by Hunter, Seth
“We have been fighting the French,” the governor informed him cheerfully. “And have been entirely victorious.”
The Spanish fort near the mouth of the Mississippi had come under attack, he explained, and he had been obliged to go to its assistance with his gunboats.
“The Lion, the Panther, the Crocodile and the Holy Ghost,” he told Nathan proudly. “The Lion is my flagship.”
Nathan expressed his admiration of the Spanish flotilla and congratulated the Governor on his victory.
“Had I been able to convey them to the Rigolets we would have had none of that nonsense on Coquille Island,” Carondelet assured him, “but they are normally confined to the waters of the Mississippi. However, when your lieutenant found us in the Delta I lost no time in leading them to your rescue. And here we are.”
He had brought two hundred of his soldiers with him, he informed Nathan, and three hundred African slaves, “On the assumption that there is heavy work to be done.”
Nathan kept his face carefully composed but his heart sank. He had been brought up as a child to abhor slavery. It was the one thing on which his mother and father had been entirely in agreement and from the moment she had set foot in England, Lady Catherine had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the anti-slavery movement. For a while, indeed, her house in St. James’s had become a battle centre of the campaign and a refuge “for those that would not be seen dead in Clapham,” as Lady Catherine put it with her usual bluntness. William Wilberforce had been a regular visitor there until he and Nathan’s mother fell out over his continuing friendship with Mr. Pitt.
Nathan could not abide the notion of using slave labour to free the Unicorn but if he refused the offer of assistance on the grounds of conscience the Governor would be deeply offended. It would be seen as a diplomatic affront: an offence against His Most Catholic Majesty, no less. Carondelet would take himself off in high dudgeon to write a scathing report to his seniors in Madrid—with a copy to the Spanish Minister in London—and the Unicorn and her entire crew would be left to rot.
Nathan wrestled with his conscience. Slavery was repugnant to him but it was sanctioned by the law, it thrived in the British colonies and it maintained the quality of life enjoyed by many in Europe and the Americas. Most Christian Churches spoke in its favour, the Africans practised it widely, and the Arabs were its greatest proponents. Besides, what choice did he have?
Hang it, he thought, I cannot do it.
He was considering the most diplomatic way of framing his objections when an idea came to him. Or rather the germ of an idea, for he needed time to develop it. But it restrained him from his immediate impulse and he listened with apparent attention as the Governor explained his own concerns.
“I am reluctant to put the military to hauling upon ropes,” he said, “for it does not become fighting men to indulge in manual labour. I do not include seamen in this, of course,” he added hastily, “as it is part of their normal duty but your Spanish soldier is possessed of a … how shall I put it? … a certain reticence, a certain manly pride that makes him ill-suited to menial work. In short, he is quite useless. I am persuaded the Africans will prove more than equal to the task. Many of them are Yoruba and of impressive physique, as you will find.”
When they returned above deck they saw that the boats were now drawn up on the shore of Ship Island and the Africans were squatting in a large group under the watchful eye of the soldiers. They appeared entirely indifferent to their fate, or their surroundings, but Nathan was relieved to see that at least they were not chained: possibly because there was nowhere to run to.
“I propose to haul entirely from the shore,” he informed his officers, “using our own people on the capstan and the Governor’s contingent hauling upon ropes at each side. But it is a question of where we attach them.”
After consulting with Mr. Lloyd it was decided to attach one hawser to the lower deck capstan and wrap the other right round the hull and through each of the hawse-holes with the Africans heaving upon each end from the shore. In addition Tully proposed they bring back one of the 18-pounders and mount it in the bows, firing it at the precise time they commenced hauling in the hope that the shock through the timbers might loosen the vessel from the sand.
“I hope you will not take it amiss if I beg the officers to join me at the capstan-bars,” said Nathan, “for we are all in the same boat, as it were.”
The expression had grown stale in the repetition—and it had been none too fresh when he first used it—and the smiles of his officers were at best perfunctory, but none could object when their captain was so clearly willing to put himself to the task. He only wished it would shame the Governor and his soldiers into overcoming their repugnance of “menial work” but it was not to be anticipated.
The preparations took them above two hours and it was past six bells in the afternoon watch before they were ready to begin. Nathan took off his coat, folded it neatly and laid it on the ground as if for a prize fight or a game of cricket. Then he rolled up his sleeves, rubbed a little sand in the palms of his hands, and took his place at the capstan.
A final look about him to make sure everyone was ready, then he gave the signal to begin.
The 18-pounder roared encouragement from the bow of the stricken vessel and there was a collective grunt from the men as they put their backs into it.
But for all the success they achieved they might have been trying to move a mountain.
Nathan’s feet scrabbled in the sand as he leant his body into the hard, unyielding shaft of the capstan. He was already soaked in sweat. Groans from the men as from those upon the rack, or suffering the agonies of constipation. Nathan looked to the Africans. Carondelet had been right about their physique. The muscles bulged as they heaved upon the rope, leaning their bodies almost horizontally into the sand, driving themselves on with deep, almost ritualistic grunts. There were soldiers shouting at them in Spanish and by God one of them had a whip … Nathan felt close to despair. He would have to call a halt to it and there would be no more diverting the men with monkey skulls. Then, through the pounding in his ears he heard the roar of the gun again and … a jolt. He almost slipped in the sand. Had the bar slipped in its housing, had the fibres of the cable parted? Another. By Christ, she was moving. Or something was. No, the ship was moving. Slowly at first, an inch at a time, but then faster, further … and now it began:
I love a maid across the water…
Aye, aye, roll and go!
The savage stamp on the word “go” lacked the impact of a stamp on a wooden deck but Nathan’s heart was bursting with emotion; he could have wept. And now the fiddler leaped up—the smallest man in the crew—up on to the drumhead with the fiddle to his chin, a little imp of a man, tapping out the rhythm with his foot …
Sally’s teeth are white and pearly,
Aye, aye, roll and go!
Her eyes are blue, her hair is curly,
Spend my money on Sally Brown.
It was not a familiar shanty—Nathan had first heard it when they weighed anchor in the Havana—and McLeish had told him it was a song the crew had picked up in Jamaica.
Oh, Sally Brown I had to leave you,
Aye, aye, roll and go!
Trust me I’ll not deceive you,
Spend my money on Sally Brown.
And from along the shore, the song of the Africans. The deep, vibrant thrum from deep in their throats as they hauled upon the rope.
She was free! They were all on their knees and the Unicorn was floating free. A great cheer from the men, the hands and the jollies as one, and they threw up their hats and capered about the shore while the Africans collapsed in the sand with their heads between their knees. And then Nathan led the charge to the sea. He plunged in fully clothed, not waiting for the raft, delighting in the wonderful freshness of the water, striking out for the ship as she floated in mid-channel. He had left a skeleton crew aboard to let go the stern anchor so she would not drift on to another shoal and
they threw him a line and hauled him up the side.
“Well done, Mr. Clyde,” he shouted up to the gunner in the bows. “I swear it was your gun that did the trick.”
“Aye, sir”—grinning bashfully and scratching behind his ear—”I reckon it may’ve helped a bit.”
And for the first time since he had come aboard Nathan felt they bore some resemblance to a crew and that he was a part of it.
But there was a great deal of work to be done before she was a ship again.
“I am glad to have been of service.” Carondelet bowed when Nathan came to thank him. “It is a small return of the debt I owe you. And did I not say my Africans were equal to the task?”
“We could not have done it without them, your Excellency.” He hesitated a moment. “I do not suppose they are for sale?”
Carondelet looked at him sharply as if he was making game of him.
“I mean no offence, your Excellency,” Nathan assured him, “but as you will have observed we are desperately undermanned and I thought to ease the situation. But I should not have been so presumptuous.”
“Not at all, Captain. Why should I be offended? Any more than if you expressed a desire to purchase one of my horses? No, I am only surprised that you should countenance the use of slaves aboard a ship of His Britannic Majesty’s Navy.”
“It is unusual, I agree, but I do not believe it is expressly forbidden in the regulations. In dire need, we sometimes resort to pressing freeborn Englishmen into the service.”
The Governor smiled. “And even Americans I have heard.”
This was true.
“Well, the only offence is in proposing to pay for them when I am still in your debt. You must permit me to make you a gift. How many would you like?”
Nathan protested that he could not possibly prevail upon His Excellency’s generosity in such a matter. The debt had been paid in full. “You have your fort, I have my ship,” he insisted.
The governor gave in with a surprising alacrity. It soon became clear why.
“They are valued at 400 Spanish dollars per man,” Nathan was informed by Mr. McIvor, who had been given the task of negotiating the price with one of the Governor’s underlings. “That is in silver dollars, or pieces of eight, as we call them in England.”
“How much is that in English money?” Nathan enquired with a worried frown. He had a notion it was rather a lot.
“ Well, the rate of exchange varies considerably but we have agreed four shillings and sixpence to the dollar which makes”—the purser glanced into his notebook—”Ninety pounds per man.”
“Good grief! For a slave?”
“That is the current price in the slave market at the Havana. It is a little more he tells me in New Orleans but he is prepared to give us the benefit of the doubt, as it were.”
“I had no idea it was so much.”
“The price is a little higher than it was because of the war but when you consider you are buying the services of a prime field hand for life—the price of a woman or a child would be considerably less, unless, of course, the woman is handsome—it may be considered a bargain. I believe a farmhand in Sussex can cost almost two shillings a day, at least in the summer months. If your slave lives for two years you will have broke even, though there is the cost of keeping him of course, but then you can always sell him on, often at a considerable profit.”
“Thank you, Mr. McIvor, I will bear that in mind.”
He was making his own calculations. He had little more than £100 of his own money aboard the Unicorn but the Admiralty had provided him with £2,000 in gold sovereigns for the purposes of “intelligence” and whatever emergencies might arise in the course of his more clandestine activities. He entertained serious doubts as to whether the clerks at the Admiralty would countenance spending it on slaves but this was an argument he could have at a later date. If it came to it he would have to recompense them from his prize money—the prize money he had offered to his mother. He felt sure she would understand.
The entire amount at his disposal would buy him thirty men. At best it was but a salve to his conscience.
In the event, McIvor was able to obtain a considerable discount for gold and a further reduction if Nathan agreed to choose the men by lot, so that he did not pick the most powerfully built.
“How does that work?” he demanded with suspicion.
“Well, say we agree to buy thirty. A number of stones are put in an enclosed jar. Thirty of them are marked with a cross. Those that pick them out become yours.”
“I see.” He was become a slave-trader. “Very well. Make it so.”
The final price worked out at £68 a man. Nathan watched them come aboard the Unicorn where the crew had already begun the task of fitting a jury rig.
“Am I to put them to work, sir?” enquired Mr. Pym with a grim look. “Or are they to be treated as supercargo?”
“I will speak to them,” said Nathan.
This was the first difficulty.
“Apparently they understand some Spanish,” McIvor told him. “Command words for the most part. For their normal discourse they converse in their native tongue and there is a form of patois, based I believe on the French, but it is impenetrable to most Frenchmen.”
In the event, one of them spoke passable French and Nathan chose him as an interpreter for the others.
“What is your name?” he asked him.
“I am called Jorge, Master.”
“You do not call me ‘master,’” Nathan informed him. “You may call me ‘sir.’” It was to be hoped he appreciated the distinction. This was going to be difficult. “I have bought your freedom, do you understand me? For you and your fellows.” Jorge regarded him without expression. “I have bought you into His Britannic Majesty’s Navy. You are now a servant of His Britannic Majesty, King George, of England. George. That is the same name as Jorge.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. While you are aboard this ship you will be rated as landsmen and paid”—the purser had done his sums for him—”five Spanish reales a day. When we reach Jamaica—which is an island owned by King George about a thousand miles from here—you will be released and I will give each of you what you are owed in wages and a certificate to say that you are now freed men.”
There was understanding now in the man’s eyes, but also suspicion. Nathan could not blame him.
“In the meantime, however, as servants of King George—as are we all—you will be expected to do your share of the work aboard ship.”
But what work were they to do? And how in God’s name were they to be given their orders, shown where to berth, how to get food from the galley, where to relieve themselves—a thousand things he had not thought of when he had conceived his plan?
He supposed they could do the usual work of a landsman if they were shown the ropes, but every single order would have to be relayed through Jorge—and who was to do it, given that Jorge himself would have to be spoken to in French? Nathan—or even Tully—could not be expected to be on hand for every eventuality.
Then he remembered Tierney—the Channel Islander Tully had found on Coquilles Island. Until they reached Jamaica he could act as Jorge’s mentor. He was about to send for him when he became aware of the presence of young Lamb, his hat respectfully doffed.
“If you please, sir.”
“Mr. Lamb?”
“Mr. Pym’s compliments, sir, and there is a Spanish gentleman wishing to speak with you.”
Escavar with a summons from the Governor who was about to take his leave and wished to have a private word aboard the Lion.
Nathan had himself rowed over in the gig which had now been restored to him.
“I must return to New Orleans,” Carondelet informed him, “but before I go I have news that might interest you.”
Nathan braced himself.
“When we broke the siege of Fort San Felipe we took a number of pris
oners: Cajun rebels and French regular soldiers landed by the Virginie”
Nathan declined to mention that Tully had already told him so. He assumed the marines had been landed in the Delta shortly before the Virginie headed back to Ship Island—and her encounter with the Unicorn.
“Among them was your Mr. Imlay.”
Nathan did not have to feign his astonishment. “But how could he have got from Coquilles Island to the mouth of the Mississippi—it is above a hundred miles, across a swamp?”
“I assume he employed the services of one of the Cajuns as a guide. And he could have travelled most of the way by river. However, it does suggest that he was well acquainted with the French intentions before arriving on these shores—unless he ran into them by accident, as he declares.”
“You have spoken with him?”
“I have indeed. He maintains that he became lost during the engagement on Coquilles Island and was making for the Delta in the hope of finding you again when he was taken prisoner by the French.”
Nathan frowned. “You believe him?”
The Governor gave him a look. “During my time in New Orleans it is possible I have met some of the greatest rogues upon the face of the earth,” he confided. “And in my opinion Mr. Imlay would be perfectly at ease among them.”
“Where is he now?”
“I imagine he is on his way to Hispaniola.”
“Hispaniola?”
“I should say Saint-Domingue where the Revolutionists are spreading liberty, equality and fraternity at the point of the bayonet, as is invariably the case. I sent him there in a Charleston trader, with those French nationals that survived our encounter.”
“And may I ask why, your Excellency?”
Carondelet sighed. “Because I did not know what else to do with them. In the case of the French marines they are prisoners of war. I am bound by certain conventions to either house them in a fitting manner until the end of hostilities, which I am by no means anxious to do, to exchange them for Spanish prisoners of war, or to return them under parole to the territory of France. I am by no means certain who is presently running Saint-Domingue but I am perfectly prepared to concede that it is French territory for the purposes of this transaction. As for Imlay”—another sigh—”he is a citizen of the United States. Indeed I have reason to believe he is an American agent, though they have found it convenient in the past to disown him and doubtless will do so again. But I want no trouble with the Americans. I had rather send him to the French. Of course, had I known at the time of your current situation I would have brought him to you but your officer did not arrive until the day after Mr. Imlay had been sent on his way.”