Devil's Garden

Chapter 30

“I’m afraid you may have misunderstood me earlier, said Sir Roger. He was lounging on the Captain’s bed below decks with Ian Thomas seeing to their effects and luggage by the table. “I trust you had a good look at this ship and crew while you were waiting.”

“An efficient lot,” said Thomas. “I had no idea there was a ship like this still sailing, and I’ll say one thing for them, they certainly dress the part. Is this a new venture, sir?”

“A new venture? No Mister Thomas, it’s quite an old one. This ship is a British merchantman, built in the year 1801.”

“It’s a very authentic reproduction, sir.”

“That’s just it, my man. You see this is not a reproduction at all. It is indeed the ship built in 1801 at Rotherhithe by the shipwright John Randall. The man launched over fifty vessels in all, including some very notable ships like HMS Defiance. In fact, after completing this ship, he built the Illustrious just before his death, a 74 gun ship of the line. An industrious man, this Mister Randall. Well, the point of all this is to make it known to you that this is the original ship Ann, a small brig in the employ of the British East India Company until 1817. We are standing on that very vessel, sir, not a replica.”

“I see… Amazing that they could make it seaworthy again like this without extensive work.”

“No restoration is needed. The ship is a little past its prime, I’ll warrant. It will be sold in just a few years, but we are standing on this ship just as it was in the year 1815. She has a crew of sixty men, along with the two of us. Of late she has been assisting in the transport of supplies for the British Army in Belgium.”

“Right, sir. I’ve warmed up to the notion and I believe I can play my part well enough. We aren’t dressed for the period, but I’ll try to be inconspicuous.”

The Duke gave Thomas a long look, his lips pursed with thought. “This is not theater, Mister Thomas. It is not a pleasure cruise either, nor a fanciful notion in my head. In twenty-four hours we will make port at Ostend. I suppose that if I have not persuaded you to the reality of our present situation by then, you will have ample evidence for your eyes there. Once we do land on the continent we have but a few days time to get to our destination.”

Thomas did not know what to make of that, and was cautious about any disagreement with the Duke at the outset of what looked to be a long journey. He decided to change the subject a nudge and see what he could learn. “I did not ask about the itinerary earlier, sir, out of respect to you and all.”

“Of course, but I think it’s time you knew. I aim to land at Ostend, make my way by carriage to Brussels where I will see if I can slip into the gala affair being thrown by the Duchess of Richmond. Anyone of note will be there. Now I haven’t an invitation, mind you. That may be a bit dicey, but I’ve wheedled my way through more than one door on manner and force of character alone in my day. Just be your dutiful self as footman and I think I shall have no trouble.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“After the ball things get very interesting.”

“In what way, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Well, there’s a good bit of news that arrives that night. The Duke will be in attendance, along with the Princes of Orange and Nassau and a very long list of others, mostly officers in the army. We’ll find quarters in the city and leave our baggage there. Then we’ll venture out and have a look at the battlefield.”

“The battlefield, sir?”

“Yes, of course. Why else are we here? Imagine yourself in the year 1815-the tenth day of June to be precise. The Duke I speak of is Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley, the 1st Duke of Wellington, and the battlefield, my good man, is the field he made famous-none other than Waterloo.” He gave Thomas a studied look, watching his reaction closely.

“Waterloo? Oh, I’ve always been keen to have a look at that field, though never had the time. Is there to be a re-enactment, sir? I would at least think they would have such an affair in June, and not late summer as it is, though no one would know that by this weather.”

“No re-enactment, Thomas, no more so than this boat we’re on. I’m talking about the real event now the Battle of Waterloo, of which you are at least somewhat acquainted.”

Thomas just scratched his head, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. The Duke was holding to a strange line here, as if he wished to remain entirely in character for the adventure he had in mind. Very well, he would indulge the man. After all he was promised several million pounds in compensation for this little jaunt, and all expenses paid for the duration. If Sir Roger wanted to play his little game, he would certainly not be a Lumpkin and make any protest.

“It’s very likely we will dine with the Captain and his officers soon,” said Ames. “In that instance my remarks earlier about being seen but not heard may be something to keep in mind. We’ll likely be discussing the history and all. Follow along as best you can, and no small talk about sports or anything else, my man.”

“Right, sir.”

It was late and the two men had not had much sleep. The Duke rested on the Captain’s bed and Ian strung a hammock, which was comfortable enough, particularly when the ship rolled with the sea. After mid-day they rose and took some air on the main deck with Captain Cameron, an amiable man who invited them to dine with him in the officer’s mess that evening, just as Ames had predicted. This was, of course, obviously all arranged for the Duke’s pleasure, thought Thomas. Well, I’ll bring my appetite, and open my mouth for the food if nothing else.

Having had nothing more than fruit and energy bars that had been packed with the luggage, they were pleased to be treated to roast Capon served up by the ship’s cook, with potatoes, carrots, celery and some nice thick gravy.

“Yes, our Mister Dawson is quite the cook,” said the Captain. “They were seated at a long table, and the introductions had been made when they were joined by the ship’s first mate, Lieutenant Edward Jones and a Mister John M. Bennett, the ship’s surgeon. Just as the Duke has suggested, the men discussed maritime affairs and the war of 1812 with the United States that was apparently part of the history of this ship.

“It’s a pity the war ended so badly after that fiasco at New Orleans,” said Ames.

“Well, we showed them round the block when our General Ross put the torch to Washington!” Captain Cameron poured more wine as he spoke, topping off the glasses for all the dinner guests. “The impudence of those people! The Royal Navy numbered all of 600 ships in 1812 when that war broke out, and the United States had no more than eight frigates and fourteen more sloops and brigs. Why, we had 85 ships in American waters as I heard it. How the Americans managed to hold out as they did is beyond me.”

“Yes,” said Ames. “Well something tells me that England and the United States have now set their differences aside to become good friends. The problem now is this urgent business on the continent again with Bonaparte. That devil is loose in the garden again.”

“Indeed, sir. We have heard no news of developments there-only that we’re to keep a steady flow of supplies and provisions.”

Thomas looked askance at the Captain, realizing the man must be warming to his role here and putting everything in the present tense for the Duke’s pleasure. Sir Roger joined in heartily.

“As I read things there will shortly be some rather significant events taking place, what with old Bony back and marshalling men under the tricolors again.”

“Welly will handle him,” said the Captain.

“I have no doubt. Though I suspect the French have mustered a sizable army, and are undoubtedly moving north even now.” Ames was taking obvious delight in the situation.

As Ian Thomas watched these men, noting their expressions, clothing, and the raw authenticity in every way they presented themselves, he was more and more amazed. This man Ames must be wealthy beyond measure, he thought. My God, he’s gone and arranged this whole little show, hired in actors of this caliber, and now he plays this bit out with such a straight face you would think it really was 1815 here!

“Bony will stick his nose into Belgium soon enough, if he hasn’t crossed the border already,” said Sir Roger.

“Wellington hasn’t much to fight with, considering his army is filled out with hordes of Dutch troops these days.” Captain Cameron was finishing his Capon as he spoke. “Most of the veteran divisions have yet to return from that fiasco in the Americas.” He was washing it all down with a sip of good wine.

That also caught the attention of Ian Thomas. The wine was vintage, or at least it appeared to be by the labels, which were clearly dated 1810. They had to be props, he reasoned, as no wine that old would be palatable in 2021. Yet the attention to detail in all this was striking.

“I shouldn’t worry about Wellington,” said Sir Roger. “He’s got some stout hearts and sturdy men at arms under his command now. Maitland’s boys are top notch. The same can be said for Hill and Picton. And we mustn’t forget the Prussians! Old Blucher has over a hundred thousand men at arms, or so it has been rumored.”

“You seem to be fairly well informed,” said Captain Cameron. “Yet one never knows what he can believe these days. The French can be very cagey. We were in Ostend three days ago and there was no mail of any substance in the postal bags for the run back to Britain. It seems the entire French border zone has been shut down tight. Nothing is getting across one way or another. A local stevedore says they’re even shooting birds as they try to fly over the river. That bodes ill, gentlemen, as any dull spot in the turbulence of European affairs might better be interpreted as a proverbial calm before the storm.”

“What you say is very true, Captain,” Sir Roger agreed. “French agents will stir the pot well in Belgium. There’s a great deal of sympathy for the French there. Wellington will be at the engagement I am planning to attend in Brussels, and he’ll have to demonstrate a fairly light-footed dance step if he is to keep a good eye on Bonaparte. I shall let you gentlemen know how things turn out should I come this way in days ahead.”

“What would you lay odds on the outcome if it comes to war again soon, Sir Roger?”

“Well of course I’ll have to pull my oar the Duke of Wellington.”

And so on it went, with Thomas listening until the wine dulled his senses and made him want to sleep again.

They were soon back in the Captain’s quarters for the night, and the Duke was lying on the bed, resting his eyes. The room was lit by the glow of an oil lamp and the gentle rocking of the ship seemed to lull them toward sleep again.

“You held out bravely in the mess hall, Mister Thomas. Odd to pass a meal without the barest whisper of a television, radio, cell phone or touch pad at the table. I suppose you think this is all a grand act to satisfy the indulgence of a silly old man with nothing better to do with his time and money.”

Thomas smiled, glad that the Duke was coming clean with him now, or so it seemed.

“Yes,” Ames went on, “it would take a pretty penny to arrange a scene like this, the ship and crew being rather spectacular, eh? Well, you haven’t seen anything yet, my man. The wine was very good tonight, was it not?”

“It was, sir, though I may have had one glass too many. Those men had me half believing I was really on a British merchantman at the edge of another era. Quite convincing, sir.”

“Yes, quite. Well, you sleep on it now, and when you waken in the morning have a good look around at Ostend when we make port. Then I think all will be made clear to you.”

Thomas needed his rest that night, the last night of that proverbial calm before the storm as the Captain put things at dinner. By mid-day the following morning they spotted land and were soon sailing towards the small harbor, but what he saw there was something that no amount of money could have staged.

The place was nothing like the Ostend of 2021, so strikingly different that he first thought they had come to some smaller harbor on the coast. There were no tall buildings or hotels rising on the main waterfront, no cranes for offloading cargo containers. He could see no vehicle traffic on the coastal road to the north as it approached the harbor, and no sign of any other significant commercial sea traffic or tourist cruise ships…just sailing ships, more two and three mast wooden ships than he had ever seen before. This must be a very special event, he thought, but as the Ann negotiated the narrow mouth of the harbor he could see that it appeared to be a town from another place and time.

Sir Roger leaned on the gunwale, smiling. “Ever been to Ostend?”

“Once or twice, sir…”

“Things have changed, have they not? I have endeavored to persuade you as to the period we now find ourselves in, Mister Thomas, but let me say it plainly to you. You will see no motorcars, or busses, or steamships here. You will see no aircraft in the sky, no ugly electrical power lines, and no high rise buildings with glass facades. All of that was from the world we left behind.”

Thomas was looking from the harbor quay, where every person he saw now was in period dress, and then to Ames, an incredulous look of amazement on his face.

“Yes,” said Ames. “That little stairway we took in Lindisfarne Castle was more of a journey than you may have realized. With each step we took we were, in fact, traversing time, as well as space. The years have fallen away and, to make matters short, we have reached a bygone era in that short walk. As I said before, this is no play or theater. It is indeed the year 1815 and, after I mix about at the ball being thrown by the Duchess of Richmond, we are going to the Battle of Waterloo.”

Thomas could not believe what he was hearing, yet the evidence of his eyes was more than persuasive. This was clearly not modern Europe, and either he was still well hung over, still asleep, or the Duke was telling him the truth here!

“Waterloo?” It was all he managed to say. “How is it possible? Why on earth?”

“How it is possible will be something I will relate to you in more detail later. As to why…Well I trust you have packed your military effects in that luggage we’ve been dragging around. A good rifle with a long range scope will come in very handy soon, because we are going to kill someone.”