Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  Cyrus Tiffany replied, “Aye, Sir and your belongings are already on deck, ready to go.” No one in the great cabin was surprised. Tiffany had been with Commodore Perry since Erie and was uncanny in his ways of anticipating the needs of and in caring for Perry.

  The Commodore then turned to his First, Mr. Lee. “You will, Mr. Lee, assume the command of John Adams.”

  Lees’ heart actually skipped a beat and he hoped the odd sensation did not show on his face. He tried to remain nonchalant so to impart confidence and preparedness. He replied only, “Aye, Sir.”

  Commodore Perry continued, “Constellation, I anticipate, may well see some action.” He turned to Mr. Osgood, to assure his attention, then back to Lee, “I expect it will be quiet in the harbor and you will remain at anchor, unless and until summoned, but only by some extreme need, such as by Constellation. If any other unforeseen circumstance should arise, you act as you see fit for the protection of John Adams and her people.”

  Lee nodded, “I understand, Sir.” And he did. Harbor duty, unless something unexpected arose.

  Commodore Perry studied the chart of Trinidad, the Orinoco delta and upriver area. He nodded with satisfaction, rolled it and announced, “That is all, gentlemen.”

  Lee stood at the entry port and assisted Captain Osgood boarding his gig and then signaled the crew of Nonsuch to bring up its boat. Master Commandant Harstead, in command of Nonsuch, crossed first with some of the personnel of John Adams. The boat returned for Perry, Tiffany and Benjamin, all three laden with dunnage.

  Lee marked their departure by saluting from the entry port. Captain Perry held his private signal and as he settled in the stern sheets, looked up at Lee and said, “You are ready.”

  Lee was touched by his mentor’s personal assurance. He recalled another occasion, several years before, when Perry boarded a small boat with a private signal, transferring his flag. Lee was in the boat with Perry on that occasion, with British ships surrounding, most certainly intending to drown them all. This scene was so peaceful by contrast, Lee thought, smiling as he watched them set off.

  His first official act of command was to swat a mosquito on his neck. The tropics were thick with them in the height and heat of July.

  Nonsuch, a schooner, was at her best on the wind. With her fore and aft rig and narrow hull, she clawed her way upriver despite the contrary current. Her speed was slowed, but her ability to quickly tack so to adjust to the course of the river kept morale high among her compliment of 60 seaman; one a United States Commodore.

  Small villages passed astern, the banks well populated with indigenous tribes and a unique mix of Carib, Africans and Spaniards. Wildlife was abundant and sightings along the banks and throughout the wetlands provided some interesting viewing and conversation. But concern for the health of all onboard was foremost in Perry’s mind. He was all too mindful of his own frail constitution.

  Three days upriver, with his natural formality difficult to retain on such a small ship, Perry approached Benjamin, complaining about the oppressive heat. “We Yankees, it seems,” he admitted to Benjamin, “do not fare so well close to the Equator.” Perry still maintained a full uniform of long pants, long sleeve shirt and barely loosened full stock tied around his shirt collar. He thought of how Benjamin, an African, would naturally, so he thought, fare better in such a climate.

  Benjamin, a common seaman, enjoyed a shirt loosened at the waist and a wide, open collar. He noted, “I understand we are drawing close, Sir. It should not be long now.”

  Perry nodded, recalling, “Before the last war, I had to request a transfer of my command of Revenge centered off the Carolinas. My constitution could not handle the heat and humidity. While I endured the Mediterranean summers aboard Java, I think the difference is the lack of fresh breezes found on these damnable rivers. We are well south of the Carolinas this day, for certain!” What Perry did not confess was his concern for the combined effects of hot, stale, heavy air containing unhealthy vapors drawing across the jungle vegetation. He slapped at mosquitos, but thought them only a nuisance.

  The following day, the winds remained favorable from the north. Nonsuch sailed a course mostly west, with perhaps a bit of south. All on board expected Angostura to appear around almost each bend, thinking Nonsuch that close, but the charts did not detail all bends in the river and it was difficult calculating distance over time with so many course adjustments. The ship surgeon from John Adams, Mr. George, approached Perry on the quarterdeck. “Sir,” he whispered, “I have three seamen taken to their bunks with extreme fever.”

  Perry closed his eyes, hoping or pretending he did not hear the dreaded report. Perry appreciated the surgeon’s professional discretion, but aboard a schooner of only 82 feet length on deck and packed with crew, he could have just as well shouted the news from the crosstrees. Most on board likely knew the situation before Perry.

  “We are doing all we possibly can?” asked Perry. Mr. George nodded and assured, “Aye. All I can suggest by way of further measure is a fresh wind and open sea.”

  Perry nodded and resolved to make all haste. But he knew diplomacy could often take so much longer than unilateral action. Knowing the option was closed to him, he wished nonetheless he could just snatch up the criminals and pirates and act without regard to borders, the permission of others, and claims of territorial sovereignty.

  Angostura, which meant “narrowing,” was well named. Nonsuch dropped anchor against a strong current by noon on 27 July, 1819. Perry was invited ashore near immediately and established his operations from a house in the town, a generous offer which he knew he could not refuse without offending his hosts. He kept as many of the crew as possible on board, hoping the better ventilation would aid in maintaining good health and assist in fighting the fever.

  While Perry, Tiffany and two others, one a civilian diplomat, conducted early discussions with representatives of the “Gran Columbia,” a new republic and loose confederation of states recently declared independent from Spain including Venezuela, Panama, Columbia and Bolivia, Mr. George remained, sadly, the most harried of all aboard a now afflicted vessel. Several more presented fever and symptoms the following day, with those originally reporting just the day before growing worse. Nearly each day, the tally rose with the tragic consequence that just four days later, the crew compliment fell. Two of the original crew reporting the fever died. Mr. George confessed to Benjamin, “I fear we will lose at least as many more before departing, and the cook has just taken to his bunk.”

  Fear was palpable. The men knew they could do little, but some wore kerchiefs over their mouths and noses.

  Mr. George had no idea whether such measures were at all effective, but did not discourage any actions as might improve morale. He advised Benjamin, “I suggest we try to remain distant from each other, spread out through the ship. I cannot recommend close congestion until we once again feel fresh wind flow throughout the ship.”

  Perry met with Simon Bolivar the following week. Amid discussions of cooperating to assure safe navigation, with its implications of economic development well understood from whom Perry recognized as a South American George Washington, Perry confessed his concerns. “Mr. President, do any of the locals or men upon whom you rely have anything to offer my crew? It appears so many are coming down with the fever.”

  Boliver was well familiar with yellow jack, or black vomit as it was sometimes called. He confessed, sympathetically, “I lost my first wife, Mr. Commodore, to the same, not long after relocating her from Spain. We have no cure to offer, but let me send over my surgeons to consult.”

  Perry was grateful. He encouraged, “Our discussions went well today. Meaning no disrespect, could your ministers stand by in the hopes that upon reaching agreement, we may prepare and sign a treaty as quickly as possible?”

  President Boliver understood. Discussions were concluded two days later and Perry was delighted the Treaty was prepared and signed within twenty four hours thereafter.

 
; What had been a significant diplomatic success, a major achievement in an already notable career, was stained by the news of the contraction of four more crew with the fever. As the small ceremony on shore concluded and Perry stepped aboard his small flagship with a piece of paper rolled under his arm, Mr. George confirmed the tally at then three dead, several still delirious in their bunks.

  It was already late in the afternoon, but Perry immediately turned to Mr. Harstead and ordered, within earshot of several yet healthy seamen who welcomed the news, “Cat the anchor and set sail. Let us use this favorable current for a fast run to Port of Spain.”

  Benjamin watched Perry from the foredeck, heard him give the order and assisted in weighing the anchor. He gave thanks for the obvious good health of that delegation sent ashore, including his African friend Cyrus Tiffany, the civilian diplomat and his beloved Commodore Perry.

  Two nights downriver, the current carrying Nonsuch quickly toward the fresh winds of the sea, the trade winds in which no mosquitoes could alight, Captain Harstead awoke Mr. George at eight bells in the midnight watch. With a full moon and Captain Harstead pushing the ship through the night on a narrow river, so desperate were they all to escape the grips of yellow fever as had now claimed another life among them, the crew relieved their shipmates on watch, quietly switching out deck assignments and their bunks, respectively. But those awake among them noticed the Captain and Mr. George conferring at a time which would normally not require the surgeon be interrupted. Tiffany was awake as well.

  Rumor spread through the ship and no one complained at being disturbed with the news. Commodore Perry confirmed for Mr. George what he had confessed to Tiffany just moments before. He was wrapped in his bed sheets so to warm himself from chills; bed sheets damp with the perspiration of a raging fever. Commodore Perry spoke their worst fear, “It appears, Mr. George, I will not be allowed to escape.”

  Captain Lee enjoyed the more than two weeks of his command of John Adams. He felt somewhat sheepish. Constellation may well be engaging criminals and pirates while he lay quietly to anchor in a protected harbor. He made a list of projects, none of which would impede their state or readiness to get underway, but all of which, when taken together, would speak well for the industry of the crew, improve the cleanliness and appearance of John Adams and signal to Commodore Perry, when back on deck, that James had not utilized the time as a general holiday. Their efforts began to show in many details and the other officers and crew understood Lee’s desire to make a favorable impression.

  Lee noted on the log, the morning of 23 August, 1819:

  British fourth rate of 50 guns anchored in the harbor this morning. Offered the customary salute. No response was made.

  The slight peeved Lee, but as he strolled the deck as noon approached, with the Sailing Master leading a navigation lesson among the midshipmen on the foredeck, preparing to shoot the sun, he tried to keep the matter in perspective. He convinced himself Port of Spain’s harbor was large enough for both the Union Jack and Stars and Stripes.

  The Sailing Master noticed first even before the officer of the deck. He called out in a relaxed fashion before returning to his lesson, “Yawl boat approaching, larboard beam.”

  Lee did not need a glass. The blue and white uniforms of the crew, the smart stroke, and the Union Jack fluttering from the stern staff, over sized in Lee’s opinion, matched the general attitude with which two British officers approached the entry port. Lee called for full honors and piped them aboard. He offered formal introductions, which were met with a reluctance of courtesy, if not arrogance. The senior officer was introduced to him by his junior as “Mr. Horn, First Officer, H.M.S. Egypt.” The Junior officer offered his name, but Lee did not catch it, so focused was he on the purpose for the visit, thinking they perhaps paid a call to explain why a salute by way of reply was for some reason not possible.

  Instead, the two officers stated no purpose, but looked around with the utmost curiosity. Finally, Mr. Horn turned and announced, “I have business with your Captain.”

  Mr. Horn had been met by Lee, his counterpart in rank, notwithstanding the large difference in the size and power of their respective ships. Lee, rather than refusing, interjected a condition by way of reply, “What is your business, or purpose, Sir?”

  Mr. Horn seemed to understand the point and changed tacks. “Might we be afforded a tour of your decks, which as among sailors far from home is always a welcome distraction?”

  Lee was not as yet sure the call was entirely social. Certainly Mr. Horn’s tone was not. Lee registered a look of hesitancy, if not regret, upon the face of the junior officer. Lee began to walk his guests toward the bow, the noon navigational lesson just then adjourned and as the midshipmen passed, he replied, “Of course. I would be happy to tell you everything you may find of interest aboard John Adams, a venerable ship with a proud past.”

  Mr. Horn smirked, “The threshold for veneration must be much lower amid a Navy with so few ships.”

  Lee let the remark pass, but pointedly began his narration for the ’tour’ with stopping at and pointing out, “Here, we have the gun used for customary salutes between civilized nations and among officers as gentlemen.” The reference was not lost on Mr. Horn, having failed, Lee was now certain, purposely, to return the salute offered earlier that morning.

  Horn raised his chin, which was quite large, and adapted a haughty stance despite his bulging waistcoat buttons, “Respect is earned.”

  Lee was, with that remark, convinced of their intent to make mischief, and had too many other good uses for his time. He offered, coldly, while gesturing about the deck, “As you can see, a routine frigate of the standard variety. That concludes the tour, gentlemen, and good day.”

  Lee was about to turn to the honor guard party, barely disbursed and well expecting to be needed yet again, when Mr. Horn hissed to his colleague ,“Come. Let us return to Egypt,” he continued in a tone just above a whisper so to assure only Lee heard among so many American seamen, “and report that John Adams allowed a full search of her people for British seamen as was our demand.”

  The implication was clear. Horn would return and report Lee had capitulated, sacrificing the sovereignty of John Adams, which, while in foreign ports, represented the very soil of the United States. Worse still, both the demand and the response were entirely fictional and represented damnable lies which Lee knew he could neither prevent nor prove. It was clear to Lee that Horn had planned such as the very purpose of his visit and those remaining aboard Egypt were likely watching them even now through long glasses imagining a demand never delivered, a surrender of honor as would never be so much as possible.

  Lee called out to the Marine Officer, “Mr. Flood, see these British officers over the side to their boat on the instant.” Such a tone, from Lee, had not yet been heard by Flood; a tone Flood knew well meant exactly what it imparted and to be accomplished immediately. Lee had learned the tone of command from his father and had until then had no call to use it aboard John Adams.

  As Horn turned to descend to the boat, Lee cautioned, “Be careful, Mr. Horn. Such a report as you suggested would demand satisfaction.” Lee meant it. He was flush with anger, well practiced with firearms and would not, under any circumstances, allow his first weeks of command in the absence of Commodore Perry to bring such shame upon John Adams. Such lies as Horn threatened were capable of circulating around the globe, with the navies of Great Britain and the United States so often encountering each other in so many of the same harbors. Had Lee been Captain of John Adams, a formal protest or letter to Mr. Horn’s superior might have defused the matter or corrected the record. But in dealing with his counterpart in rank and with the orders left him by Perry, Lee had little choice but to deal with Mr. Horn on an unofficial footing.

  Horn looked up, his foot, regrettably but not quite slipping off its purchase, and shot back, “Send over your second. We shall meet again before breakfast.”

  But Lee, despite his anger, was c
alm and, as always, strategic. He would not be foolishly goaded. “So far, Mr. Horn, there has been no offense or cause given. I do not call out another man for mere bad manners. Think carefully as to the content of your report.” With that, Lee turned as Horn descended so as not to give Horn the opportunity for any last words which might leave Lee no choice. Lee wanted, truly, for Horn to do as he asked: think carefully about the inevitable consequence of such lies.

  As the yawl boat rowed from the side of John Adams, laughter erupted from her gun’ls. The Sailing Master approached to support Lee, swearing to have overheard almost the entire encounter. The Marine Officer, Mr. Flood, looked as though he was ready to load and level his musket. Lee gave it some time, considered the matter fully and determined to at least make preparations. He went down to his cabin and penned a letter to “Mr. Horn, First Officer, H.M.S. Egypt…” He did not issue a final challenge, but made clear under no circumstance would he allow John Adams and her people, to say nothing of his reputation, to suffer a slight as had Mr. Horn indicated in the presence of a witness. The warning was as clear as it was unstated. Lee arrived back on deck as Egypt’s yawl boat was approaching its own set of davits. Lee was about to call for the gig so to have his letter delivered by Perry’s cox’n.

  But Lee’s gaze did not follow Egypt’s yawl boat. Rather, Lee looked up and saw Nonsuch standing in from the nearest headland to the south, all sail set and looking smart. Lee thought Perry was home and arriving in an obvious hurry.

  Then Lee saw the black pennant, flying from the masthead. He grabbed the long glass from the binnacle, strode to the larboard quarterdeck rail and inspected the deck of Nonsuch.

  Lee saw Captain Harstead standing next to the helmsman, looking at him through his glass. He saw Benjamin, Tiffany, and all other familiar faces, all confirming his worst fears. He moved the glass not so much as an inch to the left, back to where Captain Harstead was still looking at him. Harstead nodded and Lee knew.