Old Glory

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘How I wish you were here to comfort me, my dearest Liz. You have so often promised to visit with me, and perhaps help me to recapture some of the careless rapture of our youth together. If you were to do that now, I would be the happiest woman on earth.’

  Elizabeth stared at the pages for several moments, then let them fall from her hand.

  She looked out of the window for several more minutes, then she got up and went to her desk, and sat down, pen in hand, over a sheet of her own notepaper. She trembled as she wrote.

  CHAPTER 11 – France and Ireland, 1779

  ‘My name is Pierre Landais, Captain Jones, and I command the frigate Alliance. It is my privilege to be attached to your squadron.’

  ‘Welcome aboard, monsieur. I’d have you meet my First Lieutenant, Harry McGann.’

  ‘Monsieur! Your name is well known.’ Landais saluted, and Harry returned the compliment. The Frenchman was tall and broad-shouldered, and immaculately dressed, but there was something about him Harry did not entirely like. His smile, and the look in his eye, bespoke a narrow man. Or was that sheer misanthropy? He had returned from Ireland in a very jaundiced mood, and if he knew in his heart he had been relieved to discovered that there was to be no independent command for him, and that he was to continue as First Lieutenant to John Paul, it yet presented another aspect of the way his life seemed to have stagnated.

  ‘This ship,’ Landais remarked, looking around the quarterdeck of the Due de Duras, ‘she is ready for sea?’

  ‘Just about,’ John Paul said.

  ‘She is a converted merchantman.’

  ‘That is correct. She sailed the route to the East Indies. But she carries forty-four guns. She will give a good account of herself. With your assistance, of course.’

  ‘You may rely on it.’

  John Paul nodded, and went to the gangway to greet Franklin, who was just coming on board. ‘Well, Ben?’

  ‘Well, John? Are you satisfied?’

  John Paul considered, half smiling. ‘I am not of a nature to be satisfied, but she will do.’ He gestured. ‘You’ve not met Lieutenant Landais, of the French Navy.’

  ‘I have heard his name mentioned often enough in connection with this venture.’ Franklin shook hands. ‘I observe that you fly the fleur de lys from your mizen, monsieur. I had understood every ship of this squadron was to fly the Stars and Stripes.’

  ‘Indeed, monsieur,’ Landais agreed. ‘I will change flags the moment we put out. But here … we are Frenchmen, in France.’

  ‘As long as you do change,’ John Paul remarked. ‘That was one of the things I was dissatisfied about.’ He led Franklin and Harry to the rail, where they could not be overheard by the Frenchman. ‘There is a great deal too much French and not enough American about this venture.’

  ‘Every ship, and I am given to understand that there will be two more added to your strength, will fly the Stars and Stripes, John,’ Franklin said. ‘It will be an American squadron in every way.’

  ‘Even if built and crewed by Frenchmen, eh?’

  ‘Well, as to that, the Alliance was built in Boston. Landais was given command because he was there, and volunteered, and as a gesture of solidarity with our new Allies. But your crew …’

  ‘One in three is also a French volunteer,’ Harry told him.

  ‘That is nothing to be sorry about. General Washington’s army now contains a goodly leavening of French, volunteers. What of the others?’

  ‘Oh, they are mainly drawn from those prisoners we managed to exchange. But there are volunteers from other countries too. I suspect I have every nation in Europe, and even one or two from Africa, represented.’

  ‘But all prepared to fight for America,’ Franklin said. ‘That is all to the good. Now tell me, when you do sail?’

  ‘As soon as you give us the word.’

  ‘Why, I give it.’

  ‘You must agree to something else, first,’ John Paul said. ‘A final technical adjustment, you might say.’

  Franklin raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I wish to change the name of the ship,’ John Paul said.

  Franklin’s eyebrows now drew together. ‘Is that not supposed to bring ill fortune?’

  ‘I have always made my own fortune, Ben. Think of this: whatever I may achieve on this voyage, my success will be linked jointly between my name and that of my ship. I cannot believe the name, Due de Duras, bears sufficient relation to our cause or our country to inspire any American hearts.’

  ‘Hm, I take your point. On the other hand, she is a French ship, donated to us by the French Government. It would be churlish, and it would also be unwise, to rename her in an entirely American manner.’

  John Paul modded. ‘I have considered this. Tell me something, Ben: did you not once edit and publish a newspaper, called Poor Richard’s Almanac?’

  Franklin smiled. ‘Something of a rag. But it enabled me to set forth my views on life, which is what every man truly wishes to accomplish, I suspect. What, do you wish to call your ship, Poor Richard? Believe me, I would be immensely flattered — but I fear it will hardly stir the blood any more than Due de Duras.’

  ‘I agree with you about the ‘Poor’. But Richard is a fine name. And because of you it has American connections. More than that, without your efforts we would not have a ship at all. How about Good Richard? Le Bon Richard. The French could hardly grumble at that.’

  ‘Le Bon Richard. It has a ring. And I am flattered, believe me. Oh, flattered. And yet … the name of such a vessel, destined I am sure for such glory, should ripple off the tongue. Le Bon Richard. Le Bon … What about Bonhomme? Le Bonhomme Richard?’

  ‘Le Bonhomme Richard,’ John Paul repeated. ‘Oh, indeed, I like it. There is a name to conjure with, Harry?’

  ‘I think it is splendid,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘Harry!’ Franklin cried. ‘I have been neglecting you. The truth is, this rogue has so taken my breath away with his flattery … 1 have never thought to have ship named for me, indeed not. Harry, I have a letter for you. I suspect from a lady.’

  ‘Ye gods,’ John Paul said. ‘The amatory Falloux is indefagitable.’

  ‘This is not from Madame Falloux,’ Franklin said. ‘It has reached me by a very circuitous route, and originated at a very strange place.’ He held the envelope out, and Harry took it to frown at the handwriting. It was not one he had ever seen before. ‘You’d best offer me a glass of wine, John,’ Franklin said, ‘and let Harry read his post in peace.’

  Harry walked towards the stern of the ship, opening the envelope with his thumb. He simply had no idea who it could be from, but his heart slowly began to pound as he read:

  ‘I would beg you to bum this, Harry, the moment you have read it. In writing to you, I am betraying father and husband, country and conscience. But perhaps it is conscience that bids me set pen to paper.

  ‘I have received a communication from Annie O’Rourke, in which she relates the circumstances of your visit to your family in Tramore, in so far as she knows of them. I understand how great must have been the pull thus to drag you back to your home, after so many years, and at so great a risk. But because you are Harry McGann, you succeeded, as you always do. Others are not so fortunate. Sean O’Rourke was warned of your presence, by whom Annie would not say, and with the aid of a platoon of soldiers sought to arrest your father for harbouring a wanted traitor. Although you were no longer there, I believe there was resistance. Harry, Charlie is dead. And your father is locked in Waterford gaol, awaiting trial.

  ‘Harry, I weep on this first, but hopefully not last, occasion that I should ever write to you, that I should have to break such unhappy news. But it is Annie’s opinion that your mother and sister, and your surviving brother, were more than anything distressed that you were unaware of what had happened, and so I take the responsibility of informing you myself. I beg of you not to despair, and even more, to do nothing rash. It is my intention myself to visit Tramore as soon as arrangements can be made, as
my husband is at present at sea with his ship, and endeavour to bring comfort to your family and to mitigate the fate of your father. Should I succeed, you will be the first to know of it. Until then, I beg you to remain safe.

  ‘Your faithful friend, Elizabeth Steyne.’

  For several minutes he remained staring at the pages; he had difficulty in breathing. His entire body seemed to have filled with molten lead, and at the same time his stomach felt as if it would explode. Dimly he looked at the date — 30 July. Three weeks ago. Three weeks in which he had laughed, and loved, and drunk, and had not a care in the world, while Ma, and Jennie, and Rory … and Pa!

  He went down the companion ladder, where Paul and Franklin and Landais were enjoying their wine.

  ‘Harry?’ John Paul frowned at him. ‘You have had bad news.’

  Harry handed him the letter, and his frown deepened as he read. He gave it in turn to Franklin. ‘By God,’ he said, ‘there is ill fortune. But, three weeks … your father could still be alive.’

  ‘Aye,’ Harry said. ‘So I would request leave of absence, Captain Jones.’

  ‘To go to Ireland? And see what can be done? This is what Lady Steyne precisely forbids you to do.’

  ‘Do you seriously suppose I am going to take instruction from a woman? And a woman such as that?’

  ‘Well, as to that, she appears to be more of a true woman than I had supposed, and I take back everything I have said of her. She has offered you sound advice, Harry. You would merely join your father on the scaffold. More, your appearance will but confirm his guilt.’

  ‘You refuse me permission? John, we are speaking of my father. I will have him out of that gaol, or I will die in the attempt. I resign my commission.’

  ‘You will not do that, Harry. Of course I will not give you permission to go gallivanting off on your own. That does not mean I intend to allow your father to be hanged. What, are we not ready for sea? And is not Ireland as good a place as any for a first assault? Waterford! I have heard it is a prosperous port. It will be Whitehaven all over again, only this time we shall not waste our time with new fangled ideas. We shall land, and bum, and rescue your father at the same time.’

  ‘John!’ Harry clasped his hand. ‘I am a scoundrel for doubting you. You are the truest friend on earth.’

  ‘Could I be a friend at all, if I were not tme? Monsieur Landais, to your ship. We sail within the hour. Ben, I must ask you to leave us.’

  ‘Godspeed,’ Franklin said. ‘Oh, God speed you both. I will drink to your return in triumph.’

  *

  ‘Sail ho,’ came the cry from the masthead.

  Harry levelled his telescope, and mentally cursed. The coast of Ireland was in sight, glowing in the noonday sun; on the port bow he could make out the Saltee Islands, and thus far they had sighted not another vessel to betray either themselves or their course. The very end was in sight, and with every moment of the six days since their departure from Lorient for the long reach round Ushant and thence across the Western Approaches to the English Channel, his heartbeat had been quickening.

  It was more than the thought that he was to rescue his father, to regain all his family, place them on board, and take them back to France with him as a first step of their journey to America. Although that was thrilling enough. But it was also the ship. The Bonhomme Richard. An ideal name. He had never stood on the deck of so large a vessel, for she was in every way bigger than the Ranger, or even the Cormorant; she carried forty-four guns, and she was crewed by a complement of over three hundred men, volunteers all, if only about half of them were actually American; the others, mainly French, were eager to be at the throats of their oldest enemy. And in addition, they were not alone. The Alliance frigate and two smaller sloops sailed in line astern. Why, this was a fleet of war, in gunpower and in manpower vastly superior to the squadron Hopkins had led so bravely into Nassau Harbour, and then out again, so dismally. Because, apart from its superior strength, this fleet was commanded by a fighting seaman. And that was the most thrilling thing of all, the way John Paul had shrugged away the cloying luxury of the life he had enjoyed at Versailles, and was once again the energetic and aggressive man Harry had grown to love and respect.

  He was on deck now, hurrying for the taff-rail, extending his telescope as he did so.

  ‘There’s ill fortune,’ Harry remarked.

  John Paul studied the stranger. ‘Of no real account,’ he decided. ‘She is a merchantman, bound either for Bristol or Liverpool. Out of India, most likely, and concerned only with making port after so long a voyage. Oh, she will report our presence when she docks. But that can hardly be for another couple of days, and by then, why, we will have reported our presence ourselves, by our deeds. Ignore her and maintain your course.’

  ‘What of Landais?’ Harry asked.

  Paul swung his glass to the Alliance. The frigate was already altering sail as she came about, towards the stranger — and the two sloops were following her example.

  ‘Hoist a signal, Rejoin squadron,’ John Paul snapped.

  Harry gave the orders, and the brightly coloured bunting climbed into the mizen rigging.

  ‘God damn the rascal for a pirate,’ John Paul growled. ‘Can he not see?’

  For the Alliance was making all the sail she could, away from them. Followed by the sloops.

  ‘I fear he can see too well,’ Harry said. ‘A fat merchantman, ready for picking.’

  ‘I will have the rascal court-martialled,’ John Paul swore. ‘By God I will.’

  ‘Do we follow?’

  ‘No, mister, we do not follow. We abide by our original plan. We are sufficient to deal with Waterford. Landais knows the rendezvous we arranged in case of weather. Kinsale. When he comes, if he comes, by God, I will hang him from his own yardarm. Now prepare action staions, Harry. You will command.’

  ‘Me?’ Harry was surprised, after the assault on the Earl of Selkirk’s Estate. John Paul grinned. ‘I shall be a proper commodore this time. Besides, it is your father we seek. Your vengeance on his enemies. I would not steal a second of it from you.’

  ‘And afterwards? My family?’

  ‘You need to go to Tramore.’ John Paul nodded. ‘You shall. Is there sufficient water in that harbour for this ship?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘But in light offshore winds, there is good holding ground outside.’

  ‘That will be sufficient. When you have done with Waterford, take six men and ride for Tramore. The rest will rejoin the ship and we will sail there.’ He looked at the sky, the sun just beginning to drop from its noon high. ‘We will be in the harbour in three hours. One hour there, and then ride like the wind. This ship will be anchored off Tramore at dusk, Harry; you must rejoin by moonrise, or I will suppose you dead.’ He smiled. ‘Or deserted. Moonrise, Harry, I can wait no longer.’

  ‘I will be aboard by moonrise,’ Harry promised.

  *

  Sail was shortened, and the Union Jack run to the masthead. The three French ships were already hull down, the merchantman having altered course as she had seen them approaching her; she would have been able to identify them as French by the cut of their jibs, the French bowsprit being shorter than the English. But even if anyone in Waterford had observed the drama taking place far out to sea, they were obviously not alarmed by the approach of the big East Indiaman; Harry could see no unusual activity ashore.

  It was Whitehaven all over again, only, as John Paul had prophesied, carried out with far more efficiency. The challenge from the pierheads was answered, the flag was changed, a broadside of solid shot was discharged at the ships alongside the docks, causing an immense amount of damage, for this was heavier metal than any carried by the Ranger, then the Indiaman went about to cover the town with her other broadside, while the yards were backed and the anchor let go, in the very centre of the harbour. The boats were already swung out, four of them, each crammed with thirty well-armed men, and now they pulled for the shore. There was virtually no resistance.
A red coated sentry presented his musket and was shot dead on the instant; the remainder of the guard beat a hasty retreat to the houses. Harry himself led the charge which dislodged them from there, while Second Lieutenant Dale led his men to the warehouses, and Third Lieutenant Carter took his squad on to the ships, armed with flaming torches. Harry and his picked squad made for the gaol, which was in any event adjacent to the barracks. Here the redcoats again rallied, but again retreated after one volley which did no more than wound one man. Then the Americans were at the barred gate, swarming over it like the seamen they were, cutlasses clenched between their teeth. Harry was in the van, charging the guardhouse.

  ‘Mercy!’ screamed the gaoler. ‘Mercy! Here are my keys.’

  ‘Let them all out,’ Harry told his coxswain. ‘And you, which cell is Seamus McGann confined in?’

  ‘Seamus McGann? Seamus McGann?’ The fellow goggled at him, obviously realising for the first time who he had to be. ‘Seamus McGann! Oh, Lord, sir, oh, lord. Seamus McGann … why, he was hanged more than a month ago.’

  *

  Harry seized horses from the garrison stable, left Dale in overall command — the work of destruction was all but done now, anyway, with warehouses and ships all blazing brightly, casting a pall of black smoke high across the afternoon sky — and led his six men, picked for their ability to ride, galloping down the road from Waterford, hurtling towards the setting sun. He dared not think. He dared not even feel. To permit that would be to allow himself to turn into a raging inferno of anger and despair. Time enough to feel, to collapse into grief, when he had placed Ma and Jenny and little Rory safely aboard the Bonhomme Richard. And there lay the village, resting quietly in the gathering dusk. People ran on to the street as they heard the poundmg hooves, and stared at the giant figure leading the charge. ‘Tis Harry McGann,’ they whispered, and ran back inside again.

  The inn was shuttered. Harry left his men to watch the front, and ran round the back. The dog was gone, the stable was empty. The back door was locked, for the first time he could ever remember. He broke it with his shoulder, stamped inside, through the cob-webbed taproom and up the stairs. There was every evidence of a hasty departure, and some time ago — and there was not a living creature in the entire building. He went downstairs again, mind spinning, hardly aware of what he was doing, and found Father O’More waiting for him in the pantry.