Chapter 1: Cadiz

Captain Bracegirdle took the telescope from his eye.

“Continue on this heading until we are abeam of the signal station on the headland to larboard, and then heave to, Mister Easy.”
The Midshipman gave an ‘Aye, aye, Sir,’ and set HMS Atropos’s deck hands scurrying in motion.
Bracegirdle handed the telescope to the quartermaster then turned and spoke to me.

“I spent the greater part of my time as a Midshipman aloft in the fore top with a telescope fixed on the port of Cadiz, watching for signs of the Dons coming out to fight. There was once a gun battery on that headland, but now, in the piping days of peace, there is a signal station.”
He sighed, somewhat wistfully, “and here I am waiting to enter Cadiz with not so much as musket aimed at me.”

We had made excellent time from London, due to the fair weather encountered in the Bay of Biscay, which if not as smooth as a mill pond was not the towering gale driven waves I had encountered when travelling in HMS Hazard on my way to St Helena in 1816.
Even so poor Otto Blackmore, the Anglo-Hanoverian lieutenant who had been my adjutant with the Lincoln Militia, spent most of the voyage retching, while draped over the leeward side of the vessel. One experience on the windward side of the ship had insured his subsequent allegiance to the leeward.
I chuckled at the horror on Otto’s face when I told him a life in His Majesty’s army would bring him many such voyages, as promotion, wealth and glory were only to be found in HM’s dominions overseas -- a long way overseas. The hail of the lookout broke my reverie.

“Boat approaching on the starboard side.”

It was the pilot cutter, with a fussy little Spaniard harbour pilot aboard.
He was soon on the quarterdeck where he, in a mixture of Spanish, French, and English, guided the helmsman through the channel into Cadiz harbour.

“There seems to be plenty of shipping in the anchorage, but with little activity about them,” I said to Bracegirdle.

“The vessels are waiting for the South America convoy to arrive. The winter convoy arrives any time between Christmas and the end of January, the summer convoy sometime during July. Each convoy is generally made up of four or five galleons, huge craft, as large as any East Indiaman.”
He excused himself, and saw to the correct exchange of salutes and civilities when a Royal Navy vessel enters a foreign port.

The unexpected report of a cannon had me flinching, and wondering why the Spanish should fire on us. Of course, it was nothing more than a saluting gun, answered by a roar from Atropos’s signal gun. The flag on the forts guarding the approach to Cadiz dipped and then rose, and Atropos’s ensign returned the gesture.
As we glided into the anchorage the Royal Marine detachment aboard lined the side and presented arms. Another cannon banged out a salute, and all officers raised a hand to their hat brim. As I was dressed in civilian clothing, I raised my hat. Bracegirdle lowered his hand, followed by the rest of his officers. The marines recovered arms and marched off the deck.
We had arrived in Cadiz.

Atropos tied up alongside a row of warehouses, where Otto’s and my dunnage were hastily deposited on the quayside.

“I’ll get my water barrels replenished here, which will save me stopping at the Cape Verde Islands. I shall also purchase as many sacks of onions as possible, and hope to leave on the evening tide.” Bracegirdle noted the look of interrogation on my face.

“Onions are damned effective against scurvy, Greenaway, besides which they enliven the taste of even the rankest of salt beef or pork. Forgive my abruptness but I must bid you farewell and see to provisioning the vessel.”
He shook hands with Otto and me with a hand like a weather-hardened ham. We then walked down the gangplank in search of a Mr. Charles Godfrey, His Britannic Majesty’s Consul in Cadiz.

We did not travel far before encountering him. There was a gaggle of people milling about near the foot of the gangplank, prevented from making an uninvited visit to the vessel by a brace of Royal Marines with fixed bayonets. A civilian detached himself from the crowd, and in an inquiring tone of voice said, in English.

“Would you two gentlemen be in need of Consular services? I am His Britannic Majesty’s Consul in Cadiz, Charles Godfrey.”
He was a well-built man of some forty years of age, his blue eyes and fair hair indicating English origin, although his deeply tanned face showed where he had lived for many years.
I shook the hand he offered, his grip was firm and the palm calloused.

“Colonel Greenaway and Lieutenant Blackmore, Mister Godfrey, and we are most happy to make your acquaintance. How is it you are on hand to welcome us?”

“When the information was passed to me from the Harbourmaster that a British warship was entering the bay I made haste to get here from my office, which is in a warehouse on the quay over there, behind the Aduana – that is the Custom House.” He pointed along the wharf. “I endeavour to meet all British vessels arriving in case my assistance is required.”
He turned and spoke in rapid Spanish to a tall, thin, middle age man behind him. The Spaniard nodded and dashed away when Godfrey finished speaking.

“I’ve instructed my man Felipe to arrange a cart to take you and your luggage to my warehouse. I maintain accommodation there for when I remain overnight in Cadiz, and for any British nationals who needs to stay in Cadiz for a spell, which I insist you use during your stay.”
He indicated a taberna a hundred yards or so away. “Meantime I suggest we repair to Casa Luigi’s until Felipe arrives with the cart, and you can tell me how best I can be of assistance.”

Judging by the dress and weather-beaten appearance of the clientèle, the taberna was popular with seafarers, as many of that calling were talking quietly and drinking wine. Godfrey motioned to the man behind the counter, who nodded, then came around the bar and shook his hand, before handing him a large iron key. Godfrey indicated we follow him up a flight of stairs, where he unlocked a door and ushered us in to a small room furnished with several armchairs, an imposing desk and ornately carved chair.

“Welcome to the Office of His Britannic Majesty’s Consulate in Cadiz,” Godfrey said with a smile. “I have ordered a bottle of Amontillado, from my own vineyard, to be sent up from the bar.”

“I thought you were a merchant who shipped sherry to England, Mister Godfrey?”

“Indeed I do, Colonel, but I am also a producer of fine sherry, and equally fine olive oil. My estate is near Jerez, where I have my hacienda and family.”
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the bottle of Amontillado. It was a pleasurable surprise to note the bottle bore the brand name ‘Don Carlos’.

“This is the same excellent sherry as served at my London club,” I said.

“Then I take it you are a member of Boodles, which is the only establishment in London I supply. Most of my produce is shipped to my home town of Southampton, not that I’ve been back there for many a year.” Godfrey poured out three brimming glasses of the nectar and handed a glass to Otto and me.

After taking several generous sups of the sherry, I apprised Godfrey of the reason my being in Cadiz, informing him of the suspicion that Satan’s Breath, or White Lady as it has become more familiarly known, was being imported through Cadiz into Europe. I also asked if he had gleaned any information relating to Eloise de La Zouche as requested by the Foreign Office via the British embassy in Madrid.

“I have not received any communication from our embassy in Madrid concerning any Eloise de La Zouche.” Godfrey said. “Fact is I have not had any communication with our embassy for nearly a year, since the King was made a virtual prisoner in the Palacio Real de Madrid...”

“The King of Spain has been usurped?” I said, mightily astonished at the news.

He shook his head. “Not exactly, but the country is split between Constitutionalists and Absolutists. The former are supporters of the Constitution of eighteen twelve that gave rights and liberties to the common people, while the others support the King in his revoking of the constitution. After the French were pushed out of Spain and King Ferdinand regained his throne, he turned the clock back to before the French invasion. The Cortes, the government, had wrung concessions from him but Ferdinand revoked the eighteen twelve constitution after Napoleon’s abdication. The two sides are in deep conflict, almost a civil war, and His Majesty is in what is euphemistically described as ‘protective custody ‘until such times he sees the error of his ways and agrees to relax his autocratic rule. Fat chance of that ever happening; Ferdinand is a Bourbon, as is his fat cousin in Paris. A dynasty which learns nothing and forgets nothing.”

“How is the country governed?”

Godfrey sighed. “It depends in what part of the sorry country you live, but generally badly. Catalonia is practically an autonomous state, and is governed quite adequately from Barcelona. Madrid and Castile are in constant turmoil. Here in Cadiz we have a committee of moderates, and Andalusia functions as successfully as Catalonia. There are areas in The Mancha governed by Absolutists adjoining those governed, if that term can be applied to their rule, by Jacobins. Churches in their region have been desecrated, and priests and nuns murdered. One travels that area at ones peril. Both sides are as murderous as each other when it comes to dealing with those who do not hold their beliefs.”
He shook his head resignedly.

“However, let us return to your question concerning the woman you seek, and the product you call Satan’s Breath or White Lady. I have not heard talk of any such substance being brought into Cadiz by the South America convoy but I can make inquiries. As for the lady, I will need a description.”

I described Eloise as dark haired, with a voluptuous body and blue eyes, besides furnishing Godfrey with a list of her many aliases.
He perused the list of names.”I have not heard mention of any of these women – and her description could match many Cadiz ladies, other than the blue eyes of course My man Felipe may know more than I. He is a native of Cadiz, and his wife is an inveterate gossip. If this woman is in Cadiz then Senora Felipe will know.” He paused and gazed at me. “Who is this woman you are so avid to find, Colonel?”

“Eloise de La Zouche is the embodiment of evil.” I could hear the bitterness and anger in my voice. “Among her many other heinous crimes she is responsible for the deaths of my wife and children.”

“And after you locate her you will you bring her to trial?” Godfrey said.

“No, I will kill her.”

There was a moment of deathly silence before Godfrey cleared his throat, and then changed the subject by describing the procedure when a South American convoy docks in Cadiz.

The depth of water in Cadiz bay allows vessels to berth alongside the wharf, facilitating the swift offloading of their of cargo; coffee beans, tobacco, also substantial amounts of exotic wood like mahogany and ebony, with a few young slave-girls destined for the bordellos and bawdy houses of Spain and France. Because of the growing amounts of sugar produced from beet in Europe the import of sugar from Spain’s West Indian colonies has dwindled to nothing – their sugar plantations are in crises as are those in Britain’s West Indian islands.

Once the Custom officials had levied the taxes on the goods the administrador de la flota can then set the prices for the consignment, and the merchants quickly buy up the various commodities, before shipping them around the Mediterranean on the many vessels waiting impatiently for the arrival of the convoy.
The galleons are then re-loaded with produce destined for the colonists in South America; Spanish wine, olive oil, woollen and linen clothing, weapons and gunpowder, and some settlers going out to wrest more land from the indigenous population.

“And there has been nothing suspicious, which could indicate felonious behaviour taking place, when the convoy docks? “ I finished my drink after posing the question, and Godfrey indicated I should refill my empty glass, which I did.
Godfrey spent a some time in thought before replying to my query.

“Now, when I think about it, there was something which intrigued me concerning the South America convoys last year.”
He leaned forward in his chair conspiratorially. “As you are aware ships can berth alongside the wharves to unload their cargoes directly into the warehouses, however on the occasion of the convoy’s arrival last January, and then again in June, I noted one vessel moored out in the fairway, where the cargo was transferred by barge and boat to the warehouse – a task involving much unnecessary labour. After being unloaded, the vessel was moved alongside a wharf to be loaded for the return trip to South America. I thought it unusual at the time but paid it no mind until your question about this White Lady. With so much activity around the vessel in the fairway it is possible some of the cargo being unloaded is not landed on the wharf, but is diverted into one of the waiting merchant’s ships.”

I asked if a watch could be kept on any vessel from the convoy that anchored away from the wharf.

“My warehouse is so situated that activity on any vessel moored alongside or near the wharf can be monitored. “ Godfrey let out a guffaw of laughter. “The fact I keep a large telescope in the apartment is of great assistance in the monitoring.”
I then asked him if he could recommend anyone to transport Otto and myself to Leghorn.