An Eye of the Fleet

sah.'

Despite the seriousness of his news Wheeler could not stifle his laughter at the negro. At the end of his monologue Achilles had risen to his feet and come stiffly to attention to give due importance to the mention of His Majesty's Royal Welch Fusileers. Regrettably this zealous action had ended in sharp contact with the overhead deckbeams which were too low to accommodate the negro at full height. His swift reduction to a crouching position caused Wheeler and Drinkwater to burst out laughing.

'Very well, Achilles. And what about you… you may volunteer for service in the navy…'

'Don' know nuffin' 'bout no navy, sah,' said Achilles with feeling rubbing his bruised head… 'Achilles dam' fine servant, sah…'

'Well in that case I think you had better attend to me…'

'Ach'lles dis gennelman's servant, sah.' He indicated Drinkwater loyally.

Wheeler looked at Drinkwater. 'I don't know what the Hon. John will say to that, cully… I should get him appointed a messman…'

Wheeler took the news to Devaux who snorted with exasperation when he heard it.

'Young Nat was pretty perceptive to realise the significance of the nigger's intelligence.'

'Not really,' said the first lieutenant, still angry with Hope. He tossed off a tankard of flip and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. 'He was in the cabin when the Old Man re… oh, dammit, when I blew up and revealed all… still perhaps it's an ill wind. At least my suspicions are confirmed…'

'What'll we do?' Devaux thought for a bit then poured another tankard of flip.

'Listen, Wheeler, I'll raise it conversationally at dinner tonight. Do you back me up…'

It was inconceivable that the mission should not come up during the meal as the prime subject of conversation. The poor quality of the food served to remind them all that they had been pitched across the North Atlantic with insufficient provisions for a prolonged stay on the coast. Indeed it was Hope who broached the subject in general terms, explaining their presence off the Carolinas.

'I still don't see why they had to send a frigate to this desolate destination of ours. It doesn't make military, naval or any other kind of sense to me,' opined Devaux cautiously, seeking to channel the drift of talk. But Appleby sensing an opening for more expansive dialogue beat Hope to the breach. Drinkwater sat open mouthed at the pedagogic delivery of the surgeon.

'If you will permit me, gentlemen, to offer an opinion on your preoccupation…' Devaux sighed resignedly and Hope could scarcely suppress a smile. 'Your naivety does you great credit, Mr Devaux…' Devaux protested. 'Nay, hear me out, I beg. It seems to me, and with all due respect to Captain Hope, that this operation of ours is a political expedient not a military or naval exercise and therefore, if I may say so, not so readily comprehensible to you gallant gentlemen of the sword…'

Well, well, thought Hope. Either Appleby was psychic or omniscient.

'Imagine, messieurs, it was obviously conceived by a politician, who else has been passing Coercive Acts and playing at warfare with Parliamentary statutes? Why politicians! Milords North and Germaine hatched this one up! Germaine probably told North this was the very thing to do. Wouldn't cost much. Print a few million notes, ruin the rebel economy, bring Congress to its knees. No need for more troops, no credit to general officers or admirals but… and here's the beauty of it… brilliant stroke by Milordships!'

There was a rumble of appreciation from the officers assembled round the table and lounging back in their chairs.

'You perceive the outline, gentlemen. The idea hatched by a man cashiered for cowardice after Minden but with a skin as thick as hide… and a changed name to hide under.'

'Sackville by God!' exclaimed Wheeler, ignoring Appleby's pun. 'I had clean forgot. Didn't the King himself strike Sackville off the Army list with an injunction that he was never to serve again in a military capacity?'

'Exactly so, my dear sir, the late king certainly did. And what is this creature now? Why none other than the virtual director of military operations in the Americas, a continent of which he knows nothing. Barré does, but the Government ignores the good colonel. Burke and Foe and Chatham realised, but nobody took any heed of them. So here we are!' Appleby expelled his breath contentedly looking round as if expecting applause.

'You are not quite right about Germaine, Mr Appleby.' Appleby frowned and looked round to see who dared to contradict him. It was Cranston.

'I beg your pardon?' he said archly.

'Lord George Germaine might well be exactly what you say but he has as his Secretary an American Loyalist who is reckoned to be an expert in several fields. His name is Benjamin Thompson.'

'Pah!' retorted Appleby. 'Thompson is his catamite!' Drinkwater had not the slightest notion what a catamite was except that it was clearly something suspect for sniggers and grins appeared on several faces.

'I think, Mr Appleby, that Cranston has a point,' Hope spoke with quiet authority but Appleby was not to be gainsaid.

'I disagree sir.'

'So do I sir. The facts alone speak for themselves. Surely Thompson, if he is the genius he claims to be, knows far more damage can be done the rebels by us arriving off Charleston or New York?' Devaux tried again to manipulate the conversation's direction.

'Ah! There's the rub don't you see,' plunged in Appleby once again. 'Germaine turns to Thompson. 'Damme Benjamin,'' he mimicked Germaine's reputedly haughty tones, ''I don't like Clinton, irresolute little fella and that damned traitor Arnold's in his suite, probably playing a double game. Best not send the cash there.' Germaine turns to map: 'Where shall we send it then Benjamin? To Cornwallis, damme never liked his wall-eyes, or his second, young Rawdon, or that dammed know-all Ferguson…''

'Ferguson's dead,' Wheeler intoned flatly.

Appleby raised his eyebrows imploringly heaven-ward at the interruption.

''… no, no that won't do at all, Benjamin. Bring that map nearer; now which bit is Carolina? Ah yes, well how about there!'' Eyes closed Appleby stabbed the damask table cloth with his finger, then opened them and looked down at the imaginary map. ''That will do fine, Benjamin, see to it for it is now five of the clock and I must to the tables for an hour or two's relaxation…' Picks up hat, exeunt.' Appleby sat back at last, smirked and folded his hands across his stomach.

Several officers clapped languidly. They all smiled smugly with the generous contempt sailors reserve for politicians… after all, the smiles seemed to say, what does one expect…

Hope clearly had to dispel such thoughts from the minds of his men. It was an attitude that begot carelessness.

'I find your assessment amusing Mr Appleby, but inaccurate. That Cyclops had been ordered to carry out a part which to us seems incomprehensible is scarcely a new situation in naval war. The whole essence of the naval service is an adherence to orders without which nothing can be achieved…'

'Sir,' said Devaux slowly and deliberately, 'Lieutenant Wheeler has interrogated the negro who surrendered from La Creole. The blackamoor informs us that the Carolinas are in a state of utter confusion with no man knowing who has the upper hand. Lord Cornwallis has insufficient troops to do more than hold a few posts and chase the rebels.'

It was enough for Hope. 'Mr Devaux,' he almost shouted, 'what do you expect a damn nigger to say — he's a rebel. D'ye think he's going to tell us we're winning…?'

But Devaux was equally flushed. 'For God's sake hear me out, sir,' he altercated, 'in the first place he's Loyalist with papers to prove it, and that's no mean achievement considering he's been with the rebels, in the second he's a slave freed by ourselves so hardly likely to sympathise with the rebels and voluntarily submit to slavery, and in the third he's been batman to a lietitenant in the 23rd Foot.'

'And I suppose,' replied Hope sarcastically, 'that you consider all that cast iron proof that every word is true…?' He was really, deeply angry now. Angry with Devaux and Appleby for voicing the doubts in his own heart, angry with himself for submitting so tamely to the blandishments of Edgecumbe and the £4,000 prize money which was not one whit the more use to him on this side of the ocean, and angry with the whole system that had created this ridiculous situation.

'Time will tell, sir, which of us is right…'