by Dudley Pope
With that he began examining the coastline of Curacao with his telescope. 'It's even more desolate than I remember it twenty years ago,' he said.
Ramage raised his telescope. He could just see along the south coast of the island as the Calypso rounded the eastern tip and then bore away to keep about two miles offshore. Thirty - eight miles long, and varying between two and a half and seven miles wide, the land was grey and arid in the glass, the sun - now almost overhead - harsh and mottling the landscape with shadows from bushes and cacti, as though each stood on a black base. Here and there the sparse divi-divi trees, each little more than a thin trunk with a wedge of thin boughs and leaves, were pointing to the west, away from the wind, like gaunt hands. Aloes - the people credited the leaves and bitter sap with magic properties, taking the pain or irritation from insect stings, burns, cuts . . . Ah, there were some of those huge cacti that grew like organ pipes. 'Datu', a book had called them. And there, beside that apology for a hill, a dump of kadushi, another cactus that looked like the same organ pipes but with joints in them. And round the cacti and moving over the ground, looking in the distance like swarms of insects, the flocks of goats, nibbling, ripping, finding food where most animals would starve. There a tamarind tree making arches; nearby the dark green bulk of a manchineel, and he could picture the little apples on the ground below it; apples which burned a man's mouth if he bit one, and killed him if he swallowed it. A strange tree, the manchineel; slaves always made a fuss when ordered to cut one down; they claimed the sap burned their skin, like drops of acid.
'And what of the privateers? No sign of a sail, apart from some wisps of white doth dose in to the shore, little fishing boats tending pots . . .'
CHAPTER FIVE
The study of the Governor of Curacao at his residence in Amsterdam was hot The ceiling of toe white - painted room was high, the tall open windows facing west were shaded by jalousies, and the only one on the north wall was open, yet Governor van Someren's clothes were sticking to him, a thick and uncomfortable extra skin. He leaned forward in his chair to let the faint breeze in the room cool his bade, but his feet felt swollen in his boots - and they probably were, although the damned doctor said there was nothing wrong - and his breeches were suddenly tight. Was he putting on weight? More weight, rather; the tailor had only just let out the waist and knee bands of all his breeches, and had several coats to work on.
He was not fat; rather a stocky man of medium height who, now past fifty, was getting plump. He had the high cheek bones and widely spaced blue eyes that would have betrayed him as a Dutchman anywhere, and his eyebrows were white and so thin that his face had an Oriental look about it.
He put down his long - stemmed clay pipe. It was too hot to smoke or, rather, the room was too airless. And the tobacco, a sample of the first of the Main's new crop from some plantation near Riohacha, tasted earthy. Some merchant was going to lose money, judging from the sample sent along to the Governor's palace.
There was a discreet knock on the door and a young Army officer, the cut of his uniform and aiguillettes showing that he was the Governor's chief of staff, came into the room carrying a letter. The British frigate and the other ship, sir. She has sailed through the channel and is coming westward along the coast, about two miles out A messenger has just ridden in. The troop of cavalry keeping abreast the ship will send off a man every fifteen minutes to keep us informed.'
Governor van Someren nodded wearily. His pale blue eyes were bloodshot; the strain was emphasized by his lack of eyebrows, which made the eyes seem unduly swollen. Trouble from the west, Lausser,' he said gloomily, 'and now trouble from the east'
Major Lausser, who not only liked the Governor but respected him, said: This British frigate, sir: she's probably just patrolling.'
'You said two ships.'
The second is small - a schooner, I think the first message called it. We have little to fear from a single frigate, Your Excellency.'
'It's not a single British frigate that concerns me, Lausser, although one should never underestimate a frigate. A frigate is like a cavalry patrol: it can warn you that an army, or a fleet, is approaching.'
Lausser's eyes dropped to the Governor's desk because van Someren was tapping a sheet of paper. 'Our recent history on land - I ignore the sea for now - since we have been the "allies" of the French Directory has hardly been glorious. I was noting down some of it'
He picked up the paper and began reading. 'In the East Indies - we surrendered Malacca to the British in August 1795 and Amboyna and Banda in the spring of '96. In Ceylon we lost Trincomalee in August '95 and Colombo the following spring. The Cape of Good Hope went in September '95 - although the garrison surrendered on the advice of the Stadtholder. And out here . . . what a sorry business: Demerara and Essequibo surrendered in April 1796, Berbice in May, and Surinam in August '99. Not a very inspiring history for the first few years of the Batavian Republic . . . The French have our home country, the British most of our colonies.'
He saw Lausser looking nervously at the door and added bitterly: 'You can open the door wide and let everyone listen: with five hundred revolutionaries and French privateersmen looting the western half of this island in the name of friendship, it is not I who lacks loyalty.'
'But help is coming, Your Excellency. Our frigate is due any day.'
'Any day, any day! That's all I hear. The French could have delayed her. She could have been captured by these damned British; she could still be at anchor in the Scheldt, blockaded. She could be sunk. Who knows, eh? And even when she arrives - then, Lausser? What good are a couple of hundred seamen? They'll only reinforce the brothels. I need a thousand well - trained Dutch soldiers; men who are used to this damned heat and whose loyalty I can rely on.'
There was a tapping at the door, and a smiling young woman came in. 'It's the ship, Papal' she said cheerfully, but a moment later she stopped as both men looked away. 'Is something wrong? Papa! What's the matter?'
'Nothing - apart from these French revolutionaries, my dear. But she is not the Delft, she's a British frigate.'
The girl sat down, carefully arranging the skirt of her blue dress, and keeping her head turned from the two men. She had long, fine golden hair, braided and held up by large tortoiseshell combs which had obviously been fashioned by a Spanish craftsman. After a minute or two she looked up at her father, dry - eyed and obviously in control of herself.
'Why are the British paying us a visit? Who invited them?'
The Governor shrugged his shoulders. 'Not a visit; just a patrolling ship looking into the harbour. She'll pass by, like they always do.'
'And shell see the only ships in it are French privateers!' the girl said bitterly. 'Oh, I am sick of the French; they treat us as the Spanish did. And we lose all our ships to the British - nine over there at Saldanha Bay; another nine ships of the line and two frigates surrendered under Admiral de Winter - '
'But six escaped,' her father interrupted, 'and four frigates!'
'Oh, I know that well enough: you forget Jules was serving in one of them.'
She was now on the verge of crying and her father said soothingly: 'Now, now, Maria, don't upset yourself: Jules will be here any day!'
With that the girl burst into tears and ran from the room. Her father was puzzled. 'What did I say wrong that time, Lausser?'
The ADC was equally puzzled. 'I don't know, Your Excellency. She seemed upset over the French, but it was when you mentioned that her fiance was due that she - er, left the room."
'Yes, yes, that was it: the mention of Jules. It has been a long engagement - although she is the one who keeps putting off the wedding day.'
'Quite, sir,' Lausser said dryly, and deliberately changed the subject. The British frigate will be off Sint Anna Baai in about two hours' time. Shall I tell the commanders of the forts to stand - to in an hour?'
Van Someren nodded. 'I shall watch from here. If the frigate opens fire I imagine she will aim at the forts or the ships, not the Gov
ernor's residence.'
Lausser, pleased to see a twinkle in the Governor's eyes, laughed dutifully. 'But where she aims at may not be where she hits, sir.'
'Ill risk that But they'll stay well out: they've learned that our gunners are well trained. Four years ago - before you arrived, Lausser - one came in dose and was becalmed, and we shot away a mast She escaped because the current carried her clear and they could do repairs, but the British Navy learned a lesson.'
He picked up his pipe and put it down impatiently, irritated at being given a present of so much earthy tobacco. He examined a cheroot from a silver box on his desk and returned it with a grunt 'I've been smoking far too much. I think I would like a drink. Ring for the steward, will you?'
Gottlieb van Someren was tired: tired not only because he had had very little sleep in the past two weeks, thanks to the revolutionaries rioting at the western end of the island, but also because he had spent too many years on the island of Curacao: he had been the Governor for three years when, in February 1793, the Dutch had found themselves attacked by France and two years later the Stadtholder and the Prince of Orange had to escape to England while their country was named by the French the Batavian Republic. And Gottlieb van Someren, with his wife and daughter, was left in Curacao as the Governor, the republican king, as it were, of the three islands of Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao. France had control of the Dutch fleet and gave orders to the Dutch officers, many of whom were privately torn between their loyalty to the Stadtholder and the Dutch admirals commanding the fleet Like so many Dutch officers serving in distant places, van Someren had to decide whether or not to serve the new regime: did it constitute disloyalty to the Stadtholder? And like so many others he had decided the wisest thing was to carry on: to resign or flee would, in the case of the islands, risk the French sending out a French governor, or a Dutchman who was a true republican.
His wife hated Curacao; she swore the heat dried up her skin and accepting the French shrivelled her soul, and she was equally convinced that gin, good Dutch sweet gin, was the only medicine that could save her. So for the past four years she had drunk gin when others drank boiled water or wine. She had refused all attempts to send her back to the Netherlands because she hated the French even more than the Tropics. And because her family had in the distant past suffered dreadfully under the Duke of Alva's soldiers, she walked out of the room if a Spaniard entered.
It did not mate a governor's life any easier, yet he had to admit it had some advantages. He had an excuse for having little to do socially with the Spanish - be never had to blame his wife; her dislike was well known. And, he reflected as Lausser ordered drinks to be brought, he must be one of the few governors of any nationality who cared little whether or not he would be dismissed from his post. He had saved some money; he would get his reward if the Stadtholder ever returned from exile in England. For the moment, though, the French seemed - well, omnipotent.
He took out his watch. 'Lausser, don't forget the orders to the forts.'
'I took the liberty of giving them earlier, Your Excellency.'
Van Someren nodded. Lausser was trustworthy and reliable.
and he wished Maria was to marry him, instead of that sharp - eyed young naval officer, Jules, whose sole topics of conversation were republicanism, the latest French victories, and the villainy of William V, the Stadtholder of Holland, and his son, the Prince of Orange, for having fled to England.
For several years, van Someren reflected, deliberately forgetting his prospective son - in - law, he had not only kept his job a Governor, but kept his head on his shoulders (no mean feat for anyone having any dealings with the French government) because he had drifted with the current. No republican could accuse him of disloyalty to the Batavian Republic; vet when the Stadtholder eventually returned to the throne, Governor van Someren had made sure he had clean hands so show. Clean, that is, until now.
There was a faint popping in the distance. Lausser looked up significantly. Those bands of ruffians were close; the musket shots must be from loyal Dutch troops - he had all too few of them - or local people trying to stop the rogues looting their homes.
He picked up the gilt paperknife on his desk and balanced the blade on the index finger of his right hand. For several years he had been able to sit on the fence without finding it too hard to balance. Now, however, he was dangerously poised, as though paying for all those past years. He was the Dutch republican Governor yet at this moment he was likely to lose his governorship (and perhaps his life) to a republican rabble scrabbling their way across the arid island, walking and Daggering, riding stubborn donkeys, drinking raw rum or gin, raping or robbing as the fancy took them. They sang (when they were not too drunk) all the old French revolutionary songs of nearly a decade ago; they behaved as though Curacao was some newly captured British spice or sugar island, not part of the Batavian Republic. They were stirring up the Negroes, telling them to murder their masters in their beds, bum the crops, scatter the salt, break down the walls of the salt pans ...
He took a new clay pipe from the rack on his desk and began to fill it with tobacco. What the devil could he do? The worst of these rogues were French. Admittedly privateers - men, but was it just the desire for loot that had set them off? There had been young Dutch revolutionaries only too eager to listen to them.
"How many of these ruffians do our latest patrols report, Lausser?'
'More than five hundred, Your Excellency. About two - thirds of them are from the French privateers - the ten here in Amsterdam.'
Five hundred. It sounded highly likely because most of the privateers carried extra men to act as prize crews. But why? Revolutionary zeal? Hardly - most privateersmen could barely read or write; they were concerned with loot, not loyalties. The rest must be local revolutionaries, disaffected Dutchmen. The usual rabble.
'What the devil do you think it is all about, Lausser?'
'Robbery, sir. The privateers had little luck against the British - far too many privateers hunting too few prizes. The British frigates are patrolling to the north - many more than usual. I heard that the shopkeepers here stopped credit for most of the privateers some two weeks ago, just before all this started, so they were out of provisions and spirits . . .'
'Oh? I heard nothing of that. A very short - sighted policy, stopping credit. About as sensible in these circumstances as handing over your purse to a highwayman and asking for change. I'm sure that's what started off this - this insurrection.'
'But they had not paid their bills, sir.'
'Quite so,' van Someren said impatiently, irritated by Lausser's lack of imagination, "but they aren't going to make money lying here at anchor, unable to go to sea without provisions. The shopkeepers have always done well out of them up to now: the privateersmen spend freely enough when they do capture something. The prize cargoes are sold here for whatever the merchants will pay. The merchants should welcome them, not cut off credit'
'But they were not paying their bilk, sir,' Lausser repeated, as though shocked at the Governor's more practical attitude.
'You can only threaten privateers when you have a frigate in the harbour, Lausser.'
'Well, sir, one is due.'
'I mean Dutch, not British,' van Someren said, smiling at his little joke. 'In the meantime, we have to prepare our defences against our friends the privateers, thanks to the island's shopkeepers, who may find that their shops will be looted . . .'
The very location of Amsterdam, which made it easy to defend from the sea, made it almost indefensible from attacks overland. The channel to the Schottegat, like a wide but short river leading from the sea to the inland lake, divided Amsterdam in half: on the east side was Punda, the Point, with the Governor's residence overlooking the harbour entrance and waterfront, and defended by the Waterfort.
Otrabanda, 'the other side', was on the west and also had Riffort covering the entrance. But there were no defences covering either Punda or Otrabanda on the landward sides: the forts were no more t
han long gun platforms formed by wide stone sea walls, buttressed to seaward but open behind.
I can defend Amsterdam against my enemies, van Someren reflected, but I can't defend it against my allies. With two hundred Dutch soldiers and a couple of Negro companies (who had just refused to fight against the French ruffians) he was at the mercy of the rabble. And, into the midst of it all, came a British frigate. Perhaps he should be thankful the Batavian Republic had no other enemies - for the time being, anyway.
'Your Excellency,' Lausser said, a formal note in his voice Dedicating that he considered what he was about to say was important, 'ought the womenfolk to be sent to the forts for safety?'
The Governor held his day pipe by the stem and tapped (he desk with the bowl. 'Safe from whom? That's what I have to decide. If we are protecting them against an attack by the TWO British ships, then we should have them all here in the residence. But if we are protecting them against these drunken republican scoundrels, then perhaps they'd be better off in the forts. In fact, I'd be inclined to evacuate Otrabanda - after spiking the guns, of course - and bring everyone across to concentrate at Punda. And sink the ferries, of course.'
'Can we seize the privateers that are anchored in the channel, sir?'
'I can't risk it. Allowing ten soldiers to take possession of each privateer (and that means they have to row out in their own boats) needs a hundred men, which is all I have for both forts: the other hundred out trying to slow down the republicans will not be back in time. If the privateersmen remaining in the ships put up a fight. ..'
A knock at the door brought Lausser to his feet and he took a letter from a servant. He glanced at the superscription and proffered it to the Governor, who shook his head and gestured to Lausser to open it. 'It can't be good news.'
