The Continental Risque (35 page)

‘Fort's just up this road? So whoever has that house there has the high ground. A couple of guns up there could play well on the fort, it seems. What say you?'

‘Well, I suppose you're right. Government House overlooks the whole town, Fort Nassau included.'

‘Very well, First Sergeant, halt the men,' Nicholas instructed his sergeant, who was, at that moment, turned half around and craning his neck to see through the partially open window of a purveyor of wine and spirits.

‘Company – halt!' the first sergeant called, to his credit missing not a beat despite yielding to curiosity.

‘Flank company!' Nicholas called out. ‘You'll be taking the big house yonder, on the hill. Drive out any of them rascals that might be there. If the governor is home, then once we have possession of Fort Nassau, I'd be obliged if he would pay me a visit.'

‘Captain,' said Biddlecomb, ‘it seems we have yet another visitor.'

‘Oh, son of a bitch, don't these people ever get tired of parlaying?' Nicholas said in undiluted disgust as he watched the figure whom Biddlecomb had indicated approach. He was three blocks away, stepping quickly and waving a white flag. ‘Hold up a minute, Lieutenant,' he said to the officer of the flank company, ‘we'll see what this whore's son wants.'

It was Lieutenant Babbidge. He continued to wave the white flag until he was within a dozen yards of the head of the column, then stopped, came to attention, saluted, and called out, ‘Lieutenant Babbidge, New Providence Militia, requesting permission to approach. Peaceably.'

‘What in hell has got into him?' Nicholas asked.

‘Yes, Lieutenant, please approach,' Biddlecomb called, and Babbidge marched up to the officers and saluted again.

‘Captain Nicholas, Captain Biddlecomb, I come from the governor to bring you these.' Babbidge held out a big brass ring from which hung three large keys. His face was pale and he seemed even more frightened than he had been before. The keys tinkled like little bells in his trembling hand. ‘These are the keys to Fort Nassau, sir. You will find it deserted and awaiting your arrival, sir.'

‘Humph,' said Nicholas, snatching the keys from Babbidge's hand.

‘Much obliged, Lieutenant,' Biddlecomb said.

‘And, sir, may I enquire after … after … Lieutenant Frazer? Sir?'

‘Who?' Biddlecomb asked.

‘Lieutenant Frazer, sir? The man you captured? The fellow in the scouting party?'

‘I don't know what in hell you're talking about,' said Nicholas. ‘Now look here, what about the Government House, eh? You have artillery up there, ready to fire on us once we take the fort?'

‘Oh, no, sir, never in life,' Babbidge protested.

‘Then you won't mind my sending up the flank company to take possession?'

‘Oh, no, sir. I'll show them the way, if you like.'

‘Sweet son of a whore!' Nicholas roared, finally giving full vent to his disappointment. ‘If we'd have known you were just going to roll over like this, we'd have written ahead to tell you we were coming, save us the trouble of pretending to invade the island. God above, don't you people believe in defending yourselves?'

‘Sir,' said Babbidge, drawing himself up and mustering his not entirely quashed dignity and courage, ‘I think you'll find that there are many on this island – and mind you I am not one of them, not at all – who are disloyal to their king and sympathetic with your cause.'

‘So we've heard,' said Biddlecomb. ‘Now, Captain Nicholas, I think we should go take us a fort.'

The keys, as it happened, were superfluous. The front gate of Fort Nassau was not locked, it was not even closed, and the combined forces of the Continental Marines and the navy of the United Colonies marched right through the wooden palisade and on through the tall, castlelike entrance of the fort itself. Over the front entrance a large and tattered Union Jack undulated in the soft breeze.

‘Ferguson, you have the flag?' Biddlecomb called out, and the sailor ran up to him, patting the haversack slung over his shoulder. ‘Good, come with me.'

Biddlecomb led the way up a precarious ladder to the base of the flagpole. It was the highest point of the fort's wall and afforded him an unobstructed view of the harbor. ‘Haul that down and run our flag up,' he said, nodding to the Union Jack over their heads. Ferguson cast off the halyard and pulled the British flag down.

Biddlecomb pulled a small glass from his coat pocket and scanned the harbor. Nothing was moving on the water, save for one boat tacking back and forth over the western bar under a single lugsail and jib.

The squealing of the flag halyard's sheave ceased and Ferguson announced, ‘There she is, sir, and ain't she a fine sight?' At the top of the flagpole the American flag, the Grand Union flag with a union jack in the canton and alternating red, white, and blue stripes, waved gently in the trade winds.

Biddlecomb nodded. It was a fine sight, he had to admit. It marked the successful conclusion of the first American fleet action: the conquest of New Providence Island. And save for the somnambulant marine who had fallen off the wall of Fort Montegu while relieving himself and broken his wrist, it had been done with not one casualty.

Then he recalled the
Charlemagne
, and his warm feeling was gone. He could not enjoy this triumph until he knew that his ship was safe, and that the military stores had not left the island. He scanned the harbor with his telescope once again.

The boat that had been tacking back and forth over the bar had settled on a course making directly for the fort, confirming in Biddlecomb's mind what he had suspected: she was the
Alfred
's boat, waiting for some sign that the fort had been taken. The change of colors was her cue to approach. No doubt the fleet was under way, probably lying to just the other side of Hog Island.

In the fort below he watched the marines spread out and search the various storehouses, exploring all the corners of the captured structure. At least they seemed to be enjoying themselves. He looked again at the boat, moving with intolerable slowness. He felt his anxiety and impatience mount with each passing minute.

‘That looks like
Alfred
's longboat, sir,' Ferguson offered.

‘I believe you're right. You stay here and let me know if the fleet shows up beyond the point, yonder. I'm going down to see what the people in the boat have to say.'

The boat would not reach the fort for another fifteen minutes, but he felt that he would explode if he just stood around waiting with his vague and baseless anxiety growing more acute by the minute. He climbed back down the ladder. Ten yards away Captain Nicholas and three of his lieutenants were in animated discussion.

‘How goes it, Captain?' Biddlecomb asked, stepping up to the knot of men.

‘Not too well, Captain, damn my eyes,' Nicholas said, turning and spitting on the hard-packed dirt.

‘We've found a prodigious amount of stores,' one of the lieutenants said, turning to Biddlecomb. ‘The great guns you can see, and there's some mortars, as well as round shot and canister and small arms and such. There's a big magzine as well.'

‘A big magazine? That's a good thing,' Biddlecomb said, feeling the first glow of hope that he had been wrong about the lumber.

‘There ain't but twenty or so barrels in it, however,' Nicholas added. ‘Twenty barrels of powder for all these guns? You were right, Biddlecomb. I didn't think so last night, thought you were stretching it a bit, but you smoked it. They took our damned powder and made off with it. Son of a bitch!' he added, directed at no one in particular, and stamped his foot on the ground.

There was still hope, of course. The spark in Biddlecomb's breast was dying, but it was not dead. It was still possible that Tottenhill had carried out his orders, had intercepted the escaping ships and recovered the powder.

‘I believe a boat from the
Alfred
is approaching,' he said. ‘Shall we go and greet it?'

The front gate, now shut and secured, was opened by the sentries posted there. The two captains stepped out and made their way to the water, walking along the grassy space between the walls of Fort Nassau and the outer wooden palisade. They stepped down onto the beach just as the
Alfred
's longboat ground ashore, and the midshipman at the tiller scrambled forward and onto the sand.

Biddlecomb felt his hands trembling and clasped them behind his back. This is absurd, he thought, what in hell am I so nervous about? He had no reason to believe that something untoward had happened aboard the
Charlemagne
. It was just the anxiety that every captain feels when away from his command. He vowed that once he learned that all was well, he would worry no more. Neither would he ever leave his ship again for more than a few hours. At least he would not leave it in Tottenhill's command.

‘Commodore Hopkins's compliments, sir,' the midshipman said, saluting and looking alternately at Biddlecomb and Nicholas, ‘and please, is it safe to bring the fleet into the harbor?'

‘I reckon,' said Nicholas. ‘Biddlecomb?'

‘It's safe, at least as far as any threat from the shore goes. But tell me, did the
Charlemagne
get under way last night?'

‘Oh, yes, sir. But she's back now, with the fleet.'

‘And did she take a prize? Did she manage to take the merchantman?'

‘No, sir, no merchantman that I know of. She come back alone. But there's no cause to worry. Mr Sprout sends word that things are fine on board now, and he and Mr Weatherspoon'll have no difficulty bringing her to an anchor.'

‘Mr Sprout? The boatswain? And Mr Weatherspoon? Where are Mr Tottenhill and Mr Rumstick?'

‘They're confined aboard the flagship, sir.'

‘Why …?'

‘They were arrested, on account of the riot on board the
Charlemagne
last night. Three men dead, the commodore fit to be tied. Still yelling about it this morning. Did you not know, sir?'

Biddlecomb turned away and stared out over the rippled water of the harbor. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard and twisted his hands together behind his back. He felt his stomach sink away. The nightmare went on and on.

Commodore Hopkins was not a happy flag officer, and he was not keeping that fact a secret from Biddlecomb or the dozen or so other men on either side of the table.

The room in which they were meeting, which Hopkins had taken over as the office of the commander in chief, was long and fairly wide with a large table running down the middle. The only natural light came from three narrow windows along the wall facing the parade ground, and Hopkins and the other officers at the inquiry, lining the far side of the table, were forced to hold anything they wished to read at an angle to catch what light they could.

‘Well, damn it all to hell,' Hopkins growled, not for the first time, ‘this is one big fucking mess we've got here.' He looked up from the reports laid before him, and meeting Biddlecomb's eyes, added, ‘Again.' He leaned back and sighed. ‘Very well, Captain Biddlecomb, why don't you say what you have to say. And be brief. We've got a prodigious lot to do here, and we can't waste too much time on another one of your foul-ups.'

‘Very well, sir.' Biddlecomb straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. He ran his eyes over the men facing him, the same captains, lieutenants, and marines he had faced at the court-martial. Here he was, as Hopkins said, again.

‘Last night around ten
P.M.
, while I was at Fort Montegu, I perceived something floating in the harbor, and on close inspection I found it was fresh lumber. I thought perhaps it might be a jettisoned cargo, and that it might have been jettisoned to make room for military stores that were being spirited away. I sent Mr Midshipman Weatherspoon to the
Charlemagne
with instructions for Lieutenant Tottenhill to get the ship under way and try and head off any escape. They were to send word to the flagship to inform the commodore of the orders I had given Mr Tottenhill.'

‘Why didn't you go aboard the
Charlemagne
yourself?' Captain Whipple asked.

‘Well, sir, I did not think it proper for me to leave the landing party without the commodore's permission. I figured I was stretching my authority as it was, sending the
Charlemagne
off, but I thought there was not a moment to lose and it would be faster to just tell Tottenhill what to do than to try and explain my suspicions to the commodore.'

‘Mr Tottenhill, what have you to say?'

‘Well, sir' – Tottenhill, at Biddlecomb's right-hand side, took a step forward – ‘last night at just past six bells in the night watch, Mr Weatherspoon … located myself and Mr Rumstick, purporting to have orders from Captain Biddlecomb. He was not entirely clear as to why the captain wanted us under way, or how he had come to suspect that the military stores or, as we now realize, the majority of the island's gunpowder was being taken away.

‘I did not feel certain that Captain Biddlecomb had the authority to order the ship under way, I felt that such an order had to come from the commodore. Lieutenant Rumstick, however, felt strongly that we should get under way without informing the commodore, based on his long familiarity with Captain Biddlecomb. Indeed, I think this committee should be aware of the grievous injuries that my authority has suffered from the onset of this cruise. Captain Biddlecomb and Lieutenant Rumstick have, from the beginning, seen fit to—'

‘Thank you, Lieutenant,' said Hopkins. ‘Just tell me, you decided to obey Biddlecomb's orders?'

‘Sir, I thought that the most wise course of action should be to—'

‘Just a yes or no will suffice.'

‘Yes, I decided to obey the orders.'