The Beothuk Expedition (4 page)

I have employed this strategy already in the case of the Esquimaux. A woman named Mikak was captured near Fort York last season and I have sent her and two children to England. There they will learn the King's English and return to their people with assurances of our Christian intent. I am resolved to follow a similar course with the Red Indians, as this may be the only means to a lasting peace.

Jonah Squibb

It was an event that had no equal, either before or after, in the logs and lore of the Newfoundland station. The
Guernsey
lay becalmed for two days off Cape St. Francis and the captain himself was at a loss to explain it or do anything about it. He grew increasingly vexed as the day for our rendezvous with the
Liverpool
came and went, and all manner of things were attempted at his orders, including towing and warping ourselves in every direction in search of a breath of air. The sails were kept wetted night and day on the chance of drawing a breeze, however faint. As a last resort the sailors even fell to whistling. Others were stationed in the tops at all hours, watching for the slightest ripple on the water. If one were seen, imagined or not, the boats were manned and off we rowed to catch it. And to add to our frustration, the sun was uncommonly hot throughout. The men suffered a great deal at the oars and capstan, and one or two fell senseless from the rigging.

It was all in vain, of course, for the wind returned in its own good time. Henry Fielding summed it up quite nicely, I thought, when he wrote in his
Journal
that “the most absolute power of a captain of a ship is very contemptible in the wind's eye.” On the evening of the seventeenth it began as little more than a whisper, a vague hint of movement in the air. I detected it on the quarterdeck at the same instant as the men aloft. It took a moment to discern its direction but I soon judged it to be easterly. Our bow was then pointed in that direction and at my word the longboat quickly brought the ship about, the commotion bringing Lieutenant Cartwright on deck. The boat cast off her hawser and fell alongside to be hoisted in, even as I ordered more buckets of water aloft to wet the sails.

“What is it, Mister Squibb?” he asked. “Is it a breeze?”

“Aye, sir,” I replied. “And a promising one, I think.”

“You there,” the lieutenant said to a midshipman who was standing nearby. “Inform the captain that we have a wind. And where is Frost? Where the devil is that bo'sun?”

“On the booms, sir,” I said, “having the longboat secured.” I had observed over the course of our association that Mr. Cartwright was inclined to be excitable, particularly when time was of the essence. The normally composed features of his well-bred face became animated, his lips pursing and puckering and the nostrils of his thin nose flaring like the wings of a skate.

“Mister Frost!” he called, the colour rising in his cheeks. The boatswain looked up from his task and shielded his eyes against the lowering sun. “All hands to the halyards. Be ready to square and trim at my command. We'll catch what we can of this infant's breath.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The boatswain turned and issued his orders to the waiting watch. They hopped at his command—as well they might if they had any regard for the skin on their backs. Our Frost was not a man to be ignored when he required something done at once. He ruled his domain with a heart that was two parts stone and one part fatherly tyranny, and his manner had long ago earned him the nickname of “Hard” Frost. Even his mates, the petty officers who worked under him, regarded the boatswain with a wary eye when things were not on an even keel.

Captain Palliser came on deck in his shirtsleeves, accompanied by the chaplain, and looked up at the sagging canvas. He said nothing as he waited for the evidence. A minute later, just as I was beginning to doubt it myself, the sails began to flutter and billow. Seven bells were struck in the second dogwatch and the captain remained where he was, the Reverend Stow beside him and mimicking his posture. I was guessing that the chaplain had no idea of what he was looking at, when suddenly the main royal filled with a crack, followed by the topgallant. The crew on deck and in the shrouds gave a spontaneous cheer and a shadow of approval crept across the captain's face. Reverend Stow, a fawning look upon his horsy countenance, congratulated Mr. Palliser with the enthusiasm of one who'd witnessed the greatest of naval victories.

For the rest of that evening we were favoured with a light easterly of four or five knots. Just after midnight, early in the middle watch, we cleared the northern tip of Baccalieu Island. We had the wind on our beam for the most part, though we tacked and sailed close-hauled from time to time to correct our shoreward drift. At dawn on the following day, I made Cape Bonavista in the circle of my glass with the wind rising steadily and veering sharply to the west. I sensed a blow approaching and was not far wrong, for soon the swell increased and dark clouds gathered on the northern horizon.

The weather was of little concern on the quarterdeck, as we would soon be within the harbour and reasonably sheltered. Bonavista was not an ideal sanctuary for a ship of the line but it would serve if the need arose. I had been to the place several times as a boy and as we rounded Green Island, I saw the flakes that ringed the treeless plain below the cape. This was no longer the most northerly settlement on the coast but it was still the centre of the area's prosperous fishery. I was thinking of old John Cabot, who was said to have sighted land here centuries before, when I realized that the tall masts of the
Liverpool
were nowhere to be seen. The rising wind quickly brought us to within half a league of shore and our sails were being reefed when I observed a boat emerging from the inner harbour. It was under a press of sail and heading for the
Guernsey
, and making heavy weather of it in the short swell. I summoned the gunner and conferred with him briefly before informing Mr. Cartwright of the vessel's approach. He joined me at the rail with his tricorn hat in one hand and the remains of his breakfast in the other.

“What do you make of it, Mister Squibb?” he asked through a mouthful of bread.

I studied the boat through my glass. “She may have a message for us, sir. I can see no other reason to sail in the teeth of a coming gale.”

The lieutenant grunted and watched our visitor, the wind snatching at his wig. “What the devil is it, do you think?” he asked. “I thought a sloop, but I'm damned if it doesn't look more like a fishing shallop.”

He was perfectly correct, as the vessel might have been taken for either. It was a peculiar little craft of some forty feet in length, with a single mast instead of the ketch-rigged short main and mizzen that would normally equip a shallop. But she did have the hull of a Newfoundland boat, with an open hold for fish, although she'd been fitted with a decked stern and forecastle in the manner of a sloop. She carried a mainsail, fore staysail and jib, and oddly enough a bare yard was slung from her mainmast, signifying the ability to carry a topsail as well. The most surprising feature of her appearance, however, was the fact that she was armed.

When I remarked as much to the lieutenant he exclaimed, “What!” and put the glass to his eye. “I think that Captain Palliser should—”

“What the devil is this, Mister Cartwright?” The lieutenant flinched at the sound of the captain's voice. “Why was I not informed of this vessel's approach?” He was standing immediately behind us, the foppish chaplain at his side.

“My apologies, sir,” the lieutenant replied. “We were just attempting to discern the vessel's character before—”

“Yes, yes,” the captain said, impatiently relieving him of the glass. “Your watch is it, Mister Squibb? What do you make of her, then?”

I avoided Mr. Cartwright's eye and said, “Four swivel guns, sir. One pounders, I should say, and the gunwales newly cut to accommodate them.”

“And what sort of vessel is she?”

“A large fishing shallop, sir. Sloop-rigged fore and aft. In a manner of speaking.”

Mr. Palliser snorted his disapproval that boats should be rigged so contrary to convention. “You know your duty, Mister Squibb. What measures have you taken?”

“I have instructed Mister Bolger to ready a pair of eighteens, sir.”

“Very good, young sir. Well done, indeed. Speak to her master and report to me, Mister Cartwright. Armed, is she? We'll see about this.”

The captain limped off to his cabin with the chaplain at his heels, leaving Mr. Cartwright and myself in awkward silence. The lieutenant's face, rarely a study in composure, was as rigid as the figurehead that graced our bow. The shallop made her way to the shelter of our lee with the muzzles of our guns following her approach.

“The boat ahoy!” Mr. Cartwright sang across the water. “Name your vessel.”

A sailor on the tiny forecastle gave him a puzzled look. “Can't tell ye, sir,” he replied, “seein' as how she got no name.”

The lieutenant's nostrils flared and he tried again. “Who are you and what is your business?” A seaman snickered in the mizzen shrouds above us but when I looked I was met with sober faces.

“We's off the
Liverpool
,” the man called. “This here is her hired boat. The cap'n left us behind to tell ye he's sailed for the Change Islands.”

“The Change Islands!” Mr. Cartwright exclaimed. “He was supposed to wait here for Captain Palliser.”

“Aye, sir,” the man shouted against the wind, “only he heard of a French brig-o'-war bein' seen there. He thought it best to go straight away.”

The other two men in the shallop had by this time reduced her sail and the boat was beginning to roll in the swell. The first lieutenant seemed lost in thought and so I shouted, “Come alongside and make your report.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” was the reluctant reply and the man at the tiller steered towards us under staysail alone. We soon learned that the sailor who'd done the talking was a petty officer named Grimes. He smelled of rum and a sour stomach and was taken aside to be questioned by Lieutenant Cartwright. I was left in charge of the quarterdeck and ordered the gun crews to stand down and likewise the marines, who were sighting their muskets on the two nervous men in the shallop.

Mr. Cartwright made his report to the captain, after which I was summoned to the cabin. What sounded like a heated conversation ended as I entered the dayroom, where the three senior officers of the ship were gathered. “Ah, Mr. Squibb,” the captain said. “We have a change of plan. I want you to equip the shallop, or sloop or whatever the devil it may be, for a cruise of one month. You know what is needed, I am sure.”

“How many crew shall I provision for, sir?”

The captain glanced at the first lieutenant. “Eight, I should think. Yes, there's the three men from the
Liverpool
, Revered Stow, Lieutenant Cartwright, Mister George Cartwright and Mister Cartwright's servant. And yourself, of course.”

Lieutenant Cartwright, his face somewhat flushed, turned to the captain and said, “If you will excuse me, sir, I have much to attend to.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

As he left the cabin, Lieutenant Tench, who had been looking on with a frown on his pallid face and a distinct air of disapproval, cleared his throat. “With the greatest respect, sir, I must urge—”

“Enough, sir!” The captain's firm voice was pitched somewhat loud. Tench's lips tightened but the frown remained.

I hesitated, wondering whether I should ask our destination, when the captain supplied the answer for me: “I am taking the
Guernsey
to Fogo immediately. Lieutenant Cartwright will take command of the shallop and will follow me tomorrow. If he does not find me there, he will carry on with his orders to establish contact with the Red Indians.”

On hearing this, I could barely contain a smile—I was to be included in the expedition after all! I kept a serious face as Mr. Palliser continued: “In the event that I am not at Fogo, Mister Cartwright will seek out a planter there named John Cousens. He knows the area as well as any man and can provide advice on how to proceed. I am told he even has a Red Indian in his employ. His knowledge should be most valuable.”

The captain limped to his writing chair and eased into it with a sigh. “Now then, Mister Squibb. When you have finished provisioning the vessel, I want you to take a watering party ashore. And while you are there, look in on a midshipman from the
Liverpool
, who is quartered at the surgeon's house. The petty officer says that he is quite ill. Of course, he may be dead by now, in which case you must see him properly buried.”

“Yes, sir. And captain?”

“Yes?”

“The swivel guns in the shallop, sir—I assume they came from the
Liverpool
's quarterdeck?”

“Yes, I suppose they did. What of it?”

“Shall I have the gunner look them over, sir? To ensure they're properly mounted and have enough powder and shot?” From the corner of my eye I saw Tench's pale, disapproving face turn to me.

“Yes, Mister Squibb. You may.”

“And the shallop's rigging, sir. Perhaps the boatswain could see that everything is in order?”

“Of course, of course.”

“And I should point out that she has no boat, sir. May I take our spare jolly boat in tow?”

“Indeed you may. Sound thinking, Mister Squibb. Very sound indeed.”

“Thank you, sir.” I withdrew from the room under two very different sets of eyes, one quite approving and the other as cold as a Newfoundland winter.

Hugh Palliser

Damn my eyes if it isn't the
Valeur
again! Damn them if it isn't. That boat has been the gall of my existence since I became governor and still the French persist in testing the limits of my patience. But this time they have gone too far. I will tolerate no more of this posturing and tomfoolery. Lurking around the Change Islands, are they? Not for long, I can promise you. The captains of the
Liverpool
,
Lark
and
Tweed
know the terms of our treaty with France. Any armed French vessel on this coast will be boarded and its officers arrested, and my ships may use what force they require. I shall soon put a stop to their excursions in that damnable brigantine. Even if I have to send it to the bottom.