The Flood-Tide (35 page)

And now he was a knotty old man - how old, nobody knew - gnarled and stunted with years of poverty, but upright still. He lived all alone now, and since he had never been out of his clothes since they were new, he smelled strong enough to make the eyes water, and the dirt had settled in the lines of his face like soil filling furrows. But he regarded Sir Allen that day with a bright and steady eye while the master explained to him, in person, what was happening in the matter of the enclosure.

Jemima, sitting her horse a little way off - upwind of him - saw the disbelief on his face, followed by the bewilderment. How could anyone take away his commons, that he had had all his life? he was asking. He had always, time out of mind, had the firewood and the grazing and acorns - and his father before him, that no one now alive could remember. Patiently, Allen explained it all again, but Jemima could see he did not understand, and that when he came to believe it was to happen, he could only think the master and mistress had betrayed him.

‘But we'll give you compensation,' Allen said.

‘Compensation?' Gaffer Truman didn't understand the word.

‘Money - gold,' Allen said. 'Money to make up for losing the rights.’

And the old man again looked from Allen to Jemima, and said, 'But what use is money to me? I can't graze my cow and pigs on money.’

And when eventually they rode away, Jemima could not rid her mind of the memory of the last look he sent after them, bewildered and hurt.

Old Gaffer Truman could not adapt to the new life. He continued to exercise his rights until the common was fenced off, and then he broke through the fence and carried on as before until the plough was brought in, and the grazing ploughed up. Then from time to time he and his animals would be found trespassing on some other piece of grass, and he would be brought up before Allen, as Justice of the Peace, who would try again to explain to him. The compensation money had gone within a fortnight of payment on the longest and most glorious 'holiday' of Truman's life, a debauch which would have killed a less hardened constitution.

‘What am Ito do with him?' Allen asked Jemima. 'He's drunk away the money, and he
won't
understand that he can't graze his animals where he likes.'

‘He can't help it,' Jemima said, remembering the old man's words - 'what use is money to me?' Money was an alien substance to the cottager, who lived by what he grew and made himself, and who had rarely owned more than a couple of shillings at any one time, usually not more than a few pence. 'Can't you give him a little bit of land?' she begged.

‘But he's had his compensation,' Allen pointed out.

‘He doesn't understand money - land is what he knows. Just half an acre, Allen - it wouldn't be for long. He can't live for ever.'

‘Don't be so sure,' Allen said, but in the end he agreed with her, and decided to offer the old man a corner of the West Field under the slope of Bachelor Hill, where he could gather firewood as well. He went in person to the rank cottage by the Ten Thorns to tell Truman of his decision, and found the old man looking a great deal older and more frail than he had remembered him. Truman listened in silence as Allen told him of his plan, and for a long time he did not answer, but looked away, past Allen, towards the land he had known all his life, but not as if he saw it. Some inner landscape filled his mind, some memory from his long, long life.

Then, ‘Thankee, sir,' he said. 'You're right kindly, I'm sure, master. But I've never took charity from no man, not in all my life, and that's what it is, when all's said. No, master, if I can't have my bit o'grazing and such back, then I'll take no one else's land from him. I've lived free, and I'll die free, not beholden.'

‘But what will you do, man?' Allen asked, exasperated. ‘You can't go grazing your beasts wherever you please.'

‘I knaw that, master,' he said. 'I've come to see that it's stealing, and I'm no gypsy, and I won't do it namore. If I can't feed my beasts, I's'l sell 'em.'

‘But then how will you live?' Allen asked. The old man continued to look past him with calm dignity.

‘The Lord will provide, master, for me as for the sparrow.’

A few days later Allen heard that the old man had indeed sold his beasts, one gaunt cow, three wiry sows and a young litter, and half a dozen laying hens of dubious vintage. A few days after that Allen was riding past Ten Thorn Gap and decided to turn out of his way to see how the old man was faring, and found the cottage deserted. The hearth was cold, and though the few sticks of furniture were still there, there did not appear to be any personal belongings left - if, indeed, the old man had ever had any. Though he made inquiries, he could not find anyone who knew where Gaffer Truman had gone, and as far as he knew, no one ever saw him again.

*

William and Thomas were together again in the summer of 1781. Thomas, as a result of Rodney's report after the battle off Martinique, had been promoted in September 178o to command of the
Daring,
64, his first ship of the line, under Admiral Sir Samuel Hood. William at that time had been lying in hospital in Port Royal, recovering from the fever which had caused him to be left behind when Parker's flagship had returned to England, and on Thomas's request, William had been allowed to rejoin him.

He presented a very different aspect from the puny, seasick boy who had sailed from Spithead with him back in '75. At eighteen, William had reached a respectable five foot-eight, had filled out with muscle. He had grown, Thomas thought, very handsome, his weather-browned face showing firmness and thoughtfulness, years of responsibility in his level gaze. His pale hair had never darkened, and he wore it in an old-fashioned pigtail almost a foot long. Thomas found him very able, well-versed in both the practical and theoretical aspects of his trade. It was a pity, he thought, that he was still a midshipman - but, besides ability, the requirements for lieutenancy were a minimum of six years at sea, and the attainment of the age of twenty.

‘The moment you are old enough,' Thomas said, 'you must take your examination. There is no doubt in the world that you will pass it.’

In May of that year, General Cornwallis, who had been moderately successful in South Carolina and moderately unsuccessful in North Carolina, was ordered by the commander-in-chief Clinton to join up with the force under Patriot-turned-loyalist Benedict Arnold in Virginia. Virginia had remained largely in the hands of the Patriots since the beginning of the war, and General Cornwallis was eager to reverse this situation, but Clinton, growing more weary and discouraged with every year the war dragged on, was more interested in defence. He wanted a safe anchorage for the navy in Chesapeake Bay, and Cornwallis was ordered to fortify Yorktown for this purpose.

In this the close interdependence of the army and navy was exhibited, for while it was necessary to have a military base in Yorktown to make the Bay safe for ships, it was necessary to have the navy on hand in the Bay to make it possible to take and fortify Yorktown. And it was equally true for the French/American forces: they would have to march men into Virginia and request the French navy to sail into the Bay at the same time.

All these things were known in general terms but, as through the whole of the war, communication of detail was sadly lacking. Clinton's request for ships caused Admiral Hood to sail from the West Indies to New York with fourteen ships,
Daring
amongst them. They arrived in August to meet up with Admiral Graves and collect five more ships of the line in support. The 'all captains' flag was hung out in the
Royal Oak,
and Thomas called away his gig to go on board the flagship and receive information and orders.

‘General Cornwallis had six thousand men at Yorktown,’

Admiral Graves told the assembled captains, 'but Yorktown, though it commands the Bay, will be hard to defend from the landward, and we know that Washington is marching towards Virginia with seven thousand men, so it is imperative that we sail at once to Chesapeake Bay to support Cornwallis.'

‘And the French, sir? Do we know what ships they have in the area?' one of the captains asked.

‘The Rhode Island fleet has left its base, and our observers think that they had siege equipment aboard, so it is logical to assume that they have gone to Chesapeake. I think we may expect them to be waiting for us. But we will be more ships than they.'

‘And what of De Grasse and the rest of the French fleet, sir? Will they go to the aid of their companions?' asked another captain, Hammond of the
Achilles.
It was Admiral Hood who answered.

‘Admiral Rodney assured us that De Grasse will not send more than a few ships to Chesapeake, if he sends any at all. The situation in the West Indies is far too delicate for the French to risk sending their whole fleet.’

A few more questions were asked and answered, and then Graves dismissed them.

‘Thank you, gentlemen. We sail at first light.’

Thomas returned to his ship thoughtfully, his mind naturally turning to the question of Charles. What would happen to him, when Virginia was taken? Would he make any attempt to fight against the British? The family at home, as they revealed in their letters to Thomas, had begun to worry about Charles, for he no longer wrote to them, or replied to their letters, and though Jemima and Allen were supposing to themselves that the war had disrupted the already fragile postal services between England and Maryland, Thomas did not believe it. Charles had gone over to the other side; Flora was disporting herself publicly with another man. I was mistaken in that family, he thought bitterly. His best friend, and his wife - brother and sister both had proved false to him.

At first light on the following day the fleet sailed majestically out of New York harbour to take up their stations in rigid line-ahead, following the two flagships.
Royal Oak, London, Invincible, Monarch, Ajax, Achilles, Intrepid;
Thomas took station on
Intrepid,
and
Daring
filled her sails and ploughed along in the creamy wake directly astern. Behind him came
Minotaur, Montagu, Centaur, Vulture, Terrible
and the rest of them, making a line of ships, a death-dealing creature, five miles long. Two frigates, and the sloop
Ariadne,
held station out on the flank of the line, keeping watch on the horizons for the French.

At dawn on 5 September the lookouts sighted the outcrop of Cape Henry, the southerly point of the mouth of the Bay, and simultaneously came the cry of 'Sail ho!' Between the points of Cape Henry and the northern barrier, Cape Charles, lay the waiting French fleet.

‘Get aloft with a glass, boy,' Thomas said tersely to William. 'Tell me what you see.’

William leapt for the ratlines, a telescope under his arm, while at the masthead the lookout was still counting.

‘Thirteen, fourteen - twenty or more, sir. They're French all right, sir.’

A while later William's voice, adding more information. ‘Twenty-four in all I count, sir.' Then, after a pause, in a different voice, 'Deck, there! Captain, sir, I think I know those ships. There's
Marseillaise,
sir, I'm sure of it, and
Languedoc,
and
Saint Esprit.
And - there's
Ville de Paris,
sir, Admiral De Grasse's flagship. It's the West India fleet, sir.’

So Admiral Rodney had miscalculated, Thomas thought. The West India fleet had come after all, and with them France's boldest and ablest sailor, De Grasse. Twenty-four French ships of the line not only outnumbered the English fleet, they very seriously outweighed her in firepower. Those big three-deckers carried forty guns a side, against the British seventy-fours. The
London
was the only British ship bigger, with ninety guns, while the monstrous
Ville de Paris
carried one hundred and ten. As against that the coppered British ships were all more seaworthy and handier, and the British seaman was worth ten of his French opponent. But in a light wind, and with a moderate sea, these advantages would not count for much. Their only chance would be to trap the French fleet in the mouth of the Bay, with no room to manoeuvre, and batter them against the shores and shoals.

‘Flagship's signalling, sir,' said the signals midshipman at his elbow. 'Flag to all ships, sir, prepare to tack.'

‘Acknowledge,' Thomas said. 'Mr Wallis, prepare to go about.’

A few minutes later the signal came down, and Thomas tacked the
Daring at
the heels of the
Intrepid
before him, like every other ship in the fleet. Like a machine, the whole long line of ships came round in beautiful, rigid order, and headed for the mouth of the Bay and the waiting French. There was a movement at his elbow, and he glanced round to see William rejoining him.

‘Flagship signalling, sir,' said the signals midshipman again, but this time there was a tremor in his voice which he endeavoured to control as he continued. 'Flag to all ships, clear for action, sir.'

‘Acknowledge,' said Thomas. He met William's level gaze, and William gave a tiny smile, hardly more than a jerk of his lips, of excitement. Thomas noticed, as one notices tiny, irrelevant details at a moment of crisis, that William's eyebrows had been bleached white by the sun, like his hair.