by Tom Grundner
The heavy main sail was still lashed to the boom with the gaff tied securely on top of that. It was time to get the main sail cleared and ready to run up.
“After-guard and idlers lay aft.” And a group of men appeared next to Hayes near the tiller.
“You men,” he said pointing to several in the group, “ease away the downhauls and tack the tricing lines. You others, off main sail gaskets.” The first group began slacking certain ropes while the others slid along the boom untying the small strips of canvas that held the gaff and mainsail to the boom.
A call came from the fo’c’sle: “Up and down, sir!” Meaning that the anchor cable was now vertical. And a moment later, the Bosun added: “Anchor’s aweigh!” The ship was now free of any direct connection with land.
By this time, Hayes had found a megaphone. “Man the topping lift. Haul taught and belay. You there, overhaul that mainsheet then man the throat and peak halyards.” Some men grabbed the ropes that would haul the sail upwards and others prepared the sail for unfolding.
When they were ready, Hayes called out: “Haul taut and hoist away. Come on. Come on lads, look alive! We got ‘ter get outta here.”
The huge main sail started crawling up the mast and began to fill. “Overhaul that main sheet, damn it. Right, now tally aft.”
He turned to the quartermaster who was at the tiller. “Are you getting a bite yet?”
“Yes sir, just starting…” And a few seconds later, “The helm is answering, sir.” And, with ponderous grace, the Trojan started to move.
Just as they turned into the wind to make their way out of the bay, Walker turned and saw a large group of men on horseback thundering into the fishing village. At the head was a very thin man with flaming red hair.
At about the same time, they passed the first of the larger schooners that were anchored in the bay. Walker looked at its stern plate to see its name.
It was called the Cardinal.
* * *
You have to give credit—the Cardinal was a beautiful ship. She was a topsail schooner and, at 97 feet length and 17 feet beam, she was slightly shorter, thinner and much faster than the Trojan. On that hull, she crowded two masts to the Trojan’s one, and over 2000 square feet of sail.
Both masts held fore and aft mainsails that, like the Trojan, were tied down to a boom and gaff arrangement. Instead of a single jib, it had both a jib and a forestaysail; but the most distinguishing features were the topsails. Instead of fore-and-aft, they were square. In effect, it gave the Cardinal the best of both worlds. Heading into the wind, she could use the highly efficient fore-and-aft sails, and running before the wind, she could use the square topsails. Into the wind, she was not as fast as a pure fore-and-aft ship like the Trojan, and before the wind not as fast as true square-rigger; but, as a compromise, she was superb.
The Cardinal had one other characteristic that the Trojan lacked. She had guns—six 12-pounders, three on a side, and one 6 pounder in the bow and one in the stern as chasers. She would never strike fear into the heart of a genuine man-o-war; but the 12-pounder was not a trivial weapon. Nine feet long, it could throw a 12-pound iron ball over two miles; and with a 4-pound powder charge, it could penetrate a foot thick piece of solid oak at 1000 yards. In short, the Cardinal was more than enough to overcome or even sink an unarmed Chesapeake merchantman, and that’s what the Trojan was.
“She’s getting underway,” Smith muttered to no one in particular as he watched the Cardinal through his telescope. The Trojan was now well into Mobjack Bay and had every stitch of canvas set.
“Quartermaster, come to east-southeast and hold her steady.”
Standing next to Hayes, Smith asked: “What are your plans?”
“I plan to do the only sensible thing to do in this situation.”
“Which is?”
“Run like hell.”
After a minute or so of silence, he could sense the concern of the four refugees gathered around him, and decided to share his thoughts. “All right, here’s the way I figure it,” he began. “The Cardinal is faster than we are at all sailing points except into the wind. She might even be faster there too, but I think we can at least hold our own.
“The wind is out of the east, as it usually is this time of year, so if we were to try to make a run north—to Bal-more, she’d catch us by night fall. The same thing is true if we try to head south and leave the Chesapeake by the Cape Henry passage. She’d catch us before we ever got to open ocean.
“No, the only direction we can go is easterly, and sail as close to the wind as we can.”
“Wait a minute,” Smith interjected. “We certainly can’t leave the Chesapeake over the top of the middle ground. So, sooner or later, we’ll have to turn south to make for the Cape Henry passage. Either way, if we go to Baltimore or Cape Henry, he’ll get us.”
“I know. That’s why I plan to leave via the Cape Charles passage,” Hayes said quietly.
“What?” Smith and Hanover asked simultaneously. Not sure if they had heard him right.
“Cape Charles.”
“But with Cape Charles you can never tell if the channel is open. Sometimes the current will shift the sand one way and you can take a first rate through. Other times you can’t get a rowboat through without grounding. How do you know which way the passage will be?”
“I don’t; and if he follows us in, neither does he. How lucky do you feel today?”
The Trojan plunged on, running as close to the easterly wind as she could. Fortunately, that tack also took her on a direct line from Mobjack Bay to the tip of Cape Charles.
Walker and Smith had gone below to see if there was anything in the hold that could be used as weapons. Susan Whitney went below, with some trepidation, to inspect the galley. Hanover stayed on deck with Hayes as they executed the long reach to Cape Charles.
Had they not been running for their lives, it would have been a glorious day for a sail. The sky was crystal blue with high white fleecy clouds. Gulls swooped and sailed on the freshening breeze and the water was just beginning to whitecap. The Trojan was handling the full set of sails well and the sound of wood working on wood could be heard throughout the ship—not harsh or strained but measured and even, like the breathing of a horse that has hit his stride.
There was nothing for the two men to do but watch the direction of the wind, the set of the sails, and watch the ship behind them that was pulling every nautical trick in the book to catch up.
Finally, Hanover asked, “Why are you doing it, Hugh?”
“Doing what? Heading for Cape Charles?”
“No, all of this. Risking your ship, even your life, to get us away. As you say, you’re not a British subject anymore. Indeed, the navy would hang you if they could find you. So, why do it?”
Hayes thought for a moment. “There’s two reasons, I guess. The first is Susan Whitney. I don’t know how well you know her, but she’s a very special lady. There isn’t a man on the Richmond that wouldn’t give up his right arm if she needed it. Take me, for example.
“Two years ago we was in the Mediterranean, up along the coast of North Africa. We put into some port—don’t even remember which one it was. Anyway, we put in to replenish our supply of water and firewood and I was in charge of the shore party.
“I was helping to load the firewood and reached down to grab some logs when something bit me or stung me—never even saw what it was. But the pain wasn’t much, so I didn’t think anything of it.
“Later that night my hand started to swell up and the pain began. After a few hours, it got worse and the swelling started to move up my arm. The ship’s doctor was drunk, as usual, so I went to Susan who tried to treat it. She soaked my arm, put compresses on it, did everything she could. Then the fever started. I would go from sweating to chills and back again in the span of a few minutes.
“For two days and nights she never left my side. Putting wet compresses on my head, keep me covered when I’d toss off my blankets, spoon-feeding me burgoo, and mostly j
ust talking to me. That’s what I remember the most. Even when I was half crazy from the fever, she would talk to me so I would know that someone was there. I might have been delirious, but I did know. I knew that someone cared and that made me less afraid. She saved my life as far as I am concerned.
“I am telling you, Bill. If that woman were to ask me to walk through hell for her, I would hesitate only long enough to ask her where the entrance was located. And, it wasn’t just me. I seen her do the same kind of thing, time and again, for other members of the crew.”
Hayes went silent, lost in recollection.
“You said there were two reasons,” Hanover reminded him.
“Yeah, but the second one is harder to explain.” It was clear Hayes was not comfortable talking about this next item.
“Look, I was born and bred an Englishman. I remember once, as a child, my dad took me to see the king make his annual progress to Canterbury. He put me on his shoulder, he did, just so I could catch a glimpse of him and have something to tell my grandchildren. There was no one that believed in ‘God, king and country’ more than I did.
“Then, I got pressed into the navy. Just picked up off the street and hauled away like I was a criminal. Even then, that wouldn’t have been so bad, but once you’re on a ship, you’re almost never let off—at least not in an English port. They never let common seamen go ashore for fear they’ll run away, and I didn’t step foot on land for years. Hell, it was over a year before I could get a message to my family and let them know what happened to me. They thought I was dead.
“So, we were in Charleston harbor. By this time, I was the ship’s Master-at-Arms and they trusted me, so I was allowed to go ashore to help the ship’s purser pick up some supplies. I was on American soil. I knew freedom and a new life lay within reach; so, I took it. I ran and I became… well, I became both an American and an Englishman.”
“How can you be both?”
“Ah... yes, well, that’s the thing that’s so hard to explain. It’s also the thing that’s so hard to understand about this damn war. I would still be as loyal a subject as ever walked the earth, if they had just left me alone that day in Chelsea. That’s all. That’s all I ever asked, was to be left alone.
“That’s all these people are asking for. They don’t want to fight a revolution. They don’t want to rebel against their king. They would be as loyal and devoted as any subject if the government had only let them be. That’s what all this yammer about ‘freedom’ and ‘liberty’ is all about. We just want to be left alone. Is that too much to ask?
Hanover had no reply.
“Anyway, I ran across Susan and she told me about you. I decided I couldn’t let Susan down and, in a funny kind of way, that I couldn’t let my king down either—even though he’s not my king any more. Does that make any sense to you?”
“I am not sure.”
“I am not sure either, but that’s the way I feel. Hell, it’s the way I think most Americans feel.”
* * *
“Ouch! Damn it,” Walker swore. “That’s the third time I’ve hit my head on a beam.”
“Then be more careful,” Smith replied. “Rest assured those beams are not jumping out to hit you. You are hitting them.”
“Feels the same either way.”
Walker and Smith were going through the hold to see if there was anything that could be used as weapons if the Cardinal should close and try to board her. There was not much from which to choose.
Most of the cargo consisted of bails of tobacco. In front of the tobacco were several trunks, probably containing some southern merchant’s personal effects. Next to that were a couple kegs of long hull nails, a keg of gunpowder and some crates, all bound for a general store somewhere. Walker levered open the first two crates and found spools of cloth destined eventually to become ball gowns for some lucky Baltimore debutantes. The third contained a dozen silver candleholders; each placed in a protective wooden tube and covered with straw.
“Well, maybe we can throw the candleholders at ‘em,” Walker remarked.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” replied Smith sarcastically. “Fetch a man along side the head with a candleholder and, I am telling you, it’s a fearsome thing.”
“Three fathom, this line!” The two heard the call coming from on deck.
“What’s that?” asked Walker.
“They’re taking soundings; we must be getting close to Cape Charles. You about done?”
“Yeah, let’s get back on deck.”
The two men emerged on to the main deck in time to hear the second call from the fo’c’sle. “Two fathoms plus a half, this line.”
The ship had reduced sail for their transit of the dangerous Cape Charles passage. Walker looked aft and saw the Cardinal had gained on them alarmingly.
“Three fathoms.”
“What’s the plan, captain?” Smith asked.
“That’s Cape Charles up there on the left. We know there’s a shallow off to starboard and in-between is the passage. What we don’t know is how deep the passage is; it changes literally every day.”
“What’s your draft?”
“We draw about eight feet; the Cardinal draws nine or ten.”
Hayes had placed his second mate in the fo’c’sle where he could watch the water ahead. His job was to look for lighter colored water indicating a shallow area, or even for actual sandbars peaking above the waves. By using hand signals, he could direct Hayes to avoid the hazards.
With this combination of hand signals from the second mate, soundings coming from the leadsman and pure luck, Hayes was able to thread his way through the Cape Charles passage. The thing was the Cardinal also had a man in her fo’c’sle sending signals and a man swinging a weight. What they didn’t have was luck.
“Sir, the Cardinal… She’s grounded!”
All hands looked aft and, sure enough, a sandbar that had just tickled the keel of the Trojan had caught the slightly deeper drafted Cardinal. It’s like watching a bad carriage accident in slow motion, thought Walker.
The Cardinal was driving along at about eight knots when it hit the submerged sand. The prow struck first and climbed the bank followed by the rest of the bow, which displaced a huge quantity of sand as it plowed in. The effect on the ship’s occupants was dramatic. Everyone shot forward and, unless they happened to be holding on to something, were knocked off their feet.
The burden of the damage, however, was borne by the masts. When the hull came to a sudden stop, the masts continued to move forward. Add to that the fact that the masts grow thinner as they move higher and that they had their topsails run out; and the Cardinal was lucky that only one of her masts had snapped.
Walker looked back and saw the Cardinal’s bow much higher out of the water than it should be and the foremast topsail slowly toppling over at a crazy angle, like a badly broken arm.
“We got’em,” Walker exclaimed, pumping his fist.
“Maybe, maybe not,” replied Hayes. “The main thing is we’ve gotta get out of here as quick as we can.”
“What do you mean, ‘maybe not’? They’re high and dry?”
“I’d feel a lot better if they were hung up on rock or clay instead of sand. Rock usually breaks open the hull. Clay usually creates a suction that keeps the hull stuck fast. But sand? Let’s just hope their skipper doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Unfortunately, while Captain Finch might have his failings, incompetence at sea was not one of them.
* * *
“Damnation and hell fire,” swore Finch as he picked himself up off the deck. He knew exactly what had happened and his immediate worry was whether he still had any masts left. He looked up relieved to see that only the foretopmast had gone by the boards. Everything else seemed to be holding. He quickly ordered his men to release the lines holding up the mainsails and jibs. By dropping those sails, all forward pressure was taken off the ship to keep his situation from getting worse.
He knew there were only two w
ays to get off the sand bar, by using the sails to push her off, or by using the anchor. Doing the latter, called kedging, would involve placing the anchor in a small boat, rowing out 30 or 40 yards, dropping the anchor, securing the free end of the anchor line to the windless, and using human power to haul in on the anchor rope, pulling the ship off the bar.
The fastest way to do it was with the sails and, with the Trojan free of the shallows and about to round Cape Charles, speed was of the essence.
He decided to try it, first, by using his remaining topsail. It would not give him much thrust but if it worked, it would make it less likely that he would back into yet another sandbar, perhaps destroying his rudder. On the other hand, he had hit the sandbar under full sail so he knew he had driven on pretty hard. The only thing he could do was try. The Trojan had almost disappeared around the cape, and with it went his dreams of wealth and fame.