The Midshipman Prince (27 page)

      
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 all 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?”

      
“The usual dithering. Some people thought we should stage a diversionary attack on Philadelphia to draw De Grasse out. Others wanted to wait for more ships to be prepared. And there are some who would say that there simply was no one around with the nerve to sail back to the Chesapeake, fight their way through the French fleet, land troops and supplies, and fight their way back out again.” From his expression, Saumarez made it clear he was of the latter opinion.

      
“You see Washington figured out that no land force can act decisively unless they also control the sea. Unfortunately, that has not yet dawned on our generals. So Washington, being no fool, did his best to get De Grasse and his fleet to stay around and help him attack Charleston or even tiny Wilmington. No dice. He said he was committed to the Spanish to get back to the Caribbean to help take Jamaica; but despite that, as a sop to Washington, De Grasse headed to Yorktown. Yorktown was settled and it turns out it all depended on having a fleet. Cornwallis was promised one; Washington had one. And that was that.”

      
“How did they take the loss at home?” Smith asked.

      
“Not well. When the Prime Minister, Lord North, heard about it, they say it was like he had been shot. He grabbed his chest, said ‘Oh, God! It’s all over!’ and collapsed in his chair. For some reason, though, the people didn’t blame Graves for losing America. They just said that if Rodney had been there it would never have happened. The French, of course, called for a national holiday.”

      
“Excuse me, sir, but why is everyone talking about losing America? Cornwallis’ surrender is a very serious matter indeed, but his forces only represent about a quarter of the British troops in America. We still vastly outnumber the rebels.”