The Midshipman Prince (22 page)

      
Hanover stopped struggling and Hayes released him.

      
“Who…”

      
“Be quiet, I said!”

      
Hayes then very carefully placed the wooden section back on the outhouse and wedged it in place with several twigs. “Follow me.”

      
From where they hid, the three who waited could not see the escape. It was therefore with nothing less than complete astonishment that the group greeted Hayes’ return with Hanover in tow.

      
“Let’s go. I figure it will be at least ten minutes before they wonder what the prince is doing, another five before they start banging on the door, and another ten before they figure out what happened. So we’ve got maybe 25 minutes to get clear of here.”

      
They piled into the wagon and spurred the bedraggled horse into action, only this time in earnest. It wasn’t all that far from the farm house to the fishing village—maybe five miles. But if you were a horse that actually looked forward to going to the glue factory, it’s a long way indeed—especially when your insane human owners actually want you to
run
all the way.

      
Several miles down the road, Susan could contain herself no longer. “Bill, how on earth did you make your escape?”

      
He paused for a moment gathering his thoughts. “Like several of my ancestors, I was forcibly removed from my throne.” He then started laughing wildly and said no more.

      
Arriving in the fishing village, they sandwiched into Hayes’ gig that was still waiting for him at the pier. They rowed directly for the
Trojan
, Hayes’ ship.

      
Scrambling aboard, Hayes told the second mate to get underway immediately. He protested that half the crew, along with the first mate, was still ashore. Hayes replied that he didn’t care. “Man the windless!” he snapped.

      
The
Trojan
was what some people called a “river sloop.” It was about 100 feet long with a single tall mast located far forward, near the fo’c’sle. Off that mast were three fore-and-aft sails. The largest was the main sail that ran from the mast to the aft end of the ship. It was anchored at the bottom by a long boom and at the top by a smaller arm called a gaff. The gaff could be hauled up and down the mast thus raising and lowering the main sail which, in turn, gave the ship most of its motive power. Providing much of its directional stability was the jib, a sail that ran forward from the mast to the very end of the bowsprit, a pole that stuck out from the bow of the ship like a swordfish’s beak. At the very top of the mast was a small triangular topsail whose peak was tied to the masthead and whose base was tied to the gaff. The ship was not controlled by a wheel and rudder; instead, it had a large tiller in the stern.

      
Mounted on a stand in the bow was an antique swivel gun. There’s no way it could ever fire, it had a crack down the side of the barrel, but the owners bought it cheap and they thought just the sight of it might discourage some of the small-time pirates that operated in the bay.

      
Behind the swivel gun was the windless with a length of thick rope wrapped around it leading to the anchor. Continuing aft was a small hatch leading down to the cargo hold, the mast, the main cabin, and finally the quarterdeck, with the ships tiller. A small yawl boat was hoisted up and secured to the stern.

      
“Man the windless,” the second mate repeated and the abbreviated crew swung into motion. A fo’c’s’lemen disappeared down the forward hatch to coil the anchor rope as it came in; two others worked the windless that hauled in the anchor. The ship’s bosun, watching the anchor line, called back: “At short stay,” meaning the anchor cable was taut and stretched on a straight line to the seabed.

      
The heavy main sail was still lashed to the boom with the gaff tied securely on top of that. It was time to get the main sail cleared and ready to run up.

      
“After-guard and idlers lay aft.” And a group of men appeared next to Hayes near the tiller.

      
“You men,” he said pointing to several in the group, “ease away the downhauls and tack the tricing lines. You others, off main sail gaskets.” The first group began slacking certain ropes while the others slid along the boom untying the small strips of canvas that held the gaff and mainsail to the boom.

      
A call came from the fo’c’sle: “Up and down, sir!” Meaning that the anchor cable was now vertical. And a moment later, the Bosun added: “Anchor’s aweigh!” The ship was now free of any direct connection with land.

      
By this time, Hayes had found a megaphone. “Man the topping lift. Haul taught and belay. You there, overhaul that mainsheet then man the throat and peak halyards.” Some men grabbed the ropes that would haul the sail upwards and others prepared the sail for unfolding.

      
When they were ready, Hayes called out: “Haul taut and hoist away. Come on. Come on lads, look alive! We got ‘ter get outta here.”

      
The huge main sail started crawling up the mast and began to fill. “Overhaul that main sheet, damn it. Right, now tally aft.”

      
He turned to the quartermaster who was at the tiller. “Are you getting a bite yet?”

      
“Yes sir, just starting…” And a few seconds later, “The helm is answering, sir.” And, with ponderous grace, the
Trojan
started to move.

      
Just as they turned into the wind to make their way out of the bay, Walker turned and saw a large group of men on horseback thundering into the fishing village. At the head was a very thin man with flaming red hair.

      
At about the same time, they passed the first of the larger schooners that were anchored in the bay. Walker looked at its stern plate to see its name.

      
It was called the
Cardinal
.

* * *

      
You have to give credit—the
Cardinal
was a beautiful ship. She was a topsail schooner and, at 97 feet length and 17 feet beam, she was slightly shorter, thinner and much faster than the
Trojan
. On that hull, she crowded two masts to the
Trojan’s
one, and over 2000 square feet of sail.

      
Both masts held fore and aft mainsails that, like the
Trojan
, were tied down to a boom and gaff arrangement. Instead of a single jib, it had both a jib and a forestaysail; but the most distinguishing features were the topsails. Instead of fore-and-aft, they were square. In effect, it gave the
Cardinal
the best of both worlds. Heading into the wind, she could use the highly efficient fore-and-aft sails, and running before the wind, she could use the square topsails. Into the wind, she was not as fast as a pure fore-and-aft ship like the
Trojan
, and before the wind not as fast as true square-rigger; but, as a compromise, she was superb.

      
The
Cardinal
had one other characteristic that the
Trojan
lacked. She had guns—six 12-pounders, three on a side, and one 6 pounder in the bow and one in the stern as chasers. She would never strike fear into the heart of a genuine man-o-war; but the 12-pounder was not a trivial weapon. Nine feet long, it could throw a 12-pound iron ball over two miles; and with a 4-pound powder charge, it could penetrate a foot thick piece of solid oak at 1000 yards. In short, the
Cardinal
was more than enough to overcome or even sink an unarmed Chesapeake merchantman, and that’s what the
Trojan
was.

      
“She’s getting underway,” Smith muttered to no one in particular as he watched the
Cardinal
through his telescope. The
Trojan
was now well into Mobjack Bay and had every stitch of canvas set.

      
“Quartermaster, come to east-southeast and hold her steady.”

      
Standing next to Hayes, Smith asked: “What are your plans?”

      
“I plan to do the only sensible thing
to
do in this situation.”

      
“Which is?”

      
“Run like hell.”

      
After a minute or so of silence, he could sense the concern of the four refugees gathered around him, and decided to share his thoughts. “All right, here’s the way I figure it,” he began. “The
Cardinal
is faster than we are at all sailing points except into the wind. She might even be faster there too, but I think we can at least hold our own.

      
“The wind is out of the east, as it usually is this time of year, so if we were to try to make a run north—to Bal-more, she’d catch us by night fall. The same thing is true if we try to head south and leave the Chesapeake by the Cape Henry passage. She’d catch us before we ever got to open ocean.

      
“No, the only direction we can go is easterly, and sail as close to the wind as we can.”

      
“Wait a minute,” Smith interjected. “We certainly can’t leave the Chesapeake over the top of the middle ground. So, sooner or later, we’ll have to turn south to make for the Cape Henry passage. Either way, if we go to Baltimore or Cape Henry, he’ll get us.”

      
“I know. That’s why I plan to leave via the Cape Charles passage,” Hayes said quietly.

      
“What?” Smith and Hanover asked simultaneously. Not sure if they had heard him right.

      
“Cape Charles.”

      
“But with Cape Charles you can never tell if the channel is open. Sometimes the current will shift the sand one way and you can take a first rate through. Other times you can’t get a rowboat through without grounding. How do you know which way the passage will be?”

      
“I don’t; and if he follows us in, neither does he. How lucky do you feel today?”

      
The
Trojan
plunged on, running as close to the easterly wind as she could. Fortunately, that tack also took her on a direct line from Mobjack Bay to the tip of Cape Charles.

      
Walker and Smith had gone below to see if there was anything in the hold that could be used as weapons. Susan Whitney went below, with some trepidation, to inspect the galley. Hanover stayed on deck with Hayes as they executed the long reach to Cape Charles.

      
Had they not been running for their lives, it would have been a glorious day for a sail. The sky was crystal blue with high white fleecy clouds. Gulls swooped and sailed on the freshening breeze and the water was just beginning to whitecap. The
Trojan
was handling the full set of sails well and the sound of wood working on wood could be heard throughout the ship—not harsh or strained but measured and even, like the breathing of a horse that has hit his stride.

      
There was nothing for the two men to do but watch the direction of the wind, the set of the sails, and watch the ship behind them that was pulling every nautical trick in the book to catch up.

      
Finally, Hanover asked, “Why are you doing it, Hugh?”

      
“Doing what? Heading for Cape Charles?”

      
“No, all of this. Risking your ship, even your life, to get us away. As you say, you’re not a British subject anymore. Indeed, the navy would hang you if they could find you. So, why do it?”

      
Hayes thought for a moment. “There’s two reasons, I guess. The first is Susan Whitney. I don’t know how well you know her, but she’s a very special lady. There isn’t a man on the
Richmond
that wouldn’t give up his right arm if she needed it. Take me, for example.

      
“Two years ago we was in the Mediterranean, up along the coast of North Africa. We put into some port—don’t even remember which one it was. Anyway, we put in to replenish our supply of water and firewood and I was in charge of the shore party.

      
“I was helping to load the firewood and reached down to grab some logs when something bit me or stung me—never even saw what it was. But the pain wasn’t much, so I didn’t think anything of it.