by Ted Bell
“Yes, sir, as you wish, I hope you—” Nick paused, swallowing hard, not quite sure how he should go about this.
“Please begin,” Washington said. “Time is of the essence, and the Marquis and I are all ears. What have you there across your knees?”
“Charts, sir, describing an ambush at sea. I believe you are most anxiously awaiting the arrival of an Admiral de Grasse and his fleet at Chesapeake Bay? Sailing up from Cap-François on the island of Saint Domingue?”
Washington, so shocked and startled that a mere boy might be in possession of one of his most closely guarded secrets, was momentarily unable to speak. He looked at the Marquis, who appeared equally shaken.
“Confound it, lad! How on earth did you come by that?” Washington finally said, his eyebrows rising in astonishment. “A topic of utmost secrecy, vital information known only by three people in my entire army. And two of them are sitting in this room.”
“Three, plus one twelve-year-old boy, it would seem,” the Marquis said, leaning back in his chair, an amazed expression on his face. “Astonishing! I simply cannot believe my own ears! Where, pray tell, did you come by this knowledge, Nick?”
“Lord Cornwallis has many spies in the West Indies, sir. News arrives by fast frigate at his headquarters constantly. I managed to borrow some charts from his tent the night I made my decision to escape from Yorktown and join the Continentals. I have the charts here for your inspection.”
“You stole these documents from under his nose? Has he no sentries?” Washington asked.
“Yes, sir. But they are friends of mine, long accustomed to seeing me come and go at all hours, retrieving and delivering messages for the Earl and his officers. I hid the documents in this tube and shoved it down my trouser leg, sir, stuck it well inside my boot. It was quite invisible in the dark.”
“If what he says is true, Cornwallis knows all,” Lafayette said darkly. “A tragedy of the worst order.”
Washington frowned and said, “And what does Lord Cornwallis intend to do with this knowledge? Has he summoned the Royal Navy at New York to intercept de Grasse’s fleet? I have reports British Admiral Graves is sailing south from New York.”
“Lord Cornwallis has done nothing about de Grasse, sir. He knows he need do nothing to stop de Grasse. It’s pirates who are the source of the French Admiral’s trouble, not the British Royal Navy.”
“Pirates, you say? Trouble? What kind of trouble, Nicholas McIver?” George Washington said, leaning forward toward Nicholas with the most startlingly intense look Nick had ever seen.
“An ambush, sir. A trap not yet sprung.”
“What kind of ambush?” Washington asked. “Perhaps you have heard of a notorious English pirate captain named William Blood, sir?”
“I have not.”
“I have heard tell of him, and nothing favorable,” Lafayette said. “I had a brief encounter with his 74-gun Revenge off the coast of Spain once. He ran away before we could sink him. The Brethren of the Coast they call themselves. ‘Heathen of the Coast’ would suit them better, by my lights.”
“This newly formed lot under Blood’s command call themselves Brethren of Blood, sir,” Nick said.
“First, tell me all you know,” Washington said, his voice low and deadly serious. “And then show me the evidence.”
Nick looked first at Washington and then at Lafayette. He found himself gathering confidence as he spoke. “Blood has, in these last months, assembled a formidable pirate armada at Port Royal, Jamaica. Perhaps numbering one hundred ships and—”
“Beg pardon,” Washington said. “Did you say one hundred ships?”
“Aye, sir, one hundred. Blood’s fleet will lie in wait for de Grasse.”
“A hellish plot,” the American General said, staring forlornly at Lafayette. “Please continue, Nicholas.”
“Well, sir, you see, Captain Blood has spies everywhere, so he is well aware of Admiral de Grasse’s intentions to sail north to the Chesapeake Bay off Yorktown. Blood cares nothing for this war and has no stake in the outcome. But he knows the French fleet carries much gold and plunder from their recent victories at Saint Lucia and Tobago.”
“And five thousand French marines we sorely need at Yorktown,” Lafayette said grimly.
The two men looked at each other. Both knew that unless de Grasse and his fleet arrived unimpeded off Yorktown, preventing Cornwallis from escaping by sea, all was lost.
George Washington stood, looking down at Nick’s leather tube. “The charts, if you please. Now would be a good time.”
“Of course, sir,” Nick said, and handed him the tube.
The General cleared a space on his wide desk and then removed the tightly rolled charts from the tube. He spread them out, weighting down the four corners with three small bronze cannonballs and the replica of an American field cannon. Lafayette and Nicholas joined him at the desk. On top of the stack, the details of Blood’s plot, sketched upon a map of the Caribbean.
Washington and the Marquis huddled together, perusing the map in minute detail. Strategic notes and heavily red-inked course lines made Blood’s intentions crystal clear. The notes included an assessment of the size of de Grasse’s fleet, now moored in the harbor at Cap-François on the isle of Saint Domingue, and the French fleet’s intended route toward the Florida straits, where they would catch the great current of the Gulf Stream flowing north.
Blood had inked in a great black Maltese cross, marking the location where his pirate armada, masses of warships armed to the teeth, would lie in wait to the northeast off Nassau Town.
Washington and the Marquis immediately engaged in an intense discussion of this startling situation. They paused only to ask Nick whose handwriting it was that appeared in the notations marking the Caribbean chart.
Nick said, “That would be in Captain William Blood’s own hand, sir. I’ve some personal letters from him, so I know it by sight. As you’ll see in the other charts and documents, some of which are dated just last month at Port Royal”—Nick saw the crestfallen look on General Washington’s face and quickly added—“Sir, perhaps it’s not too late! Perhaps we can still warn Admiral de Grasse of the ambush!”
Washington looked stricken, all of the color suddenly drained from his face. What he had feared most, right from the very start of this action, was now plainly unfolding. His heart had long been set on a plan of enormous complexity. Everything had to come together at once. Timing was critical. Now, without the French fleet’s arrival, Cornwallis would slip away from him, escape by sea, rescued by the British Royal Navy fleet, even now en route from New York.
“No, no, no, lad! It’s far too late,” Washington said. “According to my most recent information, Admiral de Grasse has already sailed, and this pirate armada now stands off Nassau, waiting to pounce and destroy our only hope of victory. These pirates have sealed our fate. Short of a miracle, our cause is doomed.”
The General rose to his full height and slammed his fist on the desk, a mighty blow. “What in God’s holy name can we do now?” he bellowed to the heavens. “What on this good green earth am I to do?”
“General,” the Marquis said, “if we could quickly organize a team of mounted couriers, racing south at full gallop day and night, with a relay of fresh horses along the way, we could get word to General Nathaniel Hathaway, now garrisoned on Florida’s Atlantic coastline at Saint Augustine. With luck, Hathaway might dispatch a swift frigate southward and intercept the French in the Florida straits prior to the ambush.”
“A good plan, sir, but still too late, I fear. Even the fastest riders could not now reach Hathaway in time. No. We must think! All hangs in the balance now! Our very fate! We must find a way to salvage this desperate situation . . . or, by heaven, I tell you, we will lose this battle at Yorktown. And the war along with it. Has this all been for naught? Our great cause? All this sacrifice of blood and treasure? All for naught?”
The General stared down at the chart, his mind racing furiously and�
�there came a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Washington cried, frustration evident in his voice, angry at the intrusion.
From beyond the door, Martha’s sweet voice. “It’s your Patsy, General. May I come in?”
Washington strode to the door and pulled it open. His beloved wife stood smiling up him. Angry as he was, he managed a warm smile for her.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, dear husband,” she said, but Brigadier General Mason and two of his officers have just arrived in much haste from Yorktown. They say they have a matter of utmost urgency to discuss with you. A battle raging at Redoubt No. 10, heavy casualties on our side, and they wish permission to withdraw.”
“Yes, yes, yes, tell them I shall come at once.” Washington said, and then turned and stared at Lafayette. “My dear young friend,” he said, “so very much is now at stake . . . I cannot deal with the future now, only the present. We have seen much hardship and effusion of blood these last years. We cannot now allow this, this despicable pirate, to intercede in events at this critical hour. I know it is most certainly too late to warn de Grasse. I am giving you an impossible task. But I implore you to put your agile mind to this. I shall return as quickly as possible, but I could be a good half hour or more. We must find a way to warn de Grasse. We simply must.”
Washington turned and followed his wife through the doorway, pulling the door shut softly behind him.
“The General is a very great man,” Nick said, almost to himself.
“Indeed he is,” Lafayette replied. “Possessed of a perfect harmony, which reigns between his physical and moral qualities . . . brave without temerity, laborious without ambition, generous without prodigality, noble without pride, virtuous without severity . . . the greatest and best of men—Nicholas McIver. Now, what have we here?”
The Marquis de Lafayette snatched Blood’s chart from atop the pile and collapsed back into his deep leather chair, a pained look on his face, despair in his eyes, reading and rereading the dates and notations. The facts left no room for dispute. Their hope, their only hope for victory, was that de Grasse’s fleet would arrive at Chesapeake Bay in time. Without that event, all would be lost.
Nick quickly sat down opposite him, his eyes blazing with excitement. He’d been handed a great gift. This was his one chance. Mrs. Washington’s interruption had been a godsend. There was not much time to make Lafayette believe the unbelievable before Washington returned, but he struggled to compose himself before plowing ahead.
“Sir? If I may?” Nick said, and Lafayette peered at him over the top of the chart with furrowed brow. Then he slowly lowered the chart so that it lay across his lap, and he gave the boy his full attention.
“All is lost,” Lafayette whispered to himself. “All is lost.”
Nick took another deep breath and said, “There may be a way, sir.”
“A way? A way? There cannot possibly be a way. C’est impossible. The General is correct. It’s too late, boy. Would that you had arrived a week ago, even days earlier, perhaps then there might have been some way. The mounted couriers, the fast frigate south. But now . . . it’s simply too late.”
“With all due respect, sir, I must tell you that it is not at all too late.”
“With all due respect, Monsieur McIver, I assure you that, without a miracle, it is indeed too late.”
“I happen to have a miracle, sir,” Nick said simply.
“You what?”
Reaching inside his shirt, Nick withdrew the golden orb, gleaming in the candlelight, and held it up for Lafayette to see.
“What in heaven’s name is that?”
“An object from the sixteenth century, sir. Leonardo da Vinci’s Tempus Machina. It came into my possession some time ago.”
“Tempus Machina? Time Machine?”
“It is, indeed sir.”
“Please, spare me your foolishness, boy. What does the bauble do? Is this some kind of ruse? A joke in these desperate hours? Because if you—”
“I use this machine to travel backward or forward in time. Arrive at a precise location anywhere on this planet at any time I wish. Past, present, future.”
“Non! Ridicule! Impossible!”
“All is possible. This very instrument is how I came to be here at Mount Vernon tonight. To warn General Washington of Blood’s perfidy.”
“Impossible, I say. Do not push me to anger!”
“I understand your natural reaction. Mine was the same. Please permit me to show you how the orb actually works, sir,” Nick said, beginning to twist the two halves in opposite directions.
Despite himself, the Marquis leaned forward in amazement as Nick separated the two golden hemispheres, for a radiant heavenly light suddenly filled the entire room.
“Mon Dieu!” Lafayette said, staring wide-eyed in wonder.
Nick tried to keep the excitement out of his voice as he described the machine’s inner workings. “This left half, sir, is called Locus; the other is Tempus. When I’m ready to depart for my next destination, I will insert the exact longitude and latitude for the harbor at Saint Domingue into the Locus hemisphere. Next, I will enter the time I want to arrive, let’s say, the evening before Admiral de Grasse’s departure. I rejoin the two halves, and in the blink of an eye, I arrive in CapFrançois on the eve of departure.”
“You actually believe what you are saying!”
“I don’t believe, sir, I know.”
The Marquis cocked an eyebrow and said, “And, young McIver, when you ‘arrive’, as you put it, in Saint Domingue, what are your further intentions?”
“Simple. I will locate the admiral’s flagship, the Ville de Paris, and warn de Grasse of Blood’s armada lying in ambush off Nassau town.”
“And . . . when you . . . arrive . . . are you a spirit? A ghost? Some invisible being?”
“Not at all, sir. I will be flesh and blood, just as you see me now.”
The Marquis, shaking his head in disbelief, got to his feet and poured a dollop of brandy from a heavy crystal decanter into a silver goblet, downing it at a draught. “This is absolutely absurd,” the Frenchman said, but he seemed a little less certain of himself. “Travel through time? It’s preposterous in the extreme. By my word, I’ve never heard such drivel.” He poured himself another brandy.
“Believe me, sir, I understand your disbelief. Originally, I felt that way, too. But it is not at all absurd, it is in fact quite true.”
The Marquis, still shaking his head, sat back in his chair. “Mais non, mais non, mais non. C’est impossible.”
“Impossible or not, General, I fully intend this very night a time voyage to Saint Domingue to warn Admiral de Grasse of Blood’s armada. It is our only hope.”
“So, what do you do? How will you do it?”
“I will make my departure from Mount Vernon, fully hidden from view, in a remote place out there on the estate. I invite you to personally witness this event. You’ll find it fascinating . . . and convincing. And if you should change your mind at the last moment, you may accompany me to the past by simply laying your hand upon the orb itself. We will leave and arrive together.”
“One disappears from one place and time and reappears in another? Is this what you are saying?”
“Exactly so.”
“And you return to this place and time in precisely the same way?”
“We do.”
The Marquis rubbed his chin, knowing full well this predicament had reduced him to clutching at absurd straws of illusion. What had General Washington said? “We must find a way, we simply must!”
Lafayette drained his glass and said, “Well, I suppose I’ve nothing to lose by going along on your fool’s errand. Watch you make a silly fool of yourself.”
“You’ve nothing to lose at all, sir, and a historic victory to win. The world will never know what is done here this night. But the results of our voyage will never be forgotten.”
“Tell me, then. At what hour do you propose to conduct this incr
edible scientific experiment?”
“Precisely at midnight.”
The Marquis de Lafayette rubbed his weary red eyes, clearly turning Nick’s astounding offer over in his mind. He drained his glass and said, “I still don’t believe you, of course, but I do have one question.”
“Anything, sir.”
“Do you speak French?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
“Then how do you plan to converse with Admiral de Grasse?”
“A very good point. I suppose I shall be in need of a translator, sir.”
“I suppose you shall indeed,” Lafayette said with a smile. “Very well, I shall be there at the stroke of twelve. Where shall we meet?”
Nick laughed with delight and said, “Turn left round the circle as you leave the main entrance of the house. Go halfway round the drive and take the first turning, a white gate leading to a stone path passing through a number of rose gardens. There is an octagonal garden house just beyond the far hedge. I will be waiting there at midnight tonight. I would be most grateful to have your company on this voyage, sir. Delighted, in fact.”
“The stroke of midnight it is, monsieur. Now, pray close up that bizarre oddity before our great friend returns and has us both thrown bodily into the nearest asylum.”
Nick stared fixedly at the gleaming golden orb as he joined the two halves together, extinguishing the glow in an instant. “Until midnight, sir,” Nick said, stowing the globe beneath his left arm and rising to leave before Washington returned.
The Marquis looked up. “Upon further reflection, I warn you, I may come to my senses before the clock strikes twelve.”
“I hope not, sir. The Tempus Machina is, I assure you, General Washington’s one and only chance to avoid certain defeat at Yorktown.”
