The Midshipman Prince (20 page)

      
“When will he be back?”

      
“Whenever I bother to send for him,” he laughed, while walking away.

      
The three were silent for a few moments as they took in their new home. Hanover spoke first. “Does someone want to explain to me what just happened?”

      
“I don’t know. Something’s going on here,” Walker replied. “This just isn’t right.

      
“We’re in here because we don’t have a letter of introduction from anyone in this town. Fifty years ago, to travel anywhere you needed such a letter so the town law officers knew you were a legitimate visitor and not some criminal on the run.

      
“But that’s what’s so strange. No one enforces that law anymore. He claimed we might be ‘strollers,’ itinerant con men, but he could see we were not that.”

      
“What was all that ‘raise your right hand’ business?” Hanover asked.

      
“He was checking to see if any of us had a criminal record. It’s a system we use here in the colonies where, if you’re convicted of a crime, they place a small brand on the base of your right thumb. He was checking to see if any of us had a brand,” Walker replied.

      
“So, what now?” he asked.

      
“Don’t know. Unless Susan can work some miracle, we’ll just have to wait until the judge gets back... whenever
that
might be.”

* * *

      
“It’s a miracle
,”
Susan whispered as she watched a small boat pull in to the dock.

      
It was the afternoon of the day following the arrests, and Susan had taken the horse and wagon over to the fishing village Smith had discovered a few days before. She would not have been able to articulate why she went there; but she was tired, depressed, more than a little scared, and there was something comforting about seeing a body of water again.

      
Bailey’s Wharf consisted of six small houses clustered around a waterfront that was dominated by a large brick building. A wooden pier jutted 30 yards or so out into the Ware River. At the base of the pier was a combination warehouse, general store, tavern and chandler’s shop, and was easily the most substantial building in town.

      
It was made of sturdy brick and primarily stored hogsheads of fragrant Virginia tobacco awaiting shipment to Elizabeth Town where it would be sold to buyers from England and Europe. It was also used as a tavern and dining hall. As you walked in the door you were immediately struck by the large chimney and huge fireplace across the top of which were strings of seasoning red peppers, pickled oysters, ears of red and white corn and freshly picked onions.

      
Susan sat down near the fireplace where some children, both white and black, were sitting on the floor listening to an old black man spin tales “Fo’ de war, when y’all warn’ born.” She felt like ordering a large tankard of ale, but she knew that would invite stares and possibly questions. Instead, she ordered a demure pot of tea so she would look more like the wife of a fishing boat captain in town to do some shopping.

      
After several hours, Susan left the tavern and wandered out on the pier to look at the water, trying to pull herself together. She enjoyed the water. In a strange way, it calmed her; it always had, even when she was a girl. The dark blue of the water, the powder blue of the sky, the white clouds high overhead, the shrill cries of the gulls, the smell of salt air—all conspired to remind her of home and of simpler, safer, and saner times. Would she ever see Portsmouth again?

      
By late afternoon the fishing boats were starting to come in. As ships go, they weren’t much—mostly ketches, doggers, and a peculiar craft she had no name for that was apparently used by the local clam fishermen. A bit further out two sloops sat at anchor all afternoon, with a third now coming in. The newcomer was much smaller than the others, only a single mast, but was handled beautifully. After dropping anchor, she could see the crew putting a boat over the side.

      
A man got out of the boat to tie it up to the pier, and was followed by another person who was obviously the primary passenger. Susan couldn’t believe her eyes.

      
“Hugh? Hugh Hayes? Is that you?”

      
“Susan? By God, what are you doing here?” He then seemed to catch himself. Looking around suspiciously, he asked, “Is the
Richmond
in port somewhere hereabouts?”

      
“Nope, don’t worry. She’s probably halfway to France right now. She was captured a few... days ago.” Susan caught herself. My God, it
was
only a few days ago.

      
Hugh Hayes was one of the biggest, most powerfully built men Susan had ever known. From a distance, you would think he was short. It wasn’t until you got close-up that you realized he was over six feet tall and was simply a massive person.

      
He had thick legs, a barrel chest, and arms like tree limbs, little in the way of a perceptible neck, and a roundish face that was always slightly red, and usually smiling. One of the most popular seamen on the
Richmond
, he had been rated “Able” in record time and was the ship’s Master-at-Arms—the ship’s policeman—until he went ashore one day on ship’s business and simply never returned.

      
“Hugh, it’s so good to see you. I haven’t seen you since... ah, that is...”

      
Hayes laughed. “It’s all right Susan. I ran from the
Richmond
. You don’t have to be polite about it.”

      
“So, are you working on that barkey?” she asked, nodding at the ship.

      
“Yup, I am her captain.”

      
“Captain?” Susan clapped her hands with delight. How’d you become captain of a ship?”

      
“Well, after the
Richmond
pulled out, I made my way to Bal-more by signing on to a merchantman. I was sitting in a tavern and I overheard two people—investors they were—talking about a ship they were going to buy and how hard it was to find a capable man to captain her. I sidled over and said I used to be a master’s mate in the navy and I might be able to help them out.

      
“All right, so it was a bit of an exaggeration. I was never a master’s mate, but the ship ain’t nothin’ but a little, single masted, fore-and-aft rigged river sloop and I figured I could sail her well enough.

      
“They were desperate; I was desperate, so they offered me the job and I took it. Been running small cargos around the Chesapeake ever since.

      
“What about you?”

      
As soon as he asked the question, Hayes saw a reaction in Susan that shocked him. Her eyes were becoming misty as she summoned her thoughts and, except when her husband died, he had never—but never—seen that happen.

      
Words tumbled out as if she were unburdening her soul, starting with Walker’s peculiar appearance on the scene, the Battle of the Capes, the surrender of the
Richmond
, the rescue of the prince and their escape. Hayes stopped her a few times for clarification, but otherwise just leaned against a bollard and let her talk.

      
“And where are these gentlemen now?”

      
She completed the story with the strange arrests in Gloucestertown.

      
Hayes sat in thought, not saying a thing. After a few minutes he simply said: “All right.”

      
“All right, what?” Susan asked.

      
“All right. You and I are going to go into that tavern over there and have us the best roast beef dinner they can provide. I haven’t forgotten how you took care of me when I got sick that time in the Med.”

      
“And then?”

      
“And then tonight we go bust your friends out of jail.”

CHAPTER SIX

      
IT was nearing midnight as the wagon entered Gloucester. Susan was convinced they were making enough noise to awaken half the county. Hayes had the horse at a slow walk and had shifted their track off the well-worn ruts to lessen the number of potholes they encountered. Susan’s fears notwithstanding, they were being about as quiet as could be expected while driving a broken down wagon and an even more broken down horse.

      
“Do you know where the jail is?” asked Susan.

      
“Oh yes,” Hayes replied with confidence, but did not elaborate on the reason for that assurance.

      
He was right. He pulled off the town circle and alongside the Debtor’s Jail at exactly the right spot. Susan scrambled off the buckboard and went to the jail’s rear window.

      
“Walker? Smith? You in there,” Susan whispered.

      
A few seconds later Smith’s voice replied, “Susan? Is that you?”

      
“Yes, I am here with a friend. We’re going to get you out.”

      
“How?”

      
Susan suddenly realized she had forgotten to ask Hayes how he was going to do it. She turned to him, “How?”

      
Hugh stepped to the window. “I’ve got the wagon here. I am going to pass you men a rope, tie it around the bars. When you’re ready, let me know and I’ll start this nag slowly pulling on it. I don’t want to tear down the whole damn wall; it’d make too much noise. I just want to free up the bars from that cheap cement they used so you can slide through the window.”

      
“Who are you, and how do you know the cement will give way?”

      
“It was a government project. We’ll make introductions later.”

      
Within a few minutes, Smith and Walker had crawled out of the building through the now destroyed window; but Susan kept looking back. “Where’s Hanover?”

      
“Gone,” Walker replied.

      
“Gone? What do you mean, gone? You mean as in: We’ve misplaced an heir to the throne of England? That kind of ‘gone’?”

      
Hayes stepped in. “Folks, we can discuss this later. Right now we need to get the hell out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.” With that they all boarded the wagon and Hayes continued his slow, quiet, procession out of town.

* * *

      
“This is an outrage. I am a midshipman in His Majesty’s Navy and you have no right to keep me here” Hanover said, summoning his well-schooled imperial indignation; but it fell on deaf ears.

      
That afternoon, he had been semi-happily ensconced in the town jail with his two friends. Suddenly the door swung open and the sheriff walked in with his deputies and a new person. He was of medium height and rail thin; but the most distinguishing thing about him was his pale complexion and flaming red hair.

      
“This the one you want?” the sheriff asked.

      
“Yes, that’s him,” the man replied; and without further comment, Hanover was taken from the cell, blindfolded, his hands tied behind him, helped on to a horse, and led away. An hour later, he was deposited at a farmhouse, but that was about all Hanover knew of his location.

      
The house was small but reasonably well appointed. It had several rooms: a living/dining area and a separate kitchen and bedroom—quite unusual for those parts. It was located in a clearing with a well, a small stable, and an outhouse in back along the fence line.

      
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to get for kidnapping me. Midshipmen don’t fetch much with the rebel military, you know.”

      
The red haired man waved the guards out of the room, sat down at the table, and poured himself and Hanover a glass of wine.