Tide of War (35 page)

“It was unavoidable, sir, if it is to go over the ‘orse's ‘ead, so to speak.”

“I see. Yes, I suppose that is a consideration.”

As usual, when speaking with a Welshman, Nathan struggled to avoid mimicry, not from any desire to mock but from some compelling cadence in the language.

“And the 'orn will 'ave to come off, you know, that is with your permission, sir.”

“I suppose it will. But cut it at an angle, if you would, Mr. Lloyd, so it may be securely restored when we are done.” He observed the small twitch in the carpenter's brow. “I beg your pardon, I do not wish to teach my grandmother to suck eggs.”

He was aware that something wittier might have come to him, but it hadn't and it was no use chasing it now. “And Mr. Pym, perhaps we may put some of the hands to painting the ship red, or that part of it as we have agreed.”

When all was done and the watch had gone to dinner, Nathan attempted to still his own hunger by having himself rowed out to a cable's length and looking back on his ship in her new likeness: the proud-bosomed figurehead at her bow and the broad red stripe down her side, for all the world the image of the
Virginie,
especially when they broke out the tricolour at her mizzen.

“I am sorry, Mr. Pym,” he told the first lieutenant when he returned to the ship and caught his sullen eye. Mr. Pym was an honourable man, like his former commander, the late lamented Captain Kerr, and had no truck with privateering or flying about under false colours. “But it would not do to go hovering about the shore in our true identity and have it known from here to Port-au-Prince.”

“As you wish, sir. I am sure you know what you are about.”

It was a waste of time trying to make friends with the man or take him into his confidence. They were poles apart. He sought out Brother Ignatius who had the freedom of his cabin and was reading a book in the stern windows.

“We have set sail for San Juan,” Nathan informed him, “and will be ready to land you as close as we may a little after dark.”

It was closer to midnight, in fact, the wind having dropped considerably in the meantime, before they were close enough to the port to consider launching a boat.

“Are you sure it is not too late?” Nathan enquired of the monk. He was concerned that he might attract the attention of the watch ashore. There was almost certain to be a curfew with a rebel army camped on their doorstep.

“Oh, who would trouble a poor monk?” responded Brother Ignatius carelessly. “And we holy men are often about at night, upon some small errand of mercy.”

“Well, I shall not rest easy until your return,” Nathan said, handing him down into the gig.

“I will try to be at the rendezvous this time tomorrow night,” the monk assured him. “Failing which, perhaps you would be good enough to send back for me at the same time for the next two nights.”

“And after that?”

“After that, I think we may take it that I am unavoidably detained and you must do what you can without me.”

Fortunately for Nathan's peace of mind they brought him back the following night, none the worse for wear and indeed, looking considerably pleased with himself. From the smell about him, Nathan gathered he had discovered his favourite form of refreshment.

“Here,” said the monk, thrusting a bundle of mint in his face. “I have brought us the necessary ingredient.” A bottle followed—unlabelled. “And a more refined version of the stuff you are insensitive enough to call rum.”

Gabriel relieved him of both items and bore them down to the cabin in their wake while the monk subjected him to a detailed list of instructions.

“Remember you must pluck the leaves from one sprig and crush them with the sugar before you add the lime juice,” he concluded. “Add another sprig for decoration in each glass and put the rest in water to keep it fresh.”

“So,” Nathan regarded him thoughtfully when they were alone. “I
gather you had a satisfactory trip. If only in the gathering of herbs.”

“Oh never fear, I did more than gather herbs. I have learned everything you wish to know. At least I hope so, though as a seafaring man you are probably going to ask me things about tides and currents and suchlike that will entirely confound me.”

“I think we can safely leave the tides and currents to Mr. Godfrey,” Nathan assured him, “if only you can tell us about the Army of Lucumi.”

“Ask any question you like and I will endeavour to oblige you.”

It would certainly not be the first
mojito
the monk had sampled that evening, Nathan thought. “Very well. How many are they?”

“A little over a thousand—though more are rallying to them by the day. But they are very short of powder and shot—and guns. Small arms, that is, for I am not counting the cannon in the fort. I am informed that they have no more than a couple of hundred muskets between them, the few they brought down with them from the Sierra Maestra and the rest taken from the garrison at the fort.”

“And what of the mutineers—the pirates?”

“They keep very much to themselves—in the boat which they have moored in the bay. And they are somewhat reduced in number since they left the
Unicorn.
I am assured there are now no more than sixteen of them, the rest having fallen in the battle with the slavers or succumbed to disease.”

“But do they not have the maroons they brought with them from the Gardens of the King?”

“My informant believes that they have joined the Army of Lucumi and are camped in and around the fort. If you will provide me with paper, pen and ink I will draw you a map.”

Nathan did as he was requested and watched carefully as the monk drew the outline of the Serpent's Mouth with the fort on the western lip and the shape of two boats in the small enclosed bay.

“Two?” he questioned him.

“One is the brig, which they have named the
Fabhcun
—which is to say the
Falcon
in the Gaelic. The other is your cutter, I believe. The
maroons are mainly accommodated in Fort Felipe, which they now call Akaso—the sentinel—though some are under canvas on the beach below, just here, where there is a small jetty for landing supplies. The guns of the fort cover the entrance to the bay and there are more covering the principle approach from the shore, here.”

“And do they know how to use them?”

“Not very well, I am told. That is one of the several disputes they have with your former crewmen who wished to place one of their own number in charge of the guns. But Olumiji is jealous of his authority.”

“Olumiji?”

“The leader of the maroons, those that were in the Sierra Maestra. There is further division with those that came from the Jardines del Rey who are Kokongo. Olumiji and his men are mostly Yoruba. The one thing that unites both groups is their dislike of the pirates. Certainly of being ordered about by them. O'Neill, your former crewman, has a reputation for being overbearing, I understand. He wishes the maroons to join him in his little fleet—under his command—and sail for Hispaniola to join with the French as a privateer. Olumiji is reluctant to relinquish his own authority and his power base in the Sierra Maestra. His name means ‘one who awakens,' by the by. He has plans for a general revolt among the slaves of Cuba. Plans that appear to involve your old friend, Imlay.”

Imlay again. “But how can that be? Imlay has not been near the Sierra Maestra.”

“No, but he made good use of his time in the Havana, it appears. I am not sure—nor was my informant—but Olumiji knows all about him and his promise to support them with French ships and arms.”

“Christ.” Nathan realised what he had said and to whom. “I am sorry.” He shook his head. “It is just that I cannot quite come to terms with the depths of that man's iniquity. Or my own naivety. I had thought his only interest in the Havana was in women.”

“ Well, that did occupy some of his time—and not only for his pleasure. Many of the leading savants of Lucumi are women and not a few of them are spies. Including Olumiji's closest adviser, a woman
by the name of Adedike. Which means ‘one who comes to fulfil our plea.' It may be an innocent expression of gratitude on the part of her parents but I am inclined to suspect a more universal application. She also has a French name: Sabine. Sabine Delatour. I am told she came from Saint-Domingue a little over a year ago with a boatload of refugees—and papers that established her status as a freed slave. It is thought that she was the mistress of one of the French planters, an aristocrat, who granted her freedom in his will. He was butchered by the rebels in Saint-Domingue, though there are those who say Sabine—Adedike—killed him. Certainly there are many in San Sebastian who consider her a witch. She arrived there recently by ship from the Havana and has now established herself, as I say, in the counsels of the Army of Lucumi. O'Neill tried his luck with her once and I am told this is one of the major sources of tension between the maroons and the mutineers.”

“Your informant seems remarkably well informed.”

“She is.”

“She?”

“Yes. Do you have any objection to that?”

“No. It was just that I thought …”

The monk smiled a secret smile. “You thought she was a fellow monk. No, she is far more beautiful and a savant of Lucumi. But she is much opposed to violence, certainly at this time and in this place. A very interesting woman …” He grew thoughtful. “Quite sincerely religious and wise beyond her years, though of course, deluded in her beliefs. Ah, here are the
mojitos.
I hope you have not spoiled them with too much sugar,” he warned Gabriel sternly. “It is a frequent fault of the English to be putting too much sugar into things.”

Nathan pulled the map to him and studied it carefully. A cutting out would be very tricky. The boats would have to sail in right under the guns of Fort Felipe—or whatever it was called under its new ownership—and then out again with the brig and the cutter. He supposed they could burn them at their moorings but the boats would still have to come out again.

Alternatively the
Unicorn
could sail into the Serpent's mouth and do the job herself. But she would sustain fire from the fort and the brig. And she might have trouble manoeuvring in such a confined space. He wondered if Mr. Godfrey had any idea of the depth of water in the tiny bay.

Brother Ignatius was at least partly satisfied with his
mojito.

“Perhaps you took my advice on the sugar a little too much to heart,” he informed Gabriel. “It is a little tart. But not bad for a beginner, not bad at all.”

“You say they are expecting help from the French,” Nathan cut in abruptly, quite oblivious to Gabriel's presence. “Did you mean the
Virginie?”

“I am not sure if Imlay was specific about the precise means of their deliverance but certainly if they anticipate help from the French they would expect it to come by sea.”

“Thank you,” said Nathan. “And thank you, Gabriel”—to his steward of the flapping ears—”That will be all.”

But he knew now how it could be done. And with any luck it would not involve the necessity of a battle with the Army of Lucumi.

T
HE FRIGATE STOOD
half a mile or so offshore with Mr. Lloyd's virgin at her bow and the tricolour hanging limply from her stern in the torpid tropic air. Nathan looked back at her from the stern of the gig as it pulled for the distant headland, trying to see her as the men in the fort would or, more critically, the men in the brig who had once served in her. There was nothing glaringly obvious to him—no small detail he had overlooked. The greatest danger was if there was a distinguishing feature of the
Unicorn
he remained unaware of, but it had been a good eight months since the mutineers had last seen her and she had been through a lot since then. Nathan had taken the precaution of dressing the marines in seamen's slops and none of his officers wore their coats. He even had them wearing the tricolour in their hats, in case they could be seen with a telescope.

He turned back to gaze over the heads of the rowers towards the Serpent's Mouth, aware that they would be watching him, too, in his civilian cape and his tall beaver hat. And Tully beside him at the tiller in the uniform of a lieutenant in the French Navy, specially knocked up for him by one of the crew, who had been a tailor in his former life. The rowers were all men who had joined the ship in Port Royal—with Tierney, the Channel Islander, in the bows. It would
have been too much of a risk to take any of the original crew of the
Unicorn
for fear the mutineers would recognise them but Nathan could have wished for better oarsmen. Although he had waited for slack tide, they were making heavy weather of it and they were closer to the eastern headland than he would have wished. Tully snapped at them, uncharacteristically anxious—and in English. Nathan warned him to keep his voice down, fearful that it would carry to the men in the brig. He could see her clearly now and the little cutter beside her. Moored fore and aft on spring cables just inside the bay. Several crew members staring towards him from high up forward. He looked away towards the fort on the opposite headland. Men there, too, gazing down from the battlements. And the guns. Eight of them—12-pounders most likely—covering the approaches to the bay. Any vessel that tried to force a passage into the Serpent's Mouth would face a withering crossfire from the fort and the brig—and even the cutter with her 32-pounder carronade at the bow, Nathan's missing carronade.