Holding on to the safety line rigged fore and aft, I made my way forward, noticing the absence of men on the pump – a good sign, I thought – and saw the bosun making his way toward me.
“Mister Baldwin. Have ye a moment or two, sir?” His Scottish burr seemed more pronounced as he twisted his tarpaulin hat in two hands. The rain slicked down his sparse hair, draping his forehead with dripping tendrils; the sides and back were not plaited into their usual queue but instead showed the effects of long years at sea.
“Of course, Mister McLeod. What is the problem?” I did not return his salute, preferring to leave my own hat where it belonged.
“Aye, sir. It’s about that chap you assigned as bosun’s mate, what shipped in New York; Halethorpe, it is, sir. A strange one, he is, aye. I canna seem to get him to do much, save wander about poking into this and that. Says he’s a personal friend of yourself and the cap’n, he does, and, well, I just don’t know, sir. Never seen the likes o’ him in all my years at sea, merchant and navy.”
I recalled then that Billy Halethorpe – his given name was actually “Arbutus” – turned up requesting a berth shortly before we sailed on this commission. In keeping with his previous behavior, he insisted on calling the officers by their Christian names, though, to his credit, he at least acknowledged Henry’s position and did use “cap’n” when addressing him. I was still Oliver, however, and I am certain he used the familiar with the other officers and midshipmen. None seemed troubled by it, for some reason, even though it was inappropriate for him to do so. In fact, Mister Watson, currently drying off below from his earlier stint on the quarterdeck, had laughed at their shared monikers and Halethorpe’s use of the familiar with him. Rather than take offense, he seemed amused that Halethorpe called him “Billy” – a name he claimed no one had ever used!
Back in 1809, Billy had taken up residence, sub rosa, in the frigate United States as she lay in ordinary in the Washington Navy Yard. When Henry and I and the other officers showed up to recommission the ship, he chose to stay on to help us rather than be turned out of his “home.” Captain Decatur had, with a few misgivings, allowed him to sign the ship’s Articles, and Billy soon proved his worth by magically, it seemed, producing all manner of needed, but nearly impossible to find, matériel. Then, he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared before we got underway – but had left us several most pleasant surprises, including a couple of barrels of whiskey and another of black powder. I had heard nothing of him until he suddenly reappeared alongside with his sea chest just two days before we sailed from New York. Of his whereabouts in between, he spoke not a word, but the captain and I both, over a glass of Madeira one evening, suspected the worst. I could hardly deny his request – he swore not to be running from the law – and he made his mark in the Articles, signing on as bosun’s mate, consistent with his previous employment. I had not thought about him since, nor had I seen him about the ship.
“I know the man, Bosun. And indeed he is an odd creature. I suspect that he is harmless and will take care of business in a proper manner as necessary. He sailed in the “Old Wagon” – the frigate United States, that is – with Cap’n Decatur, Cap’n Allen, and myself some years back… before the war, it was. We found him knowledgeable and helpful. I would not worry yourself about him, but I will have a word with him should you wish it.” I smiled at the memory of our past connection with Halethorpe.
McLeod touched his forehead in salute, replaced his misshapen hat, and went on with whatever he had been doing, as did I. All was well topsides, the watch sheltering in the lee of the boats nested over the grating, but nonetheless attentive to orders shouted from the quarterdeck. By the time I turned ’round the foremast and headed aft again, the rain had nearly quit and a glance aloft showed clouds moving swiftly across the heavens, but parting to reveal little touches of blue behind them. Closer at hand, the sails billowed and strained, but showed no signs of trouble, nor did the rigging. A joy to be sure!
Acting Lieutenant Levy stood near the helmsmen, his drenched tarpaulin coat now unbuttoned and billowing nearly as much as the sails! With each flap of the canvas jacket, water droplets flew every which way. At this rate, I thought, it will be dry by the time he is off watch! He wore no hat, though I recall he had taken one when he left the confines of the wardroom earlier.
“Lose your hat, Lieutenant?”
“Damn wind, plucked it right off my head faster than I could grab it. One of the lads, here, stepped after it, but not fast enough to stop it clearing the bulwark a mile and swept away it was! Figured the cap’n would be less than enthusiastic about me bringin’ her about to fetch it!” At least he had the grace to laugh.
“Are we managing to hold our course? Your course looks to be eased off a bit from earlier. Cap’n wants to bring her up some – it’s a truer rhumb line to France – as soon as we can. The weather seems to be easing a trifle, so with a bit of luck, the seas will lay down and the wind might back a bit to the north.”
“Indeed. And the lads here are holding her just fine to the course Watson gave me. Should the wind shift any, I will see to it, Oliver.”
“That’s Mister Baldwin when we’re on deck, Lieutenant Levy.” I turned to head for the hatch and missed whatever he offered in rebuttal, blown away by the wind as it was. I was quite sure his mumbled words were less than conciliatory.
He’s not in the merchant service any longer. Time to learn how the navy works! My thoughts put a frown on my face as I was stepping from the ladder just outside the gunroom, drawing a curious glance from Bill Watson, now in dry – or at least, drier – clothes.
“What’s got to you, Mister Baldwin? Something amiss topside?” Watson was a good man and generally concerned with the well-being of the ship.
“Nothing of consequence, Mister Watson. Nothing to be concerned about. The weather appears to be clearing a trifle, though. Might even see some sun before we’re done with dinner. “Speaking of which, I have invited the captain to join us, given the condition of his guest. Please ensure Appene sets another place.” I continued on my way to my own cabin to shed my coat and dry off a bit before we dined.
CHAPTER TWO
Same Day
“No, no, Mister Baldwin. I won’t hear of it. This is your table in your wardroom. Your place is rightly at the head of the table, the first lieutenant’s seat. I shall sit here.” Captain Allen pulled out a chair on my right and sat down – wearily, I thought.
I sat in my customary chair at the head of the table. Appene and Bladen had brought in a large steaming tureen, which currently rested on the sideboard. A wet cloth under it kept it from sliding when the ship pitched or rolled. Appene ladled out portions into bowls, as Bladen distributed them around the table. There was some confusion as to whether the captain or I should be served first, but a nod from the captain decided the course, quick as ever you please. We tucked in to what turned out to be a rich fish chowder. Apparently, the galley fires had stayed lit following Inderwick’s earlier blunder. No matter, we all were grateful!
“Mister Hudson,” Allen addressed our sailing master, who paused with his spoon midway to his mouth. “I suspect we should soon be able to haul our wind and bear up toward France. I have yet to determine where we will put off our passengers, considering that we were given no orders as to a specific port. Perhaps we will find a French vessel we can gain some intelligence from. In the meantime I want to make all possible speed. We must not – ”
“Pardonnez-moi, monsieurs. As Monsieur Crawford is…how you say…mal de mer…indisposed…perhaps I might take his…em…chair, oui?” Our French passenger, offered the voyage home by the secretary of the navy, stood in the doorway, stammering. I recalled he was berthing with the midshipmen in the cockpit. Apparently, their table was not to his liking.
“Of course, sir. Please, take a seat, there.” The captain pointed at an empty chair next to Inderwick.
“Merci.” The man quickly did as instructed and Bladen ladled out more chowder.
Henry glanced at me when he realized that he – as a guest at my table – had usurped my authority, smiled slightly and shrugged. I nodded my acquiescence, acknowledging his unspoken apology.
“Mister Inderwick. How is your patient faring?” Doctor Jackson queried the surgeon. “Were you able to convince him to eat the ginger root?”
“I did indeed, and the change was quite dramatic. He seemed within a very short span of time to feel better, even sitting up and suggesting he might take a turn on deck.”
“I suspect, given his last foray topside, he might have changed his mind?” I could not help myself. The words just tumbled out of my mouth and it was not until I heard myself speak them that I realized they might be a bit insensitive. I made a note that here was yet another reason to keep my mouth shut at dinner, though I doubted I could.
Inderwick smiled and nodded vigorously as he finished swallowing. “We agreed – Mister Crawford and I – that until the weather moderated, he might be best served by remaining below. He has not, however, improved to the point where food holds any interest for him. I suspect he might appear for a light supper later, should his condition continue to improve.” He smiled and nodded at Doctor Jackson. “I thank you for the advice and counsel, sir; it was timely and productive. I might not have come up with it myself. And I am sure your principal will offer his own thanks when he is able.”
During this conversation, our new guest said nothing, continuing to spoon his chowder into his mouth in an unbroken rhythm. I took the opportunity to study him, something I had not previously had the time to do.
His face was long, quite narrow – pinched, almost. He appeared to be constantly sniffing something, something that might smell bad. He had creases running from his nose to his chin, giving him the look of someone who habitually woke up angry. His hair – I had previously only seen him donning a white, powdered wig – was undone, not grey but neither was it dark. I doubt it had been dressed since we sailed; strings of it hung over his forehead and down over his ears. His small, dark eyes, set deep into his face, were constantly moving, rarely settling on anyone at the table. I decided he was not someone with whom I would choose to be friends. Nevertheless, he was a guest at my table, and I had to at least appear polite.
“Monsieur…” I racked my brain for his surname…“Loremy.” I smiled in spite of myself, in triumph. “How have you enjoyed our voyage so far? I trust the boisterousness of the weather has not burdened you?”
The man’s eyes stopped their incessant darting about and locked onto mine. A puzzled look crossed his face, causing furrows to appear in what I could see of his brow. His spoon returned to the bowl with a small clatter, but he did not relinquish his hold on it.
“Oui, Monsieur Lieutenant. Je suis bon. Eet ees well, I t’ink. I am…how you say…pêcheur…em…feesherman, oui? Zee sea I am used to.” He smiled at his success to communicate.
“Well, that’s fine.” I smiled back at him.
He looked at me for a moment, as if expecting me to go on, but I could come up with nothing further and we both returned to our meal.
Doctor Jackson, noticing our guest’s discomfort, sallied forth with a long exposition in rapid-fire French, bringing a broad smile to Loremy’s face and releasing a torrent of words obviously pent up for lack of an audience, in response. While I understood barely a word here and there, Loremy’s unhesitating urgency seemed completely comprehensible to Jackson, who smiled in sympathy to the Frenchman’s plight. Clearly, the man had been craving someone who understood his native tongue, and Doctor Jackson filled the bill perfectly. I could anticipate them becoming inseparable for the duration of our voyage!
The meal continued in quiet harmony, mostly each man talking about insignificancies to his immediate neighbor. Once Appene and Bladen cleared away the detritus of the chowder, a platter of meat and vegetables appeared and was set before me to portion out to the table, as Bladen passed the plates to each in attendance.
“I suspect this might be the last of our fresh produce, gentlemen. Enjoy it! I imagine the morrow will see our fare more closely resembling that of the crew’s.” The captain spoke to all of us, a somber look on his otherwise handsome face.
“But Cap’n, it’s three days only we’ve been at sea. Did not Mister Denison order sufficient quantities?” Bill Watson had injected a bit of a whine into his voice, hardly an ingratiating sound.
“Mister Watson, you may recall that before we actually made it offshore, we had unfavorable weather for nearly a week. We did not reprovision due to the exigencies of time, once the wind went to an advantageous quarter. As you are already aware, fresh provisions last only so long and a purser can only load so much. So there you are. Enjoy what we have!” While I noticed a smile on Allen’s face, it was not one of mirth.
The remainder of the meal passed quietly. Our French guest kept his own counsel, perhaps a result of his lack of understanding, save the tone, of what had just transpired. In fairness, Jackson mumbled a short monologue in French that, presumably, provided Monsieur Loremy some clue as to our culinary position. I made a wager with myself that we would not have the pleasure of his company at dinner again soon!
A knock on the door interrupted our private thoughts. Looking up, I espied the afflicted midshipman Jamesson, looking none the worse for wear considering his ‘condition.’
“Excuse me, gentlemen, Cap’n. Mister Levy’s compliments, and we’ve a sail broad on the larboard bow. Shows three masts and appears to be a warship, sir.”
“You may tell Mister Levy I shall be up directly, Mister Jamesson. Has the weather further abated?”
“Aye, sir. It has. Rain’s stopped and the wind seems to be backing a bit. Will that be all, sir?” Jamesson was calm and seemed nonplused by the presence of almost the entire wardroom. A good sign. Should be useful once he regains his health.
I shot a glance at the surgeon and raised my eyebrows. He merely nodded in return. I had not shared the youngster’s condition with the captain, and did not know if Inderwick had. Maybe that was what he was communicating by his nod. Captain Allen gave nothing away in his brief conversation with his underling. I made a mental note to speak privately with him once the matter at hand was dispatched.
Our French guest seemed to have understood the gist of the report and looked at Doctor Jackson, his face looking even more pinched with uncertainty. Jackson shrugged. For my part, I choked back a comment, waiting instead for the captain to react, which he did at once.
“With your permission, Mister Baldwin. It appears I am needed topside.” Henry spoke as he rose from his seat, his portion about half finished on his plate.
“Of course, Cap’n. I shall be right behind you. Do you think it might be a Britisher?”
“We’ll soon know.” With that he stepped through the door and made for the ladder to the quarterdeck.
I, too, left my plate half full and followed the captain up the companionway. I was gratified to see the sky had lightened considerably with bits of sun now breaking through the still-scudding clouds. The seas had lain down, and Argus rode more easily. The wind, however, still blew half a gale, which would benefit us should we need to flee the stranger on the horizon.
“What have we got, here, Mister Levy?” Allen raised his voice to be heard above the wind.
Levy stood on the quarterdeck, glass to his eye and, for all intents and purposes, quite ignored the captain’s query. Perhaps the words had blown off to leeward before reaching the merchantman-turned lieutenant. Then with some deliberation, he lowered the glass and turned to Henry.
“From here, sir, I can only make out her top hamper when we rise on a wave. The lookout thought she might be a warship, but he could see no colors flying. Seems all taut and well-managed, I reckon, which suggested man-o’-war rather than merchant.” Much to my surprise, Levy actually knuckled his forehead – his hat had long since gone overboard – in a manner befitting a proper navy man.
“Hmmm. Your glass, if you please, sir.”
Allen stuck out his hand for the telescope.
Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he leapt onto the bulwark and onto the mainmast’s weather shrouds, heading to the fighting top aloft. As agile as any topman in crew, he scampered up the ratlines and clambered up the futtock shrouds, as ably as any seaman half his age might have done. The lookout shifted over on the crosstrees to make room, and the captain, leaning back against the doublings, pulled the glass around from his back and held it to his eye.
We waited on deck, watching Captain Allen as he assessed the situation. Our orders precluded us engaging any ships; rather we were to make a fast passage across the Atlantic, taking no chances with the envoy’s life – or the lives of his associates. A fight could bring the whole commission to a premature and unhappy conclusion. Further, the secretary included in our sailing orders that, should we cross tacks with a ship of hostile intent, we were to use our brig’s superior speed to avoid a confrontation. There would be ample opportunity for fighting once we had safely delivered Crawford and company to the French coast.
“Mister Levy! Make your course two points off the wind, if you please.” Allen’s voice was loud enough to he heard quite plainly on deck, and the course correction would give Argus a chance to step out but would do little to bring closer to the European mainland.
Allen reached the deck as any good topman would, hand over hand down the main backstay, shunning the slower – but safer – route down the ratlines. As his feet touched the deck, he called for the sailing master and shouted forward, “Stand to sail-handling stations! Lively, now!”
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 4