“We want no trouble, My Lord,” said Sharpe. He had a pair of hard, intelligent, grey eyes deep-set in his puffy face.
“I am aware of that, sir.”
“And in this connection, My Lord, I must employ special emphasis in calling Your Lordship’s attention to a vessel making ready for sea here in New Orleans.”
“Which ship is this?”
“She is visible from the deck, My Lord. In fact” – Sharpe struggled out of his chair and walked to the cabin window – “Yes, there she is. What do you make of her, My Lord?”
Hornblower looked out from beside Sharpe. He saw a beautiful ship of eight hundred tons or more. Her fine lines, the lofty rake of her masts, the wide spread of her yards, were all clear indications of speed, for which some sacrifice of cargo-carrying capacity had been made. She was flush decked, with six painted gun-ports along each side. American shipbuilders had always evinced a tendency towards building fast ships, but this was an advanced example of the type.
“Are there guns behind those ports?” asked Hornblower.
“Twelve pounders, My Lord.”
Even in these days of peace it was not unusual for merchant vessels to carry guns, whether for voyages in the West Indies or the East, but this was a heavier armament than usual.
“She was built as a privateer,” said Hornblower.
“Quite right, My Lord. She’s the Daring; she was built during the war and made one voyage and took six prizes from us before the Treaty of Ghent. And now, My Lord?”
“She could be a slaver.”
“Your Lordship is right again, of course.”
That heavy armament would be desirable in a slaver anchoring up a West African river liable to a treacherous attack; she could easily have a slave deck with that flush build; her speed would minimise deaths among the slaves during the Middle Passage; her lack of capacity for bulk cargo would be unimportant in a slaver.
“Is she a slaver?” asked Hornblower.
“Apparently not, My Lord, despite her appearance. She is being chartered to carry a great many men, all the same.”
“I would like you to explain further, if you please, Mr Sharpe.”
“I can only tell Your Lordship the facts as disclosed to me. She is under charter to a French General, Count Cambronne.”
“Cambronne? Cambronne? The man who commanded the Imperial Guard at Waterloo?”
“That’s the man, My Lord.”
“The man who said, ‘The Old Guard dies but does not surrender’?”
“Yes, My Lord, although report says he actually used a ruder expression. He was wounded and taken prisoner, but he did not die.”
“So I have heard. But what does he want with this ship?”
“It is all open and above board, apparently. After the war, Boney’s Old Guard formed an organisation for mutual aid. In 1816 they decided to become colonists – Your Lordship must have heard something about the project?”
“Hardly anything.”
“They came out and seized an area of land on the coast of Texas, the province of Mexico adjacent to this State of Louisiana.”
“I have heard about it, but that is the extent of my knowledge.”
“It was easy enough to start, with Mexico in the throes of her revolt against Spain. There was no opposition to them, as you understand, My Lord. But it was not so easy to continue. I cannot imagine that soldiers of the Old Guard would ever make good agriculturists. And on that pestilential coast – It is a series of dreary lagoons, with hardly an inhabitant.”
“The scheme failed?”
“As Your Lordship might expect. Half of them died of malaria and yellow fever, and half of the rest simply starved. Cambronne has come out from France to carry the survivors home, five hundred of them. The Government of the United States never liked the project, as Your Lordship can imagine, and now the insurgent government is strong enough to take exception to the presence on the shores of Mexico of a large body of trained soldiers, however peaceable their intentions. Your Lordship can see Cambronne’s story could be perfectly true.”
“Yes.”
An eight-hundred-ton ship, equipped as a slaver, could pack five hundred soldiers on board and feed them during a long passage.