Hugh Kenrick (53 page)

Your most obedient servant, Dogmael Jones.”

This news overjoyed Hugh, who immediately penned a reply, thanking Jones for the information and mentioning the fact that he, too, was going to the colonies. “Your efforts on behalf of my friends,” he wrote, “will not be forgotten. I have related to my father your efforts throughout the matter, and he is appreciative. If there is anything he or I could do for you, please do not hesitate to write either of us.”

Two nights before they were to set out for Weymouth, the Kenricks invited the Brunes and the Tallmadges to a farewell supper in Hugh’s honor. The gay affair was dampened somewhat by Mrs. Brune’s announcement to the Baroness that her family would not be able to journey to Weymouth. “Regrettably, we have been invited to spend a week or so with the McDougals in Surrey,” she said, “and if we are to arrive there in a decent time, we must embark on the very day you are going to Weymouth. It would
be utterly impossible to try to fit in two protracted journeys. Had we known earlier about your plans, we might have written to the McDougals, postponing our arrival one or two days. But Reverdy did not inform us of Hugh’s departure until it was too late. I am very sorry.”

Effney Kenrick sensed that there was more to it than conflicting agendas, but she said nothing. She did not allow the news to affect her role as the happy and gracious hostess. She was only sorry that she had been right about the effect that Hugh’s actions had apparently had on the Brunes. And she saw, by Hugh’s and Reverdy’s demeanors that evening, that Hugh also knew and that the girl was not happy with the change in plans. She did her best to give the pair as much time together alone as possible. When the guests were gone, she waited until Hugh raised the subject.

He said, “We shall write each other,” he commented. “Mr. Tallmadge has given Roger permission to come with us to Weymouth, instead.”

“Roger is always welcome, Hugh,” said the Baroness.

Hugh noted the concerned look on his mother’s face. He smiled. “She’s promised not to allow her mother to marry her off to someone else,” he said. “And when I return, if necessary, we shall elope. That is all there is to that.”

By silent agreement, nothing more was said on the subject.

*  *  *

It was with a sense of disappointment that the Kenricks waited a mere one day for the
Sparrowhawk
to drop anchor in Weymouth Harbor. They had hoped for two or three days.

And it was a brave, self-controlled party that stood on the breezy, busy dock mid-morning the next day. Once the last goodbyes, embraces, reassurances, and promises had been exchanged, Hugh turned and walked up the gang-board. He had, for a final time, grimly shaken hands with his father, traded lingering busses with his mother and sister, and shaken hands with Roger Tallmadge. He carried his friend’s farewell gift, an army officer’s long-glass. When Roger presented it to him, his friend stammered, “An aid for my farsighted and soon-to-be-faraway friend.” He had added, “I spent all last night making that up, and I bought the glass in a shop in Poole. My father repaired it.”

The
Sparrowhawk
had matured over the years. She was a vessel of commerce, and still, out of necessity, a vessel of war. Gone were the Quakers,
the “phony guns”; she now boasted thirty, alternating four-and six-pounders, each manned by an expert crew. She carried on this voyage chiefly cargo, mostly manufactures from England, together with woven and liquid products from Spain and Portugal, disguised on altered cockets as items of English origin. There were only eleven passengers, including three officials and their wives traveling to the colonies to assume government posts there, and five paying passengers. The crew of eighty outnumbered them. This was one of the rare voyages on which the frigate-sized vessel carried no redemptioners, indentures, or felons.

Captain John Ramshaw met Hugh as he stepped on deck off the gang-board. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Kenrick,” he said, shaking his guest passenger’s hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We will get under way shortly, sir.” Ramshaw studied Hugh for a moment, trying to reconcile his passenger with what little Garnet Kenrick had told him in Benjamin Worley’s office at Lion Key. He said, “I usually tell my passengers to go below to their quarters, to be out of the crew’s way. You may stay here, if you wish. Your berth is ready. It was an officer’s berth that we had been using for extra space, but it has been cleaned out and made comfortable. I hope you find it acceptable.” Ramshaw reached into his coat and handed Hugh a key. “Be sure to lock its gate when you leave the berth, or when you sleep. My crew is honest, but I won’t vouch for the other passengers or for the limpets.”

“Limpets, sir?”

“Never heard the term at Lion Key?” Ramshaw chuckled. “That’s our name for bureaucrats, and customs officials, and other two-legged albatrosses.”

Hugh smiled. “I expect to enlarge my vocabulary on this voyage, under your tutelage, sir.”

“Hmmm…a vocabulary, which, if what your father the Baron has told me about you is true, should match your own reputation.”

“I am certain that he exaggerated, sir.”

“We shall see,” said Ramshaw. “Well, over there, sir,” he said, nodding to some shrouds. “Take a last look at your family, and let them have a last look at you.”

Ten minutes later the Weymouth postmaster and two clerks arrived to deliver mail Ramshaw was taking to Philadelphia. Twenty minutes later the port pilot, his job done, climbed down the rope ladder on the side to his
gig and pushed off. The
Sparrowhawk
crept out to sea on a mild breeze, bound for Falmouth, and then Plymouth, the great naval base on the south coast of Cornwall.

Hugh watched from the main deck until the town became an indistinct blur, then disappeared as the
Sparrowhawk
rounded the Isle of Portland, whose quarries were the source of the stone that was going into the construction of Blackfriars Bridge in London, and had gone into so many great houses in England, including the spacious place he had once called home.

H
IS BERTH WAS MORE A CELL THAN WAS HIS BILLET IN THE
T
OWER OF
London. There was a bunk with some blankets and drawers below it, a table, a chair, and a small bureau, all crammed together in a space little more than five feet by five, between the iron bars and the side of the ship. A lantern swung from a beam over the table, on which sat a single tin candleholder. Stashed in a corner were his valises and two trunks. The remainder of his luggage was in the hold. Next to his berth was that of Mr. Iverson, the surgeon, and across the way those of Mr. Haynie, the bursar, and Mr. Dietz, the ship’s master, Ramshaw’s second-in-command. At the end of the passage were Ramshaw’s cabin and the companionway stairs leading to the deck above.

The other passengers’ berths consisted of hammocks strung from overhead beams, with a common table for meals. Some of the wives had rigged partitioning sheets to separate their and their husbands’ berths from the others for privacy.

Except for the initial introductions to the other passengers, and occasional conversations with them, Hugh did not associate with them. He supped more often with Ramshaw and his officers than he did with the other passengers, when the captain was receptive to company; at other times, he was served his meals in his berth by the cook’s mate. He kept to himself, reading, or writing in the journal he bought in Weymouth, or going above to watch the crew at work, or to think. Most of the crew and all of the passengers knew who he was, but not why he was on board. His solitary demeanor whetted their curiosity, but did not embolden it to discreet enquiry. When he wished to be alone, he was left alone.

On the first night out of Weymouth, Ramshaw had him to supper in the cabin. Replying to the captain’s tactful queries, Hugh told him why he was going to the colonies.

“Well, imagine that!” said Ramshaw. “Thumbing one’s nose at the Crown! And over a band of freethinkers! I mean nothing darkish, sir, but you are a curiosity. So, it is not merely a clash of temperaments between you and your uncle?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I must assure you that you are always welcome at my table—but, I don’t advise that you regale the crew or passengers with your tale. Someone may not appreciate the valor, or the tragedy.”

“I had not intended to, sir.”

Ramshaw rose and renewed their glasses with Montrachet wine. “I like your father, sir, and not merely for the depth of his purse. Seems to be a hard-dealing man with a greater knowledge of my business than I would credit any, well, peer with having. I could do more business with him, if he were of a mind.”

“He is not a peer, and won’t be until my uncle expires.” Hugh paused. “I will write him of your interest, once I am settled in Philadelphia.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Hugh had glanced at Ramshaw’s bookcase. He did not see
Hyperborea
among the titles. He inquired about it.

“Oh, that? I have a house in Norfolk, sir, and I rotate my library. The sea air, you know, can be so cruel on books. Why do you ask?”

“It is a particular favorite of mine. I do not meet many men who have read it, or display it.”

“I see.” Ramshaw studied his guest for a moment. “What are your views on smuggling, Mr. Kenrick?”

Hugh shrugged. “It is an activity that would not be necessary if there were no taxes on imports, or on manufactures that go out from a country. I suppose that someday, when I am Earl of Danvers and am able to sit in Lords, I shall oppose every tax bill that comes up from the Commons, and argue and vote for the repeal of existing ones.”

“Why so thorough a dislike, sir?”

“For justice, and the eradication of limpets.”

“I see,” repeated Ramshaw. He spent some time lighting a pipe, then said, “I knew the author, slightly, of your particular favorite.”

Hugh’s jaw dropped. “You knew Romney Marsh?”

“Yes. That was one of his many names.”

Hugh leaned forward eagerly. “He was a criminal, was he not?”

Ramshaw shook his head. “No. He was a smuggler. Knew most of the Skelly gang, I did—but you’re not to let that go about.”

Hugh was beside himself with joy. “I envy you, sir!” He asked Ramshaw for more details.

Ramshaw obliged, ending with, “The only survivor was Jack. Jack Frake. He was transported to Virginia on this very ship. Sat where you’re
sitting now. Found him in the Falmouth jail, and bought his indenture, and sold him for a penny to a planter in Queen Anne. Now he’s a planter himself. Saved his master’s life during the Braddock disaster, in Pennsylvania, though Virginia still claims that whole area. Massie—John Massie—he was a captain of a company of militia, who lost two sons there. Well, the last I heard, Jack’s indenture was nearly up, and he was to marry Captain Massie’s daughter, Jane. He’s not done badly as a transported convict. I might call on him after I put up at Yorktown.” Ramshaw grinned broadly. “Jack, you see, helped Marsh to copy out that book, when he was with the gang. I thought you might treasure that little item.”

“I do,” said Hugh. “That book is among several others I set aside to read on this voyage. Thank you.” He smiled at the captain. “Here is to your health, sir, and to smugglers, and to transported felons of the more valorous suasion.”

Ramshaw laughed, and touched his glass to his guest’s. “To your health, sir!”

*  *  *

When the
Sparrowhawk
reached Plymouth, Ramshaw had only enough time to attend a conference of merchantmen’s captains, called by the naval authorities, to receive instructions on formations, signals, and policies, and then be rowed back to his vessel to prepare to rendezvous two miles out to join the convoy. There were twenty-one merchantmen in it, in addition to two navy transports carrying troops and supplies to Massachusetts. The convoy was escorted by three ships of the line: two frigates of forty guns each, the
Helios
and the
Jason
, and a third-rate frigate of seventy-four guns, the
Zeus
. The
Helios
led the way, the
Jason
took a position in the middle of the procession, while the
Zeus
brought up the rear.

Ramshaw and the other captains were especially pleased with the presence of the
Zeus
; no single privateer would think of tackling her or any vessel she protected, not unless it was working with other privateers or accompanied by a French man-of-war of similar size. Allowing for troublesome winds and sea conditions, the convoy was to keep in a two-column formation, the smaller vessels in front behind the
Helios
, the larger vessels following in order of size. No privateer or enemy vessel would try to capture a merchantman if its captain knew that a line of larger, armed ships would soon bear down on it; fighting a merchantman and taking it as a
prize was too risky and time-consuming an operation. Any merchantman that strayed more than a mile from the convoy, regardless of sea conditions or other circumstances, would not be defended or assisted by the frigates, if it was attacked. This was made clear by the commander of the convoy, Post-Captain Timothy Farbrace. The convoy would break up once the mainland was sighted, and the merchantmen would be free to go their separate ways.

Ramshaw brought back on board with him copies of the orders and rules of the convoy, and also a list of all the vessels in it. Among the lighter ships was the
Charon
, a brig-sized merchantman, captained by Charles Musto. She carried more than one hundred men, women, and children. Three-quarters of these were redemptioners, or “indenteds”; the rest were convicts of both sexes and a variety of ages, including an eleven-year-old girl sentenced for stealing a pair of ladies’ hose, and a sixty-two-year-old man sentenced for hawking untaxed port in Dover.

Among the frigate-sized vessels was the
Manx
, owned by the Royal African Company, which carried three hundred slaves. This vessel arrived from Bristol, and had been anchored at Plymouth for over a month, waiting for a convoy to assemble. There had been four hundred slaves, but every day several of them died of disease, starvation, or heat prostration, and her captain was ordered by authorities on shore to sail five miles out to sea to dispose of the bodies, so that none would wash up on the tide anywhere near the town.