well, sir,' the ensign said with stiff pride.
'Ah, I see,' Alan replied, trying to ignore the two unloaded and useless pistols stuck into his pockets. 'Seen much action, have you?'
'Quite a bit,' Chiswick boasted. 'We're light infantry. The Lord Cornwallis uses us for scouting and skirmishing—first in and last out of a battle. We can keep up with Tarleton's Legion when the line infantry would be worn out.'
'Ah, Tarleton,' Alan said, 'I have heard of him. Something of a hard man, I'm told.'
'These are hard times,' the ensign said. 'The Rebels in the Carolinas are not exactly gentle, either, I assure you.'
'So a girl once said.'
'And where was that, sir?'
'A whorehouse in Charlestown.' Alan grinned.
'Really? Which one?' Ensign Chiswick asked, with a first sign of humor lighting his face.
'Lady Jane's, just off the Cooper River.'
'I am not familiar with that one.'
'Well, Maude's had moved to Wilmington and t'other had been shut down for brawling,' Alan said.
'I am familiar with Maude's, however.' Chiswick grinned broadly. 'Too bad she and her girls could not accompany us, but Lord Cornwallis had us strip to the bone for this march to Virginia, and we had to leave most of the camp followers behind. Damned shame, really.'
'So there is no sport to be had hereabouts?' Alan asked.
'No, more's the pity,' Chiswick spat. 'You may get your laundry done but that's about all, and Yorktown is nothing much.'
'Speaking of laundry,' Alan said, reminded of the letter he still bore in the tail pocket of his short uniform jacket. 'Do you know of some woman named Rodgers? Her daughter Bess bade me carry a letter to her. I believe she associates with a Sergeant Tompkin in Tarleton's Legion.'
'I know both of them,' Chiswick said. 'They are across the river on the Gloucester side. No need for cavalry over here yet. Simcoe's Queen's Rangers and the Legion are both over there. Look here, where does a midshipman stand in the scheme of things?'
'Damned low,' Alan had to confess with a rueful expression. 'Petty-officer level, an officer-in-training. I have been in two years almost.'
'An ensign is the most junior officer one can be,' Chiswick said, offering his hand. 'My name is Burgess, by the way, Burgess Chiswick.'
'Alan Lewrie.'
They established that Burgess was a year older, nineteen, and had been with the colors for a year with the North Carolina Volunteers. By a fortunate fluke, he had not been at King's Mountain with Major Ferguson, the inventor of the superlative firearm he bore, but he had been at Cowpens attached to Tarleton's Legion and the light infantry that accompanied that body.
'And what happened at Cowpens… lord, what a name for a town?'
'Wasn't a town,' Burgess informed him. 'Just a big Meadow, a clearing used for cattle feeding and selling. And they beat our arses there.'
'Who, the Rebels?'
'Of course, the Rebels,' Burgess said. 'They're good as informal fighters, sniping from ambush and all of that, but we mostly had beaten them in more formal battles. The hardest part was catching up with them and bringing them to action, or pursuing them once they were beat. But lately, they've been beating us. Wiped out Major Ferguson and his command at King's Mountain in the Piedmont, mostly Loyalist troops with him, but good ones. And then at Cowpens. Took our charge like regulars and then charged us. Governour and I were happy to see the light of day next morning.'
'Governour?' Alan wondered.
'My brother, our lieutenant,' Burgess said proudly. 'He joined up three years ago, being the oldest. I had to stay home until… well, when we lost our lands, there didn't seem to be much point of me not taking the colors any longer.'
'What happened to them?'
'Damned Rebels burned us out!' Burgess glared angrily. 'Shot all our livestock or drove it off, fired our crops or trampled them flat. Set fire to our barns and stables, torched the house, ran most of the slaves off except for a few house servants. My family had to flee to Wilmington with nothing much more than the clothes they stood up in. Thirty years of work, all gone.'
'Where was this?'
'Below Campbelltown, in the lower Cape Fear country.'
That did not tell Alan much more, since he was not familiar with anything in the Carolinas beyond the harbors, though he had a rough idea from the description that it was in North Carolina, behind Wilmington.
'Perhaps you can regain your lands when we have beaten the French and the Rebels,' Alan offered, trying to think ot something hopeful.
Burgess turned to stare at him as though he was the featured act in some traveling raree show. 'Where the devil have you been lately? We shall never get our lands back, nor do I have any hopes for victory any longer, not with a French army over on the other side of the James from us at the momennt and God knows who else gathering on this place. what did you fellows in our wonderful Navy do with them?'
'They beat us.' Alan frowned, dropping his voice to a whisper to avoid sharing his thoughts with his crew, which was still trudging along in his rear. He sketched out the progress of the battle which had taken place a few days before, expressing his own distaste for the way it had transpired.
'Well, perhaps there is hope your admiral can get back to grips with this Frenchman de Grasse,' Burgess said, mellowing a little. 'We could do nothing to stop the landing. They had put four ships in the mouth of the York to keep our ships in while they were landing their troops and guns.'
'So that is why no one interfered with the transports. I thought Captain Symonds was shirking or something to not try for them.'
'Who's he?'
'Senior naval officer present, in command of the frigate
'Then he could not have done anything in any case,' Burgess said. 'They landed all his artillery for the fortifications, all eighteen-pounders. We only have field artillery with the army. You'll be fortunate to get out of this as soon as your ship is repaired. We could be hard-pressed for a few weeks as long as the French are present.'
'Well, if there is no sport to be had in this Yorktown, I shall indeed be grateful to put back to sea,' Alan said as their senior officers called a halt.
They had left town on the main Williamsburg road to the west and had crossed the line of fortifications and entrenchments before what Burgess had informed Alan was the Star Redoubt, and had crossed Yorktown Creek, a sluggish body of water indeed. Burgess gave him the further information that it had not rained in weeks and all the creeks were low, which was limiting the efficiency of the mills in the area, where they had hoped to grind the corn they had confiscated on their march up the James River. Many of the cavalry and draft animals were grain fed, and were already suffering from the long march from Wilmington and the peregrinations of the army in the Virginias so far attempted. The troops had also been forced to eat their corn green—which had not done their digestions any good—soaking it and frying it in their mess kits instead of baking it to make a more palatable bread.
Once cleared through the lines, men from the North Carolina Volunteers spread out into ragged skirmish order, ahead and to either side of the road as they continued their search for wood. After about another mile of travel, they reached a fork in the road, the fork bending back to the south-east and the main road continuing onward inland to the west. Another halt was called for while the officers consulted.
'Most of this is second growth an' damned scrawny, sir,' Coke said, peering about them. 'Whatcha think of it, Chips?'
'Trash,' the carpenter replied. 'Musta been cut over a long time ago.'
'If we take the fork, we shall end up in mostly cleared land,' Lieutenant Chiswick pointed out, gesturing with his riding crop. 'And the army most likely has cut over the area before the outlying parallels for materials to stiffen
