I expect we will remain here for a few days to restore our necessaries and take on powder and shot, refill our water, and make some repairs. I will see this letter gets ashore, along with the others, with the hope there will be a French or American ship sailing soon for the United States.
I send it with my untiring devotion and the hope that we will soon be together, planning nuptials and a life in each other’s company.
Yours, with great affection, I remain,
Oliver Baldwin 1st Lt.
USS Argus, Port Louis, France
CHAPTER TEN
15 July 1813
Port Louis, France
“Gentlemen: I called you to this meeting to share the secretary’s plan for Argus for the remainder of this commission. I assume some of you figured out that we would be meeting the enemy at some point, beyond that which we already have. Our voyage was never intended to be a simple run to carry diplomats to France.” Captain Allen addressed the assembled officers and warrants, who had all crowded into his cabin, now a bit more spacious since Minister Crawford’s departure.
Shortly after our arrival, we began to make arrangements – it turned out be a lengthy process – with the authorities ashore to replenish our stores of food, powder, and water. We would not be loading any shot, as the French use a different caliber of ball, but it was not a significant problem as, once we began taking enemy ships, we would have access to ample stores of British iron shot. The authorities proved as difficult to deal with ashore as they had been aboard when first we arrived several days ago. Our salvation came in the form of Uriah Levy, our late arriving supernumerary, who managed to muster up sufficient diplomatic skills and command of the French language, as to smooth their ruffled feathers and arrange for several lighters of perishables, firewood, and water, plus another that carried out a dozen casks of black powder. Our gunner, dubious of foreign munitions, inspected them closely by testing and measuring the granules before he declared it fit.
The crew was engaged in making some repairs under the supervision of the carpenter and the bosun as well as doing some knotting and splicing to restore our running rigging that had worn during the foul weather we experienced in the Atlantic. There seemed no opportunity for any to get ashore except on official business. And we waited on word from the American consulate that they would take our prisoners of war, Captain Roe and his crew, and then turn them over to the French authorities for eventual repatriation.
When Captain Roe learned of what we had planned for him and his men, he became most agitated and, supported by his chief mate, gained an audience with Captain Allen to make an entreaty to hold them aboard.
“So you wish to sign our articles and become part of the United States Navy?” Allen queried, only part in jest.
“No, no, sir. Not a bit of it! It is just that we have heard too much of how the French treat British prisoners. They are notorious for not only miserable conditions in their holding depots, but for delaying the repatriation of all prisoners of war. Especially British prisoners.”
“So what would you have me do, Cap’n? I can ill afford to keep you aboard Argus and feed you; I have barely enough room for my own crew as it is. And we will be leaving shortly on a war cruise. I clearly cannot have a gang of British sailors in my ship when we encounter the enemy – your countrymen!”
I watched Captain Roe as he puzzled this problem. His face twisted into a grimace that wrinkled his brow and squinted his eyes. He spoke quietly to his mate, Mister Alexander Roche, and suddenly smiled. Turning back to Henry and me, his expression said he had solved our problem to everyone’s satisfaction. I could scarce wait to hear what he might offer.
“Captain Allen: Mister Roche has come up with a plan that is marvelously simple and, at the same time, quite brilliant. We will remain aboard Argus only until you encounter another English vessel, which we have no doubt you will successfully capture. While we naturally cannot know where you will be cruising, I suspect it will be closer to England than to America. Yes?” He did not wait for an answer but pressed on, his words coming faster and faster as he warmed to the solution he was proposing. Henry shot me a look.
“Once you have taken another English ship, you can designate it as a cartel to carry prisoners and send it directly to the nearest English port. With us aboard. Does that solve our mutual problem, sir?”
I was surprised at the brass of the man! He was clearly unaware, as a merchant sailor, that, were we to accommodate his request, we would be consigning an equal number of American seamen, held prisoner in some British pest hole, to further captivity; without a prisoner exchange agent, there could be no release of Americans in exchange for releasing Roe and his men. He certainly was painfully aware of the crowded conditions in Argus, even with the minister’s party gone. What was he thinking!
I could see that Henry was wavering. He shot a glance at me, noting, I was certain, the slight shaking of my head, and addressed his prisoners.
“Gentlemen: I sympathize with your plight. God knows! I would be of the same mind regarding French prisoner depots. I have heard reports that British ones are no better and, in some ways, worse. Your ‘solution’ as you label it, is surely one-sided. But that said, in consideration of having burned your ship, which at the time was in no way a threat to us, I will grant your request. But understand this: regardless of what our first capture turns out to be, whether a fishing smack or three-decked merchant ship, you will be off Argus at once, and on your own.”
I was as stunned at this decision as Roe and Roche were thrilled with it! I had no idea that Henry was imbued with such a broad streak of kindness! It was a lesson, I assumed, learned from Captain Decatur’s eminently fair treatment of the prisoners he took off Macedonian less than a year ago. But he had given his word – they would remain aboard. In the meantime, we pressed on with our own chores getting the ship prepared to return to sea.
The meeting with the officers in the cabin came at the end of a long day of stowing provisions, lowering water casks to the hold, and stacking firewood in a dry spot below. Tired as we all were, nonetheless, we were all anxious to hear what the captain had to tell us. I had noticed when I entered – before the others at Henry’s request – several carafes of wine and a jug of either whiskey or rum had been set out on the sideboard, so I knew – or, at least, suspected – that we would be getting good news and toasting it. Or not; there was always the chance that it would be dreadful news, and Henry was offering drink to soften the blow. Time would tell!
“I know you are all anxious, as I am sure our men are, to get ourselves into the fight! I am equally so. Now that our esteemed passengers have been delivered safely into the hands of the French,” he paused here and smiled, “we are now in a position to get to the important part of the commission: taking British ships, disrupting their shipping, and generally raising havoc in their waters. Our orders from the secretary of the navy – orders that I was instructed to keep secret until now – will have us to take the war to them!” He paused, allowing us time to digest the news. He then unfolded a large sheaf of papers and began to read the salient parts of his sailing orders, beginning with the secretary’s admonition to keep them secret and carrying on with the somewhat open-ended order to “make the enemy feel the effects of our hostility in their home waters.”
Our cruising grounds were to be “from the entrance to the Channel to Cape Clear on the SW corner of Ireland, up the east coast of Ireland in the Irish Sea, and to the northwest coast of England.” After we perhaps a month in those waters, we are to shift our attention to “the Orkney and Shetland Islands of Scotland, there to await the arrival of the lumber fleet” returning from Archangel in August and September. We are to attempt to reprovision in France, but if we are refused, we are to sail home. A worthy cruise for any!
I watched the assembled officers and especially the warrants as the realization of his statement struck home like a ripple-fired broadside; broad smiles gradually crossed their faces as each grasped the sign
ificance of the captain’s words.
We will be sailing into the English and Irish Channels, possibly more heavily defended by the so-called home fleet than any of their convoys, the coast of America, or their Caribbean possessions. A brilliant plan!
My head whirled with the possibilities. I could not help but make a quick mental tally of how this cruise might enrich us all. Fat merchant vessels returning to England, laden with rich cargoes or specie, equally fat ones leaving port, heavy with English goods for trade, or better, with munitions for the war in America. I only spent a moment in the calculations; the numbers quickly surpassed my ability to comprehend them! And then, a new reality jumped into my head, pushing the dreams of riches to the side.
The coastal waters will be protected by the home fleet. Protected against their cross-channel enemy, France. They will be ready for anything we might do, and our chances of catching them unawares are next to nil! They will be on us like a cat on a rat, quick as ever you please and…
Stop it, Oliver; just stop that! That kind of thinking is wrong-headed. Just wrong. We will be successful and inflict all manner of pain on them. Might even help end the fighting! Aye, that’s the ticket!
“…prizes,” Henry was still addressing the group, “so the rewards will not be of a financial kind, but the knowledge that we will be hurting the enemy where he lives. And hurting him financially as well; I am sure, if we are successful, the insurance costs for any leaving or heading for England will be sky-high! However, I will not be opposed to relieving our victims of anything of value they might be carrying, especially specie. Finally, should we encounter a warship and prevail, we will likely be entitled to head and gun money, which, as you all know, we won’t get for merchants.”
Faint opportunity, sounds like! So much for wondrous riches! Hold, there, Oliver. You didn’t join the Navy in 1803 to get rich; you followed your brother’s footsteps because you could not breathe in the atmosphere of your father’s cabinet shop. So put that out of your mind and get on with it!
I finished chastising myself just as Henry’s voice filtered through my still addled brain again. “So, gentlemen, I ask that you join me in a toast to Argus…and confusion to our enemy!”
Appene thrust a glass of amber liquid into my hand. I raised it, as did the others who all still wore broad smiles – was I the only one with those thoughts? – and joined the toast. “Confusion to our enemies! To Argus!” And Watson added, “To Captain Allen: may he lead us to success.”
The whiskey burned my throat as it went down, but that quickly faded and the sweet aftertaste of quality American whiskey lingered. The officers and warrants talked excitedly to one another, boasting about our yet-to-be achieved success and one – I think it might have been Gunner Conklin – went so far as to suggest Argus would be quickly labeled “the scourge of the Irish Channel!” For my part, I hoped he was right!
The next several days were a blur of activity. The loading of stores and powder carried on through night and day, while Henry and I made visits ashore to arrange for another pilot for when we’d be outward bound, settle our bills, and ensure that Minister Crawford and his party had got themselves off to Paris – or wherever they were headed. And for me, and Henry as well, finishing personal letters to our loved ones and getting them ashore to the American consulate occupied the few spare moments we could steal. The consulate would be charged with delivering our correspondence to the next ship headed for the United States, but first we had to finish writing them. I spent several nights, working the in the flickering light of a candle – barely more than a purser’s glim – to say everything I wanted to say to Ann. God alone knew when I would see her again! I also penned short notes to my parents in Philadelphia and my brother, Edward, presumably in USS Constitution, by way of Boston. But as the reprovisioning was finally completed and the men were just about done securing them below decks, it was time to get on with it.
20 July 1813 dawned with frequent squalls blowing through from the northeast. Perfect for Argus to get out and sneak past the British blockade. And the tide would be full within a couple of hours, relieving, to some extent, our concerns over shoals. The visibility was reduced to barely a mile and, with a fresh breeze, I was confident we could out-sail any but the fastest Royal Navy man-o’-war. That is, if they even saw us in the first place! The captain ordered a gun fired, recalling any who were ashore, and then, an hour and more later, another to call attention to the flag we had hoisted signaling our request for a pilot. Then we waited. And waited. Henry ordered another gun fired and sent up a second signal for the pilot. One – a different man from the one who piloted us in – was finally rowed out to the ship in a poorly handled boat. I heard the bosun comment something to the effect of “sloppy French seamanship,” as the pilot scrambled up our side and through the break in the bulwark.
He wore workman’s pantaloons, what looked like a drayman’s shirt under a flapping canvas jacket, and a shabby top hat, held in place against the wind by a scarf secured under his chin. Well-worn leather boots that reached nearly to his knees completed his ensemble. He made a provocative sight indeed. Upon reaching the deck, he bowed slightly from the waist to greet me, and it dawned on me that we had no way to communicate with him since both Monsieur Loremy and Doctor Jackson had gone ashore. Then I recalled that, upon our first foray ashore, Uriah Levy had shown some ability with the language and sent for him immediately. I smiled and welcomed him aboard in English, shaking his extended hand. Then I escorted him to the quarterdeck, catching Henry’s eye as I passed, motioning him to the side.
“Has your French improved over the past week, Cap’n?” I queried with a smile.
“Not a whit! Let’s hope he either speaks English or knows his job well enough to get us out on his own!” I could not quite grasp if Henry was more amused or frustrated by the situation.
“You may recall that Levy can manage to make himself understood, Cap’n. I have sent the messenger for him so we may not have as big a problem as we thought.” I turned to see if Levy was in sight.
The officers, including Uriah, arrived en masse on the quarterdeck, and the captain instructed the master and the bosun to get their people to stations to make sail and weigh anchor. Our pilot smiled at everyone and chattered away in his native tongue, gesturing eloquently with both hands as Levy did his best to keep up and provide a hesitant translation.
“I think he’s ready to go, Cap’n.” Levy suggested.
“Actually, sir, he’s requesting our draft and whether we wish to head to the north or the south.” Midshipman Temple spoke hesitantly from behind us.
“Temple! My God, man! Why didn’t you tell us you could manage this infernal language?” I was both stunned and grateful. “By all means, give him the draft – better add a few feet to it for good measure – and tell him we’ll be setting a course due west.”
Levy stepped back, embarrassed that he had failed, and relinquished his chore to the midshipman.
We had to get far enough out to both allay any interest an alert blockader might show in us, as well as clear Ushant and the Quimper and Brest peninsulas before we altered course for the Channel. With Temple interpreting the pilot’s instructions, we got the brig underway and headed fair by six bells. While it was still light, our course would be west; once the dark settled a cloak of invisibility over us, we would come to starboard and set a northerly course for the mouth of the English Channel.
We dropped the pilot near Île de Groix and, under a press of canvas, headed west with the wind on the starboard quarter. Argus seemed pleased to be back in her element, slicing through the chop with a bone in her teeth.
With the wind building from the northeast, we carried on to the west and then to the northwest for most of the night. At first light the wind had settled down a trifle, so the captain thought some gunnery practice would be in order.
Watson’s gun crews performed admirably, firing the guns with precision, quickly reloading, and firing again. But they were just shooti
ng at the water, not a target. And, as I recalled Doctor Jackson’s quip, no one was shooting back!
“Cap’n, I think the gun crews would benefit from having something to fire at. May I suggest a cask or two dropped over the side to provide a target?” Watson voiced my concern before I could. Good for him!
The purser provided us with several casks, which we heaved over, sailed off a ways, and rounded up. When we were about a half mile off, we positioned the ship to open the larboard broadside and had the guns fire one at a time. Watson and I wanted to observe the fall of shot from each gun, as did the captain.
The lads did fairly well, considering that the targets were small – compared to a ship – and bobbing about in the sea. The balls splashed into the sea close enough to have hit something larger, like a vessel, and when we switched the loads to grape and canister, the casks were splintered into matchwood in short order!
While we conducted drills with the great guns, Argus continued to make progress toward the mouth of the English Channel, which we hoped would be a hive of maritime activity, with merchants returning home and others leaving on extended cruises.
In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3) Page 15