by James Spurr
Oliver turned the glass as the sand ran out, but James had earlier in the watch foregone the bells so to allow all below uninterrupted sleep. The only two souls awake aboard Friends Good Will, reaching through the night under main, staysail and jib, already knew well the time; just one more glass before the hammocks were theirs.
“Leopard set more sail, passed clear ahead, then backed a topsail indicating a desire to speak. Captain Barron sailed down to close the distance, on our course in any event, drew near and hove to. A boat set off from the Brit rowed over to us and a ‘leftenant’ boarded with all the appropriate courtesies. I had just gone on watch and was at my station on the quarter deck.”
James glanced aloft and changing his tone, directed, “Take in on the mainsheet a couple of feet, if you please.” Oliver responded quickly and returned to the binnacle. James stared aloft, “Seems to be backing a bit…,” he mused.
“The British Lieutenant demanded Captain Barron subject Chesapeake to a search for British seamen and deserters. Within earshot, I heard the Captain assure we had no English subjects aboard.”
“Was that true?” Oliver’s tone suggested his question was important.
James shrugged, shook his head and asked, “What does that even mean? We are Americans because we determine we want to be. While you were born in what was then a Colony, and I later in what is now a Territory, what about others having come here from elsewhere, or those born overseas? What of those born last month in Detroit? Do you consider these persons Americans?”
Oliver acknowledged the point. He had never really thought of where the line should be drawn and yet allow for freedom among people in a nation with room enough for all.
James continued, “In the Navy, we allow for persons of other nations to renounce their citizenship. In other words, it is within the power of each man to choose his nation and that decision is final and should be respected. If a King decides that question, how can those subjects truly be free, if by birth their loyalty and obligation is decided for them, for life? Is it not the same in society, among all the states? I don’t know the law, but I know how we have come to live.”
Oliver understood the argument, recognized its philosophical appeal but was also pragmatic and recognized the inherent danger of such arguments. The world was by far more organized by nations with kings than by republics populated by self-declared free men. Those nations with kings, in times of world war, simply would not, perhaps could not, relinquish claims upon the loyalties and obligations owed by their subjects.
Oliver offered, “England cannot now likely permit their natural born that choice. With Boney controlling all the continent as his and at war, I expect the King hears your argument as nothing more than extending a dangerous invitation to those they need now more than ever.”
James restrained himself, was acutely aware his uncle was making an argument that would, aboard Chesapeake at least and throughout much of the nation, place him near to danger. Not wanting to spoil their watch with politics, he reminded, “We have drifted far from our course; let us return to what I witnessed.” He then thought, but did not add, that the events he was about to relate may change his uncle’s perspective.
“As soon as the British Lieutenant was over the side, Captain Barron ordered the crew to clear for action.” James now looked at Oliver with pain on his face and explained, “But you see, there was no time.” James looked down at the compass, but Oliver guessed he did not see it.
“Leopard opened her gun ports while the demand was yet being delivered and ran out her guns.” James looked back up at Oliver and as if he were offering more a confession than a defense, “Worse still, our decks were cluttered with gear yet to be stowed for a cruise across an ocean on a mission to last years. The powder was still in the hold. Everything, it seemed, was most disorganized. I thought perhaps it appeared that way to me because I was new and green, but later old salts confirmed they had never before set out to sea in such a state. In any case, Leopard opened up with full broadsides, three or four, I am not sure. With splinters flying, balls whizzing past, line and rigging cut and spars falling, men crying out in agony and with blood on the decks, I am ashamed to admit we fired only one gun, not mine.”
James looked away, reliving the moments, and Oliver placed a hand on his arm and discreetly pushed the tiller to windward with his hip, partially correcting the course. “And the outcome?”
James regained his concentration on the present and checked the compass, correcting still more. “Captain Barron struck the colors. Leopard ceased fire and sent a boat. The bastards refused our surrender, but searched and took four of our crew.”
Oliver looked puzzled and James anticipated his question, “You see, we were not at war! Leopard could not take Chesapeake; on what basis could England explain taking a ship of a nation with which England was at peace? To have accepted our surrender would have indicted themselves and their actions!”
Oliver nodded and began to understand.
“Instead, Leopard refused our surrender but seized four of our men.” James looked at Oliver and made certain his uncle understood. “One was English born, the other three as American as you or I.”
“How could that happen?” Oliver puzzled.
James was pleased to provide the answer, “The three Americans did in fact quit the service of the Royal Navy, shall we say, giving no notice.”
Oliver was now confused, “So they were deserters?”
“Well, uncle, it depends on your definition. How would you classify men trying to regain their nation, having escaped the King’s service to which they had been pressed to begin with?”
Oliver noted the bitterness in James’ voice, the anger in his eyes. He also acknowledged the power of his point. So to make certain he understood, Oliver asked, “So the three ‘deserters’ were Americans taken against their will to begin with?”
James nodded, but was not yet done. “The British born seaman, though having renounced his citizenship, was hung in Halifax. The Americans, well, for their crime of attempting to escape their kidnappers, they were merely imprisoned.”
Oliver swallowed, but James would not let up. “As for me and my mates, we cared for more than 18 wounded and I sewed one of the three that went over the side under the flag your father fought for in his own hammock—saying goodbye to Nathan from Barnstable. I wish I could recall his last name, but he had little time on this earth to leave much of an impression.” Again the bitterness.
James gave a start when Captain Lee, his presence unknown to either he or Oliver, announced from the starboard rail, “That will be enough, James. The watch is relieved.”
Trove approached Oliver from larboard, carefully stepped around him and took the helm from James. Captain Lee continued, “You two were so intent I am surprised we are on course. Still, the plot was not advanced on the hour, so I estimated well over six and just completed our line. Is that a fair guess, James?”
Somewhat admonished, although gently, James acknowledged the favor and confirmed, “Yes, that is an excellent estimate and thank you for the plot.”
Captain Lee nodded to them both and announced, “We have done well this evening and I expect we will make Presque Isle an hour past dawn; well within our watch. Get some sleep!”
James said his goodnight, thanked Oliver for his efforts and made a dash down the companionway straight for his hammock. Oliver began to follow, marveling at the manner in which the young could fall asleep so quickly and easily, when William called, “Oliver, a word if you please.” He met Oliver at the larboard quarter, purposefully stepping over the tiller, wanting the breeze to carry their conversation away from the helm.
“I surmise that you asked James about Leopard?”
Oliver nodded, hoping he had not overstepped a line in their relationship.
William assured, “I had only two weeks ago heard his account myself.”
Oliver admitted, “The entire affair, of which I freely admit I should have a greater recall, cer
tainly puts yesterday’s news in a different light.”
William shook his head, “Good heavens, Oliver. You are the master of understatement! I would be pleased to share with you the lesson I take from the tale.”
“Of course, I should like to hear it.”
“James may not have mentioned, or perhaps does not know: I read some time ago that Captain Barron was court martialed and suspended from the Navy.”
Oliver began to object, registering his surprise, when William grabbed his arm and insisted, “No, it is just! Captain Barron reported Chesapeake ready for sea weeks before departure and amid all else that can be learned, you must not forget this—Always be ready! Always!” After a short, purposeful pause, “Barron was not.”
William turned and resumed his station to windward, leaving Oliver without the opportunity for further discussion. Oliver knew that was also purposeful. He was left to reflect upon the brief conversation with his friend, advising him as to yesterday’s events and implications. The conversation was also with his Captain, illustrating a point that he felt certain would find relevance soon enough; a point which he knew well enough from business and was learning of its critical value at sea. He pondered whether William intended for it to apply with equal vigor to merchant sloops on these Lakes amid warring empires, thousands of miles distant.
Friends Good Will arrived in Presque Isle and remained there over the next night. With strong north winds building breakers over the sand bar at the entrance, their arrival was excitement enough; a premature departure would have been simply reckless. The afternoon of 9 June, Friends Good Will, having delivered some mail and packages and picking up a passenger, set off for the village of Cleveland. She made another swift overnight passage and early morning arrival. Neither port had as yet heard of the President, Little Belt incident. By 11 June, in a light southwesterly under a relentless sun in a cloudless sky, Friends Good Will slowly made her way against an unfavorable current, past Fort Malden flying the Union Jack, and docked at Detroit just about noon.
Captain Lee was in fine spirits. He had logged a swift maiden voyage that was more profitable than Oliver had expected. A crowd gathered at the dock at Detroit to greet Friends Good Will, warming Oliver’s heart. Of course there was Mary and the children and Bemose and Eckert and, to Oliver’s surprise, Samuel, who seemed intent on speaking to William. Samuel’s granddaughter, rarely seen around the docks, was subtly maneuvering for a word with James, who was inconveniently, yet perhaps more safely, aloft with Trove furling the topsail. Better he stay aloft, thought Oliver, as he stepped across the plank to the dock.
He strode to Mary and they exchanged hugs. As he reached down for the children, he felt Mary place a rolled paper in the pocket of his coat. He glanced back, saw her concern but could not tell, amid the smiles and relief of a swift safe passage, if she looked beyond concern to the point of being upset. She did not want to spoil his greeting with the children, he realized, but his own expression must have alerted her that he knew her too well and there was no point in her denying his instinct. She whispered, “News from the east. We have been so worried about you all!”
Oliver nodded, but had time to only say, “I have heard.” As he scooped up his son, held him high, brought him close again amid squeals of glee and kissed his neck, he thought only of whether additional details had reached Detroit. Had there been further hostilities and destruction resulting in a likely path to war with an empire, the very soil of which was within sight and which could bring to bear the world’s largest navy?
Chapter 6
The heat was oppressive, the breeze nonexistent, the flies thicker than a red wool coat. Despite the white kerchief wrapped tightly around his neck, perspiration had long since soiled his fresh white shirt. He should have brought an extra.
Colonel A.H. Pye could no longer resist. He swung himself down from his horse, having mounted and begun the last leg of the journey less than an hour before. The sparkle, rush and promise of cool water in motion required a short break. They had ample time.
His aides grimaced as the weight of his large frame caused the soft mud of the river bank to ooze around the soles and heels of his freshly blackened boots. Colonel Pye did not care. He was overheating as seemed common in August, the height of summer, whike dressed in full uniform. He removed his kerchief, dipped it into the St. Lawrence River feeling the cool water run swiftly through his fingers as he drenched it. The sensation brought back a very pleasant recent memory of bathing in the river just hours before in the relative cool of the early morning, cleansing from him the many layers of the narrow dirt road that strung from Montreal to Kingston. He had traveled that road for six days now. He wrung the kerchief loosely, wrapped it around his neck again and instantly felt more comfortable. He strapped his coat to the saddle, remounted and asked his young lieutenant, “How much further?”
Removing the long glass from his right eye, the lieutenant collapsed the barrel with a distinct snap and ventured, “Perhaps just more than two miles, Sir. An easy hour and well within our expected arrival.” The others in his party nodded in agreement, though Colonel Pye noted his lieutenant pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket, curiously checking his estimate after he had offered it, though it seemed to cause no loss in his confidence.
Originally hoping to make Kingston the night before, the party of British army officers elected instead to make camp some four miles east of the town. All agreed that an easy ride in the morning, well rested and refreshed, would allow them a pleasant night on the edge of the forest and alongside the banks of the great river, which Colonel Pye always preferred to a night in any given city and the unfamiliarity of a bed. Still, Kingston was impressive. Situated on the eastern most shore of Lake Ontario at the source of the St. Lawrence River, it was in 1811 the largest city west of Montreal in Upper Canada. Many fine stone buildings and other large store and warehouses supported a population of several hundred and significant operations for the military, including Royal Naval, regular army, and the Provincial Marine. In the last couple of years, commercial activity had risen dramatically, portending growth of a civilian population independent of military interests.
Colonel Pye could make out six ships in the harbor from their position in the clearing within the wood and over rolling meadows leading to the city. Together with his principal aide, a lieutenant, he speculated as to their names, which from this distance required an unusual familiarity with the ships on the lower Lakes and their lines. Colonel Pye was, although army, unusual in his understanding and appreciation of the role ships must play in controlling the Northwest Territory. That knowledge and foresight resulted in his having just days ago attended, in Montreal, the most important meeting of his career. Within the hour he would convene a meeting in Kingston, which in terms of importance, could easily rank second.
The lieutenant once again focused his glass, handed it to Colonel Pye and pointed, “There, Sir, just west of the town on the peninsula with the large, narrow buildings are the marine installations. You can clearly make out the fine stone house on the southern edge of the City along the harbor that serves, I believe, as Government House.”
“I suspect Commodore Grant arrived some days ago so let us keep him waiting no longer.” The party began once again, emerging from the wood with just rolling meadow between them and their final destination.
Alexander Grant, known affectionately as the “Commodore” (although never having actually achieved the rank as would permit him to fly a broad pennant) was just finishing poring over reports and correspondence as he had wished to review one more time before Colonel Pye arrived. He finished his tea and toasted cheese and, as the servants stood ready to clear the long dining table in the fine wood paneled room reflecting bright sunlight, he removed his spectacles and began to rise from the table with the assistance of his ivory tipped cane. At age 77, Commodore Grant rose slowly, having long since learned that careful thought was far more prized in troubled times than swift movement. He had made good time
from York, his party arriving two days before and permitting him some rest. At his advanced age he deserved peace and rest far more than most, but his mind was quick, his perspective rare, his wisdom apparent. All he lacked was youth.
He gathered his papers, slowly but with a dignity unmatched those days in Kingston, thanked the staff for his breakfast and proceeded across the great front hall of Government House with its foyer and carved wooden staircase and into the library. There the fine casement windows provided a view of Lake Ontario and the St Lawrence River. The staff followed his movements from the dining room with respectful glances for their esteemed guest.
Commodore Grant stood at the windows staring out over the rolling hills, various islands and headlands and marveled at the beauty of this continent, the future of which he had intertwined with his fate for more than 50 years now. He had already witnessed and survived troubled times in North America; from the Seven Years War, after which the French flag was struck from the Northwest Territory, to the Colonial Revolution in which an entirely new flag was raised over much of the same land. Having seen trouble before, he recognized it now. The vast Northwest Territory would soon, he feared, be in play once again. He stood and reflected and thought, seeing, but not really focusing upon, the details of a bateaux laden with goods making its approach and preparing to dock after a long trip upriver. His thoughts had not as yet distilled and organized themselves into anything like a coherent strategy, but every instinct honed through the years emphasized some urgency.
His reflections of empires and republics, his personal past, native peoples, and their collective future, were interrupted by a loud, authoritative knock on the front door. A servant answered and he heard him reply to what Grant assumed must be a young lieutenant, “Certainly, Sir. I will announce you at once.” And then at the library doorway, “Colonel Pye and his party for The Honorable Alexander Grant, Esquire.”