The Scent of Betrayal

by David Donachie

  ‘You’re tired, Oliver, and so am I. We’re safe here. I suggest we all get some rest, then we can have Captain Cabot join us for dinner.’

  Harry drifted in and out of sleep, rudely awakened from time to time by the clang of metal on metal. Willerby wasn’t pleased when he was ordered to cook a dinner for the Captain and his guests. As he pointed out, noisily, they’d left St Croix ‘in their smalls’ and though they might be ‘well found in the article of wine’ he’d not taken on the kind of stores to produce a meal that would reflect credit on the ship. The noise from the galley, as he used every utensil in his armoury to beat on his coppers, was enough to wake the dead. Pender finally lost his temper and told the one-legged cook that they’d be eating shark meat if he’d didn’t ‘stow it,’ with the old man used as bait. There were fishermen in the bay, happy to sell their catch, adding some lobsters from their pots. But Willerby wasn’t happy. He might have quelled his banging, but he could still be heard muttering to himself, as the sweat dripped off his triple chin, that ‘a dinner with no red meat was no meal, at all!’

  Even without Willerby’s banging, sleep would have been difficult for Harry Ludlow. Too many thoughts were chasing each other round his head. He went back to the first dinner he’d shared with Pollock, provided by the Danish banker Børsenen. Harry made no secret of the fact that he was a successful privateer, and was proud to inform the American that James, despite his modest protestations, was a well-known portrait painter. Pollock might claim to be no more than a run-of-the-mill businessman, yet a great deal of what he’d subsequently said, when drink had loosened his tongue, indicated that he was someone of substance, a man who was highly regarded by the United States government, perhaps even some kind of envoy. His anecdotes were peppered with references to such luminaries as the brothers Morris, Alexander Hamilton, Jefferson, Jay, and Adams. Even Washington himself was mentioned, all spoken of with a familiarity that implied a degree of intimacy. He undertook to introduce them to James should he choose to visit New York, with a recommendation that they sit for him. Deliberately or otherwise, Pollock left no one at the table, quite particularly their Danish host, in any doubt as to the strength of his connections.

  His passion was his country. Pollock loved everything about America; its political system, its people, and its vast landscape. Yet he himself lived in New Orleans, which was under Spanish control. Harry had listened with an extra degree of attention when he described his home city; the climate, language, and some interesting opportunities. With no desire to have to explain either his own recent behaviour or theirs, Harry gently pumped the American on behalf of the Ariadnes. He knew they were experiencing some difficulty in deciding on a destination. Indeed the only point on which they seemed to agree was a desire to leave the Caribbean. A return to France or settlement in Quebec were the preferred options, but many were after their previous experiences fearful of unbridled French rule. Others harboured deep suspicions of the British, who ruled Canada.

  The Louisiana Territory had a strong French presence, and it seemed a vast area ready for exploitation. Harry wondered if it might provide a destination for them. Everything Pollock told him, in their subsequent meetings, he passed on. Seeing that this had an effect, he undertook to speak to his new friend, if they decided in favour of Louisiana, and ask him to look out for their welfare. But with a caution born of experience, he avoided mentioning the subject to Pollock until matters were settled.

  That love of country had led to their one and only disagreement, and thinking about it now Harry could see just how many questions had been left hanging in the air at the conclusion of what seemed at the time something quite minor. Pollock, again having consumed slightly more drink than was good for him, was describing the blight that had struck America in the years after they’d separated from the British Crown.

  ‘I never thought to see my people in danger of dying of starvation. But, thanks to your navy, and your Navigation Acts, we couldn’t ship anything out of the country, and had no one to sell them to if we could. The wharves were heaped with goods that just rotted. We had an army disbanding that expected to be paid, and nothing to pay it with. We were near to anarchy.’

  ‘But matters have improved.’

  ‘They have, Harry,’ he replied, the bitterness, for once, still in his voice, ‘though Albion’s arm seems mighty long and sticky. General Wilkinson was still negotiating to get your soldiers out of Detroit when I left. And the commercial treaty we just signed had British green written all over it. It was so pernicious that getting it ratified was a close-run thing.’

  ‘Then why did you do it?’

  ‘Had to, friend. Four-fifths of our trade is with your ports and Billy Pitt knew it. The umbilical cord remains to strangle us.’ Pollock picked up his drink and proposed a toast. ‘Damnation to Albion, Harry.’

  ‘Sorry, Oliver,’ Harry replied good-humouredly.

  ‘You should shift out of that land of corruption, Harry.’

  ‘I’m happy as I am, believe me.’

  ‘Nonsense! If only you’d seen half of the things I have.’

  Harry grinned. ‘I don’t have to. You never stop telling me about them. I feel as though I know every mountain, tree, and river in the whole continent. In truth, given your love of the place, not to mention your admiration for the Constitution, I can’t fathom why you live in a Spanish colony. Nor have you explained it. I sense that you might be the possessor of some dark and dangerous secret.’

  This was no more than the plain truth. But the remark, intended humorously, produced a deep frown, an abrupt change of subject, and a definite chill in the mood. Pollock leant forward in a slightly threatening manner, his eyes cold.

  ‘If your King’s officers don’t stop whipping any man they choose out of our ships, I can see a day when we might be at war again, cousin versus cousin.’

  ‘Then I’d best stay this side of the Atlantic, Oliver,’ Harry replied with a grin, trying to keep the conversation in a jocular vein. ‘If we go to war I shall have some very profitable fun with your merchant ships.’

  That he’d failed was very evident in the sharp reply that sally received, one that in its bellicosity made him wonder if Pollock had been at the bottle before they met.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll bite off more’n you can chew, Harry Ludlow. They ain’t all lacking in the means to fight.’

  ‘The Daredevil certainly isn’t,’ Harry replied, finally showing a trace of the same impatience. ‘Nor is she designed to bear cargo. A more sceptical soul might enquire what a man who says he’s in trade is doing aboard such a ship.’

  ‘Convenience, Harry,’ Pollock said swiftly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Nothing else but convenience. She was heading this way and I hitched a ride.’

  Said with force, and given the frosty way the words were spoken, it was not something Harry felt inclined to pursue.

  When Captain Cabot came aboard from the Daredevil Harry realised that since he’d never come ashore in St Croix, no one from Bucephalas had ever met him. Suspecting a misanthrope, Harry found him to be an amusing companion who shared his love of wine and conversation. The food, if Willerby thought it plain, was fresh and delicious, and since neither Ludlow brother believed in stinting himself in the vinous line, the drinks that accompanied each remove were excellent. James was the first to propose a toast to American ships in general, and the Daredevil in particular.

  ‘Hear him,’ cried Cabot, happily.

  ‘Mind you, sir,’ James continued, ‘how will I recognise such fellows when I see them? Every time I spy an American ship the flag has changed.’

  ‘Stars, sir,’ said Matthew, with an enthusiasm that earned him a glare from his father, ‘represent each additional state. One day you’ll see a whole lot more. Kentucky, Vermont, and Tennessee are already in, as you know. But it won’t stop there.’

  ‘What about New Orleans?’ said Harry, turning to Pollock. Again the question bothered his guest, producing the kind of expression that Harry remembered
from his daydreams.

  ‘Pigs might fly, Harry. A Spanish colony with a French population, sitting right across the best river route out of the interior? Damned if anyone can make sense of things there, even me. The Spaniards won’t give it up, even though it drains their treasury and the French if they want it back aren’t saying. Meanwhile their people seem intent on getting rid of King Carlos and installing some kind of Republic. Thank God they’re too small in number to have their way. The last emigration was the influx of refugees from the Terror. I hope it was the last. The more Frenchmen we have there the more unstable the place becomes.’

  Harry blushed slightly, making a mental note to avoid alluding to his recent discussions with the Ariadnes. Pollock talked on. He clearly had mixed views about the French as a nation, quite prepared to admire them as individuals, while deploring their collective inability to find a political solution that didn’t involve fratricidal bloodshed. That good opinion did not, however, extend to the Creoles of New Orleans, who he saw as nothing but a nuisance.

  ‘The form of government don’t matter much, just as long as it’s French. I half suspect that if Spain doesn’t give it to them they’ll try and take it back by force, then ask Paris for recognition.’

  ‘And what will the Americans do then?’ Harry asked, with just a trace of malice. Pollock looked at him keenly. ‘Come along, Oliver. The solution is obvious. The last thing you would welcome, after all the trouble it caused us, is France back on your borders. And what about the Mississippi delta? When we still controlled the colonies there was many a voice raised on both sides of the Atlantic, advocating that New Orleans should be taken by assault.’

  ‘That’s speculation,’ he replied sharply, ‘which I won’t indulge in. Right now there’s no need for such talk. Things have improved since Senator Pinckney signed the recent treaty. The Dons have given us free navigation and rights of deposit at New Orleans for twenty-five years. They make more money and, given a method of shipping their goods out of the interior, we hear less from the frontier states about secession from the Union.’

  ‘Secession?’ said James. ‘According to Matthew, they’ve only just joined your great enterprise.’

  ‘Games. The Kentuckians in particular play the Spaniards off against us, all intended to extract some concessions from somebody. A trading privilege from the Dons or a bit more Indian land grabbed with the approval of Congress. They are, without doubt, the most ill-bred set of low-lifes it has been my misfortune to encounter. They drink to excess, fight without any cause other than an ill-timed look, and seem to have affection for only one thing, their damned long rifles. If there’s one thing worse than a French Creole, it’s those godforsaken Kentuckians.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE CONVERSATION moved on, since any talk about Louisiana seemed to upset Pollock. They speculated for a while on what the Royal Navy would do about Hugues, and then moved on to the question of whether the Spanish, having made peace with France, would stay out of the war.

  ‘Rumour has it they’re talking of a pact already,’ said Pollock. ‘After all, Harry, they’ve allied themselves with France against Britain most of this century.’

  ‘A different France,’ observed James.

  Cabot pulled a wry face. ‘They trust John Bull less, Mr Ludlow. And given the way your politicoes behave, who can blame them?’

  ‘Not to mention your naval officers,’ added Matthew Caufield.

  ‘Might I remind you,’ said Harry, smiling, ‘that this is a British ship.’

  ‘Not with all those Frenchmen aboard it ain’t,’ said Pollock. ‘Since I can’t see you keeping them as guests, what do you plan to do with them?’

  ‘It’s not up to me, Oliver. They will choose.’

  ‘Kinda drops you in a quandary though, Harry. Having fetched them out of St Croix you’ve taken on the responsibility.’

  Harry replied thoughtfully: ‘That’s not as much of a problem as it first appears. They have several options.’

  ‘What did you mean when you said they had a fortune?’

  ‘Not a fortune, Oliver. I said good fortune.’ Pollock’s eyes narrowed, as though what he’d heard didn’t square with what he knew. ‘It’s a long story, Oliver, which I won’t bore you with.’

  ‘There was a buzz around the harbour, gossip that you and those men had been engaged in a bit of no good. That they’d made a pile, which you had a share in, by less than honest means. I paid it no heed, since I don’t see you that way. Perhaps I was wrong to do that?’

  The way Harry ignored that was both blatant and somewhat insulting. He carried on as if Pollock hadn’t asked anything about piracy or gold. And what he said was offensive in its own right.

  ‘I didn’t say this before but I’ve been advising them that since they can’t decide on Europe or Canada, they’d be better off heading for Louisiana, quite possibly New Orleans.’

  ‘What!’ Pollock snapped.

  ‘All, I must say, due to your glowing description of the place, which I was happy to pass on. The language is right and I think the climate will suit them.’

  ‘You’re proposing to take Frenchmen to New Orleans?’ asked Cabot.

  Since Pollock still looked unhappy Harry spoke to him. ‘Thirty new colonists won’t make any difference, Oliver.’

  ‘They will to me, Harry. And let’s get back to this good fortune you seem so keen to avoid talking about. Just how much of that particular commodity have they enjoyed?’

  Harry waved a hand airily. ‘A few thousand of your American dollars. I’m not certain of the exact amount, but it’s no more than that, I’m sure. Enough to ensure that they’re no burden to anyone when they land.’

  James had to turn away at that point, so Pollock wouldn’t see his smile. He’d seen this trait in Harry before. Sometimes it angered him. At other times, like now, it was a cause of much amusement. Harry had been quite vocal about his liking for this particular American. Yet even with people he purported to trust and admire he was inclined to dissimulate, never telling them a truth they didn’t absolutely need to hear.

  ‘I rather fear that after what I’d already said they were going there anyway once their ship was repaired. Now that they are in my care, I don’t see that I have much choice.’

  ‘You do, Harry,’ said Pollock, coldly.

  ‘We can hardly take them back home with us,’ said James.

  ‘I don’t think you understand, sir,’ Pollock replied. ‘The Spanish are the most nervous race on God’s earth. They have as much love for French colonists as I have. And I might add that the sight of an armed British ship at a time like this in the Mississippi delta won’t help cheer them either.’

  ‘But we’re not their enemies,’ James added. ‘They’re neutral.’

  ‘Can any English ship be truly neutral to the Dons?’ said Cabot.

  ‘That is a truth that is particularly relevant in this part of the world,’ added Pollock. ‘They still scare their children with tales of El Draco!’

  ‘Drake and Hawkins are long dead,’ said Harry, with a pleading look in his eye. ‘And if that’s where they want to go, either I take them there or I hire someone to do so.’

  ‘You were going to ask me?’ said the American quickly.

  ‘It had occurred to me, yes.’

  The sarcasm was very thinly veiled as Pollock replied. ‘Much as I’d like to oblige you, my business precludes it.’

  ‘But you live in New Orleans, Oliver. You must be going there. And the sight of your ship must be familiar to the Dons. They won’t even ask who you’ve got aboard.’

  ‘The Daredevil doesn’t hail from New Orleans,’ said Cabot. That remark earned him a sharp look from Pollock that made the Captain flush with embarrassment.

  ‘They still know you, Oliver.’

  Harry saw the same look as Pollock turned to face him. But it disappeared swiftly, to be replaced by a blank expression. ‘True. But I don’t know when I’ll return. Captain Cabot and I are heading for Chesapeak
e Bay. I have places to go and people to see.’

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘Harry,’ said Pollock, leaning forward eagerly, a friendly smile on his face, ‘do me a favour. Take them somewhere else.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, Oliver.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the American replied, his smile turning grim. He must have been aware from Harry’s tone that his efforts to deflect the Frenchmen to another destination would be limited. Did he understand that it wasn’t entirely his choice now?

  ‘So, who are you off to see, Oliver?’

  Pollock’s eyes narrowed slightly, and the smile on his face became still harder. ‘Tell me, Harry Ludlow. How would you like it if someone started quizzing you about your business?’

  Harry’s face reddened just a touch. ‘Forgive me. I had no intention of prying.’

  Having put Harry firmly in his place, Pollock’s voice softened. ‘Truth is, I don’t know where I’m going. Business is like that, which is something I don’t have to say to you. And I have learned over the years never to discuss my doings with anyone. I’ve seen too many propositions fail because the man contemplating them talked too loud.’

  ‘You must forgive Harry, Mr Pollock,’ said James, with wicked and evident pleasure. ‘His curiosity is endemic. And your tone of apology is quite wasted. If ever I’ve known a man who was reluctant to show his cards it is my brother. Not even I am privy to his innermost thoughts.’

  They watched the Daredevil depart with mixed feelings. James and the Caufields were still full of gratitude for the American ship’s intervention, but Harry was subject to different emotions. He would have laughed at anyone who even intimated that he was wounded. Yet Oliver Pollock’s behaviour had troubled him. The close companionship of St Croix had quite evaporated. But emotion, of necessity, was soon put aside, as he began to contemplate the needs of his ship. Bucephalas couldn’t go anywhere without wood and water. Then there was food, which presented more of a problem. Harry’s men were sailors to their fingertips, and they had a very strict idea of what they should be fed. He needed salt pork and beef, flour in the sack, ship’s biscuit in the cask, gallons of beer and kegs of rum. Since Tortola was not over-endowed in the chandling department, time was spent as the stores were gathered from the nearby islands. Nathan and Matthew Caufield, who’d decided to leave the ship and head home, agreed to organise the supplies, as a small recompense for the way he’d helped them in the past.