'Oh, come now, sir,' Matt argued. 'Surely you are unusually young to hold the rank you do? The future can have no terrors.'
'I am twenty-four years old, Mr. Hilton, and as such I think I am the youngest post captain in His Majesty's Navy. But that is a direct result of the war. War, sir, is almost the natural state of man, and in it a man may find his true direction, his true place. But now, sir, why, are we not celebrating peace? And we must be honest with ourselves, Mr. Hilton. This is no victory we honour. Rodney's achievement is the only success we can truly acclaim. Thus will our nation be content to lick its wounds, to brood and attempt to recover. How long do you think, ten, fifteen, twenty years? There will be no promotion save into dead men's shoes for that time, and twenty years will be too long for me. I shall then be one of the oldest post captains, no doubt.' Then he smiled, and wiped away all the potent misery which had been gathering in his face. 'At least I have put myself in the best possible way. The West Indies, sir, this is the station for honour.' He waited, while the sliced roast beef was placed in front of them, and Matt discovered that Chester was watching him, frowning, and constantly emptying his wine glass. He realized that Coke had been more correct that he in estimating the possible hazards of this evening, and in demanding that he keep a firm hold on his temper.
The marine moved on, and the captain carved his beef. 'Mr. Chester's,' he remarked. 'He slaughtered two cows for our benefit.'
'I should have been happy to assist you,' Matt said.
'Tush. What are a couple head of cattle? And I am hoping you will be able to assist me in another way. You were born and bred in these islands. Do you know our neighbour, Nevis?'
Matt started, and his head turned. ‘I have never been there.'
'Ah.' Nelson chewed, thoughtfully.
The Prince gave a bellow of laughter. 'Our captain seeks some solace, Mr. Hilton, from the boredom of keeping the peace. Perhaps you'll recall a doctor, by name of Nisbet?'
Matt frowned. 'I have heard the name. But I think...'
'He is dead, poor fellow. Oh, indeed. Some years ago. And has left behind the prettiest little widow in all the islands, I do declare. Our captain has managed to lose his heart.'
'I'll not have Fanny's name bandied, sir’ Nelson declared, flushing very red.
'Nor will it, Horatio, I promise you that,' agreed the Duke. 'Hasting, tell that band to stop its confounded banging. I wish to propose a toast.'
The marine lieutenant nodded and hurried for the companionway. Nelson sighed. 'You'll at least wait on the loyal toast, Prince William.' He lowered his voice as he leaned towards Matt. 'It is confoundedly difficult having the fellow along, although truth to say he is pleasant enough, and a useful patron.' The music stopped with a roll of drums, and he rose to his feet, his glass held high. 'Gentlemen, the King.'
Everyone rose. 'The King.'
They sat down, but left the Prince still standing. 'Now a more important toast,' he declared. 'Gentlemen, I give you, Mistress Frances Nisbet.'
Once again they rose. 'Mistress Frances Nisbet.'
The marines hurried round to refill their glasses, for it was the captain's turn to remain standing. 'And now, gentlemen, I will ask you to join me in toasting the real reason for our presence. Gentlemen, I give you the Victory of the Saintes, and couple with it the name of that remarkable woman who will ever fill a page in the history of the Royal Navy, Mistress Suzanne Huys.'
This time there was the slightest hesitation before the planters joined their hosts. 'Mistress Suzanne Huys.'
Matt's head began to roll after the third bumper in rapid succession, but he deemed it was certainly his turn, and kept his feet. 'Then, Captain Nelson, and Prince William, may I offer, on behalf of my fellow planters and myself, the force which has kept us solvent, and if I may speak entirely on behalf of Jamaica and Antigua, where my interests lie, has kept us English. Gentlemen, the Royal Navy.'
The other planters rose readily enough for this, and the ship's officers beamed and nodded their agreement. Matt sat down with a sigh of relief, and realized that Chester had remained standing, opposite him.
'And now, Captain Nelson,' he said. 'And Your Royal Highness, if I may be allowed to propose a toast, it shall be to that institution which indeed does keep us all solvent, and has made us the men we are. Gentlemen, I give you slavery; long may it prosper.'
It was Matt's turn to hesitate; everyone else was on his feet in a moment, and Nelson was looking down at him.
'Come, sir,' said Prince William. 'Will you not drink to your own prosperity? You are a planter, are you not?'
‘I am, sir,' Matt agreed. 'And daily wonder how I may support such an equivocal position.'
'Well, then,' Chester declared. 'We shall drink without you, Matt, and I shall add a rider to my toast, damnation to all abolitionists.'
He stared across the table, but Matt merely nodded, for all he felt the blood begin to pound in his cheeks.
Nelson sat down. 'You are a confoundedly contrary fellow, Mr. Hilton. So you are a humanitarian. As am I. I have heard it said that you no longer use the whip on your plantation. Neither do I use the whip on board my ship, save where it is quite unavoidable. I honour you, sir, for your sentiments, as I hope you will honour me.'
'Yet you support the iniquities of owning a fellow man,' Matt said.
Nelson frowned. 'Well, sir, perhaps I have never considered the matter deeply enough. I am a sailor, Mr. Hilton. I pretend to nothing more than that, but I claim to think about my profession. And on those grounds at the least I would oppose the abolition of the slave trade, which I understand is at least a part of your platform. I tell you, sir, there is no better school for seamen. I'd rather take a man from a slaver than from the finest Indiaman afloat.'
'If I may say so, Captain, without I trust giving offence, there is a very limited point of view. Although believe me I honour your regard for the service you adorn.'
Once again the normal severity of Nelson's face was relieved by his smile. 'Then are we agreed to differ, as friends?' He raised his glass without standing. 'I drink a private toast, to a man who is not afraid to display his sentiments, however unpopular. The world could do with more of your stamp, Mr. Hilton. Now is the matter buried.'
But the table had become silent as everyone had listened to the brief argument.
‘I think it should remain above ground for a while longer, Captain Nelson,' Chester suggested.
'I'll have no quarrelling on board my ship, Mr. Chester.'
'Nor do I desire a quarrel, Captain,' Chester insisted. 'But to say truth we so seldom have the pleasure of conversing with Matt here - he remains locked away on Green Grove with that beautiful... ah ... cousin of his - that I am sure we are truly interested to discover how he keeps discipline.'
‘I think, sir ...' Nelson began, clearly anticipating the very quarrel he had meant to avoid, in view of Chester's studied rudeness.
But Matt interrupted, keeping his smile fixed. 'I think a man does best to lead, rather than to drive.'
'Oh, well said, sir,' Nelson agreed.
'Do you then, head the gangs in the field?' Dewing inquired.
‘I should not be afraid to do so, did I consider it necessary,' Matt said. 'It is my profit at stake.'
Chester's face was cold. 'Yet you play an ambiguous role, Matt. One which I feel should be clarified, for the benefit of all Antigua. Is it not true that you give bed and board to a notorious trouble-maker, Thomas Coke?'
Matt felt he was sliding down a snowy hillside, with no means of stopping until he reached the bottom, and could only hope it was soft there as well. 'I see no reason, sir, for discussing my guests with you.'
'Then perhaps you will discuss yourself,' Dewing insisted. 'Are you, or are you not, a supporter of the Abolitionist Movement?'
'Gentlemen,' Nelson protested. 'The Duke of Clarence is present.'
'Oh, let them differ, Horatio,' Prince William cried. 'It does a man good to listen to the points of view.'
&
nbsp; ‘I am not the least afraid to answer Mr. Dewing's question, Your Royal Highness,' Matt said. 'Yes, sir, I think I am an abolitionist, at heart, I cannot but believe that the abolition of slavery is an inevitable event, and perhaps sooner than any of us believe possible. I cannot but believe that the whole weight of English opinion, than which there is no more powerful factor in all the world, is increasingly moving in that direction. And I believe they are right. I would be happy to lend my support to such a venture.'
There was a moment of utterly scandalized silence, then Nelson spoke. 'Yet you do in fact have slaves on Green Grove.'
'Yes, sir, I do. You may describe me as a moral coward, if you wish, but I cannot see that to turn my slaves free, into a society where I could not afford to pay them wages and still compete against my fellow planters, and where, by law, they would very rapidly be re-enslaved were I to shut down my plantation, would be productive of anything but disorder.'
Nelson nodded, thoughtfully.
'A moral coward, sir?' Chester cried. 'Why, that is too good for you. I suspect you are a physical one as well. And you are more than that, Matt Hilton. You are a traitor to your class and your kind, a veritable blackguard, sir.'
The sound of catching breath was audible throughout the wardroom.
Matt sighed. 'You are entitled to your point of view, Chester. I cannot expect you to understand mine.'
'By Christ,' Chester said at large, and leaned back in his seat.
'Then, sir, I will declare that even the word blackguard is too good for you,' Dewing shouted. 'It is my opinion that you are a dishonourable scoundrel, who can think of nothing better to do than debauch his own cousin.'
Matt's head came up, and he stared across the table. Dewing's complexion paled, very slightly, but he would not lower his eyes.
'Be sure that I shall give you satisfaction. You have but to name your weapons.'
Matt nodded, as thoughtfully as Nelson. 'Indeed I shall, Mr. Dewing. Our fists, and immediately.'
‘Your fists?' Chester cried. 'We are gentlemen, sir, not street urchins.'
'It would give me no pleasure at all to shoot Mr. Dewing down from thirty paces, or to spear him on the end of three feet of steel, Mr. Chester,' Matt said, speaking very carefully. 'Even supposing I was capable of such a feat. But I propose to make him regret saying those words. He has challenged me, gentlemen, and I have named my pleasure. You will either apologize, most humbly, both to me and Mistress Huys, or you will meet me now, man to man.'
Dewing looked around the table, but he could find no support in the stony stares of the naval officers. He had abused his position as their guest, and spoiled their evening. And whatever their personal views on slavery, Matt was a veteran of the Saintes, and almost one of themselves.
'Apologize?' he demanded at last. 'To you? Why, sir, I will meet you when and wherever you choose, barehanded or armed, as you choose.'
'I said now,' Matt reminded him. 'Captain Nelson, I can only thank you for your hospitality, and myself apologize most humbly that it should be my presence which has caused such an unfortunate end to the evening. If your people will set Mr. Dewing and myself ashore ..
'Fiddlesticks,' declared Prince William.
'I am inclined to agree,' Nelson said. 'If you gentlemen will fight, why not do it here? We can at least guarantee you fair play.' This last with a meaning glance at Chester.
'That's the ticket,' Prince William shouted. 'The quarterdeck. The quarterdeck. There's the place for fisticuffs. Gad, sir, I have not seen a proper set-to since leaving England.'
Instantly all was orderly bustle as the navy took control. Matt and Dewing were hurried up the companionway, and the sentries were hastily cleared off the quarterdeck. Although the rumour of what was about to happen spread over the ship with remarkable rapidity and before the two protagonists were even stripped to their waists the rigging was filled with seamen, peering down at the guttering lanterns which illuminated the scene.
'Now, gentlemen,' Nelson said. 'I assume you are both familiar with the rules of prize fighting. We'll have no fouling, that you may be sure of. Mr. Blackman, you'll keep time.'
The lieutenant nodded, and clanged the ship's bell. Matt assumed the posture of defence he had been taught by
Broughton, left leg and left arm thrust forward, right arm held in front of his chin and belly. Dewing preferred to half crouch, and circle, no doubt hoping for the opportunity to seize his opponent round the waist and throw him - he was at least as tall as Matt, and somewhat more heavily built. But the whole thing was rather absurd, Matt decided; his opponent did not even know the first elements of defence. They watched each other for a few seconds, Matt slowly circling to his left, then he stepped in and led a long left hand. Dewing brought up both his fists and at the same time straightened. Matt withdrew the lead and pumped it out again, and Dewing's hands came still higher. Matt stepped inside, swinging his right leg and his right fist at the same time, landing one of his wind-stopping belly blows just under the rib cage. Dewing gasped, and his hands fell as Matt pumped out yet a third left hand. This connected on the cheek beside the mouth, and left a splash of blood, at once from the split flesh of the face and the bruised knuckles.
Dewing moaned, and half turned away, and Matt struck him twice more. This time he again aimed for the head, however painful such a course might be for his own fingers. But it was essential that Dewing bear the marks as well as the memory of his beating. The left-handed blow shattered the planter's lips and sent two teeth flying across the deck, the right hand, connecting as the head was hurled towards it, landed on the temple and felled him as if he had been shot.
'The bell, Blackman, the bell,' Nelson shouted.
It clanged, and Matt's hands fell.
'You have one minute, Mr. Chester,' Nelson said, taking out his watch.
'One minute?' Chester knelt beside his friend, raised his head, and gasped. 'I doubt he's alive.'
'He is alive, man, he is alive,' Prince William shouted, beside himself with excitement. 'Get him up. Get him up.'
And indeed, Dewing's eyes were opened, and he gazed at Chester as his friend whispered in his ear. Then his head shook, for just a second, but clearly seen by every man present.
'Fifteen seconds, Mr. Chester,' Nelson said, still looking at his watch. 'Or does your man concede?'
Chester released Dewing's head, allowed it to bump on the deck, and slowly stood up.
'Aye,' Nelson said. ‘I declare Mr. Hilton the winner, and I declare his honour entirely vindicated.' He held out his hand. 'By heaven, sir, that was as quick and neat an execution as I have seen in twelve years at sea. My compliments. And now, Mr. Hilton, my boat will take you ashore. Not you, gentlemen,' he added, as Chester would have spoken. ‘I think Mr. Hilton deserves a chance to regain his plantation in peace.'
Matt walked his horse up the Green Grove drive. So then, was he satisfied? For too long had he wanted to oppose himself to someone, anyone, worthy of his mettle. No doubt he owed Captain Nelson a vote of thanks for the way the affair had been managed. But what had he accomplished, if anything? By the standards of a gentleman he had not acted the gentleman. The whole affair might have delighted the navy, but it would not readily be forgotten, or forgiven, by the plantocracy.
And what would Sue say, or Tom, after the promise they had extracted from him?
The dogs barked, and Thomas Arthur appeared on the verandah to take his horse. But there were people coming out of the house to join Thomas Arthur. Sue, of course. And Tom. And ... Robert?
Matt dismounted. 'Did you not suppose I was capable of grinding a cane crop?'
'By God,' Robert said. 'By God.'
Sue came down the steps to kiss him on the cheek. 'Matt? What has happened?'
'Oh,' he said wearily. 'As you no doubt foresaw, Chester was there, and Dewing, and there was a challenge ...'
'You've been fighting?' Robert demanded.
'With my fists,' Matt said, and smiled. 'As I had the choice of wea
pons.'
'Oh, I say,' Coke cried. 'Capital, Matt. Capital. You dismissed the fellow?'
Matt nodded, and climbed the steps, Sue still holding his arm. 'And now may I ask what brings you here?'
'You may well ask,' Robert said. 'Fisticuffs, by God. Between gentlemen.'
'Robert has been hearing tales about us, Matt,' Sue said. 'Lander's doing.'
'I have no doubt they were all true,' Matt reached the verandah, faced his cousin.
'What? What? You'll not deny it?'
'At the moment I've not heard what I should deny.'
'The dismissal of Lander, for one thing. The abandonment of the whip. The refuge you give this ... this ...' he glanced at Coke. 'This incendiary.'
‘I have already said that I consider that remark unjustified, sir,' Coke protested.
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