The Power and the Glory (37 page)

The captain held up his hands, higher this time. “
Arrêtez-vous, monsieur
,” he shouted. “
Arrêtez-vous, je vous mendie!”
He nodded at the larboard sideboard. “
Il est là, dans le tiroir supérieur
.” He slumped back in his chair.

“Search the top drawer, Mr. Jeffrey,” Richard said, his eyes never wavering from the Frenchman. Jeffrey walked over to the sideboard, opened the narrow drawer at eye level, and searched inside with his hand. “There is a key in here, sir.”

“It had better be the right one,” Richard said, “if this bastard wants to live. Cover him, Mr. Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey drew his pistol and held it steady as Richard walked behind the desk. He untied the bandana from around the privateer's neck, rolled it into a gag, inserted it into the man's mouth, and then tied the ends in four knots behind the man's head.

“That should do it,” he said. “
Levez-vous
!” he demanded.

The Frenchman stood up. Richard used his own neck stock to bind the man's hands behind him. He checked his watch: 10:48.

“I have him, Mr. Jeffrey. Go below. On the double.”

Jeffrey quick-stepped down to the orlop.

“
Maintenant, monsieur
,” Richard said, his voice as tight as the knots on the gag, “
nous attendons. Lâ-bas
.” He pointed through the cabin doorway and nudged the muzzle of his pistol against the man's back. “
Soyez en tête, s'il vous plaît
.”

The privateer captain led the way, as ordered, to the base of the steps leading up to the weather deck. There they waited, Richard with a pistol in one hand and his watch in the other. Two minutes dragged by. Three. Four. “Hurry, damn it, Kendall,” he whispered. Finally he heard footsteps echoing up from below.

Kendall's head popped up through an open hatchway. “Done, sir,” he confirmed, then pulled himself up and out. The others followed. “We have five minutes.”

“
En haut les pas, vite
,” Richard snarled at the Frenchman, “
à moins que vous ne vouliez mourir ici
.”

The Frenchman clearly had no desire to die there. He stumbled up the steps, followed by Richard, Jeffrey, and the three Marines.

On deck, Richard shoved the privateer captain against the starboard bulwarks. The man's eyes grew big when Kendall handed Richard his knife. With a hard upward thrust Richard cut through the binding on the Frenchman's wrists. Stunned, the man stared at his freed hands just as Reeve and Jackson picked him up by feet and shoulders and heaved him over the side.

“
Au revoir, mon ami
,” Richard shouted down at the splash of water. “
Je suggère que yous nagez très vite
.”

The enraged Frenchman hesitated for a moment, as if considering a return to the ship, then began swimming frantically in the other direction.

“This one's coming to, sir,” Jackson said, pointing to the sailor Richard had decked earlier. He was turning his head this way and that, moaning softly.

“Throw him over, too,” Richard said. After the second splash he said, “Right! Everybody off!
Now!
”

They had just taken shelter behind stacks of crates and barrels on the docks when the slow-match powder trail ignited by Sergeant Kendall sizzled its way across the floor of the brig's magazine to the main charge of gunpowder and munitions stacked at its far side. A colossal, earsplitting explosion rocked
Le Léopard
from stem to stern. Yellow and red sparks skyrocketed into the air as her midships arched up off the water. Her two masts teetered, then crashed onto the deck and quay. Fire raced along the downed rigging toward the docks and warehouse, spreading the conflagration. More explosions followed. The brig's deck amidships blew out, causing her tumblehome to cave in on itself and bringing water gushing in through a ragged hole torn through her starboard hull. Then it was over. Within a span of time that seemed impossibly short,
Le Léopard
had been reduced from a proud predator to a listing, battered wreck.

The music and laughter on the promontory faded to silence as the crowd stared in disbelief at the burning hulk, their minds unable to accept such a catastrophe on this lovely, joyous morning. Even the sight of the massive wooden double doors of the fort swinging open and a squad of half-dressed soldiers rushing into their midst did not convince them. What did, finally, start the panic was the line of casually dressed men who had materialized seemingly out of thin air to drop to one knee and point long-barreled pistols at those soldiers.

The French captain defiantly withdrew his sword from its scabbard and held it high, then turned to face his men. Before he could issue the order to fire, a shot discharged from Daniel Carmick's pistol tore into him and dropped him.

The citizens of Grand-Bourg, hitherto riveted in place, started screaming and running from the promontory toward the village and the presumed safety of their homes. A second wave of American Marines, larger than the first, raced against this tide of humanity toward the open doors of the fort. Richard recognized Isaac Hull in the lead.

After Richard's party returned to the brigantine
Nancy
, he watched the proceedings through a spyglass.

“We're in danger of overstayin' our welcome,” Agreen warned him. He, too, had been observing the goings-on through a glass. “I say it's time we flew this birdcage.”

Richard nodded and walked to the open hatchway. “You crewmen,”
he called down. “Out you go.
Rebecca Ann
is the schooner on the next quay. Roundly now! Before the fire spreads to her.” He eyed Roger Jeffrey. “Your first command, Mr. Jeffrey. Get her out into the harbor and wait for us.”

Jeffrey saluted and was off.

To the Marine corporal he said, “Take Mr. Phillips below and bind him. Bring some muskets with you when you come back up. We may have need of them.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The Marine pushed Phillips forward, followed him below.

To the sailors assigned to
Nancy
he said
,
“Make ready to set sail.”

Richard raised his glass again, focusing it on the fort. In front of the doors he saw what appeared to be the total capitulation of the French soldiers, guarded by Daniel Carmick and his Marines. Their weapons had been taken from them and tossed into the water, and they were submitting to having their hands tied behind their backs. All seemed secure there. What was happening inside the fort was a story impossible to read. It stood out on the end of the promontory as silent and sullen as the granite stone of its construction. If Hull failed, Richard thought, his stomach churning at the prospect, this had all been for naught. If he didn't spike those guns on the south- and west-facing walls, there could be no escape from Grand-Bourg.

“We're ready to make sail,” the boatswain's mate informed him. “And sir, the land breeze is picking up.”

“Very well, Morse. We'll have her under way as soon as Mr. Hull and the Marines are back on board.”

More seconds ticked by. More minutes.

“Damn, Isaac, hurry,” Agreen muttered. He glanced up at the telltales fluttering on the mainmast shrouds. Morse was right. The breeze had picked up and was blowing straight out of the harbor. But such a favorable wind would do them no good unless—

“There, Agee.
There!
”

Agreen raised his glass and saw Hull and the Marines charging out of the fort, Hull motioning to Carmick and his men to follow him
now!
No one challenged them, although the French soldiers under guard must have sensed what was coming. They struggled to their feet and ran after the Americans as best they could with their hands tied behind their backs. As the Marines neared the end of the promontory and ran along the arc leading to the town frontage and the burning docks, what
had transpired earlier on board
Le Léopard
seemed, in comparison, like child's play with popguns. A tremendous explosion shook the fort with such authority that both land and water trembled. Instantly a volcanic mass of stone shards, iron fragments, and other bits of debris spewed high above the promontory and spread out over the town, docks, and harbor. The mountain of debris seemed to hang in the air for a moment before plunging back down to earth. Richard and Agreen ducked for cover. They doubled up against the brigantine's bulwarks, shielding their heads with their arms as the spew pelted
Nancy
and
Rebecca Ann
and the scarred skeleton of
Le Léopard
in a violent hailstorm.

When it was over, when all was quiet, Richard rose to a knee and trained his glass on the fort—what was left of the fort. Only its east-facing wall remained intact. The rest of it appeared like a giant right triangle of stone rubble propping up that wall, pockmarked here and there with vacant gaps of what had been corridors and gun turrets. Nowhere did he see any stirrings of life.

“Sweet Jesus in heaven, Isaac,” Richard said to Hull when, moments later, the first lieutenant and the Marines left the shelter of a stone dockside warehouse and ran up the gangway onto the brigantine. “Where did
you
learn to spike guns?”

“The frogs were a bit sloppy with their munitions.” Hull was wheezing, gasping for breath. “And that provided us with a rather splendid alternative.”

“Rather splendid indeed,” Richard acknowledged.

“All hands! Make sail!” Agreen commanded. Sailors in the bow and stern let fly the lines to the bollards while others raised jib and driver, playing out the sheets to allow the freshening breeze to fill the canvas.
Nancy
slid easily forward from the quay, the wind at her back, her bowsprit pointing toward the demolished fort and the channel leading out.

“You have blood on your shirt,” Richard noted with concern.

Hull glanced down. “It's not mine,” he said, back in command of himself. “It belongs to the commander of the fort.” He withdrew his dirk from its sheath to reveal a blade smeared with red. “When we surprised the garrison, or what was left of it, he put up a fight. That was stupid of him. We had him dead to rights, and the Marines performed brilliantly.”

“Casualties?”

“Nary a one. Everyone's accounted for. You?”

“The same.”

“That'll make Silas happy.” Agreen eased
Nancy
up close to
Rebecca Ann
and waved at Roger Jeffrey at the helm. Jeffrey waved back and ordered his crew to back the jib to coax the schooner out of irons. Once both vessels were in open water and all they could see of Grand-Bourg were clouds of ugly black smoke curling above the town, Agreen said, “Speakin' of our illustrious commodore, gentlemen, have a gander yonder. Unless I miss my guess, thar he blows.”

He was pointing to the southwest, where the black hull of an American frigate was rising off the horizon.
Constitution
was sailing toward them, to take them under her wing and shepherd them safely past the French naval base at Guadeloupe, and from there northward to Clarkson's Yard in the harbor of Saint Kitts for a rendezvous with
Constellation
.

I
n the Atlantic, Northeast of Guadeloupe February 1800

R
ICHARD LEANED BACK in his chair, holding in his hand the letter he had just received up on deck during mail call in the port of Saint Kitts. Slowly, savoring the moment as he always did after receiving a letter from Katherine, he broke the wax seal, spread open the single page, and read: