The smile was gone again, as if it had never been. 'I do not know. What would Robert say?'
'Robert. Robert. Is all the world afraid of Robert?'
'All of the West Indies. You worry too much about the future, Matt. When it comes, it comes, and you and I will face it then. For the moment we are here, you and I, and no one else. Don't waste these moments brooding on possibilities.'
Now she was anxious, demanding, and the pressure of her body on his had restored his own vigour. She panted in his ear, and surged her body to and fro. She was the only woman he could ever contemplate, as perhaps he was the only man for her. Now there was, as she claimed, nothing but the bed, and the room, and the rain and two people. And a sudden, looming roar which rumbled up the hill from the harbour, battering across even the pounding of the water on the roof.
Suzanne was on her knees, still between his legs, head turning from left to right.
'Thunder?' he asked.
'Cannon. Perhaps the French assault St. Kitts.' She snatched her robe, ran to the door. 'Do not come out for five minutes. I will be downstairs by then.'
The door closed behind her. Matt sat up in turn, reached for his clothes. If it had been cannon, it had been closer than Basseterre. And now he heard another sound, a confused babble of people shouting, drifting across the still afternoon. He pulled on his shoes, ran down the stairs, joined the servants and Suzanne on the front verandah, gazed at the throng on the street, and below at the town, where wisps of white smoke were already rising into the air from those of the warehouses which had been set on fire; beyond were the clustered ships in the roadstead, but some of these were also burning, and they seemed huddled, like a flock of geese suddenly assailed by the fox. Because the fox was there. Many-foxes, great three-deckers, some twenty of them, sailing slowly into the bay, the foremost already bringing up to anchor, but not ceasing their firing as they did so; their sides constantly exploded into red-tinged black and the watchers could see the sea and the beach, and the wooden docks, scattering as the ball ploughed into them.
'Oh, my God,' Suzanne said. 'A fleet of war? But...'
Matt had seized the telescope from the desk, and was levelling it. 'They fly the Union Jack.'
'English?' she stared at him.
'To horse. To horse.' Dirk came running down the street from the Schotters' house, followed by several other warehouse owners. 'Fetch my horse, Augustus, you black devil. Matt, mount up. They are bombarding the warehouses. Sue, get inside. Dress yourself and seek the cellars.'
'But what does it mean?' she asked.
'Mean? Mean? Why, unless all the English have turned to pirates, it must mean that those fools in Amsterdam have entered the war on the side of the Yankees. And delivered us into the hands of Rodney.'
Augustus was already bringing the horses from the stable, and Dirk leapt into the saddle. Suzanne gazed from her husband to Matt, her mouth slowly opening in an expression of bewildered dismay he had never noticed before. He could not meet her gaze. Whatever misfortune the arrival of the English might bring to the Dutch, it provided him with a means of leaving here, if he chose. And how could he do other than choose, and remain a man?
'I'd best see what can be done,' he muttered, and ran down the steps. . .
'Take care,' she shouted. Who was to know whether it was after her husband or her cousin.
He kicked his mount, sent it charging after Dirk and his friends. The bombardment had ceased; the fort guarding the anchorage had scarce replied. And now boatloads of blue-jackets accompanied by red-coated marines were swarming at the beach. The horses thundered down the road, pulled up in a flurry of sand and foam.
'By God, sirs,' Dirk shouted. 'But what means this invasion?'
The officer he addressed saluted. 'Why, sir, it seems that St. Eustatius has been taken for the Crown. If you gentlemen would be good enough to assemble in your town square, you will be addressed by the admiral in due course.'
'And leave our goods to be looted?' Hugo Schotter demanded.
'Why, sir, your goods are in any event forfeit, as contraband of war,' the lieutenant said. 'Now, gentlemen, will you disperse, or must I use force?'
The Hollanders stared at him, and muttered amongst themselves, but there was nothing they could do. Matt slipped from the saddle and went forward. 'And I sir?' he demanded.
The officer frowned. 'You do not speak like a Dutchman.'
'Indeed sir, I am not. My name is Matthew Hilton, of Plantation Hilltop in Jamaica.'
'By heaven,' the officer cried. 'A West Indian, and a smuggler at the least. We were warned there'd be some of you gentlemen to be found skulking ashore here. Well, sir, as of this moment you stand accused of treason. Place this fellow under arrest.'
‘It is an outrage, sir, an outrage,' declared Meinheer Schotter.
Admiral Sir George Bridges Rodney regarded him with a total contempt. 'On the contrary, sir. You may regard it as an act of charity, in that I have refrained from giving your town over to a sack. Now, sir, if you will take your place with your people, I shall address them.'
Schotter attempted to meet the cold stare, then turned and walked back to join the assembled merchants. Rodney nodded and slowly climbed the three steps to the improvised dais his men had made for him; he was troubled by one of his regular attacks of gout, but did not wish to limp before these layabouts. And indeed he was a dominating figure, not tall, but with a full face and a thrusting chin, square shoulders and an utter confidence, gained from a career which had hardly once tasted failure, which affected his mouth no less than his eyes no less than his every movement; he wore a plain blue frock-coat over white vest and breeches, and a blue cocked hat. But the very utility rather than splendour of his dress seemed a threat And this was a score he had long meant to settle; his dislike for the smugglers of St. Eustatius, and those who would use them to their advantage, reached back thirty years to when he had first commanded a ship in the West Indies, and found it impossible to bring the proud planters to heel.
Now he faced the assembly, and dried his hands with a towel presented by his aide. He thought it was a splendid sight, and lingered on it for some seconds; against the backdrop of the twin mountains and the neat town, the burghers of Statia and their women, and their slaves, were gathered in a crowd on the rain-damp street which fringed the harbour; to their left was a battalion of his own marines, splendid in their red jackets, rigidly at attention, not a man appearing to do so much as breathe; to their right were gathered the itinerants discovered here, the real villains, in the admiral's opinion. And behind him waited his fleet, and their captives, their guns run out and overseeing almost every inch of the island, while their boats plied to and fro with ceaseless energy, transferring the treasures of this Aladdin's Cave to the safety of British holds, and in the process, he did not doubt, making himself a millionaire and every sailor he commanded at the very least a comfortable present.
He smiled at the crowd, at the hostility in their faces. Nothing so angers a man, he reflected, as to have to watch himself becoming a pauper.
He nodded to his flag captain, and the signal was given. The marine drummer struck up a roll, and the Dutch flag was slowly lowered from the staff over the town hall, while the Union Jack was run up in its place.
The admiral cleared his throat, waited for the last echoes to drift across the harbour. ‘I take possession of this island, in the name of His Majesty King George the Third, of Great Britain and France, and of the British Empire, Defender of the Faith.' He paused and gazed at them. 'This war is not of our choosing,' he said. 'Least of all with Holland, a country with whom for too long we have been allies to withstand the might of France, a country with whom, less than a hundred years ago, we shared a great king. But your States General would have it so. However, it is my duty to inform you that your lives and properties shall be respected, provided you undertake to live peacefully beneath the British flag.'
'What of our warehouses?' someone demanded.
Rodney's
gaze swept along their ranks. 'Those goods are confiscated,' he said. 'As contraband of war.' He turned, to look at the non-Dutch assembly to his right. 'Of you people,' he said, 'the French are legally prisoners of war, but I have neither the means nor the inclination of imprisoning you, and I am therefore providing you with a ship to return to St. Domingue, or Martinique, or wherever it is you wish.'
Again he paused, to allow a whisper of delighted relief to filter along the ranks.
'The rest of you,' he said, 'whether English or American, are traitorous dogs.' He allowed his brows to come together in a frown. 'Guilty at the very least, of smuggling and of contravening His Majesty's Navigation Acts. I should be well within my rights were I to hang every one of you, and God knows I am tempted. But it so happens that my ships need men. Our mission is to seek out the French fleet here in the West Indies, and destroy it. We need to be fully manned for that contest, for be sure de Grasse shall outnumber us. Therefore I am prepared to commute your proper sentences to service on board my men-of-war for the duration of this war. You will assemble on the beach down there for division amongst my captains.'
There was a moment's silence, then Suzanne Huys cried, 'No.' Dirk attempted to hold her arm, but she evaded him and ran forward, holding her broad-brimmed hat on to her head, until she reached the dais, where the marine sentries restrained her with crossed muskets.
'What means this?' Rodney looked down at her, frowning.
'You cannot condemn them all,' Suzanne insisted. 'They are not all smugglers, or traitors. Nor are they all common men so to be treated. My own cousin is amongst them.'
'And this is of importance?' Rodney demanded. 'Or do you mean that a Dutchman has got himself included amongst the English? What is your name, woman?'
'My name is Suzanne Huys,' Suzanne said. 'But I am the sister of Robert Hilton, of Plantation Hilltop in Jamaica. You'll have heard of him.'
The admiral continued to frown. 'I am acquainted with Mr. Hilton, Frau Huys. It seems to me, however, that by marrying a Hollander you have removed yourself from his protection. Not that I am aware of your being offered any harm. Has one of my men insulted you?'
Suzanne shook her head impatiently, and took off her hat. 'I do not speak of myself, Admiral Rodney. But amongst those men over there is my cousin, Matthew Hilton, sent to stay with us to learn the intricacies of trade. Matt is the heir to the Hilton estates. You cannot condemn him to impressment.'
'Madam,' Rodney declared. 'I care not if he is the cousin of the King. He is living and working in an enemy territory, and must be considered in tiiat light. And believe me, I am being far too lenient as it is. Did I not need men so desperately he'd be hanging by now. And he stands doubly condemned from your own mouth. Sent here to learn trade? To learn the art of smuggling, more like. Oh, I well know the subterfuge of you West Indians. You may be able to frighten the Government with your wealth and your affectations, but by God, madam, I have served here before, as no doubt you are aware, and I know the plantocracy for as disloyal and faithless a pack of scoundrels as this earth has had the misfortune to produce.' He glanced at his flag captain. 'Have the fellow brought out.'
Suzanne stared at the admiral in a mixture of dismay and anger, as two of the marines marched Matt from the crowd of prisoners. He was also flushed and angry, embarrassed at having been singled out. And now, too, Dirk had come forward, sorely puzzled by Suzanne's action, but endeavouring to soothe her.
She kept her temper and her voice under control with an obvious effort. 'You'll see we are related, Admiral,' she said.
Rodney looked from one to the other. 'Oh, indeed you are, madam. But the boy looks fit and strong. He will make a good sailor. Eh, lad?'
'Mistress Huys is telling the truth, sir,' Matt declared. 'I am Robert Hilton's cousin and heir. You'd do well to bear that in mind.'
'Insolent dog,' shouted the marine sergeant, and struck Matt on the face. Angrily the boy swung his own fist, but was brought up short by a musket barrel thrust into his chest.
Rodney almost smiled. 'Spirit, by God. I hope that all his companions are similarly endowed. You'll do well at sea, Master Hilton. And there is much to do. Come, come, lad, you're a patriot, surely, even if you are a West Indian. The country needs you. Needs us all. Have you not heard how disasters pile thick and fast upon old England? Have you not heard that Lord Cornwallis has surrendered his entire army?'
He gazed at them, half smiling at the consternation which had crept into their faces, whether Dutch or English.
'Aye,' he said. 'They seek to bring us down. But they have not yet beaten Rodney, by God. You'll not backslide, Master Hilton, if that is your name. We'll find de Grasse together, lad, and send him to the bottom, together. March them to the beach, Captain.'
'No,' Suzanne shouted. 'No, you cannot.'
'Indeed madam,' Rodney commented. 'I would almost imagine the youth to be your brother, from your concern. Remember this; you are a prisoner of war. You are all prisoners of war. There is nothing, madam, nothing, that I cannot do.'
She flushed, and bit her lip. But yet she met his gaze. ‘You may find you are mistaken, sir,' she said, speaking more quietly. 'You take my cousin at your peril.'
Rodney stared at her for several seconds, once again frowning. 'Mine is a perilous life, madam,' he said at last. 'If I except one, I must except them all, and I need men. England needs men. Our business is the protection of those very plantations you say will one day belong to this boy. I'll fight them as I choose. Now you, sir ...' he pointed to Dirk. 'Remove that woman before I forget myself as an officer and a gentleman. And dismiss this crowd, Douglas.' This to his flag officer. But as he turned to descend from the dais, he added in a lower voice, 'You'd best have that lad placed on board Formidable, whence I can keep an eye on him.'
'Come on, come on,' roared the quartermaster. 'Up those ladders, you hounds of hell. God curse you for a pack of slovenly landlubbers.'
The powder team gasped, sweat-wet bare feet slithering on the rungs of the ladders, fingers desperately clutching the barrels on their shoulders, lungs reaching for the fresh air which drifted down from the upper decks to dispel the odorous miasmas of the orlop. They debouched on to the gun deck and those whose loads were intended for these heavy culverins gratefully came to a halt; the unfortunates who were destined for the main deck ran for the next ladders, while the quartermaster flicked his knotted rope impatiently.
Matt ran with the rest, sweat pouring from the handkerchief which bound his head, dribbling into his eyes; his team served the quarterdeck and had the farthest distance to travel. And wondered why. Why did he not stop and say, I am no slave, no donkey, to be worked like a beast? Why indeed? Because all the other pressed men ran, and he ran with them? Because he was afraid of the quartermaster's rope's end? He had already had a slice across the back, his third day on board, and all but turned to strike the man. But then, he had remembered the articles which had been read to them that very first day, when the fleet had still lain at anchor off Statia. To disobey an order, even to hesitate in obeying an order, could mean death. It seemed utterly incredible, that the whim of a man he'd carelessly kick to one side should they meet on Kingston High Street, could end his life. But then, the whole situation seemed incredible.
He had never considered life, or death, before. He was alive, and would remain so for the next fifty or sixty years. Time enough to worry when that span was nearly complete. The Hiltons did not die young, as a rule. Father had been the exception, and Father had been unlucky, his ship overwhelmed by a hurricane when desperately beating for the shelter of English Harbour. So then, was the son also to be
unlucky? They sought Monsieur de Grasse, as the officers sneeringly remarked. Who could tell what would happen then? Who could tell how many stout fellows would die, or be horribly mutilated? What good would the name Matthew Hilton be then?
He panted to a halt beside the cannon which had been designated his responsibility for feeding. His breath seemed to be reaching from the
very pit of his belly, and still not very successfully filling his lungs. His heart beat so loud it made the day swing. And yet, he was happy enough to be one of the quarterdeck crew. From here he could see the sea, and even the land. The fleet made south, reaching before the trade wind, inside the circle of islands. The cloud on the port beam was the fabled forest of Dominica, the cannibal isle, home of the fierce people against whom the Warners and the Hiltons had waged unceasing and pitiless war. The Caribs still controlled most of the island, although they had been taught sufficient of a lesson by Philip Warner, a century ago, no longer to indulge in raids upon neighbouring European settlements.
'Seven minutes, Mr. Arbuckle,' said Lieutenant Hill, the gunnery officer. 'Too long, sir. Too long. These scoundrels must be driven to it. Use your rope's end, sir. Use your rope's end. Now we'll have it again.'
'Aye, aye, sir,' the quartermaster said. 'Come on, you land-lubberly devils. Down to the hold for more powder.'
The men turned wearily, for the moment faced the wheel, behind which the officer of the watch patrolled ceaselessly, and above that the poop, the sanctuary of the admiral and Sir Charles Douglas, his flag captain. Rodney was there now, gazing down at the waist, accompanied by Captain Symonds, master of the Formidable.
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