The Greater the Honor

by William H. White

  I also noticed that, with the passage of time, the effects of the malady from which I had been suffering seemed to abate. My head no longer pounded, the pain receded to a dull ache above my neck, and my stomach seemed to have settled itself to some degree. Food certainly held no interest for me, but I thought that should I be in a position to eat something, I would, at the least, be able to keep it down. Perhaps I had been too hasty in determining the ultimate course the disease might follow.

  As we passed among ships both anchored and not, I could distinguish the cries of what I assumed to be officers issuing orders, using words that were quite foreign to me.

  “Man t’gallant halyards and sheets. Step lively, you lubbers! Clap onto the sheets and weather t’gallant braces.”

  “Lay out, men. Loose t’gallants! Let fall. Hoist away, lads! Haul taut.”

  Other shouts meant just as little to me. Some I had heard my brother Edward utter, but I could see that I would have to learn an entirely new language to survive this employment. Hopefully, I watched to see what action the orders brought and was rewarded to observe a sail, two above the large lower sail which was already set, tumble and drop from its folded position along the pole to which it was tied, while ropes attached to the corners of the canvas pulled it down. Men were stationed along the pole high above the deck, their feet on a length of rope running along under the pole. Then the pole itself began to climb up the mast to the chanting of a large group of men on the ship’s deck as they hauled, sweating, on another rope. All this effort seemed to accomplish little as the sail, now fully deployed, just hung slack from its pole, not stirring a whit, to the apparent chagrin of somebody on the deck who immediately began issuing more orders in an increasingly agitated voice. Then we were by the ship, and I felt it imprudent to twist myself around in the confines of the sternsheets to continue my observations. I contented myself with watching the seagulls dive after fish, each crying out in delight when successful. With one part of my mind, I was thinking about the vast amount of information I would have to learn. Would that I had listened more attentively to Edward!

  “Well, Mister Baldwin. There she is. That’s your home, for a while anyway, perhaps two or three years. What say you?” Decatur looked away from his vessel and smiled at me.

  Ahead of us I could see there were five ships anchored. A pair of them were quite substantial while the other three were progressively smaller. I was uncertain as to which of the vessels the captain was referring but unwilling to display any greater ignorance than already I had. After all, I was sure that the captain would think that since I have a brother in the Navy surely he must have taught me something—at least the difference between a brig and whatever else the other ships were!

  “Oh, sir!” said I. “She’s quite lovely. And how tall are her ... masts. Surely you must be very proud to be captain of such a splendid ship.” My eyes darted wildly around the anchorage trying to pick out the one he captained. I quickly settled on the largest and, even to my untrained eye, most beautiful of the five. I hoped my enthusiasm would cover my complete and utter ignorance.

  “Oliver, you’re looking at the wrong ship. The one you’re looking at is Constitution, a frigate. A splendid ship and true, she is, and a fair piece larger than my little Argus. There, Oliver, more to your right hand. The one with but two masts . . . there, just to the left of the two little ones. Look this way! You see?” Decatur pointed at his ship, hiding well the dismay he surely must be feeling that one of his officers (indeed, only a midshipman, but an officer nonetheless) is incapable even of recognizing a brig!

  “Oh, yes, sir. I see now. Sorry, sir.” I could feel the color rise in my cheeks again and resolved to keep silent until I could speak with some assurance that I would not blunder.

  I studied the Argus brig intently, taking in everything I could see. My first reaction was how small she appeared! And I was to sail all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and into the Mediterranean Sea in that? The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I had been better off in the rooming house: sick, destitute and lost, but at least on dry land! I had heard stories in Philadelphia—stories of harrowing adventures in storms and with enemy ships in the late unpleasantness with France. And I knew my brother would not make these up. Nor would the men whom I had overheard telling my father of monster waves and enormous winds, and iron balls shot right through one side of a ship and out the other! What was I doing here? Suddenly it seemed to get even warmer. I could feel sweat trickling down my neck and back. The symptoms of my malady had reasserted themselves; my stomach lurched and heaved, and my head was back in that vice again.

  Gradually, we drew closer. As the boat came around the back of the ship, Argus suddenly looked huge. I craned my neck and peered up at the glazed windows in the back wall that looked out over the harbor. From having been once with Father at the Philadelphia Navy Yard while he was building furniture in a ship under construction there, I knew that this apartment belonged to the captain. It boasted protruding windows on each side as well. I remembered my father calling them quarter galleries and that inside them would be seats similar to the ones he had fashioned on a vessel in Philadelphia. The boat turned to go along the side and, from where I sat, it looked a long distance indeed to the forward end where the bowsprit protruded at a rakish angle quite a ways into the summer sky. Perhaps my new home was more substantial than I had first thought. Yes, I decided, this will do nicely.

  Then, at a command uttered by Tom Lockhart, who was steering (I heard the captain call him cox’n), the men rowing suddenly stopped and, as one, stood their oars on end as the boat drifted into place under an opening in the rail above us. It was timed perfectly, and we stopped below, and in perfect line with, a series of boards that had been afixed one above the other to the gleaming black side of the ship. Two ropes, thick as a man’s wrist, hung down the side. Extending along the side in both directions and just below the edge of the deck were open square doors where I could see the snouts of guns peeking out from within.

  Somebody on the ship threw a smaller rope down into our boat, and it was caught by a sailor and tied to the front. Then Decatur stood and, grasping the thick ropes, one in each hand, stepped onto the horizontal board just above the boat’s side. He marched right up the ship’s side as easily as though he were walking up a staircase. I heard a flurry of activity above me though I was unable to see what was happening. While I was taking this all in, I realized that the cox’n was looking at me expectantly. Finally he spoke, only a little exasperation showing in his voice.

  “You’ll be wantin’ to step carefully, sir. I’d reckon this’ll be yer first time up a ship’s side. Clap onto them manropes there, and just walk right up them battens and right onto the deck. Easy as kiss my hand, sir. We’ll send your chest up right quick.” He didn’t smile at me, but neither did he glare at me. I stood and tentatively grabbed onto what I assumed to be the nearest manrope. Fortunately, I was right and, grabbing the other, put a foot on the lowest batten. My hands were slippery with sweat. The day had only gotten hotter, and I was sure Decatur’s hands had been just as—well, perhaps not. I put my weight on the batten and brought the other foot up, so as to stand on it, then repeated the process.

  As my head cleared the edge of the ship, I saw several pairs of legs, some covered in stockings and breeches and some in canvas trousers. I paused, realizing that were I to slip now and fall, I would become instantly a laughing stock. Reflexively, I tightened my already nervous grip on the ropes. But I hardly had time to think about this before a hand reached out and, grabbing my right arm, practically lifted me to the deck.

  “You can let go the manrope now, sir. You’re here.” I looked up and met the source of the quiet, kindly voice: an older chap with a ring in his left ear and warm, smiling eyes. A long pigtail hung down his back, and the mahogany-colored skin of his face was lined and weathered. A short blue jacket over a dirty white shirt pulled taut over an ample belly, and canvas trousers completed the image. “And
erson’s the name, sir. Bosun. And welcome aboard USS Argus. “

  Remembering my manners, carefully drilled into me by Mother, I smiled and stuck out my hand. Bosun Anderson took a step back and knuckled his forehead. With a red face, I returned his salute by, this time, properly doffing my hat. I mumbled something that resembled “Sorry, sir” before I remembered that Captain Decatur had only an hour ago remonstrated me for calling someone ‘sir.’

  “Mister Baldwin, should you have a moment when you have completed your conversation with Bosun Anderson, perhaps you’d be good enough to step over here.” Decatur’s voice, while quiet, carried a quality that inspired me to nearly fall over myself to respond.

  “Sir?” I said, stepping to where the captain and several officers stood. I noticed one of the men was dressed like me, in a blue cloth coat with a stand-up collar decorated with a small diamond-shaped bit of gold lace. His breeches and stockings were white (mine had become quite soiled as a result of my morning’s activities and the spilled blue-green powder), as was his vest. The other two lieutenants (I saw from their single left shoulder swabs) eyed me in open appraisal.

  “Gentlemen, meet Oliver C. Baldwin who, as it happens, is also from Philadelphia. Mister Baldwin has only recently received his Warrant, and we— and the Argus brig—are to be his teachers and schoolroom. I suggest we will all manage quite nicely in our respective roles. His brother, whom I have known from my own youth, is third lieutenant in Philadelphia with Bill Bainbridge. I am sure that our Mister Baldwin will take to his new employment as quickly as did his brother.” Decatur then turned slightly and made a sweeping gesture to include the three with him, then introduced them by name. I was still struggling with the position Captain Decatur had placed me in by his reference to Edward when he began to introduce me to his officers.

  “This is Mister Judd Devon. He is the senior midshipman aboard and will show you to the midshipmen’s berth below. You will meet your fellow occupants of the berth in due course, I suspect. These gentlemen are Lieutenants Cutler and Morris. Lieutenant Cutler is first lieutenant and is in charge of almost everything aboard—including the midshipmen. Another lieutenant, our surgeon, and our Marine officer have not yet reported, but I have no doubt you will meet them in due course.” Decatur smiled at what I took to be a private joke. He turned to Devon. “Take Mister Baldwin below, if you please, and see that he gets his bearings.”

  Devon and I saluted, doffing our hats (I thought mine was smarter), and he led me toward the back of the ship.

  My guide was taller than me by nearly a foot and, I suspect, more than a few years my senior. He had a look of experience about him, confidence at what he was about, perhaps, and seemed to be comfortable with the nautical trappings that surrounded us. Suddenly I felt all the hopeful bravado and outward confidence that had been my mainstay since beginning this adventure falter; I was again the smallest and youngest. And with so much knowledge to gain! In the academy I had attended at home for some five years, I was generally the weakest and smallest of the boys and as such, frequently bore the brunt of the physical pranks played by the older boys. I had hoped not to be cast in the same role in the Navy, or at least, that my fellow midshipmen would be more of my size and age.

  “Your chest will be down directly, I should imagine. Your first time in a Navy ship?” Devon talked to me over his shoulder as he hustled to do the captain’s bidding.

  I hurried along behind him trying to avoid the boxes, crates, barrels, kegs and huge coils of rope that lay scattered about the deck. The disarray was certainly not what I had expected to see. At the same time, I was doing my best to take in everything I saw and guess its purpose.

  My eye picked up movement above me. I looked up to see some men and, it appeared, boys, perhaps younger than I, scampering about in the tangle of ropes, masts, and the other trappings high above the deck. They seemed quite at home up there, carelessly leaping from one place to another with complete disregard for where they would put their feet, or hands, for that matter. They danced with grace and agility through the web of ropes that could only have been woven by a huge and careless spider. I had stopped to study this amazing feat of derring-do when I realized that my guide had also stopped and was calling my name rather insistently.

  “Mister Baldwin . . . OLIVER! Come along now. I just asked you was this your first time on a Navy ship?”

  I tore my eyes from the spectacle above and hurried after him once again while I considered my answer. “Of course not!” I responded, recalling my visit to the Philadelphia Navy Yard and the ship Father had been furnishing at the time; it must have been two or three years ago.

  “Well, that’s a relief. When I was with Commodore Morris in the Chesapeake frigate last year in the Mediterranean, we had a midshipman, about your age he was, I reckon, who had never been on a ship ‘til he arrived aboard. What a fool he was, by God! Had to explain everything, orders, duties, even where the head was, and still he missed half of it.”

  “You’ve already been in the Mediterranean? How long have you been in the Navy?” I inquired. I had just assumed that all the midshipmen would be beginners like myself.

  “Aye Sailed with Morris something over a year ago. We just got back beginning of July.” Judd stopped, waiting for me to catch up, and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He wasn’t much interested in fightin’ the pirates belongin’ to the pasha—Commodore Morris, I mean; seemed like he spent more time in Malta and Gibraltar havin’ fancy dinners than ever he did dealin’ with those rascals in Tripoli! Heard the Navy was fixin’ to court martial him.”

  I was quite agog at my colleague’s vast experience and knowledge. He had already stepped off again to wherever it was he was leading me, so I hurried to catch up to him, nearly losing my footing over a coil of rope that I had failed to notice until I had already stumbled.

  “Here you are, Oliver. Right down this ladder and then another beyond it. I will be right in your wake.”

  In front of me was what amounted to a square hole in the deck with its cover standing open. Below it was the ladder Judd had mentioned. It was quite dark down there, even in the middle of the day. I stepped over the edge of the hole onto the ladder, which was quite steep, and went down, albeit carefully. When I felt the deck beneath my feet, I stopped, and Judd quite ran into me.

  “Damme, Baldwin! Don’t stop at the bottom of a ladder when it’s dark like this. Step away if you must stop. Here, hold this.” The senior midshipman thrust a small tin into my hand and picked up a burning candle that had been resting on a small shelf behind the ladder. I had missed seeing it, coming as I had, from the brightness of the day above. Suddenly a small flame arose from the tin I held and, in its light, I could see a smaller candle in its center.

  “That’s what we call a purser’s glim, Baldwin. You’ll need that to see where you’re going on the next deck down.” Having spoken, Judd stepped to our right and disappeared from sight. I barely had time to register that he had mentioned yet another deck down; surely they didn’t make people live in the very bowels of the ship!

  I could make out the glow of his candle and the flickering shadows as he descended the second ladder into even more profound darkness. I hurried after him, trying to show more confidence than I felt. Then we were there.

  I stepped through a doorway without its door, noticing that my guide had found it necessary to duck his head and, in the light of by Judd’s candle, my glim and a single lantern hanging from the low ceiling, cast my eyes on my home for the next two or three years, if Captain Decatur was correct. I was shocked. I certainly didn’t expect an apartment like the captain’s, but this! That anyone would be expected to survive, let alone sleep, rest, eat and work in such privation . . . well, words failed me. I stood and stared. Devon seemed not to notice my dismay.

  “This is the cockpit—the mids’ quarters. That’ll be your cot in there.” And he stepped around a small and necessarily low table to hold his candle into a compartment, more a cupboard, to my reeling
mind, barely larger than a coffin. It contained a cot attached at either end to the walls and a minuscule writing desk mounted opposite. “And we eat here at the table. You’ll put your chest out here to sit on. Keep your belongings in it as there won’t be any spare room when the last of you shows up.” He smiled at my shock. “I know it’s right small, but you’ll get used to it; we all do.”

  “How . . . how many midshipmen share this . . . apartment?” I inquired still staggered from the almost physical blow of surprise.

  “Oh, just four of us. Not bad considering some ships have as many as eight mids. There were seven of us in Chesapeake. And in not much more space.” He grinned, relishing my obvious discomfort, and added, “And we might get a marine officer if the gunroom gets full. There’s two or three more lieutenants and at least one marine officer to show yet. That’s besides the other two midshipmen. ’Course, Argus isn’t even in commission yet, so there’s no telling when they’ll report aboard. Captain Decatur was telling me . . .” He was verbally strutting and, as I lost interest, his words became a quiet buzz, then faded from my consciousness.

  This was to be my home, along with three and possibly four others! I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. I gripped the doorjamb to steady myself as my head reeled with the knowledge, certain that I would never survive three weeks in this . . . this box, let alone three years’. As I looked around the minuscule compartment, I imagined other boys sitting on their chests at the table, jammed in like herring in a barrel. As I watched the vision, more boys appeared and crowded themselves into what little space there had been around the table. Then still more hung out of the openings of the sleeping cupboards and shouted to each other that, as he was the youngest, Oliver would have to surrender his place at table. Someone, a boy with a scarred face, added with obvious relish that Oliver would also have to share his cot with ... I shook my head to clear the image. Maybe sawdust, sneezing, and running eyes weren’t so bad after all! And Midshipman Judd Devon was now, I realized, talking about the rules.