The French Admiral

Wilmington at last report, and I have tidings and money from their sons to help their passage. I promised Lieutenant Chiswick I would look them up, if possible, sir.'

'Hmm,' Treghues murmured, cradling his jaw to study him. 'On your sacred honor, this is true, sir?'

'Ton my sacred honor, sir,' Alan swore. 'I gave them my word, sir.'

'Very well, then, but if you come back aboard the worse for wear, as you did in Charleston, I will not merely disrate you from master's mate, I'll put you forward as an ordinary seaman.'

'I understand, sir,' Alan said. And God, please don't let me run across anything tempting this time! he pleaded silently.

They landed at the foot of Market and Third Street, just below St. James church and the white house that Cornwallis had used as his headquarters. The church was in terrible shape compared to the last time Alan had seen it, but it was his destination, operating on the theory that Loyalists would be Church of England if they had any pretensions at all to gentility, and the parish vicar would know where the Chiswicks resided, if they were members.

He knocked on the door to the manse, and a wizened fellow came to open it, more a hedge-priest than anything else, dressed in black breeches and waistcoat gone rusty with age and abuse, and his linen and ample neck-stock a bit rusty as well, as though he had to wash and iron himself.

'Yes, what do you want, sir?' the man asked him, wiping his hands on a blue apron, and Alan wondered if the man was a curate or a publican doing double duty if the parish was not living enough.

'I am seeking information about a family named Chiswick, sir,' he said. 'I thought perhaps they might be temporary members of your parish. Is the vicar in?'

'The rector is out, sir.' The man sniffed, eyeing the King's uniform up and down as though it were a distasteful sight to him. 'And I know no one by the name of Chiswick, not in our regular parish.'

'They came down from around Campbelltown,' Alan prompted. 'New arrivals to Wilmington.'

'Oh.' The man frowned. 'And their reason for leaving that country?'

'I believe they were burned out,' Alan said, getting a little put out with the man's effrontery.

'Loyalists, then.' The man nodded, stiffening up and glowering.

'Here, this is Church of England still, is it not?'

'It is not, sir.' The man huffed up his small frame as though insulted. 'More to the point, Episcopal, but not Church of England. Had we been else, Tarleton and his troopers would not have used our nave for a stable, sir!'

'Then who ministers to the Tories?' Alan demanded.

'We do, when called, sir. We are Christians, you know.'

'Couldn't tell it by me. Who would know, then?'

'Try across the street at the Burgwin House, if you can come away with your soul from Major Craig's torture cellars! Ask of your own kind! Good day to you, sir!' the little man said with satisfaction as he backed into the manse and closed the door.

'God, what a lunatick country!' he grumbled to himself as he went to the house that had been Cornwallis's residence. 'Half the Regulators and Piedmont still against the Tidewater, the rest just Rebels, half of 'em still Tory, Scots who hated George the Second fighting for George the Third. The Tidewater mostly Rebel no matter what the Piedmonters think and at each other's throats anyway. And you can't even find an Anglican that'll answer to the name anymore. They're welcome to this asylum and good riddance.'

The Burgwin House was headquarters for the notorious Major Craig and his 'witch-finder,' that anti-Rebel David Fanning, who was rumored to be so eaten with the scrofula, the King's Evil, that he hated all of mankind. For such a nice house, it did have a bad air about it, due, Alan thought, to the smells arising from the cellars, which had been used as prisons for some time. Was it his imagination, fed by the choler of that… whatever he had been… at the manse, that he thought he heard the moans of tortured bodies from below?

He did find a harried staff officer who knew most of the refugees and steered Alan in the right direction down to Dock Street and then inland five blocks, up over the crest of the hill and down into the flats to a tumbledown mansion that had seen better days. It was a daunting sight; the yard was full of crates and junk, the stableyard full of carriages and wagons crammed in any-old-how. Laundry hung from every window and railing, and the place swarmed with men, women, and children in faded finery, with the occasional black face still in livery. People came and went on errands continually. He noticed it was shunned by most residents of the town—he would have shunned it himself if given a choice; it looked like a debtor's prison.

The Chiswick family residence was a single downstairs room. Alan knocked on the doors and heard a stirring within. He tugged down his waistcoat, fiddled with his neckcloth, and adjusted his lovely silver-fitted sword at his side, waiting for admittance.

The rooms had once been a sort of smaller back dining room, for the doors slid back into pockets. The girl who opened the doors regarded him with a cool regality, a cautious nose-in-the-air aloofness at his presence.

'Have I found the Chiswick family?' Alan asked, taking off his cocked hat preparatory to a formal introductory bow.

'It is, sir,' she replied, a hitch in her voice. One hand flew to her lips, as if in fear that a man in uniform seeking them could only mean dire news about Governour, Burgess, or both.

'Allow me to introduce myself, Miss. I am Alan Lewrie, Royal Navy. I bring you tidings from Lieutenant Governour Chiswick and Ensign Burgess Chiswick,' he said, making a bow to her in the hall to the amusement of several small children who had followed him in from the front porches.

'Oh, my God!' she gasped, almost biting a knuckle.

'Glad tidings, I assure you,' Alan went on, rising from his bow.

'Come in, come in, good sir!' she gushed. 'Are they well, were they hurt? We heard the army had surrendered and feared…'

'They are in New York at present, both well,' Alan said.

Her face broke from seriousness or fear into the widest, most wondrous smile, and she flung herself on him and bounced up and down in glee, giving a little shriek of delight.

'Say you truly, sir? They are alive and well?' she beamed.

'Truly, miss,' Alan said, shaken by her emotion and how her slim body had felt against him as she jounced on her toes in relief and glee.

'Momma, Daddy, there's a Navy officer here; he's seen Gov and Burge, and they're safe and well!' she called into the room. Taking him by the hand, she almost dragged him into the room. There had been some attempts made to provide privacy by hanging figured quilts and blankets from light rope strung from one picture rail to another, but the rooms were cramped by furniture; a large bed for the parents could be espied through a part in the curtains, another impromptu bedchamber further back—most likely for the enthusiastic girl—and a small cot sharing the space for a large black woman, obviously an old family retainer, who came trundling out, clapping her hands and weeping for joy at the news.

The parents had been seated in the middle of the rooms, fenced off into a tiny parlor of quilts by the hearth. A small fire tried to relieve the late-fall chill without much success. The man looked to be in his fifties, his hair already white and lank, and he had difficulty rising to greet his guest without support from a cane, and the daughter at his elbow. The mother was sprier, slim and straight-backed, her hair also almost white, and her face lined with care and years. Tears flowed freely as he was introduced to Mr. Sewallis Chiswick and his wife, Charlotte. When they got around to it, the black woman was referred to as 'Mammy,' and the tall slim girl who had opened the door turned out to be the sister Caroline that Burgess had mentioned.

'Give ye joy, Mister Lewrie!' the mother said once everyone had had a good weep and a snuffle. 'And did you meet my boys in New York?'

'No ma'am, I was at Yorktown with them, from the very first,' he said, taking his ease as best he could in an old-fashioned dining chair that threatened to go to flinders if he shifted too much or leaned back too far. 'Our ship was trapped in the York River with the army and I had to go ashore with artillery. I met them there.'

'Then they were with the army,' Caroline said. 'However did then ya'll escape the fate of the others?'

There was nothing Alan liked better than a receptive audience, so he regaled them for an exceedingly