The Delirium Passage Page 16
“Where do you stay?” asked Ellen. “Please don’t look round or point.”
“You have an escape plan?” Vondran asked.
“No, but now we might work on it. How can we contact you?”
“We stay in the first house on the left inside the gate. They call it Maison A. I think it’s because we go and come every day to work. But you’ll have to contact us, I think.”
“Maybe with something for Mister Flood,” suggested Marion.
“Ships?” queried Ellen, “All navy or some merchant?”
“We will only work on merchant ships, we are told. They’ve got plenty o’ their own on the navy ones.”
“Are there several?”
“Enough, Ladies,” warned Desmontils. “Come back to the carriage.”
“Aye,” Vondran said to Ellen. He then yelled to the French. “All’s well. All’s well. We go now.” He wagged his hand in a childlike ‘let’s go’ motion.
The forward guard began walking backward, keeping an eye on his flock, as they shuffled after him. After a few minutes, seeing Marion and Ellen mount the carriage and his rear guard wave clear, he turned, and they were off.
“Why did you do that?” asked Desmontils “I told you to watch them go by, and no more.”
“We apologize, Captain Desmontils. I simply decided to jump… impulsive, I suppose. Seeing is one thing but speaking to them is another. We’ve learned one of their men has broken a leg.”
“I had not heard of it,” replied Desmontils, “Such things happen, and they don’t tell me everything. I am sorry for your man.”
“They say his splint could be improved, but they are all taken to work in the day, leaving nobody to help.”
“Such is true, I expect. What of it?”
“We can help. We have plenty of time in the day,” suggested Marion.
“We should go soon, with proper splinting material. After his splint is repaired, we should not need to go often,” Ellen said.
“Hmmm,” Desmontils said. “Here we are.
“Go ‘round the back, driver.”
“And where is Master Carstens?” He is the most logical person for us to speak with,” Marion said.
Desmontils hesitated, but he answered, “He is… accompanied to the yard office first thing most mornings to receive the work schedule for the day. After the meeting, he goes to the ship to meet his men. I suppose that’s where he went.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Marion said, “Mister Donovan did say they were all well, except Mister Flood.”
“Who?” Desmontils asked.
“The man with the broken leg,” answered Ellen. “So, may we provide him aid?”
“You’re a bit like my wife, I see,” Desmontils observed. “Yes, yes, you may go. Arrange it with Madame Dufour. She’s there.” He pointed at a small crude office door on the back side of the house.
“Very quick thinking,” Marion said to Ellen, once they were in Ellen’s room.
“I thought your quick thinking – jumping out as you did, was the ticket.”
“Jumping out was only impulsiveness. I hadn’t thought to shift to such questions about where they were housed and how many ships were in the harbor and such.”
“I have had more training than you, remember. But, enough. What do we do now? I think we’ll be able to pass messages one way or another, but what should we say? We know nothing more about how to escape from here than we do about sailing a ship.”
“The men know how to sail a ship and we should be able to conjure some plot. And we have something of an advantage. But where is Captain Carstens, for love’s sake?” Marion asked.
15: Stillwater Rum
After five weeks in Nassau and two weeks aboard ship, Neville trudged up the slope from the harbor to the office of the Stillwater Rum Trading Company in Kingston, Jamaica. He entered the door, accompanied by the master’s clerk from the merchant brig Rover.
A young man sat at the customer greeting desk. After a short glance, he returned to his ledgers. This was no surprise to Neville, since neither he nor the clerk were dressed as likely customers. Neville still wore his one shirt – the threadbare one given to him on the passage to Nassau. Neville saw the top of a head in Mr. Stillwater’s office. He assumed it was his future father-in-law.
The young man finished his scribbling and looked up but did not bother to stand. Neville walked across the room, his footsteps echoing from the rich wooden floor and walls.
He reached the desk. “May I see Mister Stillwater, please?”
“From what ship?” the man asked.
“I’m not from a ship, but you might tell him Neville…”
“He’s not in.”
“Is that not he behind the glass?” He looked up to see if the man still sat in the office.
Chester looked up at the same moment. He was normally quite aware of the comings and goings from his sales room. Neville and Chester stared each other in the eye for only a few moments before Neville smiled and Chester’s eyes went round. He yanked a cord which rang a small bell to alert the young man in the sales room. The salesman turned to look in the office to see Chester waving wildly for Neville to enter. He looked at Neville, “By all means, sir, enter.”
Neville proceeded to the door to the offices, with the clerk behind him. He was surprised Chester had not jumped to his feet, but when he opened the door and stepped in, he knew exactly why. Chester had dressed in his favorite red and black checkered waistcoat with twelve brass buttons and matching knickers. He also wore his customary ruffled white shirt and neck-cloth. But today he wore only one white stocking, and one silver-buckled black shoe. Chester sat in his favorite creaky wooden chair, but his right leg, all wrapped with white cloth, rested on a pillow in another chair. As usual for his office, his long jacket hung on the hook by the door.
“Mister Stillwater, what happened?” Neville asked.
“Now it’s ‘Mister Stillwater’, is it?”
“Sorry, Chester, I am just shocked to see this.”
“Just something stupid. I stepped off the edge of the loading dock. What are you doing here without my daughter? Where is she?”
“Have you had any letters?”
“A package came almost a month ago from Baltimore. Everything seemed well.”
The clerk cleared his throat.
“Oh sorry, Mister Edam,” Neville said. To Chester, he added, “This is the ship’s clerk of the brig Rover. We came in today. The ship’s master has been kind enough to transport me here on my promise of payment for passage once we arrived. Mister Edam, here, has come to collect – either the money, or a more credible promise than mine. May I borrow the fare?”
“No. You cannot, but I will pay it.” He looked at Mr. Edam.
“One pound, four and six,” said Edam.
Chester reached for a small drawer on the far side of his desk. “Ow. I can’t do that, easily. Do you mind, Neville… the little drawer at the bottom, there.”
Neville walked around Chester to the far side, opened the small drawer, and rummaged through its contents. “I found a fiver and sixpence, Sir. None other.”
“Give it to Mister Edam.”
“Mister Edam,” Chester said, “You may deliver this to your master and give him my appreciation for his good deed. And take him that bottle on the shelf.”
“Thank you, sir. And it has been good to meet you, too, Mister Burton. Cheers.”
Neville saw no reason to beat around the bush. “We were aboard the British schooner Speedwell when we were captured by a French corvette at Great Inagua two months ago. Half of Speedwell’s company were taken aboard the corvette, and the others were sent, with Frenchmen who came aboard, back to France. The corvette took the master, his mates, a few men and both Marion and Ellen, but they didn’t allow me aboard because I had been ill.”
“How is Marion being treated? I can’t believe this.”
“I have no idea, Chester. I haven’t seen them since they were taken below.”
“I believe the lieutenant in charge thought them dangerous.”
“My girl – dangerous? Why?”
“She pulled a knife to defend me… wait, wait. We can go over all of this in detail, but we must act soon. Why are you here? Why are you not at Independence Hall? You should be resting.”
“Bah! I can’t lie in bed and rest all day. I have a business to run. You say you were on a merchant ship?”
“Yes.”
“And taken by the French, not pirates or privateers?”
“No.”
“There really should be no trouble, then. The French government does not imprison passengers. We should hear soon about their safe return – unless the officers are nothing but scoundrels. Where were they going?”
“Guadeloupe. But this is enough here. How do you get about?”
“Mister Williams, in front there, helps me hobble to a carriage.”
“All right. I’ll go ask him to get it all started.”
He fumbled in the top drawer of his desk for another cigar.
The two men settled in heavy leather chairs in Chester’s study at his home, which he had named Independence Hall. The fragrant smoke of his cigar filled the large room. Chester had listened to Neville’s story of the passages from England to Baltimore, the death of Mr. Garby, the snowstorm delay, and his illness. Neville told of the capture of Speedwell and his escape – the same story that had earned Neville his threadbare shirt and free passage from Long Island to Nassau. There he found the captain to carry him from Nassau to Jamaica on a promise of future payment.
“You say you were ill, Neville. With what disease? And are you fully recovered?”
“I am, sir, completely, though I fear we shall never know the illness. It affected only two others I know of. I am quite well chuffed to be shot of it.”
“What do you plan to do now? How can we effect the return of my daughter and your friend’s wife?”
“And the few Speedwells who may still be there. Have you seen Joseph? Is his ship often here? I didn’t see her in the harbor.”
“She’s in occasionally. I’ve met him a few times, and he always asks if I’ve heard anything. I shared Marion’s letter with him last visit.”
“You should have quite the conversation with him when he comes in this time. The best I might suggest, supposing his Commander allows him to do anything but wait, is to sail for Guadeloupe, with an eye to convoy us back to Jamaica. Even that may depend on how long it is before you see him.”
“Yes, he’ll get an earful. What do you think to do?”
“Here’s the best plan I have been able to construct: I sail to Guadeloupe with a ship of your rum, prepared to either pay a ransom, make a trade, or simply offer a portion of it in appreciation for hospitality – and sell the rest – all dependent upon circumstances. If this all meets your approval, of course.”
“It seems rash. They may step off a ship tomorrow.”
“Or they may not. They may be in more danger than we know.”
“I think they know how to take care of themselves.”
“More than you know, but they could not cut a ship out of the Guadeloupe harbor and sail it here. I should go. If my journey is for naught, it costs only a couple months, at most… and maybe I can even sell your rum, who knows?”
Chester sat quietly for a moment, took another sip of his rum, and said, “I cannot say I am enamored of your plan, Neville, but also cannot think of another thing to do. If they are not somehow sent here, they must be fetched.”
“How soon can we outfit a ship. You have two, yes?”
“Verily, but neither is available. One is on the way to Baltimore, and the other is careened for repairs.”
Neville slumped in his chair. The two sat thinking for another minute or two, sipping at their rum, before Chester said, “But Elizabeth might be ready in a day. She’s empty, of course.”
“Elizabeth?” Neville felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle at the mention of his sister’s name.
“Marion’s cousin in the Carolinas.”
“Oh. Excellent. We can have the shipment and provisions ready to go by the time she is launched, yes? Do you have the men to sail her?”
On May third, 1807, Master Neville Burton’s new command, the merchant brig Elizabeth, pointed her nose east after passing the hundred-year-old remains of Port Royal. Since British colonies were not permitted to trade with enemy France, the authorities were informed that Elizabeth’s destination was Savannah, Georgia.
“Full and by,” reported his First Mate, one Mr. Rawkins.
A slight mist of seawater drifted past; the remains of a wave thrown aside by the bow as Elizabeth shouldered her way south-east.
“Nor-east wind is rising, Master, but I shouldn’t think we’ll have a blow. Sky’s clear behind it, see?”
As a navy captain, such obvious information and advice would be considered impertinent, but with a completely borrowed ship and crew Neville thought it rude to scold the man for it. Although he seemed a rather gruff fellow, the rest of the crew appeared to respect him, and his size enough to enforce his opinions. “Right you are, Mister Rawkins. I agree. We’ll stay on this tack as long as we can… if the wind veers, as I expect it will, stay with the wind, rather than the compass.”
16: Arrivals
Preceding the sun’s rays, but after the first light of dawn, a small sloop with an American flag held only slightly above vertical by a whisper of wind, ghosted into Kingston’s harbor. She dropped her anchor into coral blue water and lowered her sails. In the half hour it took for her to swing fully to the direction of the incoming tide, rather than the listless breeze, the ship’s captain had dressed for his trip ashore. He had full intention to breakfast on fresh eggs and ham on land. His jolly-boat had him on the strand in another half hour, and he began his search for an open pub.
A large number of Frenchmen lived in the United States, of course, but this man’s new suit of French-cut civilian clothes gave evidence he might not be American. He had the scar of a cut on his nose, and another on his left ear. He stood average height, with dark and straggly hair. Together with a permanent twist of his upper lip which gave the appearance of a permanent growl, he did not look like most Jamaican residents… more like an underworld denizen of the harbor. And he had just arrived from Guadeloupe. After finding a pub where he ate a meat pie and drank two tankards of ale, he asked directions to the Stillwater Rum Trading Company.
When he walked in to the Stillwater sales office at mid-morning, he fell immediately under the wary eye of Frederick Wilson behind the reception desk. Wilson said what he often said to curious visitors: “This is not a retail establishment, sir…”
“I am only here to deliver this,” the Frenchman said. He handed a rectangular canvas-bound envelope tied with thin red string.
Wilson knew the string, and it was not the heavy red ribbon of the British Navy. Wilson looked up while starting to speak. “Is this French? Where did…” He stopped there, seeing his visitor had already slipped out the door. The envelope was addressed to M. Chester Stillwater, so Wilson took it in to Chester’s office and laid it on the desk.
Chester arrived shortly before noon, as he often did, and Wilson helped him hobble to his desk.
“This came for you this morning, sir,” said Wilson. “I believe it’s French.”
“So I see,” Chester said. He sat in his chair, and when Wilson moved the second chair to him, he put his broken leg up. He reached into his desk drawer for a scissor. When the canvas unwrapped, three paper envelopes tumbled onto his desk. Quickly, he grabbed the one with familiar handwriting – Marion’s.
Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe
25th April, 1807
My Dear Father,
I trust you have by now received my earlier letter from Baltimore. The business goes well there, as you can read in the papers enclosed with it.
[…She describes the illness and its strange effects…]
Not long after Neville’s recovery, we were overtaken by the French Corvette Department des Landes, whereupon Ellen and I, the Ship’s Master, his mates, and half the small crew were taken as prisoners aboard the Corvette. Neville was not allowed aboard, as we mentioned he had been ill, and that settled it. The Captain would take no sick man aboard and did not listen to our entreaties and promises that he was no longer ill. He has been sent with Speedwell and the remaining crewmen to France, and so will probably never be seen again.
We were carried by Department des Landes to Guadeloupe, whence she was bound, where Ellen and I are now being hosted most graciously by the Governor of Guadeloupe and Saint-Dominique, Captain-General Auguste Ernouf. We have not heard anything of our fate – if they plan to ransom us or trade us as prisoners of war. We believe they see us as valuable, though, since they know of your wealth and Ellen’s military attachment.
We met the poor fellows of Speedwell, also, and they seem fine as shipyard workers. Father, I am greatly depressed by these circumstances, but I have Ellen’s comfort, and I know I have your love and prayers. Do not worry about our health and safety. Ellen will enclose a letter to Captain Dagleishe. Please do what you can to Ensure he receives it, assuming he is still on Jamaica Station.
Something will come of it, I pray.
Your loving daughter,
Marion
“I cannot believe what I am reading,” Chester said aloud. He slammed his fist on the table three times.
“Are you all right sir?” Wilson asked from the doorway, “I thought you had fallen.”
“No, I am not all right!” he shouted. “The damned French have taken my daughter hostage!” He banged his fist again. This time it seemed to calm him. A tear dribbled down his left cheek, but he rubbed it away quickly. “We did the right thing. Neville has gone for her. I can do nothing but pray he is as heroic as is rumored – and wait. I’m sorry Wilson, you can leave me. Thank you for checking.” The next envelope was Ellen’s letter to her husband, Captain Dagleishe of Galatea. Her letter would be personal. He set it aside.