will not reach Rio de Janeiro―or any other port for that matter. It will give me the greatest of pleasure to blow him and his crew clean out of the water.’
The Portuguese captain did not respond to Oliver’s threat.
‘However,’ Oliver said, ‘as we are on the same course heading for Rio, perhaps we can rendezvous off Fernando de Noronha. Do you know the islands?’
‘Naturally. They are only two hundred miles off the coast of Brazil.’
‘And a good source of wood and water that van Zetten will be in dire need of.’
The captain agreed. ‘We will meet at the islands. In the meantime, we will scour the seas to the south from here, if you will scan the waters to the north.’
The meeting with the Portuguese frigate captain had begun cordially, but the disquieting news left a bitter taste. Though Captain Espada was in no way responsible for the events that had occurred in Ponta Delgada, and was merely conveying a message, the impression his words delivered was that it was regarded as unfortunate the ships had disappeared, but that the authorities were not unduly concerned. The fact Captain Espada’s ship and the other frigate happened to be on the lookout for them was merely a fortunate coincidence because, by chance, they were heading in the same direction.
With no time to waste on further trivial conversation, Captain Quintrell thanked his visitor and ended the meeting abruptly. On deck, the guests were given a hasty, but dignified farewell, and the captain immediately returned below to consider the devastating news with his first officer.
‘One thing puzzles me,’ Oliver said. ‘Why would van Zetten head back across the Atlantic? From what we saw, his men were half-starved, his ship was ill-supplied and, if he wanted prizes, the African coast or the Mediterranean Sea would have offered far richer pickings.’
Simon Parry’s answer confirmed an idea Oliver had fostered in his mind. ‘As you said, this man is the epitome of evil. He cares for no one but himself. Only one thing will now satisfy him and it isn’t a hold of filled barrels, or a contented crew, or even prize money or cases of silver coins. This man takes what he wants whenever he wants it and, so far, no one has been brave enough to stand up to him. What Captain van Zetten demands is to wreak revenge on the one person who blocked his path and almost cost him his life. And that is you, Oliver. I believe his sights are set on finding you and killing you.’
Chapter 16
The Mermaid
The lookout scanned the horizon searching for any sign of Fernando de Noronha, the small group of twenty-one isolated islands lying three degrees south of the Equator and only two hundred miles off the coast of Brazil.
Word, that the frigate was nearing land was reason for excitement. It quickly spread through the ship. To sailors, land meant one of two possibilities―shore leave, taverns, tobacco and women; or working parties, either to satisfy the on-going appetite of the galley fire, or to wet the parched throats of thirsty crew.
Like the Azores, the small archipelago had risen from the seabed aeons ago. The active volcanoes had once formed a high mountain range but, over the millennia, the sea had slowly drowned them and now only the cores of the dead peaks remained.
As a general rule, there were few geographical locations around the world the seasoned hands had not visited, and even if their ship had not anchored to allow them to sample the ports and all they offered, at least someone knew something of the place―the bars, the beauties, the bounties and the things to be avoided. With Fernando de Noronha, however, though questions were asked in the mess, not a single man aboard had ever heard of the location, let alone ever stepped ashore on the beaches. Someone claimed that Bungs would have known, but the cooper was still confined to his cot in the sick berth. The fact he had not died from the brain fever was encouraging.
Under a cornflower blue sky with the sea a slightly darker shade, the glassy surface was broken only occasionally by the head of a turtle popping up, open-mouthed, to suck in air, or a pod of dolphins showing off their aquatic skills. With the equatorial air blowing warm on the sailors’ bare chests, the frigate was making a respectable five knots ahead of a following wind.
A gull landed on the bowsprit and was content to rest for a while. Even the occasional slap from the flying jib did not disturb it. Being a land bird, the seagull never strayed too far from home, so the arrival of several more of its kind meant land was not far away.
Despite the buzz of anticipation, decks still had to be holystoned, hammocks aired and brightwork polished, but once the morning’s chores had been completed and breakfast finished, the duty watch was able to relax on deck and wait for the next call.
It was mid-morning when the first peak of the island group was sighted.
‘Land!’ the lookout called down. ‘It’s a towering sugar loaf.’
‘We have raised Fernando de Noronha,’ Oliver said, when he heard. ‘That is well. We shall circumnavigate the main island and, hopefully, meet with the two Portuguese frigates as arranged. ’
Heading south-west, skirting the broad bays and inlets of the main island, Perpetual glided across a translucent sea. The colours of the water reflected the changing depth―turquoise to emerald, aquamarine to peacock blue, and lapis lazuli to sapphire. Edged by narrow bands of golden beaches,
the coast was breathtakingly beautiful even to the eyes of seasoned sailors. Littering the bays were tiny islets and giant rocks rising vertically from the seabed. Their sharply-chiselled, coal-black faces reared up in stark contrast to the gleaming sand.
The verdant forest that covered the hills and ran down to the shores appeared too thick to be penetrated. It provided an ideal sanctuary for the many birds nesting there. Apart from the birdsong and lilt of the lapping waves on the shores, there were no other sounds. There were few places on earth that offered such an idyllic setting.
Suddenly, a dull thud vibrated from the forward strakes and jolted everyone’s senses.
‘What was that?’ the captain called, haring up the companion from the gun deck. It was like the sound of a solid four-pound shot hitting the hull, but there had been no calls and he had heard no cannon fire.
‘We must have struck something,’ Mr Parry replied. ‘It came from the bow.’
Hurrying forward, the pair scanned the water expecting to see another ship or submerged rock, but there were neither. The six fathoms of water beneath the keel were crystal clear, revealing a clean sandy bottom free of seaweed. Bare feet padded along the deck as sailors ran around the ship peering from the rails on both sides, but nothing could be seen.
‘Masthead, ahoy. Do you see any ships or boats?’
The lookout turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees. ‘No, Capt’n.’
‘On your feet, Smithers,’ Mr Tully bellowed, after almost tripping over the legs of the sailor sitting on the deck. ‘Out of the way!’
‘You there!’ Mr Parry called to another sailor who had leapt off the head in such a hurry his trousers were still wrinkled around his ankles. ‘For goodness sake, man, attend to your dress. The captain is talking to you.’
The captain continued. ‘From where you were perched, you must have seen something.’
Prescott hitched up his trousers, but didn’t answer. His face was drained and his hands were shaking.
‘What is wrong with this man?’ Oliver asked his lieutenant.
