The Midshipman Prince (21 page)

      
“My name is Finch,” he began “and you are not ‘Midshipman Bill Hanover.’ You are Prince William Henry and, more importantly, you are now mine.”

      
Hanover looked straight at the man—his worst fears having been realized.

      
“And what do you think you’re going to do now that you have me?” Hanover tried to remain defiant.

      
Finch began laughing. “You know what? I honestly don’t know, but it’s not because I lack options. You tell me, your ‘highness,’ whom do you think will pay more?

      
“There are the American’s, of course. They would love to have King George’s third son as an additional bargaining chip with which to end the war. Then there are the French, who would love to have you simply because they hate the English. And the Spaniards would want you for no other reason than to frost off both the Americans and the French. Finally, of course, there is your daddy and his government. What would they pay to
keep
you from falling into the hands of the Americans, the French, or the Spanish?

      
“I really don’t know what I am going to do with you; but, whatever it is, it’s going to make me a very, very rich man.”

      
“You’re wasting your time. The war’s almost over, if it’s not over already. When that happens, you’ll have lost your bargaining power.” It was a weak argument but Hanover thought it was pretty good for a spur of the moment thing.

      
“I’ll take that chance,” Finch replied. “It’s a good business risk and I am a good businessman. Besides, the hardest part, finding you, is already over. I’ve been on your trail for months. Thought I had you in Yorktown until those two friends of yours showed up.”

      
“Business risk? You’re nothing but a cheap kidnapper.”

      
“I’ll beg your pardon for that remark, good sir. I am not a kidnapper; I am a privateer. I am
Captain
Finch, thank you, owner and commander of the
Cardinal
—a rather appropriate name for my ship don’t you think?”

      
Hanover said nothing.

      
“A privateer, Your Lordship, is a pirate with papers. Surely, you’re familiar with the concept? You Brits invented it. Ever hear of Francis Drake? Oh, excuse me. He was so successful as a legalized pirate he became
Sir
Francis Drake. Well, I am the same kind of businessman as Drake; only the other side signed my authorization. Would you like to see it?”

      
“I have no need to see your damn document, but please tell me where you keep it. I want to be able to read it to the crowd when they hang you.”

      
“Not likely, Sir. Your navy has already given its best effort in that regard. Ever hear of Washington’s Wolfpack?”

      
Hanover, of course, had. Every British seaman on the American Station had heard of them. In 1775, Washington’s forces out numbered the British troops that were holding New York City. Unfortunately, this advantage was doing him little good. Britain controlled the sea and, because the U.S. had no navy at that point, there was nothing he could do to stop the supply ships from going in and out of the harbor at will. So, he formed the Wolfpack—a collection of American merchant schooners hastily fitted with guns—to harass and, hopefully, capture British supply ships.

      
“Yes, I’ve heard of them. What of it?”

      
“Well, I was one of the original members of the pack. In fact my Letter of Marque, authorizing me to be a privateer, is counter-signed by Ol’ George himself.”

      
“So what?”

      
Finch became deadly serious. “So this, Your Highness,” he said sarcastically. “With nothing more than schooners we out-sailed, out-smarted, and when necessary, out-fought some of the best frigate captains in your whole damn navy. Oh, its true New York was re-supplied anyway; but have you thought about what’s going to happen if this nation ever starts building warships? I mean
real
warships, and starts giving command to people like me?

      
“I repeat. So what? The war is probably over by now and we don’t even know it,” Hanover countered.

      
“And you think this will be the last war ever—the war to end all wars? Not hardly. Indeed, I will happily wager whatever sum you wish that the U.S. and England will be back at each other’s throats in our lifetime. And when that happens, there
will
be a U.S. Navy, and there
will
be warships worthy of the name, and I
will
have command of one of those ships, and we
will
kick your ass up one ocean and down the other.”

      
“You’re a madman. We have more warships sitting in our repair docks right now than the U.S. could possibly build in your lifetime.”

      
Finch said nothing for a long moment, and then said quietly, “Mark my words. The day will come when the U.S. Navy will be able to defeat not just any navy in the world, but all the navies of the world, combined.”

      
Hanover fell silent. He knew Finch was insane; but he also had a feeling in his gut that what he was saying was true. For the first time, he looked at Finch and felt a touch of genuine fear.

* * *

      
The next three days were fun for no one. Hanover was the “guest” of Captain Finch and under heavy guard at all times. Walker, Smith, and Whitney were holed-up in the forest just northwest of Gloucester in an abandoned hunting lodge. The only person free to travel was Hayes, and he made the best of it.

      
He knew that sooner or later whoever had Prince William would have to move him. If they were to move him by water, they would probably go through the fishing village. If by land, maybe someone in Gloucestertown might have wind of it. So, he kept moving between the two locations spending part of each day in town and part in the village. About all he had learned was that the sheriff was available to the highest bidder, but he had pretty much figured that out on his own.

      
It was early evening on the third day when Hayes caught a break. He was sitting in the Courthouse Tavern when he overhead a man, who obviously had had a pint too many, loudly complaining to the tavern keeper.

      
“I’ll be damned if I know why I always get the lousy jobs. Always me! Now that red headed bastard wants me to come to town to buy food for eleven men. Eleven men! Do I look like a damn purser? And you know whatever I buy won’t be the right things. And who will they blame? ME! That’s who. Why for a tuppence I’d skip out on that bastard and return to sea where I belong.”

      
Hayes listened carefully for several minutes, gaining information with every word. Why would he be buying food for 11 men? Not for a ships crew, or he’d be buying less perishable things at the chandler’s shop. It can’t be for one of the local plantations. They grow their own food. Besides, they don’t have “men,” they have slaves. He decided it was time to “renew an old acquaintance” and he wandered over to the man’s table.

      
“Why you old dog, you!” Hayes slapped the man on the back almost dislodging his shoulder blade. “I ain’t seen you since we was on the old
Pittsfield
together. How the devil are you?”

      
“I am sorry but I don’t think we…”

      
“Tavern master, bring me and my old shipmate here a pint, and make it the good stuff, not that bilge water you usually serve.”

      
At the prospect of a free drink, perhaps even more than one, Nathan Taft knew when to be quiet.

      
“Why you old son of a bitch. How long’s it been? Five, six years, I’ll be bound. God, where does the time go? Last time I seen you we had put into Bal-more and the
Pittsfield
paid off.”

      
It went on like that for some time. Taft made up a recent history for himself on the spot and agreed with Hayes’ recollections of former shipmates, who were equally made up. But the important thing was that the liquor continued to flow and so did the information.

      
Hayes found out about Captain Finch. Taft alternately condemning the man as the worst captain he’d ever served under and then, paradoxically, claiming Finch was going to make him first mate any day now. He found out Finch was holding someone important, but Taft didn’t know who he was. He found out there were nine men assigned to guard the prisoner; and, most importantly, he found out where the prisoner was being held. The last item was a close race between Taft divulging the information and passing out.

      
Hayes left Taft snoring in a corner of the tavern and returned to the hunting lodge where everyone gathered around the lodge’s only table to hear Hayes’ report.

      
“All right, so let’s go get him,” Susan chimed in.

      
“We’ll do no such thing,” replied Hayes. “Go get him how? If Taft is right, there are nine armed men patrolling the property, plus Finch. We’re supposed to attack that? With what? We’ve got three men, a woman, and not a weapon between us.

      
“No, tomorrow morning I am going over to scout the place out. You keep doing what you’re now doing until I get back.”

      
“But we aren’t doing anything,” Susan protested.

      
“Exactly,” replied Hayes.

* * *

      
Taft might be a fool, but he was no liar—at least not while drunk. The farmstead was located exactly as he described and Hayes was able to spot at least six different guards.

      
Hayes was a patient man, and methodical. In a later age, he would have made a good detective. He settled down with his supply of food and water in the bushes on the hillside over-looking the farmstead to watch and wait.

      
By mid afternoon the following day he finally had a plan. He went to get the others and returned with them to the hillside. Reaching into the back of the blagger’s wagon he pulled out a small saber saw, and disappeared down the hill. About 20 minutes later, he returned and sat with the others.

      
“What exactly are we waiting for?” asked Smith.

      
“Look down at that farmstead. You see a weakness?”

      
Everyone gazed at the farmhouse, a stable where the guards stayed, a well, and an outhouse on the back edge of the property abutting a thicket that ran to the top of the hillside. There were three guards, all armed, standing in the shade by the side of the farmhouse.

      
“No, frankly, I don’t,” Susan said.

      
“I do. Those are sailors down there,” Hayes pointed out. “You can tell just by the way they walk. And if sailors cherish anything, it’s routine. Be they officer, warrant officer, or seamen they love to have an order to their day. I am betting that yesterday’s routine will be duplicated to the minute today.”

      
“What happened yesterday that caught your eye?” asked Walker.

      
“Any moment now, they’ll be taking the prince out for a half hour of exercise. It’s during that period that they let him…
 

      
“Wait. Quiet. Here they come. I want all of you to stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With that, he disappeared down the hill.

      
Following the thickets, he arrived at the back of the outhouse, where he was still hidden by bushes. Two guards brought the prince out of the farmhouse and one accompanied him to the outhouse door before walking over to join his companion at the well for a drink.

      
Hayes very carefully and quietly pulled out a section of the back of the outhouse that he had cut free on his earlier trip. The prince was seated in the customary fashion when Hayes reached in, slipped a hand over his mouth, and yanked him out through the back of the outhouse. Hanover started struggling but Hayes had him on the ground and there was little Hanover could do.

      
“Be quiet,” Hayes hissed, “I am a friend. I am going to get you out of here.”