The Scent of Betrayal (33 page)

‘I know that, Oliver. McGillivray told me. But he also said
that the Dons would wait until the Plate fleet had reached Cadiz. That can’t happen until September at the earliest, so I have a little time left to act. That coincides, as you will know better than I, with slack water on the Mississippi. When the river is low, I can’t see how the fortress guns can depress enough to threaten me, and given that the guards will have grown lazy I have a good chance of getting clean away without much damage.’

He stopped, wondering why Pollock was looking at him so hard, biting his lip with evident discomfort.

‘You don’t think it will work?’

‘I mentioned the Morris brothers earlier.’

‘The bankers?’

‘Yes, though they are politicians as well.’ Pollock hesitated for a fraction of a second before proceeding, as though he needed to gather his thoughts. ‘As you will guess, such men have sources of information that transcend those of government. They have to in order to protect their investments.’

‘Go on,’ said Harry, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

‘I saw them recently.’

‘Please be frank, Oliver. It was Robert Morris that informed you of this rendezvous.’

‘I won’t affirm or deny that, Harry. What I will say is that Morris knows that I have a home in New Orleans and that matters pertaining to Spain are of interest to me.’

‘And?’

‘It’s no secret in London that the French are determined to get the Spaniards into the war on their side. It is also common knowledge that the only thing Manuel de Godoy is awaiting is the money contained in the Plate galleons. So the Admiralty despatched a squadron of four frigates to intercept them.’

‘With, or without, war being declared?’

‘Without. Their orders were to take them regardless, and stop that money reaching the Spanish treasury.’

‘If they succeed they’ll be rich. The annual cargo from South America is worth four or five million guineas.’

‘So you don’t need to be told how hard they will try.’

‘The ocean is big, Oliver.’

‘The Spanish are sailing in peacetime, Harry. They will have received a hint, if they haven’t been actually told, of the importance of their mission, so they will have sought to make their landfall quickly. And their destination is as well known to you as it is to those four Captains.’

‘You make it sound as though they’ve already been taken.’

‘If I do, it is only because I suspect it to be true. Just as I suspect that such news will spread rapidly. Every ship sailing west will hear of it. And so will de Carondelet as soon as one touches at New Orleans. I believe that your room for manoeuvre has been shortened by a month to six weeks.’

‘Can you detain the Spaniards we captured?’

‘What?’

‘Oliver, I have to get back to New Orleans, even if you have implied that I might be too late. What I don’t need is the possibility that the men we have overpowered will get there ahead of me.’

‘They’re foreign soldiers on American soil.’ Pollock slapped a fist onto his palm. ‘Damn.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Wilkinson. He’s two days behind us, three at the most. We had news that he’d crossed the Muscle Shoals at Colbert’s Ferry a week ago.’

‘Can you avoid him?’

‘No. I didn’t get here without being seen at every post-house on the way. My only claim to innocence is in not seeking to hide. I had half a hope that my presence would embarrass him so much that he’d decline to come on, but the man has the hide of an elephant. It makes little difference. Once he reaches here and finds that something has gone wrong he’ll likely set the whole area alight searching for his bribe. The only thing I can do is continue south.
But I have to return through the Frontier States at some time. Remember I’m not alone. At the first place where I find the law, I’ll be obliged to hand them over. How long do you think it will be before Wilkinson finds that out?’

‘I need a week, Oliver.’

‘I can’t guarantee it.’

‘But you will try.’

Pollock nodded.

POLLOCK
marched south, the remaining Spaniards on foot between their American escorts, all informed that they’d been rescued from certain death at the hands of renegade Frenchmen. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it was enough to keep them in check. And they would be able to honestly confirm, to an enquiring authority, that Pollock and his men had been too few to engage in a battle with the men who’d attacked them. With luck he could escort them so far south that the question of their freedom would become academic. Up by the latrine the Frenchmen were burying two of their own number, and four Spaniards. The dead all being Papists, Harry left whatever burial service was required to those overseeing their interment.

‘Even if you have foxed this Wilkinson fellow,’ said Tucker, ‘that still leaves McGillivray. And he must be close.’

‘He might even have an eye on us this very minute,’ added Pender, scanning the surrounding hills. ‘I don’t suppose that sourpussed Indian that led us here in the first place is too far off.’

Harry was now pacing very much in the same manner as that adopted earlier by Pollock, head down and brow furrowed. Tucker, leaning on his rifle, continued.

‘Even if you could avoid him, and de Carondelet is no wiser about those frigates, you have to get your ship out of New Orleans before news gets back of what happened here. I can’t see McGillivray keeping his trap shut, especially when he finds out you’ve cheated him out of his neat little triumph.’

‘How do you think de Guerin intended to get home?’ asked Harry, stopping suddenly. ‘Not on horseback, surely. Even if he
did change those two lame animals, he could hardly relish the idea of another six weeks in the saddle.’

‘Boat would be best,’ said Tucker.

‘From where?’

Tucker shrugged.

Harry looked towards the tent, now partially collapsed because of the way Tucker had cut the guy-ropes. ‘Did he have any maps amongst his possessions?’

‘I’ll have a look,’ said Pender, diving under the canvas. He emerged after a few moments carrying a flat leather case. Harry took it off him and flipped it open. The first page showed his route from New Orleans to the first stop for remounts, with each successive page showing a different section of his long journey north. Impatiently, Harry flipped it over so that he was looking at the very last map. He held it out to show the two other men.
Doak’s Stand
was written in large letters, with the spot on which they stood marked in faint ink. They examined the line of march, also faintly drawn, heading due east. This culminated at a twisting blue line that was clearly a watercourse, the total, a distance of some sixty miles as the crow flies.

‘The Yazoo River,’ said Tucker. ‘Runs into the Mississippi just north of Walnut Hills.’

‘Navigable?’ asked Harry.

‘It is on the lower reaches. Near an eighth of a mile wide in parts.’

‘There has to be a boat there waiting for them, Captain,’ said Pender. ‘This map don’t show no settlement an’ they wouldn’t just go there on the off chance.’

‘Arranged by Wilkinson, no doubt.’

‘Which means that once he gets there, he might not head south.’

Harry looked at the sloping clearing, at the horses grazing quietly in their neat lines. To hide the evidence of an encampment was impossible. There were the scorch marks where the Spaniards had lit their fires, the indentations made by their tents, palpable
evidence of numerous creatures grazing, and most telling of all, that freshly dug latrine, now being turned into newly dug graves. With his own animals, de Guerin’s mounts, and the pack-horses the Spanish had used, he had two beasts for every man in his party; he remembered the bullion, whose weight had to be distributed over at least a dozen animals, but that still left him spare horses, an advantage that was unlikely to be held by either of his pursuers.

McGillivray, who’d controlled matters up till now, wouldn’t know where they were going. Expecting Harry to head back south on horseback, he’d be temporarily out-manoeuvred by his change of direction. Against that he would probably manage to keep them under observation. Wilkinson, if he arrived and saw the evidence, might guess his destination, but he too might assume that they’d gone south on horseback. So he must surprise one and out-run both. Once they got to the river the horses were superfluous, and even if the Indian kept himself abreast of their progress he wouldn’t worry as long as they headed downriver. After all, he knew exactly where Tucker was berthed.

‘Pender, I think I’m going to have to tie you onto your horse.’

They pushed the animals without much regard for their well-being for the first ten miles, before slowing to a canter. Harry was no cavalryman, but he knew that no horse could cover the entire distance without rest and fodder. Nor would the men, who’d slept little the previous night, be much use if they had no rest. He found a clearing close to a steep hill, and set the animals to graze and Tucker to hunt for food. The Frenchmen, and Pender, were bidden to rest. Equally tired, he climbed to the top of the hill and found a spot that gave him a view of the route they’d followed on what must be an old Indian trail. The wisps of smoke from the three fires differed only in their density, the closest one, no more than two miles away, being the thickest. The idea that McGillivray knew exactly where he was didn’t bother him much, but if Wilkinson picked up his tracks it was another matter. Not
that he could do anything about it, and the fires were proof that the Creek chieftain wasn’t close. If he was, he wouldn’t need them. Two hours later, after a quick meal from the Spaniards’ stores, they were on the trail again, with Pender groaning continuously at the discomfort.

Harry stopped them as night began to fall, leaving them just enough light to tether the horses, set a rough picket, and find a place to rest their heads. Pender, having had the gift of some sleep during the day, was given Harry’s timepiece and charge of the first watch, with orders to wake Tucker at midnight. He had Harry up before dawn, and by full daylight they were again on their way. By Harry’s reckoning they’d covered over half the distance on the first day. The second was harder, since he ruled out any notion of stopping. They rode up one hill and down the next, each following heavily forested rise visible from that which preceded it, but late in the afternoon the land began to slope steadily downwards towards the river, and Harry called a halt so that he and Tucker could go forward and investigate. They found what they were looking for easily enough, tied to a makeshift jetty by a long stretch of sandy beach, with trees running to within twenty feet of the water’s edge.

The boat, with what appeared to be three guards aboard, was not designed to transport much cargo. It was a long, narrow keelboat, sleek and manoeuvrable, perfectly suited to a swift journey downriver. It was also a touch too small for the number he needed to load aboard. Tucker knew the limitations better than he.

‘Being low in the water’s all right as long as you don’t hit anything, and the old river is sparse now, so that means the channels ain’t as deep as we would like. And overloaded makes it harder to work if we get into any danger.’

‘Which we must put against trying to ride to safety.’

‘That, as they say, is not a contest.’

‘We’ll have to take those guards with us part of the way, or they’ll talk.’

‘No point,’ Tucker replied. ‘Any man with a brain will guess
we’d be goin’ downriver. Best tie them loose and leave them here.’

‘Then let’s work out a way to overpower them.’

‘This is a job for a Kentuckian,’ said Tucker, grinning. ‘I’d be thankful for the use of your pistols.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to come with you?’

Tucker looked at Harry’s clothes – dark blue coat, breeches, and boots. They’d suffered somewhat from his recent adventures, still streaked with dried grey mud – his shirt particularly – but they were unmistakably the accoutrements of a man who lived in a city, and they contrasted sharply with Tucker’s loose buckskin garments.

‘The sight of you will have them reaching for weapons. But finding a frontiersman here might just make them pause.’

Harry gave him the pistols, already loaded and primed, which the American stuck in his belt. Tucker pulled out his chewing tobacco and took a bite, before cradling his rifle in his arms. Then he moved forward, adopting an arrogant swagger as he emerged from the trees. The sight brought the three men to their feet, and Harry edged slightly closer, ready to rush forward if his companion’s ruse showed any signs of failing. Tucker stopped, staring at them as though he had all the time in the world. And when he spoke, his tone was a lazy drawl, almost a mockery of the frontier bumpkin.

‘Why, that’s a mighty fine boat you got there, boys. Bit like one of ’em dogs bred to coursing. Not much use in the freight line, I reckon.’

‘Who are you?’ asked the man in the middle, a thick-set fellow who by his posture was the leader. He’d picked up a buckskin cover very like Tucker’s own, then slipped out a long rifle. The two other men had clubs.

‘Name’s Boone,’ Tucker replied.

‘Boone!’

Tucker moved forward to the side of the boat, leant his long rifle on the side, then bent to examine the planking, running his fingers along the wood. ‘Close relation to Daniel, son, tho’ I’m a
mite upset at the way he’s sullied the family name.’

‘Sullied?’ There was no offence in the question, just surprise.

Tucker was now leaning on the side of the boat, his head just above the gunwale, and the bulk of his body out of sight. The leader had lowered his rifle, more interested in the conversation than security.

‘Reckon you might see him as a hero, what with all that folks writ about him. But Cousin Daniel has a mouth, son, which he opens and shuts a mite too readily. Not something my family takes kindly to. Reckon I’ll have to whup him one of these days and see if’n I can keep him quiet.’

The armed man turned to grin at his two companions. Harry’s pistols came up over the gunwales at exactly the same point, one aimed at his back, the other waving towards his two companions. They saw the guns before he did, but the startled look on their faces alerted him and he began to spin round.

‘Don’t be a fool, son,’ said Tucker. ‘Cousin Daniel ain’t the best shot in the family.’

The rifle stayed down as Harry rushed forward. He grabbed Tucker’s own weapon, flipped off the cover, and levelled it at the deck, praying that they couldn’t see it wasn’t loaded. Tucker, though he had to do it out of the corner of his eye, glared angrily.

‘Two choices, boys,’ he said, in the same slow drawl. ‘Drop your weapons or we drop you.’

The thuds, as the clubs hit the deck, were simultaneous. The rifle took a little longer. Slowly they raised their hands.

‘You will oblige me by unhanding my rifle, friend.’

It was a moment before Harry realised that Tucker was growling at him. He laid Practical John down gently.

‘I thank you. Now, you boys, down on the jetty, nice and slow.’

‘Who is Daniel Boone?’ asked Harry, as the trio complied.

‘You don’t know?’ said Tucker, obviously amazed. Harry shook his head. ‘My, what a sheltered life you’ve led.’

The horses, content to graze as soon as they were freed, had to be chased away from the river bank, with Harry fretting at the loss of time, his predicament watched stoically by the three men lashed on long ropes to the nearby trees. Pender had measured the lengths, cutting them just short of the point where one could reach the other, then tied complex knots, thus ensuring that it would be some time before they would free themselves. The keelboat, having been pushed away from the shallows by the jetty, was crammed full, low in the water, with just enough room for the men to work the sweep. Tucker had insisted on the poles being used, even if there was limited room to work them, arguing that at the very least they could be used to slow the boat down if he thought they were at risk. The vessel, released, and already in deep water, swung out into the current and immediately gathered speed.

‘This would be one to try in the spring, Ludlow,’ Tucker called. Harry, on the other side of the sweep, just grinned and took a firmer grip. ‘And as soon as we’re out of sight, I should take possession of the long rifle that feller had. Seems to be a pretty fine weapon.’

‘Why wait till we’re out of sight?’

‘No need to hurt the man’s feelings, Ludlow. I had a word with him before we unhooked. He was near to tears when I said we was takin’ it with us. It’s called Able Mabel, but now that it’s yours, feel free to give the damn thing a new name.’

‘We used to name our cannons on men-of-war.’

‘That’s all very well and proper,’ Tucker replied, with a grin. ‘But who ever heard of taking a cannon to bed with you?’

Where the Yazoo was wide and straight, the journey was pleasant, but getting round the numerous shallow bends was a struggle that required strength, determination, and foresight. Worse awaited them if they encountered any narrows, usually caused by some mid-channel island, with the pace of the river, to which the keelboat was wholly subject, taking control. It was very different from coming upriver in a galley, where the muscles were needed
to row: now everything depended on keeping control of the sweep. The poles helped to slow them in deep water, but as soon as any rocks appeared, Tucker had to haul them inboard and let the current do its worst, for fear that one of them would snag and cause the boat to broach. Trees, growing unchecked from the river bank, formed a tangled arch over the route, with branches hanging down into the water thick enough to kill. Those steering could only duck and weave, and hope that reactions that were instinctive would keep them from harm.

After each constricted passage of river, it was essential to stop, let others take the sweep, and rest aching arms. But progress, even in a sluggish current, was swift, and they ate up the miles until darkness fell. After a short night’s sleep they were back on their way at first light. Settlements began to appear on the lower reaches of the river, places where the tall canes had been cut back or burnt to provide land on which to build. It was impossible to avoid bringing attention to their passage. Riverside folks always had time to stare at a boat, and one so clearly overloaded could not expect to pass by without exciting comment.