TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS
RONDO - STAVE LXIX
S T A V E
LXIX
29th August, 1781
Sickness raced through the camp, the heat during the day and chill at night along with men taxed beyond endurance. Foul water made it worse. Whole companies struck. Putrid Fever. Throats closing so tight, one cannot breathe. New Men mostly, yet to accommodate to the rancid climate. These died, their blood a dull vermilion. Soldiers begged for cures. The surgeons administered placebos: sugar, water and dirt.
Geordie stood morning watch along the bluffs – the best time, bugs asleep and the night cooled off. A breeze off the water that would soon end. The sun’ll be up and kill it as it kills all pleasant things, he thought. Only the Virulent thrive. Damn the South with its rot and roaches. Entropic. Parasitic. Whatever elegance is punctuated by great stains of sweat. And the pitiful New Men come all this way to die of Fever. More noble from a musket ball than shitting yourself to death. It took Billy Gill, the first Casualty. How strong we were in ’76 – Howe’s Army. They ran at the very sight of us, the drunken bastards, throwing off their arms and clothes. Should have had them back then . . . We did, several times over. Had them in our hands – Victory. What battle honours for the Colours – it still can be if we win. If we win. Six long years. Seven or more for regiments like the 10th. in Boston. And now to have run over the breadth of the South. Invincible we were. Invincible still.
Get us a fight, Geordie prayed of Cornwallis, if only to squelch the demons. And if not, take us to New York . . . and Obedience . . .
He gazed at the York with its green and blue water meeting the sea. A clear morning like when they first spied New York – the day he noticed her, the day it started – like the Coat but so much more . . . He quieted for the first time in weeks – no visions or voices, no prickling in his limbs. Just Obedience. Somewhere, now, she is walking. Maybe doing some chore. Does she think of me? Could she be thinking of me now? Does Providence still link us? It must. It shall.
In the quiet, he turned to look on the fine brick houses. A charming little town. There could be worse places to be. They could be stuck in some swamp, or back in the wilderness of North Carolina, sleeping on the naked ground. At the mouth of the river emptying into the Chesapeake, he imagined the fleet coming to take them out.
To the southeast, specks of British ships, the frigate Guadeloupe and her escort beating out to sea on their station. They’d been at it since dawn and he’d watched them growing smaller and smaller. Little ships, tiny on the water’s breast. How easily swallowed. It’s a brave man whose career is at sea.
They fell out of sight.
Pop . . . Pop . . . Pop, pop. Each with an echo. Big guns, his first reaction – thirty-two pounders. Bigger than a frigate would mount. He knew the sound and had heard them aplenty the past five years. He strained his eyes.
Ships emerged from the diamond sparkles, a slow progression back up the river and then the unmistakable puffs from Guadeloupe’s stern guns. On her hip, three ships of the line, third raters.
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“French?” Cornwallis grilled his aide. “How’d you know they’re French? We’ve received no confirmation from New York they are making for the Chesapeake. Couldn’t it be Graves?”
“No, my lord,” Captain Brodrick said. “They’re flying Bourbon Colours.”
Cornwallis rode to the highest point with General O’Hara. Thirty warships warped into the capes, among them, the three Third-Raters. “You think this is De Barres come from Newport?”
“The fleet’s too large,” O’Hara said, looking through his glass.
“If it’s De Grasse up from the West Indies, Rodney and Hood can’t be far behind. But that does not suffice for now – those three can do us some damage if we don’t act immediately. I want all cannon and magazines off our ships and set as shoreline batteries. Have the sailors put ashore to help. Use them as gunners.” He turned to Captain Brodrick. “Have you any of those Continental scrips?”
“I shall get them, my lord.”
“Write this on the margin in the code and send it off to Sir Henry directly: an enemy Fleet is within the capes, between thirty and forty ships of war, mostly large.” And back to O’Hara. “We must prepare for a breakout. Where do you think De Grasse will land his troops?”
“I should think he might go up Sarah Creek to occupy Gloucester.”
“We’ve a thousand there and the works aren’t strong, but it should not take much to fortify them. We need a back door. We could march out over the neck and fight our way past Lafayette in Jamestown.”
“Then again,” O’Hara said, “De Grasse could sail up the James to link with Lafayette. That would be a substantial force. The French could sail in and push us back on them.”
“We can still fight our way out, but would have to leave the wounded and the ordinances behind. We must choose the lesser of two evils. Then again, our fleet must know the French are here. Word can get to Sir Henry, and we sit tight and wait. Graves or Rodney could be here within days. We wouldn't have to fight our way out, and when have the French ever beat us at sea? Our navy would not have to win, just slip in and protect us.
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Two days later De Grasse landed 3000 soldiers on Jamestown Island to join Lafayette. They advanced on Williamsburg. Thank God, Graves was sighted off of the Chesapeake, though little he knew of De Grasse’s greater numbers. Still, Graves could not have arrived at a more capital moment, for De Grasse was busy disembarking troops and had 1800 men ashore foraging for fresh vegetables and water.
As De Grasse was surprised, Graves was bowled over – his opponent’s Enormity. So much so, his Advantages forgotten – greater firepower, faster ships, his fleet’s superior condition, and most of all – English Seamanship. He’d caught ‘em in bed and “‘beyond the wildest dream of a sea commander.’”
“We are saved!” – the Regulars in Yorktown. Jubilation. Not only Saved, but Won! The Rebellion won! It ends in Yorktown, Victorious . . . Happy and Glorious – the French in America Done!
Graves waffled; if it were Lord Howe and De Grasse twice his number, he would wade in and tear him to bits. But Safe and Steady, Graves – better to fall back on Rules of Tactics. And with some reason: the Admiralty brooks no failure and to lose a battle, much less a fleet, an admiral would find himself stripped and drummed out of the Service – such with Admiral Mathews in ’44. And Byng! Poor Byng court martialled and executed on a quarterdeck! But that was for timidity . . . He must Act. Admiral Hood, Graves’ second, had no qualms: Annihilate them. What other decision was at hand? Cornwallis on the brink.
The French came out in bad order, only four of their ships in line to the superior British position. Graves, by the book, noted in his log, “brought to (hove to a stop) in order to let the Center of the Enemy’s Ships come to a Brest of us.” For an hour and a half he did nothing. And when he had the ‘Angle’ and the ‘Gage’ and could’ve blown them out the water, he still did nothing.
Six hours later, he engaged, confusing his captains with contradictory signals. Still, no Machine of War more ferocious as a British Beat-to-Quarters. The French, now inline, raked them. Still, the British closed, firing low as always to sink their opponent. The French fired high to dismast them.
Yet, despite the van of Graves ships handled roughly and half the fleet yet to engage, his captains were winning. At the end of the day when he signaled to break off, Hood brought the remainder of the fleet up. The French had retired.
The next day, the fleets made repairs and stared at each other like boxers between rounds. Graves and Hood bickered. “Go after him,” Hood advised. “We’ve copper bottom ships and can sail the canvas off of him. Make for the Chesapeake and throw a line across the entrance. Let the Frenchman figure out how to break through.” Too dangerous Graves said as they were outnumbered and could be trapped. “But you’ve the Gage,” Hood said, “act while you can.”
The fleets held for several days, winds separating them until heavy seas and storms broke them apart and the French slipped away and out of sight.
Hood to Graves: “I flatter myself you will forgive the Liberty I take in asking you whether you any knowledge of where the French fleet is? I am inclined to think his aim is the Chesapeake and if he should enter the bay, will he not succeed in giving the most effectual succour to the rebels?”
Graves finally moved only to learn De Grasse indeed occupied Chesapeake bay and was now reinforced by the newly arrived fleet of De Barres.
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September 13th, 1781, HMS London – Council of War, Admirals T. Graves, S. Hood, F. Drake presiding: “. . . Upon this state of the position of the Enemy, the present condition of the British Fleet, the season of the year so near the Equinox, and the impracticability of giving any effectual succour to General Earl Cornwallis in the Chesapeake, It is resolved the British Squadron under the command of Thomas Graves, Esqr, Rear Admiral of the Red et& should proceed with all dispatch to New York, and there use every possible means for putting the Squadron into the best state for service.”