The Flood-Tide (24 page)

‘So we'll be as far from Philadelphia as we were when we started,' a fierce, red-faced colour sergeant said disgustedly when the change of plan filtered through to the midshipmen's berth. 'This is our general's master-stroke then! And how long, boy, will it take, to sail this tub round there?' he demanded of William, who bristled at the idea of his beautiful
Ariadne's
being called a tub, but forced himself to speak politely.

‘That depends on the wind, sir, but I should think two or three weeks.’

The colour sergeant spat contemptuously. 'A fine business it would be if I were to give such an answer when a general asked me how long I'd take to march my men to such-and-such a place! Two or three weeks? A pretty margin of error you sailors allow yourselves! And in two or three weeks - or four or five, for all you seem to know -Washington will have organized his defences and we will have the Devil's job to dislodge him. Pah!’

He had been freely imbibing of his liquor ration, William told himself, keeping his temper with an effort, or he would not be so rude. As soon as he could excuse himself, William ran on deck, and climbed rapidly to the foretop, where at least the stable smell was fainter, to scratch himself in peace and swear away his ill feelings towards the soldiers.

After four weeks on board, the army was finally disembarked at the head of Chesapeake Bay on 25 August, weary and suffering from the heat and confinement. The bulk of the navy was to sail away immediately, but the smaller vessels, and amongst them the
Ariadne,
were ordered to bring up more supplies, and to look into the numerous creeks and inlets in search of American vessels. It was a command to please most captains, for the vessels captured would be prizes of war, which meant prize money. Thomas was less happy. He thought, of course, of York Plantation, and of Charles and his family. He knew that Philippe had an ocean-going vessel, as well as numerous small craft for use in the Bay itself, and it would be his duty to report their existence, even though he knew that Philippe was no friend to the revolution. It was fortunate that the
Ariadne
was too large to penetrate the channels and had been ordered to bring up supplies instead - he would not have personally to give the order to take or destroy the boats. He could at least, he thought, find some way of warning Charles to offer no resistance when the landing party came, for the orders would be to harm no one if they did not resist. Philippe, he thought, might object to losing his boats, even to the British navy, and ought to be forewarned.

However much he wanted to, he could not go ashore himself, but he thought it would be pleasant for William to see his Cousin Charles, even if only for a moment or two. He wrote his letter with great care as the
Ariadne
tacked her way gently down the Bay, and gave it to William, with orders to take the gig and four steady men and deliver it to his cousin. The
Ariadne
hove to at the mouth of the Patuxent River while the boat was lowered away, and then sailed on, to wait for the returning boat a little further down the Bay, where it was wider and safer.

‘Don't be longer than you have to,' he told Mr Midshipman Morland. 'Give him the letter, wait while he reads it, answer any questions you can, and then come off. It is not a social visit, remember.'

‘Aye aye, sir,' said William, saluted, and dashed away, thrilled to be sent on his first independent command at the age of fourteen, even if it was such a simple one.

*

The appearance of the squadron in the Bay had caused panic. Some of the larger privateers would not have been afraid to try and pick off a small vessel of the British navy, if they could have taken her by surprise, but there was nothing on the whole Bay that could have stood up to a single broadside from the smallest vessel in that squadron. Men went into hiding, ships were hastily sailed or towed into the narrowest and most inaccessible creeks, boats were thrust into the reeds or heaved out into boatsheds.

The news that the squadron was carrying an army was soon known, and had to be passed on to Philadelphia as quickly as possible. Messengers on horseback and in small boats hastened up the Bay, and Hampson himself arrived at York House to keep an eye on things even before the ships had gone by for the first time, on their way northwards.

It was lucky for William that he did, luckier still that when
Ariadne
put off a boat the lookout troubled to notice the name of the ship before he ran up to the house with the news.

‘It's my cousin's ship,' Charles told Hampson when he heard. 'My Cousin Thomas is her captain. It is probably nothing more than a message for me, a letter from England perhaps, family news.'

‘How many men?' Hampson asked the lookout.

‘Four men,' he answered tersely, 'and a boy in uniform, midshipman I guess.'

‘A midshipman - that could be my Cousin William,' Charles said eagerly. 'You see, it must be family news.’

Hampson and the lookout made no sign of having heard him. 'Four men and a boy,' the lookout said grimly. 'We could take 'em easy. Pick 'em off before they ever landed. Scuttle the boat. The ship's gone on down the bay, there's no one to see.’

Charles paled. 'No, no, I beg you! You must not!' ‘Might be reprisals,' Hampson said, still ignoring Charles. The lookout shrugged.

‘Who's to say what happened to 'em? A boy in charge—'

‘No, please, my cousin - it is family news, depend on it! They mean no threat to you. You must not think of—'

‘Must not, sir?' Hampson interrupted him coldly. Charles felt his hands cold and clammy, and a sickness in his stomach.

‘I beg you, sir, I beg you,' he said desperately. 'My wife is so near to her time - you must not permit violence here. Let him come and go. I promise there will be no trouble.’

Hampson was deep in thought for a moment or two, perhaps the worst moments of Charles's life. Then he said to the lookout, 'Let 'em come. Keep your men out of sight. I want 'em to think this is their place. He might be bringing information we can use.'

‘And afterwards?' the lookout said, licking his lips. Hampson shook his head.

‘No, let 'em go - unless I give the word otherwise. I'll be hidden here, I'll know what passes. If the boy doesn't go back, there'll be reprisals all right. I'll be listening, so Mr Morland won't feel inclined to pass him any information to take back.'

‘Thank you, thank you,' Charles said. 'I'll say nothing, I promise.’

*

William had been prepared to have to refuse all kind invitations, to press for his departure against a natural desire for him to stay and chat; but his Cousin Charles seemed as eager for him to leave as his orders could ever have made him. Altogether the atmosphere in the house was strange. Charles received him kindly, but with a strained inattention, as though he were listening all the time for some distant signal. He read Thomas's letter in silence, and when he had finished, looked up at William blankly, as if he had not taken it in.

‘I can wait while you write a reply, if you wish, sir,' William said.

‘Oh - no - no reply, I thank you. There is nothing to reply to,' Charles said awkwardly. There was a silence.

‘Your sister is well, sir, I am empowered to tell you, and enjoying the Season in London. And her daughter flourishes. My mother is expecting an increase to her family at any time. My father—'

‘Yes, yes, very good,' Charles said hastily. 'I am glad of it, glad, but should you not be returning to your ship?'

‘Very well, sir,' William said, greatly puzzled. 'Have I any message to give the captain?'

‘Tell him I thank him for the news. My wife and I are well - she is expecting a child almost daily. I will write when things are more settled. Go along now, and thank you for coming.’

William could do no other than allow himself to be hustled out. Something, he was sure, was painfully wrong, and the first thing that presented itself to his mind was that Cousin Charles had gone over to the other side. That would account for his embarrassment, his unwillingness to exchange news, and his desire to hurry William off the premises. But it would be a difficult thing to get across to his captain, for Charles was his brother-in-law as well as his friend, and he would not want to believe that he could betray his country and family.

When William had gone, Charles stood a moment in silence, clutching the letter and pondering. He was tempted to destroy it, burn it before Hampson came in to read it; but if he did, the men would still come to take the boats, and unwarned, Hampson might fire on them, resist, and provoke the landing party to greater violence. He felt bitter, bitter that he should have been placed in this situation, where his own brother-in-law was his enemy. Philippe and Eugenie had trapped him here, and for a moment he hated them, and longed above all to be able to leave, run away back to England and safety. But Eugenie above in her chamber was great with his child, and that bound him more effectively than any chains.

Soon the news came down the Bay that a great battle had been fought on the banks of Brandywine Creek, and the British, despite their tiredness, had defeated the Americans. Forewarned of the intention of the navy to destroy all small craft on the Bay, Hampson had sent orders for as many craft as could be moved to be sailed far up the creeks, or hidden in the Choptank marshes. The larger vessels were to try to evade capture by dodging about from one inlet to another, keeping ahead of the British ships, until it was possible to slip round behind them to safety. In this way many vessels were saved, although others were captured or burnt. The landing party that called on York Plantation came in an armed cutter, looking for the
bateau,
and when they could not find her, broke up every small boat in the place. Hampson gave orders for his men to offer no resistance and to keep out of sight, and himself posed as the master of the house, for Charles was otherwise engaged.

‘What's that noise?' the British lieutenant asked sharply, as a cry was heard from upstairs just as he was about to leave.

‘My wife, sir, in labour of our first child,' Hampson said smoothly.

The lieutenant frowned a moment, and then bowed. ‘Your pardon, sir. I won't intrude on you any longer.’

Late that night, after a long and hard labour, Eugenie produced her first child. It was a girl, and they named her Charlotte, after her father. When Charlotte was less than a month old, the news came that the British had taken Philadelphia, thus opening up the Delaware River to British ships, even as the Chesapeake had been opened. And shortly after that came the news that Philippe's boat had been intercepted trying to land arms and ammunition on the Delaware coast. The British ship that intercepted her fired a warning shot, but it was badly aimed, and struck her hull very low. Part of the cargo of ammunition exploded, blowing out the bows of the ship, and she sank in a very few minutes. The British ship had put out boats, but though they had swept the area, there appeared to be no survivors.

The birth of his child, combined with the death of his father-in-law, were sufficient to complete the change of heart that had been slowly taking place in Charles. It was impossible for him to continue to function with divided loyalties, and though he was barely aware of it, it was essential for survival that he should give his whole heart to one side or the other. He had resented the invasion of his home and his private world by the Patriot Party, but he resented even more when his own countrymen came to burn his boats.

The result of the struggle was inevitable from the moment his tiny, helpless daughter was placed in his arms, still damp and red and exhausted from the effort of being born. His adolescent disappointment with Eugenie had been fading all that year, and disappeared entirely the moment she became mother of his child, and a fierce determination filled him to protect and provide for them, at whatever cost. The news of Philippe's death crystallized his resolve. He had liked and admired his father-in-law, and had, in marrying Eugenie, tacitly promised to serve Philippe's ends in protecting the estate and the heritage. Philippe died at the hands of the British, and in doing so made his son-in-law an American. York Plantation would survive, Charles swore by the head of his infant daughter; and Philippe's grandchildren would inherit it, to live upon it as free Americans.

*

The
Ariadne,
being the mercury of the fleet, was usually the first to receive news, and handled such a volume of it that Thomas did not at first notice the tale of the sinking of a privateer sloop, the
Sainte Jeanne,
running guns from Martinique to Delaware. It was only on second thoughts that he checked the name of her captain, and then sank into deep and gloomy thought.

He had received coldly William's suggestion that Charles might have become sympathetic to the rebels, and found for himself plenty of reasons for Charles's apparent strangeness, though none of them were entirely convincing. But the discovery that Charles's father-in-law had been running guns for the rebels seemed evidence conclusive. Perhaps, he thought, it was not an entirely voluntary betrayal - if his wife were about to give birth he might find himself in a painful position. But even so, it was a betrayal, and Thomas felt it more a betrayal of himself than of England. Added to his disappointment with Flora's letters, and his need of leave after almost three years continuously at sea, it made him morose.