The French Admiral

'What time did he go, do you think?' Alan said, thinking.

'We think around five this morning, just before first light,' Governour explained, impatient to even bother. 'One of the sentries on the perimeter thinks he saw someone heading off west, but he thought it was one of our men going to relieve himself. And the sentry who lost his tunic was guarding the house. He got off at four, and took an hour with that Sookie, and when he turned out his coat was gone, so it had to be between four and five.'

'Sookie!' Alan gasped. 'I'll bet her mistress put her up to that. They must have planned it.'

'Of course they planned it,' Governour fumed.

'He went on foot?' Alan asked.

'Yes. No horses are missing.'

'It is two hours up the peninsula, the roads are so bad,' Alan speculated. 'Say he left at five, so he could not get there before eight in the morning on foot, even if he knew the country. Take an hour to get someone to act and get a party on the roads. If they sent cavalry, they could have gotten here by eleven to start scouting us. Hell, even infantry could have been here by now!'

'Hmm, there is that,' Governour said, puffing out his cheeks as he studied his watch. ''Tis just gone one in the afternoon.'

'There is the possibility he could have come across a snake, or no one believed him,' Alan said.

'No, they'd believe him if he got there. I would.'

'So where are they, then?' Alan asked.

'Cornwallis is supposed to be surrendering this morning, as are Tarleton and Simcoe on this side of the river. Perhaps they are waiting until the formalities are over before gathering up our little band of stragglers. We hid our true numbers from the brat, damn his blood, so they may not think eighteen or twenty survivors are all that important. A stupid reason, I grant you, but stupider things have happened in war.'

'Take this whole damned campaign as a case in point,' Alan said. 'But, they wouldn't be coming to collect survivors, they'd be coming with blood in their eyes, Governour. We killed six of them yesterday, did we not? Why aren't they here already, howling for revenge?'

'I don't know,' Governour admitted, a hard thing for him to do. 'We've seen no boats going downriver, so no one has raised the hue and cry yet. Nothing stirring on those French ships blockading the river to the east. Look, once we get the boats loaded, what are the chances of getting out of here?'

'Just like I said last night. Horrible,' Alan said. 'There's no cover out there in the marshes. Big Island isn't high enough to hide a small dog. We put our bows outside Monday Creek and those French will blow us out of the water with artillery. With this outflowing tide, we could gain two knots, and the wind is fair enough, but it's also fair for a frigate to run us down north of the Guinea Neck shoals before we could get ten miles.'

'We should have left last night,' Governour said petulantly.

'In boats that would have capsized without the leeboards and decent keels.' Alan sniffed, wondering just how thick in the skull one had to be to wear a red coat and go for a soldier.

'I grow weary of your attitude, you stubborn jackass,' Governour said. 'A couple of years in the navy doesn't make you a genius at nautical matters.'

'But it beats what you know of boats by a long chalk,' Alan shot right back. 'I'm not King Canute, and neither are you, we can't change things to suit. We cannot get away until dark, we've already discussed that. Now, what do we do until then? You tell me, you're the bloody soldier! But don't come raw with me.'

Oh, shit, he thought. This brute's going to kill me for that, see if he doesn't. But he'll not blame this on me. God, are we fucked for fair. The Rebels an' Frogs are going to come down here and knacker us like sheep. What's the bloody difference, him or them; now or later?

Governour did indeed appear as if murder was on his mind, his face turning purple with anger, and his hands twitching out of control. But after a long minute in which they locked stares and would be damned if either would be the first to look away, Governour spun on his heels and stalked off on his long legs, hands jabbed together in the small of his back, and Alan let out a soft breath of relief that he was still alive.

His relief was short, however, for Governour Chiswick turned just as suddenly and stalked back toward him, and it was all Alan could do to stand his ground without fleeing into the woods.

'You're a know-it-all Captain Sharp, Lewrie,' Governour said in a rasp, not a sword's length away from him. 'Damn your blood, sir. And damn you for being right. My apologies for rowing at you.'

A hand was extended, from which Alan almost flinched until he realized it didn't hold a weapon. They shook hands.

'Sorry I lost my temper as well, Governour,' Alan said warmly, his legs almost turning to jelly with surprise.

'Well, until dusk, there's nothing to do but do what soldiers do best,' Governour said, smiling as much as he could while still grinding his teeth. 'Wait. Take positions in the woods by our preparations and hope for the best.'

'Have everything ready for a quick getaway,' Alan added.

'If they come, Alan, we shall have no chance of retreat, and damned little of surrender, either, you know?' Governour softened. 'I believe we can prevail, but until we see how many troops come, we won't know. I wish to God I could have gotten Burgess away, for my family's sake. The rest of our regiment, what's left of it, is going into Rebel hands this day. I have to save what I can. They're my neighbors, my friends, they trust me… oh, damme for a weak, puling…'

'I have a crew to worry about as well, Governour, men from my own ship,' Alan told him. 'They're depending on me, too.'

'You understand. Good,' Governour said. 'Good lad.' Maybe not as well as you'd like, Alan thought. I'd like to get the hell out of here with a whole skin, and damn the ones who run too slow. But you can't say that aloud, can you, can't even think it, but have to go all noble and talk of Duty and the King and Honor and be the last arse-hole into the boat. God help me, but He must know I'm such a canting hypocrite! If you're dead-serious in what you say, Governour, then you're a hell of a lot better than I'll ever be.

They finished loading the boats and drew them out nearly fifty yards off the mouth of the creek, where there was water deep enough to float them. The North Carolina Volunteers filtered off into the woods with their rifles and cartridge pouches to stand guard, and Alan put his own men on watch as well, drilling them once more on loading and firing the Ferguson rifle, just in case. They ate a late dinner of cold boiled meat and dry cornbread, while over by Yorktown, the shattered remnants of a once-proud army marched into captivity with their flags cased, dressed in the last finery the quartermasters had issued, instead of letting it be captured still in the crates. They marched drunk and surly, as though by infusions of rum and hot sneers they could belittle the victors. By battalion and regiments, they tramped through a gauntlet of Rebel and French troops to lay down their colors and honor-draped drums, pile their muskets and accoutrements, and march away naked and helpless. Lord Cornwallis pleaded illness and sent his second-in-command to represent him. That officer surrendered his sword to Washington's second-in- command, while a British band of fifers played gay music to lessen the shame.

Alan thought of going back up to the house and giving the Hayley sisters some guineas for what they had taken, but after their deception he could not find the generosity in heart to do so, and was sure that if he did go up to the house, he would most likely be tempted to torch the damned place. Had they just sat there, we'd be away with no one hurt by dusk, but they could not leave well enough alone, and that damned imp, he thought furiously, probably thinks he's a fucking hero!

As the afternoon drew on, he began to feel a lot calmer. There was no sign of the enemy, no movement from any of the ships out in the river to put a landing party ashore or come closer for a peek. He started to think they could get away scot-free after all.

But then, a little after three, an outlying picket who had been watching the ford onto the neck came drifting back from tree to tree to carry word that there was an enemy force on the Gloucester road.

'How many men?' Governour asked his scout as they held a quick conference in the trees at the eastern end of the tobacco fields near the muddy lane.

''Bout a dozen hoss, Governour,' the thatch-haired private named Hatmaker told him. 'Dragoons, some mounted officers. Mebbe forty, fifty foot ahind 'em, all Frenchies, look like. Blue an' yeller, an bearskin shakoes, dressed putty much like the troopers.'

'Lauzun's Legion.' Governour nodded. 'Odd they sent so few. No one behind them?'