The Delirium Passage Read online

  “Good morning, Neville,” said Timothy. “Sun’ll be up soon. You see we’ve caught a few. We’re going home now.”

  “Good morning, Timothy and James,” Neville croaked. “I thank you for my rescue. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until you pulled me in.”

  “I doubt you would have made it,” said James. “Only a matter of time until the sharks found you. Here, eat this.” James handed him a strip of something dark, like a piece of old leather. “Take it. Boucan.”

  Neville took a chew off the end. “Mmm,” he said. “Dried beef. Thank you.”

  Wind caught the sail. The little vessel quickly turned and romped across the waves to the west. Land was not yet visible, but the experienced fishermen simply put the sun to their backs and the breeze over their left shoulders and sailed.

  After Neville ate the boucan and took another drink of water, he soon felt human again. “I am sorry to be rude,” he said, “but I am in quite a rush to get to Jamaica…”

  “Then why did you get off the ship?” asked Timothy.

  “It was going to France. The French corvette that captured us took my fiancée south. I must rescue her from them. How might I get from Clarence Town to Jamaica?”

  “We don’t know much about traveling, I’m afraid,” said James. “We have a few trading ships come by every month or so, but they are usually out of Nassau or going north from the Windwards or Leewards. And they stop either here or Deadman’s Cay. The only suggestion I have is to wait to see what comes by.”

  “Where is Deadman’s Cay?”

  “North of here – maybe 13 miles.”

  “Is it any different on the other side of Long Island?”

  James chuckled. “There’s not much of an ‘other side’ to this island,” he said. “It’s only about four miles wide anywhere. There are a few other settlements to the north, but I don’t know if any ships stop in. Might be… dunno.”

  “Does anyone on the island own a boat capable of sailing to Nassau? Or to Jamaica, if at all possible?”

  “Mister Catchpole does. He’s pretty rich, and he owns a cotton plantation up north, so he needs to move his crop when it’s ready,” Timothy said.

  “Timothy’s right,” James said, “but he’s gone now – or his ship is, I know. Left for the Carolinas these three weeks past.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Timothy said.

  “Where is it better to wait, do you think?” Neville asked. “Here or Deadman’s?”

  “We like our little town better,” said Timothy. “We think…”

  “No, son. Not for the town. For the ships. Neville, you’d be better off in Deadman’s, and you could walk there in a day, easy.”

  “I’ve about worn out my arms. I might as well work my legs.”

  “Here she is, Neville. You can see the hills, now. Dead ahead, now.”

  Neville turned around to look forward. “What is the pole for?” he asked.

  “Pole?” asked Timothy. “We’ve got no pole. I don’t see one.”

  “His vision’s not the best,” said James, “and mine’s getting dimmer. Too much time squinting into the sun, I suppose. But he’s right, we have no big pole in town. Oh, I see something now. Nope, no pole, but it looks we do have a ship in.”

  “Looks like one to me, too. Where is she bound?”

  “Dunno, Neville. She weren’t here when we left yesterday afternoon.”

  * * * * *

  “Quite a story, Neville,” said the Master of the brig Sarah Belle, “but it sounds as though you still have a whole lot ahead of you.”

  “I’m afraid so, Master Rose, but I must go.”

  “Such a good story,” Master Rose continued. “I think it’s paid your passage.”

  “Verily, Master Rose. I am not a beggar. I can…”

  “With what?” Rose asked. “And you can keep the shirt. I think it owes me naught – almost threadbare.”

  Neville felt his face turning red, but with nothing in his pockets, he said nothing more than, “Thank you again, Sir. I’ll say a prayer for your safe passage to Charleston.”

  “My last bit of advice is to go with your feelings, Captain. I agree you shouldn’t go in to the Navy Offices if you want to leave here anytime soon. I have heard many instances of most unfair treatment for all sorts of imagined offenses. They might even suspect you of desertion.”

  “It’s a merchant for me, then,” Neville said. He shook the man’s hand and climbed down the ladder into the shore boat.

  His view of several ships at anchor in Nassau harbor, lifted his spirit, although several were Navy. “It doesn’t look at all like the last time I saw it,” Neville said to the boatman.

  “How so?”

  “It looks much more civilized – and bigger.”

  14: Guadeloupe

  The passage from the point where the capture of Speedwell occurred, between Great Inagua and Cuba, to Guadeloupe, did not begin well for Marion and Ellen, nor did it progress well for some time. They were held in a cabin, for obvious reasons, while the corvette Départment des Landes and Speedwell separated. Ellen had also surrendered her dagger, characterizing them both as dangerous, as far as their captors were concerned.

  Marion remained inconsolable for the first half hour, despite Ellen’s best efforts. She sobbed and screamed and beat her small fists on the door. The situation was desperate, indeed, with her fiancé sent away on a vessel sailing in the opposite direction, headed for enemy France. Ellen, furthermore, had done her best to console Marion when Neville had been close at hand but ill. But consolation was not her strong suit. She, like Marion, was primarily a woman of action. Attacking rather than simpering would be a far more likely approach for either of them, as they had shown before Speedwell sailed away with Neville. The falling of darkness didn’t help. Their cabin below decks became almost pitch black.

  “I’m sorry it’s so dark, Marion, but if this cabin has a candle I can’t find it – or a light, either.”

  “It’s not only the cabin that’s dark. Right now, my heart is black.”

  Marion calmed slightly in the second half hour, but not enough to begin plotting with Ellen about escaping from their predicament. At least an hour and a half had passed before they sensed the calming of activity aboard ship. The ship’s motion also gave no indication of unusual activity afoot. Although still somewhat lively in motion due to the rough seas, Départment des Landes gave indications of a steady course. Wooden beams or masts creaked, and waves thumped and swished past with regularity.

  “It’s much quieter, now, isn’t it, Marion?”

  “Yes, but that only means Neville is much further away.”

  “He is, but we can’t do anything for it now. If we could make a miracle and have the captain turn this thing about to go get him, it is unlikely we could find Speedwell in this vast ocean.”

  “Probably true, even though they did it before, but the captain will hear of my displeasure.”

  “I’m sure he’s already heard.”

  “The only reason this ship has a better motion is because it’s bigger than Speedwell. It managed to catch us. Why did they bother to stop us, anyway?”

  “You’ll have to ask the…”

  Both women started at the sound of a rap on their door.

  The two looked at each other. Ellen mouthed the question, “French?”

  Marion nodded. Why try to hide it – probably for a month or more?

  Ellen answered the door in French. She tried to keep her tone civil: “Who is it?”

  “A message, Ladies, from the captain.”

  Ellen opened the door. The same lieutenant who had boarded Speedwell stood there, his hat held politely in two hands.

  “Oh, you have no light. I could have…”

  “What is it you need, Lieutenant?”

  “Captain Desmontils requested I invite you to his cabin for some supper, when I heard you were calm.”

  “You were listening?”

  “Not me, but a marine. It shoul
d make no difference to you. He doesn’t speak English. May I tell the captain you will join him?”

  Again, the two women looked at each other. They both nodded slightly in agreement.

  “We might as well, Lieutenant. I must admit I’m quite hungry,” Ellen said.

  They followed Lt. Beauvais along the corridor into the main salon. From there they climbed the stair to the top deck. An unusually beautiful display of stars became visible, stretching from horizon to horizon, and reflected on both sides of the ship, twinkling in the water. They paused.

  “Magnifique, non?” asked Beauvais. “This way,” he said, and continued across the deck to a door beside the quarterdeck stair. A guard at the door saluted him, turned, and knocked.

  A voice from inside answered, “Entre.”

  Ellen went first, but she went no further than a few steps into the cabin when she stopped, nearly blinded by the light from inside. Marion almost bumped into her for the same reason.

  “Come in, come in,” said Captain Desmontils.

  “I was told you two were quite lovely when you weren’t holding daggers.” He had the advantage of admiring them with eyes unphased by the light. “Please come sit.”

  Marion and Ellen’s eyes adjusted quickly to the sight of a relatively handsome man, similarly fit as Neville, wearing the expected blue and white navy uniform. He was clean-shaven, except for a straight, thin mustache, and wore his hair in a rather messy pile, with short sideburns.

  “Why have you done this to us?” Marion asked.

  “I’ve done nothing illegal, or even unexpected,” said the captain. “I simply captured an enemy vessel.”

  “Whither do we sail?” asked Ellen.

  “Guadeloupe. One of the few islands the British have left us in the Caribbean. Why does it matter to you?”

  “It’s not Jamaica,” Marion said.

  “And if sailing for Guadeloupe, why are you sailing south off the Bahamas? Why did you not take the normal route across from the Canary Island?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s because I was ordered to New York first by some silly admiral. Any reasonable admiral would have sent us south from France, to cross from somewhere near the Canary Islands, yes. From New York we were sent to Guadeloupe. This was just stupid. When we saw your ship running from us we assumed she must have something of value, and therefore chased. When your captain tried to hide from us, I couldn’t stand the thought of being outsmarted. And then to find the cargo worthless… Worthless! Infuriating! And I don’t have to answer such questions from anyone else on this ship.”

  Ellen asked in a much calmer voice, “May I ask why you took us captive and sent Marion’s fiancé to France?”

  “I will allow no sick man aboard this ship. Would you rather have gone with him? British girls in France? Although I see your French is excellent, it might not be pleasant.”

  “We’re Americans, not British, and Neville was no longer ill.”

  “Why didn’t you say so at the time?”

  “I did. I implored you. You didn’t listen. Or rather, your Lieutenant Beauvais didn’t. You locked us below.”

  “Well, miss, I assure you I thought only of the safety of my men. We can’t have sick people coming aboard. And then you pulled your knife. But I am truly ashamed of preventing a marriage. I can send a courier as soon as we’re in; he might be returned at soonest possible.”

  “No,” Marion said. “I suppose there’s not much more can be done now, is there?”

  Having been trained for covert actions by the British, the two women were both very good at reading their situation and acting accordingly – or biding their time for better opportunities. Ellen realized Marion had finally calmed enough to become reasonable. “Shall we sit?” she asked her friend.

  “If the interrogation is over,” said the captain.

  “I’m sorry for my outburst, sir,” Marion said, “but I hope you can understand my serious concern.”

  “Yes, I do now,” Desmontils said. He moved toward his dining table, set with French porcelain and silver.

  “How lovely,” Ellen said. She had been one of Marion’s early trainers and found the art of social dining and small talk difficult. She worked at it, however, for such situations as this, when her friend was out of sorts or displaying her Latin-learned temper. At the moment Marion displayed both faults. “Is this Limoges?” she asked.

  “Why, yes, it is,” he responded, while a midshipman appeared from behind to assist with her chair.

  Marion walked ‘round to the other side of the table, and another midshipman appeared to assist her.

  “Your table is certainly well set, Captain,” Marion said.

  Desmontils gave a nod to someone they couldn’t see and said to Marion, “Not so your ship?”

  “Not that little thing,” Ellen said. “Larger ships are far grander, I am sure, but I didn’t know warships had such pretty cabins.”

  “Only for the captains, I must admit, but we bear the weight of the ship’s duties, including the politics of the Navy – and sometimes countries. But what of you? You say you are both Americans… Here’s a drink for you. Do you prefer red wine or white? We’re having some fine fresh fish tonight.”

  Marion and Ellen both chose the white, and Captain Desmontils continued, “Where are you from? The same place?”

  “Boston,” Ellen said, “where it snows in the winter.”

  “Jamaica,” Marion said, “where it rains all summer.”

  “Astounding,” Desmontils said. “How on earth did you meet? Excuse me; first we have a nice turtle soup. My cook does an excellent job with it.”

  They waited patiently while the captain’s valet ladled soup into Limoges bowls that matched the plates. Marion glanced about the cabin, which was large, well-lit, and elegantly appointed. Ornate woodwork and the cabin sole were polished to a shine. The floor did not display the ubiquitous black-and-white checked canvas of a British man-o-war.

  “Do you not like turtle soup?” Desmontils asked.

  “Oh, sorry. I was only looking about. Your cabin is quite nice. But yes, I do enjoy a good turtle soup, thank you. Who is the lady in the portrait?”

  “My wife. An excellent likeness. She stays home in Marseille. This life is too dangerous and too boring, all mixed together, she says.”

  “I’m afraid I must agree,” Ellen said

  “Yes, at this point. I am sorry to be the reason for it.”

  “Where are we now?” asked Marion.

  “North of Haiti,” answered Desmontils. “We shall leave Hispaniola and Puerto Rico to starboard and work our way south through the Leeward Isles. It is a tedious, difficult direction to sail. And before you ask, it will probably take a month”

  “You’ve just put off my appetite, I’m afraid,” Marion said. She put her spoon down.

  “I’m sorry for your inconvenience, but you must eat something.”

  “I’ll wait for the fish,” Marion said at length. “If we are still near Haiti, and it will take a month or so to reach Guadeloupe, and if you are sorry for our inconvenience, would you please take us to Jamaica?” She even tried her most precocious look.

  Desmontils chuckled. “Oh, no,” he said. “I have no time for it. We are already past our expected arrival date in Guadeloupe, what with me making the unfortunate error of chasing your almost worthless vessel. Besides, sailing a French warship into a British Navy station is not wise, methinks.”

  “You might sail in under a white flag to demonstrate French compassion. We are not combatants! We are civilian passengers going to Jamaica for a wedding.”

  “A charming idea, but I choose not to further overstep my orders… You never did tell me how you met. And here’s the fish.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Ellen said.

  “Mrs. Dagleishe, is it? Who is Mister Dagleishe?”

  “A small piece, please,” Ellen said to the servant. “He’s in the British Navy.”

  Marion shot her a mea
n look. Ellen stopped talking.

  “Dagleishe… Dagleishe,” repeated Desmontils. “I know I’ve heard the name. Here in the Caribbean? For the wedding, no doubt. I know your Mister Burton is British, too. I heard his voice.”

  “We all met on the same trip abroad,” Marion said.

  “And what does Mister Burton do?”

  “He’s in shipping. But we were only passengers on Speedwell.”

  Captain Desmontils took a few awkward moments to chew his food. Marion and Ellen weren’t talking.

  “Why Jamaica?” asked the captain.

  “As I told you, it’s where I’m from,” Marion said. “It’s where my family… well… my father is.”

  “What does he do? He’s American, I assume?”

  “Yes, he is. He’s in the rum business.”

  “Of course. I suppose Jamaica is the same as most of these isles – sugar, molasses, rum, and maybe some cotton. “This word you used – combatants – it seems a strange word for two young ladies to use.”

  “Why, did I use it incorrectly?” asked Marion.

  “No. It just seems rather… military.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not military. I’m glad my appetite stayed strong enough for this delightful fish. Thank you.” Marion was determined to steer the conversation some in other direction. “Captain,” she asked. “if we write letters, will you allow them to be posted from Guadeloupe – to Jamaica?”

  “I’m sure it will be possible, yes, but you must ask your host, whoever he might be. I don’t know the Guadeloupe station well, but I seriously doubt they will imprison you simply for being passengers.”

  “I should hope not. So, we shall write. And what of you, Sir?” she asked, “Have you been in the navy your whole life?”

  The captain’s surprising answer was not the sort of thing he probably shared with anyone else on board, but with two lovely young ladies present, Desmontils launched into a long monologue of his life. It became even more animated when two bottles of claret were added to the table.