The Seventy-Four

by M. C. Muir

  ‘And what if a wind had sprung up and I had given the order to make sail.’

  ‘But there was no wind, Captain, and no sign of one coming, so how could you?’

  It was a bold statement from one so young but Oliver could not argue with it. ‘Then, I think you were fortunate to have succeeded, but my concern now is for what you told me on deck. Say again. Are you telling me that Stalwart has been taken and the captain is being held prisoner? Is this a tale or were you telling the truth?’ If it was true, the news confirmed Oliver’s worse nightmare.

  ‘God’s honour, Capt’n,’ the boy cried out, ‘it’s the truth. The French officers took Captain Liversedge and the lieutenants and locked them in the midshipman’s berth below deck.’

  In response to the boy’s sudden outburst, the doctor emerged from his storeroom and stood for a moment watching the pair. It was not difficult for Oliver to read the expression on his face.

  ‘The doctor is concerned for your welfare,’ he said fairly loudly, ‘but my concern is for the welfare of the men aboard the 74.’ Lowering his voice, Oliver turned back to the boy. ‘What you are saying is that the 74 is now in French hands. I cannot believe that. But what of the French sailors we locked in the hold of the French frigate? Where are they now?’

  ‘They were freed and brought over to the 74 in boats and I heard tell that the sailors from Perpetual are now locked up in the hold in their place.’

  This revelation was astounding.

  ‘But how could a handful of Frenchmen overcome the British crew of the third rate? Surely they must have put up a fight?’

  ‘I don’t know what happened,’ Charles said. ‘But I know that half of Stalwart’s crew are now locked in the 74’s hold. The other half are on deck keeping watch like nothing ever happened.’

  ‘That makes no sense,’ Oliver said. ‘Are the French officers standing over them and threatening the seamen?’

  ‘No,’ the boy said confidently. ‘The sailors seem quite friendly with the Frenchies.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Because I was in the midshipman’s larder when Captain Liversedge and the ship’s officers were brought down and locked up. I heard what was said and kept quiet as a mouse. But after a while one of the guards noticed me under the table and told me to scram, so I took off and hid somewhere else.’

  ‘Who was guarding the captain when he was brought down? Were they French sailors?’

  ‘No, there were French soldiers and ordinary English seamen.’

  Oliver was perplexed. ‘These ordinary seamen – do you know who they are?’

  ‘Yes. I’d seen three of them before aboard Perpetual.’

  ‘What? Who? Which men?’

  ‘They said they were English but they spoke the same as all the other Irishmen on the ship.’

  ‘You are talking about British sailors.’

  ‘Yes, Captain. I heard tell that three-quarters of the crew are Irish.’

  ‘And the men you recognised?’ the captain asked.

  ‘They left the ship in Rio. They had first come aboard in the Western Isles – off a shipwreck, or so I heard.’

  Oliver threw his head back and raked his fingers through is hair. ‘Damnation!’ he cried, ‘Incredible! How could this possibly came to pass?’ His oath prompted the doctor to hurry to the boy’s cot-side but the captain held out his arm to stop him approaching.

  ‘It’s all true what I’ve told you,’ Charles swore. ‘That’s the reason I swam over. It was the only way to get word to you.’

  ‘Did one of the officers send you?’

  ‘No, sir,’

  ‘This was your idea?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. I thought if I asked anyone they would laugh at me and call me a fool, like you did. So I thought to myself, no one will miss one of the ship’s boys – at least not right away. And if and when they did, they’d think I’d fallen overboard and drowned.’

  Oliver was dumbfounded as he tried to absorb all the ramifications of what Charles Goodridge had told him. At the same time, his mind was attempting to digest the awful predicament faced, not only by the captain and crew of the 74, but by himself and his own men. Then a frightful thought suddenly struck him: What if the two ships – Stalwart and Flambeau – mounted a combined attack on Perpetual? What chance would his ship stand?

  His thoughts were racing. What action should he take? Should he allow his frigate to drop from the horizon as though the current had carried it over during the night? Or should he launch a surprise attack on the 74 before the enemy was aware their secret had been uncovered. But to attack a British ship – a third rate man-of-war mounting 74-guns – plus a French frigate of 38-guns making a combined battery of at least 112-guns – would be a recipe for disaster.

  Such a move would be impossible for an undermanned frigate of 32-guns no matter who was in command of the other two vessels. Furthermore, whatever course of action he decided on, it had to be more constructive than merely giving the order to fire.

  Perhaps a boat, carrying two dozen men, could be sent across before the sun rose. Providing they were not seen, they could climb aboard and release some of the British officers. But it was already too late. Through one of the cockpit’s open gun ports, he could see the colour of the horizon changing. In less than half an hour the rays of morning would emerge from the horizon to open up like a gilded fan.

  ‘Jonathon,’ Oliver said, allowing the doctor to approach his patient. ‘The boy is well and needs no sedative. However, a warm drink and a good breakfast would be appropriate after his strenuous exercise. For the present, I request you keep him here, at least for a few hours, and do not let him speak with anyone.’

  The doctor’s frown dissolved. ‘I will do what I feel is necessary.’

  ‘Thank you. I trust you understand. The story the boy has related to me is troubling and I must discuss what action to take with my officers. I will speak with you later.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ the doctor replied. Evidently, there was little that could surprise the ship’s surgeon.

  CHAPTER 12

  Proposals

  In the pre-dawn light, the captain’s cabin remained gloomy. The glim in the lantern, swaying above the table, flickered. After taking a sip of water, the captain regarded each of his men as they entered, the younger ones rubbing sleep from their eyes. The doctor and the officers on watch were not in attendance.

  ‘Come in, gentlemen. Quickly, if you will, and be seated.’

  ‘Thank you, Casson,’ Oliver said and waited for the door to be closed. Only then did he address the company. ‘I am sure, by now, you have heard something of the events that occurred on deck only a few hours ago.’ Without waiting for their confirmation, he briefly outlined the facts surrounding the boy’s return and related, in detail, the information he had uncovered about the situation existing aboard HMS Stalwart.

  The startling revelations were greeted with shock and disbelief. In response to the officers’ indignation, the captain invited them to offer their ideas as to the best course of action that should be taken. The discussion was heated and brought a raft of alternative proposals. The captain held his counsel until the others had spoken.

  ‘We could reduce the enemy’s firepower by sinking the French frigate or setting fire to it,’ Mr Tully suggested.

  ‘How could that be achieved?’ Oliver queried. ‘We would first have to get men aboard.’

  ‘They can swim like the boy did and lay charges.’

  The sailing master was not impressed. ‘Last evening, the sea was flat calm and there was no wind.’

  ‘Exactly as it is at the present,’ Oliver exclaimed and turned to Mr Parry for his opinion but having once lost a ship under his command, resulting in the deaths of many good men, the first officer was reluctant to commit to the argument but offered an observation. ‘Fire is our worst enemy at sea. It quickly gets out of hand and if it reaches the magazine the consequences are catastrophic. We would gain nothing by taking
such action.’

  ‘I agree, Simon,’ Oliver said. ‘It would be foolish to scuttle a good ship.’

  The pair of midshipmen boldly suggested launching a surprise attack on both the 74 and the frigate. They argued that although the King’s officers might be under lock and key there would be plenty of other hands on the ship loyal to the Crown. They argued that the Perpetuals who had been left to man the French frigate would stand and fight.

  ‘But are they free or are they being held prisoner as the boy suggested?’ Oliver asked.

  The argument against a surprise attack was a matter of numbers. There were well over four hundred British sailors and more than one hundred Frenchmen across the water. Of the several hundred British sailors serving aboard Stalwart, it was not known how many were in league with the French captain or the Irish rebels. Furthermore, on boarding the 74, how could they distinguish between the different groups? Englishmen and Irishmen looked the same. Ginger hair and green eyes might indicate Celtic blood but that did not automatically mark those men as being mutineers.

  The youngest midshipman, Mr Hanson, timidly suggested sailing to Kingston and leaving the shipload of Irish rebels and French sailors to sort out their own differences. The idea had some merit. If Perpetual sailed to Kingston and returned with a convoy of ships to retake the 74, the problem could be resolved. But, the captain argued, there was no guarantee of finding fighting ships of the Royal Navy in that port willing or able to assist. Another alternative was to sail to Portsmouth for help. But England was half a world away and any assistance could take months to arrive by which time Stalwart and the frigate could have made port anywhere in Europe or even sailed north to America and offered their services to the Yankees.

  Mr Tully took the view that a stealthy attack on the 74 at night, launched from boats by a boarding party armed with cutlasses, knives and pikes, could disable some of the crew. In a short period of time, they could do significant damage to the ship’s running rigging and rudder and temporarily disable the vessel. With his fervour fired up, the lieutenant and several of the others were eager to jump into a boat that very moment and head across the water.

  The problem confronting Mr Tully’s enthusiastic operation was the likelihood of being seen. A daylight attack was impossible and, even at night, moonlight would not hide a boat loaded with sailors and marines. If not spotted by the lookouts, the splash of a blade or grind of an oar in a thole pin would announce their presence.

  Oliver looked to his officers to judge their reactions. The facial expressions varied from disbelief to thrill to abject fear.

  ‘The boy said the French prisoners had been released from Flambeau’s hold and indicated our men have now taken their places beneath battened hatches.’

  ‘Surely our mates would have put up a fight. I cannot imagine them surrendering quietly. Wasn’t this exchange of men seen or heard by our lookouts?’ Mr Parry asked.

  The two youngest midshipmen glanced guiltily at each other.

  Oliver pounced. ‘You saw something and didn’t report it?’

  ‘We heard a disturbance,’ Mr Hanson said reluctantly. ‘And saw movement on the 74’s deck and a boat ferrying back and forth to the French frigate.’

  ‘And you thought nothing unusual in that?’ the captain growled.

  The pair did not admit to what they had thought.

  Oliver glared at them. ‘I will speak with you two later.’

  Turning from the midshipmen, he addressed his senior officers. ‘I intend to question the boy again,’ he said. ‘I need to find out if Captain Liversedge had any indication of a conspiracy brewing before this happened. I trust we do not have any such mutinous rumblings among our foremast Jacks?’

  Simon Parry shook his head. ‘There was some discontent before we made Rio, but presently all is well.’

  He turned to Mr Tully. ‘The men converse with you quite freely. Has there been any worrying tittle-tattle in the fo’c’sle?’

  The second officer shook his head. ‘The men are pleased to be heading home, and apart from the heat, the lack of wind and being becalmed, there has been nothing for them to grumble over. When we were about to leave Rio, their tongues wagged about the barrels sent over to the third rate. Any mention of treasure soon sparks murmurs. But since we sailed, the whispers have ceased.’

  ‘The damned treasure comes back to haunt us,’ Oliver sighed. ‘I had not given any consideration to that. Perhaps that is another reason the 74 was taken. Would the French have known about the treasure chests?’

  ‘If they didn’t know before they took the ship, I imagine they do now,’ Mr Parry commented.

  Oliver looked out through the windows spanning the width of the cabin. The sea was as smooth as quicksilver but warmed to the colour of amber. There was not a cloud on the horizon and the deck beneath his feet had no inclination to sway. Mr Mundy had warned him that these conditions could persist for days.

  The sailing master interrupted. ‘Where do you think the 74 will be heading?’ he asked.

  ‘That depends on who has command. If it is Captain Moncousu, then I would suggest Martinique or one of the French islands of the West Indies. However, he may choose to head across the Atlantic taking the third rate as his prize and make for Brest or Toulon or any other port on the French coast. If, on the other hand, Irish rebels have taken the ship, they will make for a secluded harbour on the west coast of Ireland – or possibly head for Cork where they will find sympathisers.’

  Mr Mundy was scornful. ‘The Irish uprising was quashed in ’98, yet here we are, seven years later, talking of rebels and sympathisers.’

  Oliver recounted the words Dr Whipple had spoken when they first discussed the Irish situation. Once a rebel, always a rebel. In the doctor’s opinion, the Irish had long memories. At the height of the Irish uprising, they had waited in vain for a promised French force of forty ships carrying forty thousand troops to support their cause, but that had never arrived. Two navy ships – with only sailors and a handful of soldiers and marines aboard – did not make an invasion force.

  ‘I must speak with the doctor to gain some insight into the temperament of this rebel crew. And as an Irish-born gentleman, I need to know where his loyalty lies.’

  ‘I beg you tread carefully,’ Simon advised quietly. ‘Loyalty is a sensitive issue in Ireland which many men prefer not to commit to.’

  ‘I will tread as carefully as I deem necessary,’ Oliver replied, unable to curb his exasperation.

  ‘Ah, but with a cache of Spanish silver beneath their feet,’ the sailing master reminded.

  ‘What in tarnation has that to do with our situation?’ Oliver growled across the table. ‘Let me be clear, we must do nothing to provoke an attack on Perpetual and, for now, whatever course the 74 charts, we will escort her according to the orders I received from the Admiralty.’

  The officers agreed.

  ‘In the meantime, gentlemen, consider the problem and let us reconvene here at noon.’

  Before he left, Mr Tully had a final question. ‘What of the signal I was to send this morning?’

  ‘Belay that message,’ Oliver said. ‘I now know why Captain Liversedge did not respond. However, when it is daylight, send the following signal: Awaiting sailing orders. Advise.’

  The lieutenant acknowledged the request.

  ‘It will be interesting to see if we receive a reply and what the response is.’

  The early morning meeting with his men had raised new questions in Oliver’s mind and made him more anxious than ever to return to the cockpit. It was frustrating that the only person he could question was a ten-year-old boy. Respecting the doctor’s wishes, he allowed time for the lad to eat, rest and refresh himself.

  The events the youngster had related were extraordinary, yet Oliver Quintrell had no reason to doubt the boy’s veracity. What the lad had done had been incredibly brave yet doubly unwise and extremely foolish. So many factors could have led to his failure, and failure would have resulted i
n only one thing – death. However, working entirely alone, Charles Goodridge had succeeded in bringing the unwelcome news across the water. Oliver now needed more information before he could act.

  On returning to the cockpit Oliver found the boy sitting with the doctor, both eating bowls of porridge. After offering the captain his chair, Dr Whipple politely offered to leave them to talk privately but, this time, Oliver invited the doctor to stay.

  After listening to the boy recounting the events of the previous night, Oliver was satisfied his story had not wavered. But he was still puzzled over what had happened aboard the 74 and how command of the ship had been taken from Captain Liversedge. Usually, he had little time for sailors’ tall tales but in this instance, knowing the boy’s inquisitive nature, his keen intuition and eye for detail, he hung on every word he uttered.

  ‘Before this happened, did you notice anything unusual?’

  Charles thought for a moment. ‘There was a lot of whispering among the men.’

  ‘Did you hear what they were speaking about?’

  ‘I tried,’ Charles said, ‘but it sounded like Chinese to me. One of the other boys said that was how the Irish talked.’

  ‘Irish – Gaelic?’ the doctor offered, exchanging glances with the captain.

  ‘They never bothered you?’ Oliver asked the boy.

  ‘They were too busy collecting names and having each man make his mark or sign on a sheet of paper.’

  ‘Sounds reminiscent of the days of the rebellion,’ Jonathon Whipple commented.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me,’ Oliver asked.

  Charles swallowed the last mouthful of porridge and thought for a moment.

  ‘On the day I was in the middies’ berth and Captain Liversedge was brought down, I heard the tall fellow called Murphy boasting to his mates. He said he had the Frenchman in his pocket and that if they trusted him, he would have them back home in Ireland in no time.’

  Oliver was astounded. ‘How on earth does a lubber like Murphy take control of a 74 and manage to have the French captain wrapped around his little finger.’ Though the opinion he had formed of Captain Moncousu was poor, it did not detract from the enormity of the situation. It was worse than Oliver had imagined. ‘It makes no sense at all,’ he sighed. ‘And throughout all this you heard nothing unusual?’ he asked young Charles.