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

by William H. White

  “She’s a schooner, Cap’n. Outbound it appears. Couldn’t see a flag, but she obviously has seen us. Altered her course, a trifle to leeward.” The captain nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  “Might we get close enough to speak with her captain, Captain?” Crawford had followed Henry topside, possibly even forsaking his meal, assuming he had landed an invitation to dine with the captain. It was noteworthy that he avoided looking in my direction.

  “Minister, you are as well acquainted with my orders as anyone aboard. I am to avoid any chance of conflict.” As Henry took a breath, glanced aloft at the perfectly drawing sails, I thought I heard him actually sigh.

  “I am indeed, Captain. But I am told we are fairly close to the French coast. Do you not agree it would be helpful to know what might be acting there?”

  Captain Allen shrugged, shot me a glance as a smile began to play at the corners of his mouth. I knew he was impatient for some action – the ‘avoiding conflict’ order grated on him more than on any of us. I nodded in agreement with his unspoken decision that Crawford’s suggestion effectively released him from his orders, at least temporarily.

  “Mister Baldwin. You may put the ship at quarters and take the deck until Mister Levy shows up. Gunner, you are relieved to see to your guns. Messenger, fetch up the bosun and the drummer, if you please.”

  So much for a ‘make and mend’ routine! But I would wager the people will be most pleased to have a bit of ‘real’ gunnery practice in its place!

  The drummer appeared and immediately began his beat to quarters; the crew, as eager for action as I had predicted, hurried to their stations, unlimbered the carronades and raced aloft to shorten sail on the master’s command. I was pleased at how well they responded, recognizing that this call to arms was quite unexpected.

  “Quartermaster, we’ll show the colors, if you please…no, no, Hawkins, not the American colors. Let us put up Portuguese colors, at least initially.” He turned to me. “Let us see if that provokes anything meaningful.”

  I raised my glass, noting what appeared, at the great distance between our two ships, some activity on deck.

  “He’s showing British colors, Cap’n. Flag just went aloft.”

  “Very well, then. Quartermaster, we’ll have British colors now, please.”

  The ruse of flags paid off in that we were able to close to within the range of our bow chaser twelve-pounders. I could see they were properly manned and pointed, Midshipman Temple close by and clearly in tune with what we planned; he had his back to our quarry, his eyes focused on the quarterdeck awaiting a signal.

  “Quartermaster, show our true colors, now, smartly.” The captain raised his voice, directing it forward in a clear call. “Mister Temple, on my signal – one across her bows, if you please.” He turned back to us, and calmly directed, “Mister Levy, fall off some, if you please; let us get within a comfortable range for the carronades. A point should answer nicely, I think.”

  As quickly as we steadied on the new heading, the captain lifted his hat and waved at Midshipman Temple. The larboard bow chaser roared at just about the same instant that the Stars and Stripes was two-blocked at the main peak. We watched a satisfying splash raise up less than a pistol shot ahead of the schooner. Even before our ears stopped ringing, Henry shouted forward again.

  “Mister Temple. Nicely done! Now one just to her stern, please!”

  Temple was ready. He personally laid the second bow chaser and pulled the lanyard.

  BOOM!…SPLASH!

  The ball landed a bit farther away from the vessel than his first, but was certainly close enough to communicate our intentions. At the bow, Temple’s gun crew had reloaded the first gun and was ready to fire again. “This time, right at her, Mister Temple!”

  BOOM!

  All the dumb show exercises had paid dividends; Temple’s two gun crews were brilliantly efficient and their practice showed. The third shot threw up splinters from the schooner’s larboard bulwark amidships.

  “Mister Baldwin, standby to fire a broadside, larboard battery. Mister Levy, bring her back up – just enough that the whole battery will bear.”

  I ran forward, grabbed Bill Watson – I knew his ears were still ringing, same as mine were – and shouted at him, “Full broadside, Mister Watson, larboard battery. On my command.”

  “Belay that, Mister Baldwin. He’s struck!” The captain’s voice penetrated my deafness and I stood down the gunnery officer.

  “Mister Levy, you may bring us to alongside, if you please, and heave to. It appears we have taken a prize.

  “She’s a nice little vessel. I will feel bad burning her, but we’ve no choice in the matter. No way to deal with a prize here.” This last utterance seemed almost an aside, directed at no one. Perhaps the captain was unaware he had spoken the thought aloud.

  “Mister Baldwin, take a boat, if you please, a few Marines, and go and see what we have captured. Bring back her master with her papers, and explain we shall be disposing of the vessel directly.”

  As I hurried off to organize the boat and a boarding party, I could not help overhearing some of the men in the gun crews grousing about their lack of action, that only the chasers’ crews got to fire at a real target. I resolved to help solve this issue when I returned aboard.

  Our boat crew managed the short distance through smooth seas and pulled alongside the schooner, now drifting with only a tops’l set – and it was backed. Manropes appeared at the boarding gate, and I sent up a half dozen Marines – well armed with muskets, cutlasses, and pistols. I watched to see if there would be any problems and, happily, they simply formed up along the bulwark, muskets held at port arms. I followed them onto the schooner’s deck.

  “Sir. I am Thomas Roe, master of the British schooner, Salamanca. What is the meaning of this…piracy. You have no right to stop my ship, let alone, fire into me.” The man, having chosen bluster over reality, stormed into my face the second my feet landed on his deck.

  “Well, Cap’n, in case you hadn’t heard, your country and mine, the United States of America, are engaged in a war, and your ship is now a prize of the American brig of war, Argus, Lieutenant Henry Allen commanding. I am Lieutenant Oliver Baldwin, First Lieutenant in Argus, here to bring you and your ship’s papers back to our vessel and Cap’n Allen. You will be interested, I am sure, to learn that we will be not be taking your vessel as a prize, but rather destroying her directly. I would suggest you tell your people to gather their belongings and stand by for transfer to Argus.”

  The man’s face went from the brilliant crimson to chalk white in a matter of seconds as he took in my words.

  “Destroy Salamanca? Why on earth would any right-minded person – even an American – do such a thing? There is no reason – ”

  “That will do, Cap’n Roe. I suggest you get your papers and anything else of value you wish to bring and set your mate to handling the tasks I just outlined for you. We have little time to linger.”

  I tried to maintain a professional decorum, refusing to rise to his slur about Americans. I wondered if he was aware that today was the anniversary of our independence from his country.

  He soon had carried out my orders, and instructed his mate, a Mister Alexander Roche, to carry out his. Leaving the Marines aboard, along with Midshipman Temple who had accompanied me, I reboarded the cutter and brought the British captain to Henry.

  “Hmmm. Your vessel is American-built? Your papers seem to indicate she is quite new and only recently acquired by your service. What a shame to burn such a fine vessel! We will be taking your crew aboard Argus, as prisoners of war, of course, and you, sir, should consider yourself as such also.

  “Since you carry no cargo on your westerly voyage, it will be short work to remove any stores we might need and your crew. Perhaps you would be willing to tell us how things are along the French coast and what we might expect to encounter there.” Allen’s tone was all business now.

  “Mister Crawford. You will want
to listen, I am sure, to what Cap’n Roe has to tell us. Perhaps you would be good enough, Cap’n, to join me and Minister Crawford in my cabin. Mister Baldwin, please see to carrying out my instructions here.” Taking Roe by the arm – a gesture more friendly than threatening – he led the way to the hatch and disappeared below, followed by Doctor Jackson and the American minister to France.

  The wind had increased and the seas were building; and I knew we would have only a short time to remove stores and men from the schooner before the passage back and forth would become too risky for the boats. Having been turned broadside by the seas, Argus was beginning to roll. I briefly thought of our haughty passenger and how he would fare in the cabin with the skipper of Salamanca and Henry. Not my problem!

  With two boats plying the water between the two vessels, the task was accomplished forthwith and with a minimum of difficulties, if one does not count getting thoroughly soaked in the passage! A few of the Salamancas were reluctant to leave their ship and raised a bit of a ruckus, even with the understanding she would be destroyed. Two of our Marines, bayonets fixed on their muskets, convinced them otherwise. The three British sailors and one Portuguese ultimately made it to Argus, where they were welcomed with handcuffs and shown to the orlop deck to join their mates. Fourteen in all.

  With the men removed from the schooner and the bulk of the useful stores transferred to Argus, Bill Watson approached me where I stood by the entry port.

  “We’re going to fire her? Right, Mister Baldwin?”

  “Those were Cap’n Allen’s instructions, Bill. We’re too far from home to bring her in as a prize – we’d lose her to the first Brit we encountered. Plus, who knows what we’ll discover on the coast of France. The Frogs are supposedly neutral in this, but they are still at war with the English, don’t forget. We might not be able to get the schooner adjudicated by a French prize court. I would imagine that we’ll still be getting head and gun money for her, though. Why do you ask?”

  He paused, rested his hand on the bulwark and stared out across the water to where Salamanca, with no one onboard tending to her helm or sails, rolled viciously in the swell. Midshipman Temple was still onboard, and his crew was busy lowering casks and tossing sacks of God-knew-what down to the men waiting below in the ship’s boat. It was a difficult task, with the schooner and the boat rolling and pitching out of sync with one another in the swell. I hoped they would be finishing quickly, as Argus was also riding uncomfortably in the deteriorating conditions.

  “Well, since we’re going to destroy her anyway, I thought my gun crews might derive some benefit from shooting at a real target instead of just firing aimlessly. We could put a powder train to a couple of powder casks below and let the lads have some fun until she blows up. Might actually hasten her demise, in fact. What say you to that?”

  “Well, you’re quite right, Mister Watson; the men could clearly use the practice and, as you say, we’re going to burn her anyway…I will ask the cap’n directly. Have your people stand by their guns, once the boats are back aboard. The men in the last boat are supposed to set the fires, but I will have them wait.”

  When the penultimate boat arrived back alongside, I told the cox’n and Midshipman Jamesson, greatly improved from his earlier affliction, acting as the boat officer, to wait for my return before setting any fires aboard the schooner. I hastened below.

  “First lieutenant, Cap’n.” The Marine at the captain’s door announced me through a partially opened door.

  “Come in, Mister Baldwin. Cap’n Roe was just beginning to tell me about his pretty little schooner and what we might expect to find off L’Orient. You might as well listen to it as well.

  “How’s things moving along topside? About done, are you, with the salvage project?”

  “Yes, we are, sir. All hands have been removed and we are just about finished taking off stores and powder. With the weather starting to make up a bit, I thought it might be helpful to Watson’s lads to let them put a few balls into her before we torch her – give them some practice and the satisfaction of seeing their shot actually strike another vessel. It was Mister Watson’s idea, actually.”

  I shot a glance at Mister Crawford as I spoke, noticing his eyebrows go up above his ashen face. Apparently, the sudden change in the weather was not sitting well with him. I made a silent wager with myself that he would have some comment to make and, should we do the firing exercise, that he would be topside to critique it.

  “It is quite the shame, Captain, that you will not take my vessel as a prize. She is fairly new – built, I believe, in a reputable yard in New England. She had made but one voyage before she was taken by our Royal Navy. I purchased her out of the prize court and have likewise made but one voyage in her. She would be a worthy prize for you.” Captain Roe seemed genuinely saddened by our intent.

  “I am sure you’re quite right, Cap’n Roe, but our circumstances won’t allow us the luxury of a prize right now. I do appreciate your willingness to share information on the coast. I am sure that your passage from Portugal gave you a good impression of what might be acting and what I might expect to find. I only hope you will be honest with me.” Allen looked hard at the civilian captain, made eye contact with Crawford who nodded discreetly, and looked back to me. “They had recently delivered a load of fish from Newfoundland to Oporto for Wellington’s troops in Spain. Heading back for more, he says.”

  “Since you are outbound from Portugal, Cap’n, might I inquire why you had occasion to sail north along the coast of France rather than on a more direct line to North America? As a British vessel, were you not concerned about French privateers?” I asked, wondering if perhaps he might have been bluffing with whatever knowledge he offered.

  “We have already covered that ground, Oliver. I am reasonably comfortable with the cap’n’s story. I would reckon the privateers are all seeking richer quarry, perhaps closer to England since they would be unlikely to find much in the way of English merchants off their own coast.” He smiled, relieving me that he was not displeased with me for having posed the question. But the English captain answered me anyway.

  “Bloody winds, Lieutenant. The Bay of Biscay was its usual boisterous self with nor’westerlies blowin’ a sodding gale. Had to get up the coast a ways before we could tack over to a course for Newfoundland. Made superb time, though, for all of it!” Roe smiled disarmingly at me as he offered a reasonable explanation.

  He offered little useful intelligence on what might be acting on the coast or even offshore of L’Orient. He had seen one Portuguese merchant – a ship-rigged vessel, he said – and she was outbound as he was, but headed more south, likely toward the Azores. He did not speak her. As to what we could expect off the coast of France, he was not forthcoming, presumably as he had nothing to offer. He did share news of the conflict between his country and the French, which, even though some weeks old, caused our esteemed passenger to sit up and take notice. The battle he said was brewing between Napoleon’s forces and Wellington would be fought soon (as of a month ago) and likely on the plain of Vittoria. The feeling in Portugal was that Napoleon’s brother Joseph, who now commanded the French army in Spain, would be badly beaten, leaving Bonaparte’s army in Prussia as the next to last French army.

  “It is just possible, my friends,” Minister Crawford offered upon this news, “that, should Captain Roe be correct, the war could well be ending soon. At least the conflict between France and England. Perhaps our country will derive some benefit from it, should that actually be the case.”

  “Aye, benefit indeed! I would imagine, Minister, that should England no longer need her military resources in Europe, they will then be available for use in North America against us! Something that would most assuredly not be to our benefit!” Allen’s skepticism silenced Crawford for a moment, allowing me to make a leg to my captain, hoping that he was not overly peeved with me, and take my departure.

  “I am sure you gentlemen still have questions for Cap’n Roe, and I have duti
es to attend to topside. Cap’n, with your permission, I shall get on with them. I am sorry to have interrupted you.” I immediately realized I sounded a bit petulant and hoped I was the only one who thought so. I turned for the door, but was halted by his voice.

  “Hold there, Lieutenant.” He rarely used my title, an indication he might be perturbed with me. Or was maintaining a level of formality in front of our “guest.” I hoped the latter!

  I turned about, “Sir?”

  “I think your thought is a good one. You may tell Mister Watson to prepare his people. I shall be along directly.”

  “Thank you, sir. I think it will be helpful.” I opened the door and departed, quickly.

  When I returned to the deck, the weather had continued to deteriorate and the boat I had detained was still alongside, but riding most uncomfortably, banging against the brig’s side with every wave and jerking on its painter, in spite of the efforts of a couple of the crew to prevent it.

  “Messenger, find Mister Watson for me at once.” I called out to the quarterdeck. “Mister Jamesson, take the boat and load it with three or four casks of powder and some slowmatch. Take it back to the schooner and set them with a powder train below deck – forward, amidships, and in the captain’s cabin aft. Run a powder train topside, set about two fathoms of slowmatch, where it will be protected from the weather. Do not light it, but stand by for my signal. Take however many men you will need and be sure the vessel is empty of humanity. And do not tarry.”

  Jamesson clearly was uneasy about what would happen after he set the powder to blow up the schooner, and I reassured him that he would have ample time to escape!

  “You sent for me, Mister Baldwin?” Watson spoke to my back.

  “I did. Cap’n Allen thinks your idea splendid and will be topside directly to observe your crews. Haste – Mister Watson – will be called for to prepare. I am also having Jamesson set a powder charge to blow up the vessel when you have completed your chore.”