The Power and the Glory (23 page)

“
Retaliation
? Isn't that the French privateer that Captain Decatur captured off the coast of New Jersey?”

“The same, Captain.”

“How did that happen? And when?”

“On the twentieth of last month, off Guadeloupe. Exactly
how
it happened remains a bit of a mystery
.
Apparently her captain, a lieutenant named Bainbridge, became separated from his two consorts when they took off in pursuit of a privateer. Sailing on his own, Bainbridge came upon two large vessels he took to be British. He raised the British signal, with no response. Nor was there a response when he raised the American signal. For a reason no one seems able to explain, least of all Bainbridge himself, he decided to take a closer look. What he found were two large French frigates. When they opened fire on him, he surrendered.”

“He did not return fire? For the sake of honor?”

“No, Captain, he did not.”

Truxtun grimaced. “Go on.”

“Captain Bainbridge believed himself hopelessly outgunned. And his consorts were too far away to render assistance. Bainbridge still had a card, however, and he played it well. After his schooner was taken, he managed to convince the French commander that his consorts—the sloops
Montezuma
and
Norfolk
—were too heavily armed for the French to engage. So the French abandoned the chase, allowing the sloops to make good their escape.”

“These two French frigates, what were their names?”

“One was
L'Insurgente,
the other
Le Volontaire
.”

“I know of
L‘Insurgente
. She's a
Sémillante
-class forty-gun frigate, reputed to be the fastest ship in the French navy. What of
Retaliation'
s officers and crew?”

“Captain Bainbridge and his commissioned officers were released on their parole and have returned to America. The crew were taken to Basse-Terre in Guadeloupe as prisoners.”

Standard procedure, Richard mused as he listened to the exchange. The rules of naval engagement were quite specific on the disposition of a captured vessel and her crew, and most maritime powers honored those rules. Would revolutionary France? He had his doubts. “Sir, with your permission?”

“Yes, Mr. Cutler?”

Richard's eyes swung to Sweeney. “Captain, to your knowledge, is Victor Hugues still
commissair civil
on Guadeloupe?” He was referring to the French official known as “the Colonial Robespierre,” a fervent revolutionary who had been placed in authority after French forces recaptured Guadeloupe in 1794. Detesting royalist sympathizers in equal measure with the British, Hugues had established a regime in Basse-Terre that mirrored the horrors of revolutionary Paris. He ordered a guillotine erected in the public square of the colonial capital and the head of every accused royalist sympathizer on the island chopped off, along with that of anyone possessing a drop of British blood. So deep ran his hatred for anything British that he had ordered the body of the erstwhile British governor exhumed and his remains tossed into a sewer.

Nor did America escape his wrath. Viewing Americans as British in both body and politics, Hugues granted a privateer's commission to any vessel that applied for one and set loose a fleet to plunder American shipping, claiming a handsome commission on monies raised from the sale of seized goods before sending the balance on to Paris. The view was widely held in European capitals as well as in Philadelphia that if one were to name those French officials most responsible for the current
guerre de course
between the United States and France, Victor Hugues would be high on anyone's short list.

“He is, Lieutenant,” Sweeney replied, “although we have reason to believe he won't hold power much longer. Our spies in Basse-Terre report that Hugues has lost favor with the Directory. Apparently he has overstepped his bounds. He has, in fact, become a major obstacle to peace initiatives.”

Richard cast him a quizzical look. “Peace initiatives? What peace initiatives, Captain?”

“Why, those involving your country, Lieutenant.”

Richard glanced at Truxtun.

“Are you telling us, Captain Sweeney,” Truxtun said, “that the French government is pursuing peace initiatives with the United States?”

“I am, Captain Truxtun. France desires peace with your country,
and for a very good reason. French islands in the Indies, including Guadeloupe, cannot survive on their own resources. Until recently, privateers brought in the food and supplies they required, but privateering had been on the wane ever since your navy entered these waters. Today, many innocent people on Guadeloupe are suffering, and they blame Victor Hugues for their pain. His support has eroded, which is why we believe he will soon be replaced.”

“How soon, do you think?”

“Please God, not
too
soon, Captain. The Royal Navy needs your ships here, since most of ours have been recalled over there.” He pointed in the general direction of Europe. “And of course, we are still feeling the effects of the recent mutinies.” He was referring to two widely publicized strikes by British sailors—one at Spithead, the other at the Nore—demanding better pay and living conditions on board ship. Shockingly, to those familiar with the unyielding dictates of Whitehall, the British Admiralty agreed to make certain concessions. “As you can imagine, such incidents make us particularly vulnerable in a time of war,” Sweeney noted, “and we need the few friends we have to stay with us.”

“Thank you for being so forthcoming, Captain. Whatever peace initiatives may be under way, I can assure you that America will do her part for as long as possible.”

During the ensuing weeks the crews of the American squadron settled into a lifestyle that, when off duty and not out on patrol, allowed them to revel in the sun-drenched tropical paradise amid a local citizenry eager to accommodate a young topman or waister, or a somewhat older lieutenant of Marines, too long away from the scent of a woman. For the officers and crew of
Constellation
, it was back to strict naval discipline when, in mid-December, signals were received from Fort George announcing that a British mail packet had been sighted closing in on Basseterre Roads. Dispatches had arrived from Admiral Parker in Port Royal, Jamaica.

Île de la Gonâve, Saint-Domingue December 1798

“G
OOD TO SEE you again, Captain Truxtun. Welcome on board
Redoubtable
. Might I offer you a spot of tea or coffee? Or something stronger, perhaps?”

Thomas Truxtun's hard, sunburned face relaxed into a smile. “I seem to recall, Captain Hardcastle, that the last time I requested coffee on a Royal Navy vessel, I left the after cabin rather tipsy. Dare I try again?”

“By all means, Captain,” Hugh Hardcastle said straight-faced.

“Then I shall take it black, no sugar.”

“Black, no sugar, it is.” He nodded to his steward and then looked toward Richard Cutler. “Lieutenant?”

Richard quickly turned his attention back to Hugh. He had been giving the captain's cabin a quick once-over, wondering how a post captain who had attained such heights of rank and promise in such a splendid service as His Majesty's navy could give it up so easily as Hugh seemed to be doing. “Coffee for me as well, Captain,” Richard said, “with sugar—assuming, of course, that it's Cutler sugar.”

Hardcastle gave him a rueful look. “I'm told it is. Certainly that is what I ordered the purser to procure. I have my doubts, though. You know pursers. Price is their one and only consideration, and even you must admit that Cutler sugar tends to be rather expensive. And as to what you charge for your rum—well! I am the first to confirm its texture
and taste; but good Lord, Lieutenant, how do you get away with demanding such a price?”

Richard grinned. “We don't demand the price, Captain. We offer it. And people pay it willingly. My father has been telling me since I was a child that whatever it is you're selling, make it the best money can buy and price it high, to increase its value in the mind of the buyer and to confirm his good judgment. Do that, and you'll never lack for quality customers. And we never have.”

Hardcastle contemplated that. “I look forward to meeting your father, Lieutenant. I daresay I could learn a great deal from him.”

“As do I still.”

After a pot of rich Jamaican coffee had made the rounds, Thomas Truxtun switched topics to the matter at hand. “What of preparations, Captain? When do you meet with General Toussaint?”

Hugh Hardcastle nodded as if in recognition that the time for polite banter had passed. “We weren't certain exactly when you would arrive here, though we did manage to predict the day. General Toussaint and his entourage arrived on the island this morning. He has with him his personal guard and a general named Dessalines, his most trusted officer. He puts great stock in Dessalines' counsel.”

“How many soldiers does he have in his personal guard?”

“Ten.”

“
Ten
? Is that all?”

“Yes, Captain, it is.” Hardcastle's tone conveyed surprise at Truxtun's question. “His main army is encamped near Port-au-Prince. Transporting a large number of them out here would have been logistically challenging. It would also have raised a red flag for André Rigaud, whose base is on the mainland south of here. Besides, why bring in a larger force? Rigaud may control the southern regions of Saint-Domingue, but our ships have been on patrol around this island for three days and have reported seeing nothing. As we speak, Royal Marines are setting up a perimeter near the cove where Lieutenant Cutler and I will be meeting with General Toussaint later this afternoon. Your Marines are most welcome to assist us. You say you have how many with you?”

“Twenty-four, in addition to our captain of Marines. You met Lieutenant Carter in Port Royal.”

“So I did. He seemed a fine officer. As is my own Captain Turner, who commands forty-three. If my math serves, we add your twenty-five to our forty-four and that gives us sixty-nine Marines. Add in Toussaint's
ten soldiers and we have a grand total of seventy-nine armed men, not to mention the many sailors and considerable armament we have on board your ship and mine. So be at your ease, Captain. You need not be concerned.”

“That depends somewhat on Rigaud, does it not?”

Hugh Hardcastle shrugged dismissively. “I don't mean to sound condescending, Captain, but I rather doubt that Rigaud could do much of anything to anyone on this island even if he had a mind to. I would take a squad of my Marines, or yours, over a brigade of his picaroons any day. The same goes for Toussaint's army. We are not discussing European soldiers here. These men have hardly any military training at all. Add both sides together and all you have is a horde of ill-clothed, ill-equipped, ill-led soldiers living on little more than morsels of hope and sips of promises.”

Much like the soldiers of the Continental army, Richard thought, and they managed to defeat Britain's finest. “But why not parlay with Toussaint on board
Redoubtable
? You could guarantee security at no risk to anyone.”

“We offered that, Lieutenant, and Toussaint declined our offer. He prefers to meet us ashore. He is a proud and accomplished man, and I suspect he prefers to parley within his own seat of power, so to speak, where he feels most comfortable and where he believes he holds the upper hand. And that is the key point to remember. Toussaint believes he does hold the upper hand in our discussions, appearances to the contrary. In his mind he has more to offer us than we to him. If our superiors are ultimately to hammer out some sort of agreement with him, Toussaint must be convinced that he is conceding less than we are. He trusts us only to a point. In truth, he trusts
no
man outside his inner circle of confidantes. The only reason he is treating with us at all is because he believes we can help him achieve his objectives.”

Hardcastle's gaze swung to Truxtun after Richard nodded his understanding. “Questions or comments, Captain?”

“Just one, the first one I asked. Exactly when do you and Lieutenant Cutler meet with Toussaint?”

Hardcastle drew a round, gold-plated watch from his waistcoat pocket. “It's approaching six bells,” he said. “We shall go ashore at the start of the second dogwatch—in six hours. That will give us three hours of daylight, more than enough for our purpose.”

FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT in the stern sheets of
Constellation'
s gig, Richard Cutler stared ahead to a peninsula jutting out from the western reaches of Île de la Gonâve. Set before a rise of royal purple hills in the far distance was a sunlit white sand beach shaped like a giant arrowhead. The shaft of the arrow extended a good way eastward, toward the interior of the island and beyond, to the mainland of Saint-Domingue and the colonial capital of Port-au-Prince. From what he could observe, the vegetation on this part of the island, the westernmost tip, comprised thick, low-lying brush and scrub, with here and there a scrawny tree thirsting for what meager sustenance its roots could draw from this surprisingly barren land. Nowhere did he find evidence of the multicolored flora, towering coconut palms, or lush green vegetation so prevalent on Barbados, Saint Kitts, and other islands of his acquaintance. This island, in contrast, appeared flogged by the wind and more parched by the sun than enriched by it.

Dead ahead Richard could see the spot where the negotiations with Toussaint L'Ouverture apparently would take place: a grassy stretch perhaps forty or fifty feet up from the waterline. A gray canvas tent had been erected there near a table set between two flaming torches. Twenty feet or so beyond the tent, across a span of hard open ground, began the gnarl of low-lying brush. Within that tangle and confusion the Marines had been ordered to establish a defensive perimeter. How they would do that Richard could not imagine. From his perspective, the undergrowth appeared impenetrable.