“The foregoing articles are to be read and published, once in every week, to every command and ship’s company when mustered, in the service of the United States, and are to be duly observed and obeyed by all officers and sailors who are, or shall be, in said service.”
With an audible snap, he closed the book, returned his hat to his head, and smiled. The officers followed suit, and the men put their own hats on as well but looked quizzically at us on the quarterdeck. They were expecting either me or the bosun to begin an inspection of each of them and their ditty bags, but Henry had a different plan in mind, perhaps because it was the Fourth of July.
“Men: On account of the fact that today is our nation’s thirty-seventh birthday, we will hold a small celebration suitable to the occasion. There will be no inspection today, though I perceive you are all prepared for one, and following our muster, there will be an extra ration of spirits to each man over the age of sixteen and small beer for those under.” His final words were drowned out by the lusty cheers, laughs, and shouts of joy his utterance produced. Even the officers showed their appreciation, though in a more dignified and refined way.
Once the men’s exuberance had quieted down – helped in some measure by Bosun McLeod’s repeated shout of “Silence! Silence fore and aft!” – the captain announced what would follow as part of our “small celebration,” beginning with a poem performed by the American Minister to France, the Honorable Mister William Crawford. I smiled thankfully that the captain did not offer Crawford’s full title, else we might have been there all morning!
The man, upon hearing his name spoken, stood up tall, put on a pleasant expression, and made his way past the assembled officers and warrants to stand beside the captain. He cleared his throat as only a politician can do and glanced down at the paper he held before him.
“Men of the ship Argus…” He paused when Bill Watson leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Excuse me. Ahem! Men of the BRIG Argus: In honor of the celebration of the independence of our great nation, I would like to share with you a bit of doggerel penned by my friend and colleague, Doctor Peter Bryant, a staunch patriot, scholar, and good man.” He spoke ‘good man’ as though it was all the bona fides any man would need to succeed. “He wrote this as a song, but since my singing voice is not up to the task, I shall read the lines as a poem.
Pour in deep tones the solemn strain,
A requiem to the mighty dead,
Whose valor burst a foreign chain,
And bow’d th’ oppressor’s haughty head!
And call’d the shock of War to meet,
Their Eagle from his airy seat!”
Crawford stopped, looked up at the sailors, most of whom seemed a bit mystified, turned his gaze to the captain and the officers and smiled hopefully. Allen smiled back at him and nodded for him to continue. Which he did.
And if departed heroes know
To sympathize with mortal care;
Oh! Let the pensive numbers flow,
To soothe each hovering spirit near,
That views its native country, curst
With wild misrule, and laws unjust!
Again he stopped, looked up, this time only at the officers as I assumed he got little joy out of the expressions worn by our crew, and muttered, “Almost done, now, Captain. One more stanza, if you will.”
Allen again nodded his acquiescence and the Honorable Mister Crawford continued his dramatic reading of Bryant’s song. His hands and arms, indeed, his entire body, gestured eloquently, emphasizing individual words and passages.
And must out Freedom’s new risen light
A transient flame, itself consume!
A meteor-flash athwart the night,
That leaves behind a deeper gloom?
And can the strength that raised the State
No more sustain the Mighty weight!
Crawford stopped, folded the paper in half, and slid it into his pocket. He nodded at the sailors, turned on his heel, mumbled a ‘thank you, sir,’ to the captain, and removed himself from our midst.
Henry, out of a sense of propriety and courtesy I think, began to clap his hands and, after being joined by the officers and warrants, was gradually joined by the crew with a tepid and half-hearted acknowledgment of the recitation. The response from the men paled in comparison to their joy at extra spirits, but I was gratified that they at least followed their captain’s lead and offered some applause to our guest.
“Thank you Mister Crawford. Surely a suitable recitation and memorable words to add to our humble celebration.” Henry’s insincerity was apparent only to just the few who were well acquainted with him.
“We will now carry on with the acknowledgment of our nation’s independence. Mister Baldwin, you may carry on as we discussed.” The captain turned to me and smiled.
For my part, I was stunned! I had no idea I would be a player in this ceremony and had less idea of what he expected from me. All he had offered in our planning discussion was extra ration of spirits and perhaps the firing of a gun. My brain reeled, quickly examining ideas – most particularly stupid, unsuitable, or both – and just as quickly discarding them. Finally I focused on something I thought would be popular and move us in the direction of the spirit allowance earlier mentioned to the people.
Quietly, I spoke to Bill Watson. “Your people ready with a gun? I think we’ll be firing one sooner than I anticipated.”
He nodded, shot a look at his gunner, Robert Conklin, and raised his eyebrows. He got a nod in response, and Conklin surreptitiously made his escape from the quarterdeck. I watched until he arrived at one of the after carronades, then turned again to face the crew.
“Men, you have already heard Cap’n Allen tell you it’s the anniversary of our nation’s independence from England’s George the Third, with whom we are currently again embroiled in yet another war; this one perhaps, will prove the outcome of the first. Consider that this contest, brought about by England’s refusal to respect our hard-won independence, is the first time we have had to defend it. It will likely not be the last, but how we and the rest of the navy and army…and, yes, even the militia, carry out our duties will determine how England, and indeed the world, perceives our country and its right to trade freely throughout the world. Are we an independent republic or under the heel of Great Britain?”
The men interrupted me, with a lusty shout which seemed to reach to the truck of the mainmast.
“Independent! Independent!”
After allowing a suitable period for the enthusiasm to subside, the bosun again shouted for “Silence! Silence fore and aft!” And the men quieted down again. I went on.
“I know all of you relish the thought of meeting the enemy and showing them our iron…” I was again interrupted by a chorus of eager shouts of agreement.
I raised up my hands, McLeod again shouted for silence, and, once they quieted down, I continued. “You will get that opportunity and the likelihood of enrichment from prizes once we reach our cruising grounds in hostile waters. The prizes are there, just awaiting our arrival. So, join me now in a cheer for our ship, our captain, and our nation’s independence.”
I doffed my hat, and in my strongest voice, shouted out, “Huzza!” The response was instantaneous. Each man seemed bent on outdoing his neighbor with enthusiasm and the air fairly vibrated with their heart-felt roars of approbation.
I waved my hat at Gunner Conklin and, in an instant, the aftermost carronade spat out a tongue of flame six feet beyond the stubby barrel’s mouth with a roar that drowned out even the most enthusiastic of our crews’ voices! Conklin fired a second shot even before the air had cleared from the first and a third right on the heels of the second. Our esteemed guests, at least the ones I could see on the quarterdeck, fairly leapt into the air, startled by the suddenness of the unexpected, deafening boom! In spite of myself, I smiled at their apparent discomfort. Jackson had the grace to laugh at his own reaction and perhaps, that of Minister Crawford, but Cr
awford’s expression gave silent testimony to his shock. I suspected it might become a topic for later conversation. The captain must have noticed as well.
I caught Henry’s eye, about to smile my satisfaction at our patriotic display, but saw his barely noticeable shake of the head; I waved my hat again at the gunner to stop. Which he did, even as he was about the pull the firing lanyard on the fourth carronade.
Perhaps fearing what else I might have concocted for this impromptu celebration, Henry quickly stepped to the fore, clamped his hat firmly on his head, and shouted, “Petty Officers, you may dismiss your people for the promised tot and a ‘make and mend’ Sunday routine.” Another equally robust roar drowned out any chance the petty officers might have had at an orderly dismissal. The men were already done with any further ceremony and headed pell-mell to the foremast for the promised ration of spirits. No need for a piped call of ‘spirits up.’ It was unlikely any of them would have noticed – or been able to hear it – in any case!
On the quarterdeck, most of us laughed, the captain frowned, and our civilian guests appeared horrified at, I assumed, the lack of decorum or order and, likely, the ringing in their ears.
“Minister Crawford, when there is an opportunity for extra spirits, order and discipline fall by the wayside, I’m afraid. But the men have endured much on this passage, and I do not begrudge them this minor indiscretion.” I smiled at him, hoping to allay his fears of exactly what, I am not sure – perhaps insurrection!
“Well, Lieutenant, Doctor Jackson and I have endured all of the same hardships, have we not? And yet, we don’t act indecorously. A sad state of affairs, I think.” He shot a glance at Jackson and muttered, “A sad state indeed, when the officers are unable to control their subordinates!”
My blood began to boil at his caustic remark and, in an effort to quell the retort that was bubbling up in my craw, turned away and went below. I suspected I would hear more on the subject during dinner. Uriah Levy had beaten me to the wardroom, and was settling himself into a chair at the table as I entered.
“Well, Oliver. That was a fine celebration of our nation’s independence. Let us hope that, as both you and Cap’n Allen mentioned, this little fracas will put paid to the question of us maintaining that state!
“I was amused by our guests’ reaction to the guns. I thought the esteemed minister might actually wet himself when the first shot was fired! Had to make a special effort, I did, just to refrain from laughing out loud! And his bloody poem – or song – or whatever it might have been! I think the men enjoyed it most of all!” He started to chuckle at the recollection.
“Aye, it was amusing to be sure. And I just finished being castigated for the crew’s unruly behavior – ‘rowdy,’ it was deemed – when the cap’n announced spirits up! Not sure what our esteemed guest expected, but I don’t think he ever thought the men might want to let off a bit of pent up energy. He as much as said…”
“There is no need for that, Mister Baldwin. I am quite capable of expressing my feeling to Lieutenant Levy myself. And should he have an interest, I shall!” Crawford had slipped into the room behind my back. No telling how long he was in the passageway or how much, if any, of Levy’s comments he might have overheard.
I started at being caught unawares, but Levy responded diplomatically to Crawford’s remark. “Mister Crawford: in the merchant fleet, sailors are a rowdy, rambunctious group, ashore and often at sea. Discipline is maintained by the captain’s or bosun’s fists and the threat of the lash. Different, but not too much so, in the navy, where the men are ruled by discipline, order, and their respect and fondness for their officers, especially their captain. And yes, the threat of punishment – often painful punishment – as well. Underneath, however, boiling and waiting for an excuse to bubble up, is the same rowdy man, held in check by his training and the respect earned by the officers.
“But unlike the Royal Navy, we do not whip our people at every little infraction and seem to do better for it. When the good men of a navy crew – and yes, most are good men – have an opportunity to let their feelings have free rein, they do. As long as it’s not causing a problem, nor occurs with any frequency, we let them have the liberty. It’s also an easy way to maintain morale.
“These men meant no disrespect to the cap’n or the officers with their behavior; indeed, there most likely is not a man among them who would quake at defending their ship and their captain to the death. That is the difference.” He paused, both for breath and a quick reading of the minister’s expression.
Seeing he had the minister’s attention, albeit somewhat gape-mouthed – I don’t think anyone had spoken to Mister Crawford like this in some time, if ever! – he pressed on, driving home his point.
“Later, after you are safely ashore, we will be asking them to go into battle and put their own lives on the line for their country, their ship, and their captain. While I have been aboard only as long as yourself, sir, I would reckon that not one among them will disappoint. Further, it is unlikely they will get ashore once we get to France – I suspect we won’t be there long enough to allow that, a fact that is not lost among them. They hunger for action, but until then they live for their spirit ration and a rare bit of skylarking.” Levy looked hard at Crawford, his dark visage seeming to penetrate the other man’s head.
I was speechless. I had not heard Levy utter that many words at one time since coming aboard. I guessed he was now a full member of the ship’s company. Crawford seemed, likewise, speechless – stunned, perhaps – and studied Levy with an almost hateful glare, clearly at a loss for words. Instead of taking his customary seat, the minister turned about, uttering nary a word, and exited the wardroom.
I winked at my shipmate, smiled, and sat down in my chair at the head of the table. “Well, Uriah! That was quite a speech! I suspect our esteemed passenger might have taken umbrage at being chastised, but I can’t say I disagree with anything you voiced. Nevertheless, in the future, I would counsel some restraint…we have to live with them for another week, after all.”
Levy simply nodded at me, apparently having used up his daily quota of words already! Watson wandered in, looked at me, a puzzled look on his face, and sat down. I glanced at my timepiece, surprised that his morning watch was already done and the gunner had assumed the quarterdeck.
“Where might our guests have got themselves to?” He asked to no one in particular. Hudson and Inderwick, both of whom had witnessed the recent exchange with Crawford, said nothing, preferring instead to shift their glances to Uriah Levy.
“They’re clearly not here, are they, Bill? And since Baldwin here has threatened them with bodily harm for berating our worthy sailors, I suspect they will be keeping their selves scarce for the foreseeable future!” Levy managed to utter the outrageous statement without so much as a flicker of a smile.
I, however, burst out laughing, just as Doctor Jackson strode purposefully into the wardroom.
“I must have missed something grand. A droll remark, perhaps, or something a bit ribald?” He took his usual seat and tucked his napkin into his shirt, spreading it carefully over his midsection, looking around the table as he did so.
“Lieutenant Levy was simply describing a fictitious conversation he claims to have heard – quite clever it was, and with a grand imagination!” Watson spoke up before I could dredge up a satisfactory answer.
“Sorry to have missed it. I am sure it would suffer in the re-telling.
“Has anyone any idea with has become of my principal? I have not seen him since he went downstairs. I assumed he would be here. Is it not time for the midday meal, or am I early?”
“I expect Bladen will appear at any moment with our dinner, Doctor. Your surmise is quite correct; it is time indeed.” I pointedly did not answer his first question. Then I added, “Perhaps the minister will dine with Cap’n Allen today.”
“Hmmm. He mentioned nothing of the sort to me.”
“Must have slipped his mind with all the goings-on
on deck this morning.”
And good to my word, Bladen, with perfect timing, stepped into the room carrying a tureen of something aromatic, followed by Appene with a platter of meat encircled by potatoes and peas.
We managed to enjoy our meal almost to its completion, when the watch messenger burst into the wardroom, doffed his hat and exclaimed, “Sir! Mister Baldwin, sir. Mister Conklin’s compliments, sir, and a ship is sighted, hull down to leeward.”
My stomach lurched – damn! Barely three days out from France and finding what might turn out to be a situation. Closer in, I expected it. Probably not going to be able to avoid this one!
The man stood there twisting his hat and clearly in discomfort.
“You may tell the gunner I will be up directly…Hyatt, is it not?” I was not certain of the young landsman’s name.
He beamed at me, clearly delighted that I would know his name. “Yes, yes sir. I will tell him. And yes, Hyatt is who I am. Fred Hyatt, sir.”
“That will be all, Hyatt. You may return to the quarterdeck now.”
I yanked my napkin from my collar and set my fork down. I gazed wistfully at the last bit of meat on my plate, knowing it would not survive my absence, and rose from my chair, hoping against hope the ship might turn out to be friendly – or at least, not British!
“Gentlemen, if you will excuse me. I must attend to the business at hand.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Chance Encounter
“What have we got, Mister Conklin?” From aloft at the main crosstrees, I could make out Cap’n Allen’s voice as he approached the gunner who held the deck. I continued to study the stranger through my glass, finally lowering it, and, admonishing the lookout stationed there to ‘keep a weather eye on her,’ made my way down the ratlines to the deck. I might have used the backstay ten years ago, but thought it less than decorous in my present position. The fact that my physical condition was not such as to give me confidence of an uneventful descent seemed an unimportant fact to dwell upon!
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 11