by Dudley Pope
There was a flurry of movement at the Griffin’s entry-port on the starboard side, and Lobb came up to Ned to report: “That soldier’s arrived sir, the one who usually smells of fish.”
“Let him come on board – once you’ve made him brush off the fish scales.”
Diana gave her musical laugh. “One day poor Lieutenant Rowlands will have the sense to order a fishing canoe to be scrubbed out and reserved for his own use.”
Thomas shook his head. “Perish the idea: we’d have nothing to bait him about!”
Rowlands was agitated and saluted Ned smartly. “An urgent message from the general, sir!” he said, unlacing the straps closing the leather sabretache he had been wearing slung from his belt. “The general asks that you treat it as particularly urgent,” he added, handing over the paper folded four times and closed with two seals.
Because the lieutenant always annoyed him, Ned tucked the paper carelessly into a pocket, nodded a dismissal to Rowlands, and turned to Thomas. “I wish the breeze would get up, it’s so damned hot. Drains all one’s energy.”
Thomas was always quick to join in the baiting of Rowlands. “Yes, what do you say we have dinner on deck under the awning? Too hot below, and you always give such a good meal. I’ve brought the wine.”
“Sir,” Rowlands ventured. “The general said –”
“–that it was urgent. But remember, my dear Oarlands, his messages are always urgent: it is the most boring thing about them.”
“But sir, this really is urgent!”
“Of course it is!”
“But sir–”
“I know, my dear Rowman,” Ned said, in yet another variation of the man’s name, “the Spanish fleet is coming…”
“Yes sir, but how did you know?”
Ned looked around for his perspective glass, saw it on the binnacle box and gave it to Rowlands.
“Climb aloft and look across the Palisades and you’ll see ‘the Spanish fleet’.” Wide-eyed, Rowlands took the glass and then saw the heavily-tarred, thick rope rigging.
“Aye, it’ll spoil your shoes and stain your hose,” Thomas said unsympathetically. “But by the time you’re back reporting to the general, he’ll have seen it anyway, providing he looks out of his window.”
“Is it within gunshot?” Rowlands asked incredulously. “Yes, of the general’s house and us.”
“But I don’t hear the gunfire.”
“You will, you will,” Ned assured him, and as if to punctuate his sentence a gun boomed over the anchorage from the western end and a moment later an alarmed Rowlands grasped Ned’s shoulder.
“The attack has started, sir! What are you going to do? The Spanish are here!”
“I’m going to have dinner,” Ned said, removing Rowlands’ hand. “It helps to die on a full stomach!”
Chapter Two
The Convertine frigate turned into the anchorage and beat her way up to the eastern end, past the Griffin, Peleus and Phoenix and the other four privateers, to anchor abreast the jetty on the Palisades, firing a gun in salute every five seconds so that the terns and gulls shrieked a regular protest. As soon as she had backed the foretopsail to set the anchor, a boat was hoisted out and it pulled for the shore.
Ned, watching with the glass, saw that there were two officers in it, and Lobb confirmed that from his dress one of them seemed to be the captain of the frigate.
Half an hour later Lieutenant Rowlands was out again in a canoe: the general wanted to see Ned and Thomas “as soon as would be convenient”. Urgently, Rowlands added, but pulled a face as he said it, as if admitting he had made a fool of himself earlier.
“Ah,” Aurelia said to Rowlands, who irritated her merely by his presence, “the general wants a favour.”
Rowlands was even more ill at ease than usual, and Ned guessed that the lieutenant knew what news or orders the Convertine had brought but probably did not understand their significance. It must have been like that when the merchant ship had arrived several weeks ago with the first news that Cromwell was dead. But what on earth could the Convertine be reporting now that would be more of a blow to people like General Heffer than Oliver Cromwell’s death? Even if Richard Cromwell had died, abdicated or been overthrown by the army, it could not put the general in any worse danger. It would mean that in London the Council of State had acted, which (for Heffer, anyway) would be good news rather than bad.
As the Griffin’s boat took him to the jetty with Thomas, both men cursing over the interrupted dinner, Ned could think of no explanation, and had merely shrugged when Thomas raised his eyebrows, unwilling to ask the question aloud. Ned had taken pity on Rowlands and brought him over, saving him yet another trip in the narrow, unstable canoe, and the lieutenant led the way into the general’s office.
The general stood up as they came in, and so did two naval officers who had been sitting opposite him at the table. Heffer’s face looked as if the skin had shrunk in the past hour, his eyes seemed glazed as though he was suffering from acute shock or acute fear. With a vagueness which was not intended he introduced the four men and, without sitting down again, gestured towards the naval officers and said: “These gentlemen have brought me news and orders, and a letter which I believe is for you, Mr – er, Kent. They expected to deliver it in Barbados, but you were not there, and they learned that the owner of the Griffin, a certain Mr Yorke, had left that island with most of the people from his plantation. They happened to mention it to me – would I be wrong in thinking that I had mistaken the counties, mishearing your name as Kent instead of Yorke?”
Ned smiled at Heffer’s tactfulness: the name Kent had seemed suitable as a buccaneer while Cromwell was alive… “Yes, I am Edward Yorke.”
The senior of the two naval officers then took a packet from a canvas pouch and gave it to Ned, who glanced at the superscription, did not recognize the writing, and pushed it inside the front of his jerkin.
The general went on, his voice dropping as though he was overawed by what he had to say: “The news these gentlemen bring is almost unbelievable. General Monck, seeing the people in England were becoming restive with the situation after the Lord Protector’s death, invited the Prince to return to the throne. He has brought him back to London from Holland. Today England is once again a monarchy; we owe allegiance to His Majesty King Charles the Second.”
“God Save the King!” Thomas bellowed, making everyone jump as he leapt to his feet. “I have always owed my allegiance to him and not my damnable uncle!” He saw the naval officers’ puzzled expressions. “I too should introduce myself properly, I suppose: Thomas Whetstone, Baronet, nephew of the late and, by me, unlamented Lord Protector.”
“Bless my soul,” Heffer exclaimed and subsided in his chair. “God bless my soul.” Then, the soldier emerging once again, he asked: “You’re not going to take those great guns back, are you?”
“Most certainly not!” Ned said. “They’re for our own defence as much as anyone else’s. I’m glad we’re now helping the King’s cause, of course – as no doubt you are.”
“Oh, yes, my goodness me, of course. Indeed, we shall name the first battery ‘Fort Charles’. That would be most appropriate, don’t you think?” Heffer added cautiously, finding that thinking as a Royalist did not come naturally.
“There could be no better name,” Thomas boomed. Then, a sudden fear striking him, he swung on the two naval officers. “You have no news of peace with Spain, have you?” he demanded.
“No, Sir Thomas, only that the King is restored and has proclaimed a general political amnesty in England. General Monck has thrown aside his Commonwealth allegiance and is in charge of the government. The army supports him in the restoration of the monarchy. The navy too, of course.”
“And you?” Ned asked Heffer. “What happens to the army in Jamaica?”
“As you gentlem
en have been acting as joint naval commanders in the defence of the island,” the general said, unable to resist a dig at the Convertine’s captain, to emphasize the absence of the Royal Navy, I have no hesitation in telling you. I have direct orders –” and his voice took on a deeper, more reverent tone – “from General Monck himself, to remain in command of Jamaica, with the title of Acting Governor, to ensure its defences are strong and take any steps I need to protect both the island and my forces.”
“Did he give you the Convertine?” Ned asked casually, seeing endless rows and confusions resulting in a naval captain trying to control the buccaneers.
“No, the Convertine has been calling at all the islands to take the news and now she sails back to England, just calling at Somers Island on the way.”
“So you still have no government ships – we can call them King’s ships once again – to protect you ?”
“No, but I was hoping that our arrangement, you providing the great guns and me the forts and batteries, would encourage you and Sir Thomas to stay.”
“Yes, we want to use Cagway, or whatever you propose calling the harbour, as a base. Port Royal would be a good name, don’t you think, in honour of the King’s restoration? But we have to attack Spanish ports and towns, otherwise we shall not have the money for provisions.”
“I can’t think your ships will make much impression on the Dons,” the captain of the Convertine sneered unexpectedly. “From what I saw, the ships’ companies look more like gangs of poachers!”
The general said quietly: “You will apologize for that remark at once captain, and when you have done so I will tell you why I insist.”
The captain flushed and, after first wondering if he dare defy the governor of Jamaica, finally apologized.
The general then said, a hint of awe still in his voice: “That ‘gang of poachers’ has just come back from successfully attacking Santiago de Cuba, blowing up its castle, and bringing away all of Santiago’s great guns. Those cannon, carriages and shot, you saw lying on the ground at the end of the jetty, waiting for the masons to build forts and batteries, are Spanish and defended Santiago until last week. Santiago, I would remind you, is the second port of Cuba… Incidentally, the last admiral we had here, Penn, ended in the Tower because of his abilities.”
Ned and Thomas returned to the Griffin, where Diana and Aurelia met them at the entry-port. Aurelia led the way down to the cabin. The sun was high but the crew had rigged an old sail as an awning, sheltering the afterdeck and making welcome shade so that the Trade wind blowing across the anchorage was cooled a little as it swept the after part of the ship.
Down in the cabin Diana and Aurelia sat side by side on the bunk and looked questioningly at the two men. Thomas glanced sideways at Ned. “You tell ’em; I still think I’m dreaming.”
Deciding to tantalize them for a few moments, Ned said: “The Convertine brought new orders for the general. He keeps his job as governor, and he is to defend the island. And there has been no peace treaty signed with the Dons.”
Aurelia sighed. “Now you have had your little joke, Edouard, tell us the news.”
“What do you mean?” Ned asked innocently.
“I believed you up to the moment you said no peace treaty had been signed with Spain. Something unusual must have happened to make that of any importance. Since out here war with Spain is normal, chéri, peace would be unusual. Anyway, whatever happens in Europe does not affect us out here – remember, ‘No peace beyond the Line’.”
“The King is back on the throne in London,” Ned said.
The two women stared at him wide-eyed and then at Thomas, wary of a joke yet wanting to believe it.
“It’s true,” Thomas said. “General Monck fetched him back from Holland. And he’s proclaimed a general amnesty for political affairs. The King isn’t going to put the leading Roundheads on the block.”
“That’s wise,” Diana said unexpectedly. “God knows they deserve it, but recriminations are pointless. What’s done is done and that’s that.”
Thomas growled: “Except that I lost my land, and Ned’s father lost two estates – three including Ilex, as well as the plantation in Barbados.” He grinned at Aurelia and added: “Even though he’ll have the plantation back by the most devious circumstances, once he’s married.”
“The King will make it all right,” Aurelia said. “You must give him time.”
“The King has been out of England too long,” Thomas said cautiously. “He doesn’t know who are his friends. Who knows what gossip was poured into his ear while he was in France, and then Spain? Think of him spending years in Catholic countries, living on the bounty of Catholic kings, and surrounded by court lackeys…”
“You don’t sound very happy at the Restoration, darling,”Diana said.
“It’s just that I wish I was in England. There’s bound to be a long period of confusion and that’s when an innocent man’s enemies can strike.”
“Oh stop grumbling,” Diana said sharply, adding unsympathetically: “You have more to fear from debtors than anyone else. Ned, fetch out a bottle of something special and let’s drink out of glasses for once!”
Aurelia jumped up and opened a locker which held glasses fitting into circular holes cut in a shelf. “What shall we drink?”
“Anything but rumbullion,” Diana said firmly.
“Cognac. Here, hold the glasses while I pour.”
As soon as the four of them were holding their glasses, Thomas said: “I give you a toast, one I don’t think any of us expected to drink to with a king on the throne: Here’s health unto His Majesty!”
As soon as they had emptied their glasses, Ned said: “We must tell the ship’s company, and give them the rest of the day off to celebrate. And pass the word to the Peleus and the Phoenix.”
Aurelia suddenly said: “Chéri, you are a most peculiar shape in front. What have you in your jerkin?”
Ned pulled out the packet. “A letter from England. Sent out to Barbados with the Convertine’s captain. Luckily they told him there that I had fled in the Griffin.”
“Open it, open it!” Aurelia said impatiently. “How can you walk round for hours with an unopened letter!”
“It’s of no consequence, of that I’m sure,” Ned said. “I don’t recognize the writing.” He broke the seal and unfolded the paper. There were three sheets, the last two being lists.
“Sir,” he read:
It is with the deepest regret that I have to inform you of the death of your father, the sixth Earl of Ilex. This occurred near Toledo in Spain on the fifth day of May last, when he was out hunting and his horse fell heavily. He was riding in a group accompanying His Majesty, who commands me to convey to you His Majesty’s sympathy in your grievous loss.
Your father died intestate, and of course your elder brother George succeeds to his titles, estates and possessions, and as your late father’s steward, who was with him at the time of the fatal accident but who returned to England with His Majesty, I am enclosing a copy of the accounting of the estates which I sent to your brother. This account is of necessity cursory in its nature, but His Majesty commands me to inform you both that as your father refused to compound with Cromwell and instead went into exile, joining His Majesty, the title and estates pass to your brother without any stop, let or hindrance.
In the meantime I assure you that all is well with the estates at Godmersham, Saltwood and Ilex, and that the family gold and silver plate has been recovered from the hiding place where your late father and I put it, and is in safe custody. Your brother will be writing to you as soon as he returns to England.
The letter was signed by Henry Grey, who must by now be seventy years old, and who had begun serving the Yorke family when he was about eight years old.
Ned suddenly realized that there was complete silence in the cabin,
apart from the lapping of the waves against the hull, and a white-faced and distraught-looking Aurelia was waiting for him to say something. Diana too seemed close to tears, sensing that his concentration on the letter meant that it was both important and probably bad news. Thomas was running his fingers through his beard in the nearest approach to agitation that Ned had seen.
“I’m sorry, but this is rather a shock. My father – he’s been killed in a hunting accident in Spain – the King’s sympathy – the steward is writing…”
Thomas was the first to react. “So your brother George is the new Earl. Diana and I can only extend our sympathies at your loss. Do you get the estates back? Your father didn’t compound, did he?”
“We get the estates back, so the steward says.”
A moment later Aurelia was holding him, sobbing. He held her tight and then, when she had stopped, whispered: “Don’t grieve; he was my father but we were not really close. We went our own ways. That was why I came out to Barbados.”
Ned folded the letter and put it in a drawer. The steward’s lists could be read later. “I’d better assemble the ship’s company and tell them about the King’s restoration.”
Thomas stood up, looking embarrassed. “Ned…” he paused a few moments, “…you remember the Brethren of the Coast, and their new leader?”
Ned nodded: “That’s all forgotten now, I suppose?”
“Why should it be?” Thomas seemed startled.
“Well, I assume Sir Thomas Whetstone and the Lady Diana Gilbert-Manners will now return to England and resume a life of remarkable respectability?”
“No!” Diana said violently. “At least, I shan’t. Thomas might, but I doubt it. Tell us, Thomas, you’re not getting too old for buccaneering?”
“Not while the Dons say ‘No peace beyond the Line’!” Ned laughed and looked at Aurelia. “I think the Yorkes, after their wedding, might have to return to Barbados to put their affairs in order, and by that time perhaps the forts and batteries will be built here, and those guns mounted.”