The Continental Risque (37 page)

‘I said Biddlecomb's a clever bastard, that's what.'

‘I always reckoned Biddlecomb for a stupid Yankee whore's son myself,' said Allen.

‘He's smarter than you are, dumb arse,' Hackett growled. ‘Did you think he was going to give us a run ashore?'

There was a moment of silent reflection. ‘No.'

‘And why do you think he did?'

That query was greeted with further silence, which, after half a minute, remained unbroken. ‘It ain't cause he likes us,' Hackett supplied at last. ‘He wanted us off the ship. It's all part of the plan. You know what the commodore said about looting. Biddlecomb give us a run ashore so Woodberry and Ferguson can put the loot they stole in our dunnage. Then tonight he has an inspection, accompanied by Lieutenant Fuckcloth and his marines, and there you have it. Stolen goods, and we're all in irons and hanging at the yardarm the next morning.' Along with holding his rage in check, Hackett found that rum was a great stimulant to his imagination.

The silence that greeted that statement was stunned, rather than confused. Hackett made a great show of reaching for a bottle, filling his tin cup, and draining half of it.

‘How do you know that?' Allen asked.

‘How do you think I know?'

‘Tottenhill?'

‘Of course. He don't let that sort of thing happen on board without I know about it. He knows who's running things on the lower deck.'

‘Well, what are we going to do?' another asked. Hackett could hear the panic in his voice. After all those long months together he could still be amazed by the sheer stupidity of these bastards.

‘I'm having things looked after, don't you worry, my boy,' he said, taking another long and histrionic drink. ‘There won't be one bit of stolen loot in your dunnage, any of you. I seen to that. I reckon Biddlecomb won't even bother with an inspection, once he hears how I fixed things.'

Looks of relief flashed among the men at the table.

‘But something has to be done. Something permanent, I mean,' Allen said. ‘Biddlecomb'll get us, sooner or later, if we don't stop him.'

‘Biddlecomb's on his way out,' Hackett replied with his usual air of knowing confidence, the attitude that he had long ago realized made men believe anything he had to say. ‘Commodore chewed his ass for losing the gunpowder. He makes a hash of one more thing or shows he can't hold his ship together, then he's out, and guess who's in.'

‘Tottenhill?'

‘That's right. My friend Tottenhill becomes captain, and won't that be a merry time.'

It would be a merry time indeed, Hackett thought, but he was not nearly as confident in its coming to pass as he let on.

Biddlecomb's threats had shaken him. How did that bastard know what was acting? He did not for one moment believe that Biddlecomb would let him walk away from the ship once they were back in the Colonies. No, it would be the chains for him, and the quiet and then the noose.

Killing Biddlecomb might do the trick, but it was unlikely Hackett would get the chance to do it without being caught. And that left just one thing. Biddlecomb had to be made to look a fool, had to be totally discredited, drummed out of the service. And then he, Hackett, would be beyond the bastard's reach.

‘So, listen here, gentlemen,' Hackett said. ‘If you don't want that Biddlecomb to do for you, then we better do for him first. You just stick by ol' Amos Hackett, lads, because I have a plan. You had best believe I have a plan.'

And looking at their stupid faces, Hackett knew that they did indeed believe it, every word.

President John Brown was aware, as he peered through the telescope on the veranda of Government House, that he was doing exactly the thing that had so annoyed him when Governor Browne did it. The difference, however, was that he was gathering useful intelligence, whereas Browne had merely been sightseeing.

‘Well, Gambier, I think these damned rebels are soon to leave us,' he said.

‘What, is there nothing left that they can take? Is there not some trinket that they've overlooked? No, I suspect they'll spend another week at least to make certain they've left nothing behind.'

President Brown straightened and turned to John Gambier. The two men were alone on the veranda. ‘Now, I don't like these bastards any more than you, but you must admit they've kept their looting to a minimum. Really just that incident last week, with that poor woman. Nothing compared to what the Frenchies or the Dons would have done.'

‘Well, I suppose you have a point. They've behaved themselves for the most part. But you've no doubt heard some of the tales Lieutenant Frazer has been telling, of what they were going to do to him before he escaped. The night they shot you.'

‘Yes, well, I'm not certain Lieutenant Frazer isn't … augmenting his tale a bit. In any event they've picked Montegu and Nassau clean, and it would appear from here that they are sealing up their hatches. From that I deduce that they will soon be sailing for wherever their nefarious plans take them next.'

‘So it would appear that Governor Browne will be going with them?'

‘It would appear so. I have pleaded almost daily for his release, but so far it has done no good. Yesterday they took him from the fort onto the ship that they style the flagship.'

‘That doesn't bode well.'

‘No.' Brown retrieved his coat from the chair over which it was flung and pulled it on. ‘I'm off now to meet with that Hopkins, their so-called commodore. Once again. And once again I shall beg for the governor's release.'

Since the American rebels had marched into Fort Nassau nearly two weeks before, Brown had been in almost daily contact with Commodore Hopkins, and some of their discussions had in fact involved the governor. Governor Browne had at that time been a prisoner in Fort Nassau, as was Lieutenant Babbidge. With them was a Mr Thomas Irving, whom President Brown had represented to Hopkins as a powerful and unrepentant Tory and who was, not coincidentally (though Brown did not say as much to Hopkins), one of President Brown's most outspoken critics on the island.

With those administrative nuisances out of the way Brown had been able to accomplish a great deal in the way of American/Nassauvian cooperation. Fresh supplies had been provided to the invaders, and the shops, taverns, and whorehouses had remained open for their convenience and for the not inconsiderable profit to the owners of those establishments.

And more importantly, the looting and pillage of the island had been kept to a bare minimum, and it was widely held that this protection of the inhabitants had been accomplished through the untiring efforts of himself, President John Brown.

In actual fact it was the commodore who, for the most part, held the Americans in check, despite the vocal protests of the sailors, marines, and a surprising number of their officers. This confirmed in Brown's mind what he had long suspected, that being a gentleman was in no way a prerequisite for being an officer in the Continental service. Hopkins, with his crude ways and foul mouth, certainly did not deserve that sobriquet.

Still, the commodore had been cooperative and, whether he meant to be or not, had been very beneficial in advancing President Brown's career.

Brown crossed Bay Street and walked once more through the palisade surrounding Fort Nassau, having left John Gambier at Government House. The fort's big front gate was opened, and no sentries were guarding it. That formality had been abandoned after the first week of the American occupation, after each side had come to realize that the other wished no sort of confrontation.

Brown crossed the parade ground to the officers' mess. Fewer men were in the fort than he had seen since the rebels' arrival, and that further suggested that they were about to up anchor and go. He pushed open the door to the mess. There were no sentries there either, and that was odd. He looked inside.

The room was deserted. All of the papers, the weapons, the cups, bottles, and personal effects that had cluttered the space were gone.

‘May I help you, President Brown?' The voice from behind his back startled him and he turned around.

‘Ah, Captain Biddlecomb.' Brown extended his hand and received a halfhearted handshake in return. ‘How very good to see you again,' he said, though Biddlecomb was in fact the one he least wished to see. Of all the American officers he seemed the least taken by the president's charming ways. He seemed suspicious and not a little hostile. Brown worried about what advice he might be giving to Hopkins. ‘The commodore is no longer in the fort?'

‘No, sir. The commodore has retired to the flagship. We will be getting under way directly. If you have any more military stores on the island, I pray you keep them to yourself as we have no more room for them, even with the merchantman we've contracted. I'm just ashore to round up the last of the marines and see everything secured.'

‘Well,' Brown said. This was excellent news. ‘I'm sorry to see you go, I was quite enjoying the company. I trust you gentlemen found your stay here agreeable?'

‘Very much so, thank you. We were most lavishly entertained by yourself and the other men of note. I speak for all of us when I say that I am grateful for your cooperation, whatever your motives might have been.'

‘Indeed,' said Brown, not certain of how that last should be taken. ‘Might it be possible for me to speak with the governor once more before you sail?'

‘You shall have to ask the commodore that, but I can take you out to the flagship, if that would be convenient.'

‘That would be most convenient, thank you.'

The two men, Brown and Biddlecomb, sat in the stern sheets of the longboat as the boat crew pulled for the flagship, anchored near the western end of Potter's Cay. The boat was silent. It made Brown uncomfortable.

‘Captain, that schooner there, the black one that came in the other day. Is she part of your fleet?'

Biddlecomb looked over his shoulder, though Brown had to imagine he knew which schooner they were discussing. ‘That's the
Fly
. She and a sloop in our fleet, the
Hornet
, collided in a gale on the way down here. We thought she was lost, but she just damaged her rig. Finally caught up with us.'

‘And the
Hornet
? Was she lost?'

‘Apparently not. She seems to have made it back to the Delaware Bay.'

‘Well, thank the Lord for that.' The words did not sound nearly as sincere as Brown had hoped.

Brown was both pleased and relieved to find upon reaching the flagship that Commodore Hopkins, unlike Captain Biddlecomb, still seemed to regard him as a genuine friend and devotee to the American cause. The president was greeted with military honors as he made his way awkwardly up the
Alfred
's side, and the commodore shook his hand when the piping was done.

‘President Brown, good to see you again, sir. I wish I could ask you to dine, but we're under way on the turn of the tide, which is no more than an hour from now, and we've still a great deal to do.'

‘I quite understand, sir, thank you. I won't take more of your time. But, if I might be so bold as to enquire, is it your intention to bear Governor Browne and the others off with you?'

‘Indeed it is. I reckon you didn't intend to give so much away, but from what you've let slip I've come to realize that the governor is an important cove in the British government, and I imagine he'll make an important prisoner. And like you mentioned, he presumed to fire on my men and to send away most of the island's gunpowder.'

‘I fear I've been too free with my words in that regard, letting on that the governor is related to the Earl of Dartmouth and such. I suppose I'm enough devoted to the American cause that I have little thought for what bits of intelligence I might accidentally reveal. But pray, might I see the governor one last time before you sail?'

‘By all means. Mr Carey,' Hopkins called out to a midshipman standing nearby, ‘please escort President Brown to the wardroom to see the governor.'

The wardroom was two decks below the weather deck with an overhead so low that even Brown, who was of no great height, had to bend at the waist to walk. It was dark as well, being lit by only two lanterns at either end of the room. It smelled like what it was – a tightly packed living space on an old wooden ship.

Gov. Montfort Browne's large bulk was crammed into one of the small cabins that lined the long room, with two sentries posted outside the door. So miserable did the big man look that President Brown was moved to pity, an emotion that was generally a stranger in his heart.

‘Ah, Brown, here you are!' the governor said, standing, bent nearly double, and walking the two steps to the door. The midshipman removed the latch and President Brown stepped into the cabin, shaking the governor's outstretched hand.

‘I heard some piping just then, sounded like someone important coming aboard,' the governor said with a pathetic note of hope in his voice.

‘It was just one of their captains. You know that these rebels treat all of their own as if they were peers of the realm.'

‘Have you talked to that Hopkins that styles himself admiral?'

‘I have.'

‘And what does he say?'

President Brown shook his head. ‘All of my pleading and my appeals to his humanity have been for naught. He is determined to bear you away. I even tried to tell him that you were a man of no great consequence, that taking you prisoner would accomplish nothing, but he didn't believe that for a minute. He's well aware of your stature in government and your connections. He won't be disabused of the notion that you would make a valuable prisoner of war.'

‘Does he know of my relationship to the Earl of Dartmouth?'

‘I fear so, and probably did before he sailed from America.'