by M. C. Muir
‘During my time spent here last year, I learned she served as a prison ship until the Peace of Amiens. Then, when the prisoners were released, she was used as a supply ship and later a guard ship. Earl St Vincent raised his flag on her, several years ago, when he was stationed in Gibraltar. But now, she serves as a repository for the main commercial commodity of Gibraltar – tobacco. I believe the other two hulks are also tobacco stores. It is the mainstay of the local smugglers.’
‘Smugglers!’
‘Smuggling is an accepted trade here in Gibraltar. It has gone on for decades right under the nose of the garrison yet no one seems willing, or able, to do anything about it.
‘An ignominious end to the career of a fine ship. The only consolation is the crew will be content if there is plenty of tobacco to be had at a cheap price.’
When eight bells sounded the end of the second dog watch, it didn’t bring the familiar thunder of feet along the decks as it would at sea. Instead, the lookouts from two mastheads climbed casually down the rigging, jumped down to the deck and stopped to talk with the sailors from the starboard watch who had come to replace them. Beneath the foremast, a group of sailors perched on the windlass and lit their pipes, the distinctive smell drifting across the deck. From the frigate’s waist, the murmur of voices, occasional burst of raucous laughter and the melodious notes of a fiddle were reassuring to the captain. The crew of Perpetual were relatively content. At least for the present.
With no desire or necessity to go below, Oliver and his first officer stood at the taffrail in silence.
The evening air was warm, with barely a waft of movement in it, yet on the distant slopes of the mountains of Andalusia bursts of lightning flashed on a backcloth of indigo but the sound of its thunder failed to reach them.
Directly across the bay, dancing pinpricks of light, from the houses of Algeciras reflected on the water giving the impression the town was afloat. On the peninsula, the glow of lanterns and flicker of yellow candles from the colony’s windows provided a welcome sight.
‘Humph!’ Oliver exclaimed involuntarily.
Simon Parry raised one eyebrow and looked directly at the captain. ‘Am I right in thinking you are considering the integrity of the ship’s surgeon?’ It was not a difficult assumption to make after the conversation they had shared during dinner.
‘You have sailed with me for too long, Simon. You read my thoughts too well.’
The lieutenant did not answer.
‘What is it about Dr Whipple that puzzles me? He is a gentleman of good breeding with credentials that testify to all he has told me. He displays the accomplishments and attributes of a naval surgeon. He has studied with learned men and, from what I have heard, is adept in the performance of his duties. Yet, there are certain expressions and turns of phrase he uses that lead me to sense there is something questionable in his history, something he prefers not to reveal.’
‘We all sail with a crew of private ghosts,’ Simon added.
‘Forgive me,’ Oliver said,’ I do not wish to stir memories you may not wish to be reminded of.’
Simon Parry acknowledged the apology with a slight nod. ‘Do you wish for me to speak with the doctor? And if so, is there something in particular that concerns you?’
‘Thank you, no. If there are any questions to be put to him, then it is I who must do it. As to specific concerns, I cannot point to a single one. In the meantime, I shall oblige him with the benefit of the doubt. Were it not for him joining the ship, we would only have the services of that fellow, Abel Longbottom, who, I understand, is incapable of pulling a loose tooth without causing dire consequences.’
Oliver frowned. ‘You must forgive me, Simon, I cannot write about such matters to my wife nor record such thoughts in the log, so you are the only outlet for my frustrations. I remind myself that our fortunes could be far worse than they are. Sitting here on this bay reminds me of the frozen bay we visited in the Southern Ocean. There is something reassuring about a flat sea at night when there is no threat against us and no enemy ships within many miles.’
Glancing back to the Rock and the black silhouette of the tower pointing into the dark sky, he laughed. ‘When you consider the great distance the soldiers on the ridge can see, our masthead lookouts are rather superfluous.’
Simon Parry smiled. ‘I heard it was built with the intention of seeing Spanish ships sailing from Cadiz.’
‘That is almost sixty miles away!’
‘An error of judgement. It appears General O’Hara had failed to notice the range of mountains standing between here and Cadiz. Hence, his men gave it the affectionate title: O’Hara’s Folly.’
‘Well, I for one am grateful to General O’Hara’s resourcefulness, even although his geography and geometry did not prove to be totally sound. And, while the arms of the signal tower are sleeping, I will take my leave, and bid you good evening, and pray the night remains without incident.’
During the night, however, the barometer fell and strong winds drove into the bay from the Strait, whipping the water and sending waves breaking against the artificial moles.
‘I trust we did not drag or sustain any damage,’ Oliver asked his first officer, when he came on deck.
‘No, sir. Considering the strength of the gusts, Perpetual fared well.’
‘And the men, how are they?’
‘A few sore heads,’ Simon said. ‘But nothing unexpected after several hours in the local taverns yesterday afternoon.’
‘Do you intend to allow another two divisions to go ashore today? ’
‘If that meets with you approval.’
‘It does the men good, although I doubt they can justify their excesses in the clear light of dawn.’
‘Will you be going ashore today, Captain?’
‘I am undecided,’ he said, focussing his attention on Rosia Bay near the barracks and victualling yard.
‘You ran some of the boats up on the beach opposite, did you not?’
‘Yes, sir. From there it’s only a short walk into the town.’
‘And did the men report any unusual activity.’
‘No. There was the usual chatter and complaints about the prices the traders were charging. But tobacco was readily available so most were happy. What activity you were referring to?’
‘Take a look,’ Oliver said, passing the glass to his lieutenant and pointing to the road leading from the town. ‘It winds south up to the barracks at Windmill Hill.’
Simon Parry placed the glass to his eye and scanned the shoreline. ‘A convoy of carts under military guard.’
‘Well-laden carts at that. I am wondering what it signifies. As we are the only naval ship in the bay, it’s unlikely they are moving supplies.’
‘Perhaps those dhows by the North Mole delivered meat early this morning. They would need to transport it to the garrison before the sun was too high.’
Oliver paced the deck. Puzzled.
‘Are they moving guns?’ the lieutenant asked.
‘I have not seen any,’ Oliver replied. Taking the glass he scanned the length of the coast from the nearby South Mole along the defensive Line Wall with its fortified bastions, to the newer North Mole and the town. Beyond that, the square tower of the ancient Moorish castle clinging to the slope and beyond that to the neutral zone – the narrow isthmus, not more than a mile wide, separating the British colony from the Spanish mainland.
Between the North Mole and the distant beach, Oliver was surprised by the presence of a dozen dhows, their lateen sails furled to their masts. While a few were wallowing on the ruffled waters, most had been dragged up onto the beach. He thought it unlikely they had arrived from North Africa that morning.
Simon Parry had earlier described to him the exotic appearance of Gibraltar, not only its people, but also it buildings. The shambles of wooden houses built close together in the older part of town, the streets, as narrow as those in the poorer districts of London. Being two or three storeys high, they completel
y blocked out the sun but withheld the heat. The newer more elegant stone buildings had balconies with wrought iron railings and carved wooden shutters reflecting the Venetian and Genoese influence, while the Moorish and Spanish heritage was ever present.
‘The character of the town is as diverse as the exotic spices sold on the streets,’ the lieutenant commented, ‘and just as unpalatable to our conservative English tastes.’
Oliver agreed then returned his attention to the line of carts still moving south towards Windmill Hill.
‘Ship entering the Gut!’ The call from the masthead attracted everyone’s attention.
‘Spanish man-of-war,’ the lookout shouted.
Its arrival accounted for the signal tower’s strange gesticulations which had begun at first light.
The 74 gun ship had waited until dawn before attempting to enter Gibraltar Bay. Sailing under minimal canvas, the Spanish ship of the line was greeted by six gunboats from Algeciras. They escorted it across the bay.
While everyone’s attention was on the big three-masted ship, a pair of much smaller masts, which had been hidden behind it, came into view. A tiny brig was sailing in the 74’s wake.
‘Portuguese trader,’ Oliver declared. ‘And by the condition of her canvas, I would suggest she made heavy weather of the blow last night.’
‘Is she making for Algeciras or Gibraltar?’ Simon asked.
‘Impossible to say but she would do well to reduce sail and heave to.’
The pair followed the progress of the two very different sized vessels. The sailors perched in Perpetual’s rigging also stopped what they were doing and watched.
‘Let us hope she is carrying a cargo of wine and spirits for the colony. My personal stores are in need of replenishing. I must speak with Casson about it.’
As the captain spoke, the 74 bore away towards the Spanish port, while the much smaller brig, Conception, slipped under her stern and steered for the North Mole. Once behind the man-made jetty, only the tops of her twin masts were visible making it impossible to see what cargo she was carrying.
For a fleeting moment, Oliver’s thoughts drifted to the island of Madeira, to its sweet red wine and to Susanna at her home in Funchal. He was hungry for her and hungry for breakfast. It was time to go below.
With ribbons of ripped canvas hanging from her foremast topsail yard, the brig dropped anchor in the sheltered water on the north side of the North Mole. After being subjected to the compulsory inspection by the health guard, Conception’s handful of passengers were disembarked before any cargo was unloaded. The goods, stored in the hold, comprised of bolts of linen cloth, bleaching wax and salt, all items produced in Cadiz. There was no wine.
Returning home from a brief and unsuccessful business trip to Cadiz, Señor Santo, a grocer by trade, was disgruntled and extremely weary. The passage, although short, had been particularly rough and he had suffered from sea sickness throughout the voyage. This morning, he had woken with a raging thirst and throbbing head. Perhaps he had consumed too much wine during the voyage. Now his only thought was to return to his house on Gunners Parade as quickly as possible, and take to his bed.
After lining up to be examine by the health guard and waiting impatiently for his boxes and baggage to be retrieved, the shopkeeper was not inclined to talk. He exchanged a few words with the ship’s master and the handful of other passengers who had travelled with him.
There was no shortage of porters waiting with hand-carts, eager to attract paying customers and deliver their baggage into town. Within fifteen minutes of the brig arriving at the North Mole, the small stream of wearied travellers had passed through the North Port Gate and entered the town.
Santo’s home was quite some distance away and up the hill. Although he had nothing to carry, he did not relish the walk.
Little did he know that within two weeks he and his family and most of his neighbours would be dead.
CHAPTER 9
Quarantine
25 August 1804
Early the same afternoon, a boat bumped against Perpetual’s hull and a letter addressed to Captain Quintrell was handed up. It bore the official seal of the colony and required the captain to attend the Lieutenant-Governor at the Windmill Hill Barracks immediately.
Oliver had his suspicions as to what the meeting might be regarding, but nothing could be presumed in Gibraltar especially at this time.
After a polite but brief greeting, thanking the naval officer for his prompt attendance, Major General Sir Thomas Trigge invited Oliver to sit down.
‘Captain Quintrell, there are several matters I must speak with you about. First and foremost, to advise you the situation on the Rock is deteriorating rapidly. As a result, from dawn tomorrow, the Sea Port Gate will be closed and full quarantine conditions will apply from that time.’
Oliver was not unduly surprised. ‘To what degree is the port closed – to local boats, coastal traders, naval vessels?’
‘My order applies to all ships, including ships of Nelson’s Mediterranean Fleet. Any ship that attempts to enter the harbour will be stopped and turned back to the Strait. And no persons from any vessel, apart from those already serving on ships in the bay, will be allowed to step ashore.’
‘But what of Spanish ships sailing for Algeciras.’
‘I have no jurisdiction over them. This order applies only to the waters of the eastern side of Gibraltar Bay and more particularly to landings on the North and South Moles.
‘And what of those citizens who cross the neutral ground daily from Spain by carriage or on foot?’
‘The Land Port Gate will also be closed. Those who entered this morning will be allowed to leave this evening but, after that, no one enters or leaves the territory. That means there will be no communication with the world beyond the Rock. This morning, I dispatched a messenger overland carrying word to Lord Nelson. But, as the message must await arrival of one of his ships in Barcelona, it will take several weeks before he receives the news.’
‘I presume this measure is to stop the fever from being introduced.’
The general's brow furrowed. ‘I fear it is already too late. The contagion is here. Only a handful of troops have died in the last few days, but dozens have been recorded in the town and the number of civilian deaths is growing daily.’
‘Can the garrison’s doctor do nothing to halt the spread?’
‘He would be better placed if he knew what he was dealing with.’
‘What can I do to assist?’ Oliver asked.
‘I shall not order you to stay aboard your ship,’ Sir Thomas replied, ‘but I suggest that the safest place for you and your men is on the water. The less contact made with the residents of the colony the better.’
‘Of course.’
‘Secondly, Dr Pym is working under extreme pressure, as is the garrison’s surgeon, Mr Burt. His dispenser has died and currently the apothecary is serving as his assistant. Furthermore, the French doctor in town, Monsieur Jay, has disappeared. It is not known if he escaped Gibraltar in the last few days, or if he is lying in a hovel somewhere, dying. What we do know is the victims of this pestilence die within a matter of days, and very few of those affected survive.’
Oliver waited before putting his question. ‘What of the threat from the French? Is the Gut of Gibraltar safe from attack?’
‘While we have Captain Barlow and his ships patrolling the Strait, your frigate anchored in the harbour, and sufficient fit men to man the guns on the Line Wall, I do not fear attack from the enemy. However, when we last spoke, I mentioned the problem of French privateers in the Mediterranean, off Catalan Bay. They are becoming increasingly troublesome.’
‘I can sail around Europa Point and patrol that roadstead, if you wish.’
‘Thank you, Captain, but no. I prefer you remain in the bay, especially now the port is closed. Captain Barlow in Triumph is vigilant. Unfortunately, however, he is designated to patrol both the Strait and the southern coast of Spain from Tarifa to Cape
Saint Mary. Therefore, he cannot be in attendance at Gibraltar all the time. Hence the importance of your presence.’
Oliver was obliged to agree and nodded, then took the opportunity to enquire about the movement of carts he had seen heading south along the road.
‘I am relocating my men to Windmill Hill. I have ordered all the barracks in town and at Rosia Bay to be evacuated. The troops and their families will be accommodated in tents here on the plateau. As that location faces south and receives the fresh breezes from the sea, the air is far healthier here than in the shadow of the Rock. If, as Dr Pym tells me, this contagion is carried in the miasmic mist that envelopes the town, then it is essential my men are removed from it as quickly as possible.’
‘That entails a lot of tents.’
‘Hundreds of tents, Captain. Enough to accommodate most of the men and their families. And because the garrison hospital is too small to accommodate the men who are sick, the Windmill Hill barracks is being used to house them. As for the townspeople, the colony’s hospital is already full and even the lazaretto on the boundary of the neutral zone is overflowing. A new one is urgently under construction.’
Oliver ventured the question, ‘Is that the extent of the problems?’
The Lieutenant-Governor sighed. ‘Far from it. The town is suffering through a lack of street cleaners to take away the dead. Because of that, night soil and bodies are piling up in the streets. Furthermore, there are no undertakers, no spare land in the graveyards, and no coffins to bury the victims in. And, I was told, most of the priests have escaped back to Spain. In September, there will be no publication of the Gibraltar Chronicle as all the newspaper’s staff are already dead or dying. That means there will be no way of circulating information, either good or bad, to the residents.’
‘I do not envy you your situation, Sir Thomas. But what of yourself and your family?’
The sixty-year old general shrugged, ‘I am due to be recalled in December. I survived the Great Siege here, over twenty years ago, but I wonder if I will survive this.’
