Chapter 7: Haiti

Slowly waking up, Tony felt the unfamiliar sensation of another person stirring in his bed. Slowly, the memory of the last night seeped back into his conscience. Elizabeth Wilson had proven to be a passionate and resourceful lover, once she dropped the assumed image of a shy and proper girl. The memory of the last night rekindled his arousal, aided by the feel of Elizabeth’s nudity. His member, lodged between the cheeks of her arse, began to swell, and, before long, a tousled Elizabeth turned to face him with a languid smile.

“Good morning, you darling man! I get the feeling that you are awake?”

“Very much so. How do you feel, Elizabeth?”

“Splendid,” she answered stretching like a cat. “I have to leave for work soon, you know.”

“I thought you wanted to open your own shop? What’s the hurry?”

“I haven’t given my master notice yet, and I have never been late for work. I would hate for him to be disappointed at me.”

That was an admirable attitude, Tony thought.

“So you won’t give me a chance to say good morning properly?” Tony grinned nevertheless.

“We may have a few spare minutes,” she conceded.

She turned around and straddled him. Guided by her hand, his already stiff member slid into her easily, and she began a slow rocking motion. Her pointed breast swayed gently with her motions, and Tony laid back passively, enjoying both the sights and the sensations. Gradually, Elizabeth picked up speed, and her motions became more urgent. Tony let his hands roam over her slender body, caressing her breasts now, guiding her hips then, and kneading the beautiful globes of her behind. Elizabeth’s face was flushed now, and her chest had also acquired a rosy hue. Her breathing became heavier and accompanied by mewling sounds that escaped her open mouth.

Tony, too, felt his passion rising. When Elizabeth threw back her head, he lifted his upper body from the bed and began to kiss her bosom. The mewling changed into urgent moans, but it was not before he kissed and bit her slender neck that she began to sob in her ecstasy. Maintaining his suction on her throat, Tony pushed the slender woman down onto his throbbing organ, pushing his pelvis up as high as possible. Elizabeth’s body went rigid when his deeply embedded penis began to spew its load into her womb.

They stayed frozen for some time before their mutual ecstasy subsided. Tony dropped back into the cushions, pulling Elizabeth on top of him. Two pairs of lips met in the post-orgasmic bliss they felt, and it was only after another quarter of an hour that Elizabeth reluctantly dislodged herself from Tony with an apologetic smile.

Within a few minutes, she had washed herself, using the wash basin, cloth and soap. Tony quickly threw on some clothes and ordered breakfast. Elizabeth wanted to decline breakfast, but Tony insisted. They were both famished after their lovemaking, and they made short work of the wholesome breakfast. Tony hired a carriage to transport Elizabeth to her lodgings for a quick change into her everyday clothes and then to the tailor’s shop where she worked. They made quick arrangements to meet in the evening to conduct their business, and then she went to work.

Tony had himself driven to Mr. Hogsbotham’s house and informed him on his plan to purchase a tailor’s shop in Mulberry Road. Tony asked the attorney to attend to this business and to make out a lease for his new tenant, Miss Wilson. If Mr. Hogsbotham had any comments on the way Tony conducted business, he kept them to himself. After all, he would earn another tidy commission, and the investment appeared to be sound. There was a small snag, however. Elizabeth Wilson was an unwed maiden, and she could not own a business. Only a widow was allowed to run a business if she had inherited it from their late husband. Mr. Hogsbotham therefore suggested and Tony agreed to set up a limited company owned by Tony, with Hogsbotham as treasurer, and with Elizabeth as manager and sole employee, her salary defined as the surplus of the business, after rent, supply costs and taxes.

When Tony arrived back at the dockyard, it was to learn that the refitting of his ship was nearing completion. The completion of her stores would take another four to five days, but they would be able to sail for Saint Domingue within a week.

In his mail, he found a letter from Anita Heyworth. He had written her the week before, thanking her for a wonderful evening. He had carefully avoided to appear possessive, not knowing how she would feel about their affair in the light of the next day. In her answer, Anita was noncommittal herself, but it was written in a very friendly form. She wrote that she wished him luck on his journey and reiterated her invitation to visit her upon his return. Tony felt encouraged to write an answer in kind.

His conscience was not entirely at ease with his recent behaviour. He had, after all, seduced the lovely Elizabeth Wilson. To write a letter to Anita Heyworth in this fashion almost felt like cheating. He would have to sort out the different women in his life very soon. After all, when all was said and done, he had to consider Rose Mulcahy as well. His long time housekeeper did not expect him to remain celibate, of that he was sure. But she would not take kindly to sharing him with a host of other women once she was living with him again.

The next days were spent with the last preparations. Things were entirely different for Tony. He had spent his entire career on board the Medusa. To ready a different ship for sea felt very strange. The former Frenchman had its advantages, though. The main cabin was decidedly larger than the Medusa’s. He had also used the time and his new affluence to furnish the cabin to his liking. Fortunately, his new house contained a number of furniture items that had been stored in a third floor chamber, which were of good quality and sturdy enough for use on board. He also spent some money on good quality silverware and a set of China for his cabin. The bulkheads had to remain bare and empty, for Tony was alone in the world and had no paintings of relatives or family manors with which to decorate them.

When, on the following Sunday, HMS Clyde weighed anchor and set sail, her captain and the crew quickly fell in love with their new ship. She was no run-down workhorse, like the Medusa had become; she was almost new. Once she grabbed the wind, she felt springy, like a good sword, and there was no doubt that she was a much faster ship.

The week in harbour had allowed the petty officers to acquaint the raw recruits with their duties, but when Clyde left the Spithead and entered the open Channel, the recruits were introduced to seasickness for the first time. Having lived his entire grown up life on board a ship, Tony was not disposed towards this accursed condition. Yet, the new people, among them young Samuel Wilson, spent the first hours and even days of the journey retching and heaving and shivering in the cold. Tony saw to it that the new people were kept busy to detract them from their misery, and he worked them constantly around the clock so that they were too tired to stay awake in their watch-free time. After a few days, the recruits grew sea legs, and by that time they had cleared the Irish coast and were on a westward course.

After passing the Azores, they caught the northeastern trade winds, and Clyde clearly showed what a fine ship she was. Once on their westward course, they logged over 200 miles a day. They had long passed the Azores when the lookout hailed his “Ship ho!”.

It was a ship-rigged vessel that sailed on a converging course with them. It soon became apparent that the strange sail tried to avoid the encounter by changing to a southwestern course. In the jungle and on the seas, flight provokes pursuit. Tony had Clyde change course, too, and the race was on. He soon noted with satisfaction that the strange ship was no match for his fast frigate. It still took over ten hours before the chase was hull up over the horizon. Night was setting in, but the sky was clear, and the full moon guaranteed that the strange sail would not give them the slip during the night.

The fast subtropical dawn saw the two ships less than two miles apart. After letting the men have breakfast, Tony ordered the Clyde cleared for action and her flag hoisted. Once the bustle died down he saw to it that extra water was distributed to the men on their stations since temperatures were quickly rising. Finally, shortly before noon, the strange ship was in range, and Capt. Carter ordered a shot over her bows. The long 9-pounder bow chasers roared out, and a fountain of water rose ahead of the chase. The stranger hove to and hoisted the red and golden flag of Spain. Officers and crew of the Clyde began to curse, since Spain was still at peace with England, and they could not capture a Spanish ship, suspicious though she might behave. Clyde closed in quickly to half pistol shot range, her guns run out. The supposed Spaniard was a flush decked, square rigged ship that would have passed for a sloop of war. Tony decided that she did not look Spanish at all. The lines of her hull and the cut of her sails were decidedly French. There could be an explanation for that, but his suspicion was roused.

“What do you make of her, Mr. Boyle?” he asked his veteran sailing master.

“Slaver, Sir, French built or I don’t know ships. She could still be owned by the Dons.”

Tony raised his speaking trumpet.

“Ship ho! What ship is this?”

The answer came in Spanish.

“Alicante, merchant ship out of Algeciras.”

“What is your destination?”

“Porto Bello, we have a cargo of slaves from the Ivory Coast.”

Tony thought for a moment. The answers were coming too matter-of-factly, too well rehearsed. A real merchant captain would have protested, would have shown anger and indignation at being intercepted. Again, he rose his speaking trumpet.

“Stay hove to and await my boats! My officer will verify your claims.” Tony saw movement on the deck of the slaver. “Stay hove to or I shall fire into you!” he shouted.

“Mr. Fortescue, take the longboat and the cutter and take possession! Mind that you stay out of our line of fire whilst you cross!”

“Aye aye, Sir!”

“Control the ship’s papers. If she is indeed Spanish, you will excuse yourself and let her go.”

The boats were lowered on the Clyde‘s fire lee, and they pulled over to the other ship in a wide berth. Tony saw his First Lieutenant enter the ship with a large detachment of sailors and soldiers. Every telescope on board the Clyde was trained on the other ship. After a quarter of an hour, Tony saw Mr. Fortescue appear on deck again. The British sailors apparently took control of the ship as one could see how the foreign sailors were herded forward to the forecastle. Tony sent his gig with a midshipman to learn the news. It returned with Mr. Fortescue.

“It’s a Frog, Sir, Le Tempest, out of Toulon. Not two of the crew even speak Spanish,” he chuckled. “She has 140 slaves on board and was heading for Porto Bello. That part was true. What shall we do with her, Sir?”

Tony thought for a moment. British ships of war were already forbidden to engage in slave trade, and therefore he had so set these poor prisoners free. Sailing them to the Ivory Coast, though, was out of the question. The north-eastern trade winds would not allow that without a great waste of time. On the other hand, there was a neat solution to this problem.

“The slaver is our prize,” he answered. People on the quarterdeck grinned openly at the prospect of prize money. “We shall take the prize with the slaves to Saint Domingue. There we shall release the captives into the care of the Black leaders.”

“That’s brilliant, Sir! They will be set free without us losing time and you will gain some footing with those Blacks.”

“Precisely, Mr. Fortescue. Now we need somebody to tell those poor devils about their change of fate. Mr. Little!”

The coxswain of the captain’s gig stepped forward. He was the huge African who had escaped from a slave ship years ago. The Medusa, always in need of men, had rescued him from a tiny boat in which he had escaped. Since his African name was too much for the British, he was re-christened to John Little, a small joke in reference to the sidekick of Robin Hood. As John Little, or Little John, he had risen in the ranks, and before this journey, he had gained the coveted post of captain’s cox’n. He was a tall man, of quick perception and unwavering loyalty. He spoke English with great care so as not to betray his background, but he made it clear to anyone that he was a warrior from a proud people, and that he saw his present position as a continuation of this tradition.

“Mr. Little, I want you to go over and try and talk to the captives. Even if you do not speak their tongue, they may feel more comfortable with you. Try to tell them that I shall set them free on an island that is ruled by freed slaves. They will not be slaves but live a life in freedom.”

“Aye aye, Sir Anthony. I shall try to make them understand. What island will that be?”

“Saint Domingue, the former French part. Take the gig.”

Mr. Little crossed over to Le Tempest. He explained his task to the prize master, and the captives were brought on deck. Little had to try all the languages and dialects he remembered before one of the women was able to understand him. Using her as translator, he was able to convey the fact to them that they were to be set free on a foreign island, instead of being sold into slavery. Of course there were the inevitable questions of why they could not return to Africa. Patiently, Little explained the reasons why they could not.

It was late afternoon before HMS Clyde and her prize set course for Saint Domingue. Tony planned to land at Cap Francais, the former centre of the French settlements. He assumed that any new government the former slaves might try to establish would use the facilities of the former capital. The last news he had received was that General Dessalines had succeeded the ill-fated Toussaint L’Ouverture, and that the French forces had been conquered, not only due to the excellent military skills of the Black leaders, but also due to horrendous losses incurred from malaria and yellow fever.

Tony had been warned not to embark on any large-scale landing operation as this would spell disaster. He was not too worried, though, since his was a mostly West Indian crew and more hardy in the climate than the Polish and French troops under the command of Napoleon’s ill-fated General Leclerc.

It was early June of 1804 when HMS Clyde made the final approach to Cap Francais. She was gliding along under doubly reefed topsails, her decks cleared and her guns ready. They did not know what to expect. Tony had been briefed by the Foreign Office; he had even met one of the officers who had participated in the failed British attempt to conquer Saint Domingue. He knew the names of the most important figures of the rebellion who now formed the leadership. He also knew of the pathological, if understandable, hatred that General Dessalines bore towards Whites and even Creoles. He therefore anchored in the roads for a day just to give the Blacks the opportunity to summon someone of weight.

The next day, he sent Mr. Little ashore. He was rowed by several of the freed slaves and carried a letter in French stating the wish of Captain Carter to speak to the local commander. Little returned with a carefully written answer in which he was asked to state his business. Tony sat down at his desk and drafted a reply in which he expressed his wish to land over a hundred Africans who had been freed from a slave ship. Secondly, he stated that he wished to open negotiations between the new government of Saint Domingue and the British side with the aim to prevent future hostilities.

Mr. Little was rowed back to the shore with that message. He came back with an answer in which Capt. Carter was invited to a meeting on the beach just after sun up the next morning. The local commander, General Vaval, allowed the captain to bring a guard of 10 soldiers, while Vaval reserved the same right for himself. Tony studied the beach through his telescope. It was wide and open and ill-suited for any ambush.

“What do you think, Mr. Little, is the General sincere?”

“Hard to say, Captain, Sir.”

“Mr. Fortescue!”

“Sir?”, the 1st lieutenant queried.

“I shall go ashore for a meeting with the local military commander, a General Vaval. I shall take the launch, and I’ll take a sergeant and nine marines. Have two swivel guns mounted in the launch. Mr. Weaver will be in command. See to it that the guns are properly manned. You will be in command of the ship. We will clear for action now. I want a spring on the anchor cable, too.”

“Aye aye, Sir. What are your orders if there is trouble?”

“Then you have my order to take the beach under fire with the main deck guns. Under no circumstances will you send a landing party to our rescue. We will try to get out with the launch.”

“Aye-aye, Sir.” Fortescue nodded with some reluctance.

The drums of the marines rolled and the Clyde was cleared for action. A heavy cable, the spring line, was attached to the bow anchor cable and run through the aftermost gun port and to the windlass. By paying out or shortening the spring line, the ship could be turned to any direction to bring her guns to bear. This was a cautionary measure necessary in this anchorage. In addition to that, the boarding nets were rigged, and the guns were loaded and run out.

After a rather uncomfortable night, Tony was rowed ashore in the launch and accompanied by ten Marines. The launch cleared from the beach, and stood off, ready to assist or to pick them up.

They had hardly landed when a small troop approached them from the tree line. A short but stocky Black man was leading. When the two groups met, Tony bowed shortly, and introduced himself, speaking French.

The short man introduced himself as General Vaval. Tony knew him by name. He had been the trusted sidekick to Toussaint L’Ouverture, and he had continued the fight against the French General Leclerc after L’Ouverture had been betrayed and captured.

“What is it you wish to discuss with me, mon capitaine?” the general enquired next.

“Firstly, mon general, would you be willing to offer hospitality to 130 captives? They are from Africa, and we freed them from a French slave ship headed for Porto Bello. As you may know, British ships are not allowed to engage in the slave trade, and I would like to free them as soon as possible.”

The General thought for a moment and nodded.

“We shall welcome our brothers and sisters. You may land them.”

“Thank you, mon general. Now, if you will allow me to come to the reason for my arrival here. His majesty, King George III and his government wish to put an end to the hostilities between England and your government. I am here to offer assurances that British forces will not aim to occupy Saint Domingue in the future. In return, His Majesty’s government would like to extract an assurance from your government that you will not attack His Majesty’s dominions and that you will not engage in naval warfare nor offer shelter to pirates and privateers.”

Again the black general thought for a moment before he answered.

“I must inform the Emperor Dessaline of your offer. Only he can give you such assurances. This will take time, at least a week. You could land the freed slaves in the meantime. Other than that, I suggest you will refrain from coming to the shore. Our Emperor is not a friend of White people, I am afraid.”

“So I have heard,” Tony agreed sardonically. If anything, Dessaline had the reputation of being a murderous madman. “I shall wait for your answer then.”

“Bon,” the general answered. “There is another issue that I would like to raise, mon capitaine. There is a convent on the coast to the east. It is the home to Spanish nuns, and the Spanish have abandoned them when they retreated. They are a thorn in our side, and we want them gone. Our Emperor is strangely reluctant to clear the convent by force. The Madre Superior is a scary woman, she is obayifo, a witch, and she has the evil eye. If you could try to persuade them to leave the convent and sail away with you, our president may consider your offer more favourably.”

“How many nuns are there?” Tony asked, fencing for time.

“We do not know exactly, between twenty five and thirty, I think.”

“How will I get there? My orders are not to undertake any landings on your island, except for the purpose of making contact.”

“You would not have to do that. The convent is located on a cove, and ships can anchor there.”

“What if they don’t want to evacuate?”

“They will,” Vaval said with a grim expression, “or else they will starve.”

Tony relented.

“Let us sassume, I agree. I do not have any authority. I would need an official of your government to conduct any operation. My orders are quite clear on that.”

“I am glad to hear that, mon capitaine, and I shall be there myself.”

“D’accord. I shall try. Do you wish to travel in my ship?”

“That would be convenient, unless it would trouble you over much.”

“Not at all, mon general. When shall we start?”

“I need to inform our Emperor of the plan. But I suppose we can sail this afternoon. It is a 150 mile distance.”

Tony calculated. That would be 125 nautical miles. With the prevailing wind that distance could be covered in less than a day. If they sailed in the afternoon, they would make a landfall in the early morning, with the high tide running. He nodded.

“That will be agreeable, General,” he said. “When can we expect your Excellency?”

“I shall be ready at 3 o’clock.”

“Six bells on the afternoon watch,” Tony mused. “We shall be ready to sail then.”

They parted, and the British returned to the Clyde. Orders were given to land the freed slaves on the beach where a few of General Vaval’s soldiers were awaiting them. The disembarkation went largely without a hitch. With his glass, Tony could see that at least one of the Haitian soldiers was able to speak to the freed slaves. Greeting rituals were performed too, and the landed men and women appeared to smile. This was confirmed by the returning boat crews, and Tony was able to chalk off one of his problems.

By early afternoon, a boat came from the shore carrying the general and two officers. He was received on board with military honours, including the 15-gun salute for a lieutenant general. General Vaval was obviously pleased with the respect shown to him.

Immediately afterwards, the Clyde and the captured slaver weighed anchor and set sail for an east-north-eastern course. Luckily, the wind favoured them, and both ships made good speed all through the afternoon and evening. At sunset, Tony ordered a straight eastern course and a shortening of sails for the night. That evening, he entertained the general, his aides and his own officers in the main cabin. To Tony’s surprise, his guests drank little wine and no spirits at all. At four bells on the first watch, they all turned in to sleep.

Sunrise was at four bells on the morning watch. Even before that time, Tony was on deck again. When the sun rose brilliantly over their bowsprit, he noticed the prize close to them to leeward. Everything was going to plan. It was time to alter course to south east to reach the coast. Tony had a table placed on the quarterdeck and he invited his guests to a breakfast. They chatted amiably in French. Tony tried to gather as much information as possible from General Vaval about the plans of the new rulers.

He also pointed out that peace with the British side would depend on a complete non-interference of Haiti in Jamaica and other British dominions. Under L’Ouverture, an attempt had been undertaken to start a slave rebellion in Jamaica. This had scared H.M. government to no end. The sugar trade, so important for England, depended on the cheap slave labour, or so it was argued by the representatives of the sugar interest. Therefore, it was his most important task to extract some form of assurance from the Haitian government that they would not stir up trouble in Jamaica.

For his part, Vaval asked how long the British would still tolerate the forcible abduction of people from West Africa into slavery. Tony answered cautiously that there was a strong and vocal anti-slavery movement in England and that it was gaining momentum in parliament (this movement culminated in the 1808 decision to abolish the transatlantic slave trade). Vaval looked at Tony with his head tilted to the side.

“What is your own opinion, Captain?”

Tony looked at him openly.

“My personal opinion is that slavery is an abomination. But I must say that we have some form of slavery on board this ship, too. More than half of my men were pressed into the service. They will be released only after the end of the war.”

Vaval looked around.

“Why don’t they rise against you, Captain?”

“Several reasons. The punishments for disobedience are harsh, we have soldiers on board, and the men respect me. If I lose their respect, then there will be trouble.”

Vaval smiled sadly.

“You are right, Captain, this is very similar to slavery. People like yourself who obviously treat their subordinates well and are respected, people like yourself are an obstacle for the emancipation of slaves.”

The cry of the lookout interrupted the sombre discussion. Tony had the table cleared away and climbed into the mizzen top to study the coast line through his telescope. He saw that they could reach their destination with a minor change of course. He climbed back to the deck to give the necessary orders. Signal flags rose to their yardarms to convey his orders to the prize. She was to anchor away from the land while the Clyde continued her approach.

Two hours later, the Clyde cast anchor in a little cove that offered excellent anchorage. The massive stone buildings of the monastery could be seen from the water, but there was no sign of life on the shore. Tony gave orders to swing out the large boats. Accompanied by the complete marine detachment and fifty armed sailors, Tony and his guests were rowed ashore. Leaving a strong guard with the boats, they made for the monastery. After a short climb, they reached the outer walls and the main gate. Stepping forward, Tony rapped the door with his sword hilt. A timid female voice from within asked him his business.

“Yo soy Capitan Don Antonio Carter, de la Marina Real de Inglaterra. Yo deseo hablar con la Madre Superior!”

Tony was aware of his poor command of the Spanish language. A few minutes passed, and then a small window in the door opened. The grim face of an old woman appeared.

“What does a heretic want from us?”

“I came to offer you and your nuns safe passage to a Spanish port. The government of Saint Domingue wishes that you leave, and I can bring you to safety.”

“We shall not leave this holy place,” the old woman answered sternly. “Not for all the heathens in the world. Let them try their worst.”

“Mother Superior, wouldn’t it be wiser to continue your holy service in the Spanish Dominions on the mainland?”

“We will not abandon this place. Leave now!” was the uncompromising answer.

Tony looked at General Vaval. He was not sure how to continue. If he took the place by force, the Spanish might use the incident to declare war on England. In this case, his career might suffer severely. He was spared the decision by young Samuel Wilson. The young volunteer had a small detachment of sailors under his command and was to secure the rear of the compound. Now he came running to the main gate.

“Sir, permission to speak, Sir?” he panted.

Tony nodded.

“We’ve heard voices, Sir, English voices. They were shouting for help, Sir. They came out of the ground, Sir, the voices.”