“... share of the mess rations. We all pay on joining the mess and every month after.” His words jerked me back to the tiny room. Pay? Pay who for what?
“Uh . . . excuse me, sir,” I stammered. “I didn’t get all of that. Pay what? And how much was it you said?” I thought of my complete lack of finances. I had assumed the Navy provided food for everyone, even the midshipmen. If I had to pay to eat here, what would become of me? I would have to beg for my food!
He answered my questions, and I realized that it didn’t signify whether the charges for eating were twenty cents or twenty dollars; I had nothing. And I would not begin drawing pay until the ship was commissioned and then at the rate of nineteen dollars per month. Of course, when we went to sea we stood a possibility of catching enemy ships and then everyone in the ship shared in the spoils—prize money. I had less than a dim understanding of how this worked, and that only from Edward’s passing comments, but thought it a grand idea. But that was for the future; I was expected to pay my share of the food we consumed, now, in advance. I suddenly noticed how stifling the midshipmen’s quarters had become.
We passed a sailor with my chest as we made our way back to the open space on the deck above and then emerged into the sunlight, blinking like rats out of the hole.
“Er... Mister Devon, sir. I have a problem, I think. I have no money. Not a penny. You see, sir . . .”
He cut me off mid-explanation. “First off, you don’t have to call me Mister Devon; Judd’ll do just fine ‘less thesre’s sailors at hand. Then it has to be more formal. And I really don’t care what your problems are; you got to sort them out for your own self. Now I got work to see to. Why don’t you find the first lieutenant and tell him your woes, and mayhaps he’ll find you a job to do.” He strode away forward without a backward glance.
CHAPTER THREE
My dire financial straits ended quickly enough as soon as I explained to Lieutenant Cutler the circumstances that had conspired to cause my difficulties. At the mention of Edward Langford’s name, his eyes narrowed slightly and I saw him bow his head in a barely perceptible nod.
“Do you know of the gentleman, sir?” I queried.
“Aye. That scoundrel has been hangin’ about the waterfront here for a while now. Since Argus was laid down, I collect. He’s famous, or perhaps 1 should say infamous, around the harbor. Preys on anyone he thinks might have a dollar he can get his miserable paws on. I would reckon you’ll cross tacks with him again before the ship is done fittin’ out and sails. I’ll let some of the lads know to keep a weather eye out for your Mister Langford. Might be he could answer a question or two with a bit of helpful persuasion.”
“That he took advantage of my illness and weakened state was quite unfair, I think. Had I not been feeling so poorly . . .”
“Oliver, you were drunk. And yes, I agree that he took advantage of you bein’ drunk, and gettin’ you drunk to start with. But that’s how he works. And the ‘illness’ you had when you woke up was nothing more nor less than the result of your overindulgence. You are making way, slowly, on the course to manhood! You must try to give nothing to leeward and drive on.” Cutler smiled at me.
I was stunned! Drunk! I was not sick at all, but suffering the effects of my own actions! Exactly what Father had warned me of. A small part of me had stood a little taller when the lieutenant mentioned “making way on the course to manhood,” though I had no idea at all what he had meant by “give nothing to leeward,” and yet, at the same time, I wondered briefly why, if feeling the way I had was the result, men took spirits at all. I was quite sure I would think twice the next time! And I began immediately plotting my revenge on that rascal Edward Langford, should our “tacks cross” as Lieutenant Cutler had predicted, though again, I was not completely sure of his meaning.
Before the day’s end, when the bosun piped the hands to ‘spirits up’ and then supper, I had met with a Mister Nathan Baker, the ship’s purser. And right as ever was whoever named him to be in charge of the finances and provisions, from food to clothes to money and even gunpowder, of Argus. A flinty old curmudgeon, he was, who wore spectacles on the end of his long, pointy nose and focused a hard-eyed stare over them at whoever had the misfortune to be standing across his table. Why, his very look brought to mind the tight-fisted denizens of the few counting houses into which I had ventured in the company of my father. Unfinished gray hair touched his collar and fell over his furrowed brow nearly to his eyebrows.
“And that is what happened, sir. Lieutenant Cutler told me to see you to advance me against my pay,” I concluded as I again went through the tale of my mis-adventure. I did not mention that I had lost my watch into the bargain and was decidedly vague about how it had all come to pass. I had no idea how much money I should seek, were he to ask, which he did at once.
“Uh ... well... I am not sure, sir.” I fumbled. I should get enough so I did not have to repeat this interview, but I knew also that I would have to pay it back out of the pay I received from the Navy, presumably in the person of Purser Baker, and was hesitant about asking for what might be thought of as too much.
“Well, Mister Baldwin. How much was it you lost?” He seemed to put extra effort into the last word.
“Sir, it was twenty-five dollars I had when I left Philadelphia. I might have used two or perhaps two and a half. I do not recall how much was in my purse at the alehouse nor how much my room ...”
He dismissed my further ruminations with an impatient wave of his hand. “I have little interest in how much your father gave you nor in how much you squandered away in your foolish pursuits. As a midshipman, you are to be compensated at the rate of nineteen dollars per month, Mister Baldwin. In the interest of leaving you with something when you do finally draw some pay, I will advance you five dollars.” He reached into a canvas bag which he had drawn from a cupboard beside his table and produced five dollar coins which he stacked carefully on the table.
“Sign this.” He shoved a piece of paper which was covered for half of its length with legal-sounding words penned in a flowing hand. At the bottom was drawn a line upon which I was instructed to afix my name. I took the proffered pen from his ink-stained, gnarled hand and, after dipping the quill carefully in the ink pot, wrote my name in my best penmanship.
He sprinkled the paper with sand, blew off the excess, and pushed the small stack of coins toward me. “I would suggest you be some frugal with that. No tellin’ when you’re likely to get what’s left of your allowance. Ship won’t likely be in commission for another two or, mayhaps, three weeks.”
I thanked him profusely for his generosity and advice and escaped the confines of the purser’s office to retrace my steps to the upper deck, which I had only recently learned was called the spar deck.
“Are you planning to scamper about the ship for the remainder of the day in that sorry excuse for a uniform, Mister Baldwin?” The first lieutenant greeted my return to daylight.
“Uh . .. no, sir. I will change it for my other now, sir.” I turned to head aft to the same hatch I had used with Judd Devon, figuring that the familiar route would be the one least likely to get me lost in the bowels of the ship. In my haste, I tripped over a rope stretched ankle high between a ring in the deck and a piece of equipment, I know not what it might have been, and fell full length at Cutler’s feet.
“Mind where you step, Baldwin.” Cutler turned away. Even in my fully developed embarrassment, I noticed the smile playing at his mouth. It served only to add further to my discomfort.
The days passed and became weeks, and gradually I became more comfortable with my surroundings. I was learning the proper names of parts of the ship and could use them correctly. I enjoyed trying them out, seeing how they fit my mouth, and found that most, with a little practice, rolled off my tongue with an ease that might, one day, be mistaken for comfort. Within the first week, I had even learned my way about the ship. With the exception of the magazine where the gunner stores the powder for the cannon, I had s
een the insides of the entire vessel from the fo’c’sle, where the more experienced hands worked, to the Cabin, where Captain Decatur lived and did his work when he was not on deck overseeing this or that in the preparations for completing the fitting out of his ship. I had even penetrated all the way down to the orlop deck, the very bottom of the ship, where cables and ropes and all manner of things were stored (even the cockpit seemed less confining).
Then Bosun Anderson took me aloft. Apparently, when I first came aboard, he had decided to make my education his project. Whenever he had the time or when he was supervising his bosun’s mates in a task, he would seek me out to watch and carefully explain whatever I didn’t understand, which, early on, was nearly everything!
He taught me the names of all the rigging and much of the equipment on deck. I learned to distinguish a sheet from a halyard, a clewline from a bunt-line and how to tie several knots. Now it was time to see the rest of Argus. My teacher had scolded me, with respect of course, when I balked at climbing into the rigging.
“Mister Baldwin, you cain’t learn what’s aloft from the deck—or out of one o’ them books, neither. Now get yourself into them ratlines afore I hoist you up there by the seat o’ yer brand spankin’ new trousers!” His eyes twinkled as he threatened me, and I knew he would not make good his threat. But nonetheless, I feigned fear of his wrath, which acted nicely to cover my fear of stepping onto the bulwark and then into the rigging, and did as he asked. Once I had climbed, with his constant encouragement, about halfway to the maintop, the first place one could actually stop climbing and sit or stand on a platform, he followed me and directed my movements. When we got to the maintop, I found there to be a landing, of sorts, with a low railing around it and hole in its center where the top of the lower mast and the bottom of the topmast were joined.
“This is the fightin’ top, and where they’ll station Marines with muskets when we actually do battle.” Anderson leaned casually against the mast and watched me, closely I thought, for some reaction to being this high above the deck. I was surprised and impressed at his most indifferent demeanor; he was not even lightly holding on to anything! For myself, I kept my strong grip on a conveniently located shroud and, with some trepidation while still maintaining a strangle hold on the tarred rope of the shroud, I carefully stood erect and looked around me.
I gazed at the maze of ropes and spars and, putting to us the knowledge I had acquired about halyards and lifts, sheets and braces, began to see order instead of the cobweb of ropes that I had observed when first I came aboard Argus. Screwing up my courage, I carefully shifted myself so I could look down at the deck. What a sight! I could see most of the ship’s spar deck and the men moving about it doing their work. I was thrilled, my earlier fear completely forgotten, and I slackened my grip. I, Oliver C. Baldwin of Philadelphia, was aloft!. I reveled in my accomplishment. Then down on the deck, I spied a familiar face.
“Judd! Judd Devon! Lookup here. See where I am!” I called out to my friend and fellow midshipman, and I released my grip to wave frantically to him.
“Hush now, sir. You don’t wanna be callin’ out like that.” Anderson quickly admonished me. I was further convinced of the veracity of his instruction by the look of fury on Devon’s face when he looked up in response to my shout. Later, when we came back to the deck, I was further chastised by the senior midshipman. The bosun, however, did not mention my misstep again; there was enough other instruction and wisdom he wanted to share and the more important of those, he did repeat.
If he told me once, he must have told me a dozen and more times, “Mister Baldwin, the men appreciate an officer who can show any foremast Jack his duty. Lets ‘em know that the officer understands what it takes to get a job of work done. That’s what you want to be—that kind of an officer. That’s what Cap’n Decatur is, and that’s what you will be if’n you learn good what I’m teachin’ you.”
It sounded like good advice. From what I’d seen of the captain, he was most certainly the kind of officer I wanted to be.
And so, I learned. I studied my books at night in the confines of my sleeping ‘cupboard’ and by day, I watched and studied what Devon and Bosun Anderson did. I became quite agile aloft and had, one quiet afternoon, actually touched the very top of the main t’gallant mast and stood on the footropes of the t’gallant yard. There was no place higher on Argus’. The swaying of my perch bothered me a little at first, then I became accustomed to the movement and found I could move from the mast all the way to the yardarm at the end of the yard with ease. I discovered that the footrope for the last six or so feet on the yard was called a Flemish horse, which I found most hilarious. To my surprise and joy, it seemed to me I had taken to my new employment and surroundings quite as naturally as a duck to the water. I was becoming a sailor!
It seemed a very short while, though, in fact, it had been nearly a month longer than I expected, before the Argus was finished and ready for sea. Sails had been afixed—bent— to the yards and stores loaded. Shot and powder were brought aboard under the watchful eye of Purser Baker and our gunner, a giant of a man who walked with a stiff leg and whose roar, when provoked, could be heard at the masthead. The excitement aboard was palpable and 1 think everyone from the lowest idler to Captain Decatur was as eager as ever could be to get to sea and take our part in the fight with the pirates of the Barbary coast.
Argus was ready, I knew; but was I? I worried that even with all that I had learned, it would not be enough. In my cot in the dark hours, I imagined events in which I would be completely out of my depth. But now time had run out; whatever I had yet to learn about the ship and the Navy would have to be accomplished at sea. And that was where we would head. But first, there had to be a commissioning and then a party.
Flags were stretched throughout the rigging from the tops of the masts and down each of the yards, and salutes were fired and answered across the harbor as Argus became a commissioned vessel in the United States Navy, earning her the letters ‘USS’ before her name. The guns sounded like thunderclaps as their echoes rolled across the harbor. I can’t believe there was any aboard more excited by the goings-on than I. We fired our own guns, responding gun for gun to each salute fired by the Navy vessels present.
Captain Decatur had all our sailors dressed in their most perfect uniforms and sent many of them into the rigging to stand on the ratlines and, higher up, on the yards. It was a fine sight they made, and the midshipmen, all but one of us, were likewise stationed in various parts of the rigging, which gave us a splendid view of the proceedings. The spectacularly loud and rousing celebration laid a pall of thick white smoke tinged with lavender across the roads of Boston Harbor. Through it, from my perch on the foreyard, I could make out on the shoreline colorful flags floating lethargically in the easy breeze and many small boats rowing or sailing around the fleet while their occupants offered huzzahs and good wishes to our handsome vessel. It was a heady time for all aboard, even the more seasoned; I think even Judd Devon, standing in the mainmast fighting top, was, for all his vast experience, quite nearly as thrilled as I.
And that night, Captain Decatur gave a party for all the officers in the harbor as well as a host of important men from Boston, even the midshipmen had been invited. The captain was resplendent in his finest full dress uniform of a blue coat lined in blue with a standing collar and long tails above knee breeches and stockings of the purest white. Gold lace and delicate embroidery adorned the coat and, of course, a gleaming gold epaulette graced his right shoulder while a brilliantly decorated sword hung in its hanger on his left side. He greeted each guest by name as they stepped aboard. One of us midshipmen, also in our finest (or cleanest) full dress uniform, complete with the small dirk allowed us by virtue of our rank, escorted each of the ladies aft to the quarterdeck while the gentlemen trailed in our wake. The bosun had sailors lined up on both sides of the entrance to salute the dignitaries to the whistling of a bosun’s mate’s pipe as boats came and departed, first bringing
the guests, then later, taking them home. The Marines, also in their finest uniforms, with their shining bayonets mounted at the ends of their muskets, were stationed in ranks throughout the ship. As each guest arrived on the board, the Marines stood to a rigid attention with a great stamping of booted feet.
A canvas, also festooned with flags of every color, had been rigged over the quarterdeck and a festive air, brimming with anticipation and excitement filled the guests and the ship’s company. The evening rang with toasts and laughter and the pleasing lilt of ladies voices as all joined in singing patriotic songs. A band played, and many of the officers, both ours and those from other ships in harbor, invited the ladies to dance. The midshipmen, of course, only watched and listened as Judd Devon pointed out the more important men and the prettier of the ladies. Judd had actually purloined a bottle of wine that, when offered to me, I declined; the memory of past experiences was still quite fresh. The party lasted well into the evening, and it was not until the men had been called for the middle watch that the last staggering straggler was placed in a chair and lowered into a boat to be taken on shore.
The following morning I sprang out of my cot and hastily dressed in duck trousers and cotton shirt, eager to play my part in getting the USS Argus under-weigh at last. Imagine my dismay when I stepped out of the hatch onto the spar deck to find the entire vessel cloaked in a shroud of white; I could not even make out the bowsprit and trying to catch a glimpse of the t’gallant masts or even the topmasts was quite fruitless. I knew there were ships anchored near us—I had been watching them come and go for more than three weeks—but the fog had quite swallowed them up as well. Lieutenant Morris appeared from the mists as a wraith heading aft and, with one look at my face, became sympathetic to my disappointment.
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