Caribbean: a novel Part 20

Even before the battle started, the fever struck, killing the valiant British general who was to have led the ground forces as they left Vernon's s.h.i.+ps. In the dead man's place the admiral received one of the most inept generals in history: Brigadier General Thomas Wentworth, a flunky and a totally inept vacillator propelled into a command he did not want and could not exercise. The consequence was reported by Pembroke: I was liaison aboard Admiral Vernon's flags.h.i.+p, and each morning it was the same. 'Has General Wentworth started to attack the fort?' he would ask me, and I would reply 'No,' and he would turn to ask the others: 'Why not?' and they would reply 'n.o.body knows.'

Time was wasted. Rains began. Fever struck our men with terrible force, and still Wentworth did not move forward. In the end, our great armada, more powerful than the one which attacked England from Spain, had to withdraw, having accomplished nothing. Not even a major battle. Not a single wall thrown down. Nothing.

And why did we fail? Because at every turn that d.a.m.ned one-leg Spanish admiral outguessed us. He proved a genius.

If the combined British navy and army achieved nothing but disaster, John Pembroke did somewhat better, for he attained what the English fighting man always aspired to, 'a mention in dispatches,' as Admiral Vernon reported to London: When we sought to lay the small s.h.i.+p Galicia close to the Spanish fort to test the range and ability of our guns, we asked for volunteers, for the task was extremely dangerous. John Pembroke, civilian guide, sprang forward, and when the s.h.i.+p got into trouble, in the teeth of enemy batteries and rifle fire, he leaped into the water among the bullets to break her loose. His was an act of heroism of the highest order.

It accomplished nothing, because when General Wentworth still refused to attack, his inescapable enemy General Yellow Fever, aided by Admiral Cholera, struck his huddled troops, and the almost instantaneous loss of life was fearful. Men would fall sick as if with a mere cold, catch at their throats, and strangle. A soldier would be cleaning his rifle; the weapon would fall from his hands; he would look up in horror and fall to the ground atop it. Fifty-percent deaths in a unit was common, with the levies from the American colonies suffering up to seventy.

The sad, disgraceful day came when Admiral Vernon, still unable to budge Wentworth, who now had justification in not attacking, had to pa.s.s the order: 'All troops back aboard s.h.i.+ps. All s.h.i.+ps back to Jamaica.' England's mighty thrust to drive Spain from the Caribbean had been frustrated by a courageous admiral who was only two-thirds of a man.

On the mournful sail back to Port Royal, John Pembroke moved among officers and men, gathering the firsthand information which he would later include in his well-regarded pamphlet True Account of Admiral Vernon's Conduct at Cartagena, whose most often quoted paragraphs were these: By honest count we lost 18,000 men dead, and according to a Spanish soldier we captured, they lost at most 200. Admiral One-Leg with his excellent leaders.h.i.+p and fire killed 9,000 of our men, General Fever killed a like number. When I last saw the harbor of Cartagena its surface was gray with the rotting bodies of our men, who died so rapidly that we could not bury them. The poor, weak farmers from our North American colonies died four men in five.

But the greater loss was that had we won we would have brought all the Caribbean under English rule. It would have become a unified world, with all the opportunity for growth that unity provides. One rule, one language, one religion. Now that chance is gone and it may never come again.

The reward that John Pembroke received for his heroism at Cartagena was unexpected; it came in the form of a letter from his father in London: We are all proud of your heroic deportment. I wish I could tell my friends: 'It's how we Pembrokes have always responded when our nation calls.' Alas, we Pembrokes have no such record of gallantry in battle, so I congratulate you on starting the tradition. I trust that you and Elzabet will hurry over, putting aside any obligations at Trevelyan, as I have three surprises for you, and I a.s.sure you they are worthy of your attention.

So the youngest Pembrokes left Trevelyan in the late summer of 1743, taking their two children with them, and as they sailed past the remnants of Port Royal, John could not even begin to know that he would not see Jamaica again until the turbulent 1790s. For when they reached London, Sir Hugh met them at the dock with the first of his three surprises: 'John, you've behaved manfully these past few years. The entire Jamaica contingent is proud of you, especially the Sugar Interest. We agreed unanimously on your reward.' He paused dramatically to allow the young couple to try to guess what he would say next, but the blank look on their faces a.s.sured him that they had not probed his secret.

'I've bought you a seat in Parliament!' Yes, at the age of thirty-four, with no previous experience in politics, John Pembroke would take up a seat purchased by his father from one of the rotten boroughs; after three years of holding the seat he rode far into the country west of London to see where it was, and found three cottages comprising the ruins of what had once been an important trading town. He met the two old men, the only voters left in his entire district, who would henceforth cast the votes that would elect him unanimously, year after year. 'I hope I can continue to be a representative worthy of our district,' he said, and the men replied: 'Aye.'

The Pembroke family now controlled three seats in Parliament, and John, as something of a military hero, added considerable force to his persuasiveness in cloakroom debate. His responsibilities were simple, as explained by his father: 'Don't allow the French an inch. Remember, they're our perpetual enemy. And keep those fools in the American colonies in line. And lift the price of sugar.'

The Pembrokes were by no means the outstanding Jamaican family in Parliament. In fact, they ranked only third in public esteem, for the Dawkins family also had three of its members in Parliament, while the notable Beckford family of a plantation not far from Trevelyan had three outstanding brothers. William Beckford was twice Lord Mayor of London and won his election to Parliament from that city. Richard Beckford sat for Bristol, while Julius represented Salisbury. Thus three rural families in Jamaica controlled nine seats in Parliament, while eight other Jamaican planters each owned one. Counting those purchased by wealthy planters from the smaller islands like Antigua and St. Kitts, the power of the Sugar Interest was formidable, with one critic claiming: 'Those d.a.m.ned islanders will have in this session twenty-four of their own seats plus twenty-six held by men indebted to them.'

The pejorative word islanders was not entirely justified when describing this phenomenon, because throughout England voters saw the rich West Indian contingent merely as local men who had gone to the islands temporarily to make their fortunes. Indeed, of the seventy island members who would hold seats over the span of years, more than half had never visited the Caribbean, nor would they ever. They were the famous absentee land-holders whose forebears had made the adventurous trip to Jamaica, arranged for their fortunes, and sailed back home to stay. Now their homes were in England, but they remembered that their wealth still came from Jamaica and voted accordingly.

At the moment John and Elzabet were concerned with what their father's second surprise was going to be, but Sir Hugh remained silent with growing nervousness as they approached his house on Cavendish Square. But the carriage did not stop there, for the driver had been previously directed to deliver the young people to a fine, handsomely proportioned house on the far side of the square, close to Roger's residence. When they stepped down, Sir Hugh said, almost as if embarra.s.sed: 'Your new home,' and he led them into rooms that had been tastefully decorated.

'Father Hugh!' Elzabet cried. 'What a thoughtful gift,' and John echoed her approval: 'What possibly could you have hiding as our third gift?'

At the word hiding Sir Hugh blushed furiously, coughed, and said in a voice hardly stronger than a whisper: 'You can come out now,' and from an inner room where she had been waiting, a woman slammed open a door, rushed in like a Jamaican hurricane, and cried in a joyous voice: 'John! Elzabet! I'm your new mother!'

It was Hester Croome Pembroke, tall, big, redheaded, and almost splitting her stays with merriment. Rus.h.i.+ng across the entrance foyer, she clasped John in her powerful arms and cried: 'John, dear boy! I'm a Pembroke at last!' Then, moving to Sir Hugh's side, she stood with him and looked benignly at John and Elzabet. 'My G.o.d!' she cried. 'Are we not a handsome foursome?'

The next two decades represented the apex of West Indian power in London. When Lord Mayor Beckford was not giving a huge party to encourage his supporters, Pentheny Croome was offering an entertainment of staggering munificence, with Italian opera singers and German fiddlers. Occasionally, Sir Hugh, Lady Hester and his two sons would open their houses to a more restrained kind of reception: quiet conversation and music by Handel, who sometimes put in an appearance to lead a small orchestra himself. The three big families-Beckford, Dawkins, Pembroke-had between them nineteen children and grandchildren at good English schools like Eton, Rugby and Winchester, so the Englishness of the Caribbean grew more p.r.o.nounced each decade.

In these years Sir Hugh seemed to escalate to a new level of enjoyment in living, and the younger Pembrokes were pleased that he had remarried. They saw that his step was lighter, his smile more ready, as if he were quietly amused by his new wife's bubbling vitality. As John told Elzabet: 'Best thing he's done in years is marry that Jamaican hurricane.'

Things were never allowed to remain sober when Lady Hester was in charge, and the once stately quality of Sir Hugh's big reception room with its sedate Rembrandt and Raphael was somewhat altered by the insertion of a gigantic marble sculpture that Hester brought back from a trip on which she had met the artist in Florence. The lovely Raphael was now partly obscured by Venus Resisting the Advances of Mars, a white tangle of flailing arms and legs. When her husband first saw it he growled: 'Hester, I'm goin' to bring over four cans of paint. His arms red, hers blue. His legs purple, hers yellow. Then we'll know who's doin' what to who.'

The Rembrandt was also overshadowed by a larger painting she had brought over from her father's mansion, the one which had been sold to the Croomes by an enthusiastic dealer, who told them: 'One of the most famous works of art in the world. Look at the pope's eyes. No matter where you move in the room, he follows you. If you've done wrong, you can't hide.'

Bit by bit Hester's dinners became more rambunctious, until parliamentary members from all parties grew to prefer her entertainments to any other. She developed a kind of rough Jamaican acceptance of both defeat and victory, and if a group of members tried to force the Board of Trade to lower the price of sugar and failed, she jollied them along just as she did when her own three Pembrokes lost a battle. And this apt.i.tude helped both her and the Sugar Interest in the turbulent years following 1756, when all the nations of Europe seemed at war with one another, first in this alignment then in that; Prussia, Germany, Austria, Russia, France, Spain, Portugal and England were involved at one time or another in various alliances, and Europe quaked.

With the cleverness that powers sometimes exhibit, France and England restricted their major land battles to remote North America, and their sea battles to the Caribbean. In 1760, General Louis Joseph Montcalm, leading the French, and General James Wolfe, the British, both died on the same day in the great battle on the Plains of Abraham at Quebec, mournful climax of the British conquest of Canada.

At sea Admiral Rodney confused things in 1762 by conquering the French islands of Martinique, St. Vincent, Grenada and All Saints, adding them to the big island of Guadeloupe, which the British already possessed. Rodney's victories were so important to the safety of the empire that when word reached London, bonfires were lit and people danced in the streets, but not the members of the Sugar Interest. They cl.u.s.tered in muted groups and whispered: 'My G.o.d! What a disaster! How can we neutralize this dreadful mistake?'

The danger was real. If England retained as spoils of war the big French islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique, not to mention the little ones, so much new sugar-producing acreage would become available to compete for the British market that established islands like Jamaica and Barbados would be sorely damaged. 'h.e.l.l,' Pentheny Croome said with keen foresight, 'sugar in England could then be as cheap as it now is in France, and that would destroy us.'

He was correct, and in the latter part of 1762 and the beginning of 1763 the Sugar Interest, led by Sir Hugh Pembroke, the powerful Beckfords and the very wealthy Pentheny Croome, pulled every secret string it commanded to achieve one purpose: the English negotiators at the peace conference in Paris must be forced to accept Canada in place of the French islands in the Caribbean. If France didn't want them, give them to Spain or set them adrift, but under no circ.u.mstances let them join the British union.

Obviously, powerful forces were arranged against the West Indians, who were lampooned in the press and in pamphlets for being concerned only with their selfish interests. Strong French leaders wanted to keep Canada and get rid of the islands, which had been a constant financial burden. British military geniuses, especially the admirals, agreed; they were willing to give Canada away if they could hold on to Martinique and All Saints, two islands which commanded the eastern entrances to the Caribbean: 'In any future naval battles in this sea, the nation that commands those islands will have the advantage. Canada? What worth is it except to beavers and Indians?'

But the strongest voice was that of the English housewife, who pled with her government: 'Please, please give us the French islands so that we can have sugar at a reasonable price.'

In recent years a new factor had entered this debate: the growing popularity of tea, both in the home and in the public tearooms. But to enjoy their tea properly, the English had to add sugar, and plenty of it, so as the demand for tea rose spectacularly, the need for cheaper sugar rose commensurately, and the West Indian sugar planters realized they were threatened by the new French islands.

Meetings in London were continuous, with political leaders dropping in on the Beckfords, members of Parliament who could use a few pounds of his wealth stopping by to consult with Pentheny Croome, while the molders of public opinion, the quiet manipulators of Parliament, convened in hushed tones with Sir Hugh Pembroke and his sons. The meetings were apt to be tense, with men of the Sugar Interest applying strong pressure to win their basic point: 'Take Canada. It has a future. Give the islands back to France. For Britain to keep them would be a terrible mistake.'

When any member of Parliament countered with the popular refrain 'But the public needs sugar at lower prices,' the canny sugar men refrained from saying 'To h.e.l.l with the public,' which was what men like Pentheny said when they were behind closed doors; instead, they argued with honeyed words: 'But, Sir Benjamin, don't you realize that Jamaica is enormous? We have untold fields on which we can grow more sugar ... twice as much ... three times as much. Leave this matter to us.' Of course, for the last quarter-century they had owned thousands of arable acres which they had stubbornly refused to develop. As Pentheny said, with that profound intuitive knowledge he commanded: 'Why should my slaves labor to cultivate a thousand acres, when on five hundred with half the work we can make twice the money ... if we keep the price of sugar high?'

In 1760 the sugar people suffered a serious blow when a knowledgeable economist named Joseph Ma.s.sie published at his own expense a pamphlet with the intriguing t.i.tle: A computation of the money that hath been exorbitantly raised upon the people of Great Britain by the sugar planters in one year, from January 1759 to January 1760; shewing how much money a family of each rank, degree or cla.s.s hath lost by that rapacious monopoly having continued so long, after I laid it open, in my State of the British Sugar-Colony Trade, which was published last winter. With impeccable reasoning and such data as he had available, Ma.s.sie proved that the West Indian planters had milked the British public, during a stretch of twenty years, of the prodigious sum of 'EIGHT MILLIONS OF POUNDS sterling, over and above very good profits.'

The attack was frontal and complete. Men of the Sugar Interest were revealed as enemies of the state and ruthless exploiters not only of their black slaves in West Indian Jamaica, but also of white housewives in Great Britain. The grave injustice could be solved, politicians of Ma.s.sie's persuasion argued, by the simple device of retaining Martinique and Guadeloupe, for as another pamphleteer accurately pointed out: 'The great planters of Jamaica have promised us for the last thirty years that one of these days they were going to open up more cane fields on their island, but as my figures shew, Pentheny Croome hath selfishly acc.u.mulated thousands of new acres but cultivated not one.'

These new attacks were so factual and so persuasive that one night in 1762 the leading planters met for dinner in Sir Hugh and Lady Hester's grand dining room. The great William Pitt, staunch proponent of holding on to the French islands, had been invited to hear arguments against doing so, but he became engrossed in Lady Hester's account of how her latest monstrous marble masterpiece had been got through the doors of her mansion.

'It's ent.i.tled, as you can see, Victory Rewarding Heroism, and when it arrived, there was no way to force it through our doors. So Luigi was sent for and he came up from Florence and showed us how simple it really was. With a special saw he cut right through here, Victory left on one side, Heroism on the other, and each manageable half could be moved through the door over there.'

'But how did you put the halves back together?' Pitt asked. 'I see no betraying mark.'

'Ah ha!' Hester cried, moving to the statue. 'That's exactly what I asked, Mr. Pitt, and Luigi told me: "Every artist has his secrets," and he refused to reveal his. But there it stands ... and isn't it magnificent?'

She asked this question directly of Pitt, who replied: 'Well, it certainly is bigger than most.'

Lady Hester's interruption had provided Pitt with time to marshal his courage, of which he had an unlimited supply, and after Hester had withdrawn to her own room, he said frankly: 'Gentlemen, as you know, I've always been in favor of retaining the big French islands. More trade for England, lower prices for sugar, strategic advantages for our navy.' Several planters gasped and tried to dissuade him from including that stipulation regarding Martinique and Guadeloupe in the peace treaty which he was even then negotiating with the French during sessions in Paris.

They made no headway with him, but when the port was pa.s.sed and the cigars lighted he leaned back, looked at each planter in turn, and confided: 'Gentlemen, I have good news for you and bad news for England.'

'How could any situation be so described?' Sir Hugh asked gently, but Pitt ignored him: 'I am being removed from our negotiating team in Paris. The Earl of Bute is to supersede me, and as you well know, he is far more partial to your cause than I ever could be.'

As he departed he threw a parting thought, generous and potentially productive, even though it operated against his own interests: 'If I were you, gentlemen, I would have someone on my side rush out a pamphlet to counteract that persuasive affair of Joseph Ma.s.sie's. It's doing your side real damage, you know.' With that, he departed.

As soon as Pitt was gone, Lady Hester, who had read the Ma.s.sie pamphlet with rising fury, took charge of the meeting: 'Pitt's right. Our side has got to answer those false charges. And we'd better do it right now.' After only a few minutes of discussion, it was agreed that a broadsheet should be printed and distributed widely, Pentheny Croome would pay for it, but then the problem became more complicated, for none of the planters felt competent to answer the sharp criticism of Ma.s.sie. Each deferred to others, until Lady Hester cut the Gordian knot: 'My husband will write it,' and when he blurted out a gasping refusal, she said simply: 'I'll help you over the difficult parts, my sweet.'

He and Hester spent the next three weeks hammering out a masterful riposte to the anti-planter pamphlets, pointing out their errors, gently ridiculing their pretensions as to international affairs, and bringing forth sharp new points of view and economic inevitables. In the writing, Sir Hugh was invariably conciliatory, Lady Hester always thrusting at the jugular. They formed an invaluable team, an elder statesman in his seventies, a forceful woman in her fifties, and in record time they had their essay scattered across London and in the major cities of Great Britain: The pamphlet was a striking success, for it played on British doggedness, English heroism, hopes for the future and patriotism in general, while effectively masking the venality of the Sugar Interest and hiding the heavy tribute the average Briton was paying in order to maintain Jamaican families like the Beckfords, the Dawkinses, the Pembrokes and the Croomes in their lavish pattern of living.

An Unembellished Account provided powerful ammunition for the Earl of Bute as he labored on the peace treaty which would arrange affairs in Europe, India, North America and the Caribbean, for it antic.i.p.ated all the ends he desired to accomplish and provided him with fresh and telling justifications. On a return trip to London he sent a signal to Sir Hugh and his planters: 'Things look promising. You will have no Guadeloupe around your necks.'

This a.s.surance from one so highly placed caused rejoicing among the planters, but not in the household of John Pembroke, for his frail Danish wife, kept to her bed by a series of fainting spells, had grave misgivings when he told her that the French islands were to be given back: 'Oh, John! It seems so wrong!'

He was surprised: 'But, darling, that's what we've been fighting for. To protect the markets for our sugar crop.'

'I know,' she said with mild impatience. 'But there are other considerations.'

'What could possibly be more important to us right now?'

'Surely the destiny of the Caribbean is to have all the islands under one grand government. It's folly the way it is now. Like a sour porridge with raisins. A few Danish islands over here. A couple of Swedish. Some Dutch. A few Spanish, ill-governed. Some French. They could be mostly English, with a chance to invite all the remnants to join.'

He said: 'But our entire program ... get rid of Guadeloupe ...'

'John! Do the right thing now! Give our wonderful sea a united government. Do it when you have what may be your last chance ... the last chance ever.'

She spoke with such vehemence that her husband said: 'Elzabet, I never knew you were of such an opinion,' and she said: 'I've been watching and listening and reading. Nations are given one chance, maybe two, to do the right thing at the right time, and if they refuse ... I see only tragedy ahead if this wonderful sea we were given is not united ... now, when we have our last opportunity.'

She began to weep, and John asked in trepidation: 'Bett, what is it?' and she sobbed: 'I'm homesick for the islands. Those beautiful islands ...'

'Bett, as soon as this is over, back we go. I too want to see Trevelyan again.'

'I was so happy there ...' and within minutes she was dead. When John, in quiet anguish, asked the doctors: 'How could you allow such a thing to happen?' they said simply: 'She lived intensely and it was her time to go.'

After her funeral, which was arranged by Lady Hester on his behalf, for John was too distraught to make decisions, he tried, out of respect for Elzabet's opinions, to withdraw from the final battles on the peace treaty, but neither Sir Hugh nor Lady Hester would permit this; they drew him deeper and deeper into the negotiations prior to the all-important vote in Parliament which would accept or reject the Earl of Bute's handiwork.

Thus, abetted by Lady Hester, who was proving a fierce defender of Jamaican interests, John arranged for an additional printing of eight hundred copies of An Unembellished Account, which she distributed personally in areas where they would do the most good. She also organized resplendent dinner parties at which arms were twisted and rural members of Parliament were instructed in the substantial advantages their district would reap if the Bute terms were accepted.

Ponderously the debate continued through December of 1762 and into January and much of February of the new year, with the Sugar Interest taking great abuse because the facts were so uniformly against them, but finally, on 20 February 1763, the vote could no longer be delayed, and the great planters who practically ran Parliament watched smugly as the tally showed 319 for the treaty, with the French islands going back to France, and only 65 against.

That night William Pitt, always bitter in debate but gracious in defeat, accompanied Lady Hester Pembroke to her home from the House of Commons, and as he sat on a velvet chair in front of Victory Rewarding Heroism he watched the jubilant planters celebrating their victory. At a break in the festivities he looked back over his shoulder and pointed to the gargantuan statue: 'Gentlemen, I must remind you that Lady Victory, immense though she seems in this room tonight, is a fickle dame. In winning, I fear you have lost the American colonies from our empire. They're men of great fort.i.tude over there, a new breed, and they'll not tolerate the cruel disadvantages you have thrown into their teeth this day.'

'What do you expect them to do about it?' Croome asked. 'They have no power, and we do.'

'I expect them to rebel. To rebel against these injustices.' With that, he went to Lady Hester, kissed her two hands, and asked her to escort him to the door and his waiting carriage.

Pitt was right, it did prove a costly victory for Sir Hugh. The energy he had expended so unceasingly over the past two years in his battle to defend sugar had exhausted him. He knew that he was wearing out, and found little pleasure when the great planters celebrated what Mr. Pitt had termed 'your costly victory.' He was also distressed to see his youngest son so dispirited by the loss of his wife, and day by day Sir Hugh weakened.

He did, however, find consolation in the remarkable vitality of his wife, and one evening when he knew his strength was failing, he told her: 'Men like me, educated in England, often smiled at Jamaican planters like your father, who knew only what the land had taught them. But now I see that he, and you too, took nourishment from those fields, those forests.' Suddenly he broke into sobs: 'Jamaica, Jamaica! I shall never see the bridge at Trevelyan again.'

Next day he was dead, and most of the members of Parliament who were in residence in London at that time attended his funeral, for he had been the one member of the Sugar Interest that all could respect.

In the seventh week after the funeral, that is, in April when rural England was at its loveliest, a carriage drew up to the country home in Upper Swathling where John Pembroke was mourning his double loss. A woman descended at the door, ignored knocking, and burst into the room where John sat. It was his stepmother, Lady Hester Pembroke, and her message was shocking: 'John, listen to me! You cannot fritter away your life like this. My G.o.d, you're only fifty-four.'

He rose to offer her a chair, but she refused it, preferring to stand until she had her say: 'I've loved you for many years, John. My heart was broken when you brought Elzabet home from the Virgins, but I hid it. There's no longer need to hide anything. I'm a Pembroke, always have been, and now that we're both free people ...'

He was aghast. Stalking from the room, he watched her carriage from an upstairs window, hoping that his rudeness would force her to depart, but she did not, and after half an hour collecting his thoughts, he returned, intending to rebuke her. He failed, for when he reached her she was laughing, a big and hearty woman whose life in London had matured her and polished her into a formidable hostess with graces that women less bold never attained. When she saw his distress she said: 'John, it's inevitable. You know I'll never surrender. I allowed you to run away once, and I lost you. Never again.' She a.s.sured him that his older brother, now Sir Roger, would recognize the good sense of what she was proposing and that his and Elzabet's three children, all safely married and living in London, would surely approve: 'They won't want to see you wither like a cut cane stalk left in the sun.' The Jamaican simile emboldened her to add a relevant point: 'Besides, John, they won't fear that I've grabbed you for your money, which would otherwise come to them in your will.'

She made no headway that first day, but since she had taken rooms at a nearby inn, she saw him constantly, and in proper time the numbness of his life relaxed and he gradually saw both the virtue of what Hester was saying and its inevitability. He proposed in a curious way, one day as they walked in the glades: 'You know, you'll lose your t.i.tle Lady. I'm not Sir John,' and she said: 'I'll keep using what once was mine, and to h.e.l.l with them.' She also had an effective answer when he pointed out that the Church of England must have rules against a man marrying his stepmother: 'No matter. We'll be married in France. Over there they permit anything.'

She also arranged for the honeymoon, dragging him to Florence, where her sculptor friend showed her a really ma.s.sive piece he had just finished. Justice Defending the Weak he called it, and she bought it on sight. Her husband, who was appalled by the monstrosity-a near-naked woman protecting six cowering supplicants-was powerless to prevent its purchase, for as he explained to Sir Roger after it had been installed in London: 'It was her money.'

WHEN THE INFAMOUS pirate den at Port Royal on the southern sh.o.r.e of Jamaica sank beneath the sea during the terrible earthquake of 1692, a long, thin sliver of land escaped oblivion. It formed only a small percent of the former area, but since it contained a stout fortress with thick stone walls properly disposed to withstand attack from the sea, Parliament in London had decreed that additional gun emplacements should be added, making it strong enough to withstand any French a.s.sault.

Unlike the days of Queen Elizabeth and Francis Drake when Englishmen grew nervous anytime the Spanish made a warlike gesture, now, two hundred years later, no one took a Spanish threat seriously. It was the French whose misbehavior attracted attention, for the skilled navy of that country was a constant threat to British independence. Curiously, the great battles of this period were fought not in European waters but in the Caribbean, where fleets of the two nations met often in battle, sharing alternating victories and defeats. In one great clash in the waters off the Carib island of Dominica, Britain won a signal victory, but in the years about to be discussed, the French showed every capability and intention of striking back. To be a naval officer in this sea was to be constantly on the alert for the ominous cry from the lookout: 'French s.h.i.+ps on the horizon!' for then one leaped to his battle station.

It was in such a climate of fear that the remnant of Port Royal left above water after the dreadful earthquake became of crucial importance to the British fleet, for whichever nation controlled Fort Charles, at the tip of Port Royal, controlled huge Jamaica Bay, and the heart of the Caribbean. To keep it secure, the British government in the turbulent year 1777, when the British were still trying to discipline the American colonies, placed in command an amazing young officer not yet twenty and soon to become the youngest captain in the fleet. When hardened veterans, some twice his age, saw this frail figure less than five feet five and weighing not much over eight stone, they muttered: 'London's sent us no more than a lad,' but even as they said this the young fellow was looking at the vast anchorage and saying to himself: We could anchor all the s.h.i.+ps of the world in this safe harbor, and I shall defend it with my life if need be.

He was Horatio Nelson, an unlikely lad for service at a post so distant from England: unimpressive figure, washed-out blond hair, high-pitched voice, and the sometimes unintelligible country accent of easternmost England. In fact, as he stepped forward to a.s.sume command he looked much like a newly ordained clergyman applying to some rich relative for an appointment to one of the churches on the family estates, and this would have been logical, since his father, both grandfathers and numerous great-uncles had been ministers, in the Church of England, of course.

The force under his youthful command was as frail as he, for he had seven thousand fighting men at most, while it was well known that the French commander in the Caribbean was prowling the sea with at least twenty-five thousand tough veterans in a fleet of s.h.i.+ps bristling with heavy guns. So on his first evening in the fort he ate a hasty meal, then walked back and forth upon the battlements of his new command, giving himself orders: You're to install additional guns at this point. You're to organize musters to see how rapidly the men can reach their posts when the bugle sounds. You're to clean away the rubble on the foresh.o.r.e-we want no French spies hiding there.

As he made his rounds he became aware that a young mids.h.i.+pman who had sailed with him from England, a red-headed lad of thirteen, was trailing along, so without warning he stopped, whirled about, and demanded: 'What brings you so close behind?' and the boy said in a high voice: 'Please, sir. I want to see our new fort too. To pick my spot when the Frenchies come.'

'And who are you, lad?'

'I served in the Dolphin with you.'

'I remember, but who are you?' and the boy gave a surprising answer: 'Alistair Wrentham. My grandfather is the Earl of Gore and my father was an officer on the Indian Station, but he died in battle.'

Nelson, superior and aloof in manner, was excited by this information, for if the boy was in line to inherit the earldom, he might prove of enormous value to Nelson's ambitions, but the boy disappointed him: 'My father was the fourth son and I'm the fourth son, so I'm far removed.' Still, recalling that on the voyage the lad had demonstrated intelligence and valor, Nelson said: 'I shall want you close to me. To mind the little things,' and they walked the battlements together.

Soon the soldiers and seamen stationed at Port Royal had acquired a solid understanding of their young leader. They found that he possessed a backbone of unyielding oak, an insatiable l.u.s.t for fame and a devotion to heroic behavior and rect.i.tude that was enviable. During the long night watches when no French invaders could be seen in the tropical moonlight, he revealed, never boastfully, incidents of his amazing career, for at twenty he'd had more experiences than most seagoing men had acc.u.mulated at forty.

'My older brother became the clergyman our family wanted, so I was free to become a sailor. I went to sea at thirteen and first sailed in this Caribbean at fourteen. I came back later, so I know these waters. When I was fifteen, or maybe still fourteen, I went to the Arctic. Great exploration, that one.'

'Is that when you fought the polar bear?' Alistair Wrentham asked, for drawings of Nelson in mortal combat with a huge white bear had circulated. Since he was often asked about this incident, Nelson was meticulous in his answer: 'Thomas Flood and I, he was fourteen too, we'd left the Carga.s.s to go exploring on our own. We were on an ice pack not too far from the s.h.i.+p when a huge polar bear roared up behind us, and he might have killed me had not Captain Lutwidge shouted a warning.'

'Is that when you turned to fight the bear?' Alistair asked.

'Fight? I wouldn't say that. I'd been walking with an oar, a piece of wood maybe, and I did try to fend him off. But fight? No.'

'How were you saved?'

'The captain of our s.h.i.+p saw the peril we were in and ordered a cannon to be fired. The noise terrified Flood and me, but it also frightened the bear, and off he ran.'

'What did the captain say when you came aboard?'

To this question, Nelson would always reply honestly: 'Never again were we to go exploring on our own.'

At other times he told how, while still only a lad of seventeen, he had sailed to India: 'The great ports, the strange people, we saw them all. We fought the pirates and protected the merchant s.h.i.+ps.' Then he would grow silent, and after a while tell his listeners: 'The fever trapped me and I would have died had not a wonderful man, Captain Pigot, James Pigot, and remember that name, taken me under his protective wing and saved my life.' Here, when talking with fellow sailors, he would invariably stop, look at each one, and say: 'There is nothing on earth or sea that is finer than the tested friends.h.i.+p of comrades in arms. On the battlefield, in political fighting and especially at sea, we are propped up by the bravery of the man who shares our dangers. I'm here today only because of Captain James Pigot.'

At night, especially when a tropic moon flooded the old fort with a silvery light and mysterious shadows, the young captain liked to gather about him a group of established officers and young mids.h.i.+pmen, plus any ordinary sailors who showed an interest, and instruct them in military matters, especially the handling of s.h.i.+ps in times of war. But he was insistent that they first appreciate the significance of their present work in the Caribbean: 'This elegant sea has always lain close to the heart of Europe, because whatever happens in one arena determines what happens in the other. Suppose a war is fought only on land in Europe, when the peace treaty is written, its terms decide whether Spain, France, Holland or England will own this Caribbean island or that, and nothing we can do out here changes the matter.

'But also, when our navies clash at sea out here, they determine what happens on land in Europe. Why, you ask, when our islands are so small and their countries so large? Because we grow sugar, one of the most valuable substances on earth, and Europe waxes rich when we s.h.i.+p our sugar and mola.s.ses and rum to the homelands. Jamaica, that brooding island over there which we protect with this fort, provides the money which keeps England alive. The s.h.i.+ps we sail in are built with Jamaican money.

'France the same way. Their small island of St.-Domingue just a few days' sail north of that mountain is the richest land in the world. If we could cut navigation between St.-Domingue and Rochefort, we'd strangle the French fleet, because it's the sugar riches of the Caribbean that keeps the homeland functioning. Gentlemen, you are serving in a sea of tremendous importance to England.'

But in these night meetings, which many men would remember in later years, Nelson also spoke of naval strategy, for his agile brain was perpetually speculating on new procedures which might give English s.h.i.+ps even a slight advantage in the battle against the French: 'Always remember that just a few years ago, in 1782, the fate of England was decided off the island of All Saints, when our Admiral Rodney met the entire French battle fleet under De Gra.s.se. Always before in such an engagement, the two fleets disposed themselves in line ahead, broadside on, with cannon blazing all the while. Do you know what Rodney did?'

Mids.h.i.+pman Wrentham did know, but before he could speak, Nelson placed a restraining hand on his knee, because he did not want the effect of his narration to be spoiled: 'He opened the engagement with his fleet in line ahead, as always, like dancers in a set formation, but halfway down he turned the line ninety degrees and dashed boldly right at the middle of the French line, smashed the French s.h.i.+ps head-on, broke through their line, and caused havoc. He created a whole new method of war at sea.

'Let us suppose that you nine men are the French s.h.i.+ps, we'll be the English. Form lines as in the old days. Pa.s.s, pa.s.s, guns booming. Bang, bang, bang! Now here we break the rules and smas.h.!.+ Right into the middle of the French line. See the confusion. See how we can chop and chivvy the bewildered French s.h.i.+ps. Another victory for England.'

'Please, sir,' Mids.h.i.+pman Wrentham said. 'My father taught me that now we must always say Great Britain,' to which Nelson replied: 'Your father's right. Scotland and Wales and Ireland are fine lands with stout sons, but remember that our s.h.i.+ps are built by English workmen using English oak and are manned by English sailors, none better in the world, and if we ever fail our duty, the less important parts of Great Britain sink with us. We are England, the heart of Great Britain, and never forget it.'

There was one revealing incident in Nelson's career about which he never spoke himself, and he refrained, not through modesty, a virtue he did not have, but rather because when Mids.h.i.+pman Wrentham told the story in his boyish enthusiasm, Nelson came off the greater hero: 'Last year we sailed out of Port Royal to punish the privateers from the rebellious American colonies ... they were trying to trade with our islands ... Captain Nelson called them "arrogant swine." We had many great chases and sank two of them.

'But the last time we didn't have to sink their s.h.i.+p, because our gunners really hammered them and they were glad to surrender, I can tell you, and bring their insolent flag down. But now a problem. The seas were so choppy that sailors near me asked: "Can we possibly row a small boat from our s.h.i.+p to theirs and deliver a boarding crew to take possession?"