chapter 10

the New World

late may 1819

The night before they arrived in South America, Captain Acton asked William to dine with him in the captain’s cabin to mark the end of the voyage. When they had finished their meal that evening and the steward had cleaned the table, they shared a bottle of port. The captain unbuttoned his shirt collar.

He said, “I believe I have information which concerns you. Do you remember the gentleman who boarded in the West Indies?”

William was puzzled. “You mean the London coffee merchant?”

“The very one. Well, last evening I had him along to dine with a couple of the other passengers who recently boarded. It seems our gentleman merchant recognized your companion, Mr. Harold Hull.”

Acton’s tone made William sit up.

The captain continued, “In addition to his other trading activities, our Mr. Hull is somewhat notorious on the continent as a plant hunter and collector. I’ve been told he has a reputation in these parts as a conniver who will go to any length to get a leg up on his rivals. Rumor has it he’s not above hiring local thugs to take out a competitor.”

The realization struck William like a direct hit from a blunderbuss. A confidence man had taken him in.

He reflected on the many pleasant conversations he’d had with Hull during the uneventful crossing. William had been careful not to reveal any information related to his mission to deliver the duke’s message to Bolívar. Hull, however, had been able to patiently extract some details relating to William’s hunt for orchids. It wouldn’t be difficult for a man who was familiar with the region to deduce William’s route.

The duke had stressed to William the sensitive nature of this work. He realized his lapse in judgment could jeopardize the mission—and Sarah’s life. He felt a complete fool.

“I’d been told you knew how to handle your affairs,” Acton said with just a trace of scorn. “Just make damn sure nothing happens to Mr. Hull until he’s left my ship. Good night, Captain Gunn.”

William thanked Acton and went to bed that night grateful for some of the more primal skills he had picked up while serving His Majesty.

Still some miles from land, William noticed the silt-laden coffee-colored waters of the Magdalena River swirling in the Caribbean.

A screaming host of pelicans welcomed the ship as they arrived at the bay of Sabanilla. There was a single wooden pier. It was small and weathered, suitable only for shallow craft. Behind the ivory-bright sand beach was a tangle of scrubs and twisted dwarf pine trees. Vultures circled high overhead. The odor of silt and rotting vegetation competed with the salt-laden ocean breeze.

William remained on deck as the Voyager anchored. He would have to be on his guard. This was a lawless place—and already he had an enemy. He cursed himself for his carelessness and wished he had some indication of where Hull would sneak off to. He had honored Acton’s wish not to spill the blood of a passenger who had been promised safe passage, but he knew the con man would be impossible to track once they made landfall.

Several men came out to unload the ship. One manned a small boat tied up to the pier. Two others waded out to a skiff anchored close to shore. A skeletal pig chased after them to the water’s edge.

Tom the quartermaster was waiting for William as he left the ship. “William, I’m sorry to see ye leave, but I have a parting gift. Ye’ll be wanting to stop this evening in the Hotel de San Martín.” The old quartermaster gave a conspiratorial wink. “Captain Acton said to tell ye it’s a favorite for orchid hunters.”

William pressed a wad of notes into the old sailor’s hand. “Much thanks, Tom—for everything. And with the grace of God, I’ll be seeing you again.”

He was anxious to get on with his mission. Whatever time was left for Sarah was quickly running out.