John Hudson, the master, fairly ran up the ladder from below – he had been dining at the wardroom table as we had – his napkin still tucked into his blouse, and knuckled his forehead.
“I have born off, Mister Hudson. We will need to set everything she will carry, and right quick. I have every intention of showing that British frigate out there our stern as quick as ever you please. We can ill-afford an encounter with her or any like her.”
Hudson didn’t have to be told twice; he came about, noticed his napkin still tucked in his collar and pulled it free, and shouted for the bosun and the hands to get aloft. Argus was riding more easily now, and the course change put the seas on her quarter; she would soon show a turn of speed we had not enjoyed since departing Sandy Hook.
Aloft, reefs were kicked out of the topsail, a t’gallant was hoisted, and additional stays’ls were hauled out and sheeted home. As each new bit of canvas caught the wind with an audible WHOOMP, Argus gathered more speed. The brig took flight – every line straining, sails pressing into their buntlines, and the hull seemed to skip along the tops of the waves. Our sailors, old hands and landsmen alike, watched the seas rip past, their mouths agape. Even Henry smiled.
“Deck there! On deck! They’re hardening up and heading towards us.” The lookout’s cry caused a moment of silence on the quarterdeck. And then Henry’s voice boomed out.
“He’ll be hard-pressed to catch us up, lads! That frigate, if that’s indeed what she be, ain’t likely to even get close! Not before we’re gone into the dark, anyway!” And he chortled in his confidence and glee.
“Mister Hudson! Well done with the sails. Once darkness falls, we’ll show lanterns aloft and alow. Let him see us – he can’t catch us. Then we’ll douse the lights, tack her around and pass astern of him on a proper course to Europe. You’ll have to take off some of her canvas then, but shouldn’t be a problem. Understood?”
“Aye, sir. I will see to it.” Hudson’s smile was nearly as large as his captain’s.
“My word! We’re flying! A this rate we will see France in a day, no more!” The illustrious Mister Crawford had chosen this moment to reappear.
“Well, sir! I trust you are mended from your earlier ills? I collect the surgeon’s ministrations were effective?” I was not surprised to see our star passenger, but his robust good health was a startling change.
“Indeed! Mister Inderwick’s ginger root was the answer to my prayers! I shall never be without it as long as I am in a ship! Its effect is truly a wonder. Would that he had thought of it sooner!” Crawford exclaimed.
“He did not! I suggested it to him.” Doctor Jackson, along with most of the others from the wardroom, had come up on deck, having felt the change in the ship’s motion and heard the clamor over their heads. “Goodness me! We are surely making excellent time! And the weather has calmed.” A clear case of stating the obvious.
“Well, Jackson, it’s not a matter who thought of it, but I am grateful nonetheless. The ginger has worked a miracle and I feel wonderful. If it was you, I thank you, sir. And am grateful to Inderwick for having the substance in his kit.” He stopped and looked around the ship, then shifted his gaze to the horizon.
“Did I hear something about a ship chasing us? Are we in danger?” Crawford’s face changed as he looked about us, from the smiling countenance of restored health to one of grave concern.
“Aye, there was…maybe still is. But he won’t be seein’ even our wake in a few moments at this speed.” I was exaggerating a bit, but I was confident the captain’s plan and our nimble vessel would keep us out of harm’s way.
Unsatisfied with my assertion, Jackson, apparently concerned for both his own and his principal’s safety, turned to Captain Allen.
“Is that correct, Captain? Are we in no danger? Or are we fleeing for our very lives? I believe your orders directed you to get us across the ocean as quickly as possible – and to keep us from harm. Is that not correct?”
Henry turned to face the civilian guest – slowly, to give himself time to inject a bit of calm into his response – he had earlier in the cruise admonished all of us to show respect and courtesy to our guests.
“It is as Mister Baldwin said, Doctor. There was, and most likely still is, a warship about two leagues or more distant. We are presuming her to be English, and, as we have seen them, it is likely that they have seen us. Given the British policy for their cruizers, we should assume they will endeavor to investigate us and, should the situation warrant, engage us. They’ve grown averse to taking on our frigates in single-ship confrontations having suffered several grievous losses at the hands of the U.S. Navy! But should a frigate encounter a brig, as we are, it would clearly be a quite different matter!” Henry stopped for a moment, looked over the quarter where we had last seen the stranger, and turned back to Doctor Jackson. Before he could begin again, however, Crawford grabbed the captain by the arm, attempting to turn him towards his ashen face.
“Yes, Mister Crawford? Has my explanation not laid your fears to rest?” I was impressed with Henry’s self-control; he actually smiled, whereas myself – well, I’ve been known to be a bit less polite.
“Hardly, Captain. You say there is a British ship just bare leagues away and yet your men are not at the guns” – he gestured expansively about him, including most of the spar deck, where the crew was still handling sails, not manning the guns. “Do you intend to simply let them fire into us without firing back? Shame, shame!”
Allen’s face darkened perceptibly; he was no doubt recalling a time some six years previous when that exact scenario played out at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. An experience he would not care to revisit.
“No, Mister Crawford, I surely do not intend that, but, until you and your party are safely ashore in France, my orders preclude engaging an enemy ship. I have no intention of allowing any British ship to get within range of us. That is why we are sailing as we are, with almost all of our canvas set and in a direction that will not take us any closer to our destination. But it will take us away from danger…and very quickly, I should add. You may put your fears to rest; I follow my orders and will not put you in jeopardy.” With that, Captain Allen turned and hastened forward to speak with the sailing master.
“What a rude chap, he is – the captain. I had thought him more respectful of my position.” Crawford spoke to no one in particular, or perhaps it was to his secretary, Henry Jackson.
Jackson and his principal put their heads together, the better to hear one another’s whispers over the still keening wind, clearly discussing the captain, his rude behavior, me, the weather, the English, and who knew what else. I had little interest in what they might think. I almost wished Inderwick had been unable to find the salubrious ginger!
Argus continued to cut through the choppy seas, flinging spray and spume over the rail and some halfway up the mast, surely showing her heels to the frigate astern. Monsieur Loremy stood aft of the quarterdeck, his feet well apart as he balanced on flexed knees, and watched the wash of the seas rolling past the hull. The smile on his face was a clear indicator that he was indeed a “feesherman” and well used to the motion of the sea. From time to time he would turn into the wind, lifting his face to it as it blew through his unfinished hair. The spray that occasionally jumped up from an errant wave smacking the topsides seemed only to make his smile wider.
As Argus sailed on, opening the gap between themselves and the other ship, time passed, “spirits up” was called and supper followed; then it was dark. As per captain’s orders, we showed lights as twilight fell, giving the British a good look– if he still had us in sight – at our heading. Hudson then gave the order – after conferring with me, as I now had the watch – to douse all lights, including no smoking on deck. I sent Midshipman Pottenger, temporarily relieved of his duties minding the Honorable Mister Crawford, below to inform the captain that I would be changing course forthwith, in accordance with his earlier instructions. He returned quickly, followed by Captai
n Allen, who, on gaining the deck, looked about the ship at the sails, the men awaiting orders to change their set, and the sea.
“Your night glass, Mister Baldwin, if you please.”
He stuck out his hand, slung the telescope over his shoulder once again and climbed aloft to the fighting top on the main. I watched as he looked about from his lofty perch and then climbed higher still, to the doublings of the topmast and t’gallant, where he wedged himself, raising the night glass to his eye.
“He is either showing no lights as we are, or has lost interest in us, Oliver. I could catch nary a glimpse of them. Let us proceed with the plan and keep a sharp eye out for him. Should he be out there, I would much prefer we see him before he sees us.” Allen started speaking as he jumped down from the bulwark, apparently preferring not to use the backstay in the dark. I couldn’t say that I blamed him.
“It continues to clear, Cap’n. I’d wager we’ll have some stars before the middle watch begins. I will post a lookout aloft in addition to the forward lookout. Hopefully, he’ll stay awake and actually look out!”
And so the night watches progressed. I continued my stint on the quarterdeck for another three hours, along with Midshipman William Temple – he preferred “Billy” to William. Pottenger had been summoned by the envoy for some need, imagined or otherwise. A pleasant young man who’s several tattoos betrayed previous service in the merchant fleet. As the nighttime hours of the watch dragged on, he told me, in a soft Virginia drawl, of his youth and entry into the navy. He began his seagoing career in the fo’c’sle of merchant ships, learned his trade but determined the navy would offer more rewarding experiences. The threat of impressment from a merchant vessel by a Royal Navy warship was always just over the horizon and might have been a contributing factor to his choice.
We maintained our heading under reduced sail, lights dark, and the hands quiet, hoping to steal away from the ship we assumed was a British warship. Throughout the watch, I kept the lookouts alert by wandering about on the deck, checking on them personally or having Temple do so. All stayed quiet. Everyone seemed a bit edgy, waiting to see what would happen; nervous whispers drifted aft to the quarterdeck as the watch discussed the situation.
A few stars appeared as the cloud cover broke up, and a glow to the southwest showed us where the setting moon, at not quite half, would add its own light to the meager glim of the stars.
“Looks like you’ve got the weather improved a bit, Oliver. From all appearances, I would say we’ll be enjoying a pleasant watch.” Levy materialized from the hatch just off the quarterdeck and offered his take on the scene.
“Yes, Mister Levy, as you say.” I purposely did not call him Uriah, hoping he might recall our earlier conversation about forms of address. “Let us hope it remains pleasant and quiet. The heavenly light we enjoy also lights the way of whomever else might be out here with us.
“We will continue to maintain at darkened ship, no smoking on deck and silence fore and aft. We are making a decent turn of speed – it’s there on the board – and our course is back to east northeast. Please ensure you change the lookouts frequently and that they remain alert. I have kept them aloft with a night glass rather than on deck at Cap’n Allen’s suggestion. Any questions?”
Lieutenant Levy looked about him, took note of the sails, the men on his watch quietly relieving each other, as we were, and doffed his hat – obviously a replacement. “Very well, Mister Baldwin, I relieve you.” I did not miss the sarcasm in his tone.
Temple turned his duties over to William Edwards, our youngest midshipman, but one who, like several of the others, had sailed with Henry Allen before. “I have been relieved, sir. Mister Edwards has assumed the watch.” Temple saluted me and headed forward towards a hatch that would take him below. I nodded, unseen, and stepped onto the ladder to the gunroom, as the bell forward chimed eight times announcing midnight and the end of the watch.
CHAPTER THREE
Back on Course
I awoke quite suddenly from a dead sleep. I listened intently for some sound that was out of the norm – a shout, footfalls above my head, rigging smacking, something. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I could hear the water chuckling down side of the hull; it sounded as though we were making a decent turn of speed. All I could hear was an occasional groan of the rig, a muted call on deck, and the creaking and grinding of the ship that I had long become accustomed to. Why did I go from a sound sleep to fully alert? I decided that I better have a look about. I pulled my watch by its chain from the chest, held a guttering candle to it, and saw that it was barely five in the morning. I was not due on watch for another three hours.
Barefoot and with only my trousers to cover my nakedness, I padded forward in the gunroom passage. No one in the wardroom; no one moving about at all. Hmmm. At the companionway to the weather deck, I paused, considering whether emerging topside shirtless and shoeless would be prudent. I listened again, decided against ascending the ladder and returned to my cabin.
It must have been a dream that awakened me. Everything seems fine with the ship and all is quiet.
I climbed back into my cot and lay there, listening and thinking – trying to put my mind at ease. Then I quite gave up, roused myself, dressed and went topside.
“All is well, Mister Watson?” I queried of the watch officer as I looked about, first at the sails – all drawing nicely – then forward on the deck – the watch was clustered about the foremast, talking quietly among themselves – then scanned the sea around the ship to the horizon.
“Aye, it is, sir. Is something amiss that brings you up so early?” Watson glanced around him, taking in the sails, the binnacle glowing softly, and the sea, much as I had. “We are holding our course and, at the last cast of the log, we are making eight knots, two fathoms. Mister Levy told me he had seen nothing of the British ship we encountered at dusk, so I am presuming it has gone, deciding we were not worth their trouble. Should they have even seen us to start with! In any case, my lookouts have been alert but have spotted nothing of interest.”
“Very well, Mister Watson. I came up simply for a breath of fresh air. Couldn’t sleep for some reason. Nothing to be concerned about.” I continued to have an uneasy feeling in my gut, its cause still eluding me.
I ambled forward, demonstrating to any who noticed that I was quite relaxed and comfortable, surely not tense. The watch went silent as I passed and then, just as I did, a voice – one I knew well – spoke softly.
“Oliver – ”
I turned and saw the familiar gait of one of the bosun’s mates coming toward me. Damn!
“Well, Billy. I knew you were aboard but I reckon you’ve been laying low since we sailed. I trust you are keeping out of trouble?” It still galled me that he would call me by my given name, but I knew saying anything about it would be akin to whistling in the wind! Henry had mentioned earlier that at least he was accorded the proper title.
“I am, and happy to say, had no trouble with any aboard ‘ceptin’ that Frog fellow. Seems always chattering in some tongue no one can fathom. No idea what he’s sayin’ and we all pretty much just ignore him. Strange one, that!” He stood face to face with me.
The thought of Arbutus Halethorpe – Billy – thinking anyone was “strange” struck me as amusing. The man was beyond strange himself, claiming, by way of explanation, to have been struck by lightning some years back. He played the part well, as it suited him, but could be as normal as any when he chose. His somewhat off-kilter behavior appeared whenever he wished to avoid something – or someone – or had gotten caught doing something he should not have been. Right now, aside from a stupid grin I could barely make out, he seemed quite normal.
I recalled the first time I had run into Billy in the Washington Navy Yard – he bristled when anyone called him by either his surname or given name, wishing only for Billy. Henry – who was at the time assuming the duties of first lieutenant in USS United States – and I discovered that the strange chap had taken
up lodging in the frigate. The ship was lying in ordinary, laid up in the navy yard and apparently quite forgotten by any and all there. Billy had taken up residence in the captain’s cabin for two and more years, scavenging for his necessaries in the yard, to the continual dismay of the superintendent, an irascible fellow who had made it his mission to catch the culprit who had been pilfering his stores. But he never caught anyone in the act.
I was a freshly minted lieutenant, assigned by Captain Decatur to the frigate where we were to employ a crew, ready the ship for active service, and deal with the yard personnel who would do much of the actual work in preparing the ship for sea. Officers would appear whenever the Navy Department saw fit to release them from other duties and send them to Washington. Billy somehow convinced Decatur to let him sign the articles as crew – a bosun’s mate, as I recall – and proved himself enormously helpful in securing paint, cordage, blocks, and countless other necessaries, all to the chagrin of the yard superintendent who had earmarked most of it for another ship. And of course, we, or rather, the navy, paid for none of it. I suspected that the superintendent had already been paid several times over for most of it in any case!
Billy’s resourcefulness endeared him to the bosun, the master, and just about anyone who had tried – unsuccessfully – to requisition the materials they needed from the yard. We covered for him, hid him when the civilians came looking for their equipment, and saw to his welfare. His habit of addressing the officers by their Christian names, while irksome to many of us, was part of his persona; tolerating it seemed a small price to pay for his other, ahem, talents. He sailed with us, but disappeared like smoke when we were about to sail on our first patrol. We had heard neither hide nor hair of the man until he showed up on board Argus in New York.
“Billy. I am glad you are doing well and have yet to be pitched overboard!” I was having a bit of sport with him, but on consideration, the suggestion might not be too far from the reality. The man had a way of getting under one’s skin like no other I had ever encountered.
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 5