Tide of War (5 page)

“We have reason to believe that the commander of the
Virginie
was given two objectives. One, to attack allied commerce in the region. The other, to encourage a spirit of rebellion, not only throughout the Caribbean, but in the Spanish territories of North America. For this reason, she is carrying a contingent of French infantry and a number of French agents. Their particular target is New Orleans.” He indicated it on the map, almost but not quite where the Mississippi reached the Gulf of Mexico. “I believe it is no exaggeration to say that whoever possesses New Orleans possesses the key not only to the Caribbean but to the vast hinterland of North America west of the Mississippi.”

Nathan tried to recall what he knew of the region and its recent history. New Orleans had once been a French colony but it had been ceded to the Spanish more than thirty years ago as part of the general peace that ended the Seven Years War. Its position near the mouth of the Mississippi was of immense strategic importance but he could not, for the life of him, think how one 44-gun frigate was going to dramatically alter the balance of power. Almost as if he detected this
doubt, Chatham embarked upon a speech.

“The tide of war has shifted to the West,” he declared, in the tone he used to address Parliament, “and we must swim with it or—or sink.” Doubtless making a mental note that some polishing was required before he tried it on the House of Lords. In something more like his normal manner he continued: “Your first duty on taking command of the
Unicorn
will be to establish if the
Virginie
is still in the area. If she is, you are to seek her out and destroy her. You will also support the Spanish authorities in the region in whatever actions they consider necessary to stamp out rebellion, either on the mainland or on the islands under their control.”

Nathan had no quarrel with the first of these instructions. The task of seeking out and destroying a heavily armed French frigate in the waters of the Caribbean with a ship of fewer guns and almost certainly fewer men was not without hazard but he was in sympathy with the general sentiment behind the order—though it was reasonable to suppose that by the time he reached the Havana the
Virginie
would no longer be in the region. But supporting the Spanish authorities was a different matter. Nathan was not a great admirer of the King of Spain or of the Spanish planters in the Caribbean or on the mainland of North America. This was not a point he wished to take up with the First Lord of the Admiralty, however.

“Now to more practical matters,” Chatham continued, briskly. “Your previous command, the
Speedwell,
is, I believe, berthed in Shoreham.”

“She is, my lord.”

“Yes, well there is some difficulty there. The Americans want her back.”

“I am sorry, my lord?” Nathan was perplexed.

“Well, I believe I have made myself perfectly clear. She is an American vessel and her owners are pressing for her return. They claim she was ‘illegally detained.' Well, the owners always do of course but in this case they may have a point. Besides, we have no more use for her in her previous capacity. I gather from your report that the
French had already begun to suspect her credentials as a blockade runner. So it would be convenient if I could inform the American Minister in London that she is on her way back to Boston or New York or wherever it is she came from.”

“I am sorry, my lord—you wish me to take her back to New York?”

“No, damn it, I wish you to take her to Cuba. So that you may then take command of the
Unicorn.
After that, the
Speedwell
may go to New York, Boston or the North Pole for all I care, but I can tell the American Minister with perfect justification that she has resumed her voyage across the Atlantic. Is that agreeable to you? Or not?”

“Perfectly, my lord.”

“Very good. Colonel Hollis will arrange for you to embark a contingent of marines at Portsmouth, to reinforce those presently aboard the
Unicorn.
You may find them of use.”

Nathan kept his face carefully composed but he wondered how many there were and how he was supposed to accommodate them aboard a small barque. This was of minor concern, however, compared to Chatham's next instruction.

“You will also embark a certain gentleman in the capacity of political adviser. I believe you are already acquainted with him from your activities in France. His name is Imlay.”

“Imlayl”

Chatham arched his brow. “I trust this is not disagreeable to you. You did not encounter any problems working with him in France?”

Nathan was lost for words. Imlay had been the American shipping agent in Le Havre, though Nathan had reason to believe he was much more than that. Where his true loyalties lay was still something of a mystery to him—and possibly to a great many other people. “A man of many parts,” as he had informed Nathan: soldier, adventurer, explorer and author of
A Topographical Description of the Western Territory of North America.
The man who had brought him news of Sara's death on the guillotine.

He was aware both men were observing him curiously.

“But … but I understood Imlay was in France,” he stammered.

It was the colonel who replied. “Mr. Imlay has recently arrived in London,” he said, “and has agreed to assist you in your mission. I believe you will find him most helpful. He speaks excellent Spanish, even one or two of the local Indian tongues. He has spent several years in New Orleans and the Floridas and has a great many contacts among the American settlers there.”

“Excellent,” beamed the First Lord, clearly anxious to paper over such cracks as he was aware of. “Well, then, was there anything else?” He contemplated Nathan as if surprised to see him still sitting there.

Nathan collected his scattered thoughts. “Only, my lord, that you mentioned certain ‘circumstances' …”

“Circumstances?” He frowned.

“Possibly connected with the previous captain of the
Unicorn?
” Nathan prompted him carefully.

“Ah. Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. Captain Kerr.” He shot a look at Hollis who was gazing studiously at the map. “I mentioned that he had died?”

“No, my lord, I do not believe you did, but I imagined that something of that nature might have occurred.”

“The news came to us from the British consul in the Havana. According to his report the
Unicorn
arrived there in the first week of August with the news that Captain Kerr was missing.”

“Missing?”

“Quite. Missing, one ship's captain. Missing, one ship's cutter. That was the tenor of the first lieutenant's report, as conveyed to us by the British consul in the Havana. Be assured that if we knew more of the situation, you would learn of it. The first lieutenant, Mr. Pym, stated that he had sent a confidential report of the precise circumstances to Admiral Ford. Doubtless there was a need for discretion—the French maintaining a great many spies in the Havana—and his full account will be conveyed to us in due course. However, a few days later, the consul was informed that a body in the uniform of a captain in the British navy had been recovered off
the coast of the Floridas and conveyed to New Orleans in a barrel of rum.”

“Rum?” Nathan exclaimed. Though why he should express himself astonished at this particular detail, rather than any other, was as much a mystery to him as it possibly was to my lord Chatham.

“It is as good a preservative as any, I believe,” the earl commented with a frown, “though brandy, perhaps, would have been more fitting to his rank.”

Nathan nodded to himself a little as if this made perfect sense and neither he nor the First Lord were lunatics in Bedlam conducting an amusing conversation for the benefit of the paying visitors.

“There was no indication of how he might have died?”

“Oh yes. Did I not say? His throat had been cut.” Chatham stood up to indicate the interview was at an end. “The Second Secretary has your written orders. I believe you may just have time to provide yourself with a new uniform before you leave London.” He extended his hand. “And may I wish you joy of your commission, Captain.”

N
ATHAN STOOD AT THE HEAD
of the stairs and tried to collect his scattered wits. His brain felt as if it had been shattered into a million pieces, all flying in different directions but amid this spinning, colliding cosmos one bright star remained constant, solid and unmoving. He was made post captain.

The hall porter was looking at him strangely. Nathan pulled himself together and put on his hat, a semblance of order that would have worked better had he put it on the right way round. He corrected this deficiency and descended the stairs. He had sent away his chaise so the horses would not be left standing in the heat but it was only a short walk across St. James's Park to his mother's house.

“I expect you will read of it in the
Gazette
sooner or later”—he addressed the porter with a carelessness that would have fooled no-one, least of all a gentleman who had seen it all before, many times—”but I have been made post.”

“I am very pleased to hear it, sir,” said the porter with a surprisingly avuncular grin. “Permit me to be one of the first to congratulate you.”

“Thank you. You are very kind. Perhaps you will take a glass of something with your colleagues to wish me luck.”

He slipped him a guinea.

“Be very glad to, sir, and I am sure we wish you all the very best.”

Nathan walked across St. James's Park in a continuing state of bewilderment. Post captain. He was made post captain. The captain of a 32-gun frigate. He should be pleased, exultant and yet … His commanding emotion, now that it had sunk in, was one of grief. A terrible sadness. As if the news of his promotion had triggered the same alchemy of feelings as the news that Imlay had brought him on the Queen's Stairs in the Palace of the Tuileries. That Sara had died on the guillotine.

“Are you not well, sir? You look as one who has seen a ghost.”

Nathan started. There was a man standing a few feet in front of him, smiling.

“Thank you, sir. I am perfectly well,” he replied. “I had, for a moment, mislaid my direction.” He raised a hand in a deprecating gesture and made to move on but the man stood directly in his path. He was a short, thickset individual in shirt sleeves, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat and carrying a large canvas bag by a strap over his shoulder.

“And I have mislaid mine,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My direction. I am looking for Queen Anne's Gate.”

Nathan hesitated. “As a matter of fact I am going that way myself,” he admitted. “If you would care to accompany me?”

“Happily,” said the man, “if you have now remembered where it is.”

He grinned widely to remove the possibility of giving offence. If he was not a simpleton, there was certainly something childlike about him, though he was well past his first youth. He had a snub nose and large brown eyes that had a look almost of rapture. Or mischief, it was hard to tell.

They walked on.

“Saint James's Park,” said the man in a tone of mild bemusement as he gazed about his surroundings.

“Correct,” said Nathan. “You are a stranger to London?”

“Oh I have lived here all my life,” said the man. “I was born in Soho and now I live in Lambeth. I have walked from one end of London to the other many times but I have not walked in Saint James's Park for
many a long year. I find the lepers disconcerting.”

“The leopards?” Nathan looked for them in alarm. It was entirely possible they were a recent introduction. The park belonged to the Crown, though it had been open to the public since the days of the second Charles, and King George, in the present state of his wits, might readily conceive of leopards.

“Good gracious no!” The man laughed at the absurdity of this notion.
“Lepers.”

“Ah!” Nathan nodded understandingly, as if they were a nuisance to most Londoners from time to time.

“I saw them the last time I was here, down by the lake,” the lunatic assured him, “and it disturbed me a little. Though in truth, this was foolish.”

“Not at all,” Nathan corrected him politely. “Lepers should not be wandering around Saint James's Park. They should be in a leper colony.”

“Oh, but it was a leper colony. Many years ago.”

“Truly?”

“In the reign of Edward the First.”

“Is that so?” Nathan's mind was only partly fixed upon this conversation. The better part of it was still considering the import of his recent conversation at the Admiralty and in particular the information that Gilbert Imlay was in London. As an American, he could come and go as he liked of course, provided he could obtain transport. But what had induced him to leave Paris? And what of Mary and the child? Had he brought them with him—or left them in France?

“I saw Edward the First once. In his coffin.”

And what was his interest in the Caribbean? For surely he must have an interest. He could not have been motivated purely by the interests of His Majesty's Government. Somewhere in the back of Nathan's mind there was a clue to this conundrum—but he needed time and space to think on it. And here he was conversing with a madman.

“He had been dead for more than four hundred and fifty years.”

“That is a long time. And what did he look like?”

“Very old.”

Nathan laughed despite his unease.

“His face was dark brown, like chocolate, approaching to black. And so were his hands and fingers.” He furrowed his brow in concentration as if trying to recall the exact detail. “The chin and lips were entire but no beard. Both the lips were prominent, the nose short, as if shrunk, but the apertures of the nostrils were visible.”