George Washington's Ghost

“But what can we do, Commander,” Angela von Schaffhausen asked quietly.

“They sent out two destroyers to arrest the Weser because some religious nutcase over there,” he jabbed his arm to the east where the capital lay across the other side of San Juan Bay, “wanted, and presumably, still wants, to get their hands on me and my men, presumably to do whatever the bloody Inquisition does to heretics!”

“But you are safe,” the German Minister insisted. “We will not let them take you…”

“How would you stop them?”

Again, Peter Cowdrey-Singh gestured around them.

“I don’t see any castle wall, or artillery. Dammit, you’ve got less than a hundred firearms and probably, damn all ammunition. What are Kapitan Wallendorf’s people supposed to do if the Dominicans walk in one day and start arresting, or just killing, whoever they want? I’m sorry; but I don’t think relying on stern words and sticks and stones is going to cut it against several thousand soldiers with automatic rifles!”

The four of them had halted, not quite out of earshot of several Kaiserliche Marine officers and men; others around them were halting, pausing to listen.

“But we still don’t have a ship?” The German Minister’s wife reminded him.

“Forgive me,” Peter Cowdrey-Singh objected, genuinely apologetic to be gainsaying Angela von Schaffhausen. “We have two. The Weser and the Emden

, neither in tip top condition, I grant you. But at least the Emden still has some shells in her magazines?”

He looked to Wallendorf, who nodded.

“Thirty or forty reloads per main battery barrel,” the German officer muttered, almost under his breath. “But the Dominicans plan to move the ship in forty-eight hours.”

The Royal Navy man was not telling them anything they had not thought about themselves. He had already decided that sooner or later he was going to have to get his men out of the Concession, with or without the help of the Germans. One option was to demand firearms from von Schaffhausen and to escape into the jungle, more attractive was the notion of stealing a boat, any boat, even one of the old sailing barques moored in neighbouring Catano Reach. Anything was better than meekly awaiting the pleasure of the religious maniacs who were prepared to arrest a friendly nation’s ship – the Weser – to get its hands on him and his men. It was a racing certainty that the Dominican regime had been plotting its revenge ever since the Weser

limped into port.

Hans von Schaffhausen sighed, sucked his teeth.

“The authorities have issued an edict forbidding the sale of foodstuffs to foreign nationals. I suspect that from the gratuitously bad behaviour of many of the alleged new crew members of the Emden, that they are thugs, not seamen, sent into the Concession to make trouble. It is no longer safe for a woman to walk alone. I suspect the Inquisition is looking for any excuse to enter our territory.”

The German Minister’s wife touched her husband’s arm.

“There are still some of our people outside the Concession?”

It transpired word had gone out some weeks ago for all German nationals to report back to the German Minister. Many of these were individuals who had ‘gone native’, and chosen to live elsewhere. Among them were a small clique who had actually embraced the brutal Catholicism of the Church in Santo Domingo, and subsequently, been expelled from the Concession on account of their ‘disruptive’ conduct.

“For all you know, your people outside the Concession are already in the regime’s jails,” Peter Cowdrey-Singh said impatiently. “In any case, I have no intention of sitting on my hands waiting for those bastards to toast my feet over an open fire. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for the cowardly actions of members of the Kaiserliche Marine in the Battle of the Windward Passage, I and my men would not be in this situation. If all you people can think of is twiddling your thumbs waiting to get stabbed in the back like Achilles was, then,” he shook his head, “shame on you!”

Claude Wallendorf’s nostrils flared with anger.

“Commander Cowdrey-Singh,” he barked, “I had no part in that affair.”

“How dare you, sir!” The Anglo-Indian rounded on the other officer. “How dare you! Answer me this: how many innocent civilians on Jamaica are dead because you forgot the honour of the Kaiserliche Marine? What did you do when those fucking Cubans sacked Kingston and started raping and murdering their way across the island?”

He turned to walk away.

“Commander,” Angela von Schaffhausen snapped irritably. “None of us here need a lecture about imperial morality from a Royal Navy officer. But arguing among ourselves doesn’t help anybody. You and Kapitan Wallendorf can have this argument another time. Right now, what I am really, really worried about is the safety of my children.”