The Midshipman Prince Read online

  “The same thing you are. I assume you know the Richmond was taken today. Before surrendering, Captain Hudson put the women and powder monkeys into some boats and we made for the Yorktown docks. After I got ashore and got everyone more or less settled. I asked around Cornwallis’ headquarters to see were you were. A clerk said he thought you were at Moore House, so I walked out here and... here I am.

  “So, what’s the plan?” She cheerfully concluded.

  “The plan is to get you back to town the first thing in the morning. You can’t stay with us,” Walker insisted.

  “Oh, and why might that be?”

  Walker was stumped until inspiration struck him. “We’re going to make a break out of here. It will be a rather desperate gamble—far too dangerous for you.”

  Whitney said nothing for a long moment, and then replied, “Walker, have you ever thought about what my options are at the moment? No? Well, let me review them for you.

  “First, when Cornwallis surrenders, and he will, I could be treated as a straight prisoner of war. After all, I was a surgeon’s mate aboard one of His Majesty’s ships and, therefore, a combatant. I would then be carted off to whatever prisoner of war camp they have in mind for the duration. Have you ever thought about what being a female in a prisoner of war camp might be like?

  “Or, perhaps, they will have mercy on me and simply put me out on the street. What then? How exactly do you think I will survive? If I am lucky maybe I could get some officer to take me in—to clean his house, do his laundry and be his bedmate. If less lucky, maybe some enlisted man might have me. If less lucky still, maybe a squad might give me food in exchange for passing me around the tents each night.

  “You see some other options, Walker? Because I don’t.”

  Complete silence descended on the room. Finally, Smith quietly said, “She’s right you know.”

  “Oh, damn it. I know she’s right,” Walker fumed. “All right, you’re in. But, I am not going to be responsible if you get hurt or killed.”

  “Oh, that’s refreshing. Do remind me to put that in my diary tonight.”

  “I am afraid these gentlemen have the advantage of me, madam. Of course, if they were real gentlemen they would have introduced us a long time ago.”

  “Oh, I am sorry Your... Damn, I am sorry... William. We were just so surprised to see Susan show up.” Smith then completed the introduction and filled Hanover in on Susan’s role aboard ship.

  Susan was horrified. “I… I am sorry I did not give you a curtsy like a proper lady when I came in, Your Highness. And, I am afraid I am not dressed for...” Susan started self-consciously clutching the threadbare gingham dress she was wearing.

  “First, if you’re going to be a part of this group you need to forget all that. I am Midshipman William Hanover. Period. You can call me Bill, if you like. In fact... ‘Bill’ – I rather like that. Sort of a rough and ready colonist name, what? Anyway, Susan, if we’re all going to be in this together, forget the royalty nonsense, all right.”

  “Yes, sir... er... Bill.”

  “And the dress is fine,” he said in passing. “You fill it better than 99% of the countesses in England.”

  Susan blushed to the soles of her feet, but was also more pleased with that remark than she could ever express. My God, she thought. I’ve just been complimented by a prince. What would mother think about that?

  “Now, Walker, you have something to report, I believe.”

  “I do?”

  “Indeed. Did you not just tell this lady about the desperate break out plan we had in mind. Well... out with it, man.”

  “Actually,” Walker began, “I’ve been thinking about it since the Richmond surrendered this afternoon. Let me see if I can get a map around here.” Walker found a servant who showed up in the parlor a few minutes later with a map of Yorktown and one of the Chesapeake area. Walker unrolled the map of Yorktown first.

  “Gather ‘round.

  “Now, the one thing we know is that we can’t stay where we are,” Walker began. “It’s only a matter of time before Cornwallis has to fold his hand. Therefore, we have to get out of here and somehow get behind the American and French lines; but how and in which direction do we go?

  “We can’t go east, west or south of Yorktown. The Americans are dug in to the east and south; the French are dug in to the west. Moreover, they will be at full alert at all times because they half-expect Cornwallis to try a forced breakout at any moment.

  “But look over here to the north, across the York River, there is a little peninsula called “Gloucester Point.” There’s already a small British garrison over there. They’re cut off from advancing any farther by American troops. It’s also easy to reach as there are small boats going back and forth all the time.”

  “So, why would it be any easier to get through the American lines there than somewhere else?” Smith asked.

  “I don’t know that for certain; but my guess is that Gloucester Point consists of several small units that have effectively been eliminated from the fighting—and they know it. They are the backwater of this battle and the American troops will not be at nearly the same level of alertness as their brethren on the other shore.

  “So, tomorrow I suggest we take one of the supply boats over to Gloucester Point.”

  “All right, but once we get there, how do we get through the American lines?” asked Smith.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Assuming we get through the American lines, what do we do next?” asked Hanover.

  “I don’t know,” replied Walker again.

  “Well, that certainly sounds like a plan to me,” quipped Susan.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE worst of it was the mosquitoes. It was as if each plant was home to hundreds of them and, in the absence of any kind of breeze, they were a plague.

  Walker, Smith, Hanover, and Whitney transferred across the York River on the noon supply barge. After a brief survey of the British lines, they made their way to Redoubt #4 which anchored the British right flank. Since then, they had been sitting in the redoubt staring at the terrain in front of them.

  The eastern edge of the Gloucester peninsula was nothing but marshes and sandy beaches punctuated by lazy creeks coming from inland and coves cutting in from the ocean. About 100 yards directly ahead was Sarah Creek that extended about a quarter mile inland. The water was brown and murky and they had no idea of its depth. About a hundred yards beyond the creek was the left flank of the American lines. They did not know how many men were over there. Farther to the left, in the distance, was a small hill, also occupied by the Americans. To their right, on the other side of the creek, was a low lying beach about 30 yards wide that ended abruptly in a steep rise on the land side. The beach and the rise went off into the visible distance.

  “Ideas?” Smith asked the group. They had been staring at the ground ahead of them for some time and it was getting dark.

  “Yes. I have an idea that this whole thing is hopeless,” said Hanover. “There they are. Here we are. We’re as trapped as Cornwallis, only on a smaller scale.”

  Walker wasn’t quite as sure. There was an idea percolating through his brain. He could feel it periodically rising to the surface of his consciousness only to submerge itself again at the last minute, just as he was about to get a hold of it. Finally, it emerged and stayed put.

  “Yeah, actually I do have an idea.” He had the undivided attention of the other three.

  “Look over there at their sentry. Watch his movements. He starts his patrol at the rise overlooking the beach. Then he walks about 150 paces along the American line, turns, comes 150 paces back, and repeats.”

  “So?” Hanover asked.

  “He does it exactly the same way, each and every time. My guess is that his replacement this evening will also do it the same way.

  “Then, I repeat... so?”

  “We wait until dark, cross over to the other side of the creek and position ourselves on the beach under th
e lip of the rise. Once the sentry starts back in the other direction on his patrol, we sprint down the beach. He’ll be walking away from us at that point. If we can get past the guard post and far enough down the beach before he gets back, he won’t see us and we’ll be home free.”

  “How do you propose getting across the creek?” Smith asked.

  “If it’s not very deep, we wade across. If it’s too deep to wade, then we swim.”

  Silence.

  “Come on, it’s a good plan.”

  Silence.

  “You all can swim, can’t you?”

  Embarrassed silence.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Walker exclaimed. “All three of you are in the Royal Navy. How can you be in the navy and not know how to swim?”

  “Lucas, I don’t even know anyone that can swim,” said Smith. “If your ship goes down, where are you going to swim to? Knowing how to swim only prolongs the drowning, so why bother to learn?”

  It was a logic that, at the moment, Walker was not able to assail.

  “Well, unless someone has a better idea, we go tonight. We’ll wade across the creek. If it gets too deep to continue wading, we’ll come back ashore and get some logs for the non-swimmers to float on. But, we’re going tonight.”

  * * *

  The water was warmer than he expected and the muck on the bottom was thicker—much thicker—than he thought possible, slowing their progress to a snail’s pace. It was like walking through knee-deep cement, each step causing hydrogen sulfide and methane bubbles to come up from the murky bottom creating an unbelievable stench.

  As they waded across the creek, the water grew deeper. First to their waists, then to their stomachs, then chests; finally, Susan called out in a throaty whisper, “Lucas?”

  He turned around to see Susan Whitney with the water up to her neck. “All right, move over here, put your arms around my neck and climb on my back,” he whispered.

  They continued, the water rising ever higher until it was up to their necks when Smith stopped.

  “Lucas, I wasn’t kidding earlier. I really can’t swim. If we keep going...”

  “I can’t either,” Hanover added. “Oh God!”

  “What is it?” Walker whispered.

  “It’s a rat. There’s a rat in the water with us!”

  “Don’t worry about it; he won’t bother you. Besides, it’s probably just a muskrat. They don’t eat much.”

  “That’s not funny, Walker. It’s a rat. I am sure it is. I hate them. I...”

  Walker remembered an old saying that no battle plan ever survives the first five minutes of a battle. This plan was apparently no exception for, as soon as they were about half way across the creek, the American sentry felt the need to take a leak. Where was the most convenient location to do that? The beach, of course.

  As the sentry scrambled down the bank, Walker harshly whispered, “FREEZE. Everyone freeze. Don’t make a sound, don’t move a muscle until he leaves.”

  Nothing could be heard in the pitch-black night except the rustling of a light breeze through the neighboring trees, and the curses of the sentry as he scrambled down the bank. The night breeze was starting to generate small waves that lapped on their necks.

  Behind the sentry was a clear, star-filled, sky with a surprisingly bright moon casting its beams across the water. Near the waterline the sentry was unhurriedly opening his fly, and in the foreground... well... in the foreground, as if he were casually riding one of those moonbeams across the water, was the biggest water rat Walker had ever seen—paddling away, headed straight for them.

  The sentry had placed his musket over his shoulder on its sling. Apparently he had one of the old style trousers, 13 buttons holding up a flap, which he was unbuttoning. He seemed in no particular hurry.

  The rat drew closer.

  The sentry found the object of his needs and began urinating into the water. The rat, hearing the sound, angled away from it and moved even closer to the group.

  Now, rats are not the brightest creatures on the planet but they do have an inbred curiosity that is matched by few other animals. Seeing three new kinds of logs in the water, he departed from his intended course to check them out.

  The sentry’s stream seemed to last forever.

  Smith was the first “log” the rat came to and he did a half-circle around him, stopping briefly to investigate Smith’s ear. He then headed for Hanover.

  “Steady, Bill.” Walker whispered.

  “Jesus, God,” Hanover whispered back in agony. “Tell me when it’s gone.”

  That damn sentry must have consumed the water ration for a regiment, Walker thought.

  The rat did a 360-degree loop around Hanover, seemingly fascinated by the fact that a log should have hair.

  The sentry finally finished and slowly re-buttoned his pants.

  The rat gave Walker and Whitney a cursory once over and continued on his way, convinced the logs represented nothing to eat and nowhere decent to live.

  And the sentry started his climb back up the rise to his post.

  “Now slowly, quietly, let’s just all keep walking, Walker said.

  They made it to the other side and hurried to drop down in the sand under the rise. Walker crawled a bit further down the beach to peer over the lip of the berm.

  “All right.” He waved them over. “He’s about 50 yards down and moving away from us. It’s now or never. I’ll keep an eye on him while you guys’ start running. And for God’s sake be quiet when you run. Just keep on going until you’re well out of sight down the beach. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  “What are you going to do?” Susan asked.

  “I am going to watch the sentry to make sure he doesn’t see you.”

  “And if he does?”

  “You don’t worry about that. You just keep running no matter what. Are all of you ready? All right...” Walker popped his head up over the berm for one last look at the sentry, then gave a sharp hissing whisper. “GO!!”

  The three started running in a crouch. After 30 or 40 yards, it became a sprint. They were desperately fighting the soft sand with each step, but determined to get as far away from this awful place as possible. Once they were a hundred yards or so down the beach, Walker checked the sentry once more. He still had not made the turn at the other end of his rounds, so Walker took off after the others.

  About a half mile later, he caught up to them. The three were exhausted, lying in a heap in the sand. Walker too was dying—his lungs felt like they were about to explode, his legs were rubbery, and he had a pain in his side that felt like a knife wound. Sprinting on sand is no fun.

  He collapsed next to them to recover.

  A few minutes later he heard Smith starting to chuckle. He was pointing at Hanover and Whitney both of whom were covered with sand and disgusting muck. The chuckle turned into a laugh. Hanover and Whitney looked at each other and at Walker, and started to laugh as well; and the laughter quickly escalated from gentile to hysterical.

  Suddenly the enormity of the danger they had just faced, the muck, the sentry, the rat... especially the bloody rat... it all hit them at once and the tension was transformed into howling laughter.

  Without warning, Walker picked up Whitney, carried her, screaming and kicking, over to the ocean, waded in with her, and dumped her into waist deep water. The other two joined them and a general water-fight began—two against two, one against three, every man for himself—like kids. Eventually the four, exhausted but clean, waded ashore.

  “All right Walker, what now?” Susan asked. “You’ve been doing a pretty good job so far.”

  “Let’s keep walking up the beach a bit farther and we can talk about it.”

  Walker outlined his thoughts. The objective was to get Prince William into British hands as quickly and safely as possible. The problem was that every British military unit of any strength south of New York was with Cornwallis and trapped on the peninsula. Baltimore was no good, no British troops there anymor
e. Philadelphia was pretty much a rebel stronghold, which left New York. But, how do you get to New York?

  Walker came to the conclusion that trying to get to New York by land was too risky—especially when there was no way of knowing which people along the way were Tories and which were Patriots, who was friend and who was foe. No, he reasoned, they needed a ship or a boat of some kind. The problem was that neither he, nor any of the others, had a clue as to how or where they might get one.

  “Well, I do know this, we aren’t going to get help by walking along this desolate beach forever. Let’s cut inland. If I recall that map we saw at Moore House, if we head west, sooner or later, we’re going to come across the Gloucester Road. We can take that to the Town of Gloucester. It’s big enough so we can blend in, but small enough so we might be able to get more information.”