Powder Monkey (24 page)

Before we made our preparations to leave, Robert and I accompanied the Lieutenant to the Captain's quarters. When the storm had begun, all hands had been called to help save the ship. The prisoners had been locked into the cabin, with no men spare to guard them. Middlewych turned the key in the lock, expecting the prisoners to rush forward to escape. But instead, we found them sitting defeated on the floor – all seasick and pale with fear. Middlewych spoke quickly with their commanding officer. The two men shook hands, and the Spanish officer turned to address his men.

As he spoke, Middlewych turned to Robert. ‘I've told him they're to try to reach the shore as best they can, then surrender themselves to the authorities. He's given me his word as a gentleman that he will order his men to give themselves up. I can't see any other way around it. The alternative is to kill them, and I don't have the heart to do that.'

Soon after, a group of us tried to lower the longboat into the boiling sea. The ship's other boats had been lost in the storm or crushed by falling yards. Middlewych had given orders that men who could not swim were to have priority on the boat. But before anyone could clamber aboard it was swept away by a huge wave, and overturned. There was nothing else to do now but to take our chances in the water.

During these last few hours I had often thought of Ben. What would he be doing? What advice or comfort would he have to offer? Now anarchy reigned. Discipline had collapsed.

I told Richard what I had seen. ‘I suppose the men've given up hope of getting home alive,' he said. ‘They're determined to die happy. Either that, or they're trying to give themselves enough Dutch courage to take to the water.'

In those final minutes aboard, a thought hit me like a thunderbolt. If I could get away from the ship, then I could get away from the Navy! If I survived, then I
would be free from this floating prison. There would be nothing to stop me from heading for home. I pushed the notion to the back of my mind. For now, there were too many ‘ifs' to consider . . .

As the ship emptied, we grabbed whatever objects we thought would help us make our way to the shore. I found myself on the quarterdeck with Silas and Richard. They looked as desperate as I felt. We were all numb from the cold, and worn out by our struggle to save the ship.

Standing over a fallen yardarm, I shouted at Richard over the noise of the storm, ‘Help me cut a piece off this!' He nodded, and as we began to hack away with boarding axes, Silas joined us.

‘I'm going to get home, and so are you two,' he told us with some determination. ‘We've not been through all this just to die in sight of a friendly shore. Now let's lash some rope to this yard, so we've got something to hang on to.'

Over the chaos of the storm I heard a plaintive whine. It was Bouncer – so drenched and bedraggled his fur hung tight and soaking round his body.

‘What are we going to do with the cat?' I shouted.

Silas had an idea. ‘Put him in a chest and set him off to the shore. He'll drown if any of us try to carry him.' So that we did – there were plenty of wooden chests to choose from, and I chose Ben's. Inside were his spare set of clothes and some meagre possessions. It brought a
lump to my throat. Here were a few letters from his wife, Caitlin. Neither of them could read or write, so they kept in touch with letters written and read by friends. Ben never let me read or write his letters. This was a part of his life he wanted to keep to himself. Also there in the chest was a silhouette portrait of Caitlin which Ben had treasured, and a model ship he was making for his son. That was all he left to the world. I'd hoped to find his wife's double-heart brooch, which he carried as a good luck charm. But that was probably lying with him at the bottom of the sea.

I flattened down the clothes, dropped Bouncer in, then put the letters, silhouette and boat back in too. If the chest did reach the shore, maybe someone would return these possessions to Ben's family?

We lowered the chest into the sea and watched the waves carry it away.

‘Let's be away ourselves,' said Silas. By now the
Miranda
was listing badly, and the larboard side of the quarterdeck was almost level with the sea. All three of us dragged over our piece of yardarm, and prepared to launch ourselves into the chilly water. Then, among the few frantic souls still aboard the ship, I noticed Robert Neville, standing as best he could on the sloping quarterdeck.

‘Mr Neville, are you not leaving the ship?' I yelled in astonishment.

‘Never was a great one for the water, Witchall,' he replied. Then his composure cracked a little. ‘Sam, I can't swim. I'm going to stay here until the storm abates, and take my chances then.'

Silas joined us. ‘Bollocks to that,' he said. ‘This ship is breaking up. You're coming with us.' With that, he frogmarched the young midshipman down the sloping deck and over to the side of the ship.

And so all four of us slid into the sea and began kicking our legs in the water for all we were worth. I expected it to be extremely chilly, but we were so cold already, it made little difference to us. The last thing I saw on deck was Lieutenant Middlewych trying to persuade some drunken sailors to take their chances in the water. My heart went out to him. He was doing his duty to the end, and I was sure he would not leave the ship until the last man had gone. I hoped in my heart we would see him again, safe on land.

Through driving rain, the silhouette of the rocky shore bobbed in and out of view. Our clothes weighed heavy on our weary limbs, and each exertion required considerable effort. Robert was close to panic. His grip kept slipping from the rope wrapped around the yard. Richard and I did our best to grab hold of him and return him, coughing and spluttering, to the surface.

As we drifted in the waves, hurled high and low in
great troughs of water, a strong current picked us up and carried us along the coast. Silas shouted, ‘Just hold on for dear life, lads. Maybe this will carry us to a more friendly-looking shore?'

Then a huge wave crashed down upon us, and I was snatched away from the yardarm and swept beneath the water . . . As I sank deeper my ears began to ache and I was gripped by a fierce terror. The wave had caught me so completely by surprise, I had not even filled my lungs before I went under. Now my chest was aching desperately for air. Almost by instinct, I found myself gulping down great lungfuls of water. So was this what it was like to drown? I flailed beneath the sea, trying to move my legs and arms hard enough to propel me to the surface. But in those dark waters I did not even know which way was up and which was down.

The strength was fast leaving my limbs. Panic subsided and a strange stillness overtook me. I surrendered myself to death and felt at peace with the world. In my mind's eye I saw myself as a young child, snug with my brother between my mother and father, safe and sound in my parents' bed.

Then, an undercurrent thrust me unexpectedly to the surface, and there I was again, back in the world of the living – spluttering for air and coughing up huge salty globs of mucus and sea water. Ahead of me was a broken rail from the
Miranda
's quarterdeck, and I grabbed
at it, clinging on for dear life. My head spun as I felt sick and dizzy. Maybe twenty yards in front of me, I could glimpse Silas and the two boys still clinging on to their yardarm. Richard was shouting, almost in a frenzy, and looking around desperately. His shrieks carried across the waves. ‘SAAAMM!!!! SAAAAMMM!!!' When I reached the crest of a wave I shouted and shouted, and waved one hand until they spotted me. I kicked my legs hard in the water until I managed to rejoin them.

By now we had been in the water perhaps twenty minutes, and I was so cold I could barely manage to maintain my grip on the wooden rail. But the shore was looming out of the darkness, and salvation was at hand.

‘Come on, you bastards!' said Silas. ‘We're nearly there.'

Spluttering through the spray, we gained strength as the shore grew closer. Then, all of a sudden, I felt rough pebbles beneath my feet. It was my first touch of solid ground in six months.

‘We're almost there!' I shouted. Then a large wave crashed into my back and threw me face down into the water. I struggled to my feet and broke surface, gasping for air. Just at that moment the backwash caught me and carried me out to sea. As I was thrown back I caught a glimpse of the dark outlines of the other three, now only waist deep in the water and wading towards the beach. Again, panic seized me.
Don't let me die now
,
please, God. Not when I'm so near to the shore
.

Before I was swept under I cried out, and one of the silhouettes turned and began to swim back towards me. ‘Hold on, Sam! Hold on!' a voice called urgently. It was Richard. As he half-swam, half-waded out to me, another wave picked me up and thrust me nearer to the shore. Now I was so weak I could barely force my frozen limbs to fight against the motion of the tide. Richard grabbed my arm and held me firm as the outgoing water tried to tug me back into the dark sea and certain death.

We staggered out of the water, plodding through the surf, wet clothes dragging us down, and on to the soft wet sand of the beach. We lay there panting for five minutes or more, like gasping fish flailing on the deck of a fishing vessel. But, far from writhing in our death throes, we rolled around in triumph.

‘We did it!' we shrieked, scarcely believing we had reached dry land.

Up from the beach we could see the lights of a village. We stumbled up the cliff path to the church and banged on the door of the vicarage. A small man wearing spectacles opened the door. He stared in mute astonishment at the four bedraggled figures standing before him. Robert Neville reasserted his authority.

‘Good evening, sir,' he said with ridiculous formality for a boy who looked like a drowned rat. ‘I am the Honourable Robert Neville, and these are my shipmates
from His Majesty's ship
Miranda
– shipwrecked just now close to Lizard Point. Would you be so kind as to take us in and provide a little warmth and a change of clothing?'

The parson raised his eyebrows. ‘This is the village of Pentherick, young sir. It is in fact some thirty miles further east of Lizard Point.' We were all astounded by how much further the storm had swept us up the coast.

Our parson was a helpful fellow – or rather, he knew just the people who would help us. I stared past his shoulder with some longing at the blazing fire inside his house, but rather than ask us in he took us at once to the local inn. It was called the Royal Oak. The landlord, he explained on the way, was an old sea salt, who would be pleased to provide for us. Sure enough, our clothes were taken off to dry, and fresh ones provided. They were ill-fitting, but who could possibly grumble? The landlord told us he would gladly provide food, lodging and ale, but would most certainly prevail upon us to tell our extraordinary tale. It seemed a fair exchange.

Later that evening, when the crowd of excited listeners had drifted away to their homes or other corners and rooms, we sat around the tavern fire. The landlord brought Silas, Robert, Richard and me thick roast beef sandwiches covered with horseradish sauce, and tankards of ale. In that moment I felt a rush of pure joy. I had gone away to sea, faced terrible perils, and survived. Here I was now, with fine food and drink, surrounded by my friends.

Silas turned and spoke directly to me. ‘What now, Sam? You could just vanish into the night with me, and
never set foot on a Navy ship again. The storm's blown itself out now, so let's make hay . . . the Navy wouldn't come looking for us – they'd assume we were drowned.'

Robert looked embarrassed, and took a great interest in the darkened view out of the window. We all knew he would not be reporting this conversation to anyone – he owed us all too much.

I pictured the scene in my head. News of the shipwreck would reach my parents. My mother would be consumed with grief. My father would burn with anger. Then – what an entrance – a few days later I would return up the garden path, rattle the knocker, and they would think they were seeing a ghost. It would be a blissful moment!

I looked at Richard and Robert. They would certainly be returning to the nearest Royal Dockyard, which would be Plymouth, a day or so's coachride from here.

Silas broke into my chain of thought. ‘Well, Sam? Are you coming?'

‘I don't know, Silas. Don't think I haven't considered it . . .' I replied. ‘But I need to sleep on it.'

Silas was determined to make the best of his opportunity. This was as good a time as any. He had dry clothes, and a full belly. ‘Word will have reached Plymouth that the
Miranda
's been wrecked. The telegraph stations will convey the news to Portsmouth and the Admiralty by the end of the day . . . I'll be off before any pressmen or
marines come snooping. I bid you all farewell.'