was a tinkerer who wanted to revolutionize warfare.
We stood when Pitt arrived.
“Sit, sit.” At least there wasn’t just Napoleon’s one chair.
The prime minister, a decade older than Napoleon, was nonetheless “the younger” because his father had held office before him. This son had first led the nation at the astonishing age of twenty-four, a maturity at which my idea of governance didn’t extend much beyond keeping my mistresses from learning of each other. Being precocious grinds on you, however, and now, at forty-five, “honest Billy” looked worn out. Two international coalitions and a royalist conspiracy against Bonaparte had all failed. Having quit in 1801 after feuding with King George over Ireland, Pitt had been called back to power shortly after I landed in France. Now he was facing England’s greatest challenge since the Spanish Armada.
His nation was hysterical at the possibility of invasion; erecting semaphores; stockpiling wood for signal bonfires; building small coastal forts called Martello towers; and digging canals, trenches, and ramparts. More than thirty miles of fortifications had been started around London. Plans had been made to evacuate the government. Troops of old men drilled with pitchforks.
Nursemaids had a new ogre to frighten children with. The latest rhyme:
Baby, baby, naughty baby,
Hush you squalling thing I say;
Hush your squalling or it may be,
Bonaparte will pass this way.
Baby, baby, he’s a giant,
Tall and black as Rouen steeple,
And he dines and sups, rely it,
Every day on naughty people.
So our conspiracy was to save England from that cannibal, Bonaparte. The castle itself was a fine place for intrigue. Four semicircular battlements jutted from a central keep, the edifice looking like a gigantic clover plopped into a moat. Hodgepodge additions had created sleeping quarters with modern paneling and a central sky-lit atrium. Window glass filled old gun ports, and Oriental carpeting and four-poster beds gave the bastion a homey feel. While militarily obsolescent, Walmer was a splendid hideaway for plotters, assassins, spies, and secret weapons. Rumor was that its cellars held not just agents of questionable loyalty, such as me, but trunks of gold to pay saboteurs and scoundrels. I’d wandered about to test the truth of that story, so far without success.
Now Pitt called us to order. “Gentlemen, we must defeat the French at sea, not on the farms of England. We must take the war to them, not wait for their blows to fall on us. Boney has gained thirty ships of the line through alliance with Spain. Until Austria, Russia, and Prussia march against him in a Third Coalition, we stand alone.”
Sidney Smith spoke up. “The information obtained by my agents enabled us to foil the French naval trap detailed in Talleyrand’s papers. That has bought us time.”
I was annoyed he didn’t give me credit.
“Yes, but there’s a terrible new development that must be kept secret by all of you,” Pitt replied. “Our spies in Paris whose reports came through instead of being confiscated”—he glanced at me—“have reported that Admiral Villeneuve’s fleet slipped out of Toulon at the end of March. As we all know, the gravest threat to England is for the French Mediterranean fleet to link with the French and Spanish Atlantic fleets to achieve temporary naval superiority in the Channel. If that happens, Napoleon can invade.”
“Surely Nelson is on Villeneuve’s tail,” General Smith said.
“So we pray, but as yet we have no word. I don’t envy Nelson’s task. The sea is a vast place to hide in, and the availability of Spanish ports immensely complicates his search. If he fails, we lose the war.”
“Which means that was a costly four million Spanish dollars you stole back in October,” I couldn’t help interjecting, since I was grumpy from my troubles. The British navy had greedily intercepted a Spanish treasure convoy off Cadiz several months back when the two nations were still at peace, pushing Spain into an unhappy alliance with Napoleon.
“We’re dealing with the strategic situation as it is, Ethan, not as it might be,” Sidney Smith reminded, yanking my leash. “You of all people should know the futility of dwelling too long on opportunities lost. And I’ll note that Commodore Moore captured one hundred fifty thousand ingots of gold and twenty-five thousand sealskins, helping balance the millions Bonaparte received from your nation for its purchase of Louisiana.”
I resented the comparison. “And had to pay Spanish captain Alvear thirty thousand pounds for blowing up nine members of his innocent family on a neutral ship, the Mercedes.” It wasn’t diplomatic, but the British bullied everyone at sea. I was