‘Thank you, your excellency,’ Harry cried in delight. But as he was rowed back to the Wasp, and looked up at the immense bulk of the Ville de Paris towering above his head, he could not help but wonder — and which sort of man are you, Admiral de Grasse?
*
‘Well,’ Thomas Truxton remarked. ‘We have fulfilled our part of the business. I wonder where General Washington has got to.’
The Wasp beat slowly east north east, into a northerly wind, of no more than gentle strength, and into a clear and starry sky; it was just past midnight, 5 September 1781. Away to the west an occasional gleam of light could be seen twinkling: the American coast. Cape Henry itself was several miles astern of them, and would be their destination when they had completed their sweep to the north, before returning for a sweep to the south below the cape. This was their duty, shared with the three French frigates, to take turns at patrolling up and down until something happened. Waiting and watching.
Harry had, as Truxton had remarked, led the French fleet into the Chesapeake without a mishap, two days before. And had discovered that they had had an immense stroke of luck — only a week earlier Admiral Hood and his fleet had been there, found no enemy and Cornwallis in no obvious danger, and had thus stood to the north, to link up with Graves and continue with their pre-determined plan of bringing de Grasse to battle. If Hood had stayed, that battle would have taken place two days ago, even at odds of twenty-four to eleven Harry would not have wagered on the outcome. That had been avoided, but they now knew for sure that the combined British fleets would be back, some time. Hence the constant patrolling.
Yet de Grasse had proved himself a man of some resolution after all; having made his decision, he seemed determined to implement it to the utmost, and although no word had been received of the whereabouts of the Franco-American army, had immediately disembarked the three thousand soldiers he was carrying, together with their arms and ammunition, to join the very small force, commanded by the Marquis de Lafayette and General Greene, which was masking Yorktown; from the James Peninsula the growl of the guns was continuous, but in low key. Lord Cornwallis had shut himself away behind an elaborate system of earthworks, and knew there was at present no enemy force out there capable of assaulting him with success. No doubt he was not happy to have a French fleet anchored only a few miles away, sitting right across his lifeline, but being an Englishman he would be content to let events take their course and rest his faith entirely in the appearance of a British fleet. As the French well knew; Harry had no doubt that de Grasse and his officers were far more nervous than Cornwallis and his.
No word had been received of Count de Barras and his eight ships, either. Well, that was hardly to be expected. Barras would have sailed from Rhode Island only a few days after the Wasp, so far as Harry could estimate, and his instructions had been to take a sweep well out into the Atlantic to avoid even sighting the British and thus revealing to them that he was at sea. Yet he should be here soon. And when he came, to augment the French fleet to no less than thirty-two ships in their line of battle, surely even de Grasse would reckon he possessed sufficient superiority to risk a meeting with the British. If he did not … but that was too terrible to contemplate.
Harry swept the invisible horizon for a last time, then closed his telescope. ‘I am going to turn in, Tom,’ he said. ‘Call me if anything, anything, mind, shows out there.’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ Truxton acknowledged.
Harry went below, pulled off his boots, lay on his bunk fully dressed. His eyes ached from staring into the darkness, and his muscles knew the exhaustion of the continuous tension under which he had existed for the past few days. He sighed, and dozed off immediately, his last thoughts being that at least they were fortunate in that the weather continued to remain fine.
It seemed only seconds later than he was awakened by his servant. ‘Begging your pardon, Captain McGann, but Mr Truxton is asking for your presence on deck.’
Harry pulled on his boots again. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone four, sir.’
Harry ran up to the companion ladder to the poop, blinked into the intense pre-dawn darkness. There was a little chill in the air, and a suggestion of mist. ‘What’s up, Tom?’ Truxton pointed north. ‘Lights. One to begin with, but now there are three. From the way they come and go, I’d say they are stern lanterns on ships bearing this way, so that we only see them when they yaw.’
Harry levelled his glass. ‘One … three … I make five.’
‘Barras, do you suppose?’ Truxton asked. ‘It’s high time he was here. If he’s coming at all.’
‘Barras would be approaching out of the east, not down the coast,’ Harry muttered. Now he could see several more lights, as the Lieutenant said, appearing and disappearing, but steadily coming closer. And there were more every moment. ‘Graves, by God,’ he said. ‘It has to be. And he has united with Hood. Wear ship, Mr Truxton, and cram on all the canvas you have. The British are here.’
*
The sun had risen long before they regained Cape Henry, and it was past seven before the Wasp was close enough for her signals to be read by the watchers on the shore. Harry had simply set ‘Enemy in sight’ followed by the number ‘seventeen’. He had not actually counted seventeen lights before turning away, but he could not afford for de Grasse to be in any doubt that the entire British fleet was bearing down on him.
‘They’ve acknowledged,’ Truxton said. ‘What now?’
‘We’ll return north,’ Harry decided. ‘Wear ship.’ They had lost sight of the English as they had hurried south, and now had to resume then-normal shadowing duties.
Truxton gave the necessary orders, then rejoined his captain on the poop. ‘What do you suppose de Grasse will do?’
‘Well … I’m damned sure he will be tempted to remain at anchor, figuring that with him there the British won’t be able to get in.’
‘They can get in,’ Truxton said. ‘If they are as bold as they are said to be, and assaulted that passage, they could drive their way past the French before de Grasse could raise an anchor. And probably blow a couple of them out of the water as well. The only way to stop them is to beat them, out here at sea.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, and listened to the chime of the ship’s bell. Eight couplets, to signal the end of the morning watch. ‘Let’s hope he appreciates that. But …’ he looked up at their sails, which every so often gave a shiver; the wind was very light, and was blowing almost directly into the entrance to the bay. ‘He’ll not get out until he has an ebb tide to push him along. It’s still flowing now. When does it turn, Tom?’
Truxton checked his calculations. ‘Noon.’
‘Hm. It’s going to be a long four hours.’ Because until the tide started to turn, they would not even know de Grasse’s intentions. ‘Sail ho,’ came the call from the masthead. Both Truxton and Harry climbed into the shrouds the better to see. And to feel their hearts start to pound as over the horizon came all the majesty of a fleet of war, half a dozen frigates out in front, themselves bigger ships than any Harry had ever sailed in, but dwarfed by the great three deckers which followed, ships carrying as many as eighty guns and manned by close to a thousand men each. The finest navy in the world, bearing down on them.
‘Shall I beat to quarters, sir?’ Truxton asked, excitedly.
‘Give the men time to breakfast first, Mr Truxton,’ Harry said. It actually was not his business to become engaged at all, except as a last resort.
As Truxton knew. ‘But we’ll stand on?’
‘For an hour or so,’ Harry said. ‘De Grasse will want exact numbers.’
He remained at the rail, watching the fleet, a junior officer at his elbow to jot down the numbers as he counted them. And discovered that he had made a mistake — Graves had actually been joined by two more ships, and had a line of battle numbering nineteen. Nineteen to twenty-four. As Messemer had explained, those were not odds the average French admiral liked to accept, but there
was nothing to be done now; the British fleet was only some ten miles away, he estimated, running before the light northerly wind. The time was past ten o’clock.
‘They’ve seen us,’ Truxton remarked, returning on deck and pointing at the foremost frigate, which was setting extra topsails to increase her speed. ‘She means business.’
Harry stared at the ship; she was within about seven miles, he calculated. And she looked like a forty gun ship. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘We’d best come about and run back to Cape Henry.’
The orders were given, and the Wasp came round to steer south. Now the British were eight miles astern, and the lead frigate but five. And south of them there was nothing, although he could make out the Cape in the distance. It wanted at least another hour to the turn of the tide.
‘We shall have to divert them as much as possible, Tom,’ he said. ‘Alter course to the east.’
‘The east, sir?’ Truxton was thunderstruck.
‘They may well assume we are scouting for a fleet still at sea,’ Harry explained. ‘And follow.’
‘If they do, and catch up with us, they will blow us into little bits.’
‘Now that’s a fact,’ Harry agreed.
‘And if they do not, and de Grasse does not start moving in a hurry, they will catch him just coming out, and blow his ships to bits, one by one.’
‘That is another fact,’ Harry agreed again. ‘But war seldom presents one with simple choices. We must do the best we can, Mr Truxton. Alter course.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Truxton gave the commands, and the sheets were hardened to bring the Wasp round on to the port reach. Harry continued to study the English fleet. And swear beneath his breath. Only the frigate closest to them altered course to follow. The great ships stood on, for the Chesapeake.
‘It’s not working,’ he said, as Truxton rejoined him on the quarterdeck.
‘Aye, but look there.’ The Lieutenant pointed.
Harry swung his glass. Cape Henry was a good ten miles away, a barely visible hump of land. And immediately north of it … ‘A sail, by God,’ he said. ‘And there’s another. De Grasse is coming out.’
‘Well, thanks be to God,’ Truxton said. ‘Now we should see something. When we have decided what to do about that fellow.’
They both looked at the approaching frigate. The larger ship, she was thus the faster, and was now within four miles — only just out of range, her bluff bows rising and falling as she bore down on them under a full spread of canvas. We should run like hell, Harry thought, even though that was no guarantee they would not be overhauled. In any event, he could not hope to regain contact with the French fleet without at least an exchange of shot; the only sure way to safety was to continue to stand out to sea. But to run away, when the most decisive naval action of the war was about to be fought … and besides … he frowned through his telescope. There was something familiar about the enemy. ‘Do you know her, Mr Truxton?’ he asked. ‘Can you identify her pennant?’
Truxton was a walking encyclopaedia of ships and the sea, and knew most of the British pennants off by heart, especially those which had spent any time in American waters. ‘Yes,’ he said, after studying the flags for several minutes. ‘She is the Cormorant. Forty guns. Captain Canning.’
‘Cormorant,’ Harry muttered. ‘Canning … so he’s captain, now, is he?’
Truxton glanced at him. ‘Do you know her, sir?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Harry said. ‘Oh, aye. I know her. I have served on board that ship, Thomas.’
‘By God,’ Truxton said. ‘Shall I beat to quarters?’
‘Long odds, Mr Truxton. Long odds. But by God I’ll not run from Captain Canning. You’ll beat to quarters.’
*
The drum sounded and the men hurried from below. The guns were run out and the powder and ball passed up from the hold. Nets were strung above the deck to catch falling spars. ‘I want every man issued with pistol and cutlass, Mr Truxton,’ Harry said.
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘And then wear ship.’
‘You’ll go at her, sir?’
‘Aye,’ Harry said. ‘We’ve been told how they sail faster, and better, and fire quicker, than anyone else, by God. But we’ve the same blood on our veins as them, Tom. And the same heritage of the sea. We’ll meet them head on.’
‘Hurrah!’ Truxton bellowed, and shouted the commands. The Wasp swung up into the wind, and close hauled, bore away to the north east. Realising that if the American passed her she would lose the advantage of the weather gauge, the Cormorant also altered course to cut her off, firing her bow chasers as she did so, but the shot splashed into the sea astern of the Wasp.
Harry left the quarterdeck to join the gunners. ‘Now, lads,’he said. ‘Elevate your pieces as high as they will go. And load with chain shot. I want to sweep his deck and masts and rigging. That’s our best chance.’
The men nodded their appreciation of the position — because Harry had always treated them as men, and not his inferiors, except in rank — and loaded with chain shot, which was two small round shots connected by a length of iron chain, the most deadly of weapons against riggings or personnel, even if it would do little damage to a stout hull.
‘Stand by,’ Truxton called.
The Cormorant was hardly more than a mile distant, and now she swung up into the wind, at the same time firing her starboard broadside. The air became filled with flying shot, and at least two of the eighteen pounder balls smashed into the hull of the Wasp, causing her to shudder under the impacts, while from below there came wails of pain and anger.
‘Check the damage, Mr Oliver,’ Harry said to his Third Lieutenant, and moved to stand beside the coxswain. ‘Any moment now, Cox.’ He swung his telescope to watch the Englishman, who was backing his yards to resume his course. But the Wasp was already past, and upwind. ‘Now,’ Harry snapped. ‘Bring her about, cox. Back those yards,’ he bawled.
Men clung to the sheets to bring them in, and the Wasp turned almost in her own length, coming back on the starboard side of the British ship, where the guns were still being reloaded, a manoeuvre of incisive speed and consummate seamanship. Frantically the Cormorant freed her sheets to swing away, hoping to present as small a target as possible to the coming broadside, and then, by coming right about herself, use her port guns while the Wasp’s cannon were in turn empty.
‘Fire,’ Harry bawled. The entire ship was wreathed in smoke as the guns exploded. The distance between the two ships was only just over a mile, and the storm of chain shot scythed across the English quarterdeck into the rigging. In a matter of seconds the stern of the proud ship was reduced to a shambles, her mizen topmast snapped off as its supporting shrouds had been cut away, her cabin windows shattered, and her quarterdeck almost cleared of men, including the helmsman — she yawed to and fro.
But she would soon be back under command. ‘Reload with ball,’ Harry shouted. ‘Stand by to wear ship.’
The Wasp was down wind of the larger ship now, and again came about smartly and with tremendous speed, the men gasping with determined and jubilant exertion. The Cormorant was back under control, and she was also wearing ship, but more slowly, partly because of the damage she had suffered — but also partly, Harry was sure, because she was simply not as well handled. And now could she be, where the men went in fear of their officers instead of sharing in their enthusiasm?
‘Fire!’ Harry yelled as the Wasp beat back up to her. This time the solid shot crashed into the hull and main deck of the British ship.
‘Reload,’ Truxton commanded. ‘Quickly, now.’
As he gave the command, the Cormorant replied. She might be being shot to pieces, but she was still able to fight, and now it was the Wasp’s turn to have her decks raked. Harry found himself on his knees, staring at the body of the coxswain, who had been almost cut in two by chain shot, while the wheel rotated gently, and the ship swung up into the wind.
He scrambled to his feet, put the helm up as hard as he could.
The bows fell away. ‘Free those sheets,’ Harry bawled. ‘Tom … Tom?’
‘Here.’Truxton came up the ladder.
‘Damage?’
‘Some. We can still fight.’
‘I’m going to gybe her,’ Harry said. ‘Stand your people by.’
The ship had fallen off the wind, and was sailing now on the starboard tack, right across the bows of the Cormorant. For a moment Harry thought the two ships might collide, then they ghosted by each other, and the yards banged as the Wasp went through the eye of the wind, Harry grimly clinging to the spokes. Then the sails began to fill again, and she surged forward, leaving the Cormorant’s next broadside astern. Immediately the British ship came about, but once again too slowly, and the Wasp had completed her manoeuvre and come back on to the wind to deliver another broadside before the British were ready. This time the mizen snapped off eight feet above the deck and crashed forward, threatening the mainmast and leaving the Cormorant for the moment unmanoeuverable.
‘Hurrah!’ Truxton yelled, drawing his sword. ‘Shall I prepare boarders, sir?’
Obviously nothing the British could do could prevent the Wasp coming alongside, if she chose. But Harry remembered the action off Flamborough Head too well. Once the two ships were locked together he would be surrendering all the initiative his superior seamanship had granted him, and the result would depend upon a melee, and perhaps a seaman armed with a grenade. ‘No, Mr Truxton,’ he said. ‘Prepare to go about. We’ll rake her some more.’
The Wasp delivered two more broadsides to one, badly aimed, in return from the Cormorant, then the British mainmast, its shrouds snapped by the falling mizen, also went overboard. The American crew cheered themselves hoarse as a white flag slowly fluttered into what was left of the aft rigging.
*
‘You sailed too fast for us, sir,’ Captain Canning said. ‘I have to say, that I have never seen a ship so superbly handled.’
Old Glory Page 35
