‘I thank you. Now, you boys, down on the jetty, nice and slow.’
‘Who is Daniel Boone?’ asked Harry, as the trio complied.
‘You don’t know?’ said Tucker, obviously amazed. Harry shook his head. ‘My, what a sheltered life you’ve led.’
The horses, content to graze as soon as they were freed, had to be chased away from the river bank, with Harry fretting at the loss of time, his predicament watched stoically by the three men lashed on long ropes to the nearby trees. Pender had measured the lengths, cutting them just short of the point where one could reach the other, then tied complex knots, thus ensuring that it would be some time before they would free themselves. The keelboat, having been pushed away from the shallows by the jetty, was crammed full, low in the water, with just enough room for the men to work the sweep. Tucker had insisted on the poles being used, even if there was limited room to work them, arguing that at the very least they could be used to slow the boat down if he thought they were at risk. The vessel, released, and already in deep water, swung out into the current and immediately gathered speed.
‘This would be one to try in the spring, Ludlow,’ Tucker called. Harry, on the other side of the sweep, just grinned and took a firmer grip. ‘And as soon as we’re out of sight, I should take possession of the long rifle that feller had. Seems to be a pretty fine weapon.’
‘Why wait till we’re out of sight?’
‘No need to hurt the man’s feelings, Ludlow. I had a word with him before we unhooked. He was near to tears when I said we was takin’ it with us. It’s called Able Mabel, but now that it’s yours, feel free to give the damn thing a new name.’
‘We used to name our cannons on men-of-war.’
‘That’s all very well and proper,’ Tucker replied, with a grin. ‘But who ever heard of taking a cannon to bed with you?’
Where the Yazoo was wide and straight, the journey was pleasant, but getting round the numerous shallow bends was a struggle that required strength, determination, and foresight. Worse awaited them if they encountered any narrows, usually caused by some mid-channel island, with the pace of the river, to which the keelboat was wholly subject, taking control. It was very different from coming upriver in a galley, where the muscles were needed to row: now everything depended on keeping control of the sweep. The poles helped to slow them in deep water, but as soon as any rocks appeared, Tucker had to haul them inboard and let the current do its worst, for fear that one of them would snag and cause the boat to broach. Trees, growing unchecked from the river bank, formed a tangled arch over the route, with branches hanging down into the water thick enough to kill. Those steering could only duck and weave, and hope that reactions that were instinctive would keep them from harm.
After each constricted passage of river, it was essential to stop, let others take the sweep, and rest aching arms. But progress, even in a sluggish current, was swift, and they ate up the miles until darkness fell. After a short night’s sleep they were back on their way at first light. Settlements began to appear on the lower reaches of the river, places where the tall canes had been cut back or burnt to provide land on which to build. It was impossible to avoid bringing attention to their passage. Riverside folks always had time to stare at a boat, and one so clearly overloaded could not expect to pass by without exciting comment.
Once they’d cleared the Yazoo, Tucker took the galley well out into the centre of the main channel of the Mississippi, which followed a very erratic route at this point, turning to the northeast before swinging round in a long arc to a southerly course at Walnut Hills. On the second bend stood a fort, once Nogales under the Spanish, now the American Post of Fort M’Henry. If they were noticed from the ramparts they were not called upon to stop and they proceeded downriver with Tucker calling off the various locations: Palmyra, Point Pleasant. They passed the mouth of the Big Black River, a deep confluence only forty yards wide that acting on the current caused a sudden and unnerving increase in their speed.
‘We’re coming to the Grand Gulf next,’ shouted Tucker. ‘So if you’ve a mind to pray, I’d be thankful for your efforts.’
The river, he explained, narrowed at Trent’s Point to a mere quarter of a mile, while at the same time turning sharply south-west. This acute angle and sudden compression formed two great eddies, one on either side, just below the narrows, which ran for about half a mile.
‘Don’t be fooled by that sluggish water on either side, Ludlow. This is one of the deadliest stretches of the river. We have to stay plumb in the middle. If we get sucked in with the crowd we’ve got aboard we’ll very likely capsize.’
Harry was looking hard at a pair of portholes close to the stern. His aching shoulders spurred on his tired brain and he had Pender run ropes from the sweep through the gaps so that the men on the deck could take some of the strain of holding the weight.
‘Nice idea, Ludlow,’ said Tucker. ‘Just as long as they don’t hold on when they should let go.’
The speed increased alarmingly, the water rushing down the side now creaming as it swished by. The river dead ahead seemed designed by a godlike hand, with the two swirling eddies marked out by the flat, benign nature of the water. Their avenue was like a foaming arrow down the middle, so constrained that the boat seemed to fill it. The ropes Harry had rigged creaked and strained, the noise of that and the rushing water made the orders Tucker gave hard to hear. At one point the bows swung right towards the larboard bank. Tucker cursed, his voice rising above the river noise, calling for a supreme effort by those steering to bring it back onto its course. The keelboat began to tip to one side, the deck canting enough to dislodge some of the passengers. Men were yelling in panic when the pressure suddenly eased, the boat came level abruptly, and the men on the sweep fell to one side. When Harry stood up, he could see that the eddies were behind them and the pace of the keelboat had slowed. He turned to look at Tucker, who was smiling.
‘Next stop, Bayou Pierre,’ he crooned. ‘And to my mind, that’s cause for celebration. I’d be thankful if someone would fetch me a dram.’
Tucker’s galley was still where he’d left her, nestled against Judge Bruin’s levee. They transferred men, stores, and bullion rapidly, soaked with sweat in the humid, sticky atmosphere of the swamp. Tucker went ashore to buy a pirogue for Harry and Pender, that being the only vessel that the two of them could manage by themselves on the river.
‘No Indian in his right mind would go far in a bark canoe on the Mississippi,’ he explained, ‘and they’re none too fond of the night.’
Harry looked at the boat, a hollowed-out tree trunk, in which Pender was loading their possessions, with something less than enthusiasm.
‘So this represents the fastest way to get to New Orleans. If McGillivray is not ahead of you now he will never be, as long as you manage this properly.’
‘A bit o’ advice wouldn’t go amiss,’ said Pender.
‘Well, it’s a lot like a horse, Pender,’ Tucker replied, grinning when Harry’s servant groaned. ‘A mite contrary. You’ve got to recall it’s heavier than a planked boat, and long, so if you’re going to turn a Mississippi bend you must start early, especially if’n you’re in any kind of fast water. But you’ll find that in normal currents the paddles, once you get used to them, are better on the river than proper oars. As long as you work together you can turn on a small coin. When you stop for the night choose a midstream island. Don’t bed down on the ground in case of alligators, pay out a piece of rope and sleep in the bottom of the canoe.’
‘How long?’ asked Harry.
‘I’ve done Natchez to New Orleans in a week, and that’s in a keelboat. You can shave two whole days off that, I reckon.’
There was little time for farewells. Tucker was taking the Frenchmen north, in a boat that Wilkinson wouldn’t recognise, should he be on the river. McGillivray, they suspected, would come to the Bayou Pierre, which could take him several days. Harry and Pender took time to shake each man’s hand, warmed by the
affection that they showed. Brissot had tears in his eyes, which caused Pender to observe that he was ‘a contrary bugger an’ no error.’ Harry was closer to Lampin and Couvruer, the two who had done the most to ease relations between the groups. Lampin, who in some ways had assumed the leadership of the entire party, pressed a package of de Carondelet’s ingots into Harry’s hand, overcoming any objections that he might have by alluding to the danger the crew of the Bucephalas faced. He opened it to discover four thin bars, two gold, two silver, each bearing the royal crest of Spain, twinned with that of New Orleans.
‘Good luck in America,’ Harry said, his hands on both of Lampin’s shoulders.
The bright blue eyes flicked to the sparkling ingots, which had been passed to Pender. ‘If we can keep possession of the rest of that, then we should never have a care.’
‘Look after Tucker,’ said Harry softly. ‘I think he is sacrificing his livelihood to help you.’
Lampin nodded and spoke softly. ‘Certainement.’
The American was by the side of the boat, prepared to help them down into the pirogue, his final contact a handshake of the bone-crushing variety.
‘Now just you make sure, friend, that the next time I’m in New Orleans Hyacinthe Feraud is there, and you ain’t, otherwise we might have to take off on that dance floor where we left off.’
Not sure if he was joking, Harry kept his face blank. Tucker grinned suddenly. ‘Apart from that, Harry Ludlow, I’m right thankful I met you.’
‘Likewise,’ said Harry, with genuine feeling.
Tucker had fired Wilkinson’s keelboat before they’d paddled out of sight. Through the thick humid air they heard him order the Frenchmen to the oars and the galley followed them down the bayou to the Mississippi. For all that Harry needed speed, he waited, holding the pirogue steady till Tucker exited into the main current. The boat swung north, its oars dipping steadily into the dark brown waters of the river. On the air, Pender and Harry heard the first bars of a song, a rhythm that would keep the beat of the oars steady.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
WITH JUST the two of them in the pirogue, on a stretch of river that was wide and slow, the urgency which had been a feature of their lives for the last weeks fell away. There was a speed that could be decently achieved and that was that. Harry had a sailor’s ability to avoid fretting over things he could do nothing about. Time and tide had their own momentum, which no amount of gnawing and gnashing would alter. Not that his mind was a blank: the Mississippi required a lot of attention, especially from their low elevation, since hazards which they could not see ahead would come upon them quickly; he was mulling over his plan to get Bucephalas and the crew out of danger. Then there was Hyacinthe Feraud, the thoughts engendered by her image making him somewhat uncomfortable. Added to that was the need to cover himself against any hint of duplicity, especially with such a suspicious character as de Carondelet. If his reason for being out of New Orleans was a stated desire to hunt with El Señor Cayetano de Fajardo de Coburrabias, the logic demanded that even if it delayed him, he’d be wise to fulfil such an obligation, if only to furnish himself with evidence of a visit.
But most of all he was racking his brain for a way to detach de Carondelet from that chest full of treasure. Now that the Frenchmen had the Governor’s bullion, what he’d robbed them of was fair game. The safety of the ship and his crew was paramount, but if a way could be found to safeguard them, effect an escape, and steal the money, then Harry would be an exceedingly happy man. Since leaving Deal the previous year he’d not enjoyed much in the way of success as a privateer. Not a single member of his crew – who shared in the proceeds – had alluded to this, aware that circumstances had deflected their Captain from pursuing his chosen occupation. But he didn’t relish the thought of sailing for home with empty coffers. Certainly, with war against Spain imminent, he could soon take prizes in the Gulf of Mexico, which would be a clear hunting ground for any privateer already in the area, but the problem was then a place to sell what he captured that didn’t involve long voyages for the prize crews. His options in the Caribbean, the closest landfalls, were limited, and added to that, the goods he could expect to trade, cotton, sugar, and indigo, would be more profitable if sold in Europe.
Thinking that turned his mind back to the Gauchos and those boxes of sugar; to Rodrigo and the raft. If, as Pollock said, the man was a smuggler, then he’d probably risked his neck many times. But he hardly deserved the fate he was granted, and that probably for being honest. Harry had been in a lot of ports in his time, but thinking about New Orleans and the Louisiana Territory he could recall few places where people so rarely told the truth. San Lucar de Barrameda had falsified a report that had led, indirectly, to their internment and the loss of the treasure. De Carondelet had lied to Harry more by omission and despite what it had cost it was hard to feel too personally aggrieved. After all, he hadn’t even been honest with his own subordinates and officials. Idly, as he paddled along, he and Pender discussed these matters, the taking of the Gauchos, and the various potential culprits.
‘What about Fernandez?’ said Harry. ‘Capable of violence, remember. He was closest to the point at which the ship was intercepted, had a cutter, which would have been perfect, though I will own he didn’t look the type to walk past a square meal.’
‘But you just said that very few people knew the stuff was supposed to be on the ship. Fernandez was stuck in Balize when it was loaded, and he can hardly be rated as popular with the nobs.’
‘I’ve revised my previous assertion that Rodrigo didn’t know.’
‘Why?’
‘He wasn’t supposed to know. But just think about the cabin. Do you remember it? I’d assumed that the owner of McGillivray’s chest was a passenger. I now know that was not the case. So there weren’t enough people aboard to justify the number of places set.’
‘What about the master?’
‘You don’t know the Spanish, Pender. They’re not much given to sitting down with those they consider their inferiors.’
‘So whoever came alongside was invited to eat.’
‘Was expected, Pender. It was a rendezvous and a happy one. It was only when the first box was opened that things changed.’
‘Rodrigo had a mate who reckoned he’d been dunned.’
‘It makes sense. One of the people de Carondelet had witness the loading of the ingots into the sugar casks tipped the nod to Rodrigo, made the rendezvous, then killed him because he thought he’d been cheated by the only person who could have accomplished it. He couldn’t know, because it was an even better kept secret, that it was never loaded aboard. Neither did Rodrigo, so protesting his innocence must have sounded very hollow indeed.’
‘Poor bastard,’ said Pender, sitting up suddenly. ‘Current’s gettin’ up, Capt’n.’
Harry sat forward too, his paddle dipping into the water with greater force as both men worked to keep the pirogue on a true and safe course. They hadn’t quite mastered the techniques and once the hollowed-out tree had yawed it was the very devil to get back on course. On top of that Harry lacked Tucker’s knowledge of the river, so they were not always best placed in the stream to avoid trouble, and furious paddling was required to get them out of whirlpools and eddies that they should never have got into in the first place, hazards that were thankfully lessened by the low water-level.
‘I’m not one to be untouched by men dying,’ said Pender, as they exited in calmer waters. ‘But what difference does it make to you who killed Rodrigo?’
‘None,’ Harry replied. ‘But it would give me enormous pleasure to find out, if only to give de Carondelet a bilious attack.’
‘If’n he went to all that trouble, would he care? He must’ve suspected that his bribe was at risk.’
‘He would if it was printed in the French newspaper. He hates Saraille with a passion.’
‘Well, if’n I were you, I’d leave Fernandez out of it. I’ve met him more times than you an’ I reckon he’s no
t that way inclined. Mind, that would be more through bein’ lazy than anything else.’
But Harry wasn’t listening, instead mentally ticking off all the possible culprits. The three members of the Cabildo, de Lovio, de Pontalba, and de Aquivar, didn’t impress him as having either the brain or the brawn to contemplate such an act, being no more than functionaries elected to carry out de Carondelet’s wishes. De Chigny, the Governor’s aide, was in the city the whole time, while de Guerin was heading north with the true cargo before the Gauchos was set adrift. McGillivray had been genuinely surprised and would never have shipped anything in the Gauchos if he’d had knowledge of the bullion. De Fajardo de Coburrabias had come in on the transports. That left either someone completely unknown or Harry’s favourite candidate, San Lucar de Barrameda. He had the means, was in the vicinity, and had lied about the Bucephalas, an act which made complete sense if he was trying to cover his own tracks. Against that he had several ships with him, as well as his own crew. Perhaps he’d left the Navarro and taken to something smaller. But was he devious enough to create the elaborate illusion that Harry had come across, on a ship that someone had apparently tried to sink? San Lucar de Barrameda might not be much of a sailor, but even he would know how to go about sending the Gauchos to the bottom without leaving a trace of her presence. And that, if he was intent on covering his tracks, was a far better method than his lame attempt to blame the innocent Ludlows.
‘How’re you doing, Capt’n?’ asked Pender.
‘I just realised why I care, Pender. Much as I’d like to beard de Carondelet, sinking that pompous oaf de Barrameda would be much more satisfying. Trouble is, for all I think he’s a fool, I cannot bring myself to believe he’s that stupid.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Anyone with an ounce of knowledge about ships could have sunk the Gauchos. Why leave it floating about in mid-ocean?’
The Scent of Betrayal Page 36