Hornblower in the West Indies

evening.

“Gambronne’s stolen a march on us!” exclaimed Sharpe, returning with a rapid waddle. “Daring left her mooring three hours ago! Cambronne must have gone on board her the moment he left here.”

He swung round on his wife.

“Was the Baroness really ill?” he demanded of her.

“She seemed decidedly faint,” replied Mrs Sharpe.

“It must have been all a plant,” said Sharpe. “She was acting. Cambronne put the Vautours up to it because he wanted a chance to get clear away.”

“What do you think he means to do?” asked Hornblower.

“God knows. But I expect he was disconcerted by the arrival of a King’s ship here. His leaving in this fashion means he’s up to no good. San Domingo—Cartagena—where’ll he take that Imperial Guard of his?”

“I’ll get after him in any case,” said Hornblower, rising to his feet.

“You’ll find it hard to overtake him,” said Sharpe—the fact that he said ‘you’ and not ‘Your Lordship’ was a proof of his agitation. “He has taken two tugs—the Lightning and the Star— and with the new lighthouses on the river a galloping horse wouldn’t overtake him before he reaches the Pass. He’ll be clear out to sea by daylight. I don’t know if we can find a tug for you tonight in any case, My Lord.”

“I’ll start after him, all the same,” said Hornblower.

“I’ve ordered the carriage round, My Lord,” said Sharpe. “Forgive me, my dear, if we leave without ceremony.”

Mrs Sharpe received the hasty bows of the three men; the butler was waiting with their hats; the carriage stood at the door, and they scrambled in.

“Cambronne’s bonded freight went on board at nightfall,” said Sharpe. “My man is meeting me at your ship with his report.”

“That may help us make up our minds,” said Hornblower.

The carriage lurched in along the pitch dark streets.

“May I make a suggestion, My Lord?” asked Gerard.

“Yes. What is it?”

“Whatever scheme Cambronne has in mind, My Lord, Vautour is party to it. And he is a servant of the French Government.”

“You’re right. The Bourbons want a finger in every pie,” agreed Sharpe, thoughtfully. “They take every opportunity to assert themselves. Anyone would think it was them that we beat at Waterloo, and not Boney.”

The sound of the horses’ hoofs changed suddenly as the carriage reached the pier. They stopped, and Sharpe had the door open before the footman could leap down from the box, but as the three men scrambled out he stood beside the door hat in hand, his dark face illuminated by the carriage lamps.

“Wait!” snapped Sharpe.

They almost ran along the pier to where the glimmer of a lamp revealed the gangway; the two hands of the anchor watch stood at attention in the darkness as they hastened on board.

“Mr. Harcourt!” shouted Hornblower as soon as his foot touched the deck; this was no time to stand on ceremony. There was a light in the companion and Harcourt was there.

“Here, My Lord.”

Hornblower pushed his way into the after cabin; a lighted lantern dangled from the deck beam, and Gerard brought in another one.

“What’s your report, Mr. Harcourt?”

“The Daring sailed at five bells in the first watch, My Lord,” said Harcourt. “She had two tugs with her.”

“I know. What else?”

“The lighter with the freight came alongside her early in the second dog-watch. Just after dark, My Lord.”

A short, dark man came unobtrusively into the cabin as he spoke, and remained in the background.

“Well?”

“This gentleman whom Mr. Sharpe sent kept watch as well as me on what they took on board, My Lord.”

“What was it?”

“I kept count as they swayed it up, My Lord. They had lights in the mizzen stay.”

“Well?”

Harcourt had a piece of paper in his hand, and he proceeded to read from it.

“There were twenty-five wooden cases, My Lord.” Harcourt went on just in time to forestall an exasperated exclamation from Hornblower. “I recognised those cases, My Lord. They are the usual ones in which muskets are shipped, twenty-four stand of arms in each case.”

“Six hundred muskets and bayonets,” put in Gerard, calculating rapidly.

“I guessed as much,” said Sharpe.

“What else?” demanded Hornblower.

“There were twelve large bales, My Lord. Oblong ones, and twenty other bales, long, narrow ones.”

“Couldn’t you guess—”

“Would you hear the report of the hand I sent, My Lord?”

“Very well.”

“Come down here, Jones,” yelled Harcourt up the companion, and then turned back to Hornblower. “Jones is a good swimmer, My Lord. I sent him and another hand off in the quarterboat, and Jones swam to the lighter. Tell His Lordship what you found, Jones.”

Jones was a skinny, stunted young man, who came in blinking at the lights, ill at ease in this distinguished company. When he opened his mouth he spoke with the accent of Seven Dials.

“Uniforms, they was, in them big bales, sir.”

“How do you know?”

“I swum to the side of the lighter, sir. I could reach over an’ feel ‘em, sir.”

“Did anyone see you?” This was from Sharpe.

“No, sir. No one didn’t see me at all, sir. They was all busy swayin’ up the cases. Uniforms, they was, in the bales, like I said, sir. What I could feel through the sacking was buttons, sir. Not flat buttons, sir, like yours, sir. Round buttons, like bullets, sir, rows of ‘em, on each Coat. An’ I thought I could feel hembroidery, too, gold lace, p’raps, sir. Uniforms, they was, sir, I’m sure of it.”

The dark man came forward at this moment; in his hands was a limp something that looked like a drowned black cat. Jones pointed to the object before he went on.

“I couldn’t guess for the life of me what was in the other bales, sir, the long ones. So I outs with my knife —”

“You’re sure no one saw you?”

“Certain sure, sir. I outs with my knife an’ cuts the stitching at the end. They’ll think it come apart in the handlin’, sir. An’ I takes the end one out an’ I swims with it back to the quarterboat, sir.”

The dark man held it forward for inspection, and Hornblower took it gingerly, a black, soggy, wet mass of hair, but his fingers encountered metal as he turned it in his hands.

“Heagles, sir,” said Jones.

There was a brass chain and a big brass badge—the same displayed eagle as he had seen that evening on Cambronne’s chest. What he held in his hands was a bearskin uniform cap, soaked with its recent immersion, and adorned with the brass finery.

“Is that what the Imperial Guard wore, My Lord?” suggested Gerard.

“Yes,” said Hornblower.

He had seen prints for sale often enough purporting to illustrate the last stand of the Guard at Waterloo. In London now the Guards sported bearskin caps not unlike this that he held in his hand; they had been awarded to the Guards in recognition of their overthrow of the Imperial Guard at the crisis of the battle.