We were all up and on deck as the sun came up, as if the fort opened fire we would be well within range. It was one more unnecessary risk in my view. If the Portuguese gunners had started shooting, we would have struggled against the wind and tide to get away quickly. The more I thought about it, the more absurd the situation seemed. There were at least a thousand soldiers in Maranhão, mostly in São Luis. Dozens of wealthy Portuguese merchants had a fortune invested in property. The town was one of the oldest European settlements in South America. Surely they would not give it all up on the fear of a phantom army coming their way?
I thought we must have been at least three or four days ahead of the main Portuguese fleet, which would have been slowed by ships such as the Gran Para, with its damaged rigging. But once the Emperor had disappeared, there would be nothing to stop their admiral sending a ship on ahead to update São Luis on the progress of the voyage. If a Portuguese frigate appeared in the river mouth, our deception would be revealed. We would do well to get away at all then without suffering a heavy bombardment from the fort. At my insistence, Cochrane sent a look-out to the masthead to watch for the arrival of any Portuguese ships. He thought it would also serve our purposes, as those ashore would assume that we were watching for the first of the mythical Brazilian vessels.
We watched the harbour closely that morning for any signs that they were likely to capitulate. But the only activity we saw was a line of heads appearing at the battlements to watch us and a growing crowd at the waterfront. If the governor had tried to keep his negotiations quiet the previous day, that was impossible now, for everyone could see one of the emperor’s ships, flying the Brazilian flag, right in front of the harbour defences. The fact that we were not being fired at was a clear sign that something was going on. Then finally, at eleven, soldiers appeared on the quay. They were followed by various dignitaries, who made their way through the crowds and into a launch. Watching through the glass, I could see several in military uniforms and one wearing the robes of a bishop.
I stood with Cochrane and the rest of his senior officers in a line to receive our visitors at the entry port. The bosun’s pipe shrilled through the air and we looked expectantly at the gap in our bulwarks. Normally, the most senior man would be the first to board, but instead of the governor, a rather anxious boy met our curious gaze. Prodded on from below he climbed up and stood nervously on the deck to be joined by another lad. They were both wearing church vestments and held incense burners. The bishop appeared next in the gap and hissed at the boys to start swinging the smoking silver containers that they held on long chains. Only then did he deign to step onto our deck, holding up the hem of his robes as though they would be contaminated by our blasphemous planking.
“It seems they are taking your Devil reputation a little seriously,” I chuckled.
“Welcome, Bishop,” called Cochrane cheerily as he stepped forward to greet his guest. But instead of taking the proffered hand, the bishop shrank back a step in alarm. The cleric glanced over his shoulder at the entry port, plainly anxious to be joined by more of the Portuguese party. I could see that a man in uniform was climbing on deck. Having had our initial overture of welcome rebuffed, we stood silently waiting until the entire Portuguese delegation was aboard. Eventually, they stood in a line facing us, the bishop, a man I took to be the governor from his ornate uniform, a colonel of the army and a civilian, all flanked by the two boys still spreading their noxious fumes.
There was an uncomfortable silence as both sides waited for the other to speak and then Cochrane tried again. Deciding against another attempt at pleasantries, he came straight to the point. “I trust, gentlemen, that you are here to unconditionally surrender the territory of Maranhão to the emperor of Brazil?”
There was another moment of awkwardness amongst our guests as they glanced at each other, none apparently willing to utter the fateful words. I found I was holding my breath and I was sure I was not the only one. Even the men in the side party were craning around to listen in to the response, while Crosbie was gaping openly between Cochrane and the Portuguese as though they were conjurers about to perform some trick.
In the end, it was the colonel who spoke up. “We are, sir,” he grudgingly admitted. Cochrane was alone among our party in maintaining a stony countenance. Crosbie gave an audible gasp of astonishment, which he then tried to hide by coughing and holding a handkerchief over his incredulous expression. Grenfell failed to hide a triumphant grin while I only just stopped myself from issuing a string of profanities in amazement. I had never really believed that this ridiculous venture could possibly work. Even as the Portuguese delegation had climbed onto the deck, I had half expected them to announce our arrest instead. But, by Satan’s beard, they had actually believed us!
I struggled to compose my features, but the colonel could not have failed to notice the surprise on our faces as he gave his answer. He shot a glance of scorn at the governor before adding, “I was in favour of fighting your rebel army and showing them the difference between trained soldiers and a rabble, but as I could not guarantee the safety of all citizens, the governor has agreed to your demands.” The colonel’s lip curled in contempt as he glanced at his chief. There had clearly been bitter arguments over the need to surrender, which he had lost. But now he drew himself up a little taller and looked Cochrane in the eye. “As one fighting man to another, sir, I would request that you allow me to take my men home in honour, carrying their arms and standards with them.”
I thought Cochrane was bound to refuse. We could not afford to have a thousand armed men in the town when our deception could be revealed at any time. However, he considered the request for a moment and glanced out across the bay before reaching a decision. “I always find it plainer to deal with other fighting men than politicians, Colonel, and I respect your honesty. If you can load your men onto transport ships and anchor them in the bay in front of my guns, so that I can deal with any revolt, then I will let you keep your arms and standards.” He then turned his attention to the governor and the civilian. “All who want to leave can do so, taking whatever possessions they can carry. Those who wish to stay will be offered my protection.”
There was a muffled snort from the bishop at this reassurance. Obviously, he felt that the security offered by the ‘Devil’, was very little protection at all.
Cochrane ignored him. “The soldiers must be aboard their ships by the end of the day and by three o’clock this afternoon the Portuguese flag must be hauled down from the fort. Tomorrow will be Independence Day for Maranhão. I will go ashore and declare the province part of the new Brazilian empire.” The governor of this annexed territory had still not uttered a word and so now Cochrane addressed him directly. “Governor, do you agree to my terms?”
“Yes,” the man grunted as though any more words would stick in his throat.
“Good,” replied Cochrane genially. “Then perhaps you would also update Captain Garção on the arrangements and ask him to report to me. Good day, gentlemen.”
We watched them troop away; I could not remember when I had seen a more forlorn group. I almost felt sorry for them as they had no idea that they had been vanquished by an entirely phantom force. But we were not out of the woods yet. All it would take was the early arrival of the Portuguese fleet and we would be entirely undone… and trapped between the guns of the fleet and the fort.
Chapter 32
The following day, the twenty-eighth of August 1823, was declared by Cochrane as Independence Day in São Luis. It would be fair to say that it did not meet with universal acclaim. By then four ships containing between them a thousand soldiers were anchored in the river opposite the Emperor. Having been deprived of their soldiers for protection, there was an air of near panic among the citizens of the city after the tales of terror we had spread amongst them the day before. Crowds milled around the dockyards negotiating for berths on a fleet of ships that was now preparing to depart.
One ship had left already. The Don Migu
el, with its captain, Garção, and Lieutenant Grenfell aboard, had set sail for the last remaining Portuguese-held province called Pará, which lay to the north of Maranhão. Cochrane was determined to roll the dice one more time to completely free Brazil of Portuguese control. Grenfell was ordered to continue the same deception as we had at São Luis, while Garção provided unwitting support as he was known in the province and could confirm that the Maranhão territory had surrendered already.
The first day of imperial control of the city was marked with sporadic fighting, looting and a handful of murders. Crosbie had been sent ashore with some sailors to free any political prisoners held in the town gaol and the fort. Word had reached us that a number had been detained by the Portuguese over recent weeks. He returned to report that over two hundred men had been released. However, it seemed that many were just common criminals who had claimed allegiance to Brazil to gain their freedom. As dusk fell, gangs roamed the streets, either to protect property or to steal it from others. While occasional gunshots and screams rent the night air, Cochrane sat in his cabin and regaled Crosbie and I with his plans to make Maranhão a utopian example of liberty and governance.
“We will form a new council from the leading citizens who are staying,” he told us. “They will take an oath of loyalty to a new constitution, which will help us restore law and order,” he declared as a particularly piercing shriek from the shore could be heard through the open cabin window. “Then in a few weeks we will hold elections to form a new provisional government.”
“A few weeks? How long are you thinking of staying here?” I asked as I saw my return to Europe begin to recede once more.
“There is no point winning the war if we do not secure the peace,” declared Cochrane pompously. “This is perhaps the greater challenge. In Chile we handed over power to self-serving politicians, who were more corrupt than the men they replaced. That is not going to happen here. I will make myself provincial governor and it will be our duty to put in place a democratically elected and capable governing assembly before we leave. We will give the emperor a province he can be proud of, one to set an example to some of the others.”
“Well first we need to get the loyal Portuguese out of the city before they realise that they have been tricked,” I insisted. “Their fleet could appear at any time and if they arrive before the Portuguese have gone, we will be properly scuppered.”
“Their general is not the only one to find our tales of a fleet of cut-throats hard to believe,” added Crosbie. “While I was ashore we were accosted by several Portuguese who were shouting that it was all a lie and that they were not going to be tricked out of their property.”
“Well,” mused Cochrane. “Garção is the only one who saw our ‘prisoners’ and he is now away with Grenfell.” He turned to me. “Flashman, I think tomorrow you should take your men ashore, not as captives, but as smartly dressed soldiers of the emperor. That should give the doubters something to consider. You can support the sailors in the fort and try to restore some law and order to the streets. With you as my provost general, we will have the city under control in no time.”
As he spoke another shot rang out of the darkness, followed by shouting from the shore. The city was close to civil war and I did not relish the prospect of standing with my marines in the middle of it. Neither side was likely to welcome our support. From the sound of things feuds were being fought and scores settled across the city, as those planning to stay grabbed what they could from the people planning to leave. It would be weeks if not months before there was any semblance of democratic and peaceful governance. I knew Cochrane would not give up, though; this was his chance to show the politicians how he thought things should be done. Hell’s teeth, it could take years before he was finished. Well, I had done my duty as a friend. I had stuck with him against impossible odds and enough was enough. He now seemed to be relying on me to act as some kind of high sheriff in his new domain, well that was not going to happen. There would soon be dozens of ships heading back to Europe and I was going to contrive a plan to be aboard one of them. I just had to find a way of making Cochrane think it was his idea.
The next morning I took my band of thirty marines ashore. Several columns of smoke marked where buildings had been set ablaze during the night. By then the city was strangely quiet, as though the populace expected some kind of retribution from Cochrane for the earlier disorder. I led the way up the steps onto the harbour wall and stared about. There was barely a living soul to be seen, but I did not doubt that we were being watched from countless windows. I noticed that a barricade had been constructed around some of the ships preparing to depart and there at least I could see one or two heads peering over piles of cargo.
“Right, lads,” I called. “Form up on the quay for inspection.” My marines gathered in three ranks of ten and looked quite smart. This was not surprising as we had held two prior inspections on the ship before embarking to ensure that they resembled professional soldiers rather than a murderous rabble. They had muskets leaning against their shoulders, a full pouch of ammunition and bayonets hanging from the slings on their belts. When I had been on the ship, the prospect of marching my men to take possession of the governor’s mansion did not seem that daunting. We already had sailors occupying the fort and they had not been disturbed during the night of rioting. After all, I had the might of an emperor behind me, both in the form of a ruler and a ship that could bombard the city if necessary. But as I stood on the quay, things did not seem quite that straightforward.
We had spent the previous day terrorising the populace with tales of the emperor’s brutal army of slaves and Carioca. Many people here would have friends and perhaps relations in Salvador that they now imagined slain by men such as my command. Frightened people are unpredictable, and the sight of my little army coming down the street could tip them into panic, fighting or fleeing as the mood took them. Already, I could see the men at the barricade by the ships picking up muskets in case we moved against them.
“Steady, men,” I called quietly. “Remember, we have made them scared of you.” I saw several of the marines grin at that. It must have been the first time that they had felt a sense of dominance over their former masters. “Before you think of strolling around like the cock of the walk,” I warned, “just remember that people are more likely to shoot or kill things that they are frightened of. We will stay together and you will act like soldiers. With luck, we might just make it back to the ship without being massacred down to the last man.” That took the grins off their faces, although being forced to spell out the risks so baldly did little to settle my nerves.
I marched them away from the dockyard barricade and down one of the streets that led to the centre of town. Twice I caught a glimpse of faces watching through windows, although both darted back out of sight when they saw I had spotted them. The place was eerily quiet; I could even hear the echo of the sound of my men’s boots on the cobbles from the surrounding walls. At the first junction we finally saw some people in the side streets, but only fleetingly before they ran into houses at the sight of us. We pressed on, the houses getting larger now as we approached the more prosperous part of the city. At the next junction we found the first corpses: three men had been left in a tangled pile; two appeared to have been shot while the third had a deep gash across his throat. There was more noise now, a woman was wailing and men were shouting around the next bend in the road.
“Remember, nobody shoots unless I give the order,” I reminded my men as I led them on once more. We rounded the corner to find a broad avenue of mansions, at the end of which were the gates to the governor’s residence. This must have been where the wealthiest merchants lived, but there was no air of grandeur about the place now. It had clearly been the scene of some of the rioting. Windows were smashed and belongings and furniture were strewn up the street along with at least half a dozen bodies. A group of people was gathered around one of the corpses, that of a young woman, just twenty yards down the street.
An older lady, presumably the girl’s mother, was cradling the head in her lap and weeping loudly, while two other men were shouting at a group of guards standing in the gateway to the governor’s residence. They all stopped at the sight of us and stared with a mixture of fear and loathing on their faces.
“Halt,” I called to the marines. I was not going a step further until I knew what was going on. The men at the far end of the road were armed and who knew how many were hiding in the houses on either side. Before I could do any more, we were attacked, but not in a way I had expected. An old man who had been crooning over the girl’s body got unsteadily to his feet.
“Murderers,” he shrieked at us. Then, waving his cane above his head, he launched himself unsteadily towards us.
“No, Papa!” screamed the woman but he was already halfway and showing no sign of stopping. There were tears on his cheeks and his features were a vision of hatred. I saw one of my men start to level his musket, I waved it away and took a step forwards, but it was Mallee, the soldier who regularly professed his hatred of the Portuguese, who stopped the grieving man. Two brisk steps took the marine out of the line. With one hand he plucked the cane from the old man’s fingers and with the other arm he caught our assailant around the waist, just as he seemed set to stumble to the ground without his support. The old man rained a series of feeble blows against Mallee’s chest while the big marine gently held him up.
“Why?” the man wailed. “Why did you have to kill her?” He stared up at the sergeant with tear-filled eyes and for once my vocal friend seemed lost for words.
“We did not kill her, sir,” I told the old man gently as I took his arm. “We have only just arrived.” I looked up to see the rest of the family staring back at us, apparently amazed that we had not bayonetted the old boy on the spot. “Stay here,” I ordered my men and then with Mallee and I holding him up on either side, we led our former assailant back to his kin.
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