The Continental Risque

by James Nelson

  ‘That’s it? Join this navy and I’m pardoned?’

  ‘If you are indeed an able-bodied seaman, yes. That’s it.’

  This navy might possibly be a right hell. He had heard stories of the British navy: floggings, hangings, lousy food. This Continental navy could be worse.

  But still it would not be worse than the darkness. As long as he was alive, there was hope, and as long as he was on shipboard, among a ship’s crew, there was a chance for even better.

  ‘Very well, then. I’ll join.’

  ‘I figured you might, Hackett,’ said the sheriff. ‘I’ll miss seeing you hang, but at least we’re free of you. But if you come back, I promise we’ll hang you when you do.’

  ‘Hold a moment,’ Hackett said. The suspicion was back again. ‘Tell me again why you want me?’

  Huck cleared his throat. ‘Our colonies are locked in a battle for our freedom. We need every man we can get to defend our God-given liberties.’

  ‘Oh, my arse,’ said Hackett. ‘Give it straight.’

  The pudgy man shrugged, deciding, apparently, that the truth would do no harm at that juncture. ‘Some gentleman … Lt Roger Tottenhill … gives me a dollar a head for each able-bodied man I recruit. I don’t give one damn what you done, as long as I get my head money. Once you report on board the ship, you’re his problem.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Philadelphia

  Someone was giving orders concerning the repairs on the Charlemagne’s bow, someone that Biddlecomb did not recognize. He, this stranger, was standing by the cutwater and waving his arms, apparently pointing out to the shipwrights how far back to strip the planking, and Biddlecomb was not pleased.

  The Charlemagne did not, at that moment, look like the third most powerful vessel in the navy of the United Colonies, though such she was. Rather she looked like a forlorn wreck, rolled over on her larboard side twenty yards from where he and Virginia stood.

  Three days before, they had pulled up to the yard of Wharton and Humphreys on a thankfully slack tide, standing on and off under topsails while another brig – Biddlecomb later learned it was the merchant brig Sally undergoing conversion into the United Colonies brig-of-war Cabot – was warped quickly out of the way.

  With her pumps working nonstop to keep up with the flow of water coming in around the fothered sail, an army of sailors and dockworkers had stripped the Charlemagne of guns, stores, and top-hamper. That done, she had been hove down, rolled over on her larboard side, bringing the leaking starboard bow out of the water.

  The Charlemagne seemed to breathe a great sigh of relief, pleased to be free of the damaged top-hamper, grateful to be pulled from the water, like a man stripping off coat and shirt on an unbearably hot day. It made Biddlecomb happy to see his beloved brig in the graving dock, finally getting the proper attention.

  And now some interloper was giving instructions concerning the work on her bow, saying to the lead shipwright, ‘No, you cannot simply put a dutchman in there, you must rip the planking back to the first cant frame, and three strakes above that and below to see there’s no more rot. You don’t know what’s going on under there, the whole damned bow could fall clean off.’ Standing in a half circle around him and peering down from the hull above were the gang of shipwrights who had been working on the brig.

  It did not matter to Biddlecomb that the man was right, or that ten minutes later he would have issued the same instructions himself, the fact remained that someone he did not know was giving orders concerning his ship.

  ‘Could that be Mr Wharton?’ Virginia asked, tightening her grip on his arm.

  It was part of their routine now to stroll over to the shipyard after breakfasting with William Stanton in the Stone House, where they had their lodging. The mornings were lovely, brittle and cold, but even abominable weather could not have quashed the general excitement with which Philadelphia was infused in those latter days of 1775.

  ‘No, I met Wharton yesterday, that’s not him. Here’s Mr Humphreys now.’ Biddlecomb nodded toward the young man walking in their direction, clad in Quaker black, a bundle of draughts held awkwardly under his arm. ‘Mr Humphreys, sir, a word, if you please! Who, pray, is that gentleman giving directions to your lead shipwright? The one there pointing toward the cutwater, in the blue coat. Is he one of your people?’

  Humphreys squinted through spotted glasses toward the Charlemagne and shook his head. ‘No … good morning to you, Miss Stanton … that’s Mr Tottenhill, your first officer. Came by this morning, first thing. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Biddlecomb, quite taken aback by this information, and, after bidding Humphreys good day, added, ‘This is passing strange.’ Tottenhill was now poking at the exposed frames with a long scrap of wood. ‘Let’s see what’s acting here.’

  Biddlecomb and Virginia stepped over the frozen mud of the shipyard, making their way to the Charlemagne around piles of snow-covered timber. The big men-of-war, big at least by the standards of the Colonial Navy, were tied to the dock, receiving the last of their new top-hamper. Biddlecomb had known the flagship, Alfred, in her earlier life as the merchantman Black Prince. The second ship, which, like the Andrew Doria, had formerly been named Sally, was reborn as the Columbus and was commanded, to Biddlecomb’s delight, by his former superior officer in the Rhode Island navy, Capt. Abraham Whipple. Both ships mounted twenty-four nine-pounder guns, the biggest men-of-war the colonies could assemble.

  ‘You, sir,’ Biddlecomb called out as he approached Tottenhill. ‘Who are you? What are you about?’

  Tottenhill turned and regarded his captain with a face full of annoyance. ‘I’m Lt Roger Tottenhill, sir, first officer of the brig-of-war Charlemagne, if it is any business of yours.’

  ‘I should say it’s some business of mine. I’m Isaac Biddlecomb, Capt. Isaac Biddlecomb, commander of this brig that you fancy yourself to be first officer of.’

  Tottenhill’s face changed as if a cloud had been whisked away from the sun. He smiled broadly. ‘God, I beg your pardon, sir! We’ve not met, I thought you were one of these infernal rascals from the dockyard, set on doing as little work as they can.’ The lieutenant extended his hand. ‘Lt Roger Tottenhill, sir, from the proud colony of North Carolina, at your service.’

  Biddlecomb shook the proffered hand and remained silent as Tottenhill introduced himself to Virginia, bowing and, much to Isaac’s annoyance, kissing her hand. When at last the scraping was done, Biddlecomb said, ‘I am still confused by this first-officer business. I have a first officer, Ezra Rumstick, who has been with me this past year. Who told you that you were to be first officer?’

  ‘It’s politics, sir, and I apologize. I know Mr Rumstick by reputation, and I’m not all that pleased to try and fill his shoes, but the Naval Committee decided that his commission, issued by Washington, do you see, who didn’t really have the authority, ain’t valid. They reissued him a commission, but that makes him junior to me. They were going to post me aboard as second lieutenant, but I’m afraid the new commission made Rumstick the most junior officer in the service, so they had to make me first.’ As he spoke, the lieutenant rummaged around in his blue coat, finally pulling from an inner pocket a packet of papers, which he handed over.

  Biddlecomb took the papers without a word and unfolded them. ‘There is quite a bit of politics, I fear, in the Congress, and …’ The lieutenant continued to speak though Biddlecomb, looking through the papers, did not continue to listen. There was a lieutenant’s commission, months old, and instructions to assume the position of first lieutenant aboard the Charlemagne, signed in Stephen Hopkins’s scratchy hand. ‘Hmm,’ Isaac said, refolding the papers and handing them back to Tottenhill. ‘Does Rumstick know of this?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. Sir, if you please, I’m sorry about this, really, and about how I greeted you. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot here. I know you and Mr Rumstick have been close, but it’s not like he’s left on the beach, he’s
to be second officer. And I’m an experienced officer, sir. I’ve been an officer in the merchant service for five years now. And in the last war I sailed aboard a privateer. I was just a boy, of course, an apprentice seaman, but I saw a scrape or two.’

  ‘Well …’ Biddlecomb said, mustering his composure after the shock of having a new officer thrust upon him. This navy thing, he reminded himself, was not all fancy balls and sycophancy. It involved, among other things, considerably less autonomy than he was accustomed to as a merchant captain. But this was too much.

  ‘I suppose those are as good credentials as we’re likely to find. Better than my own were a year ago. I’m sorry as well, sir, for doubting you. The organization of the navy has been so … informal up until now, I’m not accustomed to superior officers and Naval Committtees and such. Yes, very well …’ Isaac did not want to start an argument, nor did he wish to offend Tottenhill, so he did not voice his thoughts, which were that Tottenhill would not remain in his post for long. Rumstick was Biddlecomb’s first lieutenant. There would be no other.

  He smiled at Virginia, then looked Tottenhill in the eye. ‘I—’

  ‘Sir, if I may be so bold, shall I tell you about the cant frames here?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’ There was no harm in indulging Tottenhill. He would, after all, most likely remain aboard the Charlemagne in some capacity. Second lieutenant, perhaps. It was important to establish some rapport with him.

  And besides, Tottenhill had already launched into his explanation. ‘I reckon they’re sound enough. You know, I’ve seen vessels going down the ways with cant frames rotten. We had a merchantman built in a local yard. It was in ’65. Or was it ’66? Yes, ’66. No … yes, ’66. In any event, the shipwright had taken frames out of a wreck, do you see—’

  ‘Mr Tottenhill, pray, I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ Biddlecomb lied, ‘so perhaps we can confine ourselves to the Charlemagne?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. In any event, I was looking at the rabbet, there, and thinking perhaps it could be cut an inch or so deeper, give a better fit to those hood ends. Half this planking at least will need replaced, but …’

  For the next forty-five minutes, until Virginia’s eyes were glazed over with a boredom that was beyond what Biddlecomb considered acceptable for someone in his company, he allowed Mr Tottenhill to drone on about the repairs to the bow. Isaac found himself constantly nudging the lieutenant back onto the subject, like conning a ship through conflicting currents that were trying to throw it off course. At the end of the first twenty minutes he found himself fidgeting and interjecting such things as ‘Yes, yes, of course’ and ‘To be sure, right,’ signs that he too was becoming intolerably bored. Though Tottenhill appeared to possess a decent knowledge of the subject, for the first time in his life Biddlecomb had found a discussion of naval architecture something less than fascinating.

  ‘And, sir, I’d just like to say as well what an honor it is to sail with you. I’ve heard a great deal, of course, about the Icarus and the powder to Boston. And just lately they’re talking about—’

  ‘Yes, well, thank you, Mr Tottenhill. Ah, I look forward to working with you, and, well, welcome aboard, I suppose. Now, I’ll let you carry on. Miss Stanton and I really have to shove off.’ Isaac shook the first lieutenant’s hand, took Virginia again by the arm, and tromped off across the shipyard, past their own frozen footprints.

  ‘Am I mistaken,’ Virginia asked, ‘or is he a bit longwinded?’

  ‘You are not mistaken, dear.’ The man was beyond longwinded. Biddlecomb was certain that he had never in his life endured such a breathless monologue, and he included in that assessment several talks with lawyers and politicians. And now, through some official machinations to which he was not even privy, he would be stuck with the man, forced to live with him and his monotonous chatter on a small ship at sea for the Lord knew how long.

  He had learned long ago how awful it could be to have even one annoying person aboard a ship. An irritating sailor was bad enough, but Tottenhill would be, if not first then most likely second officer. As captain, Biddlecomb would not be able to avoid him. If this had been the merchant service, then he would have left Tottenhill on the beach. But this was the navy, and it was, apparently, not his decision to make.

  ‘Needless to say I intend to protest to the Naval Committee. Nothing against Tottenhill, but this is intolerable, after all that Rumstick’s done,’ Isaac said as he and Virginia made their way back down Water Street.

  ‘I wonder how Ezra will take this,’ Virginia said.

  ‘I don’t know. Not well, I’ll wager.’

  Rumstick did not take it well, not well at all, but it was to his credit that no one, save for Biddlecomb, realized as much. ‘We have a bit of a problem, Ezra,’ Isaac said over dinner in the warm, homey front room of the Stone House. ‘The Naval Committee’s saddled us with a new officer for Charlemagne. Fellow named Roger Tottenhill. North Carolinian. Talks a lot, but he seems to know what’s what, far as ships are concerned.’

  ‘New officer, huh?’ said Rumstick after swallowing a bite of mutton and pudding. ‘What do you mean? Third lieutenant? Officer of marines?’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s the problem. As it happens, the committee it seems appointed him first lieutenant. They apparently decided he was senior to you, since you were just officially commissioned the other day. Needless to say I was not aware of any of this, and just after dinner I intend to straighten it out. I’ll go see Adams, he’s on the Naval Committee, and he’s gotten quite a bit of wear out of our little adventure at Hell Gate. Owes us, I reckon. I’ll get him to put things to rights. But, ah, for the moment, that’s how it lies.’

  Rumstick sat in silence, an uncomfortable silence that seemed to last an exceptionally long time. ‘Of course, I can well see how that happened,’ he said at last. ‘Washington never had the authority to appoint naval officers, nor should he have. You recall, Isaac, that was just some fill-in-the-blank affair, that commission. But that’s good, now I’m official. Junior-most in the service, mind, though I’ve done more fighting than any other five put together, been a prisoner twice, but now I’m official. What do you make of this Tottenhill? Good officer?’

  ‘Fine, he’s fine. But he’s not the Charlemagne’s first officer. You are.’

  ‘Please, Isaac, I beg you, don’t go and make a big issue out of this. Just leave it be. It ain’t always for us to know why them politicians do what they do.’

  Biddlecomb, however, did make an issue out of it, or tried to at least, despite Rumstick’s halfhearted protest. With dinner done he trudged through the snow and frigid wind west down Chestnut Street to the State House, where, behind shut doors, the Continental Congress wrestled with questions of war and reconciliation. The clerk who guarded the door left it in no doubt that Biddlecomb would not be admitted, regardless of how large a ship he commanded, so he took a seat in a high-backed chair in the lobby outside and waited.

  For the next hour and a half he waited, while, from within the chamber, he could hear muffled shouts and the occasional pounding of walking sticks on the floor, like the far-off tramping of an army. Then suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the doors flew open and the delegates issued forth, some walking quickly, some strolling in clumps, but nearly all still talking, still arguing, still cajoling.

  ‘Mr Adams! Mr Adams!’ Biddlecomb called, pushing his way through the crowd to the short lawyer. Adams broke off his discussion with a man that Biddlecomb believed to be the famed Dr Franklin. ‘A word, sir, if I may?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Adams said. ‘Franklin, this is Captain Biddlecomb, of whom I have spoken. Biddlecomb, Dr Franklin, of whom you and everyone on God’s earth has heard. Franklin, the captain seems to be showing me an unusual degree of respect this afternoon, which must mean he has some great favor to ask, so I will bid you good day for now. Come, Biddlecomb, let’s go above stairs and I’ll hear you out. On my quarterdeck, eh?’ With that the delegate from Massachusetts led the way up the wide stair
s to the balcony that overlooked the lobby in which the delegates were clustered.

  ‘Now, sir, what might I do for you?’

  ‘Well,’ Biddlecomb began, cursing himself for a fool for having sat in the lobby for an hour and a half letting his lurid imagination run to thoughts of Virginia rather than thinking of what he would say to Adams. ‘It seems that the Naval Committee has elected to appoint a first officer to the Charlemagne. A Roger Tottenhill. Now, I have no doubt that Tottenhill is a fine man—’

  ‘Yes, yes, Tottenhill. Hewes’s man. Decided that the other night.’

  ‘Sir, no man has done more for this cause than Ezra Rumstick, the man who has been first officer up until now. He deserves to continue in that office.’

  ‘Oh, I have no doubt of that. I was most impressed with his actions during the Battle of Hell Gate. I’m sorry he must be demoted.’

  ‘Why must he be? Just change the damn … the orders.’

  ‘Tottenhill is sponsored by Joseph Hewes, who is also a member of the Naval Committee. This was done at his request.’

  ‘And it is my request, the request of the captain of the Charlemagne, that it be undone.’

  ‘The request of the great naval hero, eh?’ Adams smiled not unkindly. ‘I’m sorry, Biddlecomb, really. There is so much more going on here than you could even imagine. Why do you think I was so envious of the way you ran your ship, giving out orders and having to placate no one, not even me? See here: Hewes is from North Carolina. Without the Southern colonies … states … we can’t hope to win this war or even get an agreement on independence. We must be united.

  ‘But as it stands, the navy is largely a New England affair and that makes men like Hewes suspicious. The fact is that it is far more important to me to keep Hewes happy than it is to keep you happy, and I mean that as no offense to you. As powerful as I might be in this Congress, I still must play these games, and I’m afraid Rumstick must accept his lot. Besides, did Tottenhill not bring thirty sailors with him? You were a bit shorthanded, as I recall.’