Burke in the Land of Silver

by Tom Williams

  ‘And how can you be sure no one will be looking, sir?’

  ‘Ah, well, William. That’s rather where you come in.’

  Burke outlined his plan, which was brutally simple.

  William nodded admiringly. ‘That’ll work – mainly because no one will miss him, ’cept the Dutchman. Do we deal with him the same way?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! The upper-class passengers dine with the officers and he would be certain to be missed. It has to look like an accident. We can’t have people enquiring into murder on a vessel this size. And a duel would draw too much attention.’

  ‘There’s always poison, sir.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Burke pursed his lips in thought. ‘Tricky to get him to take it between now and dinner. And it has to look natural enough not to excite suspicion but not resemble an illness that would lead to the quarantining of the vessel.’

  Burke stepped toward the porthole and looked out at the grey waters. Gradually he began to smile.

  ‘William, I think I have it. I can dispose of the Dutchman and the Captain himself will assist me in covering up the deed. Do we carry the normal complement of floozies aboard?’

  William grinned: ‘Twice as many as you would expect, sir. We’re bound for Buenos Aires. They say there’s a hundred men there for every woman and any working girl who can raise the passage money sees her chance to make a fortune.’

  ‘Good. Then here’s what we shall do . . .’

  *

  Burke’s approach to the Captain was deceptively casual.

  ‘Some people say that a voyage such as this can be tedious but I am sure I will find the experience most enjoyable – especially as I am sure I saw an old acquaintance on deck earlier. A Dutch fellow, a little stout but still an eye for the ladies! I look forward to renewing our acquaintance. Do you know which is his cabin?’

  ‘Mr van Harwick? Two toward the stern from your own, sir. But I’m surprised you saw him on deck. He took himself directly to his cabin and asked not to be disturbed.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain. If that is the case, I shall wait before I make myself known to him. Who else do we have travelling with us?’

  The Captain rattled off the names of the half dozen or so other passengers travelling in the cabins amidships. He knew better than to bother Mr Burke with any information about the mass of humanity still settling themselves in the stern dormitory. Back in steerage, though, William was, at that moment, making an unusual but lucrative offer to a young lady whose innocent face concealed an admirably calculating approach to matters of business.

  Twenty minutes later, Burke was knocking on the Dutchman’s door. ‘Mr van Harwick,’ he called, although he had always known the man by another name. In fact, he had lost count of the names the Dutchman used, although his valet was always Helswig. Burke made a mental note that William should be rechristened for their next mission.

  ‘Mr van Harwick, I have a message from the Captain.’

  He heard the sound of the bolt being drawn and pushed hard at the door. In an instant he was in the cabin while the Dutchman was staggering back, off balance.

  William had rifled the stores to find a stout bag. Now Burke brought it down over the Dutchman’s head. Taken unawares, and his shouts muffled by the bag, the Dutchman struck out blindly. Burke wrapped his arms around his victim and lifted him bodily onto the single bed in the room. Burke was the taller and fitter of the two, and the one-sided struggle left him with time to notice (and resent) that the Spanish spy had a large cabin to himself, while he shared a smaller one with O’Gorman. But there were disadvantages to a private cabin. The greatest of which was that, being private, it was a solitary place to die.

  Burke reached for the pillow and brought it firmly down across the Dutchman’s face. He pushed hard but not too hard – he had to be sure not to break the man’s nose.

  As his struggles subsided, Burke cautiously removed the sack. Van Harwick was still breathing – just. Now Burke put on a pair of leather gloves and clamped the mouth shut, while pinching the nose. He held him gently but firmly for several minutes until he was certain that he was dead.

  There was a triple knock at the door. Burke opened it and William entered quickly, ushering in a girl of about eighteen whose dark hair was worn loose. The hair and a certain liveliness of expression gave away her line of business but she was simply dressed and, if the neckline was somewhat lower than fashion dictated, it was still respectable. Her sleeves were short, and, as she came into the cabin, it was clear that she wore a minimum of underclothing. She moved to the bed and started to undress the body with an expertise that suggested that, if she had never attended to the dead before, she had plenty of experience with the dead drunk.

  ‘You can leave him to me,’ she said over her shoulder, her hands still busy removing clothing. ‘Just put the guinea on his dressing table.’

  Burke bowed slightly, acknowledging her professional expertise and indifference to the death of England’s enemies.

  ‘William,’ he muttered as they left the cabin, ‘while our country produces young women like that, we have nothing to fear for the future.’

  *

  Disposing of Helswig was messier but more straightforward.

  The Essex marshes were a smudge on the horizon when, an hour before dinner, he appeared from his quarters deep in the stern. As he started along the starboard side of the deck, toward the gentlemen’s cabins, O’Gorman, obedient to the orders that Burke had given him just thirty minutes before, made his way to where William was lounging by the rail on the opposite side of the vessel. As Helswig passed one side of the superstructure, on the other O’Gorman started berating William about the condition he had left the cabin in.

  O’Gorman was not a natural actor but the embarrassment he felt playing out this charade made him even louder and more aggressive than he would have been had he been truly angry. The few people on deck turned to enjoy the entertaining sight of a servant being put firmly in his place.

  Meanwhile, unobserved, Helswig approached the ladder to be met by Burke hurtling himself upward. He seized his victim at the waist and simply kept moving forward. Helswig was half-pushed, half-carried across the few feet of decking between the doorway and edge of the ship.

  The ship’s rail hit Helswig around the kidneys and he toppled backwards before he even knew where he was. By the time he drew breath to scream, he was already in the water.

  The Rochester sailed on, oblivious to the struggles of the man drowning in its wake.

  *

  When Mr van Harwick failed to materialise at dinner, a steward was sent to his cabin. There he found a weeping girl still trying to revive the half-naked passenger.

  A glass of brandy in the Captain’s private quarters elicited the information that van Harwick had accosted the girl before he boarded and instructed her to come to his room. He had given her sixpence to spend the afternoon with him.

  Despite the brandy, she blushed as she explained. ‘He was a very active man for his age, sir, and he seemed to be determined to exert himself to the fullest and then suddenly he cried out and he collapsed and at first I thought nothing of it, for some gentlemen are taken like that, but then . . .’ and she cried prettily, and the Captain was moved to pat her on the hand, for all that she was a whore, and he promised that it would be taken care of.

  And it was. The ship’s doctor could see no signs of violence on the body and the Captain agreed that a quiet service early in the morning was for the best. The only passenger who had apparently met the man was Mr Burke and the Captain explained to him that his acquaintance had been taken unwell and died shortly after boarding.

  ‘I am assured by our doctor that it was the result of some excitement – probably the thrill of starting for a new life in the Americas. I fear he was not a young man.’

  It was, agreed Mr Burke, very sad indeed. ‘I will attend the service, if I may, Captain. He should have someone there to mourn him who had known him in life, if only as a passing acquain
tance. I feel it is my duty.’

  So James Burke stood on the deck of the Rochester as the sun rose over the horizon and watched as they consigned the Dutchman’s body to the deep.

  No one asked about the servant.

  ‘I’ll say this for Helswig,’ observed William, later. ‘He was devoted to the Dutchman. Now they’re both in the same grave, so to speak. You know, in a funny sort of way, I think it’s what he would have wanted.’

  *

  After the stir of the funeral, life on board settled to a steady rhythm. The world was governed by the ringing of a bell that hung from its own gibbet on the mainmast. It struck the watches day and night as the ship made slow but steady progress westward.

  James Burke watched with detached amusement as the other gentlemen on board struggled to find ways to while away the monotony of the voyage. He politely declined invitations to join them at cards and he did not seek to improve his mind by spending hours in his cabin reading. Instead he occupied himself with the first stage of his mission: winning over Mr O’Gorman.

  The merchant had responded badly to the killing of the Dutchman. (Burke recoiled from the word ‘murder’.) It was clear to Burke that the man was not naturally cut out for a life of espionage. Indeed, in the early days of the voyage, it seemed that barely an hour went by without him complaining that Burke had been foisted on him, and that he did not intend to involve himself with the spy’s sordid activities. Burke allowed him a day or two to calm his nerves and then set out to charm him into enthusiastic support. He asked O’Gorman his views on the progress of the war, and admired the perspicacity of the merchant’s opinions, however ill-informed he privately considered them to be. He scattered his own comments liberally with the names of those of His Majesty’s counsellors with whom his own work had brought him into contact. He hinted at the missions that he had already conducted on behalf of the government, and, if he made it all sound a little more thrilling than it may really have been, he felt the embellishment to be in a good cause.

  Gradually, O’Gorman thawed. His initial taciturn manner gave way to a garrulousness that was just as much a product of his nerves, but Burke felt that he was making progress. To his surprise, he found he was quite coming to like the man. They would take the air together, Burke strolling along the deck with his easy, lazy stride, while the merchant paced with nervous energy.

  At first, O’Gorman’s monologues (for Burke seldom found himself able to get a word in edgeways) were about the iniquities of governments in general and of Pitt’s government in particular. He damned the French for supporting Napoleon and the British for going to war against him. ‘All I ask,’ he said, ‘is for honest merchants to be left to go about their business. Is that so very unreasonable?’

  Burke would nod and sympathise and gently turned the conversation away from the politics of Europe and toward the situation in Buenos Aires.

  ‘Well, officially we’re ruled by Spain, of course. But the Spanish made their capital in the south over at Lima. I suppose it’s because all they really care about is the silver and the silver’s mostly that side of the country. But Lima’s the other side of the Andes, so we generally manage our own affairs in Buenos Aires.’

  ‘And you expect no trouble once Spain and England are at war? With Napoleon taking over half of Europe, it’s only a matter of time.’

  O’Gorman would forget his nerves as he lectured Burke. ‘There are almost as many English and Italians – and Irishmen too – trading in Buenos Aires as there are Spanish, let alone French. None of us care what’s going on in Europe so long as we make our money.’

  ‘But Spain holds a monopoly on trade.’

  The merchant waved his arm in a sweeping gesture that encompassed the whole of the ship. ‘Where do you think we sailed from?’

  ‘London, of course.’

  O’Gorman grinned and it seemed to Burke that the older man was enjoying the opportunity to demonstrate that in matters of trade he was the master and Burke a mere apprentice.

  ‘You think so? In fact, the Rochester was in Cadiz before she sailed to London. So technically, all her cargo was shipped to Spain. Then it was exported from Spain to London.’

  ‘But if Spain were at war with England?’

  ‘Then we will have to ship from Spain to a neutral country and then on to London. We’re not living in the eighteenth century now. The world is about trade and war is an inconvenience that we must negotiate our path around.’

  Burke remembered why he had disliked O’Gorman so much on first meeting. Although he wore no uniform, Burke was a soldier, answerable to Colonel Taylor at the War Office. All across Europe, other soldiers – English, French, and, by now, half a dozen other nations – were fighting and dying in a convulsion that was reshaping the continent. Yet, to O’Gorman, it was all just a matter of ‘inconvenience’. Burke looked at him and, for a moment, saw a smug face that reminded him of the Saint-Domingue planters. They had been drunken, arrogant louts, happy enough to have the army put down the slave revolt but revolting in their turn when they saw a danger of losing their fat profits. Merchants, he was sure, cared for nothing but their gold. He despised them and he despised the grasping commercialism that they represented. At that instant, he would cheerfully have choked O’Gorman and flung his body over the side. But the discipline of his own profession came to his aid and he forced a smile. He was, he had to remember, a spy first and a soldier after. O’Gorman was essential to his mission and O’Gorman was to be placated.

  ‘Do the goods suffer by exposure to the salt winds in all this travelling to and fro?’

  O’Gorman returned Burke’s smile and assured him that they did not suffer in the least. For the next hour, he explained everything anyone could want to know about the storage and handling of leather goods at sea. Burke let the words wash over him. He had learned all he needed about shipping. What mattered now was to convert O’Gorman’s grudging acceptance of his position into a positive enthusiasm to aid the British Crown. Flattery, Burke judged, was the best way to achieve that end. So he concentrated on nodding and smiling and, as the weeks passed, he felt O’Gorman relax. By the end of a month, he was even heard protesting to a fellow passenger that the French could be very devil and that it was time something was done to stop them.

  The weather grew warmer as they moved southward. They crossed the line with great ceremony and Burke submitted to the ritual dousing at the court of King Neptune. O’Gorman, as a regular voyager across the Equator was dubbed a ‘shell-back’ and took a wicked delight in lathering Burke with the mix of soap and slops that Neptune offered as shaving cream. For Burke, the whole affair was less traumatic than he had expected. It was only when a bruised and battered William Brown waited on him that evening that he realised the gentlemen passengers had been spared the full ceremony. William, on the other hand, had endured pelting with rotten vegetables and a ‘shaving cream’ that included tar and the scrapings of the ship’s chicken coop.

  ‘Bear up!’ said James. ‘Think of England. You’ve suffered for your country.’

  ‘That’s true enough.’ William’s face split into an evil grin. ‘And the fellow who dragged me before Neptune has suffered for the ocean god. I had a word with him afterwards and he’ll be walking funny for a while.’

  Burke wondered briefly if there might be any repercussions from his valet’s behaviour but it appeared that steerage was a law unto itself. Brawls associated with the crossing the line ceremony were not uncommon and the ship’s officers were careful to ignore them. Amongst the gentleman passengers, of course, there was no violence associated with the ritual. Indeed, Burke noticed that O’Gorman seemed to have worked out the last of his resentment as he wielded the razor. Burke felt that he had quite won him over. Although the merchant had by now shared all he could about trading in Buenos Aires, the two of them would walk the deck each morning in companionable silence.

  At first, Burke enjoyed the opportunity to relax. It took only a few days, though, for him to becom
e impatient. He was ready to start his mission. In Buenos Aires, he would be accepted as an honest merchant. O’Gorman would give him the help he needed, providing a base to operate from and vouching for his being no more than he appeared to be. Now he was anxious to start work. He would be landing again in the New World, the world where he had met the Book Man and been assured that Destiny had a place for him. Perhaps here, in Spanish South America, he might find his path – a path that would lead him to the promotion that had eluded him for so long.

  Nine weeks out from Tilbury, his morning promenade was interrupted by a cry of ‘Land, ho!’ from the crow’s nest. He abandoned O’Gorman with indecent haste and rushed to the cabin to retrieve the small but powerful telescope William had unpacked for him. Minutes later, he was at the rail, scanning the horizon for a sight of the land that was to be his home for the foreseeable future.

  At first, the coast was invisible from the deck – more than a hundred feet below the lookout – but, as the Rochester moved westward with the tide, a smudge appeared between sea and sky. Burke leaned across the rail, as if the few inches gained would let him see the land more clearly, and sighed with impatience as the view through his glass remained a blur. At last, the image took on shape and Burke could see the green of the jungle growing down to a narrow strip of beach that fringed the shore. It reminded him of Saint-Domingue and he seemed to hear the voice of the Book Man: ‘Your actions will help to bring forth a nation.’

  Carried away with the excitement of that first glimpse of South America, Burke allowed himself, just for a moment, to imagine that he might have some part to play in that continent’s history. The days that followed, however, convinced him that he would be a fool to think he could have any impact on a place so vast. For a week, they eased their way along the coast of Brazil. In the lee of the land, the winds were light and the crew were kept busy on the ropes, straining the sails to catch any whisper of a breeze. Even allowing for their slow progress, the land that they had reached was vast beyond imagination. Day followed day as they passed apparently endless beaches, and always, beyond them, the impenetrable green of the jungle.