He sorted through the many letters. There was one pile that was local business; those he shoved aside to concentrate on the few others that had come aboard the naval cutter. To his disappointment, none of his latest correspondence was from France, not even from distant kin. Certainly, there had yet to come a reply from the Directory in Paris to his many letters urging support for a rebellion in Louisiana… though there were some outdated newspapers.
Ah! Two letters directed to the bank, one from Havana, with a date scribbled on it that was much earlier than the second, which came all the way from Ciudad de Mexico.
Both were in Spanish, a language he detested. No matter how flowery and elegantly written, Spanish could not hold a candle to the grace of a cultured man's French.
.., to inform you, Most Esteemed Senor Maurepas, that, given your previous requests directed to His Excellency the Captain-General, combined with the humble pleas of your fellow bankers in the Colony of Louisiana and the city of New Orleans, His Most Catholic Majesty has graciously given assent to the shipment to the Colony of a considerable sum of silver specie, with which to ease the regrettable shortage of coinage which has, of late, caused such a hardship upon his Most Catholic Majesty 's subjects residing in Louisiana, due to the regrettable outflow of specie which the import of diverse American trade goods has caused. The Captain-General of His Majesty's American possessions having received His Majesty's gracious permission, the Captain-General at Havana has ordered the Captain-General of New Spain at Ciudad de Mexico to order the mines at Potosi to refine, mint, and prepare for shipment pieces-of-eight and dollars to the amount of-
"Sacre nom de Dieu!" Henri Maurepas almost screeched in amazement, choking on the smoke from his morning's first cigaro, doubling over and hacking for a good two minutes before he could trust himself to reread the sum, and breathing very carefully 'til he had managed to pour himself a restorative, throat-clearing tot of brandy. It was followed by a second, larger one that he sipped in a celebratory but very thoughtful fashion.
Coined money gushed northward into the coffers of the barbaric Yankees to pay for their flour, wheat, corn, lumber, and such, their whiskies and furs, hides, tobacco, and cotton. With the war, most of the merchant ships that came to trade in New Orleans were American, too. Yankees ending buying Yankee goods passing through the city and very little of the profits stuck to French or Spanish fingers. Hence Louisiana, New Orleans, and Maurepas's bank were forever short of coin; which shortage drove up the price of everything needed or wished, even local goods.
Spain had ignored the problem for years, halfheartedly closing the Mississippi to American traders for several years, which had been a disastrous policy that had fomented mass smuggling and even greater corruption and graft, was such a thing possible.
Now, with the river open again, but Spain locked in a war, even wealthy bankers had to scrimp and scrounge to maintain comfortable cash reserves to loan out, and as to what their borrowers offered as payment, pah! M. Henri Maurepas had to lease several warehouses to hold consignments of molasses, sugar, rice, and cotton 'til it could be sold to someone, someday, before the mice, insects, or the ever-present damp ruined it, and he thought himself fortunate did he make a 2 percent profit!
Shelling out so much silver to Lanxade and Balfa to reward their sailors, paying shares to those foolish youngsters who would foment a rebellion, after the hellish cost of buying artillery, weapons, and the pirate schooner for them to play with, had put him in a worse spot, and if they ever tired of their little "adventure" or failed to take more prizes to sell on the sly, failed to bring in more "free" goods for the scalpers like Bistineau to front, he and his firm could go under!
Now, though…
Six million dollars in hard silver coin could be his salvation. His bank's share was to be a fifth of the total, charged against his "holdings"-lands, future crops, outstanding planters' loans, or warehoused goods-and with that money he would be solvent again… for a few more years at least. His loans could be repaid in coin for a change, he could loan more…
Or! Maurepas quietly mused, taking another sip of brandy and picking up the letters to reread them. He leaned far back in his chair, with his brandy glass resting atop his substantial paunch. All would come aboard a single, undistinguished, fast ship from Veracruz, one not too obvious as a treasure ship, nor one so grand as to draw the attention of any prowling British man of war or privateer; nor the free-roving so-called privateers of other nations. Soldiers would be aboard, of course, a full company drawn from a trustworthy regiment based in New Spain, a Navy crew to be provided, skilled gunners…
Both letters cautioned that the shipment was a matter of strict confidence, that upon receipt and perusal of the letters, they were to be handed back to the Governor-General, and that any idle mention outside his firm could result in harsh punishment, etc.
Hmmm, Maurepas further mused, a sly grin creasing the corners of his eyes and lips. "Hmmm," again, aloud this time.
A fast ship, was it, and undistinguished? A shallow-draughted one, he thought most likely, so it could ascend the river quickly and cross the bars near Fort Balise without the risk of unloading all, or a part, of the cargo, thus exposing it to greedy prying eyes.
Guarded by a "trustworthy" company of soldiers; well, that was a wry jape! The local garrison was made of weary, jaded place-servers and half-illiterate peasant clods; half the original Spaniards had run off or died, replaced with ne'er-do-wells too lazy to work an honest trade. So what would a regiment in New Spain consist of? A few hidalgo fops as officers, a few grizzled, over-aged sergeants, and the rank-and-file mostly local-born Mestizos, even Indios straight from the bean fields, still jabbering away in Nahuatl or some other savage language. Ill-trained, ill-clothed, poorly led, and indifferently armed, crowded elbow to elbow and at sea for the first time in their lives, perhaps? She'd not be a royal galleon, perhaps not even a fast frigate! What did the letter say, how did it phrase it? Ah!
"… manned by a crew drawn from the Marina Real." The Spanish didn't dare send one of their few valuable warships to sea, afraid of drawing too much attention, fearful of losing it, and neither Tampico nor Veracruz were good harbours for ships of worth. New Spain- Mexico -lay far to the west, down at the bottom of the Caribbean 's and the Gulf's prevailing winds, Henri Maurepas knew. Though he had never been a sailor, he knew that much. A square-rigged ship could spend weeks beating windward to the mouths of the Mississippi. A brigantine, barkentine, or schooner would be more weatherly. Hmmm…
Maurepas pondered whether he should tell the de Guilleris about this. This punishing war could last for years and years, and Spanish colonies would continue to suffer as Spain grew even weaker, less able to defend her American possessions. What guarantee was there that all the local trade would not be American in five years?
The United States and the British had designs on Louisiana already. Could his bank survive an invasion by either? Even if by some miracle a French fleet and French army fought its way through the British blockade, sailed upriver, and reclaimed them, what surety could he have that the radical Directory in Paris and all their Jacobin rabble-rousing sentiments would be amenable to money, to rich men like him?