'With respect, sir, why send us to this remote spot to cripple the rebel economy with counterfeit bills?' Blackmore looked up with sudden interest and Drinkwater had the sense to remain absolutely motionless. Hope opened his mouth to protest but Devaux ploughed on. 'Why not get them through New York where Clinton's agents must have a clearing house? Or Virginny where the rebel wealth really comes from? Even New England is better than the Carolinas…'
'Mr Devaux! I must remind you that what I told you was in confidence… but since you lack the self control I had thought to be an attribute of your class I will explain, as much for your benefit as for these other gentlemen here… And I must ask you to treat the matter with confidence… The Carolinas are in Lord Cornwallis's hands, Mr Devaux. I assume the notes are for him. He is, I believe, extending operations under Major Ferguson into the back country where, I presume, the money is required. That is all gentlemen…'
Drinkwater left the captain with a profound sense of disquiet. He knew his presence had been an embarrassment to Captain Hope who might have dealt more sharply with the first lieutenant had the midshipman not been there. But there was more than the rift between captain and first lieutenant to set his mind working. The negro Achilles had been telling odd stories in the cockpit. Stories that did not tally with Hope's pat summary of the military situation in the Carolinas.
After some thought Drinkwater sought out Wheeler and consulted him. It was a breach of the captain's confidence in him but, under the circumstances that appeared to prevail ashore, he felt confident in so doing.
'Well, young shaver, we'd better go and have a word with your friend… what d'ye say he is… your servant?'
'He claims the right. Says I saved his life…'
'Get him to come up to the gunroom…'
They found Achilles to be an intelligent man who had been a plantation slave. When the British Military authorities offered freedom to any negroes who took up arms against the rebels, Achilles had forthwith escaped and promptly obtained his release from bondage. Soon obtaining a post as officer's servant to a lieutenant in the 23rd Foot he had been separated from his master at the battle of Camden and, by an evil fate, captured by the son of his former owner who was then a captain in the militia battalion that later embarked in La Creole.
His unique position, ready wit and intelligent powers of observation had made him a favourite with the officers of the 23rd and made him privy to many of their conversations. This had given him a reasonably accurate idea of the real military state of South Carolina. Wheeler set about extracting as much information as possible. He had little trouble since Achilles had a great love of the splendid scarlet soldiers and enjoyed their attention and amusement, contrasting their indolent disinterest with his former owner's ferocity.
'Yes, sah, dis war is no good, sah. Dere is not enuff ob de reg'lar sojers in de Carolinas, sah. Dat Major Ferguson, he dam' fine sojer, sah, but dey Tory milisha all dam' trash an' no more join afta Maj' Ferguson get kill up on dat ole King's Mount'n.'
Wheeler whistled. So the brilliant Patrick Ferguson was dead. The best shot in the British Army who had invented a breech loading rifle, who fenced with his left hand when he lost the use of his right at the Brandy wine, had been killed. The negro rolled his eyes dolorously.
'What about Lord Comwallis then, Achilles?'
'He dam' fine sojer too, sah! He lick dat Yankee rebel Gates and whip him proper at Camden. Gates he ride sixty mile after de battle, yeees sah! But poor Ach'lles, sah, Ah get the wrong side o' sum trees an' Ah run smack inta mah old boss's son who is mighty mad, cos he'm running from dey redcoats…'
'Yes, yes, Achilles, you've told us all that but what about his Lordship…?'
'He keep marchin',' replied the negro sitting bolt upright and making little swinging gestures with his arms, 'an' he keep fi'tin' but he nebber stop, so de officers ob the Twenty Third, they say he nebber win nuffin'.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, sah. Afta Gen'ral Gates gone back to dam' Congress wiv his lil' old tail hangin' 'tween his legs they send Gen'ral Greene down an' Gen'ral Greene he wun dam' fine sojer too, eben s'posin' he a rebel 'cos all de officers of de Twenty Third say so, sah!' Achilles was defensive, as if in admiring Greene he be thought to sympathise with the rebels. Then a puzzled look came over his face.
'Ah don' rightly unnerstand but dat Genr'l Greene he jus' don' know when he' beat. He fight, then he run, then he fight an' run agen… but he jus' don' get beat…' Achilles shook his head in incomprehension, his eyes rolling expressively.
'Ma Lord Cornwallis he send dat Lord Rawdon here an' dere, an' he send dat Co'nel Tarleton here and dere and dem two fine sojers dey charge up an' down the swamp lands tryin' for to catch de Swamp Fox an' de Gamecock…'
'The what?' queried Wheeler grinning in spite of himself.
'Dey de names of de rebel raiders, sah. Dam' clebber men. Dey say dey look jus' like trees all de time. Dey nearly get caught by Tarleton one, two time but always dey 'scape. Maybe dey nobody,' Achilles hinted darkly, '…Maybe dey voodoo…' Again Achilles shook his head and rolled his eyes.
'De war no good for us Loy'lists, sah. De reg'lar loy'lists fight like wild cats, sah. De reg'lar redcoat sojers dey fight better'n any dam' Yankees but dere jus' ain't enuff, sah. Dat's all, sah. Ach'lles tell you truth, sah. Ebbery word. I hear all de officers say dis, plenty times, sah, and de Twenty Third one dam' fine corp' of fine fuzileer, sah.'
Despite the seriousness of his news Wheeler could not stifle his laughter at the negro. At the end of his monologue Achilles had risen to his feet and come stiffly to attention to give due importance to the mention of His Majesty's Royal Welch Fusileers. Regrettably this zealous action had ended in sharp contact with the overhead deckbeams which were too low to accommodate the negro at full height. His swift reduction to a crouching position caused Wheeler and Drinkwater to burst out laughing.
'Very well, Achilles. And what about you… you may volunteer for service in the navy…'
'Don' know nuffin' 'bout no navy, sah,' said Achilles with feeling rubbing his bruised head… 'Achilles dam' fine servant, sah…'
'Well in that case I think you had better attend to me…'
'Ach'lles dis gennelman's servant, sah.' He indicated Drinkwater loyally.
Wheeler looked at Drinkwater. 'I don't know what the Hon. John will say to that, cully… I should get him appointed a messman…'
Wheeler took the news to Devaux who snorted with exasperation when he heard it.
'Young Nat was pretty perceptive to realise the significance of the nigger's intelligence.'
'Not really,' said the first lieutenant, still angry with Hope. He tossed off a tankard of flip and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. 'He was in the cabin when the Old Man re… oh, dammit, when I blew up and revealed all… still perhaps it's an ill wind. At least my suspicions are confirmed…'
'What'll we do?' Devaux thought for a bit then poured another tankard of flip.
'Listen, Wheeler, I'll raise it conversationally at dinner tonight. Do you back me up…'
It was inconceivable that the mission should not come up during the meal as the prime subject of conversation. The poor quality of the food served to remind them all that they had been pitched across the North Atlantic with insufficient provisions for a prolonged stay on the coast. Indeed it was Hope who broached the subject in general terms, explaining their presence off the Carolinas.