The Speedicut Papers: Book 1 (1821-1848)
Flashman’s Secret
by
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The following day we were all gathered in the saloon afore luncheon – at least what passed for luncheon on the heaving tub – when Blight announced that he had a treat for us before our arrival at Cape Town. It appeared that one of our number had asked the Captain if we could cruise past a barren rock called Dyer Island on which, it seemed, there were an uncommon number of fur seals, some of whose pelts the wretched box wallah was hoping to buy in Cape Town. So, as a treat and to help relieve the boredom of life aboard, Blight had decided to hug the coast and bring the good ship Pride of Poonha down the channel between Dyer Island and another bird-shit covered rock called Geyser Island. “Y’ll all be interested to know,” he explained, “that the presence of the seals means that there are plenty of great white sharks around the islands. If ye’ve never seen one, they’re quite a sight – some can grow to twenty feet or more with teeth the size of cutlasses. Ay, they’re the most murderous beasties in the ocean and, if we heave-to and throw some offal in the water, ye’ll see that I’m no spinning ye all a yarn.” The next morning Blight brought the ship much closer-in to the shore and, sure enough, a couple of bare-arsed rocks gradually came into view. As we got nearer I could see that they were covered in seals, penguins, birds – and their shit; it was really quite extraordinary how much wildlife was crammed in there and how much filth they had accumulated! True to his word, Blight slowed the steamer virtually to a halt between the rocks and we took up positions on the platforms either side of the starboard paddle wheel, with just a chain between us and the briny. There was a gentle swell and, as we were more than ten foot above the sea, I felt quite safe. Then, on Blight’s order, one of the stewards tipped a bucketful of bloody guts into the water. At first nothing happened, then – and it came as one hell of a shock – a large fin suddenly broke the surface and powered towards the offal as the current took it away from the side of the boat. I could just make out a huge dark shape in the water when suddenly this great triangular black head, with a white underside and a gaping maw full of enormous serrated teeth, broke the surface, looked at us for a second with a dead black eye, devoured the muck and sank below the surface. As it swam past the side of the boat it seemed to be at least fifteen feet or more in length. It was a completely thrilling and terrifying sight. The box wallahs couldn’t get enough of it and begged Blight to get more offal into the water. For myself, I would have preferred to push on for Cape Town – one great white shark was quite enough for me. But no, they must have a second sighting and so another pail was called for. Somewhat to my surprise it was carried over to the platform by Dora, who I had assumed to be safely battened down in our cabin, but who must have come up on deck to see what all the fuss was about. With a show of mock respect she offered the bucket to me, but I pushed her and the filthy stinking slops away. Quite what happened next I will never know – for one minute she was there and the next, or so it seemed, she’d slipped on some offal on the platform, slid under the chain and fell into the water with an ear-piercing scream. As she hit the foam her cap came off and her long hair spread itself out on the water’s surface, along with the reeking contents of the bucket. “My God,” shrieked the box wallah next to me, “it’s a woman! Someone save her!” And by that he meant someone other than himself. But before I could decide that, whoever it was, it wasn’t going to be me, I felt a hand on my back, the ship pitched and – afore I could cling to the chain or recover my balance – I was over it and flying through the air towards Dora and my doom. I hit the water with a great splash, briefly submerged – my God, it was cold - and then rose to the surface. Spitting water out of my mouth and clearing the hair from my eyes, all I could see in front of me was Dora, surrounded by offal, waving her arms in the air and shouting fit to wake the dead – and behind her, some twenty feet or so and closing fast, was a large black fin. Before I could even reach out a hand towards her, the grotesque head of the shark rose once again from beneath the surface, the jaws caught her around her chest – cutting off her yells as blood spurted from her open mouth – and then, as though she was a rag doll, the shark threw her into the air, caught her, threw her in the air again, caught her for the last time and then sank beneath the waves leaving a spreading ripple of red foam. It had all been so quick that I had had no time to be scared, but now fear gripped me in a vice as tight as the shark’s jaws, for in no time at all I knew that it would close-in on me. At that moment I felt an appalling pain in my left shoulder and I had the sensation of being lifted bodily out of the water. Well, this is the end, I thought, and blacked out.
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About the Book
The Speedicut Papers recount the life, loves and adventures of Jasper Speedicut: charmer, sexual libertine, reluctant hero – and friend of the self-styled Brigadier General Sir Harry Flashman VC. They are also a unique account of events during the second half of the 19th century in the British Empire and beyond. Comprising a series of linked adventures and anecdotes, The Speedicut Papers not only lift the lid on a veritable cesspit of upper class debauchery that makes Downton Abbey look like a vicarage tea party, but expose the fact that Flashman was nothing more than a remittance man and a plagiarising fraud. The first book in a ten volume series, Flashman’s Secret, uncovers some very murky corners of 19th century history including the early careers of Sweeney Todd and the notorious courtesan, Lola Montez; the reason why Nelson’s last words were changed after his death; and the existence of a sinister secret society at the heart of the British establishment dedicated, by whatever means including murder, to upholding the honour of the British crown. In nine subsequent volumes yet to be published, The Speedicut Papers will reveal the truth about many other previously unexplained historical incidents including well evidenced explanations for the relentless pursuit through the criminal courts of Oscar Wilde, the actual reasons behind the deaths of Emperor Maximilian I of Mexico, President Lincoln, the Prince Imperial, King Ludwig II of Bavaria and The Duke of Clarence & Avondale.
About the Author
After serving time at Oxford University and the RMA Sandhurst, Christopher Joll spent his formative years as an officer in The Life Guards. On leaving the Army, Joll worked first in investment banking, but the boredom of City life led him to switch careers and become an arms salesman. After ten years of dealing with tin pot dictators in far away countries, he moved into real estate public relations where he had to deal with dictators of an altogether different type. His experiences in the Army and afterwards, involving the famous and the infamous, are related in his yet to be published memoires, Anecdotal Evidence, an account which promises to cause considerable consternation in certain quarters. From his earliest days Joll has written articles, features, short stories and reportage. One such piece of writing led to an early brush with notoriety when an article he had penned anonymously in 1974 for a political journal ended up as front page national news and resulted in a Ministerial inquiry. Most recently, Joll has written the text for Uniquely British: A Year in the Life of the Household Cavalry, an illustrated account of the Household Cavalry from the Royal Wedding to the Diamond Jubilee. Since leaving the Army in 1975, Joll has also been involved in devising and managing major charity fund-raising events. Most recently, he has focused on devising, writing and directing events for military charities. These include the Household Cavalry Pageant, the Royal Hospital Chelsea Pageant, the acclaimed British Military Tournament, an annual show that he writes and directs, and in June 2012, a military tattoo in Hyde Park for the Diamond Jubilee. When not writing, directing or lifting the lid on the cess pits of British history, Joll is an adviser on State ceremonial to Independent Television News.