The Power and the Glory (20 page)

 

 

“SO, RICHARD. What do you think of our Admiral Hyde?” Hugh Hardcastle posed that question as the coach-and-two he had hired jounced eastward along the Palisadoes Spit, a seven-mile stretch of limestone running from the naval base on the spit's western tip to the town of Kingston on the mainland. They had met as planned at five o'clock at the white stucco Royal Navy headquarters building at Port Royal and boarded the well-appointed coach summoned from a local livery stable. Being off duty, they were casually dressed. With a rare summer evening breeze kicking up and the coach windows open, the sultry air was almost pleasant.

“A bit different from his father,” Richard hedged.

Hugh chuckled, shook his head. “Come now, Richard, you can do better than that. Tell me what you
really
think. I distinctly recall Katherine describing him as an obscenely fat, pompous old windbag. I'd say she nailed her colors to the mast with that one! And don't forget that I served as his flag lieutenant for years before I was finally promoted.”

“Which proves that discretion and patience have their rewards.”

“That—and kissing an admiral's arse every time he bends over.”

Their laughter was cut short when the coach lurched into a sinkhole, the harsh motion nearly flinging them out of their seats. The driver managed to restore stability and urged the horses on with a crack of a whip.

“Reminds a man of his worst days at sea,” Hugh remarked as he straightened his coat. “You get used to such inconveniences whilst traveling
along this godforsaken tombolo.” He glanced out the left window at Kingston Bay and a flotilla of merchant vessels anchored in the far distance. To their right curled the gentle waves of the Caribbean. “Although I will always prefer Barbados, Jamaica has become the choice assignment in our navy. I wish
Constellation
was not pushing off so soon. I was hoping we might investigate some of the charms of this island together.”

“I had hoped for that, too, Hugh. Perhaps on another occasion.” Richard was looking ahead to clusters of red brick buildings along a cobblestone street alive with the hustle and bustle of empire. “Kingston is a lot bigger than I expected,” he commented.

“It's becoming quite the place, “Hugh agreed. “Word has it that the colonial capital will soon be moved from Spanish Town. That would make sense. Kingston is the primary seaport of Jamaica, and naval headquarters is located here. And it has some of the best taverns in the Indies, as you are about to discover.”

The coach swung a hard left onto Harbour Street and shivered to a halt in front of Number Sixty-Nine, a combination red-brick and blackwood-timbered tavern displaying a grand slice of yellow cheese on a sign above its door. Richard opened the door and stepped down onto the street. As he stood stretching his legs, two well-endowed and richly appointed young women walked slowly by, each giving him an appreciative once-over and a friendly smile. Richard smiled at them in return and doffed his hat in greeting.

Hugh quickly emerged from around the other side of the coach. “Good evening, ladies. Please do excuse us. I'm afraid we are frightfully late for an appointment.” He bowed, gripped Richard by the elbow, and whisked him through the door of the tavern into a dim, cavernous space alive with the rumble of muted conversations and a ballet of waiters weaving among closely spaced circular tables. The room was pleasantly cool compared with the ninety-degree heat outside, and the air was heavy with tantalizing aromas.

“Please don't tell me those women are whores,” Richard implored after Hugh had closed the door behind them.

Hugh laughed out loud but kept his voice low. “I hardly think so, Richard, and I doubt the royal governor would appreciate having his beloved niece referred to in that way. She was the taller of the two. Her companion is a daughter of a wealthy planter. No, I was simply protecting my sister's interests out there. Those two kitties looked like they were about to pounce and drag you away.”

Richard grinned in disbelief. “That sort of beauty and status would not be allowed out in Boston in the evening without proper escort.”

“So it would be in London as well. Here, though, it's considered perfectly respectable.”

“Captain Hardcastle! A pleasure as always, sir!” A dark-tanned, middle-aged man whom Richard took to be the proprietor strode up briskly. “Welcome to the Cheshire Cheese. If you will come this way, I have reserved our best table for you and your guest.”

That table was situated in a private alcove near the back of the room. Service for two had been set out before two candles flickering cozily upon tin sconces thick with wax. As Richard slid onto a bench on one side, Hugh slipped the host a gold florin and took the bench on the other side. The man bowed low, then snapped his fingers at a nearby waiter, demanding attention to what clearly had become a very high priority table.

“Come here often, do we?” Richard ribbed.

“As often as I can,” Hugh replied honestly. “Everything on the menu is delicious. If you like fish, I recommend the grouper. The way they prepare it here is beyond description.” He gave the menu a cursory scan, his mind apparently already made up. “Tonight I fancy the flying fish. It's a local delicacy I've never tried.”

“Grouper for me,” Richard decided.

“We'll have some wine, of course, the best the house has to offer. And don't forget our rule: no talk of business or war this evening, just family matters.”

“I won't forget. And thank you again for footing the bill. An officer's wage in the American Navy is hardly what you Royal Navy types are hauling in. Rumor has it that a British frigate captain like yourself can retire in luxury after only ten years of service.”

“He can retire in luxury in one year,” Hugh affirmed, “if he's lucky enough to come upon the entire French fleet and skilled enough to take it as a prize.”

Richard laughed. Then, in a more serious tone, “Hugh, do you ever have occasion to visit my family on Barbados?”

“I do, and I always look forward to it. I was ever so pleased when John returned from England. He's a favorite of mine, despite his rather stuffy behavior. And Cynthia is such a dear. You've never met their son, have you?”

“Actually, I have; years ago. He was quite young then. On my last visit to Barbados he and his mother were in England.”

“Yes, they went there to visit a medical specialist in London. As you may be aware, there's something wrong with poor Joseph. It's such a bloody shame. He's a fine-looking, strapping lad, and quite intelligent. But he seems completely disinterested in anything other than mathematics. His parents have tried everything to engage his attention and are at their wits' end. Sadly, no doctor seems able to diagnose the problem or advance any sort of cure.”

“I am very sorry to hear that. When I saw John during my last visit, he told me that Joseph had some sort of ailment. But that was about all he told me. You know John: always trying to paint the bright picture. This must be terribly hard on him and Cynthia.”

“I can't imagine. At least Joseph is in no physical danger. And he may well grow out of it. On a lighter note, Robin and Julia are expecting their fourth child very soon.”

“Are they! Good for them! They're doing well?”

“Very much so. They are one family whom I believe have settled in for good on the Indies. I can't imagine them leaving Barbados. And why would they? The life they enjoy should make anyone envious. It does me.”

“That's my impression, too. My younger brother Caleb is planning to visit there in a few months. Father wants him to become more involved in the family business now that I'm in the Navy. I think John and Robin will enjoy having him. They'll make excellent mentors.”

“Yes, they will. Now, tell me about your family. I am most interested to hear about Katherine and the children, of course, but do try to include everyone.”

As the first bottle of claret yielded to a second, complemented by platters of grilled fish and fresh vegetables and fruits, Richard recounted the news of his life and family. He concluded with the birth of Zeke Crabtree, whose mother, Lizzy Cutler Crabtree, had once been engaged to Hugh's late brother, Jamie.

“I'm so happy for Lizzy,” Hugh said, with feeling. “She spent far too many years of her youth mourning Jamie. By the bye, are you aware that my brother Jeremy once carried a flame for her? Oh, yes, and a rather hot one at that. He did nothing about it, of course, whilst Jamie was alive. Later, duty prevented him from going home to England to visit her. By the time he was given leave to return to Fareham, Lizzy had left for America with her father, and your friend Agreen was soon to sail in and board her, so to speak. I suspect Jeremy will always harbor a grudge against him for that.”

“If he does, he doesn't show it. Agee visited Jeremy in Gibraltar before sailing on to Algiers. Jeremy showed him every courtesy and ordered
Falcon‘
s hold filled to the brim with fresh provisions. I am forever in his debt for the generosity he showed
Eagle'
s crew. He did far more than mere courtesy or family loyalty required.”

“Well, that's Jeremy for you—ever the consummate gentleman. I hope to see him when I sail home in a couple of months. It has been too many years since the last time.”

Richard's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “You're going home, Hugh? On leave?”

“On what one day will be permanent leave, Richard. I have decided to swallow the anchor and seek an honorable profession ashore. Ah, I can see you are surprised by that announcement. It surprises me even as I say it. But it is a promise I have given my fiancée, and it's a promise I intend to keep.”

Richard placed the fork down on his plate. “Your
fiancée
? Hold on a second, Hugh. One step at a time, if you don't mind. I didn't even know you were engaged. Is she a local woman?”

“Today is full of surprises, isn't it? By the bye, how's your grouper?”

“Delicious. Now please stay on subject.”

Hugh grinned. “No. She's from Portsea. You may recall it. It's a town near Fareham. Her name is Phoebe. Phoebe Clausen. She's nine years younger than I and, Lord knows, a great deal better looking. I met her two years ago whilst home in England during the hurricane season. We've been corresponding ever since and seeing each other whenever possible. She visited me on Barbados not long ago, and before sailing to Jamaica I asked for her hand. Displaying shockingly poor judgment, she accepted.”

Richard shook his head in delighted disbelief. “My God, Hugh, that's wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! Congratulations to you both. It's high time you struck your colors. Have you written to Katherine?”

“No. You're the first in the family to know. And there's more. Phoebe and I plan to sail to America someday. Her two siblings are already there—one, a sister, lives in Rhode Island, and a brother lives in Connecticut. Her father died unexpectedly several years ago, and her mother, I fear, is not long for this world. As to my side of the family, both my parents are in poor health. And I have been away at sea for so long that I have few meaningful relationships left in England. So starting a new life in America seems just right for us. However, I have told
Phoebe that I cannot leave the service until after my father has passed on. It would break his heart to see me do it. He and I may not always see eye to eye, but he is my father and I owe him that. You understand. You're his son-in-law.”

“I do understand,” Richard said, thinking of his own past efforts to measure up to his father-in-law's expectations. Then his face lit up. “Hugh, I have a thought: Katherine and Lizzy are planning to sail to England with the children next summer to visit their parents. Might you possibly tie their visit to your wedding? I can't imagine anything that would bring them more joy.”

Hugh clapped his hands hard. “By Jove, Richard! What a capital notion! We
must
do that. I shall write to Phoebe first thing in the morning. I shall also write to Katherine, though I suspect you will beat me to the punch. How thrilled Phoebe will be to meet her and Lizzy and the children! Is there any chance, any chance at all, that you might scare up some shore leave and join us?”

“That depends on the French, doesn't it?”

“I daresay it does.” Hugh poured out two final glasses of wine with a surprisingly steady hand. He clinked his glass against Richard's.

“To good hunting, brother. And to swift victory.”

Saint Kitts October 1798

“Y
OUR REPORT PLEASE, Mr. Porter.” Midn. David Porter, junior officer of the deck and a towering hulk of a youth, cast Lieutenant Sterrett a nervous look. His eyes flicked to westward, where the remnants of a ferocious squall lingered, then back to the third lieutenant. A quarter-hour earlier that squall had lashed the convoy with torrents of heavy rain and windswept seas. So sudden had been its surge that
Constellation'
s crew barely had time to shorten sail, hook relieving tackle to the tiller, remove the hammocks from their nettings and toss them belowdecks, and secure hatches and guns for heavy weather. So violent was the storm's energy that visual contact with other vessels in the convoy had been temporarily lost in the murk and swirling sea froth, along with the strict sailing formation Lt. John Rodgers insisted they follow.

“Four merchantmen are returning to station, sir,” Porter responded, his voice fraught with worry, as though what he was about to say was somehow his fault. “But, sir,
Louisa Spaulding
is unaccounted for. She's nowhere to be found.” He added hopefully, “I'm sure we'll spot her soon enough.”