John Schettler - Devil's Garden

“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.”