Chapter 4
Potomac River south of Washington, DC
August 24, 1814
August 24, 1814
Hawkins’s ship Zephyr was even faster than Gordon had expected, and they sailed into war with surprising quickness. As the schooner made its way up the broad Potomac River, Gordon leaned on the railing at the ship’s bow and wished that this mission was taking place at a cooler season. He’d stripped off his coat, and his linen shirt clung to his shoulders despite the light breeze.
There must have been heavy rains upriver since the water was rough and muddy and occasionally tree trunks and other debris floated by. Luckily the Zephyr was nimble.
Gordon wondered what they would find when they reached Washington. Earlier in the afternoon, he’d heard the distant sound of cannon fire rolling between the verdant Maryland hills. Now the guns had fallen ominously silent, but small boats were crossing the wide river toward the Virginia shore. Fleeing advancing enemy troops, he guessed.
He was joined by Hawkins, who carried a spyglass in one hand. “If all goes well, which I don’t expect,” the captain said, “we could be on our way home later tonight.”
Gordon shook his head. “Even if I locate the lady and persuade her to return to England, it will take time to pack up her life. A day or two at the least.”
“If your widow has the sense God gave a sparrow, she’ll have left Washington by now,” Hawkins said pessimistically. “If that has happened, you’ll never find her.”
“True, but since I’m this close, I need to try, if only to justify all the money this mission is costing her family.”
“I can’t complain when I’m getting a good share of that money.” Hawkins raised the spyglass to survey the horizon. His voice changed. “There’s a boat in trouble up ahead. Looks like it hit a shoal or snag.”
Even without the spyglass, Gordon could see that the small boat was in serious trouble. It was dead in the water, and as he watched, it tipped over on its side, sails flapping. Most of the passengers grabbed hold of the hull, but one small figure tumbled into the water and was seized by the current.
As the child was swept downstream toward the Zephyr, female screams slashed through the heavy air. “Lizzie! Lizzie!”
Gordon swore as he calculated the odds. It didn’t look as if any of the child’s family knew how to swim, and the speed of the current would take her past the Zephyr before a dinghy could be launched. No other boats were close enough to help.
He wrenched off his boots and tossed his hat behind him, then vaulted up onto the railing. “I’d take it kindly if you’d send a small boat after us.”
“You swim well enough to do this?” Hawkins asked tersely.
“Yes.” Gordon spent a moment marking the child’s path because once he was in the water, he’d have trouble seeing her. Then he kicked off from the railing in a long, flat dive that carried him away from the ship and toward little Lizzie.
The water was pleasantly cool as he cleaved into it and set off with powerful strokes toward the child. He’d always loved swimming, and he and Callie had learned together in a Lancashire river. In later years, he’d swum in rougher seas, and once he’d swum for his life. He should be able to save one pocket-sized little girl.
The river looked very wide and dangerous now that he was in it, and the odds were about even whether or not he could reach Lizzie before her saturated clothing dragged her under forever. When he judged he was close to where the current would have brought her, he paused and kicked himself upward as hard as he could to get a better view. Where the devil was she?
There. Twenty feet or so to his right a pale, half-submerged face was on the verge of being swept past. The flailing child managed to raise her head enough to gulp air before she slipped below the surface again.
“Hold on!” he shouted, hoping a chance of rescue would encourage her to keep struggling. He threw himself through the water, knowing that if he couldn’t reach her now, she was lost.
The small head surfaced a couple of yards away and great blue eyes stared at him blindly before she sank again. Kicking furiously, he jackknifed under the surface and lunged as far forward as he could.
The water was swift and murky, so it was pure chance that his stretching fingers touched fabric. He grabbed and managed to latch on to a solid handful of her floating skirts. Then he kicked upward.
They emerged into the sunshine and Lizzie clutched Gordon, coughing up water as she locked her arms around his neck in a stranglehold. He barely managed to keep both their heads above the surface.
He scissor-kicked and paddled sideways as he secured her against his right side. She was five or six, he estimated. Old enough to know the danger she’d been in. “Don’t worry, Lizzie, you’re safe now,” he said soothingly. “Try not to choke me.”
She began to cry but had the wit to loosen her grip. As she calmed down, Gordon scanned their surroundings. The Zephyr had come about and a dinghy was heading toward them. Another of the ship’s rowboats had reached the sailboat and was taking passengers from the damaged vessel.
Hawkins himself was in the dinghy that pulled up alongside Gordon. He leaned down, arms outstretched. “Pass her to me!”
Gordon obeyed, and Lizzie was whisked out of the water, coughing and squeaking. Hawkins wrapped her in a large towel and handed her to a sailor behind him. Then he reached down and grabbed Gordon’s hand, half lifting him from the water. “Well done,” Hawkins said tersely as he hauled Gordon over the stern.
“It was a near thing.” Gordon accepted a towel and used it to blot water from his dripping hair. Looking upriver, he added, “You’re taking the sailboat in tow?”
“It might be repairable, and it goes against a sailor’s grain to let any boat die,” Hawkins explained. “Now to find out what news the passengers have of the war.”
News would be a very good thing, Gordon silently agreed as he pulled off his shirt, wrung water out of it, and dragged it on again. In this heat, it would dry quickly.
The journey back to the Zephyr was slower because they were moving against the current. As they pulled up alongside the schooner, a boy of around twelve looked over the side of the railing and shouted, “Mama, Lizzie’s all right!”
Hawkins effortlessly climbed a rope ladder to the main deck with the little girl tucked under his arm. Gordon followed and reached the deck in time to see Lizzie and her dark-haired mother reunited in a fierce hug.
The water-soaked party from the small sailboat included a grandmotherly female, a capable black woman who behaved like a nursemaid looking after her chicks, and a boy and a girl in age between Lizzie and her big brother. They were a weary and vulnerable collection of refugees.
After assuring herself that her daughter was well, the woman handed Lizzie off to the nursemaid and turned to Gordon. “I’m Abigail Green. This is my mother-in-law, Alice Green and”—she waved at the others—“the rest of the family. I’m told that you’re Mr. Gordon. God bless and keep you for what you’ve done!”
“I’m just glad we were close enough to help,” he said. “Were you fleeing British troops? We need any news of the war you can give us.”
Mrs. Green hesitated. “You and your captain are English, aren’t you?”
“By birth,” Gordon agreed. “But we are no part of this war.”
Hawkins added, “A goodly number of my crew is American. My pilot, Landers, was born and bred in St. Michael’s, just across the bay.”
Landers, a lanky redhead, nodded confirmation. “My pa builds privateers to fight the British, ma’am.”
Reassured, Mrs. Green said, “This afternoon there was a battle a few miles east of Washington near a town called Bladensburg.” She sighed and pushed wet hair from her forehead. “Hardly a battle. They say the American militia ran like frightened chickens. The road is clear for the blasted British to march right into the city! That’s why we were heading to Virginia to stay with my family. My husband made me promise to go there if the British neared Washington.”
“That’s probably wise,” Gordon agreed. “Does your family live near the river?”
“Yes, on one of the creeks, which is why I thought it would be quickest to sail over, but . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps it would have been wiser to cross on the Long Bridge, but that’s jammed with people and wagons fleeing the city, and going that way would take us closer to the British. If we’d lost Lizzie, though . . . !”
“But we didn’t, Miz Abby.” The nursemaid patted her mistress as if she were as small as Lizzie. “The Lord was on our side.”
“I hope so!” Abigail bit her lip. “I . . . I don’t even know if my husband is alive. He was with the militia.”
“The British Army has sent some of the best troops in the world over here,” Gordon said quietly. “Even Napoleon’s army couldn’t stand up to them. How far is that town—Bladensburg?—from Washington?”
“Only five or six miles,” Abigail said starkly. “They could be in the city by nightfall.”
“I’m here in hopes of rescuing a member of my family, a widow who hasn’t the means to return to England,” he said, simplifying the facts. “Her name is Mrs. Matthias Audley. Do you by any chance know her?”
“By reputation. She’s the best dressmaker in Washington, they say,” Mrs. Green replied. “But she might have left. Many people have, including most government officials. It’s chaos.”
The situation sounded unstable and dangerous. Gordon frowned. “Nonetheless, I must attempt to find her, or at least learn where she’s gone. Riding would give me some flexibility to track her down. Do you think I’ll be able to buy or hire a horse?”
The older Mrs. Green had been hugging the two middle children by her sides, but now she spoke up. “We can help. Our plantation, Tucker Hall, is on Tucker Creek, just north of here on the Maryland side. I think the water in the creek is deep enough for this ship to sail up a quarter mile or so.” She pointed up the river. “There are several horses in the stable. My husband is there to protect our property. Tell him what happened with us and say I’ve given you permission to take a horse. Samson would be best. He’s a large gray who’s strong and steady.”
Gordon sent a questioning glance at Hawkins. His friend said, “I’d just as soon not sail right up to the docks in Washington if there’s going to be a battle for the city. I can drop you off at Tucker Creek, then take the Greens over to Virginia. After, I’ll return and moor in the creek to wait for you.”
Gordon nodded agreement, then excused himself and headed down to his cabin to prepare for the next stage of his journey. He looked forward to being back on land and having a horse between his legs again.
Up until now, he’d just been traveling. Now the real mission would begin.
* * *
When the Zephyr had gone as far up Tucker Creek as Hawkins deemed safe, Gordon was set down at a landing and the damaged sailboat was tied to the dock for future repairs. It was less than a half-mile walk along the creek to the Greens’ plantation, which would have been considered a manor in England.
At Tucker Hall, he found Abigail’s husband alive and well, though his blue militia uniform was filthy and the left shoulder had been scorched by a musket ball. He and his father, a vigorous man in his late fifties, were grateful to learn their womenfolk were safe, and even more grateful to learn that Gordon had fished little Lizzie from the river.
Abigail’s husband planned to travel to Virginia to join his family, since it might not be safe for a militia officer to be found by the British. His father would stay and watch over their home if necessary.
Within half an hour, Gordon was heading into the war zone dressed as an English gentleman and riding Samson, the strong mount Alice Green had recommended.
What were the odds that the Widow Audley would be where she was supposed to be? Slim to none.
He’d always had good instincts for danger, and now those instincts were saying that the future would not be simple.