The French Admiral

Alan crawled into the tent and found his own bedding. He stretched out and flung a rough blanket over his body so he could lie in the dark and watch the tiny flickers of the fire on the wall of the tent, wide awake and staring up at the faint shadows of the boughs over his head as they swayed in the faint wind and moonlight.

'Sir?' Cony said softly from beyond the tent flap.

'Aye, Cony.'

'They's a flask o' rum by yer head, sir, ta help ya caulk the better,' Cony told him, already rolled into his own blankets against the damp night chill.

Thank God, Alan thought, fumbling about until his hand fell on a small leather bottle and withdrew the stopper. Neat rum was not something he normally preferred, but tonight it was welcome. He took a small sip and winced at the bite of the rum and its sharp odor.

The bedding rustled as he lifted the bottle to his lips once more, and Alan could swear he could already feel the tiny movements of the many bugs drawn to him by his warmth, his scent, and the hope for blood. That was one of the worst parts of serving on land—being awakened by the bite of something too small to be fought, or finding the welts in the morning and feeling the fleas begin to shift about in his clothing. He had already had several ticks withdrawn from his skin; each time he was filled with loathing at the brutes and the way they had swelled by feeding on him. At least the Navy did not have to put up with the bastards and could fumigate and rid a ship of most lice, fleas, and other insects. Roaches were the main worry on a ship, along with the occasional brave rat that ventured out of the orlop and bilges.

God, I wish I could just scream, or something! he thought; instead of having to sham all this cow-stupid calm! I swear! All these bugs, the filth and ordure… sleeping on the cold ground? Do I get back aboard Desperate and out to sea, I'll never complain about Navy life again!

Realizing how desperate he was to make such a vow, he could have pinched himself to see if he was not already dreaming. But he had to wait a long time for sleep to come that night, while the ground trembled ever so gently with the vibrations of the approaching army.

'Pull out?' Governour Chiswick spat. 'Damme, that's a wrench.'

'Pull out to where?' Burgess asked.

'Back into the inner fortifications closer to Yorktown,' Governour informed them, waving a feeble hand toward the east.

'Bah, das ist…' Heros von Muecke searched for the right word in English but failed to find anything suitable. 'Sheiss!' he finally spat. 'Ve here der bastards can skin!'

'The Star Redoubt can control the western approaches to the town and everything else is either marsh or ravine,' Governour said. 'They don't think our position is favorable. It's not just us, mind. The entire outer defense line is being pulled back. On the other bank of the creek's ravines there's high ground… where we can dig in. Lord Cornwallis doesn't think he has the spare troops to man such a long perimeter.'

'The hell we can't!' Burgess bragged. 'Just let the shits try!'

'We have our orders,' Governour said.

Alan, who had been sitting back in the pavilion and listening to the argument, had only one thought: to get his artillery evacuated. Then there might even be a chance to reembark the guns into Desperate, take a much-needed bath, and get aboard ship and away from this nightmare.

'My guns,' he said. 'I need horse teams and limbers.'

'Will those carriages hold up?' Governour asked.

'Of course they will,' Alan snapped. 'For the two guns mounted on them, that is. The third gun needs a heavy wagon to take the barrel and a second to take the truck and gun tools.'

'I'll send a rider to ask for them, then,' Governour said. 'That means we have to stay here 'til Mister Lewrie's guns are out of here, though. I'll tell the staff that, too.'

This time there would be no thought of dismantling the ramparts.

The tents and shelters were taken down and folded up, the personal gear was bundled into field packs, the magazines emptied once more and the guns rolled out of position, ready for the horse teams to arrive. But the third gun could only be held in abeyance. It took the effort of all the naval party to lift the weight of a long nine barrel from the gun truck with heavy tackle slung below the piece, then laid out on the ground on a section of heavy netting.

When the teams did arrive, it was a scrawny pack of beasts that had been despatched. The grazing had not been the best, and the corn and oats were directed to the troops' diet instead of the horses. With the third barrel in the wagon, finally, it took a double team of eight of the horses to draw it, and the men had to assist the remaining animals with their own muscle power, up through the draw, down the back side, along the edge of the marshes to the main road, sometimes unharnessing some horses to double up whenever a gun bogged down.

They rolled into Yorktown and were left on their own after the North Carolina troops and the Jagers were sent off to their new quarters. Alan bade everyone a hearty good-bye, even von Muecke, and then sat down by the side of the road to wait for instructions since the army staff seemed to have forgotten about them completely. After getting thoroughly bored with an hour of inactivity, Alan wandered off to the docks.

'Excuse me, sir,' he said, doffing his hat to a naval lieutenant who was directing the work of a party loading barges to supply the troops across the river.

'Yes, what is it?'

'I am in charge of three guns from Desperate, sir,' Alan said. 'And we were posted on the far bank of the creek until this morning. Now no one has a clue about what we are to do with them. There are three long nines, two on field carriages and one still on a naval carriage.'

'Well, why do you not ask the teamsters?'

'They only want their animals and wagons back and have no instructions as to taking us anyplace else, sir.'

'Damme, what a muddle!' the lieutenant swore. 'Trust the army to have the brains of a crop-sick dominee do-little! See the headquarters, back of the town.'

'Aye, sir.'

He had not gone a hundred yards, though, before he ran into David Avery and gunner's mate Tulley, and gave a great shout to get their attention.

'Alan!' David cried back. 'How do you keep?'

'Full of fleas but main well, considering,' Alan replied, very glad to see someone from the ship once more. 'Look here, the army has no idea about what to do with my guns, and…'

'Gawd a-mighty, Mister Lewrie, wot ya been doin' wi' my guns?' Tulley exploded, seeing the impromptu field carriages.

'I wrote the captain of them,' Alan snapped. 'He seemed most impressed, Mister Tulley.' Treghues had indeed replied to Lewrie's letter with a most kind answer, giving faint praise for his initiative and creativity, but it was praise nonetheless, and that from a man who had recently been willing to feed Lewrie to the fires of hell and help shovel some good, hot-burning sea-coal into the bargain, so Alan was having none of it.

'Damn, there's two guns wot we'll never get back now!' Tulley spat.

'Get back?' Alan asked, perplexed.

'Captain Treghues asked for some of his artillery back, since we were the only ship left in harbor of any size that was even partially armed,' David explained. 'When Cornwallis decided to withdraw into the inner defense line, the staff said we could have them, since they were on naval trucks and unsuitable for a siege work. But now…'

'Even the smashers?' Alan wondered, asking about the carronades.

'Well, no, they do want to hold onto those,' David said, taking a keen interest in the field carriages himself. 'Even so, we are leaving four pieces on the Gloucester side, but we got my nine-pounder back aboard this morning, and we can refit your third gun. But these…'

'What if we can get them back aboard right away?' Alan pressed, eager to get off the land. 'We can knock the trails and limbers off, put them back on their own small wheels and axles. What would you wager the army doesn't even know of them?'

'They know,' David said sadly.

'Damn,' Lewrie groaned in misery.