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few days later when Nelson ordered the flotilla hauled off the coast because there was the makings of a storm up in the sky – a suggestion that pilot Hanna pooh-poohed. But the ships were sailed off into the open sea, and when the gale arrived it caused considerable damage on land, destroying many tents and not a few provisions. Next day Superintendent Lawrie’s ships began to arrive, although they had suffered some losses on the journey, and some, indeed, had to be rescued by the fleet as it returned to shore.
    ‘The worst of it,’ said Nelson, while Tim was giving him his physic, ‘is that the Indians have no trust at all in us, least of all in the superintendent. In which, indeed, I wholly sympathise, for I would not trust the man myself as far as I can spit. It is also said he deposed the former superintendent, Hodgson, through a fine piece of blackguardry. It will be interesting to see how many of his fabled thousand we end up with as our force.’
    Within another week, as Hastie noted in the journal he was keeping for his Sarah, the ‘awful truth’ was revealed. Lawrie had recruited a mere twelve settlers, who had with them ‘a few dozens of their slaves, and an additional six score of the Indians called Mosquito. I must tell you, dear, the insects are named for the natives, not vice versa . Another strangeness of this most strange country.’
    The next essential port of call was Pearl Key on the mainland south of the Cape, where Lawrie promised ‘yet more’ settlers and men. Nelson and the pilot argued long and hard on aspects of this voyage in the shallow coastal waters, but Hanna swore by God Above that his knowledge was impeccable. When the Hinchinbrook struck bottom Nelson was beside himself, and his friend Captain Despard was hard put to stop him spilling blood. Divers were sent overboard and reported the damage, and Nelson suggested Hanna should attend to it himself.
    Shortly after this Hanna demonstrated his lack of worth again, by promising fresh water at the next two landing points they came to, both of which proved barren. The captain and Polson, by now cemented by adversity, agreed with Despard that they should press on, and with the prefabricated gun carrier (ceremonially named Lord Germain) in tow astern, they fought dirty weather until they could ‘drop hook’ at Greytown, just one day short of fifty after setting sail from Jamaica.
    Although two weeks or even less was a not unusual time for the same trip, convention dictated that a celebration must be held in the main cabin. It was subdued and minor, though, and when his guests had gone, the captain said to Hastie: ‘Tim, my task is over. Admiral Parker’s order is that I remain at river mouth as guardship, while they push on upstream. A month ago that made me furious, but tonight I must confess I’m almost glad. It is a complete ragtag and bobtail, and only Despard is truly competent. And very soon, Tim – it will start to rain.’
    Hastie slid into his own cot, beneath his mosquito muslin, and pondered.
    ‘At least your health is better, captain,’ he thought. ‘Thank God you’re now beyond Tom Dancer’s tender mercies.’

 
    Nine
     
    Nelson’s mood remained ambiguous for some days. To Hastie, observing him observe the military engaged in loading and preparing to set off up the river, it was a time spent in limbo. Still on the books of the 79th – the Liverpool Blues – he was yet recognised as Nelson’s physician, and Dancer was more than happy to have washed his hands of him. Almost from the moment that the army camped on shore their health deteriorated. Dancer soon complained that he was running out of bottled beer.
    To grace St John’s with the name of Greytown seemed laughable to a Liverpool man like Hastie. It was no town at all, but a sad collection of wood and wattle huts, roofed in leaves, and ‘steeped in shit’ as Despard put it. In the tropics, strange animals abounded, and even the hogs and dogs were of