A steaming plate of turtle soup, thick with gobbets of green fat. This was to be a dinner served in the Continental fashion which had come in after Waterloo, with no hodge-podge of dishes set out on the table for the guests to help themselves. He spooned cautiously at the hot soup, and applied himself to making small talk with his dinner partners. Dish succeeded dish, and soon he had to face in the hot room the delicate question of etiquette as to whether it was more ungentlemanly to mop the sweat from his face or to leave it there, flowing and visible; his discomfort decided him in the end to mop, furtively. Now Sharpe was catching his eye, and he had to rise to his feet, striving to make his stupefied brain work while the buzz of conversation died down. He raised his glass.
‘The President of the United States,’ he said; he had been about to continue, idiotically, ‘Long may he reign.’ He checked himself with a jerk and went on, ‘Long may the great nation of which he is President enjoy prosperity and the international amity of which this gathering is symbolic.’
The toast was drunk with acclaim, with nothing said about the fact that over half the continent Spaniards and Spanish-Americans were busy killing each other. He sat down and mopped again. Now Cambronne was on his feet.
‘His Britannic Majesty George the Fourth, King of Great Britain and Ireland.’
The toast was drunk and now it was Hornblower’s turn again, as evidenced by Sharpe’s glance. He stood up, glass in hand, and began the long list.
‘His Most Christian Majesty. His Most Catholic Majesty. His Most Faithful Majesty.’ That disposed of France and Spain and Portugal. ‘His Majesty the King of the Netherlands.’
For the life of him he could not remember who came next. But Gerard caught his despairing eye and gave a significant jerk of his thumb.
‘His Majesty the King of Sweden,’ gulped Hornblower. ‘His Majesty the King of Prussia.’
A reassuring nod from Gerard told him that he had now included all nations represented, and he plucked the rest of his speech out of the whirlpool of his mind.
‘Long may Their Majesties reign, in increasing honour and glory.’
Well, that was over, and he could sit down again. But now the Governor was on his feet, speaking in rhetorical phrases, and it broke in upon Hornblower’s dulled intelligence that his own health was the next to be drunk. He tried to listen. He was aware of keen glances shot at him from around the table when the Governor alluded to the defence of this city of New Orleans from the ‘misguided hordes’ who had assailed it in vain – the allusion was perhaps inevitable even though it was over six years since the battle – and he tried to force a smile. At long last the Governor reached his end.
‘His Lordship Admiral Hornblower, and I couple with his name a toast to the British Navy.’
Hornblower climbed back upon his feet as the approving murmur of the company died down.
‘Thank you for this unexpected honour,’ he said, and gulped as he sought for further words. ‘And to have my name coupled with that of the great navy in which it has been my privilege to serve so long is an additional honour for which to thank you.’
The ladies were all rising, now that he had sat down, and he stood again while they withdrew. The highly trained footmen swept the table clear of its accessories in a trice, and the men gathered to one end of the table as the decanter was put into circulation. The glasses were filled as Sharpe brought one of the merchants present into the conversation with a question about the cotton crop. It was safe ground from which to make brief and cautious sorties upon the much more debatable ground of world conditions. But only a few minutes later the butler came in and murmured something to Sharpe, who turned to convey the news he brought to the French Consul-General. Vautour rose to his feet with an expression of dismay.
‘Perhaps you will accept my excuses, sir,’ he said. ‘I much regret the necessity.’
‘No more than I regret it, Baron,’ said Sharpe. ‘I trust it is only a slight indisposition.’
‘I trust so,’ said Vautour.
‘The Baroness finds herself indisposed,’ explained Sharpe to the company. ‘I am sure you gentlemen will all join me in hoping, as I said, that the indisposition is slight, and regretting that it involves the loss to us of the Baron’s charming company.’
There was a sympathetic murmur, and Vautour turned to Cambronne.
‘Shall I send back the carriage for you, Count?’ he asked.
Cambronne pulled at his cat’s-whisker moustache.
‘Perhaps it might be better if I came with you,’ he said. ‘Much as I regret leaving this delightful assembly.’
The two Frenchmen took their leave, after polite farewells.
‘It is a great pleasure having made your acquaintance, milord,’ said Cambronne, bowing to Hornblower. The stiffness of his bow was mitigated by the twinkle in his eye.
‘It has been a profound experience to meet so distinguished a soldier of the late Empire,’ replied Hornblower.
The Frenchmen were escorted out of the room by Sharpe, voluble in his regrets.
‘Your glasses need refilling, gentlemen,’ said Sharpe on his return.
There was nothing Hornblower disliked more than drinking large glasses of port in a hot and humid room, even though he now found himself free to discuss the Florida question with the Spanish Consul-General. He was glad when Sharpe made the move to rejoin the ladies. Somewhere within earshot of the drawing-room a string orchestra was playing, but luckily in a subdued manner, so that Hornblower was spared much of the irritation that he usually suffered when he was compelled to listen to music with his tone-deaf ear. He found himself sitting next to one of the pretty young women beside whom Cambronne had been sitting at dinner. In reply to her questions he was forced to admit that on this, his first day, he had seen almost nothing of the city of New Orleans, but the admission led to a discussion of other places he had visited. Two cups of coffee, poured for him by a footman passing round the drawing-room, cleared his head a little; the young woman was attentive and listened well, and nodded sympathetically when the conversation revealed that Hornblower had left behind, at the call of duty, a wife and a ten-year-old son in England.
Gradually the night wore on, and at last the Governor and his lady rose to their feet and the party was over. There were the last few weary minutes of awkward conversation as the carriages were announced one by one, and then Sharpe returned to the drawing-room after escorting the last of the guests to the door.
‘A successful evening, I fancy. I trust Your Lordship agrees with me,’ he said, and turned to his wife. ‘But I must ask you, my dear, to remember to reprimand Grover about the soufflé.’
The entry of the butler with another murmured message prevented Mrs Sharpe’s reply.
‘Your Lordship’s pardon for a moment,’ said Sharpe. He wore an expression of dismay and hastened out of the room, leaving Hornblower and Gerard to begin polite words of thanks to his hostess for his pleasant evening.
‘Cambronne’s stolen a march on us!’ exclaimed Sharpe, returning with a rapid waddle. ‘Daring left her mooring three hours ago! Cambronne must have gone on board her the moment he left here.’
He swung round on his wife.
‘Was the Baroness really ill?’ he demanded of her.
‘She seemed decidedly faint,’ replied Mrs Sharpe.
‘It must have been all a plant,’ said Sharpe. ‘She was acting. Cambronne put the Vautours up to it because he wanted a chance to get clear away.’
‘What do you think he means to do?’ asked Hornblower.
‘God knows. But I expect he was disconcerted by the arrival of a King’s ship here. His leaving in this fashion means he’s up to no good. San Domingo – Cartagena – where’ll he take that Imperial Guard of his?’
‘I’ll get after him in any case,’ said Hornblower, rising to his feet.
‘You’ll find it hard to overtake him,’ said Sharpe – the fact that he said ‘you’ and not ‘Your Lordship’ was a proof of his agitation. �
��He has taken two tugs – the Lightning and the Star – and with the new lighthouses on the river a galloping horse wouldn’t overtake him before he reaches the Pass. He’ll be clear out to sea by daylight. I don’t know if we can find a tug for you tonight in any case, My Lord.’
‘I’ll start after him, all the same,’ said Hornblower.
‘I’ve ordered the carriage round, My Lord,’ said Sharpe. ‘Forgive us, my dear, if we leave without ceremony.’
Mrs Sharpe received the hasty bows of the three men; the butler was waiting with their hats; the carriage stood at the door, and they scrambled in.
‘Cambronne’s bonded freight went on board at nightfall,’ said Sharpe. ‘My man is meeting me at your ship with his report.’
‘That may help us make up our minds,’ said Hornblower.
The carriage lurched in along the pitch dark streets.
‘May I make a suggestion, My Lord?’ asked Gerard.
‘Yes. What is it?’
‘Whatever scheme Cambronne has in mind, My Lord, Vautour is party to it. And he is a servant of the French Government.’
‘You’re right. The Bourbons want a finger in every pie,’ agreed Sharpe, thoughtfully. ‘They take every opportunity to assert themselves. Anyone would think it was them that we beat at Waterloo, and not Boney.’
The sound of the horses’ hoofs changed suddenly as the carriage reached the pier. They stopped, and Sharpe had the door open before the footman could leap down from the box, but as the three men scrambled out he stood beside the door hat in hand, his dark face illuminated by the carriage lamps.
‘Wait!’ snapped Sharpe.
They almost ran along the pier to where the glimmer of a lamp revealed the gangway; the two hands of the anchor watch stood at attention in the darkness as they hastened on board.
‘Mr Harcourt!’ shouted Hornblower as soon as his foot touched the deck; this was no time to stand on ceremony. There was a light in the companion and Harcourt was there.
‘Here, My Lord.’
Hornblower pushed his way into the after cabin; a lighted lantern dangled from the deck beam, and Gerard brought in another one.
‘What’s your report, Mr Harcourt?’
‘The Daring sailed at five bells in the first watch, My Lord,’ said Harcourt. ‘She had two tugs with her.’
‘I know. What else?’
‘The lighter with the freight came alongside her early in the second dog-watch. Just after dark, My Lord.’
A short, dark man came unobtrusively into the cabin as he spoke, and remained in the background.
‘Well?’
‘This gentleman whom Mr Sharpe sent kept watch as well as me on what they took on board, My Lord.’
‘What was it?’
‘I kept count as they swayed it up, My Lord. They had lights in the mizzen stay.’
‘Well?’
Harcourt had a piece of paper in his hand, and he proceeded to read from it.
‘There were twenty-five wooden cases, My Lord.’ Harcourt went on just in time to forestall an exasperated exclamation from Hornblower. ‘I recognised those cases, My Lord. They are the usual ones in which muskets are shipped, twenty-four stand of arms in each case.’
‘Six hundred muskets and bayonets,’ put in Gerard, calculating rapidly.
‘I guessed as much,’ said Sharpe.
‘What else?’ demanded Hornblower.
‘There were twelve large bales, My Lord. Oblong ones, and twenty other bales, long, narrow ones.’
‘Couldn’t you guess—’
‘Would you hear the report of the hand I sent, My Lord?’
‘Very well.’
‘Come down here, Jones,’ yelled Harcourt up the companion, and then turned back to Hornblower. ‘Jones is a good swimmer, My Lord. I sent him and another hand off in the quarterboat, and Jones swam to the lighter. Tell His Lordship what you found, Jones.’
Jones was a skinny, stunted young man, who came in blinking at the lights, ill at ease in this distinguished company. When he opened his mouth he spoke with the accent of Seven Dials.
‘Uniforms, they was, in them big bales, sir.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I swum to the side of the lighter, sir. I could reach over an’ feel ’em, sir.’
‘Did anyone see you?’ This was from Sharpe.
‘No, sir. No one didn’t see me at all, sir. They was all busy swayin’ up the cases. Uniforms, they was, in the bales, like I said, sir. What I could feel through the sacking was buttons, sir. Not flat buttons, sir, like yours, sir. Round buttons, like bullets, sir, rows of ’em, on each coat. An’ I thought I could feel hembroidery, too, gold lace, p’raps, sir. Uniforms, they was, sir, I’m sure of it.’
The dark man came forward at this moment; in his hands was a limp something that looked like a drowned black cat. Jones pointed to the object before he went on.
‘I couldn’t guess for the life of me what was in the other bales, sir, the long ones. So I outs with my knife—’
‘You’re sure no one saw you?’
‘Certain sure, sir. I outs with my knife an’ cuts the stitching at the end. They’ll think it come a part in the handlin’, sir. An’ I takes the end of one out an’ I swims with it back to the quarterboat, sir.’
The dark man held it forward for inspection, and Hornblower took it gingerly, a black, soggy, wet mass of hair, but his fingers encountered metal as he turned it in his hands.
‘Heagles, sir,’ said Jones.
There was a brass chain and a big brass badge – the same displayed eagle as he had seen that evening on Cambronne’s chest. What he held in his hands was a bearskin uniform cap, soaked with its recent immersion, and adorned with the brass finery.
‘Is that what the Imperial Guard wore, My Lord?’ suggested Gerard.
‘Yes,’ said Hornblower.
He had seen prints for sale often enough purporting to illustrate the last stand of the Guard at Waterloo. In London now the Guards sported bearskin caps not unlike this that he held in his hand; they had been awarded to the Guards in recognition of their overthrow of the Imperial Guard at the crisis of the battle.
‘Then we know all we need to know,’ said Sharpe.
‘I must try and catch him,’ said Hornblower. ‘Call all hands, Mr Harcourt.’
‘Aye aye, My Lord.’
After the automatic reply Harcourt opened his mouth again to speak, but he could make no sound come from it.
‘I remember,’ said Hornblower, his cup of unhappiness filling to the brim. ‘I said I would not need the hands before morning.’
‘Yes, My Lord. But they’ll not be far. I’ll send along the waterfront and find ’em. I’ll have ’em back here in an hour.’
‘Thank you, Mr Harcourt. Do your best. Mr Sharpe, we shall need to be towed as far as the Pass. Will you send and order a steam tug for us?’
Sharpe looked over at the dark man who had brought in the bearskin cap.
‘Doubt if there’ll be one before noon,’ said the dark man. ‘Daring took two – and I know now why she did. The President Madison’s laid up. Toueur’s gone up to Baton Rouge with flat boats. Ecrevisse – the one that brought this ship up – went down again in the afternoon. I think Temeraire’s on her way up. We might be able to get her to turn round as soon as she arrives. And that’s all there are.’
‘Noon,’ said Hornblower. ‘Thirteen hours’ start. Daring’ll be at sea before we leave here.’
‘And she’s one of the fastest ships built,’ said Sharpe. ‘She logged fifteen knots when she was being chased by Tenedos during the war.’
‘What’s the Mexican port where she’ll take the soldiers on board?’
‘It’s only a village on a lagoon, Corpus Christi, My Lord. Five hundred miles and a fair wind.’
Hornblower could picture the Daring, with her beautiful lines and enormous spread of canvas, booming along before the trade wind. The little Crab in whose cabin he stood was not intended for fast ocea
n runs. She had been built and rigged small and handy, to work in and out of obscure inlets, doing the police work of the West Indian archipelago. On the run to Corpus Christi Daring would certainly gain several hours, a day or more, perhaps, to add to the twelve hours’ lead she already enjoyed. It would not take long to march or to ferry five hundred disciplined men on board, and then she would sail again. Where? Hornblower’s weary brain baulked at the contemplation of the immensely complex political situation in the lands within easy run of Corpus Christi. If he could guess, he might be able to anticipate Daring’s arrival at the danger point; if he merely pursued her to Corpus Christi he would almost certainly arrive there to find her already gone, soldiers and all, having vanished out into the trackless sea on whatever errand of mischief she meditated.
‘Daring’s an American ship, My Lord,’ said Sharpe, to add to his troubles.
That was an important point, a very important point. Daring had an ostensibly legal errand, and she flew the Stars and Stripes. He could think of no excuse for taking her into port for examination. His instructions had been very strict regarding his treatment of the American flag. No more than nine years ago America had gone boldly to war against the greatest maritime power in the world on account of the Royal Navy’s attitude towards the American mercantile marine.
‘She’s armed, and she’ll be full of men, My Lord,’ said Gerard.
That was another important point, and a very positive point at that. With her twelve-pounders and five hundred disciplined soldiers – and her large American crew as well – she could laugh at anything Crab could threaten with her six-pounders and her crew of sixteen. Daring would be within her rights to refuse to obey any signals from Crab, and Crab could do nothing to compel obedience. Shoot away a spar? Not so easy with a six-pounder, and even if no one were to be killed by accident there would be a terrible diplomatic storm if he were to fire on the Stars and Stripes. Could he shadow her, so at least to be on hand when her real purpose was revealed? No; impossible. Anywhere out at sea Daring had only to spread her wings to a fair wind to leave Crab below the horizon in an afternoon, and then Daring could resume her true course unpursued.
Admiral Hornblower Page 79