by Hunter, Seth
Carondelet raised his glass. “Your very good health, sir. I am in your debt. The fort must surely have fallen and New Orleans left at the mercy of these dogs. Who knows but that the French may have been celebrating the conquest of a new empire in the West, though I suppose they would not have called it that. I believe they use the word ‘liberate’ when they plunder a man of his birthright. So to you, the English and King George.”
He took a delicate sip and contemplated the glass. “There are those in Cuba—and in Spain—who would die before drinking to such an heretic. And would have me shot for proposing it, no doubt. I suppose you have heard that the English alliance is not popular among certain of my associates who would prefer an agreement with the French, being more disposed to tolerate the atheist pig than the Protestant swine. Your pardon but it is their words that I use …”
Nathan granted his pardon and conceded that he had heard a similar report.
“Doubtless it formed a part of Imlay’s advice on the local situation,” remarked the Governor with a sly grin. “You need not answer that. Indeed it was ignoble of me as a host to propose it. A captain must needs take advice from many unsavoury quarters.”
“Forgive me, your Excellency, but I own I am somewhat disturbed by your suspicions where Mr. Imlay is concerned. I have been given no cause to doubt his loyalty to the coalition against the Revolutionary government in Paris.”
This was by no means true but it drew a satisfactory response.
“Pah. Imlay’s loyalty is first and foremost to himself, I believe. And then to those of his inclination in the United States. The crowned heads of Spain and England, of Prussia and Austria do not in the least engage his loyalties or his sympathies, believe me, though perhaps you know him better than I.”
“I know him only as well as any of my officers,” Nathan temporised, “but he has never revealed any hostility to the King of Spain. And as I assured you I knew nothing of his past activities in this region, other than as an adventurer and geographer.”
“Oh, adventurer he certainly is, that I don’t deny. An adventurer, a freebooter, a pirate … well, I will not become agitated whilst indulging the appetite, it is not good for the digestion I am assured.”
“Nor would I wish it, Excellency, but I would welcome an account of this conspiracy you mentioned, when you are at liberty to indulge me.”
“Oh, that is not at all disagreeable for it failed entirely in its objective. Indeed, the affair was of such an embarrassment to the Federal government they sought to arrest the leading conspirators for treason. General Washington, I believe, was apoplectic, though whether it was at the nature of the enterprise or its ignominious failure I cannot say. Imlay, with other of the rogues, was forced to flee from United States jurisdiction—into East Florida, initially, where he offered his services to the Spanish authorities as a spy.”
Nathan confessed himself astonished. This was an exaggeration. Nothing Imlay did could have astonished him. But he was alarmed at the extent of Imlay’s previous activities. He wondered if Colonel Hollis had known of them when he had briefed him at the Admiralty.
“ Well, given that he had but recently attempted to expel Spanish authority from the region it was certainly impudent,” the governor agreed, “but it is an impudent profession—that of spy—and, as I believe I mentioned, one is forced to take advice from many unsavoury quarters. So my colleagues in East Florida availed themselves of the offer and he became a servant of the King of Spain. He was entered in the rolls as Agent number 37, with the code name Gilberto. Which reveals a certain lack of imagination among those who recruited him I agree but they are sometimes surprisingly inept. I am probably being indiscreet but one should know a little of the history of one’s servants, I believe, for fear of further betrayal and it is quite possible he may survive the creatures of the swamp. With which he has much in common. Let me help you to a little of this excellent pie—it is composed of pigeon breasts. The passenger pigeon is the name used by the English colonists, I believe, and though a common enough bird is quite delicious when cooked with the right herbs.”
Nathan allowed his plate to be replenished but his mind, for once, was not on his food. “Forgive me, Your Excellency, for pressing you on this subject but is it possible that you think Imlay is now working for the French?”
The Governor considered for a moment. “It is entirely possible,” he conceded. “Our most recent information was that he has been residing in Paris for some years.” He shot Nathan a look but receiving no reply continued. “However, he may be acting entirely on his own initiative. You know something of American settlement in the region?”
Nathan admitted he did not.
“Well, let me enlighten you. It began with those former soldiers to whom, as a reward for their services in the War of Independence, were granted the uncultivated lands of Kentucky and of the southern bank of the Ohio. This vast territory, which twenty years ago was uninhabited, already comprises fifty thousand men capable of bearing arms and is increasing at the rate of more than ten thousand emigrants a year.
“This restless population, driving the Indian tribes before them, seeks to possess the entire region between the Ohio and the Mississippi while demanding with menaces the right of free navigation to the Gulf.” Despite his earlier concern for the digestive system the governor was continuing his discourse with increasing passion, knife and fork clenched in his fists like weapons and the pigeon pie helpless before him. “And do you think this will be sufficient for them? No, sir, for their roving spirit acknowledges no obstacle or impediment, whether of peoples or physical barriers. A rifle and a little cornmeal in a bag is sufficient for an American wandering alone in the woods for a month.
“Our masters in Europe are preoccupied with the menace of Revolution in France but I tell you, sir, it is nothing to the menace of these interlopers for they are a new breed possessed of an independence, a notion of their own … righteousness … that brooks no dissent, no opposition, no obstacle to their progress. Unless they be stopped at their present frontiers they will advance westward to the Pacific, southward into Mexico and, indeed, northward into British Canada. And after that, sir, well, the world may look out for itself. And that is all I have to say on the subject.” He stabbed a pigeon breast with his fork and ate it with belligerence.
Nathan did not care to start him off again but it had occurred to him that Imlay may have sought the shelter and support of these prodigies—if any were in the immediate vicinity.
The Governor shook his head. “They have not yet penetrated so far south and show no desire at present to live in a bog. I think it is far more likely, if he is alive, that he is with the Cajuns. He speaks the language and he has worked with them before. Indeed it may have been that they were expecting him.”
“How could that be?”
Carondelet shrugged: “It would be interesting to put the question to Imlay,” he remarked evasively, “if we are fortunate enough to apprehend him.”
“We have no evidence that Imlay has betrayed us,” Nathan replied cautiously. “Or intends to do so. At present I am merely concerned for his safety. He is in the service of His Britannic Majesty and I would not wish him to suffer for any previous misdeeds while on Spanish territory.”
“Oh my dear sir, I said put the question to him, not put him to the question. I am not a member of the Inquisition. Please, your glass is empty and the bottle beside you.”
Nathan demurred. “Forgive me, but it is time I was on my way. We must get back to the Unicorn before nightfall. And then there is the Virginie to be found.”
“Ah yes, the Virginie. Whose virtues have been most generously distributed among these Cajun sons of whores. Their big guns came from her, you know, and most of the gunners.”
“So I believe. And I am told by Señor Escavar that she is now off the Delta, some one hundred miles to the south.”
“So we are informed. However, as the channels of the Delta have no more than thirteen or fourteen fee
t of water we need hardly be concerned that a frigate of that size may come upon us by way of the river.”
“I confess I was more concerned with coming upon her.”
“ Well, I wish you joy of the venture, though I had hoped I might prevail upon you to leave your marines here until I can bring up more of my own forces from New Orleans.”
“I am afraid that would seriously weaken my own force. But now that the rebels have fled—and you are in possession of all their guns, powder and shot …”
“This is true,” nodded the Governor with as near cheerful an expression as his lugubrious features would allow. The guns had already been dragged into the fort and the mortars alone would be a sufficient deterrence to any future attack.
“ Well.” He dabbed at his lips with the white napkin on his lap and rose from the table. “I will be most fulsome in my report to Madrid and I trust it will be relayed to your own superiors in London. Who knows but that it may be the beginning of a greater understanding between our two nations, a greater willingness to combine our operations.”
The Governor appeared ready to commence upon a long speech of farewell but he was interrupted by a servant with a message for Nathan. One of his officers desired to speak with him on a matter of some urgency.
It was Tully.
“I have been speaking with one of the prisoners,” he told Nathan. “One of the gunners landed by the Virginie. He is a Channel Islander by the name of Tierney. Robin Tierney. A fisherman from Jersey. He says he and his shipmates were taken by the Virginie on an earlier cruise and forced into the French service. But he insists he has always been a true subject of King George and is anxious to serve on the Unicorn.”
“Well, if you think he is trustworthy, we need every man we can get. In fact—”
“I am sorry to interrupt you, sir, but he also has news of the Virginie. There were over a score of her men came ashore with the guns and about the same number of marines. He says she was to wait for them off the Chandeleur Islands—not the Delta as we were informed.”
“The Chandeleurs?” Nathan felt a knife turn in his stomach. He had a clear mental picture of the Chandeleurs from the chart drawn by Des Barres. They curved in a long chain parallel with the coast of Louisiana and the northernmost of them was barely twenty miles from where they had left the Unicorn.
CHAPTER 12
The Virginie
THERE WAS SOMETHING WRONG with the sea. Even among the shallows of Lake Borgne they felt it, a sluggish swell that seemed to come from nowhere, for there was scarcely a breath of wind and otherwise the sea appeared perfectly calm, and Nathan could see no white horses out in the bay. But still they felt it, that restless heave as if some giant reptile was moving in its sleep, stretching into wakefulness. Nathan could feel the heat rising from its back, an oppressive sweltering heat that distorted the air around them, cutting visibility to a few hundred yards. The sky was opaque, more bronze than blue, a vast metallic shield diffusing the light of an invisible sun. There was a storm brewing. They all knew it. Nathan felt the urgency in the silent rowers. He did not have to exhort them to pull. They pulled for all their worth and even those that were resting, and should have been slumped in an exhausted heap, were wide awake, staring towards the unnatural haze shrouding the western end of Ship Island where they had left the Unicorn.
A haze that was suddenly shot through with flashing light. And close upon its heels, the drum roll of thunder. But it was not the expected storm. With startling suddenness the curtain parted as if blown away and they saw not one but two ships, and the orange flames stabbing through the smoke as they pounded each other with their broadsides, and the rippling roar of their cannon rolled back to them across the sullen sea.
“Pull!” Nathan roared now, leaning forward as if he could propel the boat with all the suppressed energy of his fury and self-loathing.
How far? A mile? A little less perhaps. He prayed that it might be less and that he might reach her in time. If not to save her, then at least to be there at the death and to die with her, for it was preferable, far preferable to contemplate his own extinction than to face the living shame of losing his ship when he was not aboard her.
Pym had done the right thing. In the circumstances. Which was to say he had done nothing. He had kept the Unicorn at her anchorage, on spring cables, across the narrow deepwater channel with her bows pointing towards the island and the shoal water at her stern, and all her crew—all that Nathan had left him—manning her starboard guns.
The Virginie was about two cables’ lengths to windward with her fore- and mainsails counter-braced so that she drifted slowly down upon her quarry. For there was no doubt who had become the hunter. With no room to manoeuvre—both ships reduced to mere floating batteries—it was all down to rate of fire and number of guns. And the Virginie was winning on both counts. As Nathan’s boats crept across the sea towards them it became clear than she was firing at twice the rate of the Unicorn. Firing high, in the French manner, double shotted and with chain. Nathan watched in anguish as the main topmast came crashing down into the waist and the mizzen followed shortly after, like two great trees felled in a storm. Within minutes she was a dismasted hulk and the French changed to round shot, firing directly into her hull and at almost point-blank range. Nathan dreaded to think of the slaughter that had been done to her crew, for the Unicorn’s fire was spasmodic now, a single gun going off every minute or so while the fire poured into her was more or less continuous. His ship was being battered to death before his eyes.
It was a wonder she had not lowered her colours. Nathan could still see the blue ensign hanging limply at her stern. Had Pym, or whoever was in command, seen the boats closing on them to leeward? They were barely a cable’s length from her, racing up on her larboard side, partly shielded by the clouds of smoke that drifted down upon them: all five boats in a ragged line with Nathan’s barge fractionally in the lead. They could no longer see the Virginie now, hidden behind the looming bulk of the Unicorn, but they could hear the relentless pounding of the broadside and the uglier sounds of the shot hitting home. In those last two hundred yards Nathan could almost feel every blow landing, as if on his own body.
But at last they were at the frigate’s side, the crew shipping their oars and Nathan leaping for the shrouds and tumbling his body over the rail, landing on all fours and staring up at the bloody shambles they had made of his ship.
The maintop had gone, bringing the mainyard down with it and all of the sails and most of the rigging. The mizzenmast, too, was down, and most of the foretop which had caught up in the starboard shrouds and hung at a crazy angle, like a broken branch clinging to what remained of the tree. The effect was rather as if a violent gale had torn through a forest, the whole of the waist filled with debris, an impossible tangle of canvas and rope and timber, and half of it hanging over the side, shrouding what was left of the guns. Two were dismounted, two more buried under the heap of wreckage and their crews, it must be presumed, with them. Other guns were still firing from forward and aft but how many or how few Nathan could not guess for the fire from the Virginie was relentless. There was a great gap where two of the gun ports had been knocked into one and this was where most of the bodies were lying.
Yet some men were still alive, still on their feet, hacking away at the wreckage with axes and knives. And commanding them, it seemed, was young William Place, hatless, bloodied but still alive, yelling orders and almost capering in what you might take for excitement or glee but was probably frustration at not being able to get at the guns for he was pointing at what he could see of one of them, lost under a heap of cordage and canvas. He half turned as Nathan’s men came scrambling over the larboard rail, reaching for the dirk at his belt but then his expression turned from alarm to joy as he saw who they were and his eyes met Nathan’s for a moment and he gave him a big boyish grin and shouted something unheard across the deck—and then a cannonball took his head off.
Shocked, stunned beyond belief, Nat
han stared at the boy’s headless body, still upright, almost posed in the act of drawing his dagger and then the blood came and it tumbled forward to join the carnage on the deck.
Nathan tore his eyes away and stumbled towards the quarterdeck. It was almost as much of a wreck as the waist, with the jagged stump of the mizzenmast like a tree on a blasted heath, still smoking from the lightning strike, the helm shattered and the bodies all around as if they too had been smitten down by the same bolt from heaven.
But it was not the whole picture. For all her wounds she was still a fighting ship. There were figures moving in the smoke. A boy running past him with powder for the guns. Another breaking open a cartridge box and struggling to carry it to the gunners. A gun captain crouched over the breech of a 6-pounder and a midshipman—Lamb—roaring soundlessly at the crew of one of the carronades—the only carronade on this side of the deck for the other had been taken by the cutter.
Nathan threw a glance to larboard where the other two stood unmanned, calculating how quickly they could drag one of them across the deck and then he saw Francis Coyle. He was propped up against one of the gun trucks, his chest soaked in blood but his eyes still open, one hand pressed to the wound, the other still clutching the dirk Nathan had given him. Their eyes met and Nathan saw the life in them.
He half turned. Gabriel was at his heels.
“Get that boy below,” he said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded, and then he saw Pym.
The first lieutenant was standing by the shattered helm as if posed for a painting. His hands clasped behind his back and his chin thrust belligerently forward; his hat, his overlarge hat, crammed firmly down upon his head and the blood trickling down his face from under it, spreading out across his cheek and pooling on his throat where it was damned by the tight collar. He had rigged a net to protect against falling tackle but most of it had come down with the wreck of the mizzenmast and a spar had fallen across the wheel: possibly it was this that had struck him. He looked at Nathan without recognition, apparently in a state of shock or wonder, or with his wits addled by the blow. Nathan called to him, went right up to him and spoke directly into his face but he did not respond. Just stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his jaw clamped, his eyes screwed up as if staring into a blinding storm.