The Continental Risque (31 page)

‘To first blood?' Tottenhill said, breaking the silence. ‘I should not care to hang for killing the likes of you.'

‘First blood.' Rumstick's hot anger had cooled into something more visceral, more permanent. He was not thinking beyond this fight, as Tottenhill apparently was. He intended for first blood to come when he stuck his sword through Tottenhill's heart.

Tottenhill took a sideways step, the tip of his sword making little circles in the air, just visible to Rumstick. Rumstick circled away, moving in the opposite direction. He took an exploratory lunge and Tottenhill deflected the blade easily, lunged himself, and Rumstick, with more difficulty, knocked the sword aside.

This was not at all Rumstick's area of combat, he realized as he circled cautiously. His fighting had been hand-to-hand on crowded decks, riotous and disorganized, or the frenzied mob actions of the Sons of Liberty. It occurred to him as he leapt back from the jabbing point of Tottenhill's sword that for all of the fighting he had done, he could not recall a fight like this, one against one, no one else about. A civilized duel.

Tottenhill lunged again and again, coming on fast, his sword moving with a speed that was hard to follow in the dark, and Rumstick found himself being pushed back, his legs tiring as he tried to move with some agility in the soft sand, his sword just barely able to hold the lieutenant off. This won't do, he thought, this won't do.

Tottenhill lunged, fully extended, and Rumstick managed to deflect the strike, and then with a shout he slashed out at Tottenhill, wild, undisciplined, fighting the way he was used to fighting, as if he were attacking an entire crew of a ship that he had boarded through the smoke.

Now Tottenhill took a step back, and another and another, breathing hard, moving with as much difficulty as Rumstick on the beach. Three steps, four steps, and then he stopped, planting his feet at right angles, holding that spot of ground and making Rumstick stop as well.

He's good, he's damned good, Rumstick thought. There was no sound now, save for heaving breath, his and Tottenhill's, and the clash of steel on steel.

But no, there was something else. Rumstick took a step back, disengaging, and he and Tottenhill stared at one another, hatred flashing like their steel in the moonlight, catching their breath. And over that sound he heard the creak of oars in tholes. A boat pulling toward them.

He had half-turned his head to the sound when Tottenhill moved again, and Rumstick leapt back, clear of the attack. They fought on, but now a part of Rumstick's mind was on the approaching boat, and he could do no more than bat Tottenhill's sword away.

‘Sir? Lieutenant Tottenhill?' Midshipman Weatherspoon's voice called out from the water, startling Rumstick. His eyes darted toward the water, a fraction of a second, and he felt the hot, tearing sensation of Tottenhill's blade across his right forearm, felt the warm, wet blood spread across his skin.

‘You son of a bitch!' he shouted, drawing back and looking from his cut arm to the lieutenant, who stood back with sword held at his side.

‘First blood,' Tottenhill said.

‘First blood, my fucking arse, I was—'

‘Sirs, sirs?' Weatherspoon ran up the sand and stopped a few feet from the combatants. ‘Sirs … sweet Jesus, have you been dueling?'

There was a pause, and then Tottenhill said, ‘What do you want?'

‘I've a message for you, from the captain. Mr Sprout said you were here, didn't say why. The captain thinks the people in Nassau are trying to send off the island's military stores. He wants you to slip the cable and go after them and … what in hell were you two thinking, beg your pardon, dueling like this?'

It seemed oddly appropriate to Rumstick that they should be thus chastised by the midshipman. Now as his anger subsided and the wound in his arm began to throb, Rumstick realized that they had no business leaving the ship to settle their own petty issues.

‘Never you mind,' he said. ‘Come along, we best get back to the ship.'

‘Yes,' said Tottenhill. ‘Now that honor has been satisfied.'

‘Satisfied?' The words made Rumstick's anger flare again, ‘Honor has most certainly not been satisfied!'

‘Oh, do you say that we have not had a fair fight? What do you say?'

‘Sirs, God damn it all to hell!' Weatherspoon shouted and it occurred to Rumstick that the midshipman's voice was getting deeper. ‘They are getting away with the stores! Now please get in the god-damned boat!'

The two lieutenants stood glaring at one another for a moment more.

‘This ain't done, Tottenhill, so don't think you're getting off that easy,' Rumstick said, pointing at the first officer with the tip of his sword. Then he slid the weapon back into the scabbard, turned his back on the other two, and clambered into Weatherspoon's boat.

President of His Majesty's Council Brown stood at the gate of Fort Nassau, held open by one of the fort's black volunteer defenders, and waited for a column of militia to pass through on their way out before he could enter. The volunteer, a poor freeman in tattered clothes, stood waiting as well, his new pistol, the bait that had lured him to the fort's defense, thrust in his belt.

The governor's earlier recruiting efforts, his appeal to the islanders' patriotism, and even more so his promise of a free pistol, had yielded good results; when John Brown had left for Fort Montegu, over two hundred men had been mustered to defend their island.

It appeared, however, that their enthusiasm was not long-lived, and now a majority of those who had reported for duty were going home again.

Brown spotted James Gould, Speaker of the Assembly, walking near the end of the line. ‘Gould, Gould, what the devil is going on?'

‘What is going on? We are leaving, sir. We'll not stand by that fool a moment longer. Have you seen this?' Gould held in his clenched fist a copy of the manifesto Hopkins had sent for dissemination.

‘If that's the broadside from the rebel commodore, then, yes, we've seen it. Said he'd do no harm if we give him what he wants.'

‘That's right. And the Lord knows what he'll do now, now that that idiot of a governor sent away the chief of the powder. Loaded it aboard the
Mississippi Packet
and the schooner the
St John
, and away it went. And then expects us to stand and fight, after the powder's all but gone? I think not.' With that, Gould turned and hurried after the last of the retreating column.

At last Brown was able to pass through the gate. He stepped quickly down to the parade ground, to the big fire around which the remaining defenders were clustered. The governor was standing on the far side of the flames, the dancing light flickering off the medals on his uniform coat and the hilt of his sword and the brass-bound butt of the pistol clipped to his belt.

He was listening, close-mouthed and angry, to one of the men, who, judging from his gestures, was in possession of some strong opinions. Gathered in a circle around the fire, the men watched, black faces and white, and nodded or shook their heads in accordance with their own views.

‘Ah, here is President Brown,' the governor said, as much to distract the man from his point, apparently, as to welcome Brown. ‘What do you learn from your reconnoiter?'

‘What in God's name have you done?' President Brown asked.

‘Done? Nothing, beyond the defense of the island …'

‘Defense? You have just doomed this entire island to the most outrageous depredations. The rebel captain, whom, I might say, is no fool, saw all of the
Packet
's jettisoned cargo floating in the harbor. It was not hard for him to guess what was acting. He dispatched a man immediately to alert the rebel fleet. So now they not only have the powder but they are enraged that we should try and deprive them of it.'

‘Well, I am not such a fool,' Governor Browne protested. ‘I did not send all of the powder away. There are still twenty-five or so barrels left. Plenty to defend ourselves and to appease the rebels if we should be taken. What is more, I have sent Babbidge for the troops up at Government House, and they should be arriving directly.'

And then the rebels will have Government House, Brown thought, from which they will enfilade the fort. Enfilade it. He looked over the twenty remaining defenders of Fort Nassau, a dejected and nervous lot. ‘That not withstanding, I think perhaps we should consider capitulation,' he suggested.

‘What?' said the governor. ‘Nonsense! Not while we have one man left to fight. We have a sound fort, twenty-five barrels of powder, and men to work the great guns and small arms. Besides, they are only colonial rebels, while we are born Englishmen.'

President Brown wondered if the black men there, at least half the men who remained, and freed slaves all, would agree with that assessment.

He could see that he would accomplish nothing by arguing with the governor. If he protested any more, then he himself would be accused of cowardice or compliance with the enemy. Governor Browne was starting to see traitors in every corner. And he was well connected: his wife was a near relation to the Earl of Dartmouth, so it would not do to make him overly suspicious.

What was more, Brown could see that a bloodless capitulation would take place in any event, even with no effort on his part. If the governor was allowed to run amok for another hour or so, then every man in the fort would desert. Then he, President of His Majesty's Council John Brown, could on the one hand claim to have stood by the governor until the end and on the other take credit with the rebels for arranging the island's surrender.

He was distracted from these happy thoughts by the sound of men on the march. He looked toward the main gate of the fort, still open, and saw Babbidge leading forty or so militiamen, the troops from Government House, into Fort Nassau.

Brown watched with a suppressed grin. They came in as an orderly band, stepping together, eyes front. But as they crossed the parade ground to the fire, Brown saw eyes roving around, heads turning, and he knew the thought that was in each head: ‘Where are the others?' He was eager to see their reactions when they discovered that the sullen band, twenty men strong, huddled around the fire, were all the others there were.

‘Gentlemen, welcome,' he said magnanimously as Babbidge brought the troops to a halt. ‘I am pleased to see that there are some on this island willing to fight for their King and their homes. Pray, stack your arms there.'

The troops, still furtively searching the dark corners of the fort for the rest of the militia, stacked their muskets where President Brown indicated.

‘I think we had best send out a scouting party,' the governor said. ‘Find out what those rascals are up to, so we can be better prepared to meet them. Any volunteers?'

‘Beg your pardon, Governor,' said Alexander Frazer, lieutenant of militia, one of the men who had just marched from Government House, ‘but, is this all the men there are? There was better than three hundred men when we left to take our positions on the hill.'

‘Three hundred damned cowards, you mean. Not one had the backbone to stand and fight, save for the brave souls you see here. But that's no matter. We few are more than enough to fight off any band of rebels.'

John Brown turned his head away. Had he not, he would have laughed out loud at the looks of dismay that passed among the men newly joined to the defense of the fort. He did not think that they could look more shocked or unhappy if the governor had informed them that they were to be executed at dawn, which of course was the very thing that they were envisioning. It was once again time for him to be a hero.

‘Governor, I would like to volunteer for the scouting party. I'd be honored to ride out and meet these rebels and see what they're about.'

‘Very bravely said, Mr President, and I accept your offer. But you can't go alone. Who else will volunteer to go with Mr Brown?'

Uneasy glances were exchanged among those men who were not staring at the ground in hopes of going unnoticed. ‘Here,' said President Brown, ‘Lieutenant Frazer, you come with me.'

‘Well, sir, I …' Frazer began.

‘Come along, play the man,' said Brown. ‘I'll see no harm comes to you.' Brown stepped over to the stack of muskets and took his up, then slung his cartridge box over his shoulder. ‘Come on then.'

Frazer scowled and shot a glance at his comrades in arms, hoping for some help from that quarter, and seeing that none was forthcoming, took up his own musket.

‘We shall return as quickly as we can, Governor, and bring you the intelligence you need,' Brown said. ‘But if we are not back by an hour past sunrise, you must assume that we were taken or … that we were taken. Come along, Frazer.'

With the reluctant lieutenant following behind, Brown marched to the front gate of Fort Nassau. He took up the reins of his horse, handed those of another to Frazer, and the two men sallied forth. The last thing they heard as the gate was closed behind them was Governor Browne's cry of ‘God speed, John Brown!'

They rode down Bay Street. To their left the rippled water of Nassau harbor glinted in the light of the moon and the tropical winter stars. To their right stood the stout, shuttered coral-brick houses of Nassau. The night was silent save for the birds and frogs and the regular clop clop clop of their horses' hooves on the cobblestones.

Brown pulled his horse to a stop at the head of Charlotte Street and heard Frazer behind him do likewise. He wheeled his horse around until he was facing the lieutenant.

‘Your house is just down the street there, is it not?'

‘Yes, it is,' said Frazer.

‘I'll warrant you'd rather be there than riding out to meet the rebel army, am I right?'

Frazer stared at him, searched his face in effort to see what game he was playing. ‘Sure I would, and my wife and three little ones defenseless in the face of these here enraged rebels. And my aged aunt as well.'