The Continental Risque

by James Nelson

  What was more, Brown could see that a bloodless capitulation would take place in any event, even with no effort on his part. If the governor was allowed to run amok for another hour or so, then every man in the fort would desert. Then he, President of His Majesty’s Council John Brown, could on the one hand claim to have stood by the governor until the end and on the other take credit with the rebels for arranging the island’s surrender.

  He was distracted from these happy thoughts by the sound of men on the march. He looked toward the main gate of the fort, still open, and saw Babbidge leading forty or so militiamen, the troops from Government House, into Fort Nassau.

  Brown watched with a suppressed grin. They came in as an orderly band, stepping together, eyes front. But as they crossed the parade ground to the fire, Brown saw eyes roving around, heads turning, and he knew the thought that was in each head: ‘Where are the others?’ He was eager to see their reactions when they discovered that the sullen band, twenty men strong, huddled around the fire, were all the others there were.

  ‘Gentlemen, welcome,’ he said magnanimously as Babbidge brought the troops to a halt. ‘I am pleased to see that there are some on this island willing to fight for their King and their homes. Pray, stack your arms there.’

  The troops, still furtively searching the dark corners of the fort for the rest of the militia, stacked their muskets where President Brown indicated.

  ‘I think we had best send out a scouting party,’ the governor said. ‘Find out what those rascals are up to, so we can be better prepared to meet them. Any volunteers?’

  ‘Beg your pardon, Governor,’ said Alexander Frazer, lieutenant of militia, one of the men who had just marched from Government House, ‘but, is this all the men there are? There was better than three hundred men when we left to take our positions on the hill.’

  ‘Three hundred damned cowards, you mean. Not one had the backbone to stand and fight, save for the brave souls you see here. But that’s no matter. We few are more than enough to fight off any band of rebels.’

  John Brown turned his head away. Had he not, he would have laughed out loud at the looks of dismay that passed among the men newly joined to the defense of the fort. He did not think that they could look more shocked or unhappy if the governor had informed them that they were to be executed at dawn, which of course was the very thing that they were envisioning. It was once again time for him to be a hero.

  ‘Governor, I would like to volunteer for the scouting party. I’d be honored to ride out and meet these rebels and see what they’re about.’

  ‘Very bravely said, Mr President, and I accept your offer. But you can’t go alone. Who else will volunteer to go with Mr Brown?’

  Uneasy glances were exchanged among those men who were not staring at the ground in hopes of going unnoticed. ‘Here,’ said President Brown, ‘Lieutenant Frazer, you come with me.’

  ‘Well, sir, I …’ Frazer began.

  ‘Come along, play the man,’ said Brown. ‘I’ll see no harm comes to you.’ Brown stepped over to the stack of muskets and took his up, then slung his cartridge box over his shoulder. ‘Come on then.’

  Frazer scowled and shot a glance at his comrades in arms, hoping for some help from that quarter, and seeing that none was forthcoming, took up his own musket.

  ‘We shall return as quickly as we can, Governor, and bring you the intelligence you need,’ Brown said. ‘But if we are not back by an hour past sunrise, you must assume that we were taken or … that we were taken. Come along, Frazer.’

  With the reluctant lieutenant following behind, Brown marched to the front gate of Fort Nassau. He took up the reins of his horse, handed those of another to Frazer, and the two men sallied forth. The last thing they heard as the gate was closed behind them was Governor Browne’s cry of ‘God speed, John Brown!’

  They rode down Bay Street. To their left the rippled water of Nassau harbor glinted in the light of the moon and the tropical winter stars. To their right stood the stout, shuttered coral-brick houses of Nassau. The night was silent save for the birds and frogs and the regular clop clop clop of their horses’ hooves on the cobblestones.

  Brown pulled his horse to a stop at the head of Charlotte Street and heard Frazer behind him do likewise. He wheeled his horse around until he was facing the lieutenant.

  ‘Your house is just down the street there, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Frazer.

  ‘I’ll warrant you’d rather be there than riding out to meet the rebel army, am I right?’

  Frazer stared at him, searched his face in effort to see what game he was playing. ‘Sure I would, and my wife and three little ones defenseless in the face of these here enraged rebels. And my aged aunt as well.’

  Yet another aged aunt, Brown thought. ‘Well, listen here, Frazer. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let you go home right now and protect your family and your valuables from the enraged rebels in exchange for your word that if anyone ever asks you what happened on this morning, you say that you were captured by the rebels but managed to escape. I’ll leave it to you to fill in the details.’

  ‘Very well …’ said Frazer, clearly suspicious of so tempting an offer. ‘And why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because the governor seems determined to see that the rebels slaughter all the troops in the fort and sack the town, and I am determined to see that they do not. And if you need any further explanation, then I must insist that you accompany me to spy out the rebel forces.’

  ‘Oh, no, sir, if you say a thing must be done, Mr President, then I reckon you know best. You have my word that from this moment forward I was captured by the rebels and somehow escaped. I bid you good day, sir.’ With that the greatly relieved Lieutenant Frazer wheeled his horse around and charged off down Charlotte Street to the defense of his home and family.

  CHAPTER 23

  Dead Reckoning

  In the ten minutes that it took to row back to the Charlemagne, Lieutenant Rumstick put his fight with Tottenhill quite out of his mind. Even as Weatherspoon was binding up his wounded arm, his thoughts were entirely on the job before him.

  What he knew of the situation came from the midshipman, who was reporting what Isaac had said. And Isaac had emphasized that he was only guessing, based on scant evidence. His guess was that the Nassauvians had hurriedly emptied some merchantman and loaded it again with the island’s precious military stores. Where it was bound or if it had even left at all or if it was escorted, he had no way of knowing.

  Well, there is only one course of action, Rumstick thought as the launch pulled up alongside the Charlemagne. We slip the cable and go after them and pray to God they are there.

  He stood and grabbed on to the boarding steps just as the jolly boat, rowed by two of the launch’s crew with Tottenhill in the stern sheets, appeared out of the darkness to lie astern of the bigger boat.

  Rumstick glanced at the first officer. He was scowling, angry no doubt that Rumstick was going aboard first, which was not at all proper, but Rumstick could not care less. Indeed, it was not by accident that he had arrived first. He had commandeered the bigger boat for just that reason, so that he could issue orders before Tottenhill was aboard.

  He climbed quickly, despite the pain in his arm, and called, ‘Mr Sprout!’ as he stepped through the gangway.

  ‘Sir?’ Sprout approached, a worried look on his face. ‘Pray, sir, where is Mr Tot—’

  ‘Buoy the cable, boats, and slip it immediately,’ Rumstick ordered, and then addressing the brig’s company, he bellowed, ‘Hands aloft to loosen sail, all plain sail and stun’s’ls as well! Drummer, beat to quarters, clear for action! Go!’

  The ship’s company was already keyed up by the day’s activities, by the wild rumors floating around and the sound of clashing steel that had come across the water from the small island to which the first and second officers had gone. They paused for no more than half a second, during which they digested Rumstick’s orders, before they b
urst into action.

  The topmen flung themselves into the shrouds and disappeared aloft as Sprout ran forward, calling for his mates, and the gun crew began to throw off the tackles and pull the tampions from the muzzles. They worked handsomely and fast, and Rumstick was relieved to see that. He did not know these men well, and he had never gone into a fight with them. They were mostly new hands. All of the older Charlemagnes were ashore with Biddlecomb.

  All save for Woodberry, whose one hand was broken, along with a few fingers on the other hand and some nasty bruises on his face. He had obviously been in a fight, and Rumstick could even tell which men he had fought with, for they carried the marks of the punishment that Woodberry had doled out. But despite that evidence Woodberry stuck to the absurd claim that he had fallen down a ladder, and Rumstick knew that no more truthful story would be forthcoming.

  He stepped up to the quarterdeck, watching the tremendous activity set in motion by the two dozen or so words he had spoken, as Tottenhill clambered up through the gangway and stamped aft. His eyes were fixed on Rumstick, he seemed oblivious to the activity around him.

  ‘Rumstick,’ he hissed as he too stepped up to the quarterdeck, ‘you will not forget who is in command of this vessel, do you understand? I give the orders here!’

  ‘Well, what other orders would you give but to slip the cable and loosen sail? That’s what Captain Biddlecomb ordered you to do.’

  ‘Biddlecomb is ashore, and when he is ashore, I am the captain here.’

  ‘I know that, and I was just trying to anticipate your orders. Captain.’

  ‘Don’t you play coy with me, Lieutenant, or—’ Tottenhill was cut short by Sprout, who hurried aft and said, ‘Cable’s all but out, just the bitter end aboard.’

  ‘Very well. Let fall—’ Rumstick began, but was brought up short by Tottenhill’s black look.

  ‘Mr Rumstick, go and set the fore topsail and brace it aback, and the fore topmast staysail as well. Mr Sprout, you may slip the cable when the topsail is set.’

  Rumstick mumbled something by way of acknowledgment and went forward.

  I must keep this battened down, Ezra thought, even as he called for the men aloft to let fall. He was afraid of his own anger, more afraid of it than of anything else he had encountered. He had seen it go before. He had almost beaten the Icarus’s boatswain to death when he lost control then. Tottenhill’s the captain now, he thought, not Isaac, and sure as hell not me. I have got to remember that. I have got to keep this stowed away.

  The Charlemagne turned slowly under a backed fore topsail and staysail, swinging away from the anchored fleet, spreading more canvas as she turned. In their wake the jolly boat pulled away, two men at the oars, delivering a hastily written note to Commodore Hopkins, who would no doubt be curious as to why one of his brigs, one-fifth of the fleet, had decided to head off with no word from him.

  ‘That’s well, the main topgallant!’ Rumstick shouted as the weather sheet came home and the sail stretched tight under the pull of the halyard. He opened his mouth and drew breath, ready to call for weather studdingsails to be set when he thought better of it. He gritted his teeth and stomped aft and looking up at the quarterdeck said, ‘Permission to set stun’s’ls, sir?’

  ‘Yes, very well, and get a man in the chains with the lead, quickly now,’ Tottenhill said, his eyes fixed on the bow and never meeting Rumstick’s. Rumstick heard a triumphant note in Tottenhill’s voice, a tone that said that the proper order to the universe had been restored.

  Rumstick looked over the bulwark and aft at the fleet, which was all but lost in the dark, save for their anchor lights, which shone like a constellation against the dark water and the islands beyond. The Charlemagne had to find a single merchantman somewhere in that darkness and stop it before it sailed away with all of the island’s military stores, everything for which the American fleet had come.

  To do so they would have to guess where the ship was bound.

  Rumstick ran through several possibilities, weighing the likelihood of each. He found himself overwhelmed by the many considerations, the arguments one way and another. He cursed softly. This was Isaac’s bailiwick, not his.

  ‘Sir,’ he said to Tottenhill, as deferentially as he could, stepping up to the quarterdeck. ‘I was thinking, St Eustatius might well be their destination.’

  ‘St Eustatius?’ Tottenhill glanced at him and then looked away. ‘I think not.’

  ‘And why not?’ Rumstick felt the anger mount.

  Tottenhill looked back at him and made no attempt to hide his contempt. ‘Beat to windward and sail right past the American fleet? They are perfectly aware that the fleet is in Hanover Sound. If they set a course to windward, they should still be in sight when the sun rises. They are heading west, to Florida, most likely.’

  The first officer said those last words with finality and then looked forward again, into the night, as if it were more desirable to stare into blackness than to look at Rumstick’s stupid face.

  Rumstick in turn said nothing, just turned his back on Tottenhill and looked outboard. The thing of it was that the son of a bitch was right. Rumstick could see that right off, and it made him more angry than anything yet that night. For all of the thought that he had tried to put into the problem, he had guessed wrong, and Tottenhill, he was certain, had guessed right.

  They turned west and ran down the length of Hog Island, which loomed dark against the not quite black sky. The brig was silent, save for the odd cough or murmur fore and aft. There was nothing for the men to do, now that the guns were loaded and all sail set, save sit around and worry.

  If Biddlecomb had been there, Rumstick knew, he would have found something for the hands to do, but Tottenhill did not seem interested in doing so. And while he, Rumstick, could think of a number of useful ways to occupy the idle men, he did not speak up. He did not care to offer any more ideas to Tottenhill. He did not trust himself to speak civilly.

  For an hour they ran west, plowing through the dark sea, leaving a glowing yellow-green trail of phosphorescence in their long, straight wake. Rumstick began to fidget, began to run his fingers over the hilt of his sword and drum them against his thigh and the caprail. What moon there was gave them some visibility, but not much. Not enough to see another ship at any distance. They would have to be damned lucky to catch this merchantman. It occurred to him that their best chance of seeing the enemy was if there were two ships, rather than one, and—

  ‘On deck!’

  All heads turned toward the lookout standing on the slings of the main topgallant yard and hidden by the billowing canvas.

  ‘Deck, aye!’ Rumstick called out, regardless of Tottenhill.

  ‘I sees two lights, sir. Look like taffrail lanterns, just a point of the larboard bow!’

  Smiles and nodding heads fore and aft. It was what Rumstick had hoped for: two vessels that were burning lights to avoid colliding with one another or becoming separated in the dark. Now the night was their ally, for the two ships would not see the Charlemagne coming up in their wake, certainly not if they were looking through the glare of their taffrail lanterns, until it was too late for them.

  Rumstick grinned like the rest and thought to tell Totttenhill congratulations. He even turned to do so before he realized that in return he would get something to the effect of I told you so, and that would ruin his grand mood, so he held his tongue. Instead he stepped down into the waist and in a low voice told the men to stand to their guns and to make not one noise.

  They plunged on, running downwind with a moderate following sea lifting them stern-first, ever so slightly, and then setting them down again. Their quarry was slow, heavy-laden with military stores, and the nimble Charlemagne quickly overhauled them. The taffrail lights grew brighter and more distinct as the Americans came up astern, a mile, and then half a mile, a quarter of a mile, a cable length. Rumstick felt as though he might burst with the anticipation.

  He could make out details of the ships now, or more pr
operly the ship, for only one was ship rigged. The other was a schooner, a big schooner, but not as big as the Charlemagne. There was no alarm yet on the two vessels that they could see, no attempt to split and run. The enemy just sailed on, unaware of the great predator inching up behind them.

  ‘Mr Rumstick,’ Tottenhill said in a low voice, the first words he had spoken to the second officer in an hour or more. ‘With what are the guns loaded?’

  ‘Round shot.’

  ‘No good. It defeats the purpose to sink these vessels. Draw the shot and load with chain.’

  ‘Draw the shot?’ Rumstick said, a little too loud. ‘We’re all but on top of them!’

  ‘Then you had better hurry.’

  ‘That’ll make a power of noise, hauling the guns in! They’ll smoke us once they hear that!’

  ‘It’s too late for them, we are up with them. They cannot escape now.’

  ‘They damn well can! Why, if they—’

  ‘Just do what I tell you, God damn your eyes!’ Tottenhill glared at Rumstick with his old fury, and Rumstick felt his own anger stirring.

  ‘You stupid …’ Rumstick began, then clamped down hard and through his teeth said, ‘Aye. Sir,’ and stomped off forward, giving the orders in a loud whisper, noting the incredulous looks on the men’s faces as if he, Rumstick, were insane.

  A second later the first of the six-pounders was hauled back from the gunport, the wooden wheels squeaking and the deck rumbling under the weight, and there was no longer any need to speak softly. The two ships that they were pursuing were still a cable length ahead, but even over that distance the Charlemagnes could hear the shouts of surprise, the bellowed orders, the bedlam on their decks as they finally saw the predator, ready to pounce.