Harry grinned at him. ‘I learned my trade too well, Captain,’ he said. ‘From you, amongst others.’
Canning peered at him, and then gasped. ‘McGann, by God. McGann! Well, sir, you have gained this day, and I congratulate you on it. As to whether I am your prisoner, or you are actually mine, why … that we shall have to wait and see. But I should like to shake your hand.’
Harry hesitated. But perhaps it was time to stop hating; he had done that for too much of his life. He shook Canning’s hand, and then walked with him to the taffrail of the Wasp to look at the hasty repairs being carried out on board the Cormorant under the supervision of Truxton and his boarding party, to enable her to sail. Yet Canning was right. The two battered ships were easy pickings to whichever of the two fleets gained the day.
It was late afternoon by now, and he could clearly see the two lines of ships delineated against the drooping sun, and the constant white cloud above them as they fired their broadsides; he could hear the distant rumble, as well. At this distance of several miles it was difficult to estimate what was happening; save that he could tell that the British had allowed all of their advantage to dissipate, by laboriously forming line of battle before going into action, and thus allowing the French also to form a line of battle, instead of being blown apart one by one as they emerged from the Chesapeake.
As Canning also saw. ‘By God,’ he said. ‘Rodney would have said the devil with Fighting Instructions, and charged them pell mell while they were unformed. So would Hood, had he been in command. But Graves …’ he glanced at Harry and flushed. ‘One should never criticise one’s superiors.’
‘It happens in every navy,’ Harry said. ‘And maybe we can all learn from their mistakes.’
‘Sail ho,’ came the cry from the masthead. Harry swung his telescope to study the eastern horizon, and the great ships which were appearing there. One, three, five … eight. ‘It is Barras,’ he said. ‘It is the Count de Barras,’ he shouted.
The crew burst into cheer after cheer.
Canning turned back to the rail, to look at the battle, and the British fleet, which had also clearly seen the approaching squadron, and was now breaking off the action, knowing it was decisively outnumbered. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It appears as if I am your prisoner, after all, Captain McGann. I wish that were the biggest disaster this day will bring.’
Harry gazed at the ships, and the shore, and imagined the feelings of Lord Cornwallis and his men as they listened to the cannonade, without knowing what was happening. They would be praying that the next flag to enter the Chesapeake would be the Union Jack. And their prayer would not be answered. If Washington was there, or even close, then Cornwallis was lost. And the war was won.
CHAPTER 15 – Paris and London, 1783
‘Harry!’ Ben Franklin embraced his old friend. ‘By God, it is good to see you, and to see you looking so well. Do you know, there is a rumour you were in that fight off Dominica in the West Indies?’
‘I was,’ Harry said. ‘Attached to the French fleet.’
‘By God,’ Franklin said again. ‘You must tell me about it. They are calling it the greatest naval battle in history.’
‘I’d agree with that,’ Harry said. ‘At least since the British took on the Spanish Armada.’
‘But what happened? Was not the French fleet commanded by de Grasse? The same man who drove Admiral Graves away from the Chesapeake and gave us our victory?’
‘Oh, indeed,’ Harry said. ‘Unfortunately for de Grasse, this time the British fleet was no longer commanded by Graves. It was commanded by Lord Rodney.’
‘And one man could make that much difference? They are saying he cut you to pieces.’ Harry grinned. ‘He cut the French to pieces, to be sure. By ignoring Fighting Instructions, and breaking their line, pell mell. As Graves should have done, off the Chesapeake. The frigates had little part in the battle, although I will confess we ran like hell when we saw the flagship, the Ville de Paris, strike. De Grasse himself was taken. That was my last action, Ben, and it gave me pause to think, on what little quirks of fate our fortunes do hang. Even the fortunes of nations. Had Rodney not been suffering from gout in 1781, and thus had he been in command at the Chesapeake … he would have cut de Grasse to pieces then. And Yorktown would never have surrendered. And Washington’s famous march would have been proved an error of judgement … he might even have lost his command. And would the British ever have made peace?’
‘But Rodney wasn’t there,’ Franklin said. ‘And Washington knew that before he made his plan. And Cornwallis did surrender, and we have our freedom as a nation recognised, even in Whitehall. Do you not think it is possible to see the will of God, Fate, Providence, call it what you will, in all of that, Harry? And even more. Because think of this: the British had lost almost all their prestige in this war, with scarce a victory to show for six years of fighting, until Rodney get amongst the French. Had he not gained that stupendous victory, then indeed they might have gone on fighting. The Battle of the Saintes enabled them to sit down at the conference table with their West Indian colonies secure, and their prestige regained, and the French again beaten. Oh, indeed, the hand of God.’
‘Let us hope you are right. Well, old friend … Paris at the least does not seem to have changed very much.’
‘Do not believe it,’ Franklin said. ‘It is changing every day, and for the worse. This war may have been a triumph for the United States, Harry, but it has been a disaster for France. Rodney set the seal on that. They have taken an economy I would estimate was already bankrupt, and ripped out the lining. There are bread riots, anti-government riots … there is no humour in France any more. Only hatred. I hate it here. But Congress says I must stay, and represent our interests for a while longer … But you, are you not on a mission?’ He frowned, because Harry, if dressed in the height of fashion, from his knee boots with fringed edges, to his deep green tailcoat with matching vest, his black bicorne and his silver-headed Malacca cane, was certainly not in uniform.
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘No mission. No official mission, at any rate.’
‘You have not left the Navy?’ Franklin asked in concern. ‘Why, Harry, you must be their most experienced officer.’
‘I have been granted leave of absence,’ Harry said.
Franklin’s eyes searched his face. ‘To come here. You seek John Paul?’
‘Amongst other things.’
Franklin sighed. ‘You … may be disappointed. It is a sad thing, to have hit the very heights of fame, and be unable to repeat such success. The spirit dwindles.’
‘I understand,’ Harry said.
‘I will come with you,’ Franklin decided.
*
They took a carriage, through cobbled streets which were, as Franklin had suggested would be the case, filled with the most ragged and starved looking collection of people Harry had ever seen, in alarming contrast to the Americans’ well fed prosperity. ‘They will be fighting for their own independence next,’ Harry remarked. ‘From their own aristocracy.’
‘If that were to happen,’ Franklin said. ‘Then indeed the world would hold its breath. We have arrived.’
He led the way up dingy stairs, and knocked. As there was no reply, he opened the door a moment later, and led the way inside. Harry looked at an untidy parlour, in which maps and books and wine bottles were scattered about in equal carelessness.
‘He will be in the bedroom,’ Franklin said, opening the next door, and crossing the room to draw the drapes and throw up the sash, and let some light and much needed air into the stale atmosphere.
John Paul, sprawled across the bed, grunted and rolled on to his back. ‘God damn it,’ he said. ‘Cannot a man sleep?’
‘It is past noon,’ Franklin said. ‘And I have brought you a visitor.’
John Paul opened his eyes, blinked, frowned, and then sat up. ‘Harry?’ he muttered. ‘Harry!’ He leapt from the bed to embrace his friend. ‘Oh, but you are a sight for sore eyes.’ He held
Harry away from him. ‘There’s prosperity for you.’
‘But how are you, John?’ Harry gazed at him. The lean, spare frame he remembered had become puffy with alcohol and careless living. But the eyes could still burn.
‘I am well, well …’ John Paul went to the table and uncorked a bottle, filling three glasses. ‘As well can be expected, with nothing to do.’
‘There would be a great welcome for you at home,’ Harry ventured. ‘A ship …’
‘A ship?’ John Paul snorted. ‘Another converted merchantman, you mean? And what would I do with a ship, Harry? Who would I fight?’
Harry glanced at Franklin, who shrugged. It was difficult to know what to say. Everyone knew John Paul’s cruise as captain of the Alliance had brought him little success and no glory — and another quarrel with his crew.
John Paul sat down, drained his glass. ‘Landais is here in Paris, you know. Strutting the boulevards like the poseur he is, telling people how he won the Battle of Flamborough Head.’
‘Now, John,’ Harry said. ‘Everyone knows he is mad. Was he not locked in his cabin when he crossed the Atlantic. And everyone equally knows he is a liar.’
‘Does everyone?’ John Paul asked, and refilled his glass. ‘I doubt that. Anyway, I have made my decision. Paris is abhorrent to me.’
Again Franklin and Harry exchanged glances; they would both have said John Paul had been happier here than anywhere else.
‘But that is great news,’ Harry said. ‘Then you will come home?’
‘Home?’ John Paul asked. ‘I have no home, Harry. I am a seaman. A fighting seaman. I must go where I can fight. Our war is over. I must seek another war.’ He took a long breath. ‘I have been offered a command, by the Empress Catherine of Russia. Against the Turks.’
Harry stared at him in consternation. ‘Russia? The Turks?’
‘A barbarous people,’ Franklin remarked, clearly referring to them both.
‘Not just a command,’ John Paul said, his eyes shining. ‘Command of a fleet. I shall be an admiral. That has always been my ambition, to lead a fleet into battle. Now tell me, Harry, is there any hope of the United States ever making me an admiral?’
‘There is no such rank in our navy,’ Harry reminded him.
‘Because there is no navy worth speaking of,’ John Paul pointed out. ‘Well, I shall go where my talents are recognised, and will be rewarded. Harry … I would be the happiest man on earth if you were to accompany me.’
‘To Russia? No, John, I’ll not do that. I swore allegiance to these United States. As long as they can find me a ship to sail, I shall do so.’
‘Then hurry home,’ John Paul said contemptuously. ‘And dwindle. I am about truly to commence my career.’
*
‘I hope he is right,’ Harry said. ‘And I wish him every success.’
‘But you doubt,’ Franklin observed.
‘He is his own worst enemy. And I do not mean in the normal sense of over indulgence in wine or women, although he suffers from those, too. I am thinking more of his temperament.’
‘Agreed. But it is still sad to see greatness so dissipated. As you say, we must hope that he finds his true metier amongst the Russians. My God, the very thought gives me goose pimples. But you, Harry … you are returning to America, and the Navy?’
‘In due course. I am for Ireland, first. Tramore, to seek my family and take them with me.’ He gazed at his friend.
‘But before then, you have a stop to make,’ Franklin remarked, sadly.
‘I said, I have come to seek my family. All of it that survives.’
‘And nothing I can say will change your mind?’
‘Nothing, old friend. But Ben, I am not going with hate in my heart, or even anger. I propose to deal with Steyne straight up, man to man.’
‘And you suppose he will do the same?’ Franklin sighed, and shook his head. ‘The two men I value and respect most in all the world, both bent upon their own self destruction. I can only wish you good fortune, Harry.’
*
Harry seated himself on a straight chair against the wall of the lobby. The liveried doorman gave a nervous smile, then went back to sorting his letters. Through the door seeped all the sounds of the hustle and bustle of London, the creaking of coach wheels, the cries of the street vendors … there could be no city like it on earth, Harry supposed. Not even Paris. No, certainly not Paris. He had an idea there was just as much poverty and degradation in London as ever in the French capital — but there was an absence of hatred. And there were places like this gentlemen’s club, situated in St James’s, the ultimate in peace and cleanliness and studied dignity to contrast with the hubbub outside. And was there hatred to be found in here? He hoped not.
He listened to the clicking of heels on the parquet floor and stood up. Four gentlemen had come through from the smoking room; three of them he had never seen before, but Steyne he remembered very well.
Steyne stared at him. ‘McGann, by God,’ he said. ‘I could not believe my eyes when I saw your card. McGann! You are either a fool or a madman, sir.’
‘I imagine we all have aspects of foolishness or madness in our personalities, my lord,’ Harry said.
‘Why are you here, sir?’ demanded one of the other gentlemen.
‘Why, sir, it has long been my desire to visit London,’ Harry said pleasantly. ‘And now that our two countries are at peace, I took the opportunity. Besides, Lord Steyne and I have long been acquaintances, without actually having met, through an intermediary.’
‘An intermediary, by God,’ Steyne said.
‘Quite, my lord. May I have the privilege of a word with you in private?’
‘In private?’ Steyne barked. ‘With you, sir? By God, no, sir. I would not closet myself with a monster, and a criminal traitor. I’ll see you hang, instead.’
‘You may find that difficult to accomplish, sir, as I have a passport to travel freely in your country, as an American citizen. And I do intend to speak with you, my lord,’ Harry said evenly. ‘If not in private, then here and now.’
‘Ha,’ Steyne said. ‘Ha.’
‘Perhaps it would be best …’ ventured one of the other men.
‘Oh, let him speak,’ Steyne said. ‘He can say nothing you do not already know. He wishes to see my wife. See her, by God! This is the man who would turn me into a cuckold, by God. The monster.’
Harry realised he was on the verge of losing his temper. ‘I have already done so, my lord,’ he said. ‘Since you wish me to speak out. Yes, I wish to see Elizabeth, and I wish to see my son.’
The men gave a collectively startled exclamation.
‘By God, sir,’ Steyne said. ‘You are an upstart, unmannerly cur. I wonder I do not horsewhip you.’
‘Because I would break the whip across your head, my lord,’ Harry said.
Steyne stared at him. ‘Aye,’ he said at last. ‘You take pride in your breadth and height and strength, Harry McGann, and think yourself above mortal men. But there are levellers in this society of ours. You remind me that I lack the strength to whip you like the dog you are, and that circumstances have transpired to prevent me having you hanged like the traitor you are. Well, then, as you have come here to insult me, and see if you can rob me of my wife, I am forced to treat you like the gentleman you are not.’ He stepped forward and whipped his hand across Harry’s face. ‘Now, sir,’ he said. ‘Act the man, or reveal the coward.’
Harry wiped the trickle of blood from his Up. He had always known it would come to this. Perhaps he had even anticipated it, whatever he had said to Franklin.
‘If you will name a second, sir,’ said the gentleman standing beside Steyne. ‘You may leave the arrangements in our hands.’
‘I have no second,’ Harry said. ‘Just state your pleasure.’
‘Well … the choice of weapons is yours.’ Harry stared at Steyne. However dislikeable, the man was no coward. He well knew the risk he was taking, for were Harry to choose swords, he must b
e aware that with all his skill as a duellist he would have his work cut out against such a reach, and such strength. But Harry had been taunted with hiding behind his strength once too often — as perhaps Steyne had calculated. ‘I waive that right,’ he said. ‘Let Lord Steyne make the choice.’
Steyne’s lips drew back from his teeth in a wolfish smile. ‘Why, then, let us be as civilised as possible. I choose pistols, on Clapham Common, at dawn tomorrow morning.’
*
Elizabeth, having put Toby to bed, paused at the door of her husband’s study. If their relationship as man and wife had been nothing more than a form for three years, it was a form she was careful to maintain, if only for the sake of her conscience, when the break came, as come it must, she was sure. Therefore on every night she paused to say goodnight. And this night frowned, as she saw him cleaning his pistols. ‘Not another exchange?’ For the rumours which necessarily surrounded their life had caused him to be most busy duellist in London.
‘Hardly, my dear,’ he said. ‘I am going to rid the world of a monster, and hopefully rid us of all contaminating gossip, at the same time.’
She caught her breath. The war had now been ended for several months, and still there had been no word from Harry. She had expected … she knew not what. A message to meet somewhere, to flee from her husband … at least a message to say he was still alive. But there had been nothing, and she had been coming close to despair. Yet there could be no mistaking Steyne’s meaning. ‘He is here?’ she whispered.
‘Oh, indeed.’ He smiled at her. ‘Here today and gone tomorrow, one might say. Because he will be gone tomorrow. Forever.’
‘But … he went to see you?’
‘At my club, bold as brass, would you believe it? I suspect the poor lunatic had some idea that I would be persuaded to let you and Toby go.’
‘And when you refused, he challenged you?’
‘No,no, my dear.’ Steyne put down the gun and leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t think he really understands how a gentleman should go about these matters. So, to put him out of his misery, I challenged him.’ She frowned. ‘And he chose pistols? I cannot believe that.’
Old Glory Page 36