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Authors: Derek Yetman

Tags: #Fiction, #FIC014000, #Historical, #FIC019000

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BOOK: The Beothuk Expedition
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I left Bolger with his sorrow and another tot of rum before inspecting the damage fore and aft. A jagged hole gaped in the stern bulwark, throwing light upon a jumble of broken wood and torn hammocks. Everything in there had been smashed except my old sea chest, which had acquired a few new scars. The ball had exited the cabin and only nicked the mast in passing forward, which was another stroke of good luck. I put my head into the space beneath the forecastle and saw that it was equally ravaged. The door had been blown inward, shredding the hammocks that still hung from the beams and tearing apart the crew's bags and chests. The four-pound shot was clearly visible, embedded between the stem and the connecting timbers. All this I saw at a glance, my attention being drawn to the sight of Jenkins on hands and knees in the rubble, blood seeping from the wound in his thigh. In the cabin's dim light he was clawing through the mess, completely oblivious to my presence. Only then did I notice the pungently bitter aroma that penetrated the dust and smoke. The smell was vaguely familiar.

Mine are not the keenest of wits, I will admit. For weeks the clues had been mounting around me and I'd been as blind as a jellyfish. Only at that moment did the truth finally dawn upon me, the smell transporting me back to the surgeon's house in Bonavista. A woman was handing me a bowl of powdered medication and saying that the surgeon had been giving it to Froggat.

At my feet, Jenkins licked the boards of a shattered sea chest and whimpered like a child.

After two days of makeshift repairs and graceless sailing, we rounded the southern tip of Fogo Island. The sun was level with our stern rail and in the fading light we saw the squadron lying at our rendezvous in Man o' War Cove. They were all there—the
Guernsey
,
Liverpool
,
Lark
, and
Tweed
—every spar properly squared and the sailors lining the decks to watch our strange little craft. I thought of a line from Fielding's
Journal
, in which he rightly observed that a fleet of ships is the noblest thing that the art of man has ever produced. The sight of so much strength and order cheered us, in spite of the poor spectacle we made. We must have looked like castaways, with our clothes torn and stiff with dried blood and salt, and ourselves haggard from want of food and sleep. The
Dove
herself was a woeful sight, her shot holes patched with scraps of wood and a ragged wound where her bowsprit should have been. All the same, I was proud of that little sloop and doubly so of her valiant crew.

Froggat put us alongside the
Guernsey
and I climbed the sidesteps with some effort to where Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Tench were waiting. The latter said nothing, neither welcoming nor acknowledging me, his gaze as ill-disposed as ever. Even Lieutenant Cartwright received me rather formally, I thought, after all that we had been through together. Still, he could not hide the anxiety in his voice as he asked me what news I had of the Indian child. It was passing strange that he did not inquire after the health of the men or notice that two of their number were missing. I told him what I knew and his shoulders fell as he listened. I could see that his failure upon the river lay heavily upon him.

My words were listened to intently by Lieutenant Tench as well, and I imagined a brief hint of a smile on his stony countenance. I made my way to Captain Palliser's cabin where he received me with great civility and listened carefully to my report. On hearing that I'd lost two men to the
Valeur
he scowled but said little, except to regret the loss of his boatswain. He remarked that Frost's character may have been improvable but in the final sum he had been a fine sailor and an asset to the
Guernsey
. As for the
Valeur
, he said that he would dispatch the
Lark
straight away to search for her. Our noble frigate would have no joy, however, for a week later the Frenchman was spotted on the Grand Banks, sailing hard for France.

On the subject of the child, the captain made no comment, other than to shake his head gravely. I could not help but wonder if he acknowledged the error of his reward or if he still held to its merit. I did suggest that the authorities at Poole be alerted, even though the message would arrive weeks after the ship in question. We both knew how unlikely the child's recovery was, but he said that he would do everything in his power. The news that the furriers had evaded me drew no response, as if he'd expected as much. I felt badly enough about it, although I knew there was nothing I could have done to change the outcome.

On the greater issue of the Red Indians, I told him with all respect that if something were not done their race would soon be harried to extinction. He heard me out and even acknowledged the truth of my prediction. In a weary voice he told me he'd been petitioning the Admiralty and Lords on this very matter since he became governor. What I had so clearly stated was obvious to any who had served on the Newfoundland station, he said, but the matter was as nothing to those in London. In governing an empire that would soon span the globe there were many things that did not receive the attention they deserved. There were more pressing issues in England itself, not least the public disorder being incited by John Wilkes. I apologized for my presumption but he waved it away, saying this was another argument against year-round settlement of the island. When the squadron departed in the fall there was nothing to deter those who remained, including those who would see the natives destroyed.

Captain Palliser then turned to the subject of Grimes, who was at that moment being taken aboard the
Guernsey
in irons. Lieutenant Cartwright had provided an account of his suspected involvement in the Indian murder and abduction and I now recounted his actions during our encounter with the brig. The governor listened carefully, and then rang a small silver bell that summoned his clerk to the cabin. The order was given that Grimes would appear before a court martial the following morning, charged with treason and attempting to aid and abet the enemy. By my own reckoning, three and possibly four of the Articles of War had been violated, which made the verdict a certainty.

The clerk withdrew and Mr. Palliser gave his attention to a document on his desk. I assumed the interview to have ended and made my bow to leave. It was then that I remembered to ask whether Froggat and Jenkins ought be returned to the
Liverpool
. I also enquired as to what should be done with the damaged sloop. Mr. Palliser rubbed his leg and considered the question.

“They may return to their ship if they desire,” he said. “Or else they may remain with you.”

I did not reply because I was at a loss to understand his meaning. Nor did I move to go, even as he returned to his document. An awkward moment passed while he picked up a quill and dipped it in ink to affix his signature. “Mister Squibb,” he said, “I am resolved to bring the rule of law to this coast, with or without the support of London. However, I cannot spare even one of my frigates for the task, not with so vast an area to patrol.” He handed me the paper and I took it, wondering what all of this had to do with me.

“In view of the situation,” the governor continued, “I am giving you an acting appointment as chief naval officer and surrogate judge for the coast, from Trinity to Toulinguet, and beyond, if the situation demands. You will remain with your vessel, with a fresh crew and larger guns, of course. You may not keep my gunner, however. He must be returned to the
Guernsey
immediately.” He paused and looked me in the eye. “Well, sir? What have you to say?”

I was astounded, naturally enough. Somehow I managed to say that I was honoured by his trust, as indeed I was. It was a singular thing for a junior lieutenant to be given such a responsibility and I stammered something about more deserving officers than myself. Fortunately the governor's attention had returned to his desk and he seemed not to hear. I took my leave, bowing as I backed from the cabin and nearly upsetting a stand of charts by the door.

Froggat and Greening were waiting for me on deck and when I told them the news they congratulated me with honest good will. In the next breath they both declared their intention of remaining with the sloop. I was touched by their loyalty and thanked them sincerely, especially as I would be relying upon their skills and support. Still incredulous but reassured by the faith placed in me, I made my weary way to my old cabin deep within the
Guernsey
. It was just as I'd left it weeks before, the sailcloth walls still taut and everything in good order. Calling the steward, I ordered a bath and removed my clothes, the man swearing that he would sooner burn them than see them washed. After this my thoughts turned to other needs, a meal and sleep being foremost. I had stood watch for the better part of three days without a morsel and was in danger of dropping where I stood. I made my way to the wardroom and there I ate the better part of a stewed goat, washed down with a bottle of claret. Afterwards I dragged myself to my berth and slept for twelve straight hours, waking the next morning to a great clamour and banging alongside.

My first thought on opening my eyes was not of the noise, nor of anything immediate to my senses. It was of Amy Taverner. I now regretted my hesitation in Trinity, and was plagued by the thought that I should have spoken of my feelings. What if she did harbour some sentiment for me? Perhaps I had missed something in her manner, some subtle hint or intonation. The idea filled me with alarm and confused my memory of what had actually passed between us. The harder I tried to remember, the less I was able to recall. Finally, and rashly, I formed the notion that I ought to visit her again, that I might know her mind, and her heart, more clearly. I lay thinking on it for some time, until confusion got the better of me and I dressed and went up to the quarterdeck.

The source of the noise that had awoken me was soon obvious, for looking over the side I saw a crew of boatswain's and carpenter's mates swarming about the
Dove
. They had repaired and improved the little sloop almost beyond recognition. There was a new bowsprit and rigging, freshly planed wood and never a sign of a shot hole. The carpenter himself appeared and invited me on board to inspect the repairs. I descended the rope ladder and was surprised to find the little sloop fully provisioned and crewed by half a dozen volunteers. In fact, apart from the
Guernsey
's people gathering up their tools, she was ready to sail at a word from me.

I had no time to bask in the glory of my new command, however, for I had several things that demanded my attention. With Greening's help I winkled Jenkins out from the
Guernsey
's lower deck where he lay shivering and moaning in a darkened corner. I had Greening take him on board the
Dove
while I proceeded to the sick berth. There I found the ship's aged surgeon in his little dispensary, counting leeches in a jar. When I presented him with a sample of the powder that had been in Grimes' shattered sea chest, he sniffed it once and put it to his tongue. Taking up a vial from a row on his desk, he uncorked it and passed it to me. The identically bitter pungence wafted past my nose.

“Powder of opium” he croaked. “
Opii pulvis
. A most effective sedative and surgical anesthetic. But it must be used sparingly, of course. It is highly addictive.”

His words were the glue that bound the pieces together. In Bonavista, with the collusion of that wretched surgeon, Grimes had kept Froggat in a state of insensibility while they made merry with his money. And Rundle and Jenkins had been under his influence, not by the threat of violence as I had supposed, but by their dependence upon him for the opiate. Froggat had told me of the
Liverpool
's cruise to the Far East and that must have been where the substance was acquired and where their addiction began.

I left the surgeon to his leeches and made my way to the captain's cabin, where the court martial of Nehemiah Grimes was about to begin. His own captain from the
Liverpool
, the governor and another officer made up the tribunal, while the accused stood before them, hobbled and flanked by a pair of red-coated marines. I took my place at the back of the room alongside Lieutenants Cartwright and Tench as the charges were read. My statement was then entered into the record and Froggat and Bolger were called upon to confirm the account of events on board the
Dove
. Grimes listened with a contemptuous scowl, the chains clanking when he moved his feet. After hearing the evidence, the court asked if he had anything to say in his own defence.

“Wilkes and freedom!” was his reply, shouted to the court. The marines stepped closer and seized his arms. The three officers conferred for a moment, and Mr. Palliser stood up.

“Nehemiah Grimes, petty officer of HMS
Liverpool
.” There was complete silence, even from Grimes. “The court finds you guilty of violating Articles eleven, twelve and fourteen of the code that governs His Majesty's naval service. To whit, you have failed to obey the orders of a superior officer for joining battle with a ship, and have presumed to submit a vessel of His Majesty's service to peril. Further to this, you are found guilty of harbouring and acting upon a traitorous and mutinous design.”

The governor grimaced and shifted his weight to his good leg. “To answer for these crimes,” he concluded, “you will be hanged by the neck until dead. The sentence will be carried out at sunrise tomorrow.”

Grimes seemed too shocked to move for a moment. But then he was struggling against the grip of his guards and crying, “No justice, no king!” He called upon the marines to overthrow their common oppressor, a plea that earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs. I felt a brief stab of pity that a sailor should have to die for falling under the spell of a politician's empty rhetoric. But then I thought of my old friend Frost and the Indian woman, and the boy whose fate we would probably never know. The real pity, I thought, was that Grimes could only be hanged once.

BOOK: The Beothuk Expedition
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