‘I have heard many an outcry in London, Harry, and let me tell you they don’t amount to much after a day or two.’
‘There will be a lot of people at home, especially greedy naval officers, who’ll maintain that since the Dons are no longer our allies we should go the whole hog and make them our enemies, whether they infringe on our prerogatives or not. Taking over a British letter of marque without just cause, even stealing what appears to be our profits, would give them ample ammunition.’
‘They hate us, Harry. We’ve seen enough of naval officers to know that.’
‘We’re like Jenkins’s ear, we’ll do as an excuse to start a war. De Carondelet won’t want an incident to fan such sentiments. And he’d have more than London to worry about if things flared up. Can you imagine what the French would do if they thought we might try to take Louisiana? Or the Americans, for that matter. Danger would threaten from all over the place. I doubt he has sufficient troops. He’s only got a few galleys, which would be too flimsy for a real battle, and you saw the state of the defences at the delta. All that combines to make New Orleans vulnerable.’
‘So, on balance, we have little to fear?’
‘Ask me after dinner, brother.’
‘And the Frenchmen’s money?’
‘The same.’
‘How very enigmatic, Harry.’
‘It has to be. All I know is this: Pender is right. If we fail to show up, or make any difficulties, he’ll draw unwelcome conclusions, perhaps even become as bellicose as he was on first acquaintance. San Lucar de Barrameda doesn’t have a monopoly on pride. Denting de Carondelet’s cannot be to our advantage. Our first priority is to try and retrieve that chest. Then we must gain some freedom of action.’
‘And our passengers?’
‘Provided we get their money back, all will be well. If we can’t get them ashore legitimately, we’ll do it another way. There’s endless places to land them along the riverbank.’
‘Well, then,’ said James, clearly unconvinced, ‘let’s hope de Carondelet’s perception of the dangers is as acute as you say. But it seems a slender thread to me.’
‘How did he strike you, as a man?’
‘Excitable,’ James replied. ‘Quixotic, even. Under some pressure. Prepared to command someone like San Lucar de Barrameda only up to a point – which would go some way to explain it.’
‘Honourable?’
‘Not transparently so.’
‘I didn’t ask if he was a saint, James.’
‘On balance, I think, yes. After all, he backed away from de Barrameda’s report once he’d been shown the contradictions.’
‘He’s certainly not naturally devious, since his attempt to be cunning about us shifting our berth was painfully obvious. He might as well have looked me in the eye and said, “I’m up to something.”’
‘That’s a contradiction, Harry. In one breath you say he’s not devious then in the next you say he is.’
‘That may be more to do with his worries than his inclinations. As you say, he’s under some pressure. You don’t need to be very bright to detect that his problems here in New Orleans are manifold. And for reasons we don’t yet know, the loss of that treasure has dealt him a serious blow, one that has nothing to do with its actual value. Somehow it’s made matters worse. It’s the level of instability that will dictate his actions, of course. But I’m of the opinion that as far as he’s capable his word is his bond.’
‘De Barrameda is quite the opposite. And he clearly exerts great influence.’
‘I think we may find out tonight just how much, brother.’
‘He would have taken over the ship without hesitation.’
‘True,’ Harry replied. ‘De Barrameda’s the worst kind of Spanish officer; prickly and proud, without an ounce of common sense, who got his command because he’s a hidalgo. He’s probably totally useless at sea.’
‘Would that also apply to his crew?’ Harry looked at him questioningly. He smiled in return. ‘Just in case we were thinking of attempting the impossible.’
‘Impossible just about sums it up,’ Harry replied grimly.
‘Bad officers don’t run good crews, your honour,’ said Pender. ‘Even if they’ve got good men in amongst ’em.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ said Harry, with feeling.
Pender looked at Harry keenly. ‘What do we do, your honour, if they try to come aboard while you’re ashore?’
Harry put his hand on Pender’s shoulder, his face grim. ‘In the end, that will have to be a decision you take at the time. If you think you can fight them off, do so. But I doubt if you’ll be exposed to any assault. Why bother? They’ve nothing to gain by damaging the ship in a situation where they can call on us to surrender any time they choose.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that word surrender, Capt’n.’
‘You’re right, Pender, and neither do I!’ Suddenly he shed what in a man like him looked remarkably like torpor and issued a stream of orders.
‘Say nothing to the Frenchmen. They’ll not take kindly to any notion that we might queer their pitch. I want the carpenter to make up some small rafts, big enough to carry barrels of gunpowder. He’s to drill a hole at the top of each one big enough to take a length of slow-match. No nails, or they’ll be heard all over the anchorage banging them in. Tell him they’re to be lashed together. Put others to fill our empty wine bottles with turpentine, and jam a bit of soaked tow into the neck. Empty any sea-chests aboard except those belonging to the French. Get the sailmaker to line them with storm canvas. Then the gunner can fill them with gunpowder as well.’
James couldn’t keep the slight note of exasperation out of his voice. ‘Harry, you’ve just spent ten minutes telling us we have nothing to fear, and even if we did there’s nothing we can do about it. Now you’re issuing instructions for a battle.’
‘Who was that Roman cove who said that if you want peace prepare for war? I want to be just that in case de Barrameda persuades him to do something at odds with his own inclinations.’
James thought for a moment before continuing. ‘I can see the use for rafted barrels of gunpowder, Harry, as well as the bottles. But the sea-chests escape me.’
Harry smiled. ‘We can’t ship gunpowder to the foot of that bastion, without being seen, but amongst thirty Frenchmen’s possessions, if we can get them ashore, it’s another matter.’
‘So we’re not trapped after all,’ said James.
‘Oh, we are, brother, but cornered rats always try to escape. If it comes to it, so shall we.’
The decision to address the entire group of Frenchmen had, at the time, seemed like good sense. But what Harry and James failed to realise was just how exposed that made them. Lampin and Couvruer, trying to intervene, were bluntly told that they were as much responsible for the loss of their treasure as these damned Englishmen, and only a loud threat from Harry stopped Brissot from turning violent.
‘If anyone, of any nationality, so much as raises a fist from now on, I’ll stretch his neck.’
‘And I would remind you that the only reason we are here in New Orleans is to help you,’ added James.
Harry coughed to cover a slight degree of embarrassment, wondering which of the two statements had done more to calm things. Whichever, he was glad, though the buzz of men grumbling was, in the confined space between decks, loud and worrying.
‘Because of that,’ James continued, ‘our ship, and the entire crew, is under threat.’
Lampin, sensing a chance to speak without being shouted down, took a pace forward. ‘Because of what you said to me, Captain Ludlow, I assured my friends that their money was safe.’
‘It makes no difference that it was in my brother’s cabin,’ James replied. ‘The Spaniards would have taken it from wherever it was found.’
Couvruer, who’d joined Lampin, spoke in English, which earned him some hard looks.
‘You will not convince all of them that is true.’
; The giant bearded Brissot stepped out of the crowd, grabbed both Lampin and Couvruer by the scruff of the neck and dragged them backwards.
‘You are a rich man, Rosbif,’ he said. ‘You give us the money you lost and then keep what you get back from the stinking Spaniards.’
That was greeted with a howl of approval, and an aggressive surge forward that forced Harry and James to step back quickly.
‘You told us that our money was safe in your cabin.’
Harry’s voice, rebounding off the low deck beams, brought all forward movement to a halt. It also killed off any sound.
‘Perhaps you’d like me to tell the Governor where that treasure really came from!’ He glared at them for several seconds, then with a slight tug at James’s sleeve, he spun on his heel and made his way up to the deck. Pender was standing at the top, the look on his face enough to convince Harry that even if he hadn’t comprehended most of the language he’d understood the mood.
‘I have to tell you, your honour,’ he intoned gravely, ‘that if they start any of that on me while you’re ashore, I’ll clap them in the cable tier, one an’ all.’
Harry, still seething, matched his tone.
‘Make it so, Pender, make it so.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DE CHIGNY WAS waiting ashore with a strong escort, all armed with long muskets tipped with vicious-looking bayonets; but a closer inspection showed the soldiers to be rather lacklustre in their bearing. Their mere presence had caused a crowd to gather, as usual in these situations, the most disreputable members of the community. Many a question was shouted at them, mixed with a stream of invective aimed at the escort, all studiously ignored as they marched through the dimly lit streets.
‘This is rather like going to an execution, Harry,’ said James.
His brother looked at him closely only to see that he’d made nothing more than a calm observation. As they reached the part of town that had survived the most recent fire, everything became brighter; this was due to gas lamps, a very modern innovation, affixed to the walls of the houses. A question to de Chigny quickly established that de Carondelet was a great improver, digging canals and strengthening the defences; and in installing lamps to replace flaring torches, he not only cut down on street crime, but reduced the risk of another devastating fire.
‘Perhaps we should adopt the same solution in London, Harry.’
‘You’d have to destroy the place first.’
‘Considering what a sink of iniquity it is, the notion doesn’t bother me.’
Because of such lights they could see the faces of the crowd that accompanied them, as well as hearing their voices.
‘Harry, those fellows on the outer edge, the Indians?’
Harry followed James’s pointed finger. ‘What about them?’
‘Do they seem unusual to you?’
‘Why should they? This is where they come from. We saw several weary creatures this morning trying to sell fruit.’
‘These men are different from the fruit sellers, I think you’ll agree.’
Harry peered at them again. ‘True. I’m almost sure I’ve seen them already.’
‘Where?’
‘They’re similar to the party that was on the levee when we returned earlier.’
‘I don’t recall seeing them.’
‘You were busy with de Carondelet.’
Both brothers were now concentrating on them as they kept pace with the marching soldiers. Their copper-coloured skin stood out, as did the brightly decorated buckskin clothing, but it was their silence that marked them. While all around them the crowd was yelling imprecations, including that same Cochon du lait insult aimed at the Governor, the Indians merely looked on, dark brown eyes studying the Ludlows with stoical indifference.
‘They look like the warriors you see at Hoxton Fair.’
Any further thoughts on that score were put to one side as the escort, hitherto content to ignore the crowd, suddenly dropped their bayonets. As they entered the square before an imposing building de Chigny had drawn his sword and was issuing orders, while at the same time threatening those too close to him with the flat of the blade. The formation changed as the soldiers, straightening up and adopting a more military bearing, levelled their weapons to form a sort of phalanx. This meant that anyone who interfered with their passage risked serious injury.
‘Why the fuss now?’ shouted James, craning his neck.
‘I think we’re approaching the Governor’s residence. Our young lieutenant wants to show how zealous he is.’
‘It doesn’t seem to be having much effect.’
Nothing proved this more than the way James had to shout to be heard. The attendant crowd, if they’d been loud before, found a new supply of air to fuel their anger, and they showed little fear, continually tempting the guards, darting forward and forcing the soldiers to withdraw their weapons. Harry observed this with some satisfaction. Nothing demonstrated how tenuous was the Spanish position more than the caution of the soldiers: even under their leader’s windows they had no wish to be the cause of a wound or a fatality, and the attitude of the crowd was such that he knew they were looking for an excuse to start something. A wound inflicted on a French colonist was just the thing to trigger off a riot. Finally they reached the entrance to the building. Two stories high, it had brick pillars and what looked like the plastered timber walls to be found at home in England. The soldiers formed an avenue, a frisson of bayonets pointing outwards, and de Chigny led the two brothers into the relative quiet of the interior.
It was only when they’d ascended the stairs that Harry realised they were in the same building as they’d come to that morning, having merely used another entrance. The passage leading to the Governor’s quarters was lined, as before, with smart-looking white-coated soldiers. Close to, Harry observed that their height, bearing, and dress contrasted sharply with the depressed-looking men who’d escorted them here. They approximated more to Fernandez’s Cuban garrison, although their uniforms were in a better condition. Two footmen swung open the double doors that led to a grand salon hung with Flemish tapestries. These depicted ancient, stylised battles, in which mounted knights speared fearful infantry, all the while watched by admiring ladies in court dress.
James was entranced, explaining to Harry the quality of these hangings. His fingers gently brushed against some of the embroidery as he pointed up the most delicate details. Harry, even less interested in tapestries than paintings, was trying to relate the actions portrayed to the more military detail, such as castles and fortified camps. They talked quietly, each pursuing their own interests, until another set of doors opened noisily to admit the Governor and his party.
De Carondelet wasn’t alone. Apart from San Lucar de Barrameda, de Fajardo de Coburrabias, and Captain Fernandez, three civilians stood respectfully behind him. The two hidalgo officers had tried to outdo each other in the glory of their apparel. Their bright silk coats, one blue, the other scarlet, overshadowed, despite its evident quality, the sober burgundy of de Carondelet. Even Fernandez had made an effort. In a clean, well-cut uniform he looked plain, but more soldierly, though the drooping moustaches on such a dark face somewhat spoilt the effect. At least he had the good grace to smile at the Ludlows, proof that though his antecedents were Spanish his disposition reflected the more relaxed climate of the Caribbean. The three civilians, no doubt determined to establish their sobriety, were dressed in uninspiring grey cloth.
‘Señores! Welcome,’ said the Governor. Harry and James bowed slightly, managing to look at each other surreptitiously. ‘Allow me to introduce to you to the members of the Cabildo. You will recall that they are members of the council that assists me in running New Orleans. They also act as judges in the courts. Señor Ignacio de Lovio, Señor Joseph Xavier de Pontalba, and Señor Pablo de Aquivar.’
Each man bowed in turn as the brothers struggled to attach a name to them. De Lovio was small and fat, with piglike eyes set in a pockmarked face. De Pontalba h
ad a flat countenance, a squashed nose, and the scar of harelip. De Aquivar, medium height, pleasant-faced if rather nondescript, was the only one whose lips showed even a trace of a smile. Then, as if he remembered where he was, it abruptly disappeared.
De Carondelet had no sooner finished his introductions than he emitted a stream of apologies. First for being a bachelor, so that the feminine touch was sadly lacking from his arrangements, then for the circumstances that forced him to entertain in a borrowed house. He explained to the two indifferent Ludlows that his own official residence had disappeared in one of the numerous fires that plagued the town. This was followed by a catalogue of misfortunes that had, in yet another conflagration, robbed him not only of his cook, but also of decent plate and crystal on which to serve the poor efforts of his temporary replacement.
‘All lost, gentlemen. So instead of fine European cuisine, I am thrown back on the efforts of a local fellow who is not even French.’
Both brothers took this gabbling, rather excitable explanation as a ruse to avoid any discussion of their situation. Yet his civilian guests nodded with sympathetic understanding.
‘Can there be a shortage of French cooks in New Orleans?’ asked James.
De Carondelet’s face creased with anxiety. ‘There are many, that is true. But I fear that to a man they’d try to poison me.’
‘Surely …’ said Harry.
‘Perhaps if we shoot a few more,’ said San Lucar de Barrameda, ‘they’ll learn some respect for their masters.’
The Scent of Betrayal Page 16