The Continental Risque

by James Nelson

  That worrisome fact aside, Biddlecomb could tell in one glance that they were seamen. Seaman had a quality that no landsman could imitate. They had a way of looking about the ship, assessing it rather than staring in wonder, a way of standing, a certain angle at which they wore their hats, that indicated better than any credentials to which they laid claim that these men were at home on shipboard. Of that at least he was thankful.

  ‘Welcome aboard the Charlemagne. I am Captain Biddlecomb, this is First Lieutenant Tottenhill, Second Lieutenant Rumstick, Lieutenant of Marines Faircloth, and Midshipman Weatherspoon and Mr Sprout, the bosun. The rest of the ships’ company you’ll meet in time. Get your dunnage and Mr Sprout will show you where you mess and swing your hammocks.’

  Mr Sprout led them below. They seemed to have previous little dunnage, as far as Biddlecomb could see.

  ‘They seem a bit ragged, but I have no doubt they’ll do fine,’ Biddlecomb said as the last of them disappeared below. ‘I am grateful to you, Mr Tottenhill, for bringing these men.’

  ‘It was no great trouble, sir. The people of North Carolina are most disposed to protecting our liberties, you see. We’ve always been an independent people. In the last war—’

  ‘Sir? Captain Biddlecomb? Beg pardon?’ a voice from the quarterdeck steps interrupted Tottenhill’s speech. It was one of the North Carolina men. ‘Sir, I wanted to thank you, on behalf of the men, for giving us this chance to serve.’

  Biddlecomb considered the man addressing him. He was of average height, tending toward being overweight, with long brown hair bound in a queue, the way men wore it who had been long at sea. His expression revealed nothing, he might have been asleep for all one could see in his face, but his narrow, darting eyes seemed far more disingenuous than his tone of voice, and it put Biddlecomb immediately on his guard.

  ‘You’re welcome …’

  ‘Hackett. Hackett, sir, pleased to make your acquaintance. And, if I may be so bold, sir, the men have come a long way, and we’re none of us too well off. I … well … I was elected by the North Carolina men to speak for them, sir, and ask, could we get some issues of slops, sir? Clothes, and a bit of tobacco, if we could? And we figured the men aboard has had their tot today, and of course we haven’t …’

  ‘Elected?’ Faircloth said to Biddlecomb. ‘Quite a republican notion, I should say.’

  ‘Indeed. However, there is no room for republican notions aboard this ship, Lt Faircloth,’ Biddlecomb replied. ‘We are a perfect tyranny here, and I the tyrant. Listen here, Hackett,’ he said in a louder tone, addressing the sailor before him. ‘You men shall be issued proper clothes before we sail, have no doubt. But understand this: I do not much care for elections and spokesmen and discussions of shipboard operations, is that clear? Do not ever let me hear of you voting for this and that. This is no democracy. You follow orders on this ship and that is final.’

  ‘But, sir, I only—’

  ‘Hackett, for your own sake I suggest you shut your gob and go forward. Understood?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ Hackett’s expression revealed nothing: no anger, no humiliation. With no more than a flash of his eyes, he was gone, forward and below.

  ‘Really, sir, perhaps you were a bit harsh with him,’ Tottenhill began. ‘My men have come a long way to volunteer, and they deserve some consideration.’

  ‘Lieutenant, that man is a sea lawyer, through and through,’ Biddlecomb replied. ‘I can spot the breed a mile distant. He wasn’t asking out of concern for his fellows, he was poking around the quarterdeck, looking for the soft spots, and he didn’t waste much time, did he? With that type you cannot give them an inch, I assure you. No one knows better than me what damage a few well-placed words can do.’

  ‘“I have great comfort from this fellow,”’ Faircloth said, nodding toward the hatch down which Hackett had disappeared. ‘“Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows.” ’

  ‘The Tempest. Well said, Mr Faircloth,’ said Biddlecomb, genuinely pleased to discover someone aboard with whom he shared an interest. ‘Gentlemen, shall we go below again? I believe there is still a bottle of Madeira that has yet to suffer shipwreck.’

  They sat down at the table again, taking their former seats, but it was different now. Rumstick was sullen and angry, as he had been before, but now Tottenhill was as well. Biddlecomb filled glasses all around, exchanging pleasantries with Faircloth, talk of theaters and books, while Weatherspoon looked on, oblivious, and the two lieutenants sulked. Apparently Tottenhill was not happy with Biddlecomb’s treatment of Hackett. Apparently he took it as a personal affront. And that was too damned bad.

  He had better get over that, Biddlecomb thought, or he’ll see what trouble really looks like.

  CHAPTER 7

  Government House

  John Brown, president of His Majesty’s Council, Bahamas, sat on the wide second-story veranda of Government House, sipping a rum punch and waiting for the house’s occupant to say something. Anything. This silence was a great irritant to him, as if the governor were so occupied with weighty matters that he could not, for the moment, speak. Brown knew for a fact that the most pressing matter on the governor’s mind was the digestion of his breakfast in preparation for dinner.

  The royal governor of the Bahamas, Montfort Browne (the similarity of their surnames was yet another source of irritation, and quite often confusion), was bent at the waist, as best he could, peering through a brilliantly polished brass telescope mounted on the equally brilliant legs of a tripod.

  Spread out below the two men was the town of Nassau, cut into squares by the cobblestone streets, which were covered with a fine layer of dust. Each square was cluttered with pretty houses built of gray bricks cut from coral and accented with brilliantly painted wood shutters.

  Government House, situated as it was on Mount Fitzwilliam, gave them a commanding view of the town and Hog Island beyond, separated from the island of New Providence by a strip of water that constituted the harbor at Nassau. To the west, beyond the far tip of Hog Island, the Atlantic Ocean stretched away, the light aqua-green color of the shallow water melding into the deep blue of the open sea.

  ‘This fellow who is here to see me, who is he, again?’ Governor Browne asked, never taking his eye from the telescope’s eyepiece.

  Brown sighed with exasperation, but quietly, so as not to be heard, and said, ‘He is Capt. Andrew Law, an army officer, though I do not know of what regiment.’

  ‘Well, Babbidge,’ the Governor said to his secretary, the half-pay lieutenant James Babbidge, who sat a respectful distance away, ‘you’re the army fellow here. What regiment is he with?’

  ‘It would appear, Your Honor’ – Babbidge always called the governor ‘Your Honor’ in the company of others – ‘he is of a light company, the King’s Own Regiment of Foot, the Fourth, I do believe.’

  ‘King’s Own, eh? Another one of Gage’s men?’

  ‘Howe, sir,’ Babbidge corrected the governor, no doubt aware that Brown would not do so again. ‘General Howe is in command in North America now.’

  ‘Howe, right. Six of one …’ Governor Browne lapsed back into silence, shifting the telescope to the east. In the harbor directly in front of Government House, swinging from a mooring, was His Majesty’s schooner St John, the island’s only representative of the Royal Navy. Even without a telescope Brown could see that she looked tired, her rigging slack, her paint dull and rubbed off in spots, her spars possessed of a generally sagging quality. She gave the impression that she was ready at any moment to roll over and take a nap, and she did not inspire the confidence and awe that so often accompanied the ships of the greatest navy on earth.

  Brown pulled his eyes from the harbor and looked instead at the governor, a boundless source of amusement to him. From the side the governor’s midriff was shaped exactly like a half of an egg, and Brown marveled that his breeches, now stretched to the utmost of the fabric’s limits, did not carry away entirely.


  But the governor did not have the flabby, lethargic quality of a fat man; Brown often wished the governor were more lethargic by half. He was over six feet in height and carried his weight well, and the extra five stone did not seem to slow him in the least.

  The governor straightened and reached out a hand for his coat, which Babbidge obediently handed him, shaking it to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles. The governor struggled into the garment and adjusted the stiff wig on his head, all the time looking down at Fort Nassau, the odd-shaped, many-sided, sprawling fortification that sat perched on the shore, four hundred yards away.

  ‘Damned stupid place for a fort,’ he said. ‘Damned stupid. Anyone who captured Government House could make the place untenable. A couple of big guns up here and you could enfilade the place. Enfilade it.’ Governor Browne had reached this fairly obvious conclusion the week before and had not yet tired of mentioning it. ‘Well, show the captain in, Babbidge.’

  Babbidge disappeared through the open door and reappeared a moment later, stepping to one side and saying, ‘Capt. Andrew Law,’ and then, ‘Captain Law, the Royal Governor Montfort Browne, and Mr John Brown, President of His Majesty’s Council.’

  After handshakes and how-do-you-dos were exchanged all around, and Babbidge was dispatched for a cup of rum punch for the captain, the three men sat and the governor said, ‘What can we do for you, Captain? We’ve no troops here, you know, the Fourteenth Regiment of Foot was withdrawn last autumn, packed off to Boston.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I am aware of that.’ Law was what one might call swarthy: dark hair and eyes, skin either naturally dark or much weathered, it was difficult to tell, and his tone and features revealed nothing of the man. He seemed to Brown to be much practiced in making himself an enigma, and the president of His Majesty’s Council guessed that the governor would find him a bit disconcerting.

  ‘I have come to make you aware of certain intelligence concerning the rebellious element in North America,’ Law continued. ‘There is a fleet fitted out and attempting to get to sea, in fact they may already be out, and it is believed, on good authority, that their destination is New Providence. As you say, the Fourteenth Foot was removed, and it is no secret that there are no regular troops on the island, just as it is no secret that there is a great quantity of military stores here, ripe for the taking.’

  Law took the cup of rum punch from Babbidge, who had returned to the veranda, and sipped it while the others absorbed this information. At last the governor spoke.

  ‘Bah! We’ve heard this before, rebels coming to attack. When was it, Brown, last June? When that infamous Linzie showed up here with his transports, ready to take all our powder and shot on Gage’s orders, leave us defenseless as babes. We sent him packing, sir, depend on it. So why should we believe you?’

  ‘Well, Governor,’ Law continued patiently, ‘we know that the rebels have had designs on this island for some time. In November of last year the Secret Committee of their Congress resolved to attempt something.’ Law held up his hand to ward off the governor’s protest. ‘Don’t ask me how I know this. In any event, they have not had the means to attempt anything. Until now.’

  The veranda was silent as the government men absorbed this intelligence. ‘What are you suggesting, sir?’ Governor Browne asked at last.

  ‘Nothing, Governor. I am suggesting nothing.’ Law stood up and walked to the edge of the veranda and leaned on it, letting his eyes rove over the enviable view. ‘Allow me, however, to mention some options. If you have faith in your militia, then you might consider resisting an attack. If not, you might hide your supplies in the interior of the island or charter one of those ships out there to take your military stores to some place safe. To Governor Toyn at St Augustine’s, perhaps. These, as I see it, are your options.’

  Governor Browne drew himself up to full height and looked at the assembled men. ‘We must evacuate the forts, send the stores to St Augustine. We shall round up all the militia, and whatever free negroes we can find. We must act at once.’

  Governor Browne was a man of great decisiveness, making up his mind and then changing it with staggering rapidity.

  President of His Majesty’s Council Brown, however, was more thoughtful, and he considered this decision, wondering whether or not he should change Browne’s mind for him. If the supplies were gone, then New Providence would be defenseless in the face of the rebels. But worse, much worse, he, President Brown, would be without any leverage, without any cards to play. That was why he had not allowed Linzie to take the supplies before. It had been his decision, the governor having been gone from the island when the captain arrived.

  ‘Indeed we must, Governor, but I beg you consider the other options the captain has suggested.’

  ‘Such as? Move the stores to the interior? Let some infernal tool of the rebels betray their whereabouts?’

  ‘No, that’s too much of a risk, I’ll warrant. Though it occurs to me that if the rebels come here and we are without guns and powder, then we must necessarily surrender without a fight. And if the rebels find we have frustrated their designs, then they could take their revenge on the town, and us with no way to defend ourselves. But of course you are in command of the militia, and therefore in the best position to know if they will follow your orders.’

  ‘That is a fact, I am in command of the militia.’ The governor paused and looked down at Fort Nassau. ‘The fort’s in abominable condition, the damned parapet might come crashing down if we fire more than one gun at a time. Montegu’s in good shape, however, but it’s damned small.’

  The governor frowned and stared down at Fort Nassau. Brown could almost hear the debate in the governor’s head. He was considering, no doubt, how it might look to the home government if he gave up the town without the slightest vestige of a defense.

  ‘Damn it all, we will not just roll over and give up this island to a bunch of damned rebels. I can just imagine what they’d say back home if we did that,’ the governor exploded. ‘We’ll keep our arms, sir, and if they come, we shall stand and fight!’

  ‘Very good, Governor,’ Captain Law said, his voice betraying no opinion of the governor’s decision. Brown studied Law’s face; nothing was given away, but Law had not missed a bit of what had transpired. Not that it mattered. The military supplies would remain on the island, and if the rebels came, then there would still be some options available, beyond immediate surrender.

  Brown felt the warm trade wind blow across the veranda, making the napkins flutter, then settle again. The same trade wind that would carry the Yankees south. And for President of His Majesty’s Council John Brown, it would carry more than just rebel ships, oh, yes. It would carry opportunity as well.

  CHAPTER 8

  Downriver

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Stanton said, raising his glass and preparing to give the same toast he had given three times already, phrased differently, to be certain, but substantially the same. The others at the table, Virginia, Rogers, Rumstick, and Biddlecomb, all raised their glasses high.

  ‘I give you the First American Fleet! Ten long years of blood and toil have been leading up to this moment, the moment when the United Colonies of America would put to sea their own mighty armada!’

  Biddlecomb raised his glass, clicking it against the others, toasting the five vessels tied up to Willing and Morris’ Wharf: two ships and three brigs, converted merchantmen all, save for the Charlemagne, and she much battered, which had now become a mighty armada.

  He caught Virginia’s eye and smiled broader still, and she smiled as well and winked. For a decade Virginia had been the only woman in Stanton House, and her father had long since given up any attempt to corral her into playing the lady; now she had her dessert and brandy with the men, and if she had lit up a pipe, Biddlecomb would have been only mildly surprised.

  The conversation flowed like the Delaware River, which was now all but free of ice, drifting to subjects other than the American Navy and the upcoming fleet action. That was ve
ry much to Biddlecomb’s liking; he was tired of the subject and loath to exchange this lovely city and fine company for the freezing terror of the Atlantic Ocean in the height of winter.

  It was nearly midnight when the party, the farewell party, came to a close. Stanton and Rumstick and Rogers, arms linked, staggered out of the sitting room, their usual bonhomie much augmented by wine and port. They stood in the foyer, exchanging loud good-nights and congratulations.

  ‘Captain Biddlecomb?’ Virginia said softly, her teasing smile playing across her lips. She stepped close to him, her long, delicate fingers smoothing the ruffle on his shirt. ‘I would not think it amiss if you were to come by my room, say at two bells in the middle watch, as you sailors put it. So I can say farewell.’ Her seductive tone could not hide the note of timidity in her voice. Then she turned and walked, fairly glided, out of the room.

  For the next hour Biddlecomb, in stocking feet, paced back and forth across the floor of his room. There was much for him to think about. In the morning he would be getting under way in command of a man-of-war in the first fleet of the American Navy, with an unknown first officer and a crew half-comprised of new recruits and jailbirds, bound away for the wintry Atlantic.

  But of course he was thinking of none of that, and even when he attempted to distract himself by forcing those other considerations to the forefront of his mind, they did not stay there for long. Rather, his mind was standing fast in Virginia’s bedroom, in Virginia’s bed, where, he hoped, he himself would soon follow.

  Through the window, which he had cracked open, it suddenly feeling very warm to him, Biddlecomb heard the sound of two bells ringing out from the men-of-war tied to the dock three blocks away. He stiffened and felt his stomach knot up, felt the telltale tingling on the bottom of his feet, the harbinger of some pending action.