Wilder Perkins: Hoare and the Portsmouth Atrocities

Hoare was properly under way now, all sails drawing. He went on to set forth the details of the case. He told of Morrow's French-Canadian origin, his hatred of the English, and his recruitment as an agent of Bonaparte.

He described Morrow's approach to Dr. Graves, the latter's manufacture of clockwork for him in the belief that he was doing so for their use in His Majesty's ships-as, of course, they were, — and the doctor's growing suspicion of Morrow's motives.

He informed the Admiral of how Morrow had sent two of his men-one Dugas and another-to abduct Mrs. Graves and hold her as surety against her husband's obedience.

He reported how Morrow, with Jaggery's assistance, had inserted the mechanisms into powder-packed ankers and used others such as the treasonous Kingsley to sequester them in vessels of the Navy. How Kingsley had had in his possession no less than three of the still-undeciphered messages from the person Jaggery had known only as "Himself." That person, he suggested, was the same one spoken of by Morrow's man Fortier as lui, the two terms being equivalent.

After a ten-minute period, which he took to stretch and pace about his parlor, Hoare now enumerated for his Admiral the individual deaths which must be laid at Moreau's door- those of Kingsley and Dr. Graves, and perhaps that of Jaggery as well-although another must have smothered Moreau's man Dugas. He pointed out that several matters must be of grave concern to the Navy. The one of most immediate urgency, he wrote, was the elimination of any armed ankers that remain unexploded.

The second major concern, however, as Hoare advised, was the unmasking of "Himself," the anonymous figure who directed Morrow, Kingsley, and Jaggery and may well have an unknown number of other agents at his command. In Hoare's opinion he was probably 'Jehu,' the author of the captured texts. "As long as a man of such caliber is at liberty, His Majesty's Navy remains imperilled."

Except for the proper closing courtesies, this concluded Hoare's report to Admiral Hardcastle. Thereupon, he rested.

The next morning, Hoare bore his blotted masterpiece to Admiralty House, where he cajoled the Admiral's rabbit into making a fair copy. This done, he signed it, sealed it, and ordered the rabbit to place it before their common master with all possible speed. Then he returned to the Swallowed Anchor to await the consequences. He whiled away the time by returning Inconceivable to a full state of readiness, having taken the liberty of keeping Bold and Stone at hand for a day or two beyond what was proper.

"Go find something to do somewhere else, Delancey, "Admiral Hardcastle said from behind his mountain of papers. "And close the door after you.

"Take a pew, Mr. Hoare. A glass of Madeira with you, sir. Pour me a glass, if you'd be so kind, and take one yourself. I'd like your opinion of it. I think you will find it a superior product. Your good health, sir, and a prosperous future to you," he went on, raising his glass. "And the thanks of the Admiralty for having put a stop to that Frenchman's capers."

Hoare could have been tasting a wine from his own stock. At the second sip, his suspicions hardened. "Excuse me, Sir George, for asking," he said, "but… where did you procure this nectar?"

"From Greenleaf, at the Bunch of Grapes," the Admiral replied. He sounded a trifle smug. "I'll warrant you've never stooped to a place like that. I was past there just yesterday. Hasn't even settled properly yet."

And that bastard Greenleaf swore he sold me the last of his stock, Hoare snarled to himself. I'll have his guts for garters.

"Now, about the man Moreau's nationality," the Admiral continued, sailing on, all unconscious of Hoare's outrage. "He was a Canadian, even if of French extraction, and therefore a British subject. He would have been hanged for treason."

"Yes, sir," Hoare said. "But he would have come to the same end in any case, would he not? Hanged for treason, or hanged for a spy?"

"Obviously, sir. Nonetheless, this puts a different complexion on things. We can't have the nation looking over its shoulders for traitors in our midst, coming from lower Canada, or the Channel Islands, for that matter.

"No. Our people-all our people, whether English, Scottish, Irish, or Canadian-must be seen as loyal subjects of our poor mad Majesty. No. The man was a Frenchman, one of Boney's deluded fools. I'll have Delancey put that about. Delancey!" Sir George bellowed, and the flag lieutenant reappeared as if by magic.

"Good," Sir George said. "I do like promptness in my officers."

In a few paragraphs, he dictated an aide-m+еmoire to the Lords of the Admiralty in Whitehall, describing how Royal Navy forces had rooted out the French agents who had been responsible for the Portsmouth explosions but mentioning the names of neither ships nor men-nor the name of Thomas Frobisher, knight and baronet. He dismissed Delancey.

"Very good," Sir George said. "That'll quiet the damned scribblers. And give that self-important blatherskite Frobisher no comfort either." He cast a sardonic eye over Hoare's untidy garb. "You need a wife," he stated. "Go and find one."

Hoare could only nod, and Sir George continued.

"Your tale, Mr. Hoare, draws too heavily for belief upon the history of classical warfare. Crossbows, slings, and now ramming… I declare, I don't know what the world is coming to. Fill our glasses again, sir.

"Ahem. Since you persist in acting in a classical mode: you accomplished your labors for 'Eurystheus,' young Heracles; even Talthybius the Dung Man-my clerk Patterson, that is- has had the impudence to say so. Furthermore, you apparently impressed Abercrombie's man."

"Abercrombie's man, sir?"

"Yes." The Admiral was commencing to sound restless. "Sir Hugh Abercrombie. He had somebody observing you, it seems, during that triumph of yours after the Vantage affair. You should remember; I certainly don't. I wasn't there. Besides, the less I know about Abercrombie's people, the happier I am. I don't care to be yellowed because I told secrets I shouldn't have known.

"However, that is neither here nor there. What I can tell you is that Their Lordships of the Admiralty, in their infinite wisdom, have instructed me to order you into Royal Duke as master and commander when she makes Portsmouth from Chatham. I am pleased to obey Their Lordships, of course. Here are your preliminary warning orders. I understand she weighed for Spithead on Tuesday, under her present lieutenant. Your lieutenant, perhaps I should say. I took the liberty of keeping him in his post. I think you will not be displeased with my decision."

"He is a man," Sir George went on, "whose powerful voice more than balances his… well, you will see. In any case, you will be able to relay your orders through him. I'm surprised no one ever thought of that before. Pity; a promising naval career has been held back unnecessarily, in my opinion."

"May I ask, sir, who…," Hoare whispered.

"You may ask, sir, but you will receive no answer. I exercise my privilege of being irritating to my subordinates whenever I choose. Let you unveil the man yourself when you read yourself in. I drink to your health and continued good fortune, Captain Hoare."

"Captain Hoare." Bartholomew Hoare had never really hoped to hear that glorious prefix attached to his name. He glowed within.

Sir George, suiting his action to his words, waited until Hoare's expected expressions of shock and joy ran down and then continued.

"Your appointment will not be gazetted yet, of course- not until you've read yourself in-or had Mr. What's-his-name do it for you. But you may mount your swab as soon as it pleases you to do so. And, since I'll wager you're going to be rushing off to Weymouth anyway, you may as well take this copy of the Chronicle with you while you're about it and read it to that widow who interests you so greatly. There's a bit in it about her late husband.