The Continental Risque (10 page)

‘Yes, certainly.' There was no harm in indulging Tottenhill. He would, after all, most likely remain aboard the
Charlemagne
in some capacity. Second lieutenant, perhaps. It was important to establish some rapport with him.

And besides, Tottenhill had already launched into his explanation. ‘I reckon they're sound enough. You know, I've seen vessels going down the ways with cant frames rotten. We had a merchantman built in a local yard. It was in '65. Or was it '66? Yes, '66. No … yes, '66. In any event, the shipwright had taken frames out of a wreck, do you see—'

‘Mr Tottenhill, pray, I'm in a bit of a hurry,' Biddlecomb lied, ‘so perhaps we can confine ourselves to the
Charlemagne
?'

‘Oh, yes, of course. In any event, I was looking at the rabbet, there, and thinking perhaps it could be cut an inch or so deeper, give a better fit to those hood ends. Half this planking at least will need replaced, but …'

For the next forty-five minutes, until Virginia's eyes were glazed over with a boredom that was beyond what Biddlecomb considered acceptable for someone in his company, he allowed Mr Tottenhill to drone on about the repairs to the bow. Isaac found himself constantly nudging the lieutenant back onto the subject, like conning a ship through conflicting currents that were trying to throw it off course. At the end of the first twenty minutes he found himself fidgeting and interjecting such things as ‘Yes, yes, of course' and ‘To be sure, right,' signs that he too was becoming intolerably bored. Though Tottenhill appeared to possess a decent knowledge of the subject, for the first time in his life Biddlecomb had found a discussion of naval architecture something less than fascinating.

‘And, sir, I'd just like to say as well what an honor it is to sail with you. I've heard a great deal, of course, about the
Icarus
and the powder to Boston. And just lately they're talking about—'

‘Yes, well, thank you, Mr Tottenhill. Ah, I look forward to working with you, and, well, welcome aboard, I suppose. Now, I'll let you carry on. Miss Stanton and I really have to shove off.' Isaac shook the first lieutenant's hand, took Virginia again by the arm, and tromped off across the shipyard, past their own frozen footprints.

‘Am I mistaken,' Virginia asked, ‘or is he a bit longwinded?'

‘You are not mistaken, dear.' The man was beyond longwinded. Biddlecomb was certain that he had never in his life endured such a breathless monologue, and he included in that assessment several talks with lawyers and politicians. And now, through some official machinations to which he was not even privy, he would be stuck with the man, forced to live with him and his monotonous chatter on a small ship at sea for the Lord knew how long.

He had learned long ago how awful it could be to have even one annoying person aboard a ship. An irritating sailor was bad enough, but Tottenhill would be, if not first then most likely second officer. As captain, Biddlecomb would not be able to avoid him. If this had been the merchant service, then he would have left Tottenhill on the beach. But this was the navy, and it was, apparently, not his decision to make.

‘Needless to say I intend to protest to the Naval Committee. Nothing against Tottenhill, but this is intolerable, after all that Rumstick's done,' Isaac said as he and Virginia made their way back down Water Street.

‘I wonder how Ezra will take this,' Virginia said.

‘I don't know. Not well, I'll wager.'

Rumstick did not take it well, not well at all, but it was to his credit that no one, save for Biddlecomb, realized as much. ‘We have a bit of a problem, Ezra,' Isaac said over dinner in the warm, homey front room of the Stone House. ‘The Naval Committee's saddled us with a new officer for
Charlemagne
. Fellow named Roger Tottenhill. North Carolinian. Talks a lot, but he seems to know what's what, far as ships are concerned.'

‘New officer, huh?' said Rumstick after swallowing a bite of mutton and pudding. ‘What do you mean? Third lieutenant? Officer of marines?'

‘Ah, well, that's the problem. As it happens, the committee it seems appointed him first lieutenant. They apparently decided he was senior to you, since you were just officially commissioned the other day. Needless to say I was not aware of any of this, and just after dinner I intend to straighten it out. I'll go see Adams, he's on the Naval Committee, and he's gotten quite a bit of wear out of our little adventure at Hell Gate. Owes us, I reckon. I'll get him to put things to rights. But, ah, for the moment, that's how it lies.'

Rumstick sat in silence, an uncomfortable silence that seemed to last an exceptionally long time. ‘Of course, I can well see how that happened,' he said at last. ‘Washington never had the authority to appoint naval officers, nor should he have. You recall, Isaac, that was just some fill-in-the-blank affair, that commission. But that's good, now I'm official. Junior-most in the service, mind, though I've done more fighting than any other five put together, been a prisoner twice, but now I'm official. What do you make of this Tottenhill? Good officer?'

‘Fine, he's fine. But he's not the
Charlemagne
's first officer. You are.'

‘Please, Isaac, I beg you, don't go and make a big issue out of this. Just leave it be. It ain't always for us to know why them politicians do what they do.'

Biddlecomb, however, did make an issue out of it, or tried to at least, despite Rumstick's halfhearted protest. With dinner done he trudged through the snow and frigid wind west down Chestnut Street to the State House, where, behind shut doors, the Continental Congress wrestled with questions of war and reconciliation. The clerk who guarded the door left it in no doubt that Biddlecomb would not be admitted, regardless of how large a ship he commanded, so he took a seat in a high-backed chair in the lobby outside and waited.

For the next hour and a half he waited, while, from within the chamber, he could hear muffled shouts and the occasional pounding of walking sticks on the floor, like the far-off tramping of an army. Then suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the doors flew open and the delegates issued forth, some walking quickly, some strolling in clumps, but nearly all still talking, still arguing, still cajoling.

‘Mr Adams! Mr Adams!' Biddlecomb called, pushing his way through the crowd to the short lawyer. Adams broke off his discussion with a man that Biddlecomb believed to be the famed Dr Franklin. ‘A word, sir, if I may?'

‘Yes, of course,' Adams said. ‘Franklin, this is Captain Biddlecomb, of whom I have spoken. Biddlecomb, Dr Franklin, of whom you and everyone on God's earth has heard. Franklin, the captain seems to be showing me an unusual degree of respect this afternoon, which must mean he has some great favor to ask, so I will bid you good day for now. Come, Biddlecomb, let's go above stairs and I'll hear you out. On my quarterdeck, eh?' With that the delegate from Massachusetts led the way up the wide stairs to the balcony that overlooked the lobby in which the delegates were clustered.

‘Now, sir, what might I do for you?'

‘Well,' Biddlecomb began, cursing himself for a fool for having sat in the lobby for an hour and a half letting his lurid imagination run to thoughts of Virginia rather than thinking of what he would say to Adams. ‘It seems that the Naval Committee has elected to appoint a first officer to the
Charlemagne
. A Roger Tottenhill. Now, I have no doubt that Tottenhill is a fine man—'

‘Yes, yes, Tottenhill. Hewes's man. Decided that the other night.'

‘Sir, no man has done more for this cause than Ezra Rumstick, the man who has been first officer up until now. He deserves to continue in that office.'

‘Oh, I have no doubt of that. I was most impressed with his actions during the Battle of Hell Gate. I'm sorry he must be demoted.'

‘Why must he be? Just change the damn … the orders.'

‘Tottenhill is sponsored by Joseph Hewes, who is also a member of the Naval Committee. This was done at his request.'

‘And it is my request, the request of the captain of the
Charlemagne
, that it be undone.'

‘The request of the great naval hero, eh?' Adams smiled not unkindly. ‘I'm sorry, Biddlecomb, really. There is so much more going on here than you could even imagine. Why do you think I was so envious of the way you ran your ship, giving out orders and having to placate no one, not even me? See here: Hewes is from North Carolina. Without the Southern colonies … states … we can't hope to win this war or even get an agreement on independence. We must be united.

‘But as it stands, the navy is largely a New England affair and that makes men like Hewes suspicious. The fact is that it is far more important to me to keep Hewes happy than it is to keep you happy, and I mean that as no offense to you. As powerful as I might be in this Congress, I still must play these games, and I'm afraid Rumstick must accept his lot. Besides, did Tottenhill not bring thirty sailors with him? You were a bit shorthanded, as I recall.'

‘Yes, he mentioned something about more hands being on their way, along with mentioning every other damned thing in creation. But see here. Tottenhill . .'

What was he going to say? Tottenhill talked too much? It sounded ridiculous, and only someone who had spent a lifetime at sea, who understood the working of a floating society, could appreciate how intolerable and detrimental it was to have an officer an incompatible as Tottenhill. Adams would point out that Biddlecomb had met Tottenhill but once, and he would be right, and the argument that once was enough to see how intolerable Tottenhill could be would sound equally ridiculous.

He could threaten to resign, have a tantrum like a petulant child, but that would resolve nothing. Biddlecomb had the unhappy and humiliating realization that he was not nearly as important in the great cause as he had believed himself to be. He had no leverage here.

‘I'm sorry, Biddlecomb, truly I am. I think highly of your man Rumstick, I do. But the minute you set foot ashore, you lost that autonomy that you so enjoy at sea. I for one found it much easier to face a broadside than to watch over my shoulder for the figurative knife in the back. My advice is to go back to sea and stay there, avoid Naval Committees as best you can, and if you're lucky, this Tottenhill will get killed or get a command of his own.'

The atmosphere in the city was charged, crackling with the energy generated by preparations for war and the national and international implications of the fight that was increasingly regarded as inevitable.

Fort Ticonderoga was taken, and Washington, for all his difficulties, still held the British under siege in Boston. There were rumors that Benedict Arnold was about to take Quebec.

The British, for their part, had done little to assuage the Colonies' fear and anger, laying Falmouth to waste, shelling that city from the harbor and destroying a generous share of homes just as the weather was turning cold. A decade and more of simmering tensions were coming to a boil, bubbling and spilling over.

And on through December the fleet gathered in the Delaware River as one after another of the merchantmen were beefed up, pierced for gunports, armed, and pronounced men-of-war.

Biddlecomb gritted his teeth and endured Tottenhill's incessant chatter during those times when he was not able to avoid the lieutenant. He found the sensation of listening to his first officer not unlike that of hearing the high-pitched squeal of a rusty carriage brake, the kind of sound that makes one clench one's fists and grimace until it is gone.

Every night he resolved to be more tolerant of the man, and every day he found it increasingly impossible.

Two days after Christmas the
Charlemagne
was eased back into the water, her round bottom pushing aside the heavy pieces of ice that floated like wreckage up and down the river. Her bow was rebuilt, her masts and rigging new and freshly set up, her paintwork repainted to mask any sign of the recent repairs. She was like a man waking up refreshed from a long, deep sleep.

The New Year came, the year 1776, and among the many causes for excitement and expectation was the small fleet of warships, the
Alfred
and
Columbus
, the brigs
Cabot
and
Andrew Doria
and
Charlemagne
, warped from their moorings to the docks that jutted out into the Delaware River.

In their tavern room the Naval Committee drafted their orders for Commodore Hopkins, and in the great cabin of the
Alfred
, Hopkins drafted his signals for the fleet. Over the sides and down the gaping hatches of the ships flowed barrels of food and water and gunpowder, sailcloth and round shot, paint, tar, brick dust and sand, as well as a stream of men, all in preparation for getting under way.

This was not a mere resistance of British authority. It was not a defensive action brought on by British aggression. This was American aggression, a first strike, an act of war. The Navy of the United States of America was ready to fight.

Biddlecomb stared out the small window in the
Charlemagne
's quarter gallery and watched the ice in the Delaware River undeniably breaking up.

There was a thin swath of open, running water down the middle of the river, which was close to a mile wide at that point, and then the ice took up again, a flat, white expanse that melded with the colony of New Jersey on the far side. But cold as it was, it was warmer than it had been the past few days, and the stretch of open water was noticeably wider.

Once the ice was gone, the fleet would sail. Biddlecomb was not all that anxious to leave Philadelphia and the wonderful fun that he was having there. He was not anxious to leave Virginia. He was not anxious to be trapped aboard the
Charlemagne
with Lt Roger Tottenhill.

As if prompted by his captain's thoughts, Tottenhill knocked on the cabin door.