In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3)

by William H. White

Appene entered the cabin carrying a blue-and-white tureen that he set on the sideboard, while he removed the detritus left from the toasted cheese, also to the sideboard. The fiddles and wet cloth covering it kept the items from sliding about as the ship rolled and pitched. I was pleased to note the motion had diminished, even since we sat down, and the minister’s appetite offered further testimony to our improved circumstances. Bladen appeared and began to remove the plates from the table, making room for the soup bowls that would follow. Appene lifted the lid from the tureen, releasing the delicious aroma of its contents. As the fragrant scent reached our guests, they lifted their heads and smiled in anticipation. Even Crawford had downed his melted cheese and toast eagerly and was now obviously ready for whatever came next.

  “I am impressed with the way your crew has taken to their duties, Captain. I recall you mentioning in New York that most of your crew were new to the sea – landsmen, I think you called them. They seem to have learned their duties quickly, especially the lads working the artillery pieces.” Crawford smiled as he offered the compliment, perhaps as a peace offering after the somewhat contentious conversation just earlier.

  “Aye, sir. They have indeed. In this business one either learns his employment quickly or risks perishing. We engage in a dangerous employment.

  “As to their newly acquired skill on the carronades – we do not call them ‘artillery pieces’ in the navy, sir – I have to thank Lieutenant Baldwin for that, as he has personally seen to their training. But, regardless of whatever proficiency they might have gained, we are nowhere near ready for an engagement. Consider, if you will, two elements that, to date, have been absent: they have fired only at the open sea – never a target, as that would have delayed us even further. Additionally, they have not yet been tested under fire. It is one thing to fire a gun willy-nilly and quite another to fire it while someone is shooting back at you! Aye, there’s where we prove our skills. It takes a strong man, well-trained, to keep his head when the enemy is doing his best to remove it!”

  Henry smiled at his little joke, but both of us were well aware of how deadly serious he was about our men gaining further training before we went seeking out the Royal Navy, arguably the best in the world.

  The remainder of the meal passed in relative quiet, each harboring his own thoughts, enjoying the rich soup, which was followed by a further glass of claret. In my own mind, I developed a variety of remarks which I thought cogent and might have made, but managed to control myself. The minister and his secretary offered no additional concerns, and, before taking their leave, Crawford mentioned he would surely ask Monsieur Loremy to see the captain about our proposed landfall.

  “Well, Oliver. That went well. I must admit, I was a trifle surprised at the attitude they seemed possessed with at the outset. Perhaps this unseemly weather has ruffled their feathers!”

  “I am sure that was it. And thank you for keeping me from verbally dismembering that pompous prig when he started going on about the charts. Makes me almost wish Inderwick had not given him the ginger root! At least when he was sick…he was quiet!”

  “Please, Oliver. Don’t wish that on me! I bear the brunt of it. Remember where the man sleeps!” My friend, Captain Allen, laughed as we both left for a look about the deck before retiring to our cots.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Independence Day 1813

  “Mister Baldwin: a word, if you please.” Captain Allen called out as he emerged from the scuttle forward of the quarterdeck and continued to make his way forward.

  I had the watch, so told young Edwards, my midshipman assistant, to keep an eye on things and that I would be right back. I made my way forward, still relishing the warmth of the new day, the calm seas, and, most of all, the fresh and favorable breeze.

  “Sir?” I spoke quietly, coming up behind the captain as he stood at the bulwark gazing out to windward at the cerulean seas, rolling gently toward us without a trace of a whitecap. The sun, where its low angle from the east struck the surface of the ocean, created a dazzling array of brilliance that challenged any to stare at it for long. I could not help but draw a contrast to the horrid conditions we had experienced barely four days earlier!

  “Oliver. Do you know what today is, by chance?” He didn’t turn around, but continued to stare off into the distance.

  “Yes, sir. It’s Sunday, of course. I assume you will wish the usual Sunday routine? Muster the hands, inspection, Articles of War, a bit of scripture? With the pleasant weather at present, I am sure the people will relish a chance for a make-and-mend day, or to wash their clothes and relax a bit. Lord knows, there’s been little enough chance for that of late!”

  “All correct, Lieutenant. But what else is it? Never mind. I shall tell you; it is Independence Day, the Fourth of July, it is. The anniversary of the day some thirty-seven years ago that the Continental Congress announced to all and sundry that we would no longer be subservient to the King. To commemorate that hallowed event, we shall have a small celebration and an extra ration of spirits for the people. Seems only proper to hold a bit of a celebration when we’re fighting this damned war to prove our independence, hopefully once and for all! Maybe this time the English will acknowledge the fact!”

  I pondered for a moment; at sea one can lose track of more than the day of the week when the routine becomes mind-numbingly dull. Especially when one is not writing the log!

  “Of course it is, Cap’n. It had quite escaped me. I shall see that the officers are notified and organize something fitting. Perhaps a single gun?”

  “Yes, yes! Excellent. Two bells in the next watch, as usual for the muster. Then we’ll proceed from there. Thank you!” Allen had turned about to face me, his back to the bulwark, a big smile lighting his face.

  I returned to the quarterdeck and the questioning stare from Midshipman Edwards, his unspoken query hanging before him. I ignored him, announced to the watch that I had resumed the deck, and sent him off on a tour of the spar deck to ensure the watch was alert and everything was all-a-taunt-o. The sails were drawing beautifully, and the ship sailed like she was as eager as her crew to make landfall; a creamy wake, straight as an arrow, stretched out astern. There was not a cloud to be seen. Aye! A perfect day at sea and a perfect day to celebrate the independence of our great country!

  With Argus almost sailing herself, my mind began to wander, recalling events and places that always brought a smile to my lips. Suddenly, my mind’s eye envisioned my darling Ann smiling at me out of the blue. All at once, the ship, the sea, and the beautiful day all but disappeared, replaced by the love of my life, one Miss Ann Perry, sister to Mathew and Oliver Hazard Perry and daughter to Sarah Wallace Perry and Captain Christopher Perry. Like a twig unable to exert any control over its course, carried along by a mountain stream, my mind drifted across images and scents, touches, kisses, and secret glances. In a twinkling, I had relived all the wonderful, albeit brief and widely spaced, encounters we had enjoyed since I was lucky enough to have met her well before the war at a ball in Newport, Rhode Island. Newport society had fêted the officers and midshipmen of our late frigate Chesapeake, Stephen Decatur commanding, just in from a cruise to enforce the embargo instituted by President Jefferson. While I was not pleased to be in that frigate, I was delighted to be sailing with Captain Decatur and my friend, then Lieutenant Henry Allen, and even happier that we called at Newport. Those tender memories, especially the one of our first dance together – a waltz, it was – put an unabashed grin on my face, causing, I am sure, the quartermasters at the helm to question my sanity. I know that Edwards did; as he grinned back at me when he returned to the quarterdeck and noticed my joyful countenance.

  “Must have been something wonderful the cap’n shared with you, Mister Baldwin. Ain’t seen you smile that broad since we sunk Sandy Hook astern.” Edwards, his earlier question unresolved, tried again.

  “Just a pleasant thought, Mister Edwards. Nothing to concern yourself with, I’m sure. Everything ship shape for’ard,
I assume?”

  “Aye, sir. Watch is hunkered down by the cutter, but none asleep, I made sure. No chafe in the rig, and bowsprit well-secured. Cap’n seems right happy as well; saw him by the foremast, sharing a laugh with Bosun McLeod. Must be the fine weather we finally found, eh?”

  “Oh, yes, Edwards. I am sure that is the reason! And a fine cause to bring a smile to us all!”

  “Well, here’s a happy crew, I’d say! Why is everyone standing about, grinning like a hound dog with a mouth full of bumble bees?” Bill Watson had appeared to relieve the watch. Even he began to smile, when he saw Edwards and me doing so.

  “Morning Mister Watson. Your timing is perfect. I am some sharp-set and looking forward to breaking my fast. We will be following our usual Sunday routine with one additional wrinkle. I am sure you are aware of what today is?”

  I could afford to be smug; after all, he had no way of knowing that I had failed to identify our national day of independence just earlier.

  “Well, it’s Sunday – I knew that when you mentioned the ‘usual Sunday routine’ just now. Beyond that, I am afraid I am at a bit of a loss. Care to enlighten me?”

  I grinned, enjoying my momentary advantage over him. “Well, sir, it’s an important day in our history, it is! Something that occurred some thirty-seven years back.” I stopped, watching his face reflect the mental gymnastics his mind performed.

  “Yes! I was thinking about that just the other day. I wondered if perhaps we would observe it in any way. You are talking about the declaration of our independence, I presume?”

  “I am indeed. And yes, the captain has informed me that we will be taking notice of the event during muster. You will need to have one of your guns ready to fire and a crew standing by. He also mentioned something about an extra tot for the people.”

  My relief smiled broadly, doffed his hat in salute, and exclaimed, “Aye, just as it should be. I relieve you, sir. You may go below!”

  And I did, followed closely by Midshipman Edwards.

  The table in the wardroom was peopled with our civilian guests, Jackson and Crawford, as well as Acting Lieutenant Levy, Bosun McLeod, and the sailing master, John Hudson. I caught Bladen walking towards me and handed him my light jacket to stow, mentioning to him I would like my number two uniform brushed and laid out. He threw me a strange look, but uttered nary a word. I proceeded to the head of the table.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. And a fine one it is. We’re making a nice turn of speed…in the right direction, I might add…and it appears the ship is a happy one.”

  “And a pleasant good day to you, as well, sir. And may I be the first to wish you a happy Independence Day!” Crawford fairly beamed at me, stopping his fork, balancing a heap of eggs on it, midway to his mouth. He clearly thought he might have put one over on me, and I debated for a brief moment about letting him continue with the false impression.

  “Indeed, Minister, it is exactly that, sir. The captain has planned a small celebration during the morning muster. You might wish to be on deck for it.” I smiled, and shot a wink at the sailing master, whose own eyes were sparkling with mirth at the exchange.

  “A celebration! How lovely! What might we expect?” Jackson joined the conversation.

  “Save for a salute from a carronade or a chaser and an extra tot for the crew, I have little idea myself. I am sure Cap’n Allen will surprise and delight us all, Doctor.”

  Both warrant officers looked up from their plates and smiled, I assume, at the thought of the extra ration of spirits.

  “Lieutenant, in light of the planned celebration of our our nation’s independence, I wonder if it would be permitted for me to read a short but dignified bit of verse. It was written a year before this new conflict began by a dear friend and is most appropriate to the occasion, being named “Ode for the Fourth of July, 1811.”

  “I see no reason to refuse you, Minister, and I am fairly certain the cap’n will concur with me. I am sure it will add to our celebration in a fine way, though perhaps our men might find it a trifle beyond their ken!”

  “Thank you, Mister Baldwin. I think many of the crew will understand it – and perhaps even enjoy it. I had the opportunity just last year to present it to my colleagues at a rally in Washington City shortly after the commencement of hostilities. They found – or at least many did – that it was inspirational. I would think this audience would likewise appreciate the meaning and value of the sentiment offered by Doctor Bryant, the author.”

  I caught our sailing master rolling his eyes at Bosun McLeod and shot him a discreet smile. McLeod grinned sheepishly and Hudson had the good grace to blush at being caught up in his editorializing on the minister’s expressions of how the crew would enjoy his poem. The moment passed and the diners returned their attention to finishing their meal. I spooned up some eggs as quickly as Bladen set a plate before me.

  Crawford stood, after asking my permission to depart, as did Jackson, and, as they took their leave, he queried, “At what time should I expect the ceremony to commence, Mister Baldwin?”

  “We will have quarters for the people, inspection, and some scripture before a reading of the Articles of War. The Independence Day ceremony will follow thereafter.” I knew it was not the exact answer the Minister was hoping for, but he had experienced Sunday muster several times since coming into the ship and could likely figure out how long it would be until the celebration commenced. He nodded and left the wardroom.

  I had time to finish my meal, share some words with Acting Lieutenant Levy, and engage in a little good-natured teasing with the warrant officers before Bladen whispered in my ear that my uniform had received the attention I had requested and was laid out on my cot. I assumed, correctly, that he was reminding me to hasten into it; the call to quarters would be soon upon us. I took a last swallow of coffee and excused myself.

  On deck, even before the drummer had begun the tattoo to call the crew to assemble, the men off watch were beginning to gather in small groups along the leeward side by the mainmast. They were properly turned out in their Sunday uniforms, and each carried his ditty bag for inspection in the event the captain decided one would be in order. The Marine began thumping on his drum, marching forward and aft to ensure his call was heard throughout the ship.

  While the petty officers had to do less shoving and shouting than last week to get the men lined up in neat rows by division, their toes on the appropriate deck seam, some confusion remained, which I wrote off as a result of our earlier bad weather, when Henry had to abandon the usual Sunday morning routine. The officers and warrants assembled on the quarterdeck, while our civilian passengers – at least the minister and his secretary – stood to one side, out of the officers’ ranks. Naturally, Crawford chose the wrong side – to windward – to take his position. I suggested quietly that shifting to leeward side would be less offensive to the captain, again mentioning that the windward side of the quarterdeck was the captain’s domain exclusively. Doctor Jackson seemed non-plussed by having to move but said nothing.

  “Send your messenger to fetch up the cap’n, Mister Watson. We are all present and correct.”

  He doffed his hat and dispatched the young landsman on his errand. In short order, Henry’s bare head poked up from the hatch, followed by the rest of his bulk. He placed his hat squarely on his head, pressed it down so it would not blow away, and looked first at the officers, then aloft at the rig and sails, and finally at his crew, who were assembled in ranks, done up in their best uniforms, and standing at attention. An impressive sight they made, I could not help but observe.

  They’ve become a crew, I thought. Seasoned hands bringing the landsmen along, and each learning their employment well. Even knowing full well that they would need a good deal more gunnery practice before we found ourselves in hostile waters, I couldn’t help but smile in spite of myself.

  “Crawford wants to recite a poem for the Independence Day celebration, Cap’n. Says it’s short and appropriate.” I whispered to
Henry as he took his place in front of the officers on the quarterdeck. He nodded a silent response. I stepped back into the line behind him.

  “Mister Baldwin: are the people present and correct?”

  “Yes, sir. All present save those on watch and two men, Eggert and Hansen, confined in sickbay under Mister Inderwick’s care.” I lifted my hat in salute.

  “Very well, then, Lieutenant. Let us proceed!” Allen and I both had been performing this ritual for the benefit of the crew and now, he turned and faced the assembled men, most of whom studied us expectantly.

  “Uncover!” The gravelling voice of Bosun McLeod boomed out from behind me, and the men before us removed their hats almost as one. The officers seemed a bit more ragged in performing the same task.

  Offering no hint of what he had planned, the captain tucked his hat under his arm and opened his Bible. He had obviously marked specific passages and, in a clear, commanding voice, began to read the scripture. I listened but kept an eye on the men for any skylarking in the ranks.

  After about fifteen minutes of Bible verses, the captain closed his book and handed it to Appene, who was standing to one side for that purpose. The steward in turn, handed Allen a bound volume, thinner than the Bible, but in a naval vessel, no less important: the Articles of War.

  The captain thumbed past a few pages before settling on one page he deemed important. His stentorian tones boomed out – a completely different voice from that in which he read the Scripture – and he covered such crimes as cowardice, leaving one’s station, refusal to fight, disrespect to officers, petty officers, and warrant officers. I did notice some subtle elbowing by some men during one or two of the subjects, along with a smirk or two. I tried to take note of who, with a mind to mention it to the master-at-arms following the muster. He dwelled on those articles covering mutiny, one of the most dreaded words in any navy, for a bit longer than I thought prudent – why put ideas in their heads? Allen then covered the acts of buggery, sodomy, and bestiality, which drew a few muted sniggers in some ranks. He concluded his reading of selected articles by quoting: