Twenty-four

The north-east trade swept up and over and funnelled between the island’s mountains, producing inconstant winds that swirled and sometimes died altogether. After sunset the trade took off a little and left, along the coast, a narrow band of calms and small, sudden gusts. Laying-to in such conditions was difficult, but Hayden felt they had no choice—the noise of both dropping and raising anchor would easily travel to the shore and to the small islands to their south. They had set Louis ashore the night previous and now returned, hoping he would bring his promised fugitives from injustice . . . and that he would not bring a company of French soldiers.

The two boats from the Themis, and a smaller boat belonging to the schooner, had been lowered into the water farther from shore to reduce the chances of anyone’s hearing. They were brought alongside now and manned. Wickham, a marine and the strongest oarsman aboard, went down into the smaller boat. The other boats were lightly manned in anticipation of bearing back refugees.

The schooner lay a little more than half a mile from the shore, in twenty-five fathoms. To the south the Islets à Goayaves were darker masses, distinguished from the black waters because they reflected no glimmer of starlight. To the east lay a small, open bay and a narrow beach, towards which Hayden stared, waiting for three quick flashes from a lantern.

The eyes tended to play tricks, Hayden knew, if one stared intently enough into the darkness. Shapes appeared where there were none, and sometimes little flickers that were manufactured in the brain, or so he had come to believe. He also strained to hear the sound of oars, or of a musket’s lock being cocked. There were no sounds but the breathing of the men, and the breeze rolling down off the nearby mountains, hissing and whispering through the trees, then rippling the waters so that the occasional hollow plunk sounded against the sides of a boat.

“Sir,” one of the crew whispered, and raised a hand in the dark, indicating a place somewhat north of where Hayden had been looking.

Three flashes, a count of twenty, then three again. Hayden ordered the man standing by with a lantern, hidden from the shore, to return the signal. He then leaned over the side.

“Mr Ransome, keep a good offing until Mr Wickham rows back out and assures you it is clear. Mr Wickham, if you have the slightest suspicion that things are not as they should be, do not press on. We are under no orders to rescue these people, and I will leave them on the beach before I see my crew put at risk.”

“Aye, sir,” Wickham responded, very softly, and then the boats were away.

Immediately, Hayden began to pace the length of the ship, fearing the flash of sudden musket fire or even guns aimed at the schooner. It was a foolish and dangerous enterprise—the kind of thing Sir William might arrange, had he any interest in rescuing French royalists. Hayden paused a moment to watch the boats dissolve into the darkness and realised what he felt was a growing sense of apprehension.

Wickham sat in the stern manning a small tiller, Bentley rowed, and a marine named Cooper crouched in the bow holding a musket, another ready to hand and a brace of loaded pistols in his belt. They rowed towards a dark shore where they did not know what might await them—a gathering of frightened and grateful French, or a line of marksmen with muskets pressed to their shoulders. Bentley worked his oars for stealth rather than speed, keeping the blades low to the water on the return and slipping them through the surface like sharpened knives. The little boat made hardly a sound as it went, barely a ripple of wake trailing behind.

Wickham gazed past Bentley at the shadowed shore beyond, thinking as he did so that if there were anything out of the ordinary awaiting them, he would never know. He also strained to hear any warning sounds, though he hardly knew what they might be. A muffled cough reached them, causing him to flinch, but then he told himself that soldiers hiding in ambush would not cough for their lives. This was some innocent—one of Louis’ royalists, he hoped.

A long quarter of an hour, bracing for musket fire the entire time, brought the familiar sound of waves lapping the shore. The boat slid to a gentle stop and Wickham was out and pulling them back, then turning them around so that a quick retreat could be made. He was about to scramble back aboard when he heard a near-whisper in the dark.

“C’est moi. Louis.”

Wickham let out a long breath and took another in to a relaxed chest.

“Is that you, Wickham?”

“Yes. How many?”

“Only ten, but I will have more tomorrow—twenty, perhaps. They have brought what little food they can.”

“I will send the boats immediately. Gather them on the beach. Tell them to say nothing.” Wickham pushed the boat for two steps and then swung himself over the side and took hold of the tiller.

“Slowly,” Wickham whispered to the hand at the oars. “Better to take five minutes more but preserve silence.”

Bentley slacked his pace. In a few moments they found the cutter and the barge, under the command of Gould and Ransome, respectively.

“It appears safe,” Wickham whispered. “Godspeed.”

He did not hesitate, but set Mr Bentley back to his oars. He did not want to linger near the shore any longer than he must. Although Captain Hayden made great effort to hide it, Wickham sensed that he had strong misgivings about this entire enterprise, and if his captain felt this way, Wickham was more than a little concerned. He would not draw a full breath until they were under sail and a mile from shore.

Wickham’s boat appeared out of the darkness and was quickly alongside.

“All well, Mr Wickham?” Hayden whispered down into the boat.

“All appears well, sir,” came the reply.

The occupants of the boat came silently up and over the rail. Two of the crew took charge of the boat, streaming it with care so that it did not strike the topsides. A very long half of the hour dragged past, and finally the boats took form out of the darkness and a moment later were alongside. Children were handed up, and then women and men. A few precious belongings followed, and last, the boats’ crews.

“So few,” Hayden whispered to Ransome.

“Yes, sir. Louis said he would bring twenty tomorrow.”

The ship was got underway and shaped her course immediately to the west to gain as much offing by full light as they could manage. They would then sail north to give them a good slant for returning on the trade.

When they were an hour out from shore, Hayden addressed the gathered French, who had been instructed to sit down on the deck.

“You may speak now, but quietly,” he told them in French.

One man stood. “I am speaking for us all when I thank you, Captain . . .” Words failed him, or perhaps his English was not up to the task. “You and your crew. We would all of us have died if you had not escaped us. We cannot thank you enough.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Hayden realised that a woman was weeping.

The tropical sun burned down upon the little schooner, turning the deck into a surface similar to a stove top. Although the sailors ran over it barefoot, Hayden could not hold his hand to the planks for more than a few seconds. An awning had been rigged amidships between the two masts and the French refugees huddled in its meagre shade. A few slept upon the unforgiving planks, some spoke softly, a few children played at cards, for finding themselves upon a ship was nothing but a great adventure to them. All ate and drank parsimoniously, the parents putting aside some of their own food for their children.

On the south-east horizon, the tops of Basse-Terre’s mountains—impossibly green and crowned with cloud—appeared to hang suspended. Sails could be seen here and there upon the blue, but none seemed to offer any threat, so the schooner sailed on, trying to appear to be hurrying north on some urgent errand of commerce. The officers, young gentlemen, and marines had removed their coats to maintain this appearance of innocence, and they were all grateful for it.

Forward, Wickham moved among the refugees, employing his excellent French and seeing to their needs as best he could. Two of the men stood and engaged the young nobleman in serious conversation, and immediately Hayden wondered if there was someone among them ill with fever. Fever aboard this small ship would be catastrophic.

Hayden could see Wickham nodding, and then he gestured towards the stern—towards the captain, Hayden feared. Wickham stepped gingerly among the sprawled bodies and made his way quickly aft.

“You have a most thoughtful look upon your face, Mr Wickham,” Hayden said.

“I have just been given rather unsettling information, Captain, if it proves true.” Wickham turned and nodded in the direction of the two men to whom he had been speaking, both of whom stood watching him expectantly. “Would you hear these gentlemen, Captain?”

“If you think it important, yes. Send them aft.”

Wickham waved to the men and Hayden retreated to the taffrail, where they might speak in something like privacy.

The men were both dressed in expensive clothing that was now dirty, worn, and in some places patched. Their very fine riding boots were in ruin and both men looked gaunt and fatigued to their very limits. They introduced themselves—life in the mountains had not eroded their manners—and thanked Hayden again for his kindness.

“How might I be of service?” Hayden enquired of them in French.

“To begin, Capitaine, we must beg that you be most circumspect with the information we are about to impart. Many lives will depend upon your discretion.”

“I am under some obligations to my service and King, but if I can keep your secret without compromising my duty, I will do so.”

The Frenchmen exchanged a look, then one nodded. The younger-looking of the two was spokesman.

“We have a friend, Capitaine, who has hidden his true beliefs so successfully that the Jacobins have recruited his services. He has secretly warned many a family to flee and saved them from capture. This man, at great risk, got word to us that a man we have all trusted and believed in has been playing us falsely. He is neither who he claims to be, nor does he hold the beliefs he so passionately espouses. In fact, he has been betraying us so cunningly that we did not suspect him.”

“I am sorry to hear it, but I am not certain what I might do about it.”

“Our friend believes that this man is in the pay of the English, Capitaine, and is a false informant. His name is de Latendresse and he styles himself a comte.”

Perhaps Hayden did not hide his response to this news well.

“Do you know this man, Capitaine Hayden?”

“We have met. Do you have any proof of his treachery, other than the word of your friend?”

The two men looked at each other again. “Nothing that a magistrate might hold in his hands. But once we were warned about him, suddenly there were a hundred small coincidences and things that we had explained in some other way that fit more easily into our changed view of him. Our friend . . . he had no doubt. He had been in the room when de Latendresse betrayed a royalist family. These people were taken unawares and . . .” He did not need to tell Hayden what had become of them.

“My commander”—Hayden searched for a tactful way of describing Caldwell’s attitude—“he has a great deal of faith in de Latendresse, I am sorry to say.”

“Do not mention our friend to your superior! Our friend would be in very grave danger.”

“You need not worry. I will not betray your confidence. There is a convoy anchored in the bay off Le Gosier . . . do you know how long it has been there?”

Between them, they did a hasty calculation. “Nine days, Capitaine. We are quite certain.”

“De Latendresse was reputedly on Guadeloupe in the last week. Could he have been on the island and not known the convoy had arrived?”

The men tried not to smile. “The islands are very small, Capitaine. Everyone would know. We knew, and we were isolated deep in the mountains.”

“De Latendresse did not reveal the arrival of this convoy to my people.”

“That is because he is entirely false. He does not want the English to know that ships came from France bearing troops and guns.”

“What do they intend for these fresh troops, I wonder?”

The two men shared a look. “They will invade Dominica, Capitaine. Everyone says it is so.”