Now the cabinet are chafing at the delay, lest it complicate relations among the Allies. The press have only one story, Bonaparte; the habeas corpus movement has become a ground swell; the emperor has never been more popular in Britain. Should he by any means once touch foot on British soil, he will not easily be got rid of. On the other hand, so great has been the publicity, Bonapartist naval vessels might imaginably attempt to intercept Northumberland at sea: a convoy of six brigs, two troopships, and a frigate must therefore be commissioned and assembled to escort the ship-of-war to St. Helena. More delay!
Faute de mieux, Andrew begins to practice the forgery of subpoenas, no easy matter by reason of their sundry official seals. If he cannot board Bellerophon illegally, he will do so “legally”—as Anthony Mackenrot, defendant in Cochrane v. Mackenrot, come to serve a writ upon Napoleon Bonaparte.
It is August 4 before he has one ready. The thing lacks finish, especially the engraving of the seals, but he can wait no longer. Rumor has it that Napoleon has decided upon suicide rather than St. Helena; that his officers are conspiring to assassinate him in order to spare themselves and their families such an exile; that orders are en route to Bellerophon to go to sea until rendezvous is made with Northumberland, lest Bonaparte escape or a habeas corpus writ be served. Andrew endeavors to imagine the accent and appearance of a Scotsman gone bankrupt in the Caribbean; he goes to the Plymouth house of Admiral Keith, commander in chief of the Channel fleet, in whose jurisdiction Bellerophon is, to demand permission to serve his subpoena. He tries out his accent on the admiral’s secretary, who angrily asks how many Mackenrots has Cochrane sued, and sends him off “to where your brother already is”: the offices of the Admiralty. Puzzled, Andrew hurries there, learns that Keith is that moment being rowed out to the Tonnant in the harbor (where lie also other veterans of the Chesapeake, among them Peter Parker’s Menelaus) to escape “you damn’d lawyers.” Cook rushes to the quay, to hire a launch. The only one in sight is being bargained for already. No matter, Andrew will double the bid — but then he sees the chap gesticulate with a rolled, sealed paper; hears him protest with a Highland burr that the boatsman’s rates are pir-r-ratical…
Pocketing my own writ, I enquired, Mister Mackenrot? The same, said he. I introduced myself then as one who knew & sympathized with his business, having the like of my own, and offer’d not only to share the hire of the launch but to point out Admiral Keith & the Tonnant among the throng of naval officers and vessels in the sound. Which (he accepting readily) at 1st I did, & was gratify’d to observe that so seriously did Keith apprehend this whimsical finger of the mighty arm of English Law, at our approach he fled the Tonnant for the frigate Eurotas, hard by Bellerophon. And whilst we were scrambling to come a-port of Eurotas, he scrambled down a-starboard and fled off toward shore at Cawsand! Where we would surely have caught him, had not his barge been mann’d by 12 oars & ours by but 4. Splendid, preposterous spectacle: an admiral of the world’s mightiest navy in flight from a lone eccentric Scotsman with a scrap of paper! Behind which, however, lay such authority as might well upset the combined resolve of the Ally’d Nations.
