The Oliver Quintrell Trilogy Omnibus

by M. C. Muir

With more than a dozen pairs of eyes scanning the internal walls of the island the boat swam around the inland sea in an anti-clockwise direction maintaining approximately thirty yards distance from the shore.

  ‘Who made that stink?’ called Jeremiah, to the man sitting next to him. ‘Phew!’

  ‘That stink,’ said Oliver, halting the boat for a moment, ‘is sulphur, and if you look to larboard you’ll see where it is coming from. Over there!’ He pointed with his mittened finger. ‘See that patch of yellowish green on the dusty grey surface. If you watch, you will see a stream of air being puffed out of it.’

  ‘It’s like the blowhole of a whale,’ Jo Foss commented.

  ‘What you smell is coming from deep under the ground.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a rock fart before!’

  The men seated near him laughed.

  ‘Silence men,’ the coxswain called. ‘Concentrate!’

  As the boat slid across the water, Mr Nightingale, who was handy with a pencil, sketched a pile of ugly angular black blocks which ran down from the peak like a solidified river ending in a tumbled promontory which extended into the water from the cinder shore.

  Oliver studied the formations formed by once molten lava but did not share his knowledge with the crew. ‘Keep well clear of those rocks. I fear they will be quite sharp!’

  ‘This is an evil place!’

  No one answered Jeremiah’s words, but most of the boat crew heard them and no one disagreed. The sailors rowed on. By now they were three quarters of the way around the lagoon.

  ‘Smoke, Captain!’ the coxswain called. ‘Dead ahead.’

  Oliver had already noted the apparent mist rising from the water. ‘Wotton, take us around those columns of vapour and run the boat up onto the beach behind it.’

  ‘Aye aye, Capt’n,’ he said, swinging the rudder hard over.

  Once they were a little closer, Quintrell removed his mitten and ran the tip of his finger in the water. It was as he had thought – the water was warm.

  Jo Foss, the first to jump ashore, was shocked. ‘The water’s hot, Capt’n.’

  ‘Indeed it is.’

  With the boat dragged up on the ashen shore, the men were happy to paddle in the shallows and warm their red chapped hands.

  Oliver scanned the beach. It was the longest they had encountered so far. It was soft yet crisp underfoot but not soggy. Nor did it appear to be underlaid with jagged rocks. It rose gently from the lagoon to a plateau of rock which from the water’s edge looked like a ledge or long flat wall. It extended for several hundred yards and was an ideal resting place for a colony of seals, but for the present, only a few were in residence. At the back of the ledge, large rounded boulders, the colour and outward appearance of pumice, lined the base of a vertical cliff. Their orderliness gave the impression they had been washed up or placed there as a makeshift sea wall or barricade. Yet the tide did not reach that high. The captain looked quizzically at them and instructed his midshipman to make a sketch of the area.

  ‘Do you see something in particular, Captain?’

  ‘I’m not sure what I see, Mr Nightingale.’

  A reconnoitre of the area confirmed what Oliver had initially thought. This cove was far preferable to the one they were in. The shallow water would make an ideal anchorage, the vapour in the air was heated and the warm water offered the opportunity for a volunteer to dive below and investigate the damage to the hull. It was also possible that the hot springs would heat the ship inside and make the southerly conditions more tolerable. He smiled to himself. After many weeks at sea, a warm bath would be most acceptable.

  ‘We shall return to Elusive and when the wind comes up, sail her over here.’

  No sooner had he spoken than a freezing wind, blasting in through the crack in the island, hit them.

  ‘Coxswain, get the men aboard. We must return to the ship immediately.’

  ‘Aye, Capt'n.’

  Though the frigate soon came in sight as they rowed across the huge lake, progress was slow. The surface was stirred by the bitterly dry wind and there was no shelter for the men. With the boat beating almost directly into it and with the spume breaking over the bow, the return journey was wet and exceedingly cold. Stepping back on board Elusive was a relief to every man, including the captain.

  That evening excited voices were raised in the mess. The sailors listened as the captain’s boat crew told tales of sky blue ice, smoking water, farting rocks and a cove warm enough to bathe in.

  Chapter 16

  Floating Gold

  News of the hot springs at the other side of the crater-lake was enough to change the mood of the crew and, when all hands were piped up the following morning, the men were eager to work. With the tide at its highest point, the boats were lowered. Their purpose was to haul the ship stern-first from the grey cinder beach and out into deeper water. Oliver had hoped for a convenient draft of wind to back the sails but there was little breeze and the zephyrs which shifted constantly gave no assistance. He wondered what the force of the wind was outside the island’s mountainous protective walls. That was something he would concern himself with later.

  Though it was cold, the sun glowed from a hazy sky and the crews in the boats were soon sweating under their double and sometimes triple layer of slops’ clothing. It was an arduous job man-hauling a vessel the size of a frigate, however once the bow was released from the cinder beach, Elusive slid smoothly back on the silky water to a round of huzzahs from the sailors huddled on deck.

  ‘Would you compare this to the Arctic, Mr Parry?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘I’d say it is very similar though I have never encountered anything quite like this place. At first glance its features look the same, yet when you study the place, it has so many different facets. There is a stark beauty about this desolation.’

  ‘An interesting comment.’

  ‘Pardon me for asking, sir, but if this land is uncharted should it not be claimed for England as Cook did with the Pacific islands?’

  ‘That is a question I must ask when we return to England but for the present the island’s location must remain a secret.’

  ‘But the log. That will record our position.’

  ‘It will, indeed!’

  Oliver wondered as he gazed to the peaks rising to the north of the bay, to ice covered black cliffs criss-crossed with deep scratches, and to ghostly patterns gouged across them like etchings on a giant lithograph. This place was too inhospitable for any country to bother laying claim to it, and it was certainly not worth fighting sea battles over. The only people who would venture here in future would be whalers. He felt sure of that.

  Once the men and the boats were back on deck, they made sail. The helm was put hard over, the yards braced around, the topsails fluttered and finally filled and Elusive headed out across the water, swimming as slowly and gracefully as a swan on an English canal and creating even less wake.

  From the sides the sailors gazed in awe at the rim of mountains which surrounded the lake and little was said. Part way across the lagoon, snow started falling. At first the large flakes reminded Oliver of the thousands of white-winged moths which had drifted across the frigate off the coast of Argentina. A strange phenomenon, he had thought. But as the snow continued and settled on the men’s felt hats, it brought memories of Cornwall. How unexpected and fortuitous that snowstorm had been. Drifts a foot deep. Tracks unrecognisable. The house guests stranded – unable to leave. Brushing a snowflake from the end of his nose, he thought of Susanna. How gently she had dusted them from his hair. Without the snow he would never have met her.

  Now England was far away and that wintry weekend was a very long time ago.

  ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a bit of snow before!’ he shouted. ‘Sweep it up before it melts and turns to ice! And you there, get some sand for the deck. Jump to it!’

  For a moment the topsails fluttered, like a bird bathing its wing, then the breeze freshened again filling the canvas and car
rying them towards the western shore. A murmur of excitement ran around the deck, when the ship neared the cove and the columns of steam came into view.

  ‘Take her in, Mr Parry. As close as you can. When the tide goes out I want her nose in the sand.’

  ‘Aye aye, Captain. Strike the topsails! Make ready to drop anchor!’

  Mid-afternoon all hands were piped on deck and Captain Quintrell addressed the ship’s company.

  ‘Men, I want to thank you for your efforts and despite the cold I believe we should all thank the Lord for our safe deliverance to this place.’

  As he opened his Bible, the soles of several buckled shoes shuffled uncomfortably on the decking.

  ‘I shall read from Psalm 107:

  They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;

  These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep,

  For he commandeth and raiseth the storm wind, which lifteth up the waves

  thereof.

  They reel to and fro, and struggle like a drunken man, and are at their

  wit’s end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth

  them out of their distress.

  He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

  Then are they glad because they are quiet; so he bringeth them to their

  desired haven.’

  Oliver closed the Bible, looked at his shivering crew and repeated the final words. ‘…so he bringeth them to their desired haven.’ He paused and looked around. ‘I am sure you will all be pleased to learn that we have been delivered safely to our desired haven and we will be going no further south. As you are probably aware, Captain Cook sailed into higher latitudes than this, but he chose a Whitby Cat – a coal carrier – not one of His Majesty’s frigates. Cook was a discerning man and I admire his prudence. If only we were in a vessel which would sit upright on the sand without heeling over …! Be that as it may, Elusive is not a flat-bottomed collier but she is now in a suitable situation where we will be able to inspect and repair any damage which the hull has sustained. I can assure you all, when we leave this place we will have a sound ship which will carry us home to England.’

  Voices mumbled in recognition. A few cheered.

  ‘I can also assure you that our stay in this location will be brief – no longer than is necessary to make the repairs. In the meantime, I advise you to stay active and keep warm. When you are not working you have permission to go ashore and walk the beaches at will. A game of cricket perhaps? Our enemy here is not the French or Spanish, pirates or privateers. Our enemy is the cold. Any man with fingers or toes which tingle should report to the surgeon. There is warm water aplenty to restore life to dead limbs and I will tolerate no cases of frostbite. This evening there will be a double serving of pork for every man. And I believe cook has managed to produce a considerable number of fruit puddings which I am sure you have been able to smell. In case you are not aware, today is Christmas Day and we are blessed with snow. Perhaps it will remind you of England.

  ‘Let us pray that in due course we will return safely to our loved ones and that within a few months Elusive we will be sailing into Portsmouth Harbour. I wish you all a merry Christmas.’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ was echoed loudly in response.

  ‘I had forgotten,’ Simon said, as the men crowded around the main companionway to go below.

  ‘I had not. If we had had a chaplain on board, I would have asked him to deliver the reading.’

  Simon Parry nodded. ‘I am sure there are those amongst the men whose spirits are raised by the Bible.’

  ‘But would you not agree that for most the raised spirit will come from an extra tot of rum and not from the scriptures!’

  ‘I am sure you are right.’

  ‘Simon, would you join me for dinner later? And extend an invitation to Mr Mundy, Mr Hazzlewood and the other officers. An opportunity to raise our own spirits, do you not agree.’

  Though his lips were dry and lacked their unusual rosy colour, the lieutenant smiled, ‘This whole island is an active volcano, isn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it is. In a way it reminds me of a trek I once made to the top of an old volcano in Italy. Though it was not as massive as this island, the crater resembled this place in shape, and I can remember gazing down inside it, seeing puffs of steam shooting from the ground and smelling its offensive sulphurous fumes. However, that volcano was sitting on the land and this one is sitting on the sea bed. What we see here is only the tip of a gigantic cone which was blown apart many years ago.’

  ‘I don’t think the men are aware we are inside a volcano.’

  ‘Then I suggest you do not tell them.’

  Will Ethridge did not need to be ordered to examine the ship’s hull. He had spent half his working life regarding ships from beneath the keel and was only too happy to volunteer. He’d helped lay the keelson in several ships, watched ribs rise, and added the layers of planking which provided a protective skin capable of lasting over forty years.

  ‘You know what to look for?’ the captain asked.

  Will nodded.

  ‘Be quick about it then. Don’t dilly-dally below!’

  The acting carpenter was eager to dive under despite the warnings about sea creatures, currents and temperature. Casting the blanket from his shoulders, he climbed nimbly down the ladder on the port side. As he descended, the rope secured around his waist was fed out by a sailor on the deck.

  ‘It’s mighty chilly,’ he called, as he dipped his stockinged foot in the water.

  ‘Take care,’ Old Jeremiah shouted.

  When he first slid under the water his white shirt was visible but as soon as he dived down the brown water swallowed him up.

  ‘Hold fast that line! Don’t lose him!’ the captain yelled.

  After what seemed like an incredibly long time, Will emerged, gulped the cold air in short sharp gasps, then dived again.

  The fifth time he came up was near the bow. ‘It’s here!’ he gasped, knocking on the side of the ship.

  ‘Mark that spot on the gunnel,’ Mr Parry shouted. ‘And come aboard before you freeze.’

  Though he was in the water for only a matter of minutes, when Will surfaced his lips were blue and his heart was racing. As he struggled to climb back on board, his legs and arms shook and his teeth chattered involuntarily. One blanket was quickly thrown around his shoulders and another swung over his head.

  ‘Get him below immediately,’ Oliver ordered. ‘When he is dressed and warm ask him to report to my cabin. Not before. Mr Parry, would you join me, please.’

  ‘Come in, Will. Sit down and explain the situation.’ The captain offered him a glass of burgundy but Will refused.

  ‘We’ve shed a couple of copper plates and one’s hanging like an old farm gate. Apart from that there are only two planks which have suffered a minor mischief. Looks to me like whatever we hit was sharp because it’s gouged a line along the side of the hull for about three yards.’

  ‘Do the timbers need replacing?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. There’s some surface splintering but not enough to worry about. The reason the water’s coming in is that a length of caulking has been completely scooped out. It’s opened the joint and it’s letting water seep through.’

  ‘Can it be fixed underwater?’

  ‘I think so. It really needs planing and recaulking. But I can smooth it down with a chisel and then I’ll caulk it up real tight though I’ll not be able to get any hot pitch over it. Once that’s done, I’ll fix that copper plate in place and she’ll be as good as new.’

  ‘Are you sure that will seal it?’

  ‘When I’m finished, it’ll get us back to England with no problems.’

  ‘But can you do the job underwater?’

  Will nodded. ‘Apart from the pitch.’

  ‘What about the temperature?’

  ‘It’s strange down there. Like jumping from a hot tub to one of
ice. There’s streams of hot water running through the cold.’

  ‘Then what if we move the ship a little closer to the steaming pools?’

  ‘Best test it first – it could prove a mite too hot.’

  ‘What do you think, Mr Parry?

  ‘Sounds reasonable and I wish I could help but I admit I do not swim. But I’m sure amongst the Constantine’s crew there are a few swimmers – otherwise they would not be with us today.’

  ‘Are you sure that is the only damage, Will?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. I checked the hull from bow to stern and right down to the keel. That’s all I could find and the starboard side is untouched.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Oliver said. ‘Mr Parry, select half a dozen men to take turns to go down with the carpenter. I insist you do not go down alone, Will. And the bosun will rig a cradle of netting for you to work on. The cooper will heat up a pitch kettle for what it is worth. And pass word to the purser to make sure there are plenty of dry clothes and blankets for the hands who are working below. And an extra tot of rum for each of them when they are finished.’ Satisfied that he had considered everything, Oliver leaned back in his chair. ‘Then I believe that is settled and the work can begin tomorrow. Mr Parry will be in charge.’

  Will thanked the captain and made his obedience to the officers as he left.

  Waiting until the door had closed, Oliver spoke. ‘I want lookouts posted port and starboard and a good man in the rigging. We don’t want another man falling prey to a shark or a hungry elephant seal!’

  On deck the smell of the pitch-kettle was preferable to the sulphurous odours which at times drifted across the bay.

  ‘Did you find anything, sir?’ the lieutenant asked, as Oliver Quintrell climbed aboard from the longboat.

  ‘Nothing, Mr Parry. That is the fourth consecutive morning I have circled the whole lagoon and I am beginning to fear that we shall be leaving this island without achieving our objective.’ He sighed. ‘Whatever cargo was supposedly here has been well hidden – buried in the ash or removed before our arrival.’