The French Admiral l-2

by Dewey Lambdin

  "Coasters!" Alan exclaimed. "Potty little oyster boats and such!"

  "And not a full dozen of 'em," Railsford moaned. "We were tricked."

  "They looked like ships last night, sir. All lit up and chiming the watch bells."

  "At the least, we burned out the only decent ship they had and put the fear of God into a French sloop of war." Railsford shrugged, taking the telescope back. "They must have carried all those troops in the line-of-battle ships and larger frigates, crammed 'em in any old how. God, if we could have just caught 'em at sea before they landed, we could have done 'em into fried mutton. So many men aboard, in each other's way…"

  "So, except for that sloop of war and a cutter or two, there are no French present as of yet, sir," Alan said, wondering in his fogged mind what that might mean, if anything. The effort was almost beyond his power to reason any longer.

  "If we had but known, we could have had all of those scows!"

  "And I almost got killed for nothing," Alan grumbled half aloud, a sentiment that Railsford either pretended to ignore at that ungodly early hour or actually did not hear from sheer exhaustion. The first lieutenant scratched his chin and Alan could hear his fingers rasping in his stubbly beard.

  "Mister Monk, would you be so good, sir, to take charge of the deck for a moment while I apprise the captain of something urgent?" Railsford asked.

  "Aye, sir," Monk drawled, his face drawn with fatigue and looking a lot older than his 35-odd years.

  Railsford left Alan the telescope, which he rested on the taffrail for a while, reminding himself that he must remember to stay awake enough to not drop it over the side from nerveless fingers.

  The last time I was this exhausted, he thought, I'd walked ten miles before dawn, ridden cross-country with those damned county boys all day, partied and played balum-rancum with a pack of whores all that night, and had to ride home the next morning. And that was a whole lot more fun than last night!

  He went to stand by Monk and used the telescope to check out the anchorage up the York. There was the frigate Charon, the sloop of war Guadeloupe, a smaller sloop of war—little more than a ketch, really—the Bonetta, and a small gaggle of gunboats. They looked as peaceful as Portsmouth Harbor on a Sunday morning, and he bitterly wondered what they had been doing while the French had been landing their armament.

  The York peninsula between the York and the James was pretty low country, much of a piece with most of the American seaboard that he had seen in his few trips to the continent. The land was higher towards the narrows of the York, up where the little town was reputed to be, and the bluffs ended up being quite steep, but not particularly high. There was some high ground of much the same sort on the Gloucester side, which rapidly tapered off into salt marshes and low ground the further east one could go past the narrows.

  "See that house yonder?" Monk said. "Moore's House. Rather fine landmark."

  "Where is the town?" Alan asked.

  "Around the bend from us, right at the narrows. Not much of a place, by my reckonin', ner anybody else's," Monk added. "Deep water just offshore, mayhap thirty-five ta forty fathom, 'bout a cable out. Closer in, ya got only six fathom, but that's right under the bluffs an' at low tide, too. Lotta tobacco comes outa here. Even outa the Gloucester side. Virginia's famous fer it. If the army ain't burned it fer spite, I'll get me some ta chew."

  "Looks pretty low over there, sir," Alan noted on the north shore.

  "Aye, once past Gaines Point goin' back ta sea, ya get inta some salt marshes and swamps an' bottom land—Guinea Neck, they calls it. They's farms in there, even so. Corn, tobacco, an' such like. Some pines fer pitch an' tar an' board."

  "So the scour of the tide, and the current of the river, lay to the suthr'd, sir, below the bluffs and runs sou'-west along the shoals," Alan said. "With Moore's House on your larboard bow…"

  "Aye, so it does. Keep the House ta yer larboard, 'bout five points an' no closer, ya'll not tangle with the shoals, an' you'll have smooth sailin' right inta the York and firm anchor. 'Til the tide turns, o'course."

  Treghues emerged on deck, lips pressed tight together in obvious dislike for the bad news Railsford had given him about their wasted effort of the night and how badly they had been fooled. That ended the lesson from Mister Monk on how to get into the York.

  "I have the deck, Mister Monk," Railsford said, coming to stand by him to leeward of the wheel, giving the windward, now the landward, side of the deck to the captain. "Stations for anchoring, Mister Coke. We shall require the captain's gig led round to the entry port as soon as the hook is on the bottom, Mister Weems."

  "Passin' the word fer the captain's cox'n!"

  In contrast to everyone else's appearance, Treghues was freshly shaved and washed, his linen clean and white and his coat brushed free of lint and dust.

  You're hating it, Alan thought. You're going to have to tell the bad news about the battle to Symonds and Cornwallis. And admit you failed last night. I must be awesomely tired—I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard!

  Still, Alan felt that it was a lesson. A landed army obviously meant large transports, so that was what Treghues wished to see and that was what he thought he had seen. He had risked the ship for nothing, and if they had succeeded in getting into the anchorage and burning all those coasters and local scows, they would have been trapped by the guard ships, including the one frigate they had seen just at dawn up the James, and Desperate would have been destroyed for an exchange that would not have made a decent stake at The Cocoa Tree on a throw of the dice. Not only was Treghues mistaken about the transports, he was mistaken in wanting to attack them at all. Their primary duty had been to deliver despatches, and they had almost lost the chance to do that as well.

  Maybe he feels like he has to prove something, to make up for a bad admiral or a lost battle, Alan thought. By God, it's one thing to make the best of what Providence drops in your lap, but quite another to try and force the issue and make your own luck.

  "Stations for wearing ship!" Treghues called. "Prepare to anchor!"

  Desperate plodded on into the tiny fleet gathering and rounded up into the wind, backing her tops'ls to bring her to a complete halt, at which point the best bower splashed into the bottom and she began to stream back from her mooring. The side boys and officers assembled as Treghues went over the side, saluting amid the squeal of bosun's pipes until their captain's head had dropped below the level of the upper deck.

  "Not much to the place, is there?" Avery said, walking over to Lewrie by the entry port which now faced the small town of York. "I hear it aspires to be called York Town, but York Village is more like it."

  "I've seen better villages back home, even on Sunday." Lewrie smiled. "Looks half deserted."

  "You'd leave, too, if you were about to be stuck into the middle of an army encampment surrounded by the French," David said. "By God, we shall get shore leave here, see if we don't. It looks so damned dull that an entire troop of devils couldn't raise enough mischief to wake a country parson."

  "I don't know, David," Alan replied, feeling that odd dread come over him once more whenever he was in close proximity to the place. "I think there will be some fine mischief raised before we see the last of it."

  Three more British frigates came in from seaward during the day; Medea, Iris, and Richmond, bearing despatches both from Graves still far out to sea and from Clinton in New York. They had been sent in just a few hours after Desperate; evidently Graves had had more to say, or had forgotten some important items in the first place.

  Their arrival brought no cheer to the small flotilla anchored in the York; when they had left the fleet, the wind and sea had been getting up, and Terrible was taking so much water in her bilges that Admiral Graves had been considering taking her people off and sinking her. They still had not caught up with the French fleet under de Grasse and showed little sign of really wanting to, with their own ships so badly cut up in their top-hamper. The last bit of bad news was that none of th
e newly arrived frigates had any spare spars for Desperate. Nor did any of the few ships of worth in the anchorage, so repairs would take longer than they hoped, unless they could find some decent timber ashore and cut it down themselves.

  "Take a good tree ta make a new topmast, sir," Coke the bosun told Treghues that afternoon. "Trestletrees on the mainmast top were sprung an' need new timber, crosstrees gone ta kindlin', tops'l yard is saved but needs fishin' with a lighter piece er some flat iron. New royal an' topgallant yard as well, sir, not ta mention a new topgallant mast."

  "But the shore fairly bristles with good pine, does it not, Mister Coke?" Treghues said, once more seemingly in good cheer and normal state of his faculties. "We could send a working party ashore to hew what we need."

  "Aye, sir," Coke agreed. "But where we'd get the horse teams ta do the draggin', I don't know. Army might have some ta spare."

  "Artillery beasts, aye," Treghues said. "Mister Railsford, I would admire if you would go ashore with the bosun and a working party. See Captain Symonds and discover who in the army we need to talk to about getting some help in felling trees with which to make repairs."

  "Aye, aye, sir," Railsford said. "How many men, Mister Coke?"

  "Carpenter an' his crew, sir, mayhap a dozen more hands ta do the strippin' an haulin', some what knows horses," Coke speculated. "Maybe twenty all told, sir, at best."

  "We shall take the barge and cutter," Railsford decided. "You and I, Weems and… Lewrie in the other."

  Alan had been standing near enough to hear and Railsford's eye had fallen on him first. Treghues was in another of his more complaisant moods and made no objection.

  "Perhaps I should go ashore now, sir, to liaise with the 'lobsters' first," Railsford said. "It is late in the day to organize any aid from shore and select proper trees before dark."

  "Aye, my compliments to Captain Symonds," Treghues said. "See him first, and then talk to the army. We shall put the working party to their labors after breakfast."

  "Lewrie, get a crew together for the jolly boat and we shall go ashore now."

  "Aye, Mister Railsford, sir," Alan said. He hustled up Weems, who quickly got him a boat's crew and led the towed jolly boat around to the entry port.

  They put in at one of the town docks, leaving the boat's crew at the landing under a petty officer, a quarter-gunner with strict instructions to avoid trouble, and walked down the dirt street toward the house that had been indicated as the naval shore party's office. The town teemed with troops in various uniforms of green, red, and blue of the various regiments in Cornwallis's army, even the tartans and kilts of either British or Loyalist Highlanders, Carolina Volunteer units, German mercenaries, and regular line units.

  "Quite a muddle, sir," Alan observed, pointing at all the men and horses active around the town. "One hopes Lord Cornwallis knows what he is about."

  "Our role is not to question, Mister Lewrie," Railsford said, almost rolling drunkenly after spending months on an unstable deck and foxed by the steadiness of the land. "We must obey and… and hang the larger issues."

  "Aye, sir," Alan said.

  "There is still time to win a victory over the French and the Rebels, Lewrie," Railsford told him. "Were I you, I would try to put the best face on it before the hands and not let them see their officers looking distressed. You shall get in a lot less trouble with the captain if you do. At this moment he needs all the enthusiasm and cheerfulness he can get from his people. He would be most cross with anyone that showed any signs of worry or defeatism. You are already in trouble enough with him."

  "Aye, sir," Alan agreed with a humorless laugh. "Too true."

  "That is why we attacked those transports last night," Railsford said unexpectedly.

  "Sir?"

  Railsford went on, mopping his brow with a colored handkerchief against the late-summer heat. "There were larger transports, further up the James River, along with some frigates, as we were later informed. We did, in fact, burn a ship to the waterline. But, more to the point, we did something, an act of retribution to put heart back into the crew so they could feel we could still strike back on an even basis against our enemies. That is why Commander Treghues took the risk. Not for glory-hunting, and not because he is out of his wits, as you believe. A captain must keep his men in their best fettle, not just in victuals or discipline, but in spirit as well, and you had best remember that if you ever hope to gain a commission."

  "I see, sir," Alan replied, crestfallen at the implied rebuke.

  "A crew that doubts its own abilities is a crew ready to strike the colors at the first broadside, or when they are hard pressed," Railsford said solemnly.

  "But what does one do when recent events are so disheartening?" Alan asked. "When there is no way to put a good face on things?"

  "Then hope that discipline and pride will be enough," the first lieutenant said with a smile. "We drill their little minds into rote behavior so they respond without thought, calm or tempest, day or night, peace or war. And we appeal to their pride in themselves as Englishmen and as sailors. We appeal to their pride in their own ship, in their Service. Nothing else much matters outside the bulwarks. All this talk of King and Country is so much moonshine when you get right down to it. People facing death or dismemberment don't care much for the so-called 'patriotic' reasons. They die for their shipmates, to go game before their peers."

  "So what must we do to keep the men inspired, sir?" Alan asked, seeing what was necessary over the next few days until they could get out to sea once more.

  "Hard work will take their minds off things, for one," Railsford told him as they reached the porch of the house in question. "If we did not have serious hurts to mend in Desperate, we would invent some form of labor to keep them busy. Idle hands and idle minds begin to conjure up the worst in the human spirit. Straighten your hat."

  They entered the house and conferred briefly with an aide to Captain Symonds. Railsford was given a letter to take to the army headquarters for draft animals and an escort for the next day so they could go beyond the newly dug perimeter fortifications for their timbers. Then they had to walk out into the country beyond the town to seek out the army before dark. They spoke with a major of light infantry, got passed to a colonel named Yorke, finally to a senior officer from the Brigade of Guards named O'Hara, and got their request approved. They would be allotted the use of two horse teams for only two days, the needs of the army for the placing of artillery coming first, and would get some provincials for an escort, all to meet them at the docks at an appointed time the next morning.

  "Warm work, sir," Alan said as they made their way back towards town and their waiting boat. "Think we could—"

  "No, we cannot," Railsford intoned solemnly. "Did you not get into enough trouble the last time you were ashore?"

  "Not of my own making, sir," Alan protested.

  "Trouble is your boon companion, Lewrie. You do not have to seek it out; it always finds you. Were we to stop into what Passes for a public house around these parts for a pint, you'd have a brawl going within half an hour."

  "Sir!" Alan said, much aggrieved by the accusation, but thinking that the first lieutenant was correct; he had gotten into enough trouble in the past with the most innocent of beginnings. Still, it was pleasing to be thought a bellicose sort of rake-hell by his first officer, for the reputation held no malice from Railsford; rather the opposite in fact.

  First light found them once more at the main landing in the town, with two boats full of men and tools, men eager to step ashore, no matter what the reason, after months aboard one ship. They were looking forward to a new face or two, new tales to hear, the possibility of actually touching something green. The work would be no harder than anything required of them aboard the Desperate, perhaps a lot less with horses to do the major hauling once they had felled their choice of trees and stripped them of bark and limbs. It was almost like a picnic outing, complete with rations and drink prepared for later consumption.


  They were met by two six-horse gun teams, decent sized horses rather than the usual runty animals found in the Colonies, which had made the huge beasts captured on the Ephegenie so valuable. There were teamsters dressed in the blue coats of the artillery, and a platoon of men in short red infantry jackets with dark blue facings, light infantry of some sort wearing wide-brimmed black hats adorned with a black silk ribbon, bow, and a clump of dark feathers for a plume on the left side of their hats. All of them looked as though they had seen rough service, for the original pristine condition of their uniforms was patched and resewn to orderliness, their white waistcoats and long trousers permanently marred with ground-in dirt, and their lower legs encased in muddy dark gaiters, known as "half spatterdashes."

  "You would be from the Desperate?" the young infantry officer asked of Railsford as they alighted on the dock.

  "I am, sir," Railsford replied. "Lieutenant Railsford, at your service."

  "Lieutenantnant Chiswick, sir, of the North Carolina Volunteers," the lanky harsh-looking officer said,

  "Midshipman Lewrie, my assistant," Railsford said. "Our bosun Mister Coke, and his mate, Mister Weems."

  "Delightid, sirs." The officer showed no sign of delight at that early hour. "This is my ensign, also a Chiswick. We are at your orders, sirs. What is needed?"

  "To go inland and find suitable trees to fell for repairs to our ship, Lieutenant," Railsford said. "Pine trees, for our top-hamper."

  "Whatever that is." Lieutenant Chiswick yawned. "Not much left around the town. We shall have to go outside the defense line to find good stands of pine. I suppose a naval officer can ride sir? I have a spare horse for you."

  "Thank you very much. This naval officer was raised in hunting country in Dorset," Railsford said, grinning.

  Railsford mounted expertly and the two parties fell into a rough column, with an advanced party under a corporal leading off, their weapons at high port, ready for anything, even in the midst of an English army encampment. Railsford and Chiswick followed, with the wagons in their wake, and the sailors in a clump behind. Almost without orders, one squad of infantry went to either side of the road, and the rest brought up the rear, as though the sailors were under arrest for some crime.