by Tom Grundner
Everyone nodded agreement.
The Trojan closed to 200 yards. Then 150… 100… “Stand-by to raise mainsail,” Hayes quietly ordered. At 75 yards, Hayes was going to sheer off, but he never got a chance to do it. Without warning, three red lights blinked along the starboard side of the Cardinal. Before a curse could escape anyone’s lips, a hole appeared in the Trojan’s mainsail, a chunk disappeared from the mast about 10 feet up, and a corner of the captain’s cabin exploded in a shower of splinters. A split second later the retort of three 12-pound guns could be heard, followed by confused voices simultaneously saying things like: “He’s opened fire!” “Get down!” “Jesus Christ!” “That son of a bitch” and other observations that need not appear in this record.
“Up mainsail,” Hayes screamed as he shoved the tiller over. The sail filled with a loud bang and the Trojan surged off on a tangent away from her tormentor. The Cardinal, however, was expecting the move and raised her canvas as well.
The two ships fell into a race to see which would reach the mouth of the Great Machipongo Inlet first. If the Cardinal could get there, the Trojan would be trapped in the bay where they could force the surrender of the prince and then pick the Trojan apart at their leisure.
Both ships put on all the canvas they could, given the tack they were on and the Trojan indeed proved to be faster to windward; but, the Cardinal had two advantages on the Trojan. First, she had the angle on any race to the inlet mouth; and, second…
The back quarter of the captain’s cabin came apart with a crash, another hole appeared in the mainsail this time closer to the mast, and the first hole appeared in the jib.
“He’s got one gun trying to take out our tiller and two trying to bring down our mast; but he knows he’s got to shoot carefully because he doesn’t want to hurt or kill the prince. Now’s the time, folks. If those things you cooked up actually work, now’s the time to use ‘em,” yelled Hayes above the sounds of the ship.
* * *
Hayes assigned sail handling tasks to his crew while Hanover picked up the case of rockets and, with strength no one knew he had, carried them forward to the swivel gun. Susan raced ahead of him and threw the cover off the gun revealing the rocket tray, and Smith followed with a lit slow match.
Hanover pulled the first rocket out and placed it in the tray. Susan, who had sandwiched herself between the swivel gun and the jib, now made last second sight adjustments and slid a wooden wedge into the gun’s swivel thus locking the barrel in position. She stepped back and Smith touched off the fuse.
Walker looked on in horror as the fuse sputtered to a stop without igniting the rocket motor.
“Damn,” Walker exclaimed, and ran forward to throw the rocket over the side just as the next volley came in from the Cardinal. Two more holes appeared close to the mast and one more ball whizzed by Hayes’ head back at the tiller.
“Any time now, folks, would be just fine,” yelled Hayes while getting up off the deck.
“Bill, give me another one.”
Susan checked the sighting on the swivel gun. “Sidney! Now!”
The fuse was lit and the rocket took off with an amazingly satisfying WHOOSH. It fishtailed toward the Cardinal, passing over her deck and landing in the ocean beyond.
When Walker turned around, Hanover had already placed another rocket in the tray and Susan, unleashing a string of oaths that would have done a bosun proud, was re-sighting the swivel gun. Smith stepped forward and… WHOOSH…
The third rocket hit and stuck in the hull near the bow. A few seconds later, a huge B-O-O-M echoed across the bay and Walker did his best to keep from dancing.
Hayes broke up the celebration, yelling from the stern: “Could you people act like maybe you’ve done this before and send another one?”
The Cardinal and the Trojan then settled into a slugfest while racing for the corner of the inlet. Both ships were suffering. The Cardinal had huge gouges taken out of her hull and superstructure. The Trojan’s aft hull was not in much better shape. In addition, the top 10 feet of her mast, along with the topsail, was hanging down and the jib was in tatters.
The climax of the battle, when it finally occurred, happened by accident.
The Trojan was heeled over when a round shot hit low on her hull on a spot that normally would be underwater. When she righted herself, water started pouring in. As all this was happening, the Cardinal tacked, exposing a similar stretch of vulnerable hull and was nailed by one of Susan’s rockets. Nether gunner planned the hit. Neither was aiming at that particular spot; yet, both ships were now seriously damaged.
As water poured into each ship, they both slowed down and further heeled over, exposing even more areas for target practice. The difference in the battle finally turned on the Trojan’s ability to fire her weapons so much faster than the Cardinal.
With only three rockets remaining, Susan stuck two into the Cardinal’s exposed hull before the Cardinal could get off another volley, and it was all over. The Cardinal was sinking and had put boats over to take the crew to nearby Hog Island. However, the Trojan wasn’t in much better shape. The Cardinal had blown a hole in her side, which might have been managed, but it also opened up seams all over her ancient hull. The Trojan was sinking too, it’s just that she was sinking slower than the Cardinal and could sail on—at least for a while.
At first, the four weren’t sure what to do; they just looked at each other. Susan was standing next to the gun, her hair disheveled with strands sticking out in all directions, sweat was pouring down her face making rivulet lines through the soot from the rocket exhaust, dress seams were torn in several places from unaccustomed exertions and, peeking through it all was her smile. Walker thought he had never seen a woman look more beautiful.
Hanover finally broke the silence: “Way to go gunner!” And they fell into a group embrace, hugging and backslapping.
The Trojan exited the inlet and swung north. Some of the ship’s crew were working the pumps while others were bailing with buckets, but there was no hope. The Trojan was a river sloop, great for rivers and sheltered bays like the Chesapeake; but not designed for open ocean travel with holes in her hull. Several hours later Hayes called them together.
“Well, the one thing I can guarantee you is that we’re not going to make it to New York. We’re a couple miles off Chincoteague Island and I am pretty sure I can get us there. We can ground the ship and everyone will be perfectly safe; but you’ll be stuck on Chincoteague. There are no towns or villages there, at least none that I know of, and there may or may not be water.
“Or, we can try to make the Delaware River and put into Lewes. I have some friends there that, I think, will help us out. The problem is that I don’t know if we’ll make it. If those seams get worse and we take in more water, or if the wind shifts to the north or northwest, we’re dead.
“Name your poison, folks.”
The group was quiet for a long moment. Finally, Susan spoke up. “Hugh, if we ground the ship on Chincoteague you’ll loose it. If we make it to Lewes will you be able to save it?”
“Probably. There’s a good shipyard there and I can charge the repairs to the owners. However, if we don’t make it and sink, we’ll not only loose the ship but will probably drown in the bargain.”
Susan looked around at the others and the decision was made without a word being spoken. “Set a course for the Delaware, Hugh.”
The Trojan lasted for another five hours, which was about three hours longer than Walker thought it would. The shot hole had been plugged but seams were sprung below the waterline on both sides of the hull and the ancient pump was fighting a loosing battle. To make matters worse, the wind had backed as Hayes had feared and the Trojan was now fighting it’s way through it rather then being pushed from behind or from the side. The working of the ship’s timbers while trying to sail close hauled made the seam problem even worse.
Nothing was being said. Nothing needed to be said. Silence had descended over the group. After a
ll we’ve gone through, thought Walker, to have it end like this. It’s absurd, really. Simply absurd.
Fifteen minutes later, the bow lookout called back. Actually, it was more of a question than anything else. “A sail? Sir, I think I see a sail.”
“Where away?” Hayes automatically replied.
“One point off starboard, sir.” Hayes adjusted his course to head for it while Smith jumped up on what was left of Hayes’ cabin with a telescope.
“I think it’s one of ours. A frigate,” Smith said.
“How do you know it’s one of ours?”
“I don’t. The hull has French lines to her but those sails... those sails are English cut. I am sure of it.”
An hour later, they heard a voice coming from across the water, faintly, but in perfect English. “Ahoy, the ship. Do you require assistance?”
As the group was celebrating, Susan noticed that Hayes was silent.
“Why are you so quiet, Hugh?
“I am not going aboard. I am going to stay here with the ship.”
“Stay with the ship? The ship is sinking!”
“Yes, I know. But I’d much rather drown than be hanged.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Susan, have you forgotten? I ran from a king’s ship. They hang deserters.”
The celebration immediately ended, as what Hayes said was true. The silence lasted a full minute, then another, before Susan quietly said, “No, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t run. You were one of the men who rowed the women and children to safety at Yorktown, just before the Richmond was captured.”
“Yes, of course.” Smith instantly saw what Susan was suggesting and its implications.
“It’s no good Susan,” Hayes replied. “I am on the ship’s books as a deserter.”
“And where, exactly, are the ship’s books? At this moment they’re probably on their way to a clerk’s office at the Admiralty in Paris, and will probably be used to start fires this winter.”
“But the officers and men...”
“Are in a French prisoner-of-war camp, and probably will be until the war’s over. After that, who’ll care?
“You rowed us ashore at Yorktown, Hugh. I saw it!”
“As did I,” said Smith.
“As did I,” said Walker.
“As did I,” said Hanover. “And I dare even the First Lord of the Admiralty to call me a liar, even if he is my cousin.”
* * *
By anyone’s definition, the Tisiphone was a beautiful, well-run 36-gun frigate. Smith was right, she had French lines to her because she had been captured a few years earlier, patched-up, refitted and given over to Captain James Saumarez who now commanded her. They were met at the entry port by the ship’s first lieutenant. After ascertaining they needed no immediate medical help, they were taken directly to the captain’s cabin.
Sweaty, covered with soot, bleeding from several minor nicks and cuts, the four sat in straight-backed chairs in front of Captain Saumarez’s desk. Saumarez was in his mid-20’s, a short, bantam-rooster of a man, who was the nephew of the great Admiral George Anson, the first Englishman to circumnavigate the world. His career, however, did not depend on his pedigree. He was a superb seaman and had a reputation as a ferocious fighter.
“Gentlemen, may I offer you some brandy or a tonic to fortify you after your ordeal?” Saumarez began. They all agreed except Walker. “Might I have a glass of lemon juice, if that is possible?”
“Certainly. Certainly.” Saumarez signaled to his servant.
“Perhaps we should begin at the beginning. I am James Saumarez, captain of His Majesty’s ship, the Tisiphone. And you are?”
Sidney spoke for all of them. “I am Lieutenant William Sidney Smith, formerly the first officer of the frigate Richmond. This is Mr. Lucas Walker, surgeon, and Miss Susan Whitney, surgeon’s mate, also of the Richmond. At the end is Midshipman William Hanover who was stationed at Yorktown when we met.”
Saumarez’s eyes shot over to Bill. “Midshipman William Hanover? You are Prince William Henry?”
“I am,” William replied, “although the title is not used when I am aboard ship. In the navy I am Midshipman Hanover, sir.”
Saumarez fell back in his chair blowing out his breath in a deep sigh. “Yes, quite.
“You realize, of course, that no one knows where you are. Half of New York thinks you’ve been captured and the other half thinks you’ve escaped. God only knows what they think in London.”
Shifting his gaze back to Smith, “Lieutenant, perhaps you could explain what you were doing bobbing around the ocean in a shot-up sloop with His Magis… with Midshipman Hanover in tow?”
Smith started with the meeting with Admiral Hood and proceeded from there. He didn’t leave anything major out and embellished only enough to place Hayes on one of the Richmond’s refugee boats at Yorktown. As he spoke, he realized the scope and enormity of the things that had happened to them—something that didn’t occur to him while they were doing it.
When he concluded, Saumarez just sat there for a long moment. “Lieutenant, if I hadn’t picked you up and seen your sloop myself; if I hadn’t just met Midshipman Hanover; I would have you before the surgeon for a mental evaluation.”
Walker smiled: And he hasn’t even heard my story yet, he thought.
“But, alas, I have,” Saumarez continued.
“All right, you need to know we cannot turn back to drop off Midshipman Hanover. We are on our way to the West Indies to deliver important news to Admiral Hood. There’s been a battle in the Bay of Biscay off France. We finally won one and it will have direct impact on Hood’s operation. I’ll take you to Admiral Hood and he can decide what to do with you.
“Meanwhile, Lieutenant Smith, you are tasked with writing a report on this little adventure of yours. I am sure the admiral, the Admiralty, and the king himself will be most interested in reading it. Mr. Walker and Miss Whitney, I will introduce you to our ship’s surgeon. I am sure he’ll be glad of the additional help. Mr. Hanover, my first lieutenant will escort you to your quarters.”
“Which I assume will be in the midshipman’s berth where I can resume my duties in His Majesty’s service,” Hanover interjected.
That wasn’t where Saumarez was about to send him, but he covered it well. “Yes, quite.”
Before Saumarez could stand-up to end the meeting, Smith spoke. “Sir, we’ve been out of contact for many weeks. Could you apprise us on what’s happened since we left, and what happened in the Biscay?”
“Yes, I suppose you have been a bit out of touch.
“You probably know that Cornwallis surrendered. After that debacle at the Capes, Graves took the fleet back to New York and De Grasse re-assumed his position at the mouth of the Chesapeake. There was nothing Cornwallis could do—his 5000 troops against 22,000 Americans and French—with no escape possible. In early October, Washington started to push his lines in; and on October 19th, Cornwallis surrendered.
“It must have been quite a sight. They say that, as the troops were marching out to give up their arms, the regimental band was playing the song: ‘The World Turned Upside Down.’ I am not quite sure how that could be because I understand that Cornwallis had no band at Yorktown; but it makes a good story because the song fits so perfectly. Do you know the song, lieutenant?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, the lyrics start out:
If buttercups buzz’d after the bee,
If boats were on land, churches on sea,
If ponies rode men and if grass ate the cows,
And cats should be chased into holes by the mouse,
If the mamas sold their babies,
To the gypsies for half a crown;
If summer were spring and the other way round,
Then all the world would be upside down.
“The irony of it was that on that very day, October 19th, Hood had left New York with a relief fleet
for Cornwallis, more ships, more guns, and 5000 more troops. If Cornwallis had only held out four more days, the fleet would have been there with blood in their eyes, to avenge their earlier defeat.”
“Why did it take so long for the fleet to come back?”