by Jan Needle
The governor of the island, a hard-faced Englishman called Sir Hudson Lowe, seemed to understand Napoleon’s most desperate needs with uncanny prescience. His cordon of security was so oppressive that even the guards were sometimes flogged for the major sin of not flying the right-coloured bunting if the prisoner strayed outside a zone. Every part of the island had its code flag, that had to be run up when he entered it or left. When dark had fallen he could not move at all.
On top of this, a system of semaphores relayed the Corsican’s precise whereabouts at any time, which probably meant the governor could have told the Marquis de Montholon the exact time and date his wife had received the alien seed. Certainly he had known when another bastard had been planted in the virgin English womb of Lucia Balcombe, who had been banished from the island with her parents by Sir Hudson, on the grounds that she might be a spy — or, if it came to term, give birth to one.
High on the peak of Mount Diana, as the sun dropped into the western sea, Montholon shivered yet again, and even Napoleon allowed the rising breeze to be a shade uncomfortable.
‘In any case,’ he said, ‘that ship is not bringing our saviour sous marin, nor must we fall into the sin of unsoldierly impatience. I have a feeling, Charles Tristan, that our Irish rogue has done the deed, and the man they call the Sea Wolf will have aided him. The Sea Wolf is a formidable man.’
‘Indeed,’ breathed Montholon. He shivered once more, and violently, with relief at deliverance from the mountain wind. ‘Lord Cochrane is by far a greater sailor than Horatio, by any measure. And he is our friend.’
The two men moved towards the downward track. A half a mile away a signal flag was lowered.
Chapter Five
To Samson Armstrong the cold had been enough, but as he emerged from the freezing waters he realized that there might be worse to come. He was not attacked, because he no longer looked like a black man and was far too poor for any pickings, but when he saw his own ship he felt his heart drop like a stone.
The quay was emptier, with most people merely warming themselves on the last dying embers of the second ship, the schooner having settled to the bottom. Nobody knew what had caused the blast, although theories were a myriad, and Johnson’s secret vessel was rolling gently along the muddy bottom, pushed by the tide.
It was some long moments before Armstrong could stand full upright, and he ached in every joint. The moment he made out the bow of Tamarind, distinctive by her long jib-boom, he thought he saw a movement on her deck. He almost shouted, and then stopped himself. To draw attention still unarmed would be foolish in the worst extreme.
As fast as possible he moved along the quay, searching for a stave or baulk of timber small enough to lift. Unknown to him, most of the small stuff, small and burnable, had been flung towards the blazing ships by eager boys and foolish men. Not all of it had reached, but all of it was lost to him.
By the time he reached the bow his mind had cleared. There were no shadows now, no sign of movement or marauder, but a gleam from the aft cabin skylight as he climbed aboard still worried him. When he had left there had been no lanterns lit, no attractions. And Eliza was asleep.
No lumber handy on the shore, but there were belaying pins in racks on board, of iron and of lignum vitae, from one foot long to nearly three. And there were windlass bars, stout ash with metal ends.
I wish I had a gun, he thought. There were many men with guns among that crowd tonight, and many desperate ones. But he pulled a belaying pin from its rack, tested it for weight and balance, then took a shorter one and thrust it in his belt for supplement.
Ah Christ my dear, if they have harmed you I will die for them. And curse the name Napoleon for the rest of time for luring me from our ship. Now, be brave, for here I come!
With nothing but surprise to be his ally, Samson padded fast along the deck, silent as a cat and almost blind. Apart from the skylight there was no way to see inside the cabin, and his appearing head would have achieved nothing except to give the game away. If they had guns he’d rush in and disarm them, if only by smashing out their teeth.
Although it did not occur to him, his appearance was in itself his greatest weapon, and would have outweighed any gun except a blunderbuss. He shoulder-charged the cabin door, which may have been designed to withstand a rolling ocean sea, but burst open before him like chaff. Three men let out a bellow, while his wife threw back her head and shrieked. Men reaching for weapons stopped in their tracks.
‘Eliza!’ Samson shouted. ‘It is I! Have the villains harmed you?’
Miraculously, the scream turned to a yelp of laughter.
‘Oh husband, you are the monster from the very Pit of Hell!’
She was fully dressed and sitting on his captain’s chair, from which she bounced and rushed across the deck to him. She flung her arms around him, pressed her face to his, then sprang back with another sort of cry.
‘Phoo, you stink! Samson, wherever have you been? I’m entertaining guests!’
Armstrong was astonished. The iron pin was like a bludgeon in his fist, but the men appeared unarmed. He was not the only wet one, though. A gangling, beefy man looked like a porpoise out of water. He was perched upon the settle at the stern, wheezing and white-faced except for streaks of blood and mud.
Another one looked foreign, with a severe and bitter face. Although unarmed, his right hand hovered at his waist as if a pistol or a dagger might appear.
‘Monsieur,’ said Samson. It was a guess, a sort of insight, and the thin face seemed to freeze under his eye. ‘I heard you from up the chimney. But why are you on board here? How did you find my ship?’
Eliza’s eyes were stretched wide open.
‘Up the chimney? Samson, what stupid tricks are these?’
The English voice he thought he’d recognized from the tavern had laughter in it now.
‘So much for your bold disguise, Monsieur Ledru,’ he told the thin man. ‘We are an outspoken race, the English. I promise you this fellow means no harm.’
A boom of laughter from the porpoise.
‘And nor do none of us, M’shoo, and to hell with all this cloak and dagger stuff. Captain Armstrong, sir — for your fine wife has told us that — my name is Thomas Johnson, proud Irishman, that man is French whatever he do say, and as for this one here —’
Samson Armstrong interrupted him.
‘He is the Sea Wolf. Sir, I beg you don’t deny it. I served with you when I was but a lad.’
Eliza was intrigued.
‘The Sea Wolf? Husband, what with chimneys and with silly names —’
‘Not silly, wife. The Sea Wolf is Lord Cochrane, of the British Navy. My lord, you sailed frigates in those days, but I had much ambition, and His Majesty paid so very bad. Worse even than John Company.’
Cochrane studied Samson’s face.
‘Forgive me, sir.’ His head went over on one side. ‘I can’t say I remember you. What actions did you join me in?’
But Ledru was incensed.
‘This is a plot!’ he snapped. ‘If you are indeed Lord Cochrane, why did you not reveal it in the tavern? You are of the government! You hate Napoleon! You are a traitor in our midst! Monsieur, I fear that I must —’
As he reached into his coat, Samson tapped his elbow with the belaying pin. There was a sharp cry of pain, and Cochrane moved in also, a pocket pistol firmly in his hand.
He told Ledru: ‘No one shall die, Monsieur. Times have changed in England, as in France, and far from being of the government, my service to them was ended long ago. I was expelled from Parliament on a trumped-up charge, and I live now in Peru, where I run that country’s Navy. I’ll wager this man here has heard of my commander.’
He turned and bowed towards the dripping porpoise.
‘You are Irish, Captain Johnson. The name Bernardo O’ Higgins is not unknown to you, I guess?’
‘Indeed to God it’s not. As I understand it, he is one of the select band behind this whole damned enterprise, and I
thank you, sir, for setting the thing on. A band of brothers. A very noble band.’
‘I’m cold,’ said Samson. ‘Eliza. Wife. Me and this underwater Irish are soaking wet in case you had not noticed it. Fair enough to let a husband catch his death, but —’
‘Too rude, sir,’ Eliza interrupted pertly. ‘So why up a chimney, pray? These gentlemen came here to get a warm. Much more respectable indeed.’
‘And given the boys with billy-clubs up on the quayside, we could not have found a better berth,’ laughed Johnson. ‘What say we suck the heat from out your little stove? And maybe share a grog or two.’
‘Let’s get this right, though,’ Samson said. ‘You came here in a boat that sails beneath the waves, and blew up half of Blackwall town, and burned two ships down to their waterlines, then ended up on board my brig and chatting to my wife — what, quite by accident? By uncanny luck? And did my mother bear me yesterday?’
‘To be judicious, sir,’ said Tom Johnson, soberly, ‘I never said I did it on my own. I have a friend with me, whom I’ll wager will be here before the night is out. Between us we are pledged for St Helena. To help Napoleon. To set that poor benighted hero free.’
‘Hero? You say a hero? But —’
‘He tried to free old Ireland from her English yoke,’ Johnson replied. ‘He raised the shame of poverty from a mighty mass of men.’
‘But we fought! I —’
‘Lost your livelihood to England’s victories?’ smiled Lord Cochrane. ‘I lost my place in Parliament by the same token — ingratitude is a very shameful thing, young man. And since Europe proves ungrateful, Napoleon Bonaparte may still set South America on a separate path to glory, if God’s willing.’
Ledru the spy was on his feet, his shoulders back, his face defiant.
‘Nor shall France accept a forced humility no longer,’ he said. ‘We rise! We rise!’
Eliza clapped her hands together then hugged her husband, stinking wet or no.
‘My love,’ she said, ‘it is a gift from Providence, I have had it all explained! The underwater craft are waiting, but Lord Cochrane needs an escort ship for them, a navigator, an adventurer! What care we for the men who ruined us? The Tamarind can sail again!’
‘But how did you all end up on board her?’ Samson broke free from his wife and turned to the Sea Wolf. ‘Good Christ, sir, it cannot just be luck! What happened?’
With a crash the cabin door sprang open, framing a stout and bulky man. In his hand he held a double-barrelled pistol, big enough to kill a shire-horse.
‘I happened,’ he said. ‘Last time I saw you, sir, you were as black as any African. And I knew at once that I would have to run you down.’
Chapter Six
Samson, despite the enormous pistol at his face, did not find the man a threat. Inside he felt excitement rising, the prospect of enjoyment, fun.
‘I am Captain Armstrong, sir,’ he said, clearly and calmly. ‘I am the owner of this vessel and I want to know your name. You must put your weapon up immediately. This is my wife, and I will not have her threatened.’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ Eliza said. ‘If you think fit to warm yourself up chimneys, you are hardly a protector for a lady!’
She was singularly unafraid. He realised there was something going on. He laughed.
‘I did more than warm myself however, wife. I fixed this gentleman by his voice. I dubbed you Mister Plummy, sir, it shames me to reveal it. And your real name is? And the reason that you had to “run me down?”’
Before he answered, the big man uncocked both barrels of the pistol. He let out what may have been a sigh.
‘For what it’s worth, my name is Cockburn. I knew I had to find you when I saw you leap into the river, black as the ace of spades. Your friend, the tavern landlord, demanded money to reveal which was your brig, more strength to him, which brig, sir, I have returned to in the hope of hire.’
‘Hire, sir? I’m not sure if she is ripe for hire, I am a very legal man. Eliza? What know you of all this? More than a little, I would wager.’
She smiled a saucy smile.
‘I know enough, dear. Admiral Cockburn came first alone, and convinced me — like a gentleman — that we needed him and his cohorts as much as they had need of us. He then returned ashore to send them to me, to seek you out, also to keep a guard on me here all alone. The wharves were all a’swarm with drunks and murderers.’
‘An admiral, sir?’ said Samson. ‘You are an admiral?’
‘No longer, indeed, but I’m a seaman, Captain Armstrong, to the extent I recognized that you were too, despite your rather singular disguise. I escorted Napoleon into exile after Waterloo on my Northumberland, when as you know, he was forced to escape from France before his fellow revolutionaries fed him to Madame Guillotine.’
The Sea Wolf let out a guffaw.
‘The emperor had cheek, who could deny it?’ he said. ‘Part of what made him such a warrior, perhaps. He always said his greatest attribute was luck.’
‘As I heard it,’ Tom Johnson said, ‘he sneaked on board an English seventy-four in La Rochelle and had the sauce to claim asylum. Asylum! I ask you! From the English navy!’
‘It was the Bellerophon, and it was sauce ineffable,’ Cockburn agreed. ‘Exceeded only, perhaps, by that of Wellington. After humbling Boney on the field of battle, he went to Paris and bedded his two favourite Joséphines without a by-your-leave. Sauce for the goose, perhaps?’
Ledru bounded to his feet, pale with rage.
‘A calumny! What filth! Joséphine was already dead, and Bonaparte adored her, always and ever. Joséphine!’
‘Indeed he did,’ said Cockburn dryly. ‘So much so he called both the Paris mistresses that name as well, although neither had it as her given. He had a thing for Joséphines. Perhaps he loved them all.’
‘She was an empress,’ said Ledru. ‘She was a woman pure and unique, and faithful till the day she died. The Emperor lives now like a monk on Sainte Helène.’
Cockburn said no more. Napoleon, of course, had divorced his old empress for a new, because she had failed to give him an heir. He also knew — but did not say — that it was the Corsican who had dubbed her Joséphine, although her name, in fact, was Rose. He had lived with the deported conqueror for more than sixty days on board the Northumberland, and learned much about the foibles of the man.
‘I would say, Monsieur Ledru,’ he started. And then he stopped. ‘No, in fact I wouldn’t. On the voyage to the South Atlantic, and despite my duty as a captor, I developed an admiration for the man. Like the rest of you, I now believe our government has done him very shabbily, and missed a chance to harness up a mighty talent. That is why I joined you on this venture and why, Tom Johnson, I have advanced more money from my backers. We are prepared to give yet more.’
Johnson was a man of humour.
‘How much more, that is what I need to know. Enough to re-turf the roof beams of my hovel back in Connemara? Enough to find and bury Arthur Preece?’
‘Arthur Preece? Who the devil’s Arthur Preece?’
‘You’ve just come in from outside, Admiral. My friend was with my submarine. Is my boat still floating? Is my man alive or dead?’
‘The submarine was sunk,’ said Cockburn, quietly. ‘Then dragged for, then pulled up, then lashed between a cutter and a barge and towed down to the far end of the Reach. I would say your man is dead.’
Tom Johnson nodded.
‘And then?’
‘They put it to the torch. They burned it to a pile of ashes with Preece inside. There is nothing this government will not do to prevent Napoleon escaping, that was what the shooting was. The Navy and a contingent of Marines. They went everywhere. They even jailed the doxies.’
‘The doxies,’ said Eliza. ‘That is how you call them is it, sir? Those poor maids who must be someone’s kin.’
‘How many dead in total?’ said Lord Cochrane. His voice was quiet. He looked at Eliza ruefully. ‘The war is not long over, dear yo
ung lady. There will be much injustice still.’
Ledru’s voice dripped with anger and resentment.
‘Much injustice; much. So this is the end, is it? Bateau invisible pour toute l’éternité. One boat, one man, a London drab or two. And bold Napoleon stuck on his rock for ever. Merde alors!’
‘Husband…’
Eliza’s voice was almost pleading. But Tom Johnson was the next to speak. God damn it, Armstrong thought, he’s irrepressible.
‘I’m not a betting man,’ he said, ‘but — ach, to hell with it, I’ll bet all here that Arthur is not dead. Good God, the poor man’s not had time to properly enjoy his brand-new wife. I’ll bet all here that Arthur will be back.’
‘You’re mad,’ said Cockburn. ‘I promise you the man is dead. He’s dead, the craft is dead, the whole plot’s holed below the water. It is a —’
‘And have you seen him, Mr Honey? That is all I ask. Have you seen poor Arthur’s precious frame?’
Around the cabin stares were exchanged. All faces set, except for Johnson’s. Eliza’s eyes met her husband’s, and their glances softened. He had something up his sleeve.
Much later, happy in their bed and still excited, they talked over the new life that they were entering. Officially, they supposed, they would be traitors. Undoubtedly, if anything went wrong, they might be dead.
But the Sea Wolf was on their side, and Cockburn had the ear and heart and confidence of great Napoleon. Tom Johnson had two more submarines secreted down the river, and soon they would be introduced to them.
These boats were big, one sixty feet or more, and the consortium agreed that Armstrong was the man to escort them to the environs of St Helena, while the Sea Wolf made arrangements in Peru. They would rendezvous later to bring off the great coup.
Johnson’s plan for the actual rescue was daring, but sound to the last detail. He had, he pointed out, been Nelson’s pilot at Copenhagen when the great hero had famously “seen no signal”, and he boasted of many more amazing stunts, which to some “might seem incredible”.
