The Greater the Honor

by William H. White

  Oh, no! Am I to join Thomas in the jail? I had almost nothing to do with James’ death! In fact, I was the only one who tried to get them to call it off. What have I done? I am sure the color drained from my face; my knees certainly felt like they would no longer support me, and I put a hand on the back of a nearby chair to steady myself as I turned about to face the captain once again. The door closed behind my departing shipmates, leaving me alone with our commanding officer.

  “I think you will find this to be of interest, Mister Baldwin. You might let me know if there should be any further secret inscriptions within.” He extended to me an envelope on which I noticed at once my brother’s familiar hand. I let out the breath I had been holding and was rewarded with a smile from him.

  Oh, thank the Lord. A letter from Edward. Give it to me! I stood, rooted to the spot, momentarily uncomprehending. Step up and take it, Oliver. He’s not about to walk to you, after all.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. And I shall surely tell you if there is any secret writing in it. Thank you, sir.” I stepped to his desk and took the proffered letter. “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes, Oliver. Go and read your letter. I hope you find your brother, and my friend, still well.” Decatur turned back to his papers, essentially dismissing me.

  I turned, about to leave. He cleared his throat, stopping me in my tracks. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Baldwin, one thing more, if you please. It may interest you to know that Mister Devon told me the details of your role in the unfortunate incident involving your messmates. It would seem that while you may be one of the youngest in the cockpit, you conducted yourself with a maturity, and honor, beyond your years. You may well turn out to be a fine officer one day.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir. That is very kind of you. I hope to ‘turn out’ as well as my brother.” I brandished my letter, in case he had forgotten I had it.

  Captain Decatur again smiled at me, nodded and returned his attention to the papers on his desk. I turned and was out the door before he could change his mind.

  I knew the cockpit, where Thomas and Judd would be dining, would not be the place to read Edward’s words, so I made my way topside and forward, to take my ease on the carriage of one of my long twelve-pounders. I was not very hungry either for food or their company right then. Carefully, I unfolded the precious letter, noticing as I did that my hands seemed to tremble a trifle.

  My dear Brother, he began, as he had the first one.

  Your brilliant stroke—or should I say our brilliant stroke—has had the desired effect; it has quite angered our captors and, I have heard, caused the survivors of your attack to wish they had died at your and Decatur’s hands! According to our guards, the Bashaw was in a state, ready to remove the heads of any who appeared before him. When Bainbridge heard this, he smiled for the first time since our unfortunate grounding and subsequent capture by these barbarians.

  I smiled myself at this revelation, but I felt my smile fade as quickly as it had arrived when I recalled the events of that fearsome night and my own, as Judd had put it, ‘blooding.’

  Unfortunately, an additional result of your destruction of our late frigate was the removal of the officers, all of us, from our quarters in the palace formerly occupied by the American Consul to a prison in the fortress near to where our seamen are held. And, I fear, equally dreary to theirs. We have lost the right to communicate with our seamen and so have little idea of their condition at the present; it can be little worse than our own.

  Nothing you have experienced in your life, dear Brother, can let you imagine our apartments—if such a lofty name can be applied to a dungeon in the center of the fortress into which little light and less air can penetrate. An opening high above our reach and covered in iron bars provides what little of each life-giving resource filters into the room. And while all of us, some twenty-five including the warrants, are confined in a single room barely large enough for ten, it is the other inhabitants which make it particularly distasteful. Apparently a collection of noxious reptiles had been ensconced here well before we took up residence, and they have not taken well to our intrusion. As a final insult, our rations have been reduced; but not our spirits, due largely to the bold action. We pray daily for further evidence of our fleet and, while hope for our release dwindles, the flame of hope burns brightly with anticipation of Preble again wiping the eye of the Bashaw. We have heard that the barbaric person has increased his demands for our ransom and tribute to his own self! Likely a further result of your brave stroke.

  Prior to the destruction of our late ship, our treatment was humane, if not hospitable. We were even given fresh food, beef and vegetables, for our celebration of Christmas. I am given to understand it was through the efforts of Commodore Preble and more to Consul Nissen that this miraculous feat was achieved, and we are, all of us, indebted to the Dane for his efforts on our behalf. And to the commodore, of course, for his continued support. Capt. Bainbridge has received numerous communications from him that have included money for our comfort as well as several items of food and spirits which we hoard and consume on rare occasion. Some of these treats we managed to conceal from our captors and transfer with us to our current rude habitations. I have also received your letters by the same means, and you should know they are greatly appreciated. I am sorry indeed I can not be with you to share your tales and miseries. Your description of the attack on our late frigate was shared by all with suitable congratulatory comments regarding your own bravery and execution of your assigned duties. Again, I pine to be in your company offering you my own congratulations on your splendid performance!

  We were only recently allowed a visit from a certain Midshipman Izard who, I am told, is from the commodore’s Constitution and came ashore under a flag to speak on behalf of Comm. Preble to our capt. As a result of his visit, we will be allowed to receive supplies for the improvement of our conditions, but only through neutral vessels. Bainbridge mentioned the Bashaw will not allow boats of the Squadron to land, even under a flag of truce, unless it is to pay the ransom and tribute to that unscrupulous individual. We all hold to the hope that, as much as we would welcome our freedom, Comm. Preble will resist paying a single dollar to him. The only tribute that scoundrel should receive must be paid in iron from the mouths of the squadron’s cannons!

  After much discussion with Bainbridge and the others, we have concluded that the squadron must instigate an attack against the gunboats that seem to proliferate within the confines of the harbor here. Until they are destroyed, little can be done to breach the walls of this fortress, as the opinion seems to be that the aforementioned vessels will successfully drive off any but the most determined effort to get close enough to be effectual. As a further detriment to that effort, it is apparent from our own misadventure that only vessels of the shallowest draft will be of use. Porter, our First, has opined that an attack from both the water—once you get through the gunboats—and at the same time, from the land side, would be most effective in bringing the forces of the Bashaw to heel. He believes that a force of two thousand would be sufficient and I am confident that Capt. Bainbridge has sent that information to the comm. through the offices of Midshipman Izard.

  A particularly distressing discovery was made several weeks ago; it appears that these godless rascals have pressed our men into slavery and have them working on the construction of a fortress not far from the Bashaw’s castle. I am given to understand by one of our guards who has some English (it seems to come and go as the spirit strikes him) that the fortress under construction was begun some years ago by merchant seamen, also the captives of these scoundrels. Indeed, we are told that the structure is commonly referred to as the “English Fort” in recognition of the original laborers. During the brief peace that civilized countries enjoyed with this unpleasant place, work stopped as there was no source of labor; all the captured seamen had either been killed by their treatment or their captors or returned after a ransom was paid. Now I am sure the Ba
shaw delights in a renewed supply of slave labor. We believe there are also a significant number of merchant sailors held in the prison who supplement our own Philadelphias.

  I must end this as our messenger will be departing soon, and I will entrust it to his care. I am sorry to have to burden you with the depressing conditions we face, but you may rest assured, dear Brother, that we—all of us—live for the moment we will hear the bombardment of the fortress walls and the ultimate storming of the Bashaw’s palace. So do not despair for me or the others; we are mostly of good spirits and in generally good health. I think of you often and hope that your employment is proving satisfactory to you and my old friend Stephen. Do not delay writing to our parents, should you have yet to accomplish that task. They will want to know that you are well as much as of my present circumstances. I will try to pen a note to you soon, and you should know that I and my shipmates continue to enjoy your letters. Cap’t. Bain-bridge’s brother is also in the squadron, a fact with which I am sure you are acquainted, and writes to his brother as well, something we also share.

  With continued affection, I remain your appreciative brother,

  Edward Baldwin, Lt. USN

  P.S. You need not concern yourself about rereading this with a candle! EB

  I looked around me as I let my hand drop into my lap. The schooner’s rig and the nearby guns and deck furniture seemed fuzzy, and I wiped a sleeve across my eyes to clear them. I was surprised to find wetness along my arm, but my vision cleared, and I thought about what Edward had said.

  The image I had held of him some months ago, dressed in rags, bound with chains, and starving again appeared, and this time it seemed even more vivid, more real. Why would the Bashaw take out his anger on the prisoners? It was us who burned and destroyed his—our—frigate, not the men he held in his dungeon. I should talk about this idea of theirs about storming the fortress. But with who? I can’t just barge into Captain Decatur’s Cabin and suggest we attack. Mister Wakefield! He was the one who helped me last time. He’ll help me, I’m sure. I must go and find the surgeon.

  I quickly read the letter for the second time and decided finding Reliance Wakefield was exactly the right course to follow. Before my resolve about approaching a senior with this matter weakened, I set off to find the doctor and share with him my brother’s letter. I reminded myself to tell him that holding it over a candle would be unnecessary.

  The schooner was innocent of the doctor; he had gone ashore, apparently while I and my messmates were standing to in the Cabin. While I stood by the bulwark in the waist, in the hope of spying him returning, Judd appeared, followed by Thomas. In spite of my knowledge of Thomas’ fate, I started at seeing him carrying his chest. His expression gave nothing away; his eyes were not hardened nor was his jaw sporting its defiant cast. Judd nodded to me as they approached. Thomas appeared not even to see me, though he could hardly miss me. It appeared that his gaze was fixed on something about a cannon shot away.

  “Mister Morris will accompany you, Wheatley, to ensure you are properly cared for in your new accommodations. Upon our return to Syracuse, I or he will look in on you to ascertain that you want for nothing.” Lieutenant Lawrence’s tone made it clear that he was not wishing our shipmate well. For once, Thomas said nothing, but rather stood mute, his gaze still focused afar.

  Then Morris was beside us, attired in a full dress uniform complete with his sword, and the boat was alongside. Judd stuck out his hand.

  “It will work out, Thomas. I doubt we will be at sea for long, and then you will be back in the midst of us. Bear up and be of good cheer. I know we’ve had our differences, but I shall miss you, if only . . . well, I shall miss you.”

  Thomas looked at Judd, took his hand and gave it a single shake. He then turned to me. “I guess now your guns will be the fastest, Baldwin, with me not there. You’re not a bad sort, and I ‘spect you’ll do right fine, even with me not there to teach you!” He smiled, turned away, and picked up his chest to hand it into the waiting boat. For my part, I was speechless!

  Finally, as the boat pulled smartly for the quay with Thomas and Lieutenant Morris in the sternsheets, I stepped up to the bulwark and waved my hat as I cried out, “Good luck to you, Thomas Wheatley! Keep well!” It sounded a trifle off, even to me, and, in concert with my own thoughts, I received a strange look from Judd, who then simply shook his head and walked away.

  Neither of us went ashore that evening, though we had been given leave to do so, and supper was a quiet affair in the cockpit. We treated each other like strangers, in spite of the fact that we had been shipmates for nine months and had shared the same hardships, battles, and joys for those months. Later, when I realized I had yet to discover the whereabouts of our surgeon to tell him of Edward’s latest missive, I took a turn around the deck, enjoying the cool night breeze and the familiar smells and sounds it carried from the shore, sounds and smells quite different from those we experienced in Messina. Still unable to uncover the elusive Mister Wakefield, I retired to my cot to fall asleep reflecting on the events of the past several days. My dreams seemed now to mingle the images of Thomas with those of my brother, and I awoke several times quite tangled in the bedclothes and wet with perspiration.

  Two new arrivals to the harbor greeted us in the morning; a British brig of fourteen guns and an American schooner that appeared to be civilian in its character. Both had anchored close by the flagship, and, even as we watched, boats plied the waters between them and Constitution with some urgency. As Judd and I, now the sole occupants of the cockpit, took our breakfast, we found the strain of last evening gone and conjectured at length on the purpose of the two vessels.

  “I’d wager that schooner is carrying dispatches for the commodore. Probably sent by the secretary himself.” Judd spoke around a mouthful of fresh fruit which we had received from the local provender upon our arrival. “Were Wheatley here, he’d likely take exception to that, and claim he knew what the schooner is about.” Judd smiled as he stabbed another piece of melon.

  “What about the English one, Judd? What do you think they’re about? I’d reckon they’ve brought intelligence to Commodore Preble about what those piratical rascals are up to . . . or maybe some communication from Captain Bainbridge.” And my brother, I added silently.

  The conversation continued with various hypotheses, each sillier than the last, until we heard a muffled cannon shot, followed by a commotion over our heads; a voice shouted down the hatch that “all officers’re wanted topside.”

  Indeed, as Judd and I hurried topside, all were standing in the waist facing the quarterdeck where the captain and Lieutenant Lawrence stood side by side, their hands clasped behind them.

  What was going on? What was the shot we heard? My thoughts were random and fleeting as I watched the faces of the lieutenants and Captain Decatur for any clue that might offer a hint to what was happening. Then Decatur spoke, as if in answer to my unuttered questions.

  “The commodore has signaled ‘all officers repair aboard.’ I will take all save one of you with me. One must remain aboard Enterprise to maintain a watch.” Decatur paused and looked at each of us. Finally, he made a decision. “Mister Devon, you will remain here to look after things in our absence. For the rest of you, dress uniforms at the waist in ten minutes.” He turned and, leaving Mister Lawrence standing alone, stepped into the hatch and disappeared.

  “Judd! I guess the captain isn’t angry with you anymore! He wouldn’t have left you in charge on the schooner if he didn’t think . . .”

  “You missed the mark on that, Oliver. It’s exactly because he’s angry with me that he left me here. I’d reckon something good is gonna happen on the flagship, maybe some good news or maybe he’s gotten word about our prize money from Philadelphia or something. You mark my words, he ain’t done with me yet by a long shot. Just because he sent Wheatley ashore don’t mean this is over. I’d reckon the commodore told him to make my life miserable. He would’ve expected me to end the argument befo
re it went as far as it did as I’m older, more experienced, and not a hothead like Wheatley. And you’re too young to know what to do, even though you did try to stop it. Which, you might as well know, I told to Decatur in your defense.” Judd’s voice was hard-edged; I thought he even sounded a bit like Thomas would have. Of course, I already knew that Judd had mentioned my efforts to Captain Decatur.

  “That was good of you, Judd.” I offered. “Maybe he won’t go as far as you think. We’ve both got to take on Thomas’ duties; he said that while we all stood there in the Cabin. So maybe he left you on account of I’m too junior and he wanted the lieutenants with him.” I smiled, hoping my words might make Judd feel a bit better.

  “Maybe.” Judd stepped away and headed for the bow as I went below to change my clothes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Most of the officers and midshipmen of Constitution were lined up forward of the quarterdeck with those of the other American vessel, Syren, when the two boats from Enterprise hove alongside Constitution. Captain Decatur was piped over the side with due ceremony, and, in a moment, we all had taken our places with the others. Captain Robinson sent for the commodore.