by Chris Durbin
The word spread across the deck like wildfire. Even the new members of the crew had heard of the desperate fight in the Caicos passage where Medina had taken on two ship-rigged Dutch privateers-turned pirates. Carlisle had been incapacitated at the height of the battle and his first lieutenant George Holbrooke had taken command. Holbrooke had boarded and captured the lead ship but the second had escaped with severe damage. She’d last been seen running down the Old Straits of Bahama. By cutting the ship down to a schooner, they’d taken to the sea again and now were behaving like out-and-out pirates. The dimmest intellect could see the danger to Shark, thinking they were dealing with a legitimate privateer and at the last moment being confronted with a horde of desperate fugitive pirates.
‘Shark’s hauled her wind, sir,’ said Enrico.
Sure enough, Anderson had taken the hint. A full broadside for no apparent reason was unusual enough, but when Medina crowded on sail and started beating up towards the schooner, he’d realised that something must be very wrong. Now Shark was holding a few cables to windward of the schooner, her guns run out and her crew alerted.
***
In the end, reflected Carlisle, it had all turned out well. There had been a scuffle on the deck of the schooner between those who wanted to surrender and those who were for fighting it out, but the cooler heads won the day. After all, it was unlikely that any Admiralty court would hang more than two in ten of them, just the ringleaders if they could be identified. The rest could expect a measure of leniency if only to avoid too gross a spectacle of public execution.
Carlisle watched as a good number of muskets, pistols, swords, boarding pikes and axes had been thrown into a boat. Enough at least in proportion to the probable size of the crew to make it unlikely that they would cause trouble. When Carlisle was satisfied, he sent the longboat over with a nervous-looking Moxon and the indomitable Sergeant Wilson and almost all of Medina’s marines. That brought an end to any thought of resistance. The pirates were manacled and divided between Medina and Shark to be delivered to the vice-admiralty court in Virginia. There were few enough of them left, just fifty-four of whom six were wounded in the scuffle before they were taken. Five bodies were quietly slipped over the side, the fatalities from the fight. By the end of the forenoon watch, the schooner had been scuttled – she was worthless and wouldn’t have survived an Atlantic blow – and the convoy and its escorts were underway for Hampton Roads.
***
3: Williamsburg
Tuesday, Seventh of March 1758.
Medina, at Anchor. Hampton Roads, Virginia.
Medina anchored to the west of the Hampton Bar, dropping her best bower into the fine dark sand that lay under twelve fathoms of water. She’d embarked a pilot off Cape Henry, and all twenty merchant ships had followed the frigate obediently, like beads on a string. It was wonderful to see the results of three weeks of convoy discipline. When they left Kingston, it had been a significant achievement just to keep the assortment of ships and brigs in sight, but now they looked for all the world like the Western Squadron at drill. Three weeks of discipline had done that, and of course the salutary lesson of the pirate in the Florida Strait. If the convoy hadn’t been in good order and if Medina hadn’t been watchful, the Dutchmen would have certainly picked off a straggler in the night.
‘Well, my dear, this is my home, more-or-less. Williamsburg is thirty miles from here and Jamestown is just five miles further. Isn’t it beautiful?’
It was beautiful if you discounted the lowering grey sky and the occasional light drizzle. The shores of the James River were clothed in virgin forest, petering out to marshy coastal fringes. Here and there a homestead or small cluster of houses dipped their toes into the muddy water. Hampton was almost out of sight up a tree-lined creek to the north, and the infant settlement of Newport News on the point of land to the west hardly intruded on the scene. It was difficult to believe that this estuary had been colonised by the English for a hundred and fifty years.
‘How long will we stay here?’ asked Chiara, looking dubiously at the shoreline. It looked wild and inhospitable compared with Kingston or her home in the sunny Mediterranean. ‘You were speaking of four or five days before we left Jamaica.’
‘Five days, I believe. There’s sugar to be unloaded and tobacco embarked before the convoy can sail for Boston. We’ll weigh on Sunday and then it’s only a four-day passage.’
‘I’m so much looking forward to meeting your father and brother,’ said Chiara with a roguish look. ‘I can’t believe the awful tales you have told me about them. I know I will love them tremendously.’
‘Well, you may choose to make game of me, my dear,’ Carlisle replied, ‘but I can see no way of avoiding a meeting. The news of our anchoring at Hampton Roads will be in Williamsburg within the day, and I imagine it’s well known that Medina is my ship. I’m the only Virginian on the post-captain’s list, so they have no other sea-officer to talk about. In any case, I’d like to see the old city again. It’s quite an important place you know, it’s the capital of the colony.’
‘Then we must go to Williamsburg. Where can we hire a carriage?’
‘There’ll be a carriage in Hampton, I hope. We’ll be no more than five hours on the road, and we can stop for refreshment at York. Or the longboat can carry us up the James River. It’s a longer journey, but we’ll be clear of the swamps.’
‘Oh, the carriage, if you please Edward. Much as I’ve enjoyed this pleasant cruise, it’s time for me to step onto dry land. We’ll stay overnight, I suppose.’
‘Yes. At least one day, two if the lieutenant-governor should detain us. Lord Loudoun’s been recalled after last year’s debacle of an attempt on Louisbourg, so we won’t see him. The last that I heard he was still the governor of the colony, but he’s no longer the commander-in-chief. I expect we’ll see his deputy Dinwiddie. He may be only a lieutenant-governor but he’s the real power in Virginia, although I heard that he’s ripe for replacement.’
‘Then I’ll need to take Susan and a trunk,’ said Chiara, mentally itemizing the clothes that she’d need in case of an invitation to the governor’s palace. She had to consider the dignity of both her husband’s rank and her family in Sardinia.
‘Just so, my dear, and we’ll take Mister Carlton and Mister Angelini. In fact, I’ll send Enrico ashore now to secure a carriage and send a message to my father.’
Chiara favoured her husband with her most dazzling smile. She could never quite understand Carlisle’s determination that her cousin should be treated the same as any of the other midshipmen. There was much more respect for the nobility in her home, and if an Angelini were to be given the rank of guardiamarina in the Sardinian navy, it would in no sense override the rank of his birthright. She was still coming to terms with this peculiar service that so much valued professional competence over natural rank.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, dear, but you know Carlton’s not at all necessary. I have six months to go and I’m feeling very well,’ she said, without much hope of changing her husband’s mind. Carlisle was becoming increasingly protective as the weeks passed and he’d spare nobody – and certainly not his surgeon – to secure his wife’s comfort and health. He pretended that he hadn’t heard.
***
By two o’clock, Chiara and Carlisle were comfortably seated in a rather smart two-horse carriage that had been rushed out of its winter storage in a barn adjacent to the inn. Carlton sat opposite them, looking pleased to have the opportunity for a few days away from the frigate. The owner of the carriage was delighted to have Captain Carlisle’s business and had spent the two hours since agreeing the fare in dusting and polishing. He hadn’t expected to bring his best carriage out of storage for another month at least, not until the weather had improved sufficiently for people to want to spend their time on the road. Enrico and Susan followed with the baggage in the usual sort of public wagon that plied the roads of the peninsula between the York and James rivers, between Hampton and Ric
hmond. The roads were good for the time of year and the thin drizzle had stopped, allowing pale sunshine to brighten the journey. The carriage far outpaced the wagon as they bowled along the well-kept road. They passed the Halfway House shortly after three o’clock, and at five they passed the first buildings of the small town of York.
‘Would you like a short stop for refreshment?’ asked Carlisle. ‘We still have two hours on the road before we reach Williamsburg.’
Carlton nodded discreetly. Clearly, he also considered it a wise precaution.
‘If you please, Captain Carlisle,’ Chiara replied. She’d become more formal when addressing her husband in the presence of his officers. How she missed Holbrooke and the easy relationship they had!
‘Do you know a good inn at York where the lady would be comfortable for twenty minutes?’ Carlisle shouted to the driver. It was difficult to be discreet under these conditions, but the driver, an old and experienced family man, understood the situation.
‘Perhaps not an inn, sir, but my sister has a good house right on the road and she’ll make the lady comfortable. For a few pennies, she’ll put some bread, ham and beer on the table, although she’ll have no wine. The wagon can’t fail to see us as they pass, no doubt the young people will also welcome a break.’
The familiar Virginia tones pleased Carlisle and when Chiara nodded her acceptance, he readily agreed. Not five minutes later the carriage drew up beside a decent wooden cabin – it would have been called a respectable cottage in England – where they were greeted by a surprised but welcoming woman who looked so like the carriage driver that it was comical.
‘This is better than an inn, my dear,’ Carlisle said as he handed Chiara down from the carriage. ‘In these parts, inns are very male affairs, and this looks altogether better for our needs.’
Better it certainly was, even though the close relatives of their luncheon could be heard squealing and squabbling in their sty outside the window of the small room where they were offered seats. Twenty minutes later they were underway again, and in an hour, they passed another of the ubiquitous halfway houses. The driver had to squint into the setting sun now as he whipped up the two horses for the final run into the city. It was all cultivated land here, except for a few strips of marshland and pines alongside the frequent creeks which they crossed by indifferently built wooden bridges. There was tobacco of course, but there was also a surprising amount of homely vegetables, and everywhere the evidence of a slave economy in full swing. Most of the field hands were Africans with just a few presumably indentured white men and women working in tight clusters.
Chiara could sense her husband’s growing excitement as he recognised the sights of his youth. The outlying cabins soon gave way to more substantial houses as the roofs and chimneys of the capitol building came into view. Their arrival was at least noticed by someone, because a ragged boy leapt to his feet on seeing the carriage and ran fast in the direction that they were heading, cutting through the little alleys that ran between the houses. The carriage swung around the south side of the capitol and into Duke of Gloucester Street.
‘There’s Shield’s Tavern,’ said Carlisle, pointing to the two-story brick and clapboard building on the left just a hundred yards from the iron gates of the capitol.
It was a broad street, very wide by English or Sardinian standards. The surface was crushed shells from the York and James Rivers, and the residual moisture from an earlier shower and their natural lustre made them sparkle and shine in the last rays of the setting sun. Mature trees lined the road and if everything that Chiara had heard of the Virginian summers was true, their shade would be needed before another month had passed. Most of the businesses were already closed on this Tuesday evening, but Chiara could see a tailor’s shop, a printer, a haberdasher and two or three taverns or coffee houses.
The carriage came to a halt outside their tavern. Evidently, Carlisle’s message had been received – thanks to the ragged boy presumably – and here was the innkeeper, his wife and two servants bustling through the doors. They were shepherded by the boy, now puffed up with pride at having discharged his duty of giving warning of their arrival.
As they dismounted, a small crowd started to gather. Familiar and half-remembered faces turned to Carlisle greeting their returning hero, for Carlisle’s exploits had reached his hometown, gaining in their glory as the stories were passed from mouth to mouth. His fights with Vulcain and L’Arques were common knowledge, and the more informed even knew about Minorca, Cape François and the Dutch pirates. With the war on the American continent still in the balance and with no notable British victories to boast of yet, either in Europe or the Americas, a true naval hero and a local boy at that was very welcome. Lady Chiara acknowledged the crowd before turning for the inn’s door, and Carlisle raised his hat in salute. They passed from the twilit street into the candlelit interior pursued by a hearty cheer.
***
‘Tomorrow we’ll take the carriage down to my home. It’s just five miles from here, on the James River, close to where the first settlers landed a hundred and fifty years ago,’ said Carlisle over supper with his wife. Carlton and Enrico had sought their supper in a livelier tavern a few hundred yards down the main street of the city. ‘I’d half expected my father or my brother to meet us here this evening, but perhaps they haven’t yet heard that we’ve arrived.’
Chiara looked carefully at her husband; she knew very well that he was putting on a brave face. It was certain that his family had known of his imminent arrival since about midday, the time that Carlisle’s messenger would have ridden from Hampton into Williamsburg, shouting the news to all and sundry. She knew that all was not well between Edward and his father and older brother, but this was the first sign that she’d seen that he felt in any way uncomfortable about it.
‘I shall look forward to meeting them, Edward. What a good idea to hire the carriage for four days; at least we have the freedom to come and go as we please.’
Carlisle looked thoughtful. Chiara was correct, of course. It would have been devilishly embarrassing to be reliant upon his family if this was the kind of welcome that they’d be subjected to.
The door to their chambers opened tentatively. It wasn’t the maid bringing more dishes, but the innkeeper’s wife with a message.
‘Begging your pardon sir, but Miss Barbara Dexter is down in the hall, asking whether you are at leisure for a visit.’
Barbara Dexter! Who the devil is that? thought Carlisle. His confusion must have shown on his face, and the innkeeper’s wife offered an explanation.
‘You may remember her as Barbara Carlisle, but she married Mister Dexter from the city. She’s your cousin, sir,' said the innkeeper’s wife, smiling at Carlisle’s confusion.
‘Oh, cousin Babs!’ exclaimed Carlisle, almost knocking over his wine glass as he pushed back his chair. He was on the point of rushing to the door to hail her when he remembered his wife.
‘Ah. I perhaps haven’t mentioned cousin Babs. We should have been close when we were young, but my father didn’t get on with his brother, Babs’ father, so I rarely saw her. But we got along well when we did meet. Do you feel rested enough to meet her, dear?’
Chiara sighed. When would her husband understand how long it took to prepare to meet people after five hours in a carriage? Evidently, the customs here were different, less formal than Sardinia or even Jamaica. If this lady were ready to meet her then it would be churlish to refuse. In any case, she was starting to believe that she’d like anyone whose family didn’t agree with Edward’s father and brother.
‘You can entertain her for a few moments, Edward. I’ll be no more than ten minutes, just straightening my hair and my dress.’
By the time that Chiara returned to the dining room, her husband and Barbara were deep in conversation in the strongly accented form of English that Barbara spoke naturally, and Carlisle had easily slipped back into. Chiara was a little taken aback by the other woman’s appearance. She was tall – ver
y tall for a woman – painfully lean and had a face to match, long and cadaverous. She was dressed in clean but dull clothing of predominantly brown tones with a bright shawl that looked as though it had been brought out of storage for this occasion. However, it was her eyes that captured the attention, they were laughing eyes and they instantly transformed her from a middle-aged frump into one of the most open and welcoming people that Chiara had ever met. She’d been prepared to try to like this woman, even though she’d come unbidden and at such an inconvenient time, but she found that no effort was required.
‘My dear, may I present my cousin, Barbara Dexter? Barbara, this is my wife, Lady Chiara.’
Barbara made her awkward courtesy. A woman of her build could never aspire to elegance, she was all elbows and knees, but Chiara returned the gesture with all the grace of the Sardinian court, yet without giving the impression that she was upstaging the older woman. Had Chiara known Barbara better she’d have known that the Virginian was immune to any attempts at upstaging. Barbara had long ago come to terms with the limits that her ungainly shape placed upon her aspirations to social grace.
‘Welcome to Williamsburg, Lady Chiara,’ she said in a voice that could scare the rooks out of the trees. ‘I’ve just been giving Captain Carlisle the latest news of the capitol. I can’t believe how long it is since I last saw him, but here he is with a beautiful wife! I heard news of your arrival just after noon, and I hope you don’t mind me being so forward in rushing up to your door!’
‘Not at all, Mrs Dexter,’ replied Chiara. She was rapidly learning the social conventions of this outpost of the British Empire and realised that her native formality just wouldn’t do. In any case, there was something very charming about this cousin of Edward’s that made for either instant dislike or immediate intimacy, ‘Would you do me the honour of calling me Chiara, and perhaps I may call you Barbara?’
