By the time Whiton knocked on his door with a round of coffee, Richard was dressed in his Continental Navy uniform of white knee-breeches, white cotton stockings, dress blue uniform coat with silk neck stock to match, and black leather shoes with polished silver buckles—an ensemble that fit him j...
This Royal Navy outpost east of Antigua (headquarters of the Northern Division of the West Indies Station) and northwest of Barbados (homeport of the Windward Squadron) saw military dispatch vessels come and go on a regular basis. And as it was common knowledge among senior British sea officers i...
Dispatches from across the Atlantic were slow to come in. Once they arrived, however, the national press feasted on them with bold headlines and overblown stories. America’s appetite for updates about this sudden and bizarre clash of arms seemed insatiable. American honor had been impugned once t...
Are you with us?” The words were a distant echo barely penetrating the nightmare that had all but consumed Richard for nearly a week. Had duty not compelled his presence on Long Wharf, he would not have left her. Only his responsibility to his blood and bond had dragged him away. “Sorry, Jack,” h...