New York - The Novel

warships to his own, Rodney set off at once for the Chesapeake. But it was not long before the sails appeared again in the bay, and his ships limped back into the harbor.
    “There weren’t enough of them, Abigail. De Grasse beat them off,” her father said. “Rodney’s ready to try again, but he’ll have to refit.”
    Meanwhile, a squadron of French vessels from the French base at Newport had appeared, waiting to pounce, out in the bay.
    The refitting of the British ships was slow. They’d suffered considerable damage.
    “Clinton’s heard from Cornwallis,” Master reported. “It seems he’s trapped all right, and he can’t get out.”
    But still the shipwrights took their time, and it wasn’t until mid-October that the fleet set out again.

    James Master stared toward Yorktown. It was just a small place, with modest docks, on the edge of the York River. Across the river lay a much smaller British encampment on Gloucester Point. The French and Patriot forces had Cornwallis enclosed in a large semicircle. If he had been stronger, he would have held four outlying redoubts that dominated his lines. But he had reckoned he couldn’t hold them, and so these were already occupied by the allies.
    And allies they certainly were. When the French general, Rochambeau, had first met with Washington, he had immediately, and courteously, placed himself under his command. Washington in turn had taken every decision with him jointly. The French in their smart white coats were on the left of the semicircle, Washington’s Continentals wore blue coats, when they had them, and the militias were in rough clothing. Without reinforcements from the North, Cornwallis’s Southern army of red-coated British and Prussian-blue Hessians now totaled six thousand men. The allies had over sixteen thousand.
    The siege had started at the end of September, and it had been going on for two weeks now. Five days ago, firing the first gun himself, Washington had begun the bombardment. It had been steady and effective. The British were being slowly blown to bits, but the bombardment was still long-range. Now the time had come to move the lines forward and bring the bombardment closer. To do that, it would be necessary to storm the inner line of redoubts.
    The plan that Washington had prepared was somewhat devious. All day the usual bombardment had continued, then, at half past six in the evening, a party of French was to make a diversionary move against one of the redoubts to the west. Soon after, the army was to begin what looked like a general attack on the Yorktown lines. Only when the enemy was thoroughly alarmed and confused was the real move to be made.
    A pair of moves, actually. Two parties of men, each four hundred strong, were to rush redoubts numbers 9 and 10, which lay close to theriver on the eastern side. Redoubt 9 would be attacked by the French; number 10 by the Patriots. The attack would be led by Alexander Hamilton, and with Lafayette’s permission, James Master was to accompany him.
    So now James was waiting, glad of the chance of action—indeed, he could scarcely remember when he’d been more excited. The attack would certainly be bloody. The men had their bayonets fixed, and a number were also carrying axes to break through the redoubt’s defenses.
    The evening was drawing closer, but there was still plenty of light. Across the lines, he saw the French diversion begin. He looked at the faces of the men. The wait might be a little fearful, but when the moment for the rush forward began, everything else would be forgotten. There were only minutes to wait now. He could feel the blood coursing in his veins.
    He became aware of the lines of troops right across the battlefield beginning to maneuver. What a terrifying sight that must be, seen from the battered British lines. He waited for the signal. The minutes seemed eternal. In his hand he held his sword. He also had two loaded pistols. He waited. And then the signal came.
    They were off. It wasn’t far to the redoubt, only a hundred and fifty yards. How strange. They were charging yet it seemed as if everything was moving so slowly. The British defenders had seen them. Fire crackled out, and he heard a musket ball hiss by his head, yet scarcely noticed. The high earthwork walls of the redoubt were looking up before him now. They were rushing the outer defenses, the men hacking at the fencework with axes and bursting through. They got across a big ditch, started to