“For one so young, you seem to have a firmly made up mind on the subject, Oliver, if I may be so informal. However, in spite of my feelings about our activities yonder, I would think a more moderate posture might suit better for a young man as yourself. Sometimes thinking—and talking—are the better route to obtaining your desires and needs, rather than fighting.” Mister Wakefield said this quietly and completely without rancor, and I took no offense at his bluntness. Now it was my turn to smile, which I am sure, he attributed to the “wisdom” of youth. The clear ringing sound of a knife tapping a crystal glass silenced the conversation and drew our attention to Captain Decatur.
“Gentlemen, if I may. Raise your glasses and drink to the success of our cruise and a speedy end to the tyranny of the pasha of Tripoli. Let us finally make the Mediterranean Sea safe for our merchant fleet!” Decatur, seeing that the decanter had made it ‘round the table, had hoisted his own glass on high and was waiting for us to do likewise. We did and then tasted our wine with varying degrees of enthusiasm ranging from sips to gulps. Still cautious, I sipped mine and enjoyed the taste greatly.
“To a speedy passage. Fair winds and easy seas!” Lieutenant Cutler now had raised his glass, and we all drank again. Was this going to go all the way ‘round the table? Would I be expected to offer. . . no, surely not a midshipman! I decided I would be guided by what Judd did, which, to my great relief, was nothing.
“To our distinguished captain! We could be in no better hands than those of one on his third cruise to these hostile waters. Gentlemen, Captain Decatur! “ Mister Wakefield raised his own glass and we all, except, of course, the captain, dutifully followed suit, drinking again. Apparently only the officers were expected to offer salutes.
Harris chose this moment to make his entrance with a large covered platter (like the candlesticks, it also appeared to be plate), which he placed in front of the captain, removing the domed lid with a flourish upon Decatur’s nod.
A smell such as I had yet to experience aboard Argus immediately filled the Cabin and reminded me of walking past some of the wonderful kitchens near our home in Philadelphia. Rich and heady, the aroma removed any thought that had not to do with eating, and instantly I found myself swallowing the wetness that built without restraint in my mouth. I saw that James, across the table to my right, was so entranced by the meal that he had neglected either to swallow or wipe the drool from his chin.
“James . . . James!” I hissed at him. When he finally tore his eyes from the head of the table to look at me, I wiped my chin with great gusto hoping he would do likewise; instead I got a quizzical look, briefly, and then was ignored in favor of the platter of meat. The line of drool stretched, until Mister Wakefield also noticed it.
“Young man! Yes, you. Mister Stevens. Be so kind as to wipe your chin before we have a flood here. Wouldn’t do to have to man the pumps every time food was brought to the captain’s table!” From my perspective alongside the good doctor, I was unable to determine whether or not he was smiling, but I suspect that he was enjoying James’ discomfort.
A flushed face received the attention of first, the midshipman’s sleeve and then, on consideration, his napkin. He mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” and James’ eyes went back to the food. More had come to join the first offering.
As Decatur began to serve out the brilliantly roasted lamb, Harris brought in a great tureen of soup, covered, but with the handle of a ladle protruding from under the lid, a platter of fish quite obviously recently caught, and several dishes of vegetables. Several of the newly arrived dishes were placed around the table and, when the table would bear no more, on a sideboard behind us. Never had I seen so much food! Several more decanters of wine in varying shades also stood on the sideboard in a kind of rack that would keep them from sliding off the polished surface should Argus roll or lurch.
“While I’m sure that fresh food is not yet a treat for you young gentlemen, I assure you, it will be soon enough. Since we are barely three days out, Harris has provided us with a fine repast which I hope will satisfy your palates, and your appetites. And he himself caught this splendid fish only this morning. Eat hearty, gentlemen!” Decatur smiled at all of us and, lifting his fork, signaled us to commence eating.
We all did so with vigor. The Cabin became quiet, the only sound that of utensils scraping on plates. It was Judd who broke the silence when, around a mouthful of fish, he addressed Decatur.
“Mister Wakefield mentioned this would be your third cruise to the Barbary Coast, sir. I knew you had been in Morris’ squadron. Indeed, I myself was there last year with Commodore Morris, but I was unaware of a previous visit. Would you tell us about it?”
“There is not much to tell. I was first lieutenant in Essex with Captain Bain-bridge, the very same commanding Philadelphia and Oliver’s brother as we speak.” I colored at being singled out, and Decatur continued without noticing. “Richard Dale was commodore, and we sailed from Hampton, Virginia, with the whole squadron in early June of the year one. We had the same kind of passage across I am hoping for this time, about thirty days and no trouble. And we found action at once; we had barely cleared Gibraltar when we stopped two Tripolitan corsairs from getting out into the Atlantic. I suspect we saved some American vessels from an unhappy experience by that!
“The commodore found through his sources that we were indeed at war with Tripoli. In fact, on May tenth, even before the squadron left the United States, the Pasha had cut down the flagpole bearing our flag that stood in front of the American consul’s residence, clearly an act of war, according to Commodore Dale. He sent Philadelphia, she was under Captain Samuel Barron then, to cruise in the Straits and stop any Tripolitan cruisers he found. Essex convoyed the ship Grand Turk to Tunis, with whom the United States was, at that moment, at peace, and thence sailed to Europe to bring our merchants through the Straits. We did put in—or rather sailed off and on—near Tripoli, but there was no scrap as the corsairs were elsewhere.
“The only one of us to see any action was my friend Andrew Sterrett, who had the schooner Enterprise mounting twelve long guns. He managed to take one of the rascals after a three-hour fight at close quarters. The pirate actually surrendered three times before Captain Sterrett finally took him; each of the first two times that scoundrel struck, he attacked with renewed vigor as quickly as Enterprise ceased firing. Finally, according to David Porter, first lieutenant of Enterprise, the polacca was in such dire straits that the crew had no choice but to strike their colors once and for all. Sterrett lost not a man, but the pirate had quite a sizable butcher’s bill; as I recall, it was fifty men killed or wounded, including their captain. I have often thought how wonderful it might have been had I been with Andrew that day. Oh! The action, and the glory!”
This last was uttered almost under his breath as if not meant for us to hear, and I noticed a curious glint in his eyes as he spoke, one that became more intense as he dreamed aloud of his own participation in the event. It would not be for some months that I discovered the reason.
“Shir. . . whaff’s a polacca?” James asked around a mouthful.
“Young man, should you wish the captain, or anyone, for that matter, to understand you, I would suggest you swallow your food before you speak.” Mister Wakefield looked at Stevens with a glance both bemused and stern. He received a muffled, but contrite, acknowledgement.
“A polacca, Mister Stevens, is a low slung vessel of seventy to one hundred tons which sports, generally, two masts, lateen rigged. Some of the smaller ones have but one mast, also lateen. In either case, they also have six to eight sweeps, oars, if you will, on a side which they frequently use when going to weather. They are equipped with up to six cannon, some as heavy as eighteen-pounders. You might also hear them called polacres as well. And they are crewed by as rum a bunch of cutthroats as most have ever seen, all dressed in white robes.” Decatur looked at James and raised his eyebrows.
“Thank you, sir.” Very clear and completely intelligible, this time
.
The captain continued his tale.
“Where was I? Oh, yes, Sterrett’s victory. Congress voted him a sword and his crew a month’s extra pay.” Decatur, the fire in his eyes now gone, smiled at the good fortune of his friend, while we midshipmen all thought of the glory and wonders of a month’s pay.
“Did Captain Sterrett take the pirate’s vessel, the polacca, as a prize, sir? There couldn’t have been much left of her after the action you described.” Devon had stopped eating and was riveted to the captain’s tale.
“Oh, not on your life! President Jefferson wouldn’t allow it. Our orders then were to disable the vessel so as not to allow it to commit further crimes against our own ships and to turn it and the crew loose. It wasn’t until early in the next year that the Congress approved us taking prizes.” Decatur, pleased with the question, looked for a moment at Judd, taking his measure, then spooned himself another portion of fresh vegetables.
“What about the other Barbary States, Captain? Did they interfere with the blockades of Tripoli or our ships there?” I had heard from some of the men aboard that, when an American ship-of-war appeared in the Mediterranean, the enemy could turn out to be Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli, or Morocco. Gunner Tarbox had told me they were “all a bunch of piratical bastards what can’t even get along with each other, let alone any other country! If it ain’t one of ‘em goin’ to war, it’s another, by God.”
“Most of the time, no, Oliver. We had established treaties, at some considerable expense, I might add, with all of them by 1800. Even Tripoli, for that matter. Difference was, the others all stuck with the treaties but the pasha of Tripoli thought he might get a better ‘tribute’ if he started again. And he did that by declaring war on the United States. I heard that the Bashaw actually told Captain Bainbridge that if he had no one with whom he was at war, he had no employment for his corsairs! To him, a clearly intolerable situation. And things were no better when we went back in the Fall of ‘02. I was in the New York frigate then under Captain James Barron.”
“Whuff’s a ‘tribufe,’ sir?” James had stopped eating long enough to mumble a question around a mouthful. After receiving a sharp look from Wakefield, he swallowed and repeated, clearly, “What’s a ‘tribute,’ sir?”
Reliance Wakefield pounced on James’ question before the captain could even draw a breath. “These scoundrels, all of them along the Barbary Coast, are so imbued with their own self-importance that the only way they will enter a treaty with another country is by payment of treasure to the pasha, or the Dey, or the Bashaw depending on which rascally one is at war. This treasure could be money, jewels, weapons, ships, or more likely, all of it. And how much depends on how many prisoners and ships the scoundrel holds of the unlucky nation seeking only to protect their trade in those waters. I happened to be witness to some negotiations with the Dey of Algiers in the late century and was astounded to learn that that overbearing... person actually demanded and got a frigate as part of his ‘tribute’ from the United States. Aye, indeed. Called Crescent it was, and a fine vessel to boot.” He shook his head ruefully at the memory.
“Our esteemed surgeon has been abroad, as well, gentlemen, and he has a different approach to negotiations than do I. Would you not agree, Mister Wakefield?” Decatur barely glanced at the doctor, but I could see he was smiling as he asked the question.
“The difference is slight, Captain; I would only negotiate up to a point. Then I’d offer ‘em tribute delivered from the working end of our twenty-four-pounders. Once I had their attention, I suspect the negotiations might go some different!” He paused, as if determining how far he might go. “Not like that mealy Morris. He’d likely give ‘em anything they asked for just to avoid a fight! Fine way for a Navy captain to behave, you ask me!”
“Now, now, Reliance. Morris wasn’t like that at all. I know he wanted to bombard Tripoli with the squadron late in ‘02, but that mistral blew in and kept us all off shore far enough that we might as well not have even been there. One of the hazards of the north coast of the African continent during the winter months. That wind blows right down from Europe and turns that coastline into a most dangerous lee shore. And even then we had no significant number of vessels of sufficiently shallow draft to get close enough to their fortifications to offer a proper tribute, “ he smiled as he intentionally used the surgeon’s meaning. “That water along the harbor is nothing if it ain’t shallow. Treacherous in places, it is.”
Harris was now picking up our dishes and removing the scant remains of the lamb, fish, soup, and vegetables—to the dismay of our youngest diner. I think James would have continued to eat until he overflowed! He was quite obviously cured of his earlier bout of seasickness.
James’ dismay was soon turned to joy as the white linen, now quite spotted with a veritable rainbow of colors, was removed and, with some fanfare, Harris stepped from the pantry with the biggest platter of duff I had ever seen. I glanced at James to see if he had begun again to drool, but while his eyes were alight at the prospect of sharing in this rare treat, his chin remained dry.
Several decanters of wine had been drunk, and the current decanter, only about halfway down, was removed, and a different one, dark and rich looking, took its place in front of the captain. Decatur began serving out the duff and handing the plates to Harris to place in front of each of us.
James, immediately his bowl was in place, grabbed up a spoon and began to consume his portion with great gusto.
“Ooof! Thomas, get your elbow outta my ribs! “ James plaintive whisper carried nicely to both ends of the table, causing all of us to look at the young mid.
“If you showed some manners, and respect to the captain, I wouldn’t have to nudge you, Jimmy. You’re s’posed to wait ‘til Cap’n Decatur eats before you climb like a fat little piggy into the trough!” Even in the Cabin, Thomas could not restrain his invective. His whisper, too, was louder than necessary and, I suspect, intentionally so.
“That’s quite all right, James. Harris’ duff is enough to make us all forget our manners. But I believe we’re all ready to enjoy it now.” Decatur smiled at Stevens who smiled eagerly back even as he again took up his spoon. Wheatley simply glared at his neighbor and then focused his attention on his own dessert.
“Mister Wheatley, you’ve certainly been quiet. Why don’t you tell us about your experiences aboard the Norfolk brig. I would be interested in how you think she compares to our own Argus. You were out of Baltimore, were you not?”
“Yes, sir. Norfolk sailed out of Baltimore!” Wheatley laughed alone at his little joke and I realized, with a start, that my fellow midshipman had participated in the wine somewhat more than might have been propitious. “A sharp vessel, she was, and a fine sailor. Carried long guns, not carronades like some are being fitted out with these days. Ten six-pounders and four four-pounders she had. I would like to have seen her with bigger, but that’s what they gave us. Didn’t seem like she’d be much good in a fight with them little guns, but it never did signify anyway. Never fired ‘em, ‘ceptin’ in practice. I s’pose we woulda just run away had there been the occasion to cross tacks with a Frenchie. Didn’t seem like Cap’n Maxwell had much stomach for fightin.’ Likely a good thing we never left the Bay and ...” Wheatley stopped when he noticed the effect his little speech was having on the group. Decatur’s eyebrows were up and a half smile played at his mouth. Lieutenant Cutler looked aghast. From what I could see of the surgeon’s face, it bore the same expression I had seen when he spoke of the “piratical rascals of the Barbary Coast.”
“Would that have been Captain Jack Maxwell with whom you served, Thomas?” The captain spoke in a flat tone, giving away nothing.
“Aye. Cap’n Jack Maxwell. Actually, a lieutenant he was while I was aboard the brig. Not much of a fightin’ man, I collect. And probably the reason the Navy give him command of a vessel they knew wouldn’t leave the Bay.” Wheatley nodded and, after swallowing the remainder of his wine, spooned in another mouthful o
f duff.
“I collect you and Captain Maxwell didn’t see eye to eye on things, Thomas. Did you ever speak with him about his employment previous to taking the Norfolk brig?” Again Decatur’s tone gave nothing away.
“Oh, I never asked. And he wasn’t much on invitin’ his mids to dine with him. I’m not sure he would have cared much for my opinion, in the event. So, no. We wasn’t encouraged to share our thoughts. Pretty much kept ‘em in the cockpit or on deck away from the captain.”
“Jack Maxwell’s a good friend of mine. Mister Wakefield knows him as well. We were together on my first cruise against the Barbary Corsairs. Do you recall the mention I made of Andrew Sterrett and his Enterprise? Lieutenant Maxwell was in Enterprise with Sterrett. Contrary to what you may have been led to believe, Maxwell is a first-rate fighter. Fought like a badger, he did, with Sterrett in that action against the Tripolitan polacre. There was talk after Norfolk was scrapped last year that he was going to be assigned the Syren, but I guess Charlie Stewart got the nod over him. But don’t assume that Jack Maxwell isn’t a fighter because he drew a command that didn’t see action. Besides, when you were in his ship, the United States was not in a declared war with anyone. And certainly not in our home waters.” Decatur’s tone had hardened noticeably. I took unrestrained pleasure in watching the expression on my colleague’s face change from arrogant disdain to confusion and then, finally, to horror as the realization of his gaffe struck home.
Then Wakefield added, “And, young man, were I you, I would consider quite seriously holding my opinions within, especially when those opinions have to do with your superiors.”
I was unable to discern Thomas’ answer as it was mumbled around a mouthful of duff, but I suspect it might not have been as contrite as it should have been. Even though it would have pleased me to watch the captain’s reaction to Wheatley’s remark, it was apparent that he, like me, had not heard it. Cutler’s face, however, darkened perceptibly, a clear indication that, though he said nothing, he surely heard whatever it was Thomas had said.
The Greater the Honor Page 10