Revenge

Chapter 1.

James Alexander had gotten what he came for, now it was just a problem of getting out alive. He ran over the current situation in his head: His forces were spread out, he had a good perimeter surrounding him, and he had a pretty good idea of where the enemy was. He moved through the trees just as silently as he could, he knew what was at stake.

Michael, spread out more. Take the east side of the creek, James said to his younger brother.

But I’m scared, Jim, whimpered Michael.

Just do as you’re told, and everything will be fine, blast your eyes! James whispered angrily.

Michael spread out more, crossed the creek slowly, and time went on. James tried to reckon how much time had passed since they had set out for home, but he had lost track. It was dark, it was silent, and he felt the pressure mounting on him to make this mission a success.

Crack!

James heard a gasp, a muffled curse, and numerous feet running through the forest. They were going after Michael. He had to make a decision: complete the mission or save his brother. He made a tough decision and went forward, quickening his pace. He hoped, with a pang of guilt, that Michael would understand and forgive him. James tried to shut out the noise as he heard his brother, his younger brother who had looked up to him like a hero, scream out his name as he was dragged off. How could James ever forgive himself? Just then, he heard footsteps behind him. Was it one of his men, or one of Major Bolling's? He slid into the crack of a burnt tree stump, crouched down and waited. A minute that felt like an hour crept by, and then the footstep came to the opening of James’ trunk. With the speed and agility born of his years in these forests, James was behind the other man with one hand over his mouth and the other around his throat.

Mpph!!!

James recognized the tone of that particular grunt. Joe?

Dangit Jim, your dern lucky you got big hands. You scared me so proper, I would have woke the dead with my hollerin! complained Joseph Benjamin, James’ oldest and closest friend. Was that Mikey I heard go a bit ago?

Yes, answered James, continuing on the trail.

How’d you not get caught?, probed Joe.

Because, James stopped and stared as steadily into Joe’s eyes as he could, I let them take my little brother so I could complete my mission.

Don’t go blamin yourself none, Jim. You done what you knew you had’ta do. All for the best. He woulda slowed us down, sure as shootin. Bolling’s men would have had us all.

They went on for a while; James was relieved to have his old friend with him. He knew he was getting closer to safety. Knew that in these final steps of the mission, he should tell Joe to spread out and cause some diversion ‘in the name of the mission’, but he had lost enough men. He couldn’t ask his best friend to sacrifice himself for the mission. He heard a distant crash and a scuffle to his right, he and Joe sped up, he heard the scampering of feet coming from the east toward him. He knew it was Major Bolling’s men closing. He heard a strange yell from ahead, but higher up, ending in a thud and a vehement curse. Evidently somebody had fallen from a tree to take out their enemy. Whose side had masterfully taken out whose, James did not know.

See ya, Jim!, Joe said, as he pelted off to the left. James saw him tackle a man a few yards away, and decided it was time to run for it. He screwed up his courage and gathered his remaining strength. He bolted through the forest in some bizarre form of a zigzag, and he saw safety, a hundred feet away. He took one more zig, another zag, heard a man call out on his left, Stop!

James dove for safety…

..barely a second before his head crashed into the damp forest floor, he heard a gun fire nearby.

CRACK!

It was all over, after all his efforts, it was all over. He had lost his brother, his best friend, and who knows how many others. He wanted to drift into oblivion, but he heard footsteps coming toward him in a very measured pace. He recognized the pace very well.

Mr. Alexander… said the paced footsteps out of the darkness.

Major Bolling, replied James, getting to his feet.

I concede the victory to you. Well fought sir. Major Bolling said bitterly.

And to you, sir. Well played. Can I have my brother back now? Asked James, wryly.

A number of fast-paced footfalls came at him, and James heard Joe. Great job Jimbo! That’s eight years in a row we whooped them Bollings! James tried not to smile too broadly. He was happy, but very tired. The pressure of winning the tenth annual Bollings – Alexander Capture the Flag match had weighed heavily on him. His older brother Hyrum had started it years ago as a semi-friendly contest against the then-Lieutenant John Bolling, who was cocky as could be and very condescending about his supposed military prowess. Hyrum won the first, Lieutenant Bolling the second, and the Alexander’s won the third through the tenth. Of course, by now, there were more neighborhood boys scattered throughout both sides than actual Alexanders and Bollings. But they kept the team names as a matter of tradition. This was James first time being in command of the troops. Hyrum had gone off with Colonel Gates to fight the British up north. James figured he really needed to win for Hyrum’s sake.

James, Joe, and a very jubilant Michael made their way along the James River, and up the hill to Bolling Island, the small estate owned by Major Bolling. They were looking forward to the traditional feast that Bolling had always held since the one time his family had won. They ate out by the orangery and the housekeepers cottage and looked up at the stars. They listened to Major Bolling tell stories about his time in the British Army, and how he now awaited orders from Colonel Gates or General Washington or some other heroic name that James was sure the Major had never actually met.

While they were enjoying their turkey, the traditional fixings for this particular feast as Bollings Island Plantation was always overrun with turkeys, Colonel Bolling, John’s father, stirred from his chair where he had been sleeping and said, Did you hear what those British dogs did in Norfolk?

No father. The Major said.

The wretches opened fire with that damnable boat of theirs and shot up a number of shops! Let them burn right to the ground, killing all the families. Children and all, blast them! To think that they come from the same army that I fought for! Colonel Bolling said indignantly.

He continued to rage on about the British and their molestation of colonials around Norfolk and Richmond until he fell into a drunken stupor. At that point, Major Bolling gracefully excused himself, and the various guests dispersed. On their way back home, James, Michael and Joe, who all lived down the road from Bolling Island, talked about the Colonels comments.

Do you really believe what he said Jim? Michael asked.

I don’t know. James replied.

That old coot is a drunken fool, Mikey! Don’t pay him no mind. Joe scoffed. Like he’s been away from his drawing room and his bottle long enough to hear anything from Norfolk.

They say he is a revolshine-tory Michael tried.

Revolutionary, Mikey. Means he wants to revolt against England. Like we’d stand a chance. Don’t let him hear you calling him a Tory. James said.

Why, what’s a Tory asked Michael.

The Tory Navy are those buggers down at Norfolk that the Colonel blames all this nonsense on. Joe responded. Gosh, I’d love to row down and blow them to kingdom come!

Ha! James retorted, and they continued on their way home. Michael went inside the house, and James walked Joe to the small dock their family had on the James River about a stones throw from their house. Joe got into his dad’s rowboat, manned the oars, and hesitated.

You think there is anything to what that old fool says, Jimbo? asked Joe.

I just don’t know, Joe. I hate to think about it, but I guess he could be approaching the truth. We’ll be heading down into Richmond tomorrow, we’ll certainly find out then.

I meant what I said, Jim. I would love to blow up that fancy ship of theirs.

"It’s a cutter, Joe. Not a ship. The Gallant, a poorly named vessel if Colonel is even half correct."

Well, whatever it is, I would love to take a whack at it. Joe hissed.

"Get that big ol boat of yours out of my water, Joe, and stop talking nonsense. There isn’t anything in Norfolk that can stand up to the Gallant, the British made sure of that. You and that thundering heap of a oversized rowboat wouldn’t even slow them down."

Joe said goodnight, and shoved off. James listened for a while until he couldn’t hear the dip of the oars in the water, then he went up to the house. He let himself in through the back, scratched his cat on the ear, and went off to bed. James though a lot that night about what he had heard. The words of Colonel Bolling and Joe all chased around his head. He thought about the cutter that laid at anchor in Norfolk. He had always longed to see it. It was so neatly trimmed and well handled. He had always dreamed of serving on a British frigate since he was a young boy. The thought of such a beautiful masterpiece of a vessel causing such wanton destruction to innocent colonials made him very gloomy. It also made him a bit apprehensive. Gallant was a cutter with a very shallow draught. It was one of these shallow-bottomed vessels made especially for sailing over shoals and up the more shallow rivers. This disturbed James because not only did his home rest right on the James River, but it was also right next to the Bolling Island Plantation, a plantation owned by the son of a known revolutionary and former Colonel of the British Army. James could just imagine the Gallant peacefully gliding around the bend in the James River, coming around the actual island of Bolling Island, and leveling all the nearby houses in Goochland with its six-pounders and swivel guns, then sailing on with absolutely nobody to stop her from doing it again.

These thoughts eventually took their toll on James, he snuffed his candle, looked over to make sure Michael was asleep, and drifted off to a troubled sleep himself.

Half of his semi-conscience brain stayed alert that night, waiting to hear the shot of guns from the river. They never came.

Chapter 2.

James awoke the next morning to a cool breeze off the river that would serve the dual purpose of fully waking him up, and propelling his tiny skiff down the James River into Richmond. He got into his clothes groggily, realized that he was putting his pants on backward, and peevishly made them right. He made his way down to the skiff, stowed his lunch and dinner away in the forward compartment, and untied from the tiny dock.

Warp us out, Lieutenant. He said to nobody.

James grinned at himself. He had pretended to be a captain of a frigate as long as he could remember. He really couldn’t stop himself. Even now, at the age of nineteen when he and Joe sailed the tiny skiff down the river, he called out orders in the privacy of his head. He wondered if Joe silently responded to orders, harking back to when they were kids who gave no thought to pretending out loud.

Dip the colors to salute Port Benjamin he said to himself as he came up to the Benjamin’s house. And, let go! he whispered to his invisible crewmen, ordering them to drop the anchor as he threw his tiny rope around the cleat on the Benjamin’s dock.

Hey Jimbo. Joe said, walking down the tiny slope.

Mornin Joe. Why isn’t the boat loaded? James joked.

James and Joe harvested the hay from their father’s combined land and sold it back in Richmond. This was once a chore that Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Alexander had given to their boys when they were lads, but now it had turned into their regular employment. With the death of James father and Hyrum going into the Colonial Regulars, this is what James used to make ends meet for he and Michael. Michael often liked to come along, but usually started to complain about hunger and boredom after a few hours of sailing down the James River. It was a long stretch to Richmond, and although Michael shared James love of boats, he didn’t share his patients.

How many bales this time? I forget. James prodded.

About ten or eleven. Joe replied.

We need to get a bigger boat one of these days. We could sell twice as much hay if we could just carry it. Sooner or later, your dad’s boat is going to give up the ghost and we will be done for. We should think of finding us a bigger one before then. James said.

"What good would that do us? I doubt that the Freedom could pull anything bigger. It already takes nigh on a year to pull this old thing down to Richmond." Joe argued. The manner of commerce the boys engaged in wasn’t pretty, but it worked. They tied the big rowboat to the stern of the Freedom, and towed her down the winding river. In the beginning they were laughed at by the local fishermen and shippers, but they were too young to notice, at the time, and by now they were as regular as the tides themselves. The locals had gotten quite used to seeing their gangling flotilla. The boys had named James’ skiff Freedom almost a decade ago due to the feeling of liberty and independence they derived from such a grown up chore of hauling their meager bales of hay down the James River. Even today, although she was largely used for commerce, she also took them to the better fishing areas of the river much faster than the rowboat could, and that was real Freedom. James always thought it was a seafarer’s gift from God that made the procurement of ones food such an enjoyable event.

James and Joe loaded the hay into the rowboat, tied it to the Freedoms stern, and cast off. Weight anchor! James thought to himself. They had got about 200 yards of sea behind them when they heard Hold on Jim, I want to come too! from Michael as they tried to slip past James’ house. Back the mizzen tops’ls and starboard your helm quartermaster! James thought as he steered his flotilla hard a-port to come close enough to come alongside his dock and allow Michael to board.

Permission to come aboard. Michael joked.

James blushed, but remained silent as he waved his brother in. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Michael had given up his day of relative freedom to go down the river on what was certain to be an extremely boring voyage. He wanted to hear first hand if the Colonel’s exclamations held any truth. He knew that James would protect him from the whole truth, and he didn’t want to deal with that. James had always been very protective of Michael, just as Hyrum had always been very protective of James. After James father died, Hyrum had been forced to ease up on James and lean on him as an adult, but James hadn’t felt that way about Michael since Hyrum left. He rather liked watching over him. James often wondered if he shouldn’t let up on Michael a bit. He realized that Michael, at the prime age of 15, was 5 years older than James was when their father had first sent him down the river to start his enterprise with little Joseph Benjamin. But Michael just seemed younger than that. James would have to find a way to distract Michael when they began poking around for news.

The morning had gone past them in a blaze of sunshine. A fine stiff breeze had blown them right along at a good 5 knots the whole way. They spent the time talking about the previous night’s capture the flag game and thinking about what the armies up north were up to, and dreaming about what they might do when they got older. James couldn’t help but notice that there were far fewer boats on the water than there usually were. As they slid into the Port of Richmond, the people were all very cautious and it almost looked as if they were peering over their shoulders, waiting for something. They found Mr. O’Brian, their usual cattle farmer that had bought their hay from them ever since they were children, helped him load the bales onto the man’s cart, and went back to the Freedom to get the ledger book for payment.

I don’t mean to rush ya, Master Jim, but you should be hurrying along there. No time to dally. The old man said in his smooth Irish accent.

Why? Michael asked.

"On account of the Gallant comin!" Mr. O’Brian finished.

James tried to leap out of the boat and change the subject back to his payment. Mr. O’Brian, if you would just sign here…

But Michael made his stand. "What would the Gallant want to come into Richmond for? There’s no Colonial ships here."

There not coming for prizes, lad. No, they are coming to do what they done in Norfolk and teach us whose boss. Mr. O’Brian said.

Did the British really blow up a bunch of shops at Norfolk? Joe asked. James gazed at him with invisible broadsides protruding from his eyes, wishing he would just close his mouth.

"Aye, they did. Rumor is that one of the Midshipmen onboard the Gallant put one of the shop-keepers daughters in the family way, as ye might say. Her father called upon the Gallant’s Captain to try and force the young lad to do right by his daughter, and when he was refused, the fool slapped the Captain. Mr. O’Brian sighed. Not that I think that was the wisest thing, but perhaps a flogging or a spell in the rack could have done a bit better than leveling the harbor to show that he was out of line."

So, why does she want to come to Richmond now? Joe continued, ignoring James.

Well, naturally, the people protested up to our dear Governor Dunmore, telling him that he needs to keep his men in order. I think he got the message, but it didn’t have quite the effect the people expected. So, now she was seen past Williamsburg and Johnson’s Landing making her way here. Mr. O’Brian finished.

By this time, James had stopped shooting darts at his friend’s head and was quite caught up in the story. What are you doing to prepare? Can Richmond defend itself? James asked.

Ah, no! Lad, we are subjects of the British crown. We do not fire on our King’s ships, Mr. O’Brian lowered his voice, "even if we should want to. No, the Gallant will simply pay us our punishment and sail on. Even if we wanted to fight them, the regiment here would never allow it. We cannot hold weapons of any sort that would slow down a British ship of war."

Then what will stop them from continuing on up the James River and punishing everybody? asked Joe.

"Do not worry your heads, they will not take the time to run up to Goochland, It’s a damned slippery way for your wee ship. I’d like to see the Gallant try it. Besides, there’s not much to shoot at your way. Mr. O’Brian said. All the same, I should be happy to sign your book, give you your money, and get me and mine back home where I am safe. Who knows when the fireworks will start?"

Mr. O’Brian signed the ledger, and saw the boys back into their skiff. The trip back seemed to be flying by, even though it was always much slower going back home, notwithstanding the lightened load of the empty rowboat. Along the way, James couldn’t help but notice parts of the river that might make for difficult crossing in a man-of-war. Sand bars and underwater trees hiding below the surface, typical navigational difficulties for river running. This made him feel better about Goochland’s relative safety from any attack along the James River. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Mr. Riley had said. British subjects. The very term gnawed at him. Did that really mean that they were all supposed to just sit there and be shot at and not make a fuss? He had never before equated all the bad stuff people said about the British with their Navy. He had always contributed that to General Clinton and his army. James began to realize that he had been stupid, and that his dreams of ever sailing in the British Navy were rapidly fading into the shadows of impossibility. He knew that, as a 19 year old, he should have put to sea years ago. The best he could do now would be to hang around the harbor of Norfolk long enough to eventually get pressed into service behind the mast. He was far too old to think of starting a career that would lead to him becoming an officer. He wondered silently if Virginia would ever kick out the English and start their own Navy. That would be more the thing for him. He wouldn’t ever want to fight on an English ship against Virginia. Very disturbing thoughts filled his head as the final wisps of his boyhood dreams faded away.

James and Joe sat by the fire pit later that evening, enjoying the fish they had caught earlier. They were trying their level best to pretend that the evening’s events were not going to happen. They went on for quite some time, engaging in stilted talk about building a bigger rowboat, and building a bigger sailboat. It was a mark of how distracted James was that he freely went on about replacing the old Freedom. They had moved on to their second remove of their lavish meal, sticking apples on the end of a stick and roasting them over the fire, when their lives drastically changed forever.

BOOM! BOOM!…..BOOM!

They stopped eating and stared at each other. They were hearing the attack of the Gallant on Richmond. Forty miles away, people were dying and property was being destroyed, all because they were subjects of the British crown. James heard Michael come running down the hill to the firepit. He had his friend Patrick Nicholas with him, and they both looked beside themselves with fright.

Are they coming? Are they close? cried Patrick.

"No boys,