Allison knew the quality of his volunteer crew and that such lines of questioning for warrant officers like the master-at-arms were perhaps wholly unneeded. Still, it was a way of showing concern for his men that conveyed his good will while not betraying any undue sense of acquaintance or familiarity that could be seen as inappropriate for an officer in his position. Given his sympathetic leaning toward the plight of the common sailor, it was only logical and fitting. Yet, something in Allison ’s mind caused him to wonder if doing small things like that weren’t actually in fact selfish actions – token gestures meant only to ease his own conscience when it came to the harsh realities of the men’s lives. Perhaps something in his nature did find a form of reassurance in showing due regard for the hands entrusted to his command; but this was no different from his respectful treatment of the officers or his engagement in the education and seasoning of the midshipmen. Commanders of lesser
Absent-mindedly, Allison reached for and picked up the brass bell from LaTour’s float which had now been sitting upon the desk for several days. He turned the bell over in his hands, allowing the light coming over his shoulder from the candelabra to shine upon the pale golden surface. Though it was in exceptionally good condition and quite well made, Henry couldn’t have been more correct in his observation that it was a prodigious waste of brass where the French were concerned. They would have been better served in using the material out of which it was hewn to mold cannon, or even shot. As the flickering candlelight glinted off its surface, Allison reflected upon his decision to retrieve the object, wondering just what he expected to learn from it that could have been of real importance. Not even the trained scientific perusal of Deakins had been able to glean the slightest bit of helpful information from this finely wrought, but otherwise rather ordinary piece of metal.Then, unex
Having finally arrived, the two men weren’t in the least surprised to discover almost no passers-by in the streets at that early period of the small hours, but still they pressed on undeterred. Obviously searching for something in particular, they walked along, conversing quietly but intently with one another as if trying to determine which direction to walk or on which street corner to turn. Things went on like this for a short time until the pair happened upon a couple of drunkards stumbling around a corner from a cross street. They were almost comically striving with might and main to prop one another upright despite their mutual intoxication and lack of equilibrium, laughing ridiculously the entire time. These men were rough-looking and boorish, but appeared quite pleased and satisfied with the night’s bout of drinking and the lofty heights of insobriety to which it had taken them. Despite the threatening appearance of the pistols and knives they openly carried on their persons, t
The travelers looked up to see an aged man with a full grey-white beard standing next to their table leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane. His worn and weathered face featured a conspicuous red bulbous nose which stood out in contrast to his otherwise tanned skin. Short of stature with a crouched back, there was probably a great deal more hair on his chin than on his balding head. He wore baggy galligaskins and a long coat of canvas with the sleeves rolled up past the elbow. While much about the man’s appearance gave the suggestion of frailty, his swart complexion, sinewy forearms and rough knobby hands marked him as a man who had hauled on more than his fair share of hawsers and halyards during his lifetime. Even if his bent back didn’t allow him to perform these tasks any longer, it was a fair guess to expect this elderly man was a former sailor with a significant store of tales to tell.“Oh?” answered one of the two visitors – the one who wore a floppy wide-brimmed hat and plai
“That’s the truly great part. While I can’t personally vouch for the fate of those people, I heard some terrific stories about what happened after we rescued them. Some were said to have stayed here on Martinique; can’t say I’ve ever met up with any of them since that day, though. Others supposedly made their way back out into the world, many with designs on furthering the Jacobite cause however possible. I heard that some of them traveled all the way to France, where they could more easily negotiate for the release of friends and family still imprisoned. It’s said more than a few continue to scheme and plot against the Hanoverian monarchy with the backing of French nobles. I’ve even heard that a handful of these people might actually have been brave enough to return to Britain or any of her colonies under assumed names to carry on the rebellion in other ways.”“The ripening fruit?” Brossard asked with more than a hint of cynicism.“Yes, exactly!” Rougebec answered as if never cogniza
The old sailor paused again, looking back and forth from Brossard to Guiteau as though he expected one of them to ask the obvious question he’d left unanswered. When his audience didn’t offer this time, he continued.“Obviously something of importance is being stored up there. Wagons which are always covered, usually with armed men riding aboard, make their way up and down at times, winding along the wide path that switches back on the hillside. I’m told regular army troops are actually posted to keep the place under guard.”“Does it belong to LaTour himself?” Brossard asked.Rougebec shook his head. “People suggested that at first, but then another story started circulating. A friend of mine told me. He said whatever happens up there is overseen by some high-up government official, an aristocrat of some standing from the old country by all accounts.”“And no one knows who this man is?” Guiteau questioned.“Nope, but word is not even Baron de Beauville, the governor himself, interfere
It proved to be more than many of the knaves and blackguards in that establishment could ignore, and the majority quickly lost interest in the prospect of punishing the strangers so as to fight over their valuable coins. With a loud cacophony of shouts and yells that was horrible to hear, men were suddenly jostling, shoving, swinging and kicking to get at the treasure that had just been dropped before them. Others were rolling on the floor, wrestling and even biting for the chance to scoop up what they could.Brossard and Guiteau wasted no time in bolting for the door. After leaping over the bodies of several men who were wrangling with one another to get at the coins scattered about the wooden floor, they discovered that not quite everyone had been distracted by their desperate gamble. Brossard had to swing his pistol by the barrel and brain one onrushing assailant to get by him while Guiteau threw his shoulder into another, knocking him down to barge his way past. Then the wide door
“We made use of the man’s almost messianic view of LaTour to draw more useful information from him,” Weyland said. “Incidentally, he told us that LaTour does in fact hold a regular commission in the French Navy. His letter of marque is held only for the benefit of his men, who are employed in an auxiliary fashion.”Allison shook his head. “I need only have you recall the damage those ‘auxiliaries’ caused with a single broadside when we met them at sea off Antigua to reiterate my previous warning. Even so, the facts you give stand to reason and confirm something we’ve all but suspected up to this point. What else?”Caldwell picked up the narrative. “LaTour is a figure who, by all accounts, places great importance upon putting himself in the public eye for reasons he himself might refer to as esprit de corps – morale of the whole. However, much as he purposefully strode along Saint-Pierre’s streets in the past, gifting shopkeepers and citizens with the odd item of value, these activiti