They met in Falmouth’s great cabin just a few hours after Virginia’s arrival: Biddlecomb and Rumstick, Faircloth, Captain Parker from Oliver Cromwell. Biddlecomb ordered Angus McGinty to attend as well. It was not an easy decision—he did not particularly want the man there—but he needed McGinty’s men, and he was not certain he had any authority over them.
For that matter, he needed McGinty as well. The man had proved to be a skilled mariner, and Biddlecomb needed as many of those as he could get.
It had taken Biddlecomb some time to sort through the great tangle that Virginia and Jack’s arrival had created: a tangle of information and emotions, of plans and rumors and suppositions and things left unspoken. They had arrived by carriage, a lovely vehicle with a good suspension, commandeered from someone of means, which had made the rutted, miserable roads of New Jersey as tolerable as they could be. They were escorted by a dozen mounted troops of the 2nd Regiment Light Dragoons, who remained just long enough to breakfast and see to their horses before riding off north again.
None of that mattered at first blush, or course, nor did Isaac even inquire as to how or why they were there. Rather, he pulled them into the great cabin and kissed Virginia, long and passionately. He was aware of Gerrish quietly shutting the door but he did not look up, just continued kissing, continued to relish the feel of Virginia kissing him back.
He held her as close as he could. He wanted to squeeze her tight but could not because she was wearing Jack in her sling, so he pressed gently against his son and against his wife and kissed her again. And when Jack began to fuss, Isaac lifted him out of the sling and kissed him as well, as long as the young man would tolerate it. And when he would stand for it, no longer Isaac gave the boy to Virginia to nurse, ushered them over to the settee aft and sat them down. Then he sat down beside her and said, “I suspect you have quite a tale to tell.”
That she did. She started with her arrival at the Williams’ home in Philadelphia, described her time there, her time with Susan, the British officers whom Susan had befriended. She was not even halfway through her story when Rumstick knocked on the door, eager to see Virginia and Jack again, to express his welcome, to bring them breakfast, which Woodberry, behind him, was carrying on a tray.
Once he had greeted her and gushed over the baby (with Woodberry behind him trying not to laugh out loud at the sight), Rumstick took his leave and Virginia continued her story between bites of toast and egg and sips of coffee. She told him about the letter, how it had been discovered. She told him that the British officer, Dexter, cousin to James Wallace, had managed to get from her where it was that Weatherspoon had been killed, though she was notably vague as to how he had done it.
After that, the ride out of the city, the wounding of Captain Dexter, their discovery by the Talmadge and the Light Dragoons.
“I don’t know if Dexter got word to Wallace about your whereabouts,” Virginia said. “But he had the information for days before…we left the city.”
Biddlecomb nodded. Days…
“I have to guess Dexter sent word as soon as he had it,” he said. “There’d be little reason not to.” He paused for a moment and considered that. “I need to call a meeting of my officers,” he said at length. “And you need to rest.”
That last, he knew, was pointless, but Isaac felt he had to say it anyway. Virginia would not rest, not when there was crucial business at hand, business of which she was a part. So, when she refused to take her ease, he did not argue, or at least not much.
Forty minutes later that they were all assembled in the great cabin.
“Mrs. Biddlecomb brings certain intelligence from Philadelphia,” Biddlecomb said, once he had provided the others with the highlights of Virginia’s saga. “She has reason to believe that Lord Howe knows where we are, where Falmouth is. Or, more specifically, Sir James Wallace knows.”
“Wallace?” Parker said. “Wallace of the frigate Rose?”
“Late of the frigate Rose, yes,” Biddlecomb said. “He commands a fifty-gun ship now, the Experiment. A more powerful beast, by far.”
“Experiment, then,” Parker said. “But just because he knows you’re here, why do you think he’ll come hunting for you? Are you quite that important to him?”
Biddlecomb did not have to form an answer, because McGinty answered for him. “Ah, Captain Parker, you’d best bet that James Wallace will be hunting for our boy here. Our captain, I should say. Sparrowhawk was tender to Experiment, and Falmouth was her prize. Captain Biddlecomb, he stole them both right out from under Wallace’s nose. A fine caper, and I’m proud to say I had a hand in it meself.”
“That’s the truth of it,” Rumstick said. “But this feud between Wallace and Captain Biddlecomb, it goes back a lot further than that, and a lot deeper. If Wallace has a chance to run us the ground, and get his sloop and his prize back, you can be damned sure he’ll take it, and devil take the hind-most.”
“Very well, then,” Parker said, leaning back and setting his palms on the table. “Sounds like a hard lot. I wish you luck with it, but I must get my ship underway now, while the wind serves.”
That gave the assembled group pause, all eyes on Parker. Rumstick broke the silence, an undercurrent of anger in his voice. “Do you mean to leave us, sir? Just run off?”
“Run off?” Parker said, his tone angry to match Rumstick’s. “No, I mean to get underway and obey my orders, which are to return to New London. This all appears to be a Continental Navy affair. Frankly, it appears to be Captain Biddlecomb’s private affair. And I think the Connecticut State Navy has rendered quite enough help, thank you, lieutenant.”
“Humph,” Rumstick said, sitting back, glaring at Parker. Biddlecomb readied himself to step in, rhetorically, before Rumstick made things worse, but the lieutenant managed to keep his mouth shut. It was, to no one’s surprise, McGinty who spoke next.
“I think Captain Parker has the right of it,” he said. “If old James Wallace learned of our whereabouts four or five days back, which well he might have, then there’s a good chance that fifty-gun ship is just off the harbor mouth as we speak. He’s looking for Falmouth, sure, and Sparrowhawk, but if he were to see a prize such as Oliver Cromwell, rigged and armed, well, he’d soon forget this half-built frigate. And Captain Parker can lead him off on a merry chase.”
“A decoy, you’re saying, Mr. McGinty?” Biddlecomb said.
“Exactly, sir!” McGinty said. “Oliver Cromwell leads Experiment off to kingdom come while we all slip away.”
“Experiment is new built,” Virginia said. “And copper-bottomed.”
Biddlecomb waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t think Captain Parker will have the least problem eluding her, will you, sir? No, I think this might work out excellently.”
“There is no reason to think this Experiment is lurking just beyond the harbor, lying in wait,” Parker said. “But…were I to delay sailing…what did you have in mind?”
“Well…” Biddlecomb said. He had had no chance to think too deeply on this, but some obvious ideas sprung immediately to mind. “First off, Hopefleet has cannon and powder stored down below, and it doesn’t do much good there. We’ll mount what guns we can aboard Falmouth, and bring the powder and shot aboard as well. We can transfer the bulk of the other cargo to Cromwell. That will keep it safer. We don’t want to risk losing that lot.”
Parker nodded. “That’ll serve,” he said. Biddlecomb had reckoned he would see the sense in that. Hopefleet’s chief worth was not the ship itself, but the cargo. If that was lost, then Parker would have gone to a lot of effort for nothing.
“Once that’s done, we get underway as soon as we’re able,” Biddlecomb continued. “Make northing. Wallace might have leave from Lord Howe to operate as an independent command, but I doubt Howe wants him running off too far afield. So if we can just get past the coast here, and the approaches to New York, we should be safe as houses.”
“Humph,” Parker said with appropriate skepticism.
Biddlecomb had some other ideas as well, such as using Cromwell to tow Falmouth, and distributing some of Parker’s men around the other ships, but he kept his mouth shut. He figured he had pushed Parker as far as he was going to push him for the time being.
“You say your orders were for New London,” Biddlecomb added. “That seems as fine a place as any to bring Falmouth.” Actually, Boston was the port he had in mind, but that seemed like another thing that was better kept to himself.
They discussed a few more details, haggled over some of the finer points, and then set to work. A crew was sent over to Hopefleet to raise anchor and half a dozen boats converged on the merchantman to tow her alongside Falmouth. It might have been a tricky business, keeping the two ships’ rigging from becoming entangled, but Falmouth had virtually no rigging to get in the way, just the lower foremast and yard, and it was no great bother to get the merchant brig alongside.
They worked fast, and there were enough experienced hands that they could work efficiently, but there was a great deal to do, swaying the guns and carriages and powder out of Hopefleet’s hold and down onto Falmouth’s gundeck. Some of the other cargo, the uniforms and muskets and such, were lowered into Cromwell’s launch and brought aboard Parker’s ship. Biddlecomb could think of no better way to gain Parker’s trust and cooperation than by letting him carry a good portion of the booty.
As hard as they worked, and eager as they were to get underway, it was soon clear that they would not be ready by nightfall, and no one relished the idea of feeling their way through the narrow inlet in the dark. So they labored until the sun went down, and then they labored some more by lantern light, and when at last they were nearly done, and the men were staggering with exhaustion, Biddlecomb ordered supper and a tot and a night’s sleep.
He himself dined in the great cabin with Virginia and Jack, and Rumstick, Faircloth, and Gerrish. It was only appropriate that he had his officers to supper on such an evening, as they prepared to sail into the teeth of a fifty-gun ship-of-the-line. But he had another, more cowardly reason for bringing them there. He had orders to give Rumstick, orders that Rumstick would not like, and he wanted the others there when he gave them.
“So, Ezra,” Biddlecomb said as they pushed their plates away and took up their glasses. They were drinking rum, like the men. Faircloth’s meticulously stocked wine cellar had been drained by the villains from the pine barrens.
“Yes?”
“I had a thought that I would put you in command of Hopefleet. I don’t know who else I could choose.”
Rumstick frowned. “Command of Hopefleet? You mean not be aboard Falmouth when we sail?”
“Well, if you can contrive to do both, you’re welcome to it,” Biddlecomb said, smiling. No one acknowledged the quip.
“That’s…I’d much prefer to remain aboard the frigate,” Rumstick protested. He had no fear of the responsibility of command, of that Biddlecomb was certain. But he also had no desire to leave the ship they had been fighting for for so long, to leave his shipmates with so vicious a battle looming.
“I understand, Ezra,” Biddlecomb said. “But we might need Hopefleet to take Falmouth under tow, and for that we need a competent master. And there’s not a lot of those around.”
“Of course…I see your point,” Rumstick replied. “So who stands in as first lieutenant? Mr. Gerrish?”
“Good Lord, no!” Gerrish protested. “I’m just a glorified midshipman as it is, and not too glorified at that. I’m in no position to stand as first officer.” The unspoken point: in case of Biddlecomb’s being wounded or killed, the first officer would take command. And there was a tolerably good chance that Biddlecomb would be wounded or killed.
“You are competence itself, Samuel,” Biddlecomb said to Gerrish. “But no…I mean to make McGinty first officer…”
Rumstick’s eyebrows came together and he frowned. Gerrish’s eyes opened wide and Faircloth chuckled softly. Virginia looked on, confused, and Jack slept through it all.
“Are you serious?” Rumstick said. “You’d put that thieving son of a bitch in my stead?”
“I’m giving you a promotion,” Biddlecomb said. “And McGinty’s proven himself to be a decent seaman. Hell, he sailed Sparrowhawk and took a prize with that handful of infantry he had as a crew.”
“Then why not put him in command of Hopefleet?” Rumstick demanded, then said, “Oh…” as he realized why not. The last time McGinty had command of a ship he had run off with it.
“This way I have a man I can trust on Hopefleet and I can keep an eye on McGinty, see that he doesn’t get up to any more mischief,” Biddlecomb said. “Anyway, it’s decided.” He was quite done talking about it. For that matter, he was done with talking in general. Damn the risk, damn the consequences, he was ready to act.