Tide of War (14 page)

The monk regarded him evenly. “I am sure it is known in London,” he began, “and it may even be known in Philadelphia, that there is a faction in Madrid that favours a rapprochement with the French Revolutionists, followed in due course by an alliance.”

“So you are saying that the Captain-General is of their opinion?”

The praying hands opened again. “I say no such thing. Only that the Captain-General is not a reckless man. He is not inclined to jump before he is pushed, especially if he does not know which
way
he is to be pushed.”

“But if there was such a rapprochement,” Imlay persisted, “how would it affect the situation here in Cuba—or in New Orleans?”

The monk smiled. “We are in the realms of speculation once more but the Spanish government has for some time been aware of the difficulties involved in securing its territories on the North American mainland. There are those who believe they were in jeopardy from the moment that your countrymen obtained their independence from Great Britain.”

“The United States has no present interest in expansion westward or to the south,” Imlay countered in a tone that surprised Nathan, so altered was it from his normal air of bored indifference.

“Really?” Brother Ignatius queried him with another smile. “And do you speak in a private or an official capacity?”

Imlay shrugged and reverted to his earlier manner of easy apathy. “It is merely my opinion,” he confirmed, “as a private individual.”

“ Well, this is merely mine own, but if it were not forbidden I
would wager that it is only a matter of time—and a very short time at that—before the United States acquires the entire region. The Governor of New Orleans suspects this process is already advanced and that agents of the United States—I should say agents
from
the United States—are already seeking the means by which it may be accomplished.”

“In collusion with the French settlers?” put in Nathan. Imlay shot him a look from beneath his hooded eyes—of warning or alarm?

The monk was shaking his head. “That I cannot say, but I believe the Governor has alluded to the possibility in his reports.”

“I would be very surprised if they had any official backing,” Imlay insisted.

“I am sure they do not. Officially. But it is the Spanish attitude that concerns us. Privately they are convinced that sooner or later the United States will expand into their territories—either through immigration or invasion or both. Those in Madrid who seek a rapprochement with France are certainly of this opinion. And they believe it may be in Spain's interests to make the first move. To offer New Orleans to France—and perhaps even the whole of Louisiana—in return for concessions in Europe and other parts of the world.”

The base of the nearest palm swayed towards them as if eavesdropping. Nathan looked up to where the distant fronds moved in the hidden currents above the roof.

“And what do the French think of this?” enquired Imlay.

The monk spread his hands again. “I am only a poor monk,” he said. “What can I know of the French?”

“Surely they would be foolish to take on the burden of a new empire in America,” Nathan suggested, “after what happened to the last one. It would surely risk alienating their friends in the United States.”

“Surely,” agreed the monk. “And just as surely they have their reasons.”

He was looking straight at Imlay when he said this, and Nathan wondered if he knew something that Nathan did not.

“But if the Spanish are not anxious to cling to their territories,” Imlay retorted, with a hint of impatience, “why is the Governor of New Orleans so active on their behalf?”

“Because that is his job, as he understands it. Baron Carondolet is a Fleming in the service of the King of Spain. He has family land on the borders of France and the Low Countries. Land that is presently occupied by the French. Also, he is an aristocrat from an old Burgundian family. He has no cause to love the Revolutionists. Besides, I did not say that all Spaniards were of the same mind. Far from it. I am a Spaniard and I am by no means anxious to see my country allied to an atheistical, Revolutionist government in Paris. Nor, I should add, is His Holiness the Pope or those who put the interests of the Catholic Church above those of nationality—or mercantilism.”

Nathan nodded as if he understood, though the tortured diplomacy of the Vatican had perplexed older and wiser heads than his. At the risk of appearing banal he brought the conversation down to a more prosaic level.

“Your English is excellent, sir, if I may make so personal an observation. As good as I have heard from any man not born and bred in England.”

“Thank you, sir.” The monk's eyes glinted with amusement. “Perhaps that is because I was born and bred in Dublin where English is, of necessity, the native tongue. You may detect a little of the lilt.”

Before Nathan could think of a response to this surprising, and disturbing, information they were interrupted by the roar of a cannon. Followed swiftly by another—and another. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the harbour.

“Are we under attack?” the consul wondered and though he smiled his eyes betrayed some uncertainty.

“Let us go and look,” proposed Brother Ignatius complacently.

They followed him across the courtyard and up two flights of stone
stairs to a landing with broad windows overlooking the harbour. And there, midway between the forts of La Punta and El Morro, they saw a ship of war gliding slowly into the harbour under reefed topsails, her bow wreathed in smoke as her guns roared the customary respects to the King of Spain.

Then the smoke cleared and they saw the flag at her stern.

The consul clutched Nathan by the arm. “Good God,” he said. “It is the
Unicorn.”

D
ESPITE THE CHEERFUL INSTRUCTION
of my lord Chatham, Nathan had neglected to purchase a new uniform during his brief stay in London. Indeed, after learning of his mother's misfortune, he would have considered it in the nature of a criminal extravagance. However, the Angel Gabriel had contrived to transform Nathan's old uniform by the simple expedient of moving the epaulette from the left shoulder to the right and fronting the lapels in white felt fringed with gold lace. And so it was in the full dignity of his estate as a post captain in His Britannic Majesty's Navy that Nathan greeted the first lieutenant of the
Unicorn
in the dining room of the consul's house.

Judging from the lieutenant's expression something more convincing was required.

“Perhaps you would care to see my commission from their lordships,” Nathan suggested kindly.

The lieutenant, clearly embarrassed, protested that this would not be necessary, not at all. He knew the captain by reputation of course, had read of his encounter—his
daring
encounter—with the
Vestale
in the Baie de Seine, and was perfectly prepared to take his word as an officer and a gentleman.

But now here was the Angel Gabriel with a document for his inspection. He considered it in silence for a moment. He was sitting at
one end of the long table with Nathan at the other, flanked by Imlay and Portillo. Nathan had decreed that the consul should be present, partly because they were guests in his house but mostly because he thought it ridiculous that he had not been told the full circumstances of the incident involving Captain Kerr when the
Unicorn
had last put into the Havana. But he could not help feeling that the seating arrangement could have been better contrived. Save that the lieutenant's sword was not placed upon the table, it might have been a court martial.

He was an odd-looking individual, Nathan thought. Short and stocky with a round, bullet head that emerged from his tight collar without the apparent aid of a neck. He had passed for lieutenant in ‘82—ten years before Nathan—at the end of the American War and had served with the East India Company during the years of peace. He was probably in his early thirties but he looked older. He had arrived at the consul's house with a certain air of authority—or at least truculence—and at first sight Nathan had taken him for a bully, full of bluster and the sense of his own importance. He was exactly the kind of naval officer Nathan most disliked—at least in appearance and manner—but he warned himself against early prejudice; he was obliged to work with this man—and depend upon him—for months, even years to come.

Pym was still staring at Nathan's commission and the silence had become embarrassing.

“I very much regret the circumstances of my appointment,” Nathan assured him, “and you may consider it premature—but it was his Lordship's decision and I am persuaded we must learn to live with it.”

He was already become pompous, he reflected, and had not been wearing the uniform more than an hour. “You have brought the logs?”

“I have.” Pym laid them upon the table one by one. “I have here the ship's log which is kept by the master, Mr. Baker, my own journal—and Captain Kerr's up to the time of the incident off Ship Island.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, but for the moment, let us have your verbal report.”

“I scarce know how to begin,” Pym replied.

“Ship Island would seem to be as good a place as any. I gather that is where the incident occurred.”

A nerve twitched at the corner of the lieutenant's mouth, or it may have been an effort at another unhappy smile. He had been told of the body found in the mouth of the Rigolets.

“Ship Island,” he repeated distantly. “Yes. Where to begin?” he said again.

“Perhaps by describing it to us.”

Pym nodded. He was dripping with sweat. “It is one of several islands that separate the Gulf from Mississippi Sound—and the most important. Larger vessels cannot proceed directly to New Orleans, the water being too shallow close to shore. They are obliged to anchor off Ship Island or further out in the Sound and transfer their cargoes to smaller vessels for transport through the Rigolets.” He glanced from Nathan to Imlay to make sure they had understood this and the implication. Neither gave him the slightest indication that they had and after a moment he added: “It is a natural target for a cruiser intent on preying upon allied commerce.”

Nathan waited patiently.

“So the ship was cleared for action and the guns run out. There was a slight breeze but it scarce ruffled the surface of the water and we were under full press of sail.”

Pym's expression was remote, as if he was transported back there. The ticking of the clock was like a distant echo of the drum, beating to quarters.

“The anchorage was empty. But the
Virginie
had been there. Five days before. Or so we were informed.” His eyes focused on Nathan's again. “There was an official on the island, a Don. He told us the French had come ashore to water and provision. He was not in a position to refuse them, he said. Then she left, heading south.

“We were about to follow when a boat arrived from the mainland with a Spanish officer and some soldiers. The officer spoke to Captain Kerr in private. Then the captain ordered that the cutter be
prepared for a journey to New Orleans by way of the Rigolets.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, sir, he did not.” A small silence. The lieutenant flushed. Perhaps he interpreted the silence as a criticism of his commanding officer. “Doubtless he would have, had he … had he the opportunity. But it was at this point that … that the incident arose.”

He paused to wipe his brow. Nathan saw his swift glance towards Portillo. He does not like him being here, he thought. He wondered if he should have spoken to Pym in private but then he thought, No, damn it, he would not be party to a prejudice because the man had a Spanish name—and was a Jew.

“You may speak freely, Lieutenant,” he pressed him.

“I beg pardon, sir, only I am trying to remember the exact sequence of events. The cutter was alongside. It was provided with food and water and one of the carronades was secured in the bows.”

“Did you not find this surprising?”

“It was not for me to question a direct order,” the lieutenant replied stiffly. “And doubtless, as I have said, it would have been explained in due course. But then … it all happened so quickly, I scarce … I was up forward—there was a problem among the forecastle men. I think now it might have been contrived as a diversion but there was a sudden rush of men to the quarterdeck. It took us all by surprise. I ran back and I saw they were holding the captain—with a pistol to his head.”

“They?”

“Some members of the crew.”

Well of course some members of the crew, Nathan cursed him silently, who else would they have been? “How many?”

“The quarterdeck was crowded and there was a great deal of shouting and confusion. But—we now know they were twenty-two in number.”

“And were they armed?”

“They were. We had beaten to quarters, d'you see, and small arms issued as a precaution—that is, of finding the
Virginie
in the anchorage.”

“And then what happened?”

“ Well, the captain … Captain Kerr ordered me to do as they said.”

“Which was?”

“To make off in the cutter. It was difficult to know what else we were to do.”

“That's all right, Lieutenant. This is not a Court of Inquiry.”

Pym did not appear reassured. “I said they must first let the captain go, but of course they would not do that. They said they would put him ashore. I never thought, not for a moment, that they would … do what they did.”

“So they made off in the cutter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Towards the Rigolets.”

Pym nodded. “We could not fire into them, when they had the captain. And they said if we tried to follow them—I mean, we could not follow in the frigate because the water was too shallow but if we tried to follow in any of the other boats, they would blow his brains out.”