The Captain`s Vengeance

he had managed to pour himself a restorative, throat-clearing tot of brandy. It was followed by a second, larger one that he sipped in a celebratory but very thoughtful fashion.

Coined money gushed northward into the coffers of the barbaric Yankees to pay for their flour, wheat, corn, lumber, and such, their whiskies and furs, hides, tobacco, and cotton. With the war, most of the merchant ships that came to trade in New Orleans were American, too. Yankees ending buying Yankee goods passing through the city and very little of the profits stuck to French or Spanish fingers. Hence Louisiana, New Orleans, and Maurepas's bank were forever short of coin; which shortage drove up the price of everything needed or wished, even local goods.

Spain had ignored the problem for years, halfheartedly closing the Mississippi to American traders for several years, which had been a disastrous policy that had fomented mass smuggling and even greater corruption and graft, was such a thing possible.

Now, with the river open again, but Spain locked in a war, even wealthy bankers had to scrimp and scrounge to maintain comfortable cash reserves to loan out, and as to what their borrowers offered as payment, pah! M. Henri Maurepas had to lease several warehouses to hold consignments of molasses, sugar, rice, and cotton 'til it could be sold to someone, someday, before the mice, insects, or the ever- present damp ruined it, and he thought himself fortunate did he make a 2 percent profit!

Shelling out so much silver to Lanxade and Balfa to reward their sailors, paying shares to those foolish youngsters who would foment a rebellion, after the hellish cost of buying artillery, weapons, and the pirate schooner for them to play with, had put him in a worse spot, and if they ever tired of their little 'adventure' or failed to take more prizes to sell on the sly, failed to bring in more 'free' goods for the scalpers like Bistineau to front, he and his firm could go under!

Now, though…

Six million dollars in hard silver coin could be his salvation. His bank's share was to be a fifth of the total, charged against his 'holdings'-lands, future crops, outstanding planters' loans, or warehoused goods-and with that money he would be solvent again… for a few more years at least. His loans could be repaid in coin for a change, he could loan more…

Or! Maurepas quietly mused, taking another sip of brandy and picking up the letters to reread them. He leaned far back in his chair, with his brandy glass resting atop his substantial paunch. All would come aboard a single, undistinguished, fast ship from Veracruz, one not too obvious as a treasure ship, nor one so grand as to draw the attention of any prowling British man of war or privateer; nor the free-roving so-called privateers of other nations. Soldiers would be aboard, of course, a full company drawn from a trustworthy regiment based in New Spain, a Navy crew to be provided, skilled gunners…

Both letters cautioned that the shipment was a matter of strict confidence, that upon receipt and perusal of the letters, they were to be handed back to the Governor-General, and that any idle mention outside his firm could result in harsh punishment, etc.

Hmmm, Maurepas further mused, a sly grin creasing the corners of his eyes and lips. 'Hmmm,' again, aloud this time.

A fast ship, was it, and undistinguished? A shallow-draughted one, he thought most likely, so it could ascend the river quickly and cross the bars near Fort Balise without the risk of unloading all, or a part, of the cargo, thus exposing it to greedy prying eyes.

Guarded by a 'trustworthy' company of soldiers; well, that was a wry jape! The local garrison was made of weary, jaded place-servers and half-illiterate peasant clods; half the original Spaniards had run off or died, replaced with ne'er-do-wells too lazy to work an honest trade. So what would a regiment in New Spain consist of? A few hidalgo fops as officers, a few grizzled, over-aged sergeants, and the rank-and-file mostly local-born Mestizos, even Indios straight from the bean fields, still jabbering away in Nahuatl or some other savage language. Ill-trained, ill- clothed, poorly led, and indifferently armed, crowded elbow to elbow and at sea for the first time in their lives, perhaps? She'd not be a royal galleon, perhaps not even a fast frigate! What did the letter say, how did it phrase it? Ah!

'… manned by a crew drawn from the Marina Real.' The Spanish didn't dare send one of their few valuable warships to sea, afraid of drawing too much attention, fearful of losing it, and neither Tampico nor Veracruz were good harbours for ships of worth. New Spain- Mexico -lay far to the west, down at the bottom of the Caribbean 's and the Gulf's prevailing winds, Henri Maurepas knew. Though he had never been a sailor, he knew that much. A square-rigged ship could spend weeks beating windward to the mouths of the Mississippi. A brigantine, barkentine, or schooner would be more weatherly. Hmmm…

Maurepas pondered whether he should tell the de Guilleris about this. This punishing war could last for years and years, and Spanish colonies would continue to suffer as Spain grew even weaker, less able to defend her American possessions. What guarantee was there that all the local trade would not be American in five years?

The United States and the British had designs on Louisiana already. Could his bank survive an invasion by either? Even if by some miracle a French fleet and French army fought its way through the British blockade, sailed upriver, and reclaimed them, what surety could he have that the radical Directory in Paris and all their Jacobin rabble-rousing sentiments would be amenable to money, to rich men like him?

Now, if he had all six million secretly cached at his plantation, and only tapped now and again for working capital, he could easily explain its partial presence as better-than-average fortune, due to his conservative and sagacious business sense. And he already knew all there was to know how to make things look legitimate on paper!

Well, not all of it. If he told the de Guilleris and those oafs Lanxade and Balfa, and they actually succeeded in taking it, he'd have to go shares, would not realise more than the fifth that the Spaniards originally intended his bank to have. But that would be 1,200,000 dollars more than any of his competitors, and all of it free and clear of pledged assets and sureties! Such a windfall was certainly nothing to sneer at.

And finally, could such a sudden shower of money actually create a real rebellion, result in a real reunion with beloved France, Henri Maurepas shudderingly, hopefully wondered?

'Laclos, venez ici, s'il vous plait, ' he called out.

'Oui, m'sieur?' his reliable longtime aide asked from the door.

'These letters from the Captain-Generals, how did they come?'

'The usual post clerk brought them, m'sieur, with all the rest.'

'The same as any letter, Laclos?' Maurepas pretended to gasp.

'Well… oui, m'sieur? Why?'

'We'll see about that!' Maurepas answered with a deep scowl. He shot to his feet, shouting for his liveried slave. 'Those hapless idiots! I shall be at the Cabildo, Laclos… giving them a piece of my mind at how slipshod they are!'

What a wonderful pretence that would be, Maurepas thought as his liveried slave handed him his hat, gloves, and cane. He would hand the letters over as instructed but would fume that they'd lain on someone's desk overnight, able to be read by just about anyone. If not his, then what of the letters sent to his competitors, hah? If anything happened to their precious consignment of silver, it would be all their fault!

Meanwhile, back at the pension…

Capt. Alan Lewrie, RN, sensed a slight buzzing noise round his head and idly swept one free hand to shoo the pesky flying… thingy. Which herculean effort woke him just long enough to take note that it was a good hour past dawn, and a slit of honest sunshine blazed in the gap in the nearest window draperies; that he could, for once, sleep in like the idlest civilian ever born; and that his lips were dry yet his bottom pillow was damp with drool and stuffily warm.

He rolled over, cramming the cooler top pillow under his head, with his face towards a dark corner, not that