beans, and a fair tobacco crop gone to rot if they don't get it in soon. Looks like they tried. Most of the slave cabins are empty.'
'Run off?'
'Probably. There's smoke coming from the house and the kitchen shed, so somebody's to home. Only slaves I could see were dressed good.'
'House servants, your man Mollow suspected.'
'Aye, most like. Nice big house, too. And barns and sheds. Four wagons but no stock other than a saddle horse or two, maybe coach horses. Livestock enough.'
'Lumber and tools.' Alan brightened at the possibilities. 'No one would come this far to forage, would they?'
'Hard to say exactly. But we could be gone in a day,' Burgess told him. 'The cove here almost cuts the neck in two. There's one poor road to guard, and we could see anyone coming across the fields from the edge of the woods. It's not three hundred paces to the far shore, and half of the distance is marshy. It'd be a killing ground for a dozen riflemen.'
'By God, let's do it!' Alan said. 'We can take the place and use whatever they have to repair the barges. There's meat on the hoof and a whole parish full of vegetables to eat, plus whatever else we may find for our use.'
'Let us allow Governour to decide,' Burgess cautioned. 'He's senior to both of us, and more used to this sort of thing.'
Governour Chiswick took another quarter of an hour to make his way back to the beach, his rifle cradled in one arm but no longer at cock. His walk was looser, less concerned with ducking at the first odd noise as he had been when he left.
'I went as far as the far shore,' he began. 'Do you notice anything?'
Alan wondered what he was talking about. He looked the same as he had when he had departed on his scout; filthy and unshaven, just like the rest of them, and stinking of tidal flats and wet wool.
'Listen,' Governour said. 'The bombardment has stopped.'
Once it was pointed out, Alan could notice the sudden absence of the muffled drumming of artillery. It had been such a part of their lives for the last few days that he had quite forgotten what dead silence was.
'One can see Yorktown from the far shore, just barely,' Chiswick said. 'After the smoke blew away, it's fairly clear. Dead as a grave.'
'Then the army's gone on without us,' Burgess said, sagging in weariness and defeat.
'I did not say that.' Governour frowned. 'As far as I can see, the army is still there, but there is no more shelling. I thought I saw boats ferrying men back from Gloucester to the Yorktown side. Now what does that suggest to you?'
'They could not break out,' Burgess surmised.
'I believe that Lord Cornwallis's plans were upset by that storm last night, and he may be evacuating Tarleton and Simcoe's men over with his to make a last stand where he at least has entrenchments enough for all of them.'
'No point to that. It was break out or go under last night,' Alan said bleakly. 'Maybe the French and Rebels stopped shelling because there is nothing left to shell. Why shell beaten troops ready to…'
'Surrender,' Governour agreed softly.
'Does that apply to us?' Alan felt a chill.
'It had better not,' Governour said. 'Oh, your Navy men would get decent treatment, but I have little hopes for Loyalists once the regulars march off and leave us in the care of militia or irregulars.'
'Then we don't surrender.' Burgess smartened up. 'Alan, you're a sailor, you have boats. You can get us out to sea, can't you?'
'Of course, I can,' Alan promised, wondering to himself just how he was going to accomplish that miracle. Still, they were at liberty, and no one knew where they were… yet.
CHAPTER 11
They took possession of the plantation in the middle of the afternoon, after watching it for hours to see if there would be any surprises in store. They crept up through the empty slave cabins to the back of the house, exploring the barns and sheds as they went. As one party under Burgess Chiswick guarded the road and open ground to the west, the rest of them burst onto the grounds suddenly like a fox in a hen coop, raising about as much commotion until the sight of their weapons silenced all resistance.
There were about thirty-odd slaves, all women and children or very old men worn down to nubbins by a generation of hard work in the fields. There were perhaps half a dozen finer-dressed house slaves to do for their masters, including a cook, maids, and manservants.
There was an overseer, an older man with white hair who had been snoring away under the influence of a stone jug of rum, with a lusty black wench in his tumbledown shack near the main house.
'It's almost like home,' Alan observed after they had secured the place. The house was magnificent, a homey, pale brick construction with a split-pine shingle roof; it was two stories tall and as imposing as any prosperous farmstead back in England. There was a squarish central core, the original house, and two wings extending to either side so that it made an imposing sight facing the York River and the wharves. There was a brick-laid terrace in back that led to various storehouses and the stables. There were six matched horses there, sleek and glossy and tossing their manes as though they were ready for a brisk canter up the road to the west to see the sights. There were also a few saddle horses, as well as a pen of mules for field work. The coach house held an open carriage and a closed equipage, both as freshly painted and shiny as any duke's coach in London, obviously not locally made, and imported at some expense.
Entering the house reminded him even more of home. The floors were tight-laid oak parquet, covered with fine Turkey carpets. Heavy satin and velvet drapes hung by the large windows, and the walls were papered with what looked like new China paper. The quality of the furnishings—the brass and crystal, the framed pictures and the bright painted woodwork—was astonishingly good. The ceiling in the foyer had been painted into an imaginative scene replete with cherubs, clouds, and birds in blue and gilt by an artist of some talent as well. He was lost in admiration of the foyer when the mistress of the house and her entourage came down the stairs to see who had disturbed her peace.
'Well?' she demanded primly, her chest heaving in anger. 'To what do I owe this invasion of my property? Who are you…
Alan suddenly felt dirtier and shabbier than he had felt moments before, after being soaked all night, muddied with silt and sand.
'Lieutenant Chiswick, ma'am, of the North Carolina Volunteers. And you might be?' Governour said, sweeping off his wide hat to make a decent bow to her.
'Mrs. Elihu Hayley,' she replied. 'And was it necessary to come bargin' into my land and my house at the point of a gun, sir?'
'I assure you, ma'am, were circumstances different we would have come calling decently. You have nothing to fear as long as we are forced to remain, which shall not be any longer than necessary. We shall attempt not to discomfort you and yours, as much as the situation will admit of.'
'I have quartered soldiers before, sir,' she said, warming to the situation but still a bit peeved. 'My husband is a captain in the Virginia Militia, or should I say, he was. Had I known, or been asked…'
'Hmm.' Governour colored. 'I fear you do not quite grasp our identity, ma'am. We are a Loyalist unit. This is Midshipman Lewrie of His Britannic Majesty's Navy.'
'Your servant, ma'am,' Alan said, making a leg to her as well.
'God save us!' She blanched at the news. 'I thought…'
'Your pardon for any misunderstandings, ma'am,' Governour said. 'There is only you in the house, I take it?'
'There is my son and my sister—and the servants o' course,' she stammered, her chest still heaving in alarm. Alan thought it quite a nice chest, better than he had seen lately, at least.
'Your pardon, ma'am, for casting any aspersions on a lady of quality, but I must assure myself as to the
