LITMIR.BIZ

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master had a curious tale to tell. Told the Revenue man he’d been chased by a whale! Now, how many whales do you suppose there are in the English Channel, eh?”

      Hawkwood didn’t respond. To his ears, the link seemed pretty flimsy, but there was more, as the colonel explained.

      Two days previously, one of the brig’s lookouts had observed a small sailboat in trouble; mast and canvas had all but collapsed and the vessel was taking in water. The brig altered course to assist, but by the time they reached the spot, the sailboat had disappeared completely. No wreckage, no bodies, nothing. After searching the area, the brig had resumed course.

      “And then something strange happened.” The colonel’s voice was couched low, as if fearful of eavesdroppers. “The brig’s stern lookout spotted what looked like another sailboat in distress! Only this time it was closer in to shore. It was only when the brig master took a look through the glass himself that he recognized it as the same boat! And here’s the rub. He said this time the boat wasn’t sinking, he swore it was rising out of the water!

      “It was definitely the same vessel,” Congreve continued. “It was the odd shape of the rig, you see. The master said he’d never seen the like of it before. Said it looked like a half-opened parasol.”

      “And the rest,” Blomefield prompted eagerly. “Tell him the rest!”

      “Yes, yes.” The colonel waved a hand impatiently. “I’m coming to that. You see, Hawkwood, the brig master estimated the distance between each of the sailboat’s positions to be at least one mile. A mile! It was proof, don’t you see? The Frogs did have a vessel that could sail underwater!”

      The colonel checked his excitement. “But what to do? How could we defend ourselves against such a weapon?”

      The solution had at first seemed simple. The British government had dispatched an agent to Paris to try and entice Fulton to England.

      Thomas Blomefield took up the story.

      Fulton had run into trouble with his French allies. A change of administration at the Ministry of Marine had brought with it a sudden reversal of enthusiasm for the American’s invention.

      “Decres it was who took over. Looks as if he’s changed his tune since, though, but at the time he thought Fulton’s idea was barbaric, more suited to a pack of corsairs than the Imperial Navy. Put Fulton’s back up, as you can imagine. Fortunately, it coincided with our plan to bring him over to us. Excellent timing on our part. Mind you, he was a greedy bugger!

      “Had this agreement with the Frogs. They were to pay him a bounty for every ship destroyed. He demanded a similar contract from us. Also told us if we wanted him to provide details of his submersible and his submarine bombs, it would cost us a hundred thousand pounds for the privilege. Bloody nerve!”

      For a moment Hawkwood thought his ears had deceived him. A Runner’s salary was twenty-five shillings a week, plus an extra fourteen shillings for expenses; a little over one hundred pounds a year. A thousand times that was an unimaginable sum. What was it about the American’s invention that made it worth a king’s ransom?

      “Anyway,” Blomefield said, “we refused to agree any sort of price until his inventions had been examined and tested in England.”

      “In other words,” Congreve put in, “far better to have him inside the tent, pissing out.”

      The First Sea Lord and the admiral smiled weakly. James Read’s expression remained neutral, though Hawkwood thought he detected a faint tremor at the corner of the magistrate’s mouth.

      A further inducement had been employed. Fulton had been experimenting with steam as a means of propulsion. While in Paris, he’d written to the Birmingham firm, Boulton & Watt, asking them to build an engine for use in a steamboat in the United States. The British government, not surprisingly, had refused an export permit. However, should Mr Fulton choose to move to England … well, anything was possible.

      “Have to confess, I was rather taken with the fellow,” Congreve smiled. “I was on the commission, you see.”

      Fulton had travelled to England in April 1804. No sooner had he set foot ashore than Prime Minister Pitt had appointed a special commission to examine the American’s inventions. Other appointees had included the distinguished scientist Henry Cavendish, Admiral Sir Hope Popham, and Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society. The initial findings, however, had not been well received by Fulton, as the colonel revealed.

      “Oh, the design was feasible enough, no doubt about that, but totally impractical in combat.” As he spoke, the colonel’s hand strayed to the sketches on the table. “Or so we thought at the time.” The colonel gave a wry smile. “The commission was more interested in his submarine bomb – his torpedo, as he called it.”

      “His what?” Hawkwood asked.

      “Torpedo. Named after a breed of fish. The beast uses an electrical discharge to stun its enemies. Not sure how exactly, I’m no expert in aquatic fauna.”

      Despite the explanation, Hawkwood felt none the wiser. The colonel might as well have been conversing in Hindustani.

      Prime Minister Pitt, however, had been sufficiently impressed to put his signature to a contract agreeing to pay Fulton £40,000 for demonstrating the principles of his submersible and the surrender of all rights to his invention. A very generous amount, even without the additional supplement of £200 a month salary, a credit limit of £7,000 and a further £40,000 for the first French ship destroyed. Admiralty dockyards and arsenals were ordered to furnish materials and equipment as required.

      “We tried out his torpedoes at Boulogne later that year,” Congreve said. “Without much success, frankly, but we saw the potential right away. And just the rumour was enough to put the fear of God into the Frogs. There was a lot of refining to do, more testing and so forth. Took another year before we were ready to try again. Remember the Dorothea, Blomefield?”

      “By God, do I!”

      The Dorothea, the colonel explained, had been an ancient Danish brig anchored in Walmer Roads, off the Dover coast. Fulton’s submarine bombs had reduced the ship to matchwood.

      “That was the result we needed. We were all set. We planned to use Fulton’s torpedoes and my rockets against the French fleet at Cadiz. Would have been the grandest bloody firework display in Europe!” Colonel Congreve shook his head in regret.

      “Only our one-eyed admiral got there first,” Blomefield said.

      They meant Trafalgar.

      Blomefield sighed. “The brave bugger only went and annihilated the Frog fleet. No need for Fulton’s newfangled bombs after that. Nothing left for us to blow up!”

      “Didn’t stop him demanding his bloody fee, though!” the First Sea Lord grumbled.

      As a final settlement, Fulton had asked for £10,000 for switching allegiance, £100,000 for demonstrating that warships could be destroyed by his invention, a £2,400 annual pension for life, and £60,000 for agreeing not to use his inventions against the British fleet.

      The Board of Arbitration consulted and decided Fulton hadn’t done enough to warrant the extortionate payments he was requesting. The Board had eventually awarded him £14,000 plus salary and incidentals already earned, which had amounted to the far from princely sum of £1,640.

      “So the bugger dismantled all his equipment and packed off home,” Blomefield said. “Lock, stock, and bloody barrel.”

      “Bearing a very aggressive bee in his bonnet,” the colonel added.

      “So,” Hawkwood said, “the man has a grudge.”

      “A bloody big one, would be my guess.” Congreve sucked at his lower lip reflectively.

      “And you think he’s back in France?”

      Congreve shook his head. “No, not Fulton. The fellow’s not in the best

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