South Atlantic Ocean Map
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By the time we came up, he had made his decision. “I’m going to sail for St Helena,” I said, and watched him look around as if trying to find it on the chart spread over my knees. “What about your men?”
“We have a ship to take us back.” He pointed at the French frigate lying alongside; they were preparing to cast off and make way. Then he looked at me curiously.
“Are you sure you want to do that? The wind will be coming round from the north by this evening—a very strong westerly—and then tomorrow it should blow straight for St Helena, so she could not possibly overtake you.”
“The wind is what’s important now, Captain Hawkins.”
There was no point in arguing with him. Sooner or later every man finds himself making choices that others disapprove of. I stood up. “I’ll see you safely aboard.”
We shook hands warmly; he was an old friend after all, and the thought struck me that there might be something of the same feeling between him and his men when they set out to join the mutineers on board the Bonhomme Richard.
At the moment, however, I had to hurry away to meet a small squadron off the Lizard and prevent them from taking possession of the Channel ports before our expedition reached them.
***
St Helena
By the time that we put into St Helena Bay, the Bonhomme Richard was already gone. It appeared that the English had managed to get her anchored offshore, although she remained under sail most of the time.
Her captain did not appear willing to risk being boarded by a superior force until the weather grew calmer; but even then, he would not go ashore until the last possible moment. There had been no attempt to land troops, but I suspected that they must be lying in wait somewhere within reach.
They had not expected the Bonhomme Richard to escape from Cape Town, nor could they believe that the convoy might break its line and slip away.
Our first task was to repair some damage to one of the ships. She had taken a bad beating while under our escort, and we could only hope that she was now secure enough to stand on her own two feet again.
But even once the repairs had been completed and they were able to leave the dockyard, it might take another month before they could get out of sight of the coast and make their way to the Cape without the knowledge of any French ships in the area.
Meanwhile, we could not afford to lose sight of them, lest they manage to run up a new French flag and pretend that they intended to return home.
I found myself watching her for hours every day—the great, black schooner, which had carried Napoleon, and been the last thing he saw as his army retreated back to France.
It seemed strange to think that in three days’ time it would be sailing westward, carrying his heir to the throne of Spain, and leaving his other son behind him in the island prison where he had been imprisoned since 1809.
I wondered what Napoleon himself had been doing during those three months of his exile. Perhaps he had spent many hours in reflection, regretting the things he had done, the ways in which his decisions and actions had led inexorably to his downfall. Or perhaps he had just enjoyed a long period of freedom, with nothing to disturb his thoughts.
***
Leaving St Helena was easy—the bay itself offered no obstacle to a well-armed fleet. And yet our departure was anything but peaceful. Two French frigates, the Lively and the Foudroyant, had sailed into St Helena Bay, having apparently been sent on an independent mission by Toulon.
We were forced to fight them off and sink one of them, although it proved impossible to do so without losing too much of our own strength. We took prisoners, as usual; and they told us that they had come to collect the British prisoners they had left in the hands of their friends at the Cape.
They seemed more interested in recovering their own than in recapturing the men we had rescued from the Bonhomme Richard, who was now safely anchored in Port Louis, Mauritius.
I knew that we could not allow ourselves to become too involved in such incidents, however. We needed the Frenchmen, and there was no need to make them suspicious by acting as though they could be trusted. In fact, if we wanted to make success of our invasion of the Channel, we needed all the French help we could get.
The next stop on our itinerary was Madeira. Our first impression of the island was not good. It had always been a place where ships came and went almost at will, but these days it was little more than a large warehouse waiting for goods to be loaded and unloaded.
Ships from Lisbon made use of its sheltered harbor, but otherwise, the only activity to be seen was a few carpenters repairing ships that had been damaged in storms; and a few boats bringing supplies ashore, or returning with empty cargoes.
The island had become a refuge for people fleeing the fighting in Europe, seeking to avoid the consequences of their country’s civil war, or simply seeking some quiet corner to enjoy a holiday. But for all that, it had been a useful base for the British to use when they attacked French shipping and captured enemy soldiers on the way to and from Africa; and it still provided shelter for any ship in need of rest.
It was unlikely to prove a threat to the Bonhomme Richard, even if she were to sail into it, and even if she were to remain there for several weeks. But I doubted that we would do so.
When I looked out over the water from my cabin window, I could see that it was full of ships. Some were sailing vessels whose captains had decided that they wanted some respite from the storms which had raged across the Atlantic.
Others were transports packed with troops bound for Africa, or ships carrying fresh provisions; others yet were merchantmen, making their way from the Azores to the Canaries and from the Canaries to the Caribbean.
Most of them bore the Union Jack flying proudly on their sails and their masts, but there were also ships of other flags—Spanish, French, Portuguese, Danish—which gave the lie to the idea that Europe was at peace.
It was easy to imagine that this scene—a sea full of ships, most of which were carrying men in uniforms, guns, and cannons—was an illustration of everything that had gone wrong with Europe over the past century.
If you wanted to explain why the continent had been torn apart by wars, then surely this was the perfect image. There had been too many countries, each trying to establish itself by force rather than by peaceful means; and all of them had suffered terribly as a result.
No wonder so many of those same leaders felt it necessary to take up arms again and try to restore what they believed should be theirs. No wonder Napoleon was still alive and plotting against his enemies.
It seemed to me, too, that there was something else at work here. This was a sea full of life, a world where men were busy living their lives and working for a future; while back on land, in cities, towns, and villages around the globe, people were preparing for war.
Perhaps it was just a matter of scale. Here, at least, the men could live their own lives as well as fight for them. Back home, all too often they had no choice but to choose between the two.
There is no doubt that war has always been good for business, both at home and abroad. And I knew that the men on board the Bonhomme Richard would soon have an opportunity to spend their wages. When we arrived, I sent a message to our agents, warning them to keep a careful eye open for anyone trying to sell arms or ammunition.
A few months ago, I might have expected such a venture to find no buyers. Not now. Now that the war seemed inevitable, there was every chance that some unscrupulous dealer would seek to profit by offering a wide range of military wares to desperate men in need of money.
Even worse than that, he might be tempted to sell weapons directly to private individuals—not merely to buy them themselves, but also to offer those weapons to their friends. That would give any one man access to a huge arsenal of weaponry that could be used by him, his friends, or his enemies, in times of war.
And once the word spread amongst the crew of a ship like the Bonhomme Richard, I was sure that many of them would rush off to purchase arms in bulk and store them aboard their vessels. I hoped that they wouldn’t be foolish enough to do so.
They might have thought that they were being clever and taking action to protect themselves from a possible invasion, but they might end up causing more harm than good.
I couldn’t say how much damage the French might inflict if they managed to land on the shores of Nova Scotia, but I was certain that if they did then every man who had stored weapons would be an enemy soldier in that battle. At the very least, he would be a traitor to his nation, and to God and country, and should be treated as such.
I had been right about the number of ships in the harbor; I hadn’t expected that there would be so many. We were told that we could berth alongside any of the piers which appeared to suit us, and we chose to anchor out in the open sea and use the cable launch to bring our cargo down to the wharf.
The whole operation went smoothly: we made several trips back and forth, loading up until we could barely move. It took us all day to get the job done, but when we finally returned to the Bonhomme Richard after dark, we were tired and ready for supper.
I didn’t think much about what I would do afterward: I had enough money saved to pay for whatever it was I might want. I simply needed a moment’s rest before I began my next task—the one for which I’d been saving all these years.
***
The first thing that I saw when I awoke on the morning after my arrival in Halifax was the sky.
I had slept late; not surprising since I had hardly closed my eyes last night. My head was clear again, and my thoughts had settled into a pattern of clarity that I hadn’t experienced in weeks. I lay there for a long time, letting myself enjoy the moment.
As I did, I wondered whether anyone else was awake at the time; perhaps even on deck, looking up at the brightening blue expanse. I imagined that they would see only what I was seeing: the sun slowly rising over the horizon, painting the sky with the light of another day.
And then I wondered what else they would feel. Would they notice the birds, chattering excitedly to one another? Or would they just hear them, as I did—listening to the music of their songs? Would they understand what it was that they were saying?
Were they telling the same stories that I heard, about the world beyond this land where they lived their lives each and every day? Had they seen what I had seen last night, when the sun had gone down, and the moon came up, bathing the sea in her glow?
Did they know that they could go to sleep in one place, and wake up in another place—and yet never really leave the one which they had come from? Was there anything that they understood more clearly than this?
Or were their own thoughts and dreams too complex for them to comprehend what was happening in mine?
And why should that matter, anyway? What was the point of understanding something if you couldn’t share it with others? If you didn’t care about them, what was the point of knowing anything at all?
I wasn’t sure, but I had to believe that there was more to life than simply existing. In fact, I was starting to suspect that it was the most important thing in the entire world—because otherwise what was it all for?
I got up quietly and pulled a hood over my head. It was still dark outside. I went down to the galley and found a pot of coffee waiting for me. I poured it into a cup and took it out onto the deck. There were few people around; the sailors must have slept late after our long day at the docks yesterday, or perhaps they were simply enjoying their rest.
I sat on the edge of the gunwale and drank my coffee, watching as the first rays of sunlight reached across the water to touch the distant shore.
There are some things that we can see in the daytime, but not in the darkness of night. Some things we can look upon only in broad daylight—but not at other times of the year. And then there are those which we cannot truly appreciate until we take the time to sit and wait for them to come into view.
The dawn is the time when we see everything which has happened during the night and also understands it. But in the dark of night, when the shadows grow deep and the world turns black against our eyelids, we cannot hope to see what lies before us.
So when the sun finally rose over the horizon, I watched the colors appear—a soft pink and blue which grew stronger and brighter by the second. I could smell the salt air and hear the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. It felt good to breathe in such clean, fresh air once again.
After so many years on an island far away, it was as though a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I breathed deeply and looked around me—feeling that I could see more clearly than ever before.
For a long time, I stayed there, watching the sunrise. When I eventually stood up and made my way back inside, I found that it was well past noon.
I had no idea what to do now. The crew was on deck preparing to cast off. Most of them probably thought I was sleeping; but then I realized that I wasn’t wearing any shoes and that I must be fairly obvious. They must think that I’m crazy! Perhaps I am!
Well, whatever their suspicions might be, I knew exactly what I wanted to do: I headed for the captain’s cabin and knocked firmly on the door. He opened it right away, surprised that I was already here. “Good morning, Mr. Hawkins.”
“Morning, sir,” I replied. My voice sounded strange and different to me—as though someone else was speaking.
Captain Leonard was dressed in his full uniform, complete with his silver epaulets and polished buttons. His hair was neatly trimmed. His face was cleanly shaven; and even without looking directly at him, I knew how handsome he was.
He had the kind of commanding presence that makes everyone want to obey his every order—whether they like it or not. It reminded me of a general in battle, who has absolute authority over thousands of soldiers. Captain Leonard was in charge of the whole ship and every single person aboard—and he commanded their total respect and loyalty. That was how I felt about him.
He looked down at me for a moment, obviously wondering what I could possibly have come here for. But then his gaze shifted and focused on the side of my head. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Your hair looks quite unusual this morning. Is it possible that you had a nightmare last night? Something came into your dreams and upset you, is that it?”
“No, sir,” I replied slowly. “I woke up because of a noise…and I saw a man standing on deck, staring straight at me.”
The captain smiled. “You don’t say…”
I looked at him. He seemed very concerned now, although I couldn’t imagine why.
“Who was it?”
“A ghost, most likely,” the captain answered. “We’ve had a number of stories about them over the years. We’re not actually certain whether or not they exist, you know. It would be nice to think that they do—for I certainly feel a great sense of comfort when I look out at the sea each morning, knowing that we are protected by their watchful spirit.”
“Why did they stare at you?”
“That part doesn’t make much sense to me, either. I just know that it’s what I always feel—like I can’t see anything else, no matter how hard I try.”
I tried to remember if I had seen anyone on deck that morning, but I couldn’t. I was sure that there should have been someone, but for some reason, I couldn’t recall seeing anyone—except the man standing at the bow.
“Is that why you wanted to talk to me, Mr. Hawkins?” the captain asked after a few moments. “To ask about these strange apparitions? Because I don’t really believe that there is anything to them.”
“No, sir,” I said quickly. “Actually, it’s nothing at all. In fact, it’s something completely different.”
The captain nodded. “Go on, then.”
“Yesterday afternoon, before sunset, I went for a walk along the beach…when I heard voices coming from somewhere behind me. There was another man and woman arguing—about some land deal, I think.”
“Did you go closer to hear what they were saying better?”
I hesitated. Then I shook my head. “No, sir. Not yet. But I’m going to do that now. Maybe I’ll find out who they are!”
The captain laughed. “Good for you, Mr. Hawkins. I wish I could have gone with you! It sounds rather interesting, I must admit. But unfortunately, my duties won’t allow it. Still, maybe you will find out what those people are so excited about.”
And so he gave me permission to leave my berth for the rest of the day—and so I did. I took my time getting ready. By the time I reached the shoreline, the sun was just beginning to set, throwing bright reds and yellows across the sky.
As soon as I rounded the bend near the pier, I started hearing voices again. I stopped for a moment, listening closely to understand exactly what they were saying. And then I began walking toward them—at first only hearing snippets of conversation here and there.
They weren’t arguing anymore. In fact, I thought I could almost make out one of the man’s words—”I’ll tell you what. I’m sorry. You’re right…but I guess we’ll just have to wait until our ships get back in port, then we can talk to them.”
I didn’t hear any more. But I was able to figure out where they were talking from. They were standing right on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. When I reached the top of the rise, I could see them perfectly.
They were a little ways off, and so far up the hill that I could hardly see their faces. All I could tell was that they both looked a bit tired. And the woman looked frightened. She was leaning against the man and staring out at the sea as she spoke quietly.
“How long are we supposed to wait? Do you even know?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Not until our ships get back, anyway.”
She turned and looked at him. “But if they decide to keep the territory, we lose everything!”
He sighed and rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. If we go home without the treaty, we might be able to negotiate with them later on. But I have no idea how long that would take. So maybe we just need to stay here for a while longer, at least until our ships get back.”
The End