How I managed to lose my temper so badly for so long, when my innards were quaking, I am far from sure. They didn’t take it lying down, either—especially Bailey, who was half-convinced my indignation was sham. But he couldn’t be sure, you see; there was just enough mystery, as a result of all the bloody lies I’d told in Washington, to make him wonder.
“Your conduct, sir, gives me the gravest suspicions,” says he. “I don’t know—this is a deplorable affair! But we’ll go into this, sir, believe you me; we’ll get to the bottom—”
“Then you’ll do it in your own good time, sir!” says I, looking him in the eye. “Not in mine. I’m sick and tired of this whole sorry business. I was promised protection, sir—”
“Protection?” cries he, looking ugly. “You have forfeited all claim to that. My department’s protection is withdrawn, you may take that as read—”
“Thank God!” I exclaimed. “For all the good it’s been to me, I’m better without it. I intend to place myself, at once, under the protection of my ambassador in Washington. At once, do you hear? And whoever tries to hinder me will do so at his peril!”
For a moment he looked as though he was believing me, and then we were summoned back to the court, and I sat red-faced, squeezing myself to keep it up, while Clitheroe and Anderson bandied away at each other, and finally Anderson challenged him on some point or other, and Clitheroe made a speech, and concluded it by moving for the confiscation and condemnation of the Balliol College. There was much palaver over the matter of Spring’s resisting arrest, and Anderson stuck to the point about an innocent merchantman being entitled to protect himself, etc., and finally the adjudicator took off his spectacles and asked did their cases rest? They nodded, and he put his spectacles back on, and everyone stood up.
The adjudicator talked for about half an hour, while our legs creaked, and I couldn’t for the life of me stop my hands trembling, for there was no telling which way he was going. He reviewed the evidence, Spring’s and the girls’ and my own, and then came to his peroration. It was short, and decisive.
“It rests with the plaintiff, Abraham Fairbrother, to show that the Balliol College was carrying slaves in contravention of United States law. There are grounds for believing that she was, in view of her equipment and other circumstances related in evidence. It may also appear that grounds could exist for charges to be brought in connection with damage done to United States property by Captain Spring. On the other hand, it may be that, after the conclusion of this court, the owners of the Balliol College may hold that an action lies against the United States government for unlawful detention.44 These are matters outside the scope of this adjudication. The activities of the Balliol College, prior to her arrest, may also be matters for a mixed commission court of the British or other governments.
“It is precisely for the attention of such court, if it be called, that I have mentioned the conclusion of this adjudication that grounds exist for believing that the Balliol College was carrying slaves in contravention of United States law. But I cannot hold that the grounds have been proved conclusively to the satisfaction of this adjudication. The motion for confiscation fails.”
I pulled myself together and shot Clitheroe as baleful a look as I could manage, for Bailey’s benefit. The adjudicator turned to Spring.
“You are free to go. As I understand it, your vessel is in the river, is it not, under a prize crew? Hear our order that this prize crew be withdrawn forthwith, and that such stores, water and wood as may be required in reason for your departure shall be left aboard, and in accordance with custom, clearance be granted for your departure this very day, or such date thereafter as you find fitting.”
“Thank you, sir,” says Spring. “I thank the court. I shall leave anchorage today.”
The adjudicator banged his desk and scuttled out, and at once there was a great rush from the public benches to Spring’s table, and he was being clapped on the back, and fellows were shaking Anderson’s hand and hurrahing. Clitheroe walked out of the court without a word, and Bailey, after a lowering look at me, followed him. The two yellow girls, giggling and ogling, tripped away with their chaperone or bawd or whatever she was.
And suddenly I was standing alone. But I doubted, somehow, if this happy state would endure for long. My escort had gone with Bailey, but in spite of our violent exchanges, they would be expecting me at his office, or at least back at the Navy place where he had housed me. And then, for all my fine talk, they would keep a tight grip on me—for what? Interrogation, no doubt, and at best a convoy to Washington and my embassy, and God knew what would come of that. My buttock ached at the thought of sliding out again, but I knew I daren’t stay. For one thing, the longer I was in this blasted country the greater the chance of my activities on the Mississippi being brought home to roost.
I looked about me. The spectators were all streaming out now, by the entrances at the back of the room. Haifa dozen steps and I was among them—once outside, I could easily find my way to Susie’s brothel, and this time, surely, she would be able to see me safe away; at least she could hide me until I grew a beard, or—.
And then it struck me, all in a moment, the dazzling thought. It was fearful, at first, but as I considered it, on the steps leading down to the street, it seemed the only safe way. It was the answer, surely—and I found my legs taking me off to one side, behind a pillar, where I thought some more, and then I stepped out into the busy street, and walked across to the far side, and took refuge beneath a tree, waiting.
It was ten minutes before I saw what I wanted, and my heart was in my mouth in case Bailey or my escort would come on the scene, but they didn’t. And then I was rewarded, and I set off, walking quickly, along the street, and into another, and there I overtook the figure ahead of me.
“Captain Spring,” says I. “Captain Spring—it’s me.”
He swung round as if stung, as near startled as I’d ever seen him.
“The devil!” he exclaimed. “You!”
“Captain,” says I, “in God’s name, will you give me a passage out of here? You’re leaving, on the College, aren’t you? For pity’s sake, take me with you—out of this blasted—”
“What?” cries he, his scar beginning to jump like St Vitus dance. “Take you? Why the devil should I? You—”
“Listen, please, captain,” says I. “Look, I played up today, didn’t I? I could have sworn you to kingdom come, couldn’t I? But I didn’t—I didn’t! I got you off—”
“You got me off!” He tilted back his hat and glared at me. “You saved your own dirty little neck, you Judas, you! And you’ve the nerve to come crawling to me?”
“I’ll buy my passage!” I pleaded. “Look, I’m not just begging—I can buy it with something you want.”
“And what would that be?” But he stepped aside with me into a doorway, the pale eyes fixed on me.
“You heard in court—I got Comber’s papers—the things he’d filched from you. Well—” I forced myself not to notice the darkening scar in his brow. “—I’ve still got ’em. Are they price enough?”
His face was like flint. “Where are they?” he growled.
“In a safe place—a very safe place. Not on me,” I lied, praying he’d believe it. “But I know where they are, and unless I say the word—well, they could get into the wrong hands, couldn’t they? You’d be clear and away before that, of course, but your owners wouldn’t like it. Morrison, for one.”
“Where are they?” he demanded, and his hands came up, as though to seize me. But I shook my head.
“I’ll tell you,” says I, “in Liverpool or Bristol—not before. They’ll be safe until then, on my word.”
“Your word!” he sneered. “We know what that’s worth! You perjured rascal. Look at you!” He laughed softly. “Post equitem sedet atra cura.d Your friends in the American Navy are looking for you, I don’t doubt.”
“If they find me, they find those papers,” says I. “But if you take me with you, I swear
you’ll have ’em.” And welcome, I thought privately. Even when I’d handed them over, the knowledge of what was in ’em would still be in my head, and I’d use it to squeeze old Morrison dry. “You’ll have them, captain,” I repeated. “I promise.”
“By God I will,” says Spring. “I’ll see to that.” He stood considering me, “What a worthless creature you are—what shreds of loyalty have you, you object?”
“Plenty—to myself,” says I. “Just as you have, Captain Spring.”
His scar went pink; then he laughed again. “Well, well. You’ve picked up some Yankee sauce over here, I believe. Perhaps you’re right, though. Horace reminds me, why should I sneer at you? Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur.”e He looked up and down the street. “I’ll take you. But you tell me those papers are safe, do you? For if they’re not—by God, I’ll drop you overside with a bag of coal on your feet, if we’re within ten feet of the Mersey. Or Brest, which is where I’m going. Well?”
“You have my word,” says I.
“No,” says he. “But I’ve got your carcase, and I’ll settle for that. Now, then—are these damned Yankees close behind you? Then step lively, Mr Flashman!”
Strange, I thought, how long it was since anyone had called me by my proper name. For the first time in months I felt I was almost home again. With Elspeth, and the youngster, too. Aye, and my dear papa-in-law—I was looking forward to presenting my account to him.
* * *
a What a man does through another, he does himself.
b The written letter remains (as evidence).
c Upright in court.
d Dark care sits behind the horseman (A guilty man cannot escape himself).
e Change the name, and the story is told of yourself.
[EDITOR’S POSTSCRIPT. On this optimistic note the third packet of the Flashman Papers comes to an end. How far the optimism was justified may be judged from the fact that, instead of describing his return in gloating detail, Flashman concluded this portion of his memoirs by attaching to the last page of manuscript a clipping, cracked and faded with age, from a newspaper (probably, from its type face and extreme column width, the Glasgow Herald) dated January 26, 1849. The news it contains was, of course, unknown to him when he left New Orleans homeward bound. It reads, in part:
“It is with deep regret that we impart to our readers news of the death of Lord Paisley. This untimely event occurred last week at the home of his daughter, Mrs Harry Flashman, in London, where he had been residing for some time past. Those who knew him, either as John Morrison of Paisley and this city, where he was formerly Deacon of Weavers in the Trades’ House of Glasgow, or by the title to which he was raised by a gracious sovereign only in November last, will be united in mourning his sudden melancholy demise …”]
Notes
1. The great Chartist Demonstration of Monday, April 10, 1848, was, as Flashman says, a frost. Following the numerous continental revolutions, there were those who feared that civil strife would break out in Britain, and in addition to extra troops brought to the capital, the authorities enlisted 170,000 special constables between April 6 and 10 to deal with disturbances. Peel, Gladstone, Prince Louis Napoleon (later Napoleon III), about half the House of Lords and an immense number of middle-class volunteers were among the “specials”. In the event, only about twenty to thirty thousand Chartists demonstrated, instead of the half million expected, and there was little violence apart from the fight between the butcher’s boy and the French agitator, which happened as Flashman describes it. (Foreign agitators and hooligan elements were a frequent embarrassment to the Chartists, since they discredited the movement.) Of the two (not five) million signatures to the great petition, about one-fifth are said to have been bogus – “Punch” noted caustically that if they had all been genuine, the Chartist procession should have been headed by the Queen and seventeen Dukes of Wellington. (See Halevy’s History of the English People in the Nineteenth Century, vol. 4, pp. 242–6.)
2. From this and other allusions it is obvious that Flashman spent at least part of the 1843–47 period (the “missing years” so far untouched by his memoirs) in Madagascar and Borneo. He is known to have been both military adviser to Queen Ranavalona and chief of staff to Rajah Brooke of Sarawak; it now seems probable that he held these appointments between 1843 and 1847. Other evidence suggests that he may also have taken part in the First Sikh War of 1845–6.
3. Lord John Russell was then Prime Minister; Lansdowne was Lord President of the Council.
4. Berlins: articles, particularly gloves, knitted of Berlin wool.
5. Attendance money. A charge introduced on the railway about this time, which amounted to a kind of cover or service charge. It appears to have been levied for as small a service as asking a railway servant the time of day. Flashman’s memory may be playing him false when he speaks of a railway book-stall; it was more probably a railway library.
6. Frances Isabella Locke (1829–1903) was to become famous in later years as Mrs Fanny Duberly, Victorian heroine, campaigner, and “army wife” extraordinary. She left celebrated journals of her service in the Crimea and the Indian Mutiny. (See E.E.P. Tisdall’s Mrs Duberly’s Campaigns.)
7. Lord George Bentinck (1802–48), one of the foremost sporting figures of his day, and leader of the Protectionist Tory opposition in the Commons. Handsome, arrogant, and viciously aggressive in political argument, Bentinck was widely respected as a guardian of the purity of the turf, although after his death his former friend Greville alleged that he was guilty of “fraud, falsehood, and selfishness” and “a mass of roguery” in his racing conduct. Bentinck resigned his leadership of the opposition early in 1848, but was still the power in his party at the time of his meeting with Flashman at Cleeve. He died suddenly only a few months later, on September 21, 1848.
Disraeli, who then succeeded him as Tory leader in the Commons, was not to become Prime Minister for another twenty years. Flashman’s view of him in 1848 fairly reflects the feeding of many Tories – “they detest D’Israeli, the only man of talent”, wrote Greville in that year. His extravagances of dress and speech, his success as a novelist, and his Jewish antecedents combined to render him unpopular – Flashman, like Greville, insists on spelling him D’Israeli, although Disraeli himself had dropped the apostrophe ten years earlier. The nickname Codlingsby is a pun on Coningsby, perhaps his best novel, published in 1844. (See Charles Greville’s Memoirs, January 7 – September 28, 1848.)
8. Surplice had just beaten Shylock in the Derby, and on the following day the Jewish Disabilities Bill failed in the House of Lords.
9. With revolution everywhere on the Continent in 1848, it was confidently expected that Ireland would erupt, and there was a small abortive rising in the summer. John Mitchel, a leading agitator, was sentenced in May to fourteen years’ transportation.
10. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte was published in the autumn of 1847. Varney the Vampire, or The Feast of Blood by Malcolm Rymer was an outstanding horror story even in a decade which was unusually rich in novels of ghouls, vampires, and gothic spine-chilling.
11. Miss Fanny’s excuse was not very flattering to her fiancé, whose position with the Eighth Hussars was that of paymaster
12. The Black Joke schooner had a career befitting its romantic name, being in turn a slaver, a Royal Navy tender, and an opium smuggler in the China Seas.
13. Under the Anglo-Dutch treaty of 1822 a ship fitted out for slaving (with shackles, slave shelves, unusually large cooking facilities, etc.,) could be condemned as a slaver even if she was not carrying slaves. (See W. E. F. Ward’s The Royal Navy and the Slavers.)
14. What Flashman says of the background to the slave trade in the 1840s is accurate enough, but obviously he does not give more than a hint of the complicated system of treaties and anti-slavery laws by which the civilised nations fought the traffic. (See Ward.) Virtually all were prepared to pay at least lip service to the anti-slave trade cause, but only Britain mounted a continuous
major campaign against the slaving vessels on the high seas and along the African coast, although at the time of Flashman’s voyage the United States Navy was also lending its assistance. But there was no consistency about the various national laws against the trade, and the slavers were quick to take advantage of the numerous loopholes. What is sometimes not appreciated is the distinction that was drawn by governments between slavery and actual slave trading: for example, Britain prohibited the trade as early as 1807, but did not abolish slavery within the Empire until 1833; the United States prohibited the trade in 1808, but continued to practise slavery in her slave states until the Civil War. In this topsy-turvy situation, with huge private interests involved in the traffic, slave trading flourished into the second half of the century.
15. Pedro Blanco was a leading slave-broker who specialised in collecting Africans for sale to slaving ships. His usual scene of operations was farther north, on the Sierra Leone coast. Flashman’s description of Whydah and the Kroos corresponds very closely with contemporary accounts.
16. With epidemics an ever-present danger on the Middle Passage, slaver captains took every precaution against shipping diseased or weakly slaves. However, they had no scruples about marketing chose who fell ill on the voyage, and were at pains to disguise their disabilities. Spring is here referring to a particularly revolting means of hiding the symptoms of dysentery.
17. Spring was giving considerably less space to his slaves than that allowed by the Wilberforce Committee in 1788, when the famous plan of the slaving ship Brookes gave the following figures: Males, six feet by sixteen inches; females, five feet by sixteen inches; boys, five feet by fourteen inches; girls, four feet six by twelve inches. This, as F. George Kay points out in The Shameful Trade, meant that five men were packed into a space equivalent to two modern single beds, and lay there for perhaps twenty hours a day over a period of several weeks. Parliament was prepared to accept a death rate of two per cent.
The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection Page 169
