Thomas’s face clouded over, his jaw assumed the familiar thrust, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. “I had no hand in where I spent my first assignment; was it up to me, I would have gotten assigned in a fighting ship, not some little brig with toy guns. And, Mister Senior Midshipman Devon, Lawrence did choose me to go on this commission, and glad to have me, I’d warrant. As should you be!” Wheatley finished speaking in almost a snarl.
Judd’s eyebrows shot up and his brow furrowed. “And why should I be glad you came with us, Thomas? I don’t recall even seeing you during our twenty minutes in Philadelphia. And I suspect you saw no action your own self, as Oliver did, or you’d have been crowing about it since we left the frigate. I can hardly imagine you having any interest in helping me or, I suspect, anyone else were I or they in difficulty. A coward wouldn’t risk his own neck just to help a shipmate. ‘Sides, were I to be cruel hurt or killed it might answer for you as a way out of our forthcoming engagement.” Judd spoke so softly and without malice that, at first, his words didn’t signify. But the quiet timbre of his voice spoke loudly of his feelings. I, for one, was quite shocked and when his import struck me, I was moved to speak.
“Actually, Judd, you would be wrong in that. It was Thomas who sent me to find you just before we left the frigate afire, while you were still below. I don’t think even Lawrence or Captain Decatur knew you weren’t in the ketch. Thomas did though.” I looked directly at our senior messmate as I spoke, surprised at myself by my defense of such a loathsome character as Thomas Wheatley.
A silence hung in the cockpit for the space of several breaths. Judd looked at me and quite suddenly he stood up and shifted his eyes to Wheatley, who held his gaze without flinching. “I don’t need the likes of Thomas Wheatley looking out for my hide, I assure you. And when I do, I shall surrender my warrant and go ashore for good! But thank you for your concern. Perhaps you’re beginning to learn. But you can do your ship and us a service by just doing your job and staying out of my way!” Devon turned and took his leave in the stunned silence.
“That bastard! The scoundrel! I shoulda left his overblown arse right there in that damn frigate. Not said a word until she took the flame and them shore guns had us under fire. That’s all the thanks I get for makin’ sure we didn’t leave him! Oliver, you still his second for our duel?”
I nodded, uncertain as to where this might lead us.
“Well, get us a place and time quicker than ever! I can’t wait much longer to sight that rascal’s heart down the barrel of my pistol !” With that, Thomas left the cockpit.
James was open-mouthed at the antics of our messmates. I suppose I was, too. I wondered what had come over Judd since we returned from the Philadelphia expedition; he seemed angry at all of us and quite without a shred of humor. Thomas was, in my opinion, justifiably roused after Judd’s words, and I wondered at the outcome of their forthcoming duel, a duel for which I had yet to discover a place.
But it would not be immediately. Within a week of our return to Syracuse, Enterprise, Vixen, Nautilus, and Constitution were underway for Tripoli to effect a blockade.
With a fair half gale to speed us across the three hundred miles to the coast of that God-forsaken country, we arrived in good time and took our stations as assigned by Commodore Preble. The shallow draft schooners sailed off and on in the thin waters near the entrances to the harbor, while Constitution worked back and forth offshore of us, her guns ready to support any action we might encounter.
It was tedious work; long days of complete boredom, unchallenged by any, pirate or other, with an occasional visit from the mistral, the winter winds which would force us offshore far enough to avoid the fate of being blown ashore. These winds, which began in the river valleys of France and gained strength crossing the Mediterranean, would stir up the usually placid seas off the North African coast and send them crashing over the reefs and ultimately, ashore along with anything unlucky enough to be caught in their grip. They often lasted for days at a time. During these spells, life aboard the “Lucky” Enterprise was something less than comfortable for all hands. However, in spite of our almost constant case of the damps, most aboard were grateful not to be in the diminutive Intrepid for this commission.
During one of our forays offshore to escape the dangers of the mistral, we were quite overpowered by wind and wave and suffered the loss of our main topmast along with a large portion of our jibboom. Stays were jury-rigged to hold up the foremast, now unstable from the loss of the jibboom, and the topmast was cut free from the shrouds and running rigging that held it, swinging and banging into the lower mast and main yard. Worse, however, than the loss of these spars was the condition of the main deck; it leaked at a rate that required each watch to man the pumps for increasingly longer periods of time. With each wave that washed across us, the leaks poured water down onto those below, adding further discomfort to our misery. Then the carpenter, John Williams, announced to Captain Decatur that he had found two planks started and “beggin’ yer pardon, sir, they be below the waterline of the barky.”
This was a problem, more serious by half than the leaky decks; two planks that had separated themselves from their neighbors would likely open farther, leading to more and more water entering the vessel. Decatur and Bosun Anderson, along with Mister Williams, the carpenter, and Lieutenant Lawrence, looked at the offending planks and considered their options. Naturally, something had to be done quickly to stop or, at the least, slow the Mediterranean Sea from coming aboard. And once stopped, it was their considered opinion, shared with the rest of the officers later, that Enterprise would need the services of a naval shipyard to put her to rights. The immediate solution involved stuffing loose bits of cloth and dunnage into the gap. This had a positive effect on our buoyancy and enabled those manning the pump on the weather deck to make progress against the water level within.
“That’ll hold her . . . for a while, anyway. Leastways, ‘til another one lets go or these open farther.” Bosun Anderson shared his cheery thought with me and James while we sheltered from the wind-driven spray lashing most of the length of the schooner’s deck. “Then I’d reckon we’ll be riggin’ a fother under her belly. This old lady shoulda been heaved down, scraped, and refit more’n a year ago, ‘ceptin’ she wasn’t on account of her bein’ the only one out here what’d float in thin water.”
Anderson saw my confusion and laughed when I asked him whatever be meant by his suggestion that we’d be “riggin’ a father under her belly.” To my surprise, it was James who spoke up.
“I know that, Bosun. Can I tell him what it means?” His excitement at actually knowing something about seamanship lit his whole being, and he fairly danced with impatience until he received a nod from Anderson, who now wore a bemused and slightly quizzical expression. “Oliver, it ain’t ‘fathering’ it’s fothering. What it means is riggin’ a sail under the ship and pulling it up snug with ropes, I mean lines, so that the water trying to get into the ship pushes the sail into the hole in the bottom.” He looked questioningly at the bosun and broke into a grin when he got a nod from the surprised sailor. I guess I was just as surprised as Anderson and said as much.
“Where’d you learn that, James? From Judd or maybe Mister Williams, perchance?”
Now James’s smile expanded even farther, and he seemed to stand straighter. “No, not from either of them, nor from anyone else. I read it in one of our books, Oliver!”
It was my turn to smile at my messmate. But the joy of accomplishment quickly gave way to the gravity of the moment.
“Bosun, will we make it back to Syracuse?” James’s concern echoed my own. I shot him a look; James, do you really want to know that?
Anderson smiled at us, recognizing that our concern was born of inexperience. “Oh, you needn’t worry yourself’bout that, sir. We’ll make it somewhere, prob’ly afore we get too low in the water to navigate!” His answer did little to mollify either James’s or my concern. He did not say where or how soon i
t would be before we got ‘somewhere.’
That night at supper in the cockpit, Judd informed us all that, as the temporary repairs seemed to be holding, we would sail to Messina, a port right on the northeastern tip of the island of Sicily, quite near to the Italian mainland. We would be hauled from the water and repaired, masthead to keelson, according to James Lawrence. With a bit of luck and the mistral easing a trifle, we should be under the lee of Sicily in two days and then into Messina in just another day or so after that. I guessed that the condition of our leaks was not so grave as to warrant an immediate rush to Syracuse.
“Reckon that’ll be a right fine place for you to scout up a suitable location for me and Mister Devon to take care of our business, Baldwin. And since we’re likely to be on shore for a month and more, I suggest, Mister Devon, that we get this matter between us settled.” Thomas spoke evenly, emphasizing only to irritate Judd, which, by the look he got from Devon, he had succeeded in doing. James and I, now mere spectators in this ongoing verbal duel, looked quickly at one another and then concentrated intently on our meal. It took some considerable effort to maintain neutral expressions. The remainder of our supper was finished quietly with none of the bantering and skylarking we frequently enjoyed.
During the first watch the following day, the wind abated and veered significantly to the west; the seas began to moderate even before we tucked in behind the mountainous shelter of Sicily, easing the schooner’s motion and, at the same time, easing the worried looks from the faces of Decatur, Lawrence, and Williams. Before supper was piped, we received a signal from the commodore in Constitution to heave to. Shortly thereafter, we observed a boat making for us from the flagship. Once alongside, Lieutenant John Dent clambered up our side and over the low bulwark.
“I am to ride into Messina, with you, Stephen, and see about expanding our fleet,” he responded within our hearing to the captain’s query. “Commodore Preble thinks we might be able to purchase or borrow some gunboats from the Italians there. He is taking Constitution back to Malta, where I expect he will be communicating with Bainbridge through the British.”
Though spoken quietly, I heard this utterance with remarkable clarity, since the two passed me on the quarterdeck where I stood my watch with Lieutenant Hobbs. Immediately I thought of how I might communicate with Edward, but quickly pushed the idea from my head as silly. I still had no idea whether he had received my last correspondence and, further, I had written nothing new to him. Still, the idea of more letters between my unfortunate brother and myself floated around in my head, just below the surface like a waterlogged bit of jetsam, to show itself from time to time and raise the flicker of hope that I might again hear from him.
During the night watches, we could see quite plainly the fiery glow from Mount Etna as we sailed past the spewing volcano. The hands and I were entranced by the breathtaking display lighting the sky to the west of us, orange and red with occasional yellow sparks shooting skyward; while little, if any, lava actually came out, the splendor of the show more than made up for it.
In sharp contrast to our passage there, our arrival in Messina was unremarkable. Our repairs were quickly contracted to and undertaken by a competent and amiable clutch of Italian craftsmen. With Enterprise secure at the pier and the sounds of hammering, sawing, and ripping filling the air, along with shouted conversation in a marvelously musical dialect of Italian understandable to none of us, Lieutenant Dent went off in search of our auxiliary forces. I went off at the first opportunity, and at the urging of Thomas Wheatley, in search of a field of honor.
It took me some time, after our lengthy stay in turbulent seas, to feel comfortable ashore. The very moment my feet touched the dock I began to feel the familiar dizziness, as though the land should be moving but wasn’t. I steadied myself on a piling, hoping the feeling would pass quickly, as Judd had promised. Gradually, I became used to terra firma under my shoes, and I discovered that Judd had been right; each time I came ashore, I found my “land legs” more quickly. But I still enjoyed, indeed, practiced, the rolling gait that would label me a seaman.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Are we ever going to get out of here and back into the action?” James spoke for most of us aboard the schooner. His question was not directed at anyone in particular so, having heard it almost daily for the past several weeks of our confinement in Messina, most of us gave it little notice, except Thomas.
“I would have thought you, of all of us, would be happiest here in the safety of Messina, tied to the dock, James.” Since we had been in a month and more, now, heaved down, planks replaced, and refloated, Thomas had returned to his former, unpleasant self and, once again, James had become the target of most of the man’s bile. “And in the event, we can not leave while we are waiting for Mister Devon and Mister Baldwin to determine a suitable location for our business. And I hope they get it done sooner than later! Unless they plan on delaying further.”
I colored, stung by his remark. It was my task to find a suitable field of honor and, indeed, I had found several. However, in the fading hope of this “business” being forgotten, I had neglected to inform either of the antagonists of my success.
I spoke up now, carefully laying down my fork and knife next to my unfinished supper. “Thomas, I have found more than one location that would be suitable, as you say, but I have not shown them yet to Judd. I had hoped that I might do that this week, and then we could put this disagreeable business behind us.” I spoke to Wheatley, but I noticed Judd turn suddenly at my words to stare at me.
He deliberately shifted his gaze to his challenger and spoke in a flat tone. “I welcome the opportunity to finish this, Thomas. I have been some distracted of late and apologize to you for being neglectful of my obligation. I will at once see what Oliver has found; then we can go out there, I will kill you, and it will be over. Though why you are in such a rush to meet your demise is quite beyond me.” Judd’s voice held a slight tremor, a result, I thought, of his effort at control.
“Bold talk is cheap and will not answer, Mister Devon. And that little quiver in your voice tells me you are not as confident of the outcome as you would wish me to believe.” Wheatley stopped abruptly, clearly thinking. Then he rearranged his face into a smile and finished. “Once we are facing each other from forty paces and looking down the barrels of our pistols, we shall see just who will kill who!” Thomas threw down his fork and left, once again leaving a ringing silence astern. But his mocking tone had struck a chord in Judd. I could see our messmate react, and once again I despaired for Thomas’ future, indeed, his very survival.
“Let us look tomorrow at what places you have seen, Oliver. I suppose it is best to get this unpleasantness over. Have you mentioned this to any beyond the cockpit?” Judd spoke after some considerable wait.
“No, of course, I have not, Judd. Besides, you told me it would be unlikely for Captain Decatur to stop it since he has participated in at least one duel in the past.” I hesitated before proceeding. “Will you really kill him, Judd?”
“Oliver, you have seen me shoot; you have seen Wheatley shoot. What would you imagine to be the outcome of us facing each other at a distance of forty yards, hmmm?”
“Yes, but will you really kill him, or just wing him?” I persisted.
“That is something I will decide when I face him; but know that whatever I decide, it would be a simple matter for me to kill him.” Judd’s voice was soft and threatening. I saw that his eyes had grown hard and unforgiving, worse by half than when he lectured me on honor.
I withdrew into myself and directed my thoughts to other matters: Edward suffering in captivity, returning to the blockade, fighting the pirates, anything but having one of my messmates kill another, even one as objectionable as Thomas Wheatley. The other two, Judd and James, finished the meal in a silence broken only by polite small talk and instructions to our new steward, Augustus Goodbody. The meal finished, I stood to leave, planning to step ashore and visit a coffee house (called
a caffe by the Italians here), where I had become known, and give myself time to ponder this nasty business and my own role in it.
“Oliver, a glass with you, if you please.” Judd’s voice held no rancor, no undertone of aggression. It was, in fact, friendly and welcoming.
“I had planned to step ashore, Judd. Would you join me rather than remain aboard?” I hesitated, then turned back to face him and tried to make my own tone match his.
“I suppose that would answer as well, but we must talk about this business hanging over us.” Our senior midshipman picked up his hat from his cot where it had lain and, as I headed to the deck, followed me out of the cockpit.
Scarcely had we found a table in the empty coffee house and ordered, Judd, the special strong coffee he favored and me, a cup of delicious chocolate, than he faced me, a serious expression furrowing his brow.
“This dueling business is serious stuff, Oliver. I wish you would take it— and your own role in it—as such. It very likely will turn out to be a matter of life and death.”
“You can not think, Judd, that I have done otherwise. I have done exactly as you requested of me in finding a suitable location for your field of honor. What more would you have me do? While I surely am not in favor of my messmates killing one another, I certainly realize the most serious nature of the affair.” I studied my older colleague over the edge of my cup, trying to keep the distaste for his business out of my tone.
“I ask nothing else, save that you show me the fields you have seen and appear at the appointed hour to witness the event. As a matter of interest, has Thomas, to your knowledge, selected a second? We should know who it will be as he will need a witness as well.” Judd stopped. Suddenly he smiled as a thought hit him. “And to take his place should he decide that dying by my hand is not in his best interest.”
The Greater the Honor Page 27