The Seventy-Four

by M. C. Muir

  ‘There was some shouting but there were no shots fired.’

  ‘You were not held or injured in any way?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘No one was interested in me or the other ship’s boys except when we were needed for fetching meals and running errands. The rest of the time we were free to go almost anywhere in the ship. I wanted to go to where Mrs Pilkington and Mrs Crosby were being held.’

  The doctor looked anxious and was about to speak but allowed the boy to continue.

  ‘Trouble was, there were guards posted on the companionways and I couldn’t get through to the aft cabins. I didn’t know what to do or who to talk to, so after thinking on it for a while, I decided to swim over and tell you.’

  ‘How grateful I am that you came to that decision,’ Oliver said.

  Wood shavings curled from the plane as it was driven along a length of cedar, a pin hammer tapped a repetitive tune and the saw’s teeth rasped as it bit into a length of knotted wood. They were familiar sounds in the carpenter’s workshop but when Charles Goodridge entered the lantern-lit workshop, it felt empty.

  Hopping up onto the lid of the sawdust barrel, he looked around. The narrow space against the central bulwark, where Mrs Crosby and Mrs Pilkington had slung their hammocks, had been dismantled after the women had been transferred. It had never been a real cabin – not even a substantial structure – but merely a quickly erected frame with sacking curtains draped around it to create an area long enough for the women to sleep in. The space had now been taken up with a pile of sawn timber and several cases of nails heaped on top of each other. Absent too were Mr Crosby and three of the most experienced shipwrights. Along with them, the air of congenial banter that usually bounced back and forth across the workbenches throughout the day was missing.

  This morning the workshop was occupied by two of the carpenter’s mates and an apprentice. Though they were performing their duties in a regular fashion, not a word was being exchanged until Charles interrupted them.

  Fred Purvis, the oldest tradesman on board, looked up. ‘Watch out,’ he said in a broad accent, ‘Here comes trouble.’ The others stopped and looked up in surprise.

  A voice called out: ‘I thought you was across on the 74.’

  ‘He was. What’s up?’ Fred demanded. ‘Has Mr Crosby come back? Where is he?’

  Charles shook his head.

  ‘Well, don’t keep us in the dark,’ the Yorkshireman continued. ‘How come you’re back? Spit it out, lad.’

  ‘It’s a big mess over there,’ Charles said.

  ‘What d’ya mean?’ Fred asked.

  ‘The Frogs have taken over the 74 and Mr Crosby and his mates are prisoners.’

  Fred dropped his plane and moved around the bench to where Charles was sitting. ‘That’s not possible. How do you know?’

  ‘I know. I was there. I heard talk. Then at night, I slipped overboard and swam back here.’

  ‘God’s truth?’ Fred said, while the others gathered around the boy to hear his full story.

  ‘I want to know what we can do,’ Charles said. ‘How can we get Mr Crosby and the others back?’

  ‘Egad and little fishes, that’s a fancy pickle,’ Fred said.

  ‘Does Captain Quintrell know?’

  Charles nodded. ‘He was as surprised as you lot when I told him.’

  ‘What of Mrs Crosby and Mrs P? How are they faring?’

  Charles couldn’t answer as he didn’t know. He was worried and wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have left in such a hurry.

  ‘Have a word in Bungs’s ear,’ Fred said. ‘He likes having something to chew on. Besides, he’s been around a long time and knows a thing or too.’

  Charles screwed his nose. ‘Me and Bungs don’t get on too well of late.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the carpenter said, ‘Bungs don’t get on with everyone at times – or so he says. Go tell him what’s going on and ask what he thinks. It’ll give him something to mull over and, you never know, he might come up with an idea.’

  At noon, Charles joined Bungs, Eku and young Tommy Wainwright at the mess table. Eager to hear what the boy had to say, the men on the nearby tables gathered around to listen to the lad’s story first hand. For fifteen minutes, all ears were glued on Charles Goodridge.

  ‘The Frogs and the Irish have got together and taken control of the 74 and the prize, and the rest of our men have been locked in the hold.’

  ‘Well I’ll be darned,’ Bungs exclaimed.

  ‘But there are hundreds of men on those two ships,’ Smithers called from the next table.

  Charles nodded. ‘I heard tell that a third of them are French, another third are Irish and the rest are regular hands like us. Then there’s the officers, of course, but they don’t count for much.’

  ‘Fine kettle of fish,’ Bungs said, scratching his bristly crown. ‘A length of slowmatch in a barrel of gunpowder would quickly solve that problem.’

  Ekundayo turned to the lad. ‘If you want to swim back and pass a message that help’s on the way, I’ll swim with you.’

  ‘Me too,’ one of the hands from another table added. ‘I can swim good.’

  ‘I suggested that idea to Mr Tully but he said Captain Quintrell wouldn’t hear of it. He said I’d likely be spotted in the water and shot.’

  ‘No one will see my black pate in the water at night,’ Ekundayo added.

  ‘Too right,’ Will Ethridge said. ‘But what could the pair of you possibly do on your own?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Bungs asked. ‘Anything is better than sitting here on your arses doing nothing. I reckon you should go direct to Captain Quintrell. Forget the lieutenants. Trust me, the captain’ll listen.’

  As soon as they had finished eating and before the bell sounded for them to go on watch, the Negro and the boy headed to the captain’s cabin.

  ‘Begging you pardon, Captain.’

  ‘What it is Casson?’

  The steward stood in the cabin doorway. ‘There are two sailors here asking to speak with you. They say it is urgent and you will want to hear what they have to say. One is that imp of a lad, Charles Goodridge.’

  ‘Send them in and kindly shut the door.’

  Ekundayo looked uncomfortable as he bowed his head to the deck beams. ‘Begging your pardon, Captain but young Charlie, here, and me’s been talking about what the lad said was happening over on the third rate.’

  Oliver looked questioningly at the pair. ‘Continue.’

  ‘The lad wants to go back and I volunteer to go back with him,’

  ‘I have already considered the idea and said it is out of the question.’

  Charles Goodridge didn’t wait to be asked for his opinion. ‘But I’m the only one who could climb aboard and go about the decks and no one would question me. They’ve all seen me running around the ship and I’ve spoken with many of them. You know me, Captain always asking what’s what and why and wherefore.’

  ‘And I guarantee, if I was seen,’ Eku said, ‘no one would question me either. There are several blacks on the third rate and a handful on the French ship and the officers claim we all look the same.’

  Without being drawn into that aspect of the argument, Oliver admitted the pair presented a good case. Most other sailors from Perpetual showing their faces aboard the third rate would be stopped and questioned and any plans the captain had set in motion would fall in a hole. He thought about the proposition for a while. ‘Do you think you can swim to the 74 and get aboard without being seen?’

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ the unlikely pair replied in unison.

  ‘If both wind and weather were in your favour, how would you get aboard?’

  Eku was quick to reply. ‘We’d climb up between the preventer chain and the rudder to the great cabin and get in there. One of the stern windows is bound to be open.’

  Oliver turned to the lad. ‘Was there a guard posted in that cabin?’

  ‘There were two outside. I saw them,’ Charles said. ‘But we shall climb insi
de.’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘We would help the officers escape. And swim back with them.’

  ‘What if they cannot swim,’ Oliver asked. ‘Very few officers swim well, and it is quite a distance between the ships.’

  The pair looked dejected.

  ‘I admire your spirit and enthusiasm,’ Oliver said, ‘but you said yourself the captain and his men had been confined in the midshipmen’s quarters. Therefore, I presume when Moncousu took command he claimed the great cabin for himself. It would be foolish to enter the ship from that point.’ Oliver stood and paced the cabin. ‘At the moment, I am unsure what course of action to take without jeopardising the lives of everyone aboard those two vessels across the water. I believe it would be impossible to take a boat across without being seen. I note your idea but, for now, your suggestion must be shelved.’

  ‘But the boy did it,’ Eku insisted.

  ‘Indeed, he did and I applaud his bravery,’ Oliver said, ‘but on flat calm water, with no wind and under a black night sky. While this unnatural calm persists for the present, and at this latitude has been known to last for weeks, we cannot guarantee the conditions will last until tomorrow. The barometer indicates a change is coming and if a squall blows up, we will be lucky if the ships can stay within sight of each other. Swimming or even taking a boat across will be impossible. Now, return to your watch and don’t do anything foolhardy. If I need your help, I will call on you.’

  Disappointed, the pair turned. The Negro touched his black knuckles to his temple and, with a gentle shove in the back with the flat of his hand, prompted the boy to move out.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Plan

  As arranged earlier, the officers reconvened in the great cabin. This time the doctor joined them. When invited to speak first, he expressed his concerns for the two women who had been transferred on the pretext the 74 was a safer environment. Oliver showed little concern.

  ‘Do you have no care as to what becomes of them?’ the doctor demanded.

  ‘Sir, I am fully aware of the situation. According to Captain Liversedge, the 74 has several women aboard, including the two females transferred from this ship but, at this moment, they are of little interest to me. What concerns me is the fate of a senior post captain, his officers and five hundred men who make up his crew, not to mention the fate of members of my own command aboard Flambeau. These matters are foremost in my mind and I will beg you not to burden me with trivia.’

  Dr Whipple shifted uncomfortably. He had no recourse. His thoughts were for the welfare of Mrs Crosby and Connie Pilkington.

  Oliver shuffled in his seat, flicked a moth from the table and mellowed. ‘Although the French Captain may use deceit and lies against his enemies, I believe, from the cut of his cloth, that Captain Moncousu is of noble birth and therefore, I envisage no harm coming to the womenfolk while he is in command. However, an unruly mob of irate Irishmen are more of a worry.

  ‘I pray you are right on that score,’ the doctor said.

  Despite the slightly tense atmosphere, Dr Whipple continued. He volunteered to go to the 74 alone if a boat could be made available to him. By that means, he argued that he would be able to assess the situation and return with news. He also stated that he would attempt to pass word to Captain Liversedge advising him that Perpetual was aware of his plight and assuring him that help would soon be at hand.

  The plan was audacious and was quickly shouted down. Everyone agreed that as soon as the doctor stepped aboard the 74 he would be restrained. Furthermore, if the true investigative nature of his visit was uncovered, his life would be in danger. Either way, he would not be returning to the frigate and no one would be any wiser about the situation aboard the third rate or the fate of those being held prisoner.

  Oliver had no intention of putting the doctor’s life at risk. ‘There are many sea miles ahead of us before we reach the West Indies,’ he advised. ‘If, however, we can take back the French frigate, we will reduce the odds against us. Then, with two frigates we can consider making our move against the 74.’ He looked around for objections. He received none. ‘What choice do we have other than turning our backs on our fellow officers and heading to Jamaica as Mr Hanson suggested?’

  The answer was a resounding No!’

  ‘Gentlemen, at least we are agreed on one score. We must fight to regain control of both ships. We have the lives of those aboard the 74 to consider and if we do not act soon the opportunity will be lost. The boy proved it is possible to swim across the water. But sending one boy or even one man would serve no purpose. To achieve any degree of success it will require at least a dozen armed men.’

  There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

  ‘I propose that a dozen volunteers shall swim across the pond and board Flambeau. This must be executed with extreme stealth and caution. My plan has various facets. The first is to board the frigate and separate the two ships by cutting the tow line uniting them. Currently, as the hulls are sitting on a millpond, I presume the hawser has dropped well beneath the surface. If a swimmer can dive underwater, he can cut through the cable from below the waterline without being seen by the lookouts.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier for someone to climb aboard and unhitch the line?’

  ‘I agree, but that man would be spotted on the deck by the French sailors on watch. Severing the cable will not be easy. It is the thickness of a man’s wrist. And the sailor chosen will need to be a strong swimmer, carry a sharp blade and keep his head down so as not to be seen. Once the rope is cut through, if a breeze of wind arrives or if the swell or current stirs beneath its keel, the French frigate will drift free of the 74, hopefully without anyone taking immediate notice of it.

  ‘Secondly, if a dozen good swimmers can make it across the water undetected, their task will be to climb aboard, dispatch the sentries and sailors on watch without making any noise then release our men from the hold.’

  The sailing master shook his head. ‘That is not possible.’

  ‘Might I ask why?’

  ‘The slightest squeak out of just one man, a knife or musket dropped on the deck, any unusual noise would echo in the darkness and the cries of pain or alarm would carry across to the 74 and alert them. Consider, also, when the mob of Perpetuals are released from the hold – they are not going to emerge in silence and any sounds they make will carry and the 74 will know the ship has been boarded.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ Mr Tully said. ‘Those aboard the 74 won’t give a thought to that happening on the French frigate.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ Oliver said. ‘We must first get men aboard.’

  ‘But who is capable of swimming for half a mile?’ Mr Mundy asked, doubting any response.

  ‘I, for one, can,’ the captain admitted, ‘and I intend to go.’ Being aware his first lieutenant was not a swimmer, he added, ‘Mr Parry, you must stay and take command of Perpetual in my absence. I want no one to volunteer who will be begging for help because he's in danger of drowning.’

  ‘Who’ll go with you?’ the sailing master asked.

  ‘I know of several men aboard who are strong swimmers,’ Oliver said. ‘William Ethridge can swim. He repaired the hull at the horseshoe island when it was damaged in the Southern Ocean. And the Negro can swim also. He spent hours in the water when we launched the diving bell off the coast of Peru. And we still have a couple of lascars aboard – pearl divers.’

  ‘I swim like a kedge anchor,’ Mr Mundy announced but the captain was not amused.

  ‘I swim like a fish,’ Mr Tully said. ‘I’ll go along and I know half a dozen other men who will go with me.’

  ‘Good. That is settled. Speak to them immediately. This calm will not last and, when the weather gods decide to breathe again, any chance we have of boarding in this manner will be lost.’

  ‘It will not be easy,’ the captain reminded, ‘and every man must carry a cutlass and knife. Pistols are too heavy, too noisy and the powder will get wet.’


  ‘I have another suggestion,’ the sailing master said. ‘If a sailor climbed through an open gunport onto the lower gundeck, and had a pocket full of large nails, he could spike the guns and render them useless.’

  ‘That would be impossible without being seen or heard,’ Mr Parry contended. ‘Apart from that, the gunports will be tightly fastened.’

  The captain agreed. As far as he was aware, the French knew nothing of the boy’s adventure or that word of what had transpired on the 74 had reached Perpetual. He thought it unlikely they would open fire on the British frigate.

  Feeling reasonably satisfied with the proposal he had presented, Oliver turned to his senior officer. ‘Bring us to within half a chain’s length of Flambeau, if that is possible. That will reduce the distance for the swimmers.’ The danger from sharks in the tropical waters crossed his mind but he chose not to mention it. ‘If we succeed in regaining the French frigate, we again make it our prize.’

  That suggestion brought satisfied smiles all around.

  Oliver nodded. ‘First we must surprise the Frogs on night watch and dispatch them silently. Then release our men held below deck and retake control of Flambeau. After slipping her from the 74 we will have evened up the metal – a 32- and a 38-gun frigate against a 74-gunner.’

  The idea met with almost everyone’s approval. ‘Are you going to attack the British warship, Captain?’ the wide-eyed midshipman asked.

  ‘She is no longer British, Mr Hanson. She has been captured and is being commanded by a French captain or a group of Irishmen and is therefore an enemy of His Majesty. My aim is to win her back and return her to Captain Liversedge.’

  A sound of feet tapping rattled around the cabin. Oliver held up his hand. ‘Hush, gentlemen. Sound carries easily on the sea.’ Then he turned to Mr Tully. ‘Gather your volunteers together and bring them here. I do not want to discuss this matter on deck.’ Then he addressed the other officers. ‘Advise your divisions to be silent but to be alert and remain at their stations. Hopefully, if all goes well and the French frigate drifts sufficiently, we can get it and Perpetual a good distance away from the 74 before they wake. As you all know, a third rate ship of the line is neither as fast nor or as manoeuvrable as a frigate, so if a wind blows up, we will have a distinct advantage.’