The French Admiral (8 page)

“But you bear her maiden name.”

“Aye, sir.”

“So perhaps he did not marry her, but felt some remorse to learn that she had died in his absence and left him a boy child.”

“Sir Hugo St. George Willoughby never had any remorse about anything, sir.” Alan laughed without humor. “I remember a big man coming to claim me and taking me in a coach. First time I ever saw the inside of one. Next thing I knew I had the best of everything. Except for affection, that is.”

Damme, I'm getting maudlin as hell just thinking about this, he thought, feeling a wave of sadness sweep over him such as he had not felt for two years.

“Perhaps you are worth something to somebody, else why keep you?”

“That might explain why I was set up with Belinda, and caught red-handed in bed with her by so many people, especially our solicitor and the parish vicar as well, sir!”

Alan thought a while. “You mean my mother's people may have had money?”

“No way to tell, not out here,” Cheatham said. “But my brother works in the City, at Coutts' Bank. I could write him and let him make some inquiries on your behalf. If you were set up, as you put it, it would clear your repute with the captain and put your own mind to rest as well. If your father has recently come into money or land through your maternal side, that would be proof positive.”

“It must be!” Alan was thrilled. “Why else would he send me off with a hundred guineas a year and force me to sign away inheritance on both sides? Sir Hugo never did anything that didn't show a profit. God, Mister Cheatham, if only you could do that! You don't know how miserable I have been, not knowing why I was banished. I admit I was a strutting little rake-hell. And given half a chance, I probably would be again, to be honest. But nothing as bad as they were, at any rate!”

“Then we shall attend to it directly.” Cheatham smiled at him, and the smile automatically raised Alan's suspicions as to his motives. Damme, what's in it for him, I wonder? The life I've lived, there's no way to know when someone really means friendship, except for David.

“Um, I was wondering, sir, why would you . . .” he began.

“Because whether you can realize it or not, you have friends in this ship and in this world, Lewrie.” Cheatham anticipated him: “Railsford thought you'd be squint-a-pipes about it. Do you really think yourself so base as not to be able to garner trust and friendship from others?”

“Yes, sir,” he said without pausing to think, and felt his eyes begin to water with the truth of it. Until he had gotten into the Navy, he had never had a real friend, never had a word of approval from his father, his half-relations, or tutors. Now here were people ready to make supreme efforts on his behalf to uphold his honor and good name—what there was of them—and go out of their way to settle all the nagging questions in his mind about his heritage. Too much was happening to keep his feelings in check.

“God, Mister Lewrie,” Cheatham said, almost in tears himself, “I had no idea, my boy! Forgive me. You
do
have friends who care about you—not just people with influence who will be good for place or jobbery.”

“I am beginning to realize that, sir.” Alan shuddered. “Back home, there was no one I could turn to. Jesus!”

“What?”

“In a way this is so disgusting, sir.” Alan smiled in self-deprecation. “Who would have thought that of all places, I would find . . . a home . . . in the bloody Navy! I've spent the better part of my service scheming to get out of it!”

“Why would you, when you're so deuced good at it?” Cheatham asked. “Oh, I suppose it is natural to be suspicious, growing up a London boy in such a household as you described, but there is good in this world, and you have some of it in you.”

“A streak perhaps,” Alan allowed. “A thin one, sir. I doubt I'll be buried a bishop.”

“Who can say what you'll amount to?” Cheatham said, cuffing him on the head lightly. “No, I would not go so far as to say you could ever take holy orders. But you are who you make of yourself, not what others have told you you are. Think on what you have accomplished in the short time you have worn King's Coat—other than wenching and brawling your way through the streets of Charleston, of course. Consider the people you know that think well of you. You could not have earned their approbation without being worthy.”

I don't know about all that, Alan thought. You've never seen me toady when I've my mind set on something. Still, there was the good opinion of Admiral Sir Onsley Matthews and his Lady Maude; also their lovely niece, Lucy Beauman, who was all but pledged to him. And then there were Lord and Lady Cantner, whose lives he had saved in the
Parrot.
There were probably as many others who hated the sight of him, but he wasn't particularly fond of those either, so to hell with them.

But with Railsford, Cheatham, and, most likely, Mr. Dorne to improve his chances, and even Mister Monk's professional acceptance as a seaman, and the willing cooperation of the other warrant and petty officers who took him at face value, there was suddenly a lot less to fear than he had thought. He took another deep draught of beer, and his prospects suddenly seemed that much brighter.

“I cannot tell you how much this means to me, sir,” he told Cheatham. “I was despairing that I would be chucked onto the beach to starve if it was up to the captain alone. Maybe there's an answer in my past that would force me to think I'm someone better than the image I have formed of myself ere now. But I'm not betting on it, mind. What if I'm much worse than what I know of myself now?”

“That's our Lewrie,” Cheatham said kindly. “As chary a lad who ever drew breath. Now let us take a peek into this salt beef cask to see if it's fit to eat, shall we?”

CHAPTER 2

O
n
the 25th of August, 1781,
Desperate
went inshore once more, to Cape Henry in the Virginias, acting as the eyes of the fleet. Should she run into danger, there was another frigate with her with much heavier artillery to back her up, but being of deeper draft she wasn't much help close inshore.

“Passage'll be 'bout a mile off Cape Henry,” Mister Monk said, referring to one of his heavily pencilled and grease-stained charts by the binnacle. He was partly teaching, partly talking aloud to himself. “Far enough offshore ta avoid the Cape Henry shoals, an' 'bout two mile off a the Middle Ground. Ya young gentlemen mark the Middle Ground? Silt an' sand shoal.”

Forrester, Avery, and Lewrie peered over his shoulder to mark it in their minds, while Carey, who was much shorter, wormed his way through to peek almost from Monk's capacious armpit.

“What about north of the Middle Ground, sir?” Carey asked, turning his gingery face up to their sailing master. “Up by Cape Charles?”

“No, main entrance is this'n, south o' the Middle Ground. To the north of it, ya'd never know how much depth ya'd have, wot with the scour. At high tide, ya might find a five-fathom channel, 'un then agin ya could pile her up on a sand bar in two, so deep draft merchantmen an' warships use the south pass. With our two-and-a-half-fathom draft, we'd most like be safe up there, but anythin' bigger'n a fifth-rate'd spend a week gettin' off.”

“It's big once you're in, though,” Avery observed, looking at the chart past the entrance they were discussing.

“Like the gunner told the whore,” Alan whispered.

“Let's keep our little minds on seamanship, awright Mister Lewrie?”

“Aye, Mister Monk, sir,” Alan replied with an attempt at a saintly expression.

“Now look ya here,” Monk went on, tapping the chart with a stub of wood splinter for a pointer. “Once yer in, there's Lynnhaven Bay. Un from Cape Henry ta Old Point Comfort, due west, mind ye, ya got deep water an' good holdin' ground. But—and mind ya this even better—from 'bout a mile north o' Point Comfort an' from there up ta these islands at the mouth o' the York River, ya got shoal water at low tide, and this shoal, they think, sticks out damn near thirty miles east, pointin' right at the heart o' the entrance. So ya can never stand too far in at low tide or on a early makin' tide without ya choose Lynnhaven Bay er bear off west-nor'-west for the York, er up nor'-west into the bay, itself.”

“So the best places to base a fleet or squadron would be either in Lynnhaven Bay or in the mouth of the York, sir,” Avery said.

“Right you are, Mister Avery, right you are.”

“Which is why Cornwallis and his army have marched north from Wilmington in the Carolinas, to set up a naval base to control the Chesapeake,” Alan said, marveling.

“Un right you are, too, Mister Lewrie.” Monk beamed, proud of his students. “Either way ya enter, ya got ta choose Lynnhaven Bay, York River, er further up, but if ya take that route, ya gotta be aware o' this here shoal comin' outa the north shore o' the Gloucester Peninsula north o' the York, so that cuts yer choices down even more. I'd never stand in further than ten miles past Cape Henry afore choosin', and God help ya you ever do otherwise yerselves if yer ever in command o' a King's ship, Lord spare us.”

“And there are no markers or aids to navigation?” Forrester asked.

“Nary a one, sir,” Monk replied. “Mosta the shippin' roundabouts is shallow draft coasters an' barges ta serve all these tobacco wharfs on the plantations, er carryin' trade ta Williamsburg further up the James, so up ta now, there wasn't no need fer 'em. But, up the James er up the York, er way up the Bay, it's the world's best anchorage ta my thinkin' for a fleet.”

“Then why haven't we set one up here before, sir?” Carey asked.

“There's not much ta the Continental Navy, in spite o' that fight we had in the Virgins last month. Biggest threat was de Barras up in Newport, an' the North American Squadron covers them. Most o' the fightin' was around New York or down in the Carolinas. But now this bugger de Grasse is on his way here, we'll control the place.”

“And with ships here in the Chesapeake, we'd be free to range from way up here on the Patowmac and Baltimore down to Norfolk and the entrance,” Alan said, smiling. He could see what Clinton and Cornwallis had in mind. “We'd cut the communications from Washington and Rochambeau to his southern forces.”

“A nacky plan, ain't it?” Monk said, as though he had thought of it himself. “So ya all look sharp as we work our way inta the bay, and y'll see the Middle Ground, all swirly like a maelstrom sometimes. Two leadsmen in the foremast chains by four bells o' the forenoon, now we're in soundin's. And we'll lower a cutter an' sound ahead, too, as we're comin' in on the ebb tide.”

“Let me,” Carey volunteered, almost leaping in eagerness.

“Aye, the boat's yours, Mister Carey. Ya put these younkers ta shame sometimes, so ya do!”

“And the leads, sir?” Alan asked.

“Do ya take yer copy o' the
Atlantic Neptune
an' place yourself in the foretop, Mister Lewrie. Mister Avery, y'll be with the hands in the forechains. Un Mister Forrester, I 'spect the captain'll wish ya ta be on the quarterdeck ta handle any signalin'.”

“Aye, sir,” Forrester said with a smug grin.

Desperate
was ready for any trouble entering the bay. The hawse bucklers were removed and cable ready to run at bow and stern, both the best and second bowers seized to their lines, and a kedge and a stream anchor on the stern should she have to maneuver herself off a shoal with muscle power.

“Cape Henry, sir,” Monk said to Treghues on the quarter-deck. “I'd feel better a point ta starboard if ya so mind, sir.”

“Hands to the braces, stand by to wear a point to starboard!” Treghues shouted, then turned to Lieutenant Railsford. “Brail up the main course now and get a little way off her, but leave the tops'ls for now.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

With guarded caution that to an outsider might still have seemed almost dashingly rash,
Desperate
made her way to the entrance, arrowing almost due west down the three-mile-wide channel, past the disturbed water of the Middle Ground, past the tip of Cape Henry into Lynnhaven Bay. Beyond, the Chesapeake was a sparkling sack of water, nearly devoid of shipping but for a few small British ships servicing the troops ashore, along with a large frigate, the
Charon,
a sloop of war just slightly smaller than
Desperate,
the
Guadeloupe,
and some small armed cutters and store-ships drafted from the coastal traffic.

Desperate
finally idled close enough to
Charon
to be able to speak to her, and from her commander Captain Symonds they discovered that the French were nowhere to be seen as of yet. There were some armed gunboats working further up the bay near Annapolis to keep some Continental infantry units from taking to the water in some homemade barges.

They also learned that Symonds and Cornwallis had rejected Old Point Comfort west of Lynnhaven Bay as the naval base. The bay would be too exposed to the coming hurricane season, and the land around Old Point Comfort was too low and marshy to be fortified—was barely two feet above high tide. A French ship, with her higher mounted guns, could drift right down on any battery established there and shoot it to pieces. Instead, Cornwallis would fortify the south bank of the York River just east of the town of York and the narrows at Gloucester Point. The land was much higher there, with steep bluffs to discourage any attempt to storm them, and batteries dug into the bluffs could return the favor to a ship of any force that attempted to get close enough for cannon fire. They would also be free of the marshes and their agues, and would have several choices of streams for fresh water if they had to hold out for any length of time.

So far, Cornwallis and his troops had had little trouble in these rebellious Virginias, raiding far west up toward Williamsburg and Jamestown, getting into one scrap on the James. But the enemy had been too daring and had tried to force a crossing into low marshland and forests right in the teeth of the field artillery and had gotten cut up badly. After scouring the neighborhood for victuals and harvesting what crops there were, the general was moving slowly back to Yorktown to begin his fortifications and was awaiting the arrival of the fleet into the bay. They had heard of the possible arrival of the French, and Clinton and Admiral Graves had promised to return troops south, so the possibilities were excellent for a grand battle which would not only destroy the French fleet in the Americas and knock them out of the alliance with the Rebels, but also destroy what men and guns that the Rebels were assembling from the south. Once what passed for an army in the Virginias was destroyed, the entire country was open to British troops as far west as the Appalachians, which would cut the rebellion in two. Symonds's news was electric, and reeking of confidence.

After a quick survey up north around the York River anchorages-to-be,
Desperate
wheeled about and made her way back out of the bay to carry the glad tidings to Admiral Hood and the Leeward Islands Squadron.

It was puzzling to Lewrie, all the same, as to just where those French had gotten to, and he mentioned it to Lieutenant Railsford in the evening watch as their ship once more trailed the taffrail lanterns of the heavy units of the fleet, now on their way to New York to collect Admiral Graves and his line-of-battle ships.

“We have beaten them to the coast,” Railsford commented.

“But what happens if the French are now busy retaking Charlestown and the Carolinas, sir?” Alan demanded, as much as a midshipman could make a demand upon a commissioned officer.

“The information all points to the Chesapeake,” Railsford said, looking up at the set of the tops'ls that shone like eery shadow wings in the night. “So we must expect that the information is correct. Even if they did land south of us, they must know that their fleet could be bottled up in Charleston harbor and lost to the rest of the war effort. And it would only be a matter of time before our ships, with Admiral Graves's as well, and all of Cornwallis's army, would march or sail south and put them under the same sort of siege that won the place last year anyway. The Chesapeake is more vital at this moment, and closer for de Grasse to link up with de Barras's few ships in Newport. Like us, they could only stay on the coast until the equinox, and then have to flee back to the Indies, so here is the best place to effect something strategic. Cornwallis and his army is the magnet that will draw them, as it draws us.”

“Well, sir, it seems to me that if de Grasse is behind us, then he could be sailing into the Chesapeake right now, and us none the wiser. Why not simply take our present fleet into the anchorage at the York River, or wait off the capes while we send a frigate to Admiral Graves and wait for him to arrive?”

“Because we would be only evenly matched without Graves and end up fighting a draw much like Arbuthnot did last year,” Railsford said, grinning at Alan's efforts at strategy. “And if de Grasse came by way of Cape Francois, who is to say that he has not made combination with other French ships, or stirred those Dons out of Havana? They had ten sail of the line.”

“By way of the Old Bahama Passage!” Alan was enthusiastic. “I thought that was the way they might come.”

“But then we might be the ones outnumbered and overwhelmed,” Railsford said.

“But if we cruised out to sea, sent frigates to scout, and could fall on the transports, even if we were outnumbered, we could cancel this de Grasse's plans overnight. If I were in charge, I'd . . . well, sir,
there
is a hopeful thought for you.”

“You'd cost us the squadron,” Railsford told him. “And then Graves would not have the force to do anything more. No, Cornwallis and his men and artillery can hold the bay while we assemble everything that floats to be sure we'll smash him when we come back. If he gains the bay while we are up north, then we can bottle him in anyway. He's most like brought troops as reinforcements, stripped the Indies to do it, and with him gone it'll be a year before the French could put together another fleet to send to the Caribbean, if then.”

“Oh, that would be a different prospect entirely, sir,” Alan said, seeing the wisdom of it.

“It's good practice, though, to use your mind as you have been doing. Good practice for when you really are an admiral, God help us.” The first lieutenant chuckled.

“Now there's another hopeful thought indeed, sir!” Alan agreed.

Four bells chimed from the belfry, halfway through the evening watch on a dark night, as the moon waned further. Alan wandered to the lee rail of the quarterdeck and leaned on the bulwarks, for no one could see him there violating the rule that midshipmen never lean on anything, or slouch.

Someday when I'm an admiral. Alan gave a wry laugh. After we win this battle, the war will most like be over, so there won't even be time enough in service to gain my lieutenancy. I suppose the admirals we have at present know what they're doing, so there's no sense in my getting worked up about things. Still . . .