Oh God, here we go, again/ Lewrie quietly groaned to himself.
"He was despatched to Guadeloupe with two missions," Mr. Pelham enthusiastically told him. "The overt one is to organise, arm, and run privateers and smaller National ships as raiders, working for another Mulatto, Victor Hugues, now promoted to greater responsibility. Amazin', ain't it. So many coloureds in French service…" he simpered. "His second mission is to smuggle arms and supplies into Saint Domingue, land agents, and perhaps even speed the export of the money crops," Pelham said, then turned sly, again. "To give his support and aid to…?" He paused, as if awaiting applause.
I'll kill him, he keeps that up! Lewrie promised himself.
"To one or t'other," Lewrie finished for him, "L'Ouverture, or Rigaud, whichever looks t'be the winner, so France keeps it, no matter who gets betrayed."
"Erm… exactly," Pelham admitted with a petulant snap of his jaws. "Got it in one, Captain Lewrie! Now, we also know that France has sent out yet another man to keep an eye on L'Ouverture, Laveaux, and Sonthonax, see which way the wind is blowing, and determine which of them gets the chop, and try on Rigaud as a replacement, if he gets displeased with L'Ouverture."
"So if Rigaud looks as if he'll go the distance, Choundas and this new man do the dirty work for us?" Lewrie asked, his head cocked over in disbelief. "Mean t'say, they back Rigaud, we let 'em? Just get out of their way? Help Choundas along?"
"Well, at the least, turn a half-blind eye," Mr. Pelham chuckled, after a long ponder. "So long as things go our way, that is."
"Mine arse on a band-box!" Lewrie all but yelped.
"I know that Guillaume Choundas is your particular bete noire, Captain Lewrie," Pelham dismissively said to soothe him, patronisingly, "and you'd like nothing better than to carve him into cutlets, but… the old monster's played the cat's-paw for France, so who's to say he can't be our cat's-paw for a bit, and all unwitting? Wouldn't that be delicious? Oh, decimate his privateers should you meet them, it goes without saying. Gather information from the prizes you might take, in particular any written directives from Choundas himself, so we can do a bit of forgery to sow distrust and confusion, should the need arise… and, do you meet up with one of his men o' war, of course you will be free to engage her, and fetch me prisoners to interrogate. Can't let Choundas think he's a completely free hand, ha!"
"One would hope not, sir," Lewrie gruffly said, most unamused.
"You're here, he's here, you know he's here, and we will make sure that he knows of your presence, does he not already," Mr. Pelham cackled with glee from his schemes. You're his nemesis, too, ye know. The temptation to do for you, on his part, must distract him from the proper discharge of his mission. That, and your preying upon his too-few ships, will blunt whatever aid he can deliver either L'Ouverture or Rigaud, making Britain, in the end, appear the best choice to whoever wins over yonder. Either one, really," Pelham confessed, almost whispering to impart his inside knowledge once again, "so long as he is dependent upon the Crown for his continued peace and prosperity. I do believe we might even tolerate an independent, abolitionist, Black Republic to gain that end, Captain Lewrie."
"But preferably under Rigaud," Lewrie said, sniffing sourly in world-weary amazement at that revelation.
"Of course," Pelham answered, shutting his eyes and nodding as if saying "Ever and Amen" in his family's pew-box.
"Slave or free, no matter?" Lewrie pressed, a dubious brow up.
"Mmm," Pelham uttered, nodding again over steepled hands, as if the re-enslavement of nearly 300,000 people was simply a cost of doing business. "As to that, this new man out from Paris is just the fellow to stir that pot. General Hedouville. Have you heard of him, Captain Lewrie?" Pelham asked expectantly, as if preparing to be clever again.
"Not in this life, no," Lewrie slowly intoned, preparing himself.
"Hedouville's a bloodthirsty butcher," Pelham was happy to say. "Conquered the Royalist enclaves in the Vendee region in the early days of their Revolution… rather brutally. A 'Monsieur Guillotine' and a real terror. He'll sort things out in quick order, most-like. Get the colony aboil, likely purge Citizen Sonthonax, perhaps even Laveaux as well. We still have got agents and influence on the island to prompt Hedouville to do just that. And, launch Rigaud at L'Ouverture if God is just, and our slanders take root," Pelham sniggered. "He's the new power over yonder, is Hedouville."
Lewrie looked away towards Peel, rolling his eyes, just about fed up with Pelham's "how shall we torment the headmaster?" titterings. He found an equally unimpressed ally in Peel, whose blank attentiveness relaxed enough to curl up his lips in the faintest of weary smiles.
"Hedouville is reputed to be blunt, direct, and quick off the mark," Peel said. "Once he's made up his mind, he's very hard to divert. Much like a Spanish fighting bull, beguiled by the cape. None too clever, really, but a force of nature once set in motion. The ideal instrument for the Directory." Peel had a clever simper of his own. "We pour our subtle poisons in his ears, and mayhem and disorder will surely follow, in short order."
"Well, you seem to have it all arranged," Lewrie said, surrendering to Fate; especially when it seemed he had so little choice, else: "My congratulations on a most knacky plan, sirs."
"Well, thankee, Captain Lewrie," Pelham smirked, overcome by the required, befitting modesty of an Englishman accused of being too clever by half, no matter how well it secretly pleased him. "Not all my doing, but…"
"Hopefully," Peel said, rising at last as if the tedious task was outlined well enough for even Lewrie to follow it, "this may make up for the fact that, since this war began in '93, we've lost untold millions of pounds, and over one hundred thousand men trying to take all the French 'Sugar Isles'… half of 'em dead and wasted, t'other half so fever-raddled they're unfit for future service. Damn 'em, all these tropic pest holes. Look so beguiling, but…"
And Pitt and Dundas didn 't see that goin ' in? Lewrie cynically asked himself as he got to his feet as well. It ain't like the French could hold 'em if their fleet can't get t'sea. Better we'd blockaded 'em, let 'em rot on the vine, so the Frogs didn't get ha'pence o' good from 'em.
But it didn't appear likely that the Prime Minister, nor the Secretary of State for War, would have asked him his opinion then, or would much care for his chary opinion of them now. No, they were too damned "brilliant," too full of themselves, just like their wee minion Pelham. He felt it would be an excruciatingly frustrating adventure.
"Orders for me and my ship, then, sirs?" Lewrie asked.
"As I earlier stated, Captain Lewrie," Pelham energetically said, shooting upright and resetting the cut of his cuffs and waist-coat, playing with the lapels of his coat to tug them fashionably snug across his shoulders and the back of his neck. "Raid, cruise, make a right nuisance of yourself versus Choundas's ships. I have arranged a roving, open brief for you with Admiral Parker, so… wherever, and whenever you and Mister Peel wish, or are led by the evidence you may discover. I am not squeamish as to the means you employ. So long as the end is attained," Pelham coldly stated.
That sounded promising, even was he saddled with Peel as supercargo, a slab of "live lumber" who would surely, sooner or later, try to boss him about as if he were in actual command.