The French Admiral

Gwynn could joke about it—he was a senior warrant, a man who was retained in peace or war aboard ship. In war he was in charge of all the artillery, powder, and shot. In peacetime he could live aboard ship with his family in Desperate as long as she was laid up in ordinary and her guns stored in some warehouse ashore. A gunner's mate like Tulley would be turned out onto the beach to make his own way, but a man with a warrant from the Admiralty had a lifelong living if he so chose, since his skills were valuable; more so than those of a lieutenant, who would go on half pay once he was no longer needed.

So Gwynn was not going ashore, much as he might crab about the conditions they might face. He was staying aboard ship.

Tulley was going ashore, though, along with Lieutenant Railsford, who would command Desperate's batteries. There would be full crews for all guns, which would require a gun captain each piece, a quarter-gunner for each half-battery of three guns, a rammer, powderman, shotman, a ship's boy to fetch powder cartridges, and only two hands for tackles, since they would not be trying to roll guns up a sloping deck to firing position. That was still seven men per gun, and represented nearly half of Desperate's allotted 160-man crew.

Of the midshipmen's mess, only young Carey would stay aboard to help supervise the remaining crew with the sailing-master and the captain. The quartermaster would stay, but his mates were available as senior petty officers. The bosun, Mister Coke, would stay, along with his mate Weems, the sailmaker and his crew, cooper, carpenter and the mast captains, and able seamen from the tops.

Leaving the ship presented a problem for Alan beyond the wrench to his soul at going into siege warfare on land, for which he was so unprepared; what was he to do with the contents of his sea-chest?

A locked sea-chest was fair game in the holds to anyone with a clasp knife and a little privacy. Even if left in the midshipmen's mess, it was vulnerable to pilfering. Alan had valuable writing paper in it, books and shirts and silk stockings, his prize-money certificates, and the records of his meager sea career, which he would have to present some time in the future to gain his money. And there was that gold. All the rouleaux of guineas—beautiful one-guinea and two-guinea pieces that could vanish in a twinkling! They were much too heavy to carry on his person, and much too valuable to leave behind.

There was no way he could confide in anyone aboard to safeguard the gold for him without admitting he had pilfered it from the French prize Ephegenie, and that was damned near a hanging offense. Even the mild and supportive Cheatham would not countenance it should he learn of it.

What was worse, he had no confidence in ever returning to Desperate. The French fleet was blockading the bay and the mouth of the river, and it would be storm season before they departed. There was a French army on the James shore of the York peninsula, and Cornwallis was going into fortifications to withstand a siege that might result in the surrender of the British army if Graves and Hood didn't get their act together soon. Desperate could end up a French prize of war, and his sea-chest could end up looted. He could become a prisoner of war, confined to a hulk or dungeon by sneering Rebel or French captors, stripped of every possession on his person except his clothes. Desperate might be burned to the waterline to prevent her use by the victors. And all his gold with her!

Damn Treghues, I wouldn't put it past him to set fire to her, he thought in an exquisite agony of indecision. Then I am once more as poverty-stricken as a pregnant bawd. And in prison to boot. Oh, God, I should never have pinched the stuff. I knew it at the time, but I needed it so dev'lish bad! If I'm not killed in the battle, I'm stuffed in irons until the war's over and out of the Navy without a hope, and out all my money, too. What's to happen to me then? What career would be open to me without prospects or sponsors or gold enough for security?

Still, officers were usually released on their own means it they gave their parole to no longer bear arms against their captors, and their personal property was usually respected. There might be a chance.

Taking great care not to be seen, Alan, in packing a canvas sea bag of things to sustain life ashore, slipped into his hoard and stuffed a deal box of two hundred guineas in one-guinea coins into his bag. If all else failed, he would have enough to survive confinement.

Might be enough to bribe my way into better quarters or something, he thought ruefully. Anyone thrown into debtor's orison could find good treatment and victuals if he had money enough on his person; how could a French or Rebel prison be any different? Besides, if he was ashore and in the tender mercies of the army long enough, a little gold could come in handy for delicacies or drink. His whore in Charleston had sneered at the Rebel Congress's currency as 'not worth a Continental,' so a gold piece could command a lot of clout in an economy starved of specie.

'Ready ta play lobsterback?' Mister Monk asked, rolling through the small midshipmen's mess from his quarters aft in the officer's wardroom. He smelt pleasantly of rum.

'Aye, Mister Monk,' Alan replied, drawing the strings taut on his sea bag. 'Though I fear I don't know the first thing about it.'

'Anythin' ya need ashore?'

'A telescope, perhaps, sir. I doubt a sextant would prove useful. Or any of my books.'

'I've given the first lieutenant two o' the day glasses, an' one o' the night glasses,' Monk said. 'All we kin spare, in faith.'

'I fear for the contents of my chest, though, sir,' Alan ventured hesitantly. 'Tis all I own in this world, like any sailor…'

'We shift 'em inta the wardroom fer safe-keepin' once yer gone,' Monk announced. 'An' y'll be back aboard now an' agin ta fetch fresh.'

'That would be most kind, Mister Monk, indeed,' Alan said with a lively sense of relief. Monk would keep a good eye on things, as good an eye as he could until something dreadful happened to the ship.

With a lighter burden on his mind, Alan shouldered his sea bag and went on deck to muster with the hands to board the boats for shore.

CHAPTER 8

For days on end their tasks were easy. The army had already dug the fortifications for them—raised banks of earth shoulder high. For the battery of naval guns, the rampart was only waist high, and the native earth had been left in place like a ramp that spanned the trenches. On this they constructed 'decks' of pine lumber, set up their trucks, and slung their artillery pieces.

The soldiers had already prepared the ground before the ramparts as well, having sewn nasty abatis, sharpened stakes driven into the ground to slow down and channel onrushing attackers into fire lanes before the guns and the few swivels allotted them. The ramparts themselves also bristled with sharpened stakes to prevent their being crossed by even the rashest Rebel soldier. Not that they represented a real defense, even with the fascines and gabions to stiffen them.

They were nakedly in the open. On their right was York River, and the so-called Star Redoubt to their right rear. There was a long and connected fortification on the right on their side of the Yorktown Creek and its steep ravine. Far away on their left, there were some other redoubts, small oblong semi-forts, but none of them tied together by any connecting trenches or earthworks. The army officers who had sited them in position had assured them that there was nothing to fear, for a determined foe had little hope of climbing the hills to get to their portion of the outer defense line. Far away on their left was the best approach route, across the lower-lying Wormsley's Pond and Wormsley Creek, where there were more redoubts and connected trenches.

Lewrie was pretty much on his own most of the time, since once he had come ashore the efforts of the Desperate's crew had been dissipated by the needs of the army. Lieutenant Railsford and two half-batteries had been sent over to the Gloucester side, where the nine-pounders formed the core of Tarrleton's and Simcoe's artillery, other than light field pieces suitable for dragoons and cavalry units. Happily, Midshipman Forrester had gone with him. Gunner's mate Tulley, Sitwell from the fo'c's'le and most of his men had gone into the inner defense line with the carronades and one of the nine-pounders to make up a full battery of guns stripped from lighter naval units of the same caliber. Unhappily, Midshipman David Avery had been assigned to those guns and that battery. Alan had been sent out to this rashly exposed and isolated fortification on the far bank of Yorktown Creek, and it wasn't even a redoubt with four or more solid walls that made one feel safe. It was merely a redan, two walls connected at an angle of no more than thirty degrees. One of his nine-pounders was at the apex of the two walls, and one on each end. In between, there were two light 6-pounders from the army on