The Seventy-Four

by M. C. Muir

  ‘I did. I stirred it for ages, then I stirred it some more. Then I thought I’d take a look at the yards?’

  ‘You did, did you? And was the running rigging to your satisfaction?’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ the boy replied seriously.

  Having stopped to observe, Oliver was tempted to smile but refrained.

  ‘Well, from now on,’ the bosun growled, ‘you’ll keep out of the rigging. That’s my business and not yours. Away with you. I don’t want to see your face on deck again.’

  Like a seasoned salt, Charles Goodridge knuckled his forehead and scampered off to the forward hatch where he disappeared down it quicker than a rabbit escaping into a warren.

  ‘Save your energy, boy,’ the bosun yelled after him. ‘You’re going to need it when you’re carrying powder.’

  As his boat was not yet ready, Oliver headed along the gangway to speak with the petty officer. ‘That is the boy who came aboard with the shipwrights in Gibraltar, is it not?’

  ‘Aye, Captain.’

  ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘He’s more mischief than a Barbary ape. He’ll leap onto anything that’s fastened down, swing from one line to another, if he thinks no one’s watching him, and climb without fear.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I have to nail his shoe to the deck if I want him to keep still for any length of time.’

  A voice from the water below interrupted the conversation. ‘Boat’s alongside, Captain,’ the coxswain called.

  ‘Thank you, Wootton. I will come aboard.’

  From the entry port, Captain Quintrell climbed down the ship’s side and, after taking his seat in the stern sheets, placed the package between his feet. The coxswain already had his instructions – to steer for the Portuguese frigate sitting at anchor a mile away.

  It was the same frigate that had left the main island of the Azores with its sister ship, Pomba Branca – the White Dove. Encountering that vessel on his way to Rio had left a lasting impression on Captain Quintrell and a sour taste in his mouth. Having agreed to rendezvous with Perpetual and Pomba Branca at the Fernando de Noronha archipelago off the coast of Brazil, the Portuguese captain had failed to meet that obligation. Having wasted valuable sailing time waiting for him, Oliver was anxious to hear his explanation and to learn why he had parted company with his sister ship and made sail for Rio de Janeiro alone.

  Since that episode occurred several weeks ago, Oliver Quintrell had sworn that if the opportunity arose, he would confront the frigate’s commander with the dire consequences of his failures that directly resulted in the tragic loss of Pomba Branca and the lives of many of its crew. He also intended to present him with the survivors of that disaster – the sailors he had rescued. These men urgently needed to be transferred to the port or to a Portuguese ship.

  It was an unsavoury business and although Oliver felt little satisfaction would be gained from the confrontation, he intended to go through with it. With those thoughts foremost in his mind, he sat bolt upright in the stern of the boat and did not take his eyes from the Iberian ship as he was rowed up the bay.

  After being formally welcomed on board by the vessels senior Portuguese naval officers, Captain Quintrell was ushered to the great cabin and offered refreshments. He declined. When the servant left and he was alone with the commanding officer, Oliver wasted no time in broaching those questions that had been vexing him for the past few weeks.

  Bombarding the frigate’s captain with the full extent of the tragedy his actions had caused, speaking in cold, clear English, Oliver described the fate of Pomba Branca. He explained that it had not only been sunk by a privateer, but described how it had been plundered of everything of value including sails, spars and guns, and informed him that those who had survived had been taken prisoner. Holding nothing back, he described how the Portuguese officers and some of the seamen had been executed before his very eyes – their heads split open, their throats cut and their bodies unceremoniously tossed into the sea.

  Showing little apparent regard for the lives forfeited on that day and offering no logical reason or apology for failing to keep the prearranged rendezvous, the Portuguese captain’s supercilious attitude offended Captain Quintrell. Though there were flickers of discomfort in the commander’s eyes, the word apology, which Oliver was expecting, never slipped from his lips.

  Whilst controlling his anger and allowing time for the extent of the tragedy to be absorbed by the officer, Oliver placed the package on the table. After removing the twine and paper, he revealed the contents and placed them side-by-side on the table. Included was the Pomba Branca’s log book plus bundles of letters and papers but nothing of monetary value. Each item had been salvaged from the great cabin but not before the keel had settled in the sand and the washed over the decks. Water damage had sealed the log’s pages and, the ink on the other correspondence had run rendering the writing totally illegible. Gazing down at the pathetic remains, Oliver wished he had dragged the ship’s figurehead from the ocean and delivered it to the recalcitrant captain. Perhaps the life-size effigy of the woman cradling a white dove in her hands would have served as a poignant reminder to the officer of his flagrant lack of concern.

  However, having carefully documented all the events that had occurred before, during and after Perpetual’s encounter with the privateer at the archipelago, Oliver handed his report to the frigate’s captain. He then showed him an envelope containing an exact copy, transcribed by his secretary and signed by himself. It was addressed to the Commanding Officer of the Portuguese Navy in Rio de Janeiro. He advised the captain it was to be hand-delivered that same day.

  With those matters attended to, Oliver had fulfilled his obligation, as he saw it, yet it still galled him that Pomba Branca had been left at the mercy of an evil privateer by its sister ship. The memory of the ship’s officers – their legs crumpling beneath them as sharpened steel sliced their throats and blood streamed across the deck – was not an image he would easily forget.

  After the unsavoury business was concluded, Captain Quintrell was eager to leave and declined an offer to dine on the ship. In his mind, there was nothing to celebrate. The only positive outcome from the meeting was that the Portuguese captain agreed to take the survivors – the sailors Perpetual had rescued, cared for and carried safely to Guanabara Bay. Oliver was obliged to thank the captain for that but for nothing more. The sooner the sailors could be transferred the better.

  Oliver’s face showed no emotion as his boat pushed away and slid silently down the bay. The steady dip of the oars echoed the heaviness of his breathing.

  ‘Perpetual,’ the coxswain hailed, as they neared the British frigate, announcing the return of her captain.

  With unfamiliar bumps and rumblings reverberating right along the frigate’s hull to the bulwarks of his cabin, Oliver bounded up the steps to investigate the sounds. After acknowledging Mr Nightingale on the quarterdeck, he joined the ship’s carpenter leaning against the bulwarks on the gangway. He was watching a consignment of supplies coming aboard.

  ‘What are those goods?’ the captain asked.

  ‘Stores for the carpenter’s shop and bosun’s locker,’ Mr Crosby said, checking the inventory he was holding. ‘Twenty cases of cut nails, twenty of wrought nails and twenty cases of copper nails.’

  ‘That is a considerable quantity of nails,’ Oliver observed.

  ‘We barely had a nail left in the ship after handing over much of our stock in Gibraltar and then doing repairs to various vessels since then,’ Mr Crosby explained. ‘Mighty heavy those containers are,’ he added. ‘I hope the tackle doesn’t break.’

  ‘What else?’ Oliver enquired.

  The carpenter referred to his list. ‘Lengths of sawn timber, paint, varnish, borax, turpentine and beeswax. You approved the list yourself only two days ago.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Crosby.’ Oliver watched for a while as another consignment consisting of more casks and boxes was placed in the mesh o
f netting, hoisted from the lighter’s deck, swung inboard and lowered into the frigate’s hold through the waist.

  ‘Spare spars and cordage will arrive later this afternoon. Bolts of cloth for the sailmaker are promised for tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Good,’ Oliver said, as he mulled over the volume of stores his warrant officers had ordered and for which he had given his approval.

  Casting his mind back to Gibraltar, he recollected how generous he had been with his ship’s supplies. But when Captain John Gore, Medusa, had limped into the bay and requested assistance, he had done what any other captain would have done under the circumstances. One reason he had not thought twice about handing over spars, cordage, canvas and more was because he believed, at the time, he would be returning to Portsmouth within a matter of weeks. That, however, had not happened and the Admiralty orders he had received before leaving Gibraltar Bay had instructed him to head to the Southern Ocean. Then, having proceeded to sea with his supplies greatly depleted, Perpetual had crossed paths with the evil privateer, Fredrik van Zetten. After the bloody encounter necessitating repairs to his own ship and after supplying spars and cordage to repair the privateer’s brig, the tradesmen’s lockers, the lazarette and the hold had been emptied of essential items necessary to keep the frigate at sea. Now, the prospect of sailing across waters infested with French and Spanish ships, without adequate spares, did not rest easy with him. Meeting an adversary and suffering damage, before he cleared the tropics, could spell disaster.

  Satisfied the quantity of supplies ordered was justified, the captain nodded to the carpenter. ‘Anything else expected today?’

  ‘More victuals, I am told, but I don’t have that list,’ Mr Crosby advised.

  Oliver thanked him and headed down to the cockpit. He needed to talk with the doctor.

  When the captain entered the cockpit, young Tommy Wainwright popped up from behind one of the swinging cots where he was busy swabbing the deck.

  ‘Leave us,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Aye aye, Capt’n,’ the lad replied, returning his mop to the wooden pail and hurrying away.

  ‘Good morning, Jonathon,’ Oliver called.

  From the writing desk, where he was working, the doctor rose and returned a cordial greeting. On inviting the captain to take a seat, he was surprised when the invitation was accepted. ‘How can I be of help?’ the doctor asked.

  After looking around, the captain hesitated. Several of the swinging cots were occupied and a pair of sailors was sitting on deck with their backs resting against the bulwarks. With eyes closed, they appeared to be sleeping.

  Jonathon Whipple anticipated the captain’s question. ‘Portuguese sailors,’ he said. ‘Apart from a few basic words, they do not understand English so you are at liberty to speak freely.’

  Despite the doctor’s advice, the captain lowered his voice. ‘I need the benefit of your valued opinion,’ Oliver said. ‘I need to know the state of the cooper’s equilibrium.’

  The doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘Bungs?’

  ‘The very same. How stable is he?’

  ‘He suffered a severe head injury,’ the doctor replied.

  ‘I am fully aware of that. Kindly answer my question regarding his equilibrium.’

  ‘Are you referring to the man’s mental or physical balance?’

  ‘It is not his physical stability which concerns me. It is his mental composure and behaviour. He was obviously quite disturbed for some weeks following that unfortunate event.’

  The doctor nodded.

  ‘It is important for me to know if his memory is fully returned and serving him well and if he is capable of following orders.’

  The doctor collected his thoughts before replying. ‘James Tinker or Bungs, as the men call him, is quite old in comparison with the rest of the crew. He has been in active service for many years. He informed me in great detail about his work in HMS Victory’s hold, way back in ’82, when she was refitted and her bottom sheathed in copper. On hearing his story, I see no problem with his memory. However,’ the doctor was conscious the captain was waiting for a direct answer, ‘prior to his accident he was a strong healthy man. In fact, so much so, the injury he sustained, which resulted in the swelling of the brain, would have killed men half his age. Others might have survived but suffered apoplexy, bouts of memory loss, fits and impaired speech or vision. Bungs, however has made a remarkable recovery within a relatively short time. As a result, I have already given approval for him to return to work for a number of hours every day. Mr Tully has agreed to give an eye to his progress.’

  Oliver frowned. ‘Mr Tully is hardly qualified to make a medical assessment.’

  The doctor ignored the cynicism. ‘I merely advised the lieutenant to report to me if the cooper’s actions, speech or behaviour showed any noticeable change or aberration.’

  The captain continued his enquiry. ‘Apart from being under observation, are there any other treatments you are administering to ensure this man’s continued recovery.’

  ‘The necessary healing and repair is taking place within the cooper’s skull, so I am unable to monitor it. There is nothing more that can be done. Mr Tully will check on his performance at work and his messmates have agreed to observe him at other times. I am confident they will support him and make sure he gets into no strife. I believe they, too, are anxious to see their shipmate return to his normal self as quickly as possible.’

  Oliver smiled. ‘To the crusty, cantankerous, feisty old devil he was before the injury. But I jest,’ the captain said. ‘The cooper’s lassitude following the accident has seen him adopt a manner far removed from that of his previous self. I, for one, welcome his return to a more lively spirit. But let me repeat my original question, Doctor. In his present capacity, is he capable of following orders? I must know because there is a specific job I need him to do for me.’

  ‘I assume it will not overtax his physical strength.’

  ‘You can be assured I intend to call on extra hands to assist him.’

  ‘That is well,’ the doctor said. ‘I believe he currently has a man with him who had been helping with the cooperage since we left the islands.’

  ‘So I was told. Do you know this man’s name?’ the captain asked.

  ‘McNamara. I have spoken with him briefly. He was born in County Wexford, as was I, but he hailed from Liverpool. He told me he was planning to leave the ship once we reached Rio. If he does so, a replacement to assist Bungs will be required.’

  Oliver was concerned. If the man had been working alongside the cooper whilst his mental capacity was less than normal, was it possible he had learned of the secret that Bungs held?

  ‘Thank you, Jonathon, I appreciate your candour. Now, I understand you had been wishing to speak with me. What can I do for you?’

  ‘There is a favour,’ the doctor said. ‘My medical supplies have run low as a result of the action we encountered. They are now at a critical level. I would not wish to embark on a long voyage without replenishing my stocks. I need to go ashore and will require use of one of the ship’s boats. Can that be arranged?’

  ‘Of course,’ Oliver said.

  ‘And, also—’

  Oliver waited.

  ‘Would you permit me to escort the carpenter’s wife, Mrs Crosby, and Mrs Pilkington into the town? There are items they need to purchase to tide them over the coming weeks at sea.’

  Oliver frowned. ‘You are presuming that I intend to permit the pair to stay on board. I think you are aware of my thoughts about females on His Majesty’s ships and—,’ with no change in his expression, ‘—I would feel quite within my rights to put them both over the side.’

  On reading the response etched in the lines across the doctor’s brow, Oliver mellowed his tone. ‘As you are aware, I made an exception with these two when we departed the Azores and, since that time, both females have abided by the restrictions I placed on them. Subsequently, they both proved their worth when we came under attack. Of course, M
rs Crosby has a claim to stay aboard being the wife of the ship’s carpenter. As for Mrs Pilkington—’

  ‘Mrs Pilkington also made herself useful and is well regarded by the ship’s boys.’

  ‘This is not a nursery school, sir, and the ship’s boys have no need for a wet nurse.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jonathon said dejectedly. ‘However, I beg you to allow both women to stay with the ship, particularly as we now know we are heading for England. Connie – Mrs Pilkington has no family, only the boy, Charles, whom she has taken under her wing. And she provides good company for the carpenter’s wife.’

  Oliver eyed the doctor and considered an ulterior motive to his remark. ‘Do I see more to this female’s role in the cockpit than as an assistant?’

  The doctor reached for his cane leaning against the bulwark, grasped it in both hands and rolled it between his palms. ‘Begging your pardon. I trust you are not suggesting anything improper in our relationship.’

  ‘I merely put the question,’ Oliver replied. ‘She is a fine looking woman who is much obliged to you for saving her life. If I am not mistaken, you alone administered to all her needs after the brutal attack on her person.’

  ‘I performed my duties as would any physician in those circumstances.’

  ‘Say no more. It was indelicate of me to raise the issue. Needless to say, I agree, the women should stay together along with the boy. However, I have considered speaking with Captain Liversedge and having them transferred to HMS Stalwart.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘In my opinion, it will be for the best. Presently the pair is occupying a section of the carpenter’s workshop. Although Mrs Crosby is entitled to berth with her husband, in only a matter of weeks, when we arrive in Portsmouth, she will be reunited with her husband. I am sure she can manage a short period of absence from him. In the meantime, if the women are removed, the carpenter and his mates will have nothing to distract them from the performance of their duties. As for the boy,’ he added, ‘in a ship the size of the 74, all three should be easily absorbed. The boy’s name will be entered in the muster book and I am sure the women will be provided with some useful occupation. They have both proved to be good workers when called upon in emergency. But I have yet to discuss the matter with Captain Liversedge.’