THIRTEEN
At the first sight of land, Jack’s heart pulsed like that of a suitor in the presence of a beautiful woman, intoxicated by the sweep of the cliffs and the pounding of the surf on England’s shore. Coming home, the return made sweeter with the knowledge that Maddie was waiting for him. That a battle plan would be put into place, that the Royal Navy would wipe out their French foes in a grand attack led by a captain of questionable morals but superior skill. The end of Napoleon Bonaparte was drawing ever closer. The need to be separated from Maddie was nearing an end.
“Will she remember me, do you think?” Jack asked his Flag-Captain.
“I expect so, my lord,” Captain Thomas said. “You are not changed these two years.”
The process of paying out and then transferring the crew at the end of the cruise had never before dragged on into the early afternoon. Jack paced the deck, excited at the prospect of speaking to his daughter after two years of nothing more than single-paged compositions. There was no getting around the delay, however. A man discharged from a ship would run off, particularly if he had been pressed into service. Hundreds of men and boys had to be moved from the Intrepid to another ship and not have the chance to touch dry ground.
To spend his time efficiently, Jack composed little speeches that he would deliver to Maddie, to commend her brilliant accomplishments but not swell her head. She would know that he was proud of her, but expected her to maintain high standards and continue her mission with a single-minded pursuit. He almost could not believe the reports from Lawrence, from Madame LaSalle, from Lady Jane, every one lauding her desire to improve. To think that his daughter was becoming the focus of female jealousy in the upper echelons of London society, that she would set the pace, represent the pinnacle, was nearly incomprehensible when he looked back on the wild creature he had dragged out of the swamps of South Carolina. Why not give in to Lady Jane’s pleadings that he loosen the strictures on Maddie’s social life? What harm, indeed, it was all to Lucy’s benefit to be allied with Maddie in the quest for a suitable husband.
For his part, Lawrence was grateful for the interest that Maddie had taken in her cousin’s future. The girl was skilled at ferreting out a gentleman’s intentions, of collecting gossip about a gentleman’s habits and offering advice as to suitability or worth of a particular swain. Why not reward her with the fripperies and foolishness of a presentation at court, of coming out in grand style? Was he not tasked with molding a complete woman, and did that not include the social niceties as well as scholarly pursuits? Two full seasons in London would bring her more pleasure than she would ever again experience, and he could not deny her a single minute of the limited time in which men danced to her tune.
The ground rolled under his feet in a familiar rhythm, the sailor’s gait that separated the landsmen from those newly disembarked. His first task was to send for Maddie, to come with all haste because every minute they were apart was a minute wasted. With his sea chest sent ahead to the inn he favored, Jack reconnoitered the coffee houses where sea captains gathered. He needed information out of the Mediterranean station, any news at all about the American fleet. Not a word from Stephen after the gentleman sent a cryptic message through the Admiralty advising Admiral Lord Bransmore of a change in the wind, further information to follow, but who could say what the young man was suggesting?
The Intrepid had lingered for three days off Gibraltar, but the American vessels kept their distance out of fear of impressment. Even Jack’s contacts among Stephen’s commanding officers were growing cool towards the British navy. All he had managed to squeeze out of one lieutenant commander was a report on the debacle of the bomb ship that Stephen had not been aboard because he was commanding a gunboat near Malta at the time. A despatch boat brought him an unsigned, enigmatic note that mentioned Captain Preble but not Stephen. Since then, nothing was known, or nothing that would be shared with a British admiral.
Not one to put all his trust in Divine Providence, Jack drifted into a coffee house and found a seat among a group of colleagues who were complaining about the shortage of qualified seamen. Half-listening, he found his mind wandering to the last few letters Maddie had sent. Her tone had changed, he was now certain. The giddy descriptions of balls, fetes and esteemed guests had given way to shadows and dark moods, the gloom increasing as the silence from Stephen extended into another month.
Determined to find out something, he moved on, making inquiries of merchant masters and captains alike. In fragments the story came to him, disjointed and without clarity. All agreed that the Americans had been active in the Bay of Tunis, that a mission had been accomplished but at what cost no one could say. There was a strong indication that the American sailors who had been kidnapped the year before had been released, that a deal had been struck by the Bey and President Jefferson. The picture that Jack painted in his mind was ugly, the only possible outcome. Stephen was a prolific correspondent, firing off letters to his stepfather with regularity. How was Jack to prepare Maddie for the news that was surely coming?
The widow who operated the small inn was not to be found in her quarters, an odd circumstance when she must have known that Jack was on his way. Taking matters into his own hands, he climbed the stairs and walked along a darkened hall, the route familiar in spite of infrequent use. He turned a corner and found that the door to his usual room was ajar, awaiting only the slightest touch of his hand to spring open and reveal a soft bed, clean sheets and a freshly poured mug of ale.
Steps away, he became aware that the room was occupied and whoever had invaded his sanctuary was causing a tremendous commotion. A great wailing rose in volume, rumbled out of the doorway and echoed like a broadside in the hallway. Through the crack he could see his landlady kneeling next to a chair. Pushing the door open a little, he saw that a young woman was seated there, her hands clasped in those of the landlady. Their sobs could have melted the hardest of hearts, so distraught were the females.
“Your lordship, at last,” Mrs. Carmody said. She sprang to her feet and dragged Jack into the room, as if he were a knight come to rescue the fair damsel.
Like a frightened sparrow, the young woman flew out of her chair and threw herself into Jack’s arms, clinging to him with a force that was frightening. Her words were muffled against his coat, her voice strangled with hysteria, but she seemed to say something about father, praise God, and help.
Before the words were fully absorbed, Jack was assaulted by an overwhelming sensation. At once confused, aware, and terrified, he took note of her scent, her height and the shape of her back under his hands. Over the girl’s shoulder he spotted a familiar though tear-stained face, the French maid what was her name, and he had to disentangle himself. How could he not have known it was her? Surely it was her, but so tall, so prettily formed, was it possible?
Holding Maddie at arm’s length, he examined a person who was, in truth, a complete stranger. She was not the child he left behind. She was someone else, a true beauty in spite of her red, swollen eyes and pale cheeks. He pulled her back into his embrace, to dull the pain she was feeling, and he noticed at once that she was taller than her mother, a bit taller than the average female. Would he dare say she was prettier than Sarah at that age? The girl’s auburn hair was dressed in a most becoming style, twined with green ribbons amid piles of curls that accentuated the slim line of her graceful neck.
“My dear, you could set the sails of my fleet alight with the fire in your eyes,” he said.
“They mean,” Maddie gasped between sobs, “hang.”
“Who, my precious?” Jack asked. Maddie clung to him tighter. “Who has upset you? I shall correct this at once if you will only tell me who has upset you.”
“Terrible doings, your lordship,” Mrs. Carmody babbled, and she began to wail anew. The maid choked out a string of words in her native tongue, leaving Jack’s question unanswered.
The man of action, accustomed to his orders being carried out immediately, reached the l
imit of his patience. “God in heaven, is there no one who can speak a coherent sentence?” His outburst triggered another storm.
“Desertion,” Maddie’s only intelligible word.
“Court-martial,” Mrs. Carmody said.
With horror, Jack considered the possibility that his daughter’s frolics among the young bucks at Alcock’s might have yielded a most unwelcome outcome. She very well might have become enamored of a navy man, one of the many incompetent fools who would use her connections for advancement or salvation from disgrace. Let such a cad hang, then, for attempting to worm his way into Maddie’s tender heart with the worst of intentions. A scoundrel who lacked the decency to court a young lady through proper means was deserving of death. Jack would put the noose around such a despicable neck with the greatest of pleasure.
“If a man has deserted,” he said, but Maddie cut him off with a hiccupped “Ste-ste-ste” before she fell back into the chair.
As if ten horses were stampeding down the hall, a tremendous ruckus shattered any hope of a restoration of calm reason. The former sailor who had become the head groom of Farthingmill Abbey’s stud charged into the room in a blaze of mad energy, his face flushed, a look of mutiny in his eye. A pistol was tucked into the waistband of his trousers.
“There’s no time to lose, Sophie, we leave at once,” Nipper barked. He paused when he caught sight of Jack. “Will you join us, sir, or are we enemies in this cause?”
A loud boom rattled the windows of the crowded sitting room, a sudden noise that elicited screams from the women and a panicked curse from Nipper. “The signal for a court-martial?” Jack asked but he well knew the answer.
“They won’t succeed, sir,” Nipper said. Turning to Maddie, he added, “Not if we spring into action without hesitation.”
“God’s death, man, what is this madness?” Jack bellowed.
“Don’t let him hang,” Maddie said.
“I’ll give up my life before I’ll let them hang Stephen Beauchamp,” Nipper said.
Drowning in the rising panic that filled the room, Jack took hold of Nipper’s lapels and gave the man a hard shake. “Explain,” he said.
“Mr. Stephen was brought here in chains,” Nipper said.
“The letter,” Maddie said.
“Aye, he sent a letter asking for help and we came,” Nipper said. “Charged with desertion and striking an officer, capital offenses as you know, sir. Along with a claim of being in receipt of stolen property. Insubordination.”
“This makes no sense,” Jack said.
“They mean to make an example of him, but we’ll not stand by,” Nipper said. “There are men on the docks who are ready for action. Mr. Beauchamp will be on a home-bound ship before this day is over, and if I’m to go to the devil I’ll take more than a few lobsterbacks with me.”
“Preposterous,” Jack said. “You, Nipper, will remain here so that you can prepare the carriage for our immediate departure. And you there, pack Miss Ashford’s effects. My apologies, Mrs. Carmody, but circumstances dictate that I must leave. Hat and gloves, Madeleine, hurry.”
The girl jumped out of her chair at once and disappeared into the bedroom. When she did not return, Jack went after her, only to find her rifling through a trunk while her maid tore through the compartments of an armoire. “The yellow gloves, Sophie,” Maddie said. “I must have the yellow gloves.”
Jack snatched up a pair of kid gloves that had been tossed onto the floor and pressed them into Maddie’s hand, pulling her to her feet at the same time. He saw a hat on the bed and he dumped it on her head, catching a glimpse of someone he once knew. Who was this creature? Not the Madeleine who never much cared if her clothes were clean, let alone fashionable. Before Sophie had the bonnet tied, Jack dragged Maddie out the door and down the stairs at a run.
He lost himself in a string of invectives, spewing curses at every stick figure he invented to take the blame for arresting an American officer who could not possibly have been on anything other than an American vessel. One of the captains he had interviewed that morning had heard from someone who knew an American captain who was well-acquainted with Lt. Beauchamp that the young gentleman was desirous of calling on his sister. Rather than discounting the report as an empty phrase of brotherly love, Jack understood that Stephen had left his post in the Mediterranean for a specific reason, and that reason had little to do with a social call. In a flash, the note regarding Captain Preble translated itself, and a golden opportunity to shorten the war disappeared like a snuffed flame.
His normal stride was curtailed by Maddie’s constant tugging on his arm as she held on but could not keep up. More than once, Jack had to pause while his daughter dropped a coin into the hands of a begging sailor, the armless and legless masses who were left to fend for themselves. Their gratitude to Miss Maddie was unnerving, and Jack could not but wonder if these broken down hulks were part of Nipper’s army, men trained to fight and ready to take a stand in exchange for payment. A distraction, a riot, anything could be put in motion on a signal unknown to the Admiral. Such poorly planned maneuvers would most likely result in Stephen’s death, along with the demise of countless innocent by-standers. The thought of what could be drove Jack to pick up the pace.
“Will you stop them, father?” Maddie asked, breathless and winded.
Startled out of his pondering, Jack slowed his step. “Of course I shall stop them, my dear. Or shall I draw my sword and cut my way through, with Nipper’s band at my side?”
“If blood must flow, then let it be British blood,” Maddie said. “Let them dare to touch a hair on my brother’s head and I shall define marksmanship for them.”
Jack stopped in his tracks. “No blood will spill, Grace O’Malley,” he said, recalling how she once loved to hear tales of Ireland’s pirate queen. “Compose yourself. Dry your eyes, there’s a good girl. You’ve grown quite remarkably pretty. You will distract every man in the cabin with a sweet smile and Stephen shall be able to walk out without anyone noticing.”
“Let them look until they go blind and may the devil take them for what they have done to my brother,” she said. Her tears mingled with a brewing rage, a tumult of emotions that set her to trembling. “How dare they deny me access, to bring him clean linen? By what right am I not permitted to visit him?”
To lend the desired appearance of idle curiosity, Jack created a scene as artificial as any theatrical set. “Be a good girl and wipe your nose. Breathe in. Exhale. Deep breaths. You are calm, we are promenading, is that clear?” he ordered before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and sauntering up the gangplank of the demasted hulk that served as a prison ship. He nodded to the guard at the door of the former captain’s cabin and guided Maddie into the dim space as if he were on an excursion.
Without showing his interest, he managed to take in the faces and ranks of those present. Stephen caught his eye, read the Admiral’s frown, and turned his head back to the trio of captains who sat in judgment. “A chair for Miss Ashford,” the oldest captain said. He called for a recess amid a great scraping of chairs as gentlemen rose out of deference to the Admiral’s daughter. In the time it took to assure Miss Ashford’s comfort, Jack analyzed the lieutenant who was giving evidence against Stephen and determined that the gentleman’s captain was quite concerned with the sudden appearance of Lord Bransmore. Following that man’s eyes brought Jack’s attention to a ceremonial sword that was resting on the judge’s table. It took all of his fortitude to keep from smiling. He was going to enjoy this.
“I have heard that the Americans are borrowing ships from the King of Naples.” Jack made small talk with the second captain before the trial resumed. “Which they turn over to very young lieutenants to command. Would you say they are daring, sir, or do you find it foolhardy?”
“In truth, your lordship, if they wished to re-rig and borrow this ship to fight against France, I would not care if a cabin boy were made commander.” The captain lowered his voice. “I’ve had America
n gunners on my ship, and they surpassed half of their British colleagues in accuracy and speed. Would that we could overthrow that Francophile president of theirs and return them to the fold.”
“I agree thoroughly,” Jack said. “Please, carry on as if we were not here. My daughter is curious about all aspects of my life and I admit to being an indulgent father.”
The lieutenant picked up the thread of his testimony, but he was clearly preening for Maddie’s benefit as he pointed at Stephen, weighed down by heavy shackles, and accused the gentleman of mutiny. Although Stephen grew red in the face from holding his temper in check, he comported himself with dignity and waited for his stepfather to lead the defense. Preble’s note cropped up in Jack’s thoughts and he fought the urge to explode. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and leaned slightly forward, hovering over Maddie’s shoulder. “Steady,” he mumbled to her.
“We have heard from the purser of the HMS Jupiter that he recalls your name, an unusual name on a British ship, to be sure. He has stated without question that you were listed on the muster roll of the HMS Horizon in 1790,” the senior judge said. “Do you continue to deny this?”
“I served on my father’s plantation in South Carolina at that time, sir,” Stephen said, his drawl more pronounced than usual. “Or as much as an eight-year-old boy might serve.”
“Lt. Beauchamp, we have found your name listed on the muster roll of the Indomitable in 1791 and 1792,” the judge said. He must also have known that Lord Bransmore had been the commodore of the fleet that included those ships, because he cast a glance at Jack. The look that was returned was culled from the past, when Black Jack Ashford terrorized the seas and every man who sailed under him.
Through a fog of anger, Jack felt Maddie tug at his sleeve. “How can that be, father?” she whispered.
“Because I put his name there,” Jack hissed through clenched teeth.
All the well-connected naval families did the same. They wanted to accumulate sea time for their favored sons, which was the only way to build seniority so that they had a leg up when they did set sail as midshipmen. Sarah got wind of it from the Powells and promptly fired off a scathing letter to Jack. Her arguments against the practice, so well put in writing, were coming true in precisely the way she had most feared. Born only a month before the Treaty of Paris ended hostilities with the colonists, Stephen was considered a British subject by the Crown. Jack ignored that fact, choosing to believe that Stephen would sign on with the King’s navy one day and thereby reap the benefits that Jack’s foresight provided. Instead, the young man was chained like a common criminal, with the shadow of the noose over his head.
“I would suggest, sir,” Stephen said in a tone that Jack did not like, “that you consider the British habit of kidnapping American sailors under an absurd pretense. Why would such a government hesitate to falsify documents to suit some other nefarious purpose?”
The senior captain pounded the table in anger. “Do you deny the evidence?”
“I did not, at any time, serve on any vessel in the service of your king,” Stephen said.
“You dare to claim that these records, which are meticulously kept, I assure you,” the third captain said. “Are you saying these are forgeries? Are you accusing these gentlemen of lying?”
Stephen shrugged and the chains rattled. Maddie shifted in her chair, as if she were about to rise, and Jack put a hand on her shoulder. The lieutenant who was leading the prosecution, sensing a lull, launched into histrionics on the discovery of unquestionable proof of nationality, the ceremonial sword. Jack had heard enough. “Call a recess, if you will,” he said in a voice so loud it echoed off the beams. “Clear this cabin, excepting the officers who leveled these charges. And the armorer will remove the shackles.”
Waiting impatiently for his orders to be carried out, Jack held Maddie’s hand to reassure her that all would be well. Once Stephen was free, the Admiral walked with heavy steps full of purpose to the front of the cabin, where he picked up the offending sword and took note of a missing jewel from the handle. “The emerald,” he said to Stephen. “Taken by whom?”
As if the air had rushed out of the room and no one could breathe, the cabin fell into an uncomfortable silence. “I can assure you, my lord, that neither I nor my men handled the sword in any way beyond confiscating it and locking it in the captain’s quarters,” the lieutenant said.
“That was my doing, sir, and only due to dire circumstances,” Stephen said.
“It would appear that you contested your arrest,” Jack said.
Stephen gingerly touched the swelling under his eye and ran his dirty fingers along a faded bruise on his jaw. “Not the first time I’ve been in a scrap and not the last,” he said. “And look at you, baby girl, all grown up. How many hearts did you break this week alone, I wonder.”
“The gentleman did brandish the sword and threaten the life of the lieutenant,” the ship’s captain said.
“Indeed, my lord, he held the blade to my neck,” the lieutenant protested.
“I can assure you, sir, that if my stepson wanted you dead, you would not now be standing here waiting to be cashiered,” Jack said. Aware that Maddie was losing her ability to hold her seat, he waved her over to her brother, glad of a distraction when he needed to assess the situation before him. Out of habit, he paced, ducking his his head to avoid the low-hanging beams. His wanderings brought him face to face with the incompetent fool who had created the disaster. “While I will not ask you what prompted you to attempt to impress an officer, I would like to know why this gentleman aroused your suspicions.”
“I determined that the sword he carried was of English manufacture,” the lieutenant said. “His name is etched on the blade. As a matter of course, I asked if he had served in the Royal Navy. As it happened, my lord, the purser recognized the name and the gentleman denied the fact.”
“Well done,” Jack said. “Did the engraving elicit any alarm? Did you ask him the significance of the date which is also etched there?”
“No, my lord, I did not read further after determining his name.”
“Pity, is it not, Stephen?” Jack circled the hapless lieutenant, taking pleasure in making him squirm. The officer could not be cashiered, not when his silence had to be bought. In which case, he would have to endure a humiliation. “For then you would have discovered that I presented this very sword to Lt. Beauchamp on the fifth of May, 1800, a date of importance to us but of no significance to you.”
“I fear that my message to you is of no further significance, either,” Stephen said. He rubbed at his abrasions on his wrists where the manacles had rubbed his skin raw. “With Captain Preble’s compliments, I was to contact you on a particular matter.”
“Regarding the rumors I picked up, I suspect,” Jack said. Intelligence reports claimed that the French were encouraging the Barbary pirates to prey on merchant ships bound for England, to retaliate against British blockades. The victims were largely American vessels, without a navy to provide an escort. In spite of President Jefferson’s support of France, the needs of the merchant masters dictated a different, and covert, approach by certain members of the United States Navy. The chance to forge any sort of alliance that would benefit England was fading as rapidly as daylight at sunset.
“We are outside of official channels in this?” Jack asked.
“An end to impressment to soothe hurt feelings should an agreement be revealed,” Stephen said.
“We are not here. Reports of a court-martial are incorrect. A need for sailors in the East Indies does, however, persist, should any of you wish to investigate the matter first-hand.” Amid a great noise of paper being torn to bits and judges hurriedly taking their leave while a deflated lieutenant and his captain disappeared before the Admiral’s display of leniency could be altered, Jack offered Maddie his hand. “No hanging, my sweet. Shall we go, and let Stephen have his visit with his dear sister?”
With his sword restored to his side, St
ephen strode out of the cabin and stomped across the deck before taking the gangplank in three steps. “I shall lodge a complaint with the American minister. This is an outrage. I should contact Ethan and demand that he shut down his consortium, and let your shipyards go begging to France for spars and lumber.”
England was desperately in need of spars and lumber, rope and canvas, and the countless other items required to provision new ships of the line. A massive attack against France was called for, and without materiel to build a navy to launch that attack, it was clear that the war would go on until the allies were punch drunk and exhausted. Word of Stephen’s abuse would be enough to upend the entire operation.
“Please, Father, make Stephen stay for at least a short time,” Maddie said. “He needs to recuperate, can you not see he has been injured?”
“Splendid suggestion,” Jack said. Until diplomacy soothed whatever feelings might have been hurt, until the incident was papered over, he could not turn Stephen loose on the world. “A brief sojourn, my boy, until this has blown over.”
“But, sir, my command,” Stephen said. “My ship will not wait in perpetuity until you choose to release me. Where will I be if another lieutenant is put in my place?”
The tone of juvenile petulance rankled, considering what was at stake for the entire continent of Europe and the British Empire. “Is it not enough that the helping hand, once about to be extended, will be withdrawn?” Jack asked. “Is it not more distressing that your President worships at Bonaparte’s altar, with the same blind reverence he once held for Robespierre? A brief leave is not going to end your career.”
An opportunity had been squandered but many opportunities were often lost in the smoke of battle. Stephen would have to be made to suffer a minor inconvenience so that covert attempts to disregard official government policy could evaporate like early morning fog, so that an American commander might consider a second attempt. Better for all that Stephen be brought to London, where his movements could be controlled. An impetuous and ambitious gentleman would not hesitate to flee if given the chance. Jack did not intend for him to have that chance.
The Second War of Rebellion Page 18