Only Prize Master Dickerson didn’t watch the chasing ship; his attention was focused on keeping Hopewell headed fair. He did turn, however, when a second explosion ripped across the water, and in time to see the frigate’s forward section apparently engulfed in flame. The captain of the British ship immediately turned his vessel full downwind, ensuring the flames would stay forward and not burn aft, setting fire to his rigging. So far, only the bowsprit and sprits’l were damaged, and almost as quickly as it flared up, the watching privateersmen saw the fire extinguished. However, by turning downwind, Shannon’s captain had lost any chance he might have had in catching up to the escaping Americans and their prize. The men on Hopewell cheered mightily and began congratulating each other when they realized they had been spared from the devastation of the heavy guns on the frigate, but both Dickerson and Biggs gained a large measure of respect for the quick thinking British commander who had saved his ship from a potentially devastating fire.
“All right lads. While we got his nice southerly breeze, let’s harden her up and see about headin’ for home. Trim your sheets…braces haul. Helmsman: make your course west, a quarter south. Keep her as tight as you can do, lad, an’ give nothin’ to leeward. An’ Smith, you might check on our passengers. Make sure they’s not gettin’ into any mischief down in the hold, if you please.”
* * * * * *
“You may bring her up now, Mister Clements, if you please. We’ll head for Newport, unless the British have closed that one as well.” Blanchard had intended to put his schooner into New London, but as they approached from the east, having turned the outer end of Long Island the day previous, they found not one, but three Royal Navy vessels, one a seventy-four, sailing off and on across the western end of Fisher’s Island, and decided to retreat to the relative safety of Block Island Sound. Now Captain Blanchard was going to try rounding Point Judith and continue into Newport. To tip the odds in his favor, he would do it in the dark of night. Having been at sea now for three weeks and more and warned four Chesapeake bound ships of the blockade, plus making a narrow escape from a British frigate, he felt it would be acceptable to Captain Stewart, and for that matter, Secretary of the Navy Jones, were he to put into an open port. It would also allow his crew to be reassigned to fighting ships that could get to sea and confront the increasing British presence. It was with this in mind that he gave the order to acting First lieutenant Jack Clements to bring the now sea-worn schooner closer to the northwest wind and onto a course that would take her from just south of Block Island to the northeast side of Point Judith and thence to Newport.
“Let us hope that, should the Brits be in evidence there, we can slip by in the dark. By my reckoning, we should be in a position to get into Naragansett Bay toward the end of the middle watch and, should there be a British warship in the area, they just might be less attentive at that hour. Make all the sail she’ll carry – and I needn’t tell you about showing a light topside.”
“Aye, sir. I’d warrant the men ain’t got to be told that, ‘specially since they know we’re headin’ in. Wouldn’t please anyone to get caught – or have to run back to sea – now. I guess the lads have had enough of this little ship to last ‘em awhile.” Clements smiled at the midshipman and thought, He’s come far, this young man. Not four weeks ago, I’da been tellin’ him ‘bout not showing lights, and runnin’ in durin’ the dark of the morning watch. I reckon he’ll do all right for himself, he will. Clements made his way forward, rounding up men as he went to add more canvas to the rig aloft, and pleased to be not only heading in, but heading in after a reasonably successful commission. Hope Cap’n Stewart’ll be pleased as well.
The hours passed and, to the joy of all aboard, the wind held steady from the northwest, allowing the schooner to sail a close-hauled course that would take them past Block Island and across the Sound to Newport. There were few, if any, of the men taking their ease below; extra eyes on deck, and an extra hand when needed would only speed them on more quickly. And quickly they sailed; both the first lieutenant and the captain were wreathed in smiles as the miles fell away under the stern and the log slate showed a consistent eight and more knots. It was during the early hours of the middle watch when a hoarse whisper floated down from the cross trees of the foremast.
“Deck! Deck there! I got something on the weather bow. Two p’ints aft o’ the bow, it is, but damned if’n I can make out what it is. ’Pears mighty big though.” Without a word, Clements was in the rigging, heading for the crosstrees with a glass. He wrapped a leg around the backstay and, with the long glass at his eye, perched there for long minutes, squinting into the night. Finally he lowered the glass.
“You keep lookin’ Johnson. I cain’t make it out neither, but keep watchin’ an’ see if’n it gets any clearer.” The first clambered down the weather rigging. Captain Blanchard waited for him as he stepped off the bulwark.
They’s somethin’ out there, Cap’n, but I cain’t see enough of it to make out what. Don’t appear to be a vessel, and it ain’t showin’ a light, but it’s still five an’ more leagues off, I’d reckon.” The men on deck, most of the schooner’s crew, strained to hear what Clements had reported, and there were whispers among them, “What’s he say?” “We got us a Brit?” “We gonna have to fight?”
All were silenced with a hard-edged whisper from their captain. “Silence fore an’ aft, you men. Not a sound, hear?” Then to Clements, and Coleman who had materialized out of the night, “We’ll ease her off some. Bring her down a point and ease your sails. See what effect that has on whatever that is out there.”
“Light. I got a light. Dead ahead, an’ above the horizon, ‘pears.” Johnson’s whisper from aloft stopped all action on deck, and the schooner moved silently through the water, leaving a white feather of a wake astern glowing dimly in the muted starlight. Again, Clements headed to the crosstrees.
After what seemed an eternity, he appeared on deck again, only this time, he was chuckling quietly as he stepped on the deck.
‘That’s Rhode Island yonder. An’ I’d warrant that big shape to weather – that’ll be Point Judith. We made better time than we thought, Cap’n; likely we’ll be passin’ Castle Rock within an hour an’ some. Long as they ain’t no Brits hidin’ along the shore, we’re’s good as in.” He smiled broadly at the young captain, who responded in kind as the first continued. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t glad to be done with this one.”
“You don’t care much for smaller ships, I collect, Mister Clements. Well, it won’t be long and you’ll likely be reassigned to a frigate. Perhaps one in Boston or New London.”
“Oh, I got nothin’ ‘gainst smaller vessels, Cap’n. Spent a commission on a private armed schooner out o’ Baltimore afore I ever come aboard Constellation. And fine it was. Sailed the Indies an’ took us a passel o’ prizes, I can tell you. But we had a few guns aboard, and hands what could lay an’ fire ‘em. An’ that schooner – Glory was her name – could outsail near anythin’ she come across. What I cain’t get me arms around is havin’ to run from anything and everything we see. Ain’t my nature, nor I’d reckon, most o’ the lads aboard, to run away.”
“So why’d you sign on then. You certainly knew in Gosport that we would be unable to fight. Constellation was a fighting ship, and well found. You could have stayed aboard.”
“She ain’t doin’ much fightin’ I’d warrant. No cap’n would try to get out of the Bay with the Brits what’s there. Be suicide. So here I am, an’ you, an’ them” he gestured forward to the knot of men including Coleman, Tate, and Conoughy, “an’ maybe we’ll all get us the chance to get back to sea an’ fight. I’d ‘spect this’ll not be endin’ anytime soon.”
And no one knew how true were Jack Clements’ words, as the nameless Chesapeake Bay pilot schooner, commanded by a young midshipman and crewed by a mixture of seasoned American and British seamen, sailed silently, unseen and unchallenged, into the mouth of Naragansett Bay, and past Castle Rock, looming overhead
to starboard in the gloom of night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dawn broke, the sky clear and the horizon unbroken by as much as a single sail. Hopewell, with her American crew, was close-hauled on the larboard tack, making a course to take them into Gloucester, Massachusetts, in a few days should the wind and weather hold. That was a bit of a gamble in these waters, as a run of fair weather lasting more than two or three days was unusual at best. But one could hope. The deepening cold and a positive attitude permeated the ship, the men still enjoying the success they had experienced during the hours of darkness just ended. There had been no noticeable problem with the British sailors locked below, and Dickerson and Biggs were even now discussing giving them, a few at a time, an airing on deck.
“I think you’ll be asking for trouble, Cap’n. We’ll be in in only a few days, and they’s warm and more or less dry down there. Bringin’ ‘em on deck in this cold might inspire ‘em to try somethin’ like takin’ back they’s ship. Right now, Smith tells me they ain’t bein’ no trouble, long as they get fed. I reckon they ain’t in no rush to risk they’s own lives to try an’ take back the ship, bein’ as how they ain’t Navy jacks’n know they gonna be sent home – or at least to Halifax – pretty quick on our gettin’ in.” Isaac paused, smiling, then added, “Course, some rich English merchant ain’t gonna be none too happy, losin’ his vessel, an’ mebbe another, if Hardy is headin’ for home too.”
“Aye, you’re probably right, but have Smith bring up some o’ them, under guard, o’ course, if they’s a-wantin’ to get some fresh air. I ain’t heard the crew piped to breakfast yet. Somebody got the galley fires stoked up and fixin’ to feed us, I hope? This is hungry work, this time o’ year; reckon the men’re some sharp-set. And don’t forget ‘bout Cap’n Stephens. Reckon he’s still got a powerful strong headache. Could be he’s a-wantin’ some vittles as well.”
“I’ll personally check on the cap’n, ‘n as far as vittles is concerned, I put one o’ the men down in the galley to see what he could come up with. 1 reckon we could roust out the British cook if you want. Vittles might be better fixed than us usin’ one o’ our own lads what don’t know a pot from a sheet block. They’s plenty o’ stores down there, though. Checked that my own self.”
“If’n your man don’t come up with somethin’ right quick, get that Britisher up from the hold. I ain’t kindly disposed to lettin’ one o’ them have run o’ the ship, but we could put a guard in there with him.”
Biggs started below to see what, if anything, was happening in the cabin and galley, and Hopewell continued sailing for America, close-hauled in a southerly tops’l breeze.
He opened the door to the cabin to find the British captain awake and earnestly trying to convince his guard to loosen his bonds. Biggs’ arrival precipitated a sudden silence and the young sailor who had the watch was startled and stood, knocking over his chair in the process.
“I presume that the Royal Navy is in close pursuit and likely about to open fire. You’re here, no doubt, to ask me to speak to Shannon, so as to save your piratical hide. Well, you can just save your breath. Hopewell’s armament wouldn’t last a minute against that frigate, and Captain Broke can take this vessel at his leisure without a thought. You and your gang of American cut-throats will be chained in the hold before very long, I expect.” He smiled wolfishly at the thought of their roles being reversed, and his confidence at being rescued by the British frigate was complete.
“’Fraid not Cap’n. Shannon broke off last night after we showed her our teeth. Reckon she’s back with the rest of ‘em headin’ for where ever it was you were goin’. You never did tell me where that was, Cap’n. I’m sure curious to know.” Biggs was nothing if not ingenuous, and Captain Stephens, slack-jawed at the news, stared at him for a moment, then collected himself and his bravado.
“I’ll tell you nothing, you pirate. Where this ship and the others are bound is not your concern, nor will having that knowledge from my mouth advance your cause one iota. I assume you have rooted through my hold like a pig searching out truffles, but I can do nothing about that. Adding to your…” He stopped, taken completely aback by Isaac’s steady smile and obviously unruffled demeanor. Thinking to rattle the young man, he added, “Shannon may have broken off to continue her duties to the others, but when Tenedos returns, she is bound to cross your track and will take you quick as ever you please, you may rest assured.”
“Aye, Cap’n. And why should we be concerned with this Tenedos; we convinced the Shannon we wasn’t worth the fight.” Biggs’ calm demeanor was most perturbing to the increasingly riled Englishman.
“A Royal Navy sloop could take this ship, given half a chance, you imbecile. Tenedos is a frigate of the fifth rate, mounting thirty-eight eighteen-pounders, and commanded by a most capable officer. You may enjoy your liberty for now, sir, but by nightfall, I’d reckon, you all will be imprisoned aboard a ship of his Britannic Majesty’s navy. Those that aren’t dead, that is.”
“Actually, Cap’n, I came to see how you was feelin’, and if you was wantin’ any vittles. Likely won’t be quite up to your standards, but it will fill your belly.”
The bluster died on Stephens’ lips; caught all aback by the courtesy Biggs showed, he was again momentarily incapable of speech. Finally, he regained his composure and, this time, he did soften. He smiled. “That would be quite nice, I’m sure. If my steward could be found, he would prepare something for me without undue fuss.”
“No, Cap’n. I wasn’t thinkin’ of lettin’ your steward or any other loose. If you be wantin’ vittles, you’ll eat what the rest of us eat, your crew included. I’ll see somethin’ gets sent ‘round to you.” Biggs left the cabin, heading forward to the galley to see if the sailor assigned to cook had concocted something for the hungry men to eat which would not poison them. He could still hear the captain’s bluster ten steps and more from his closed door.
The galley was a shambles; the idler from the prize crew, not used to the intricacies of cooking at sea or even working in a galley, had turned the small space upside down looking for the utensils and foods he thought might be necessary. A large pot of something dark gave forth an ugly smell as it boiled merrily on the camboose. Jenkins, the assigned cook, looked quizzically at Biggs, and then smiled.
“This cookin’ ain’t so hard, Mister Biggs. I reckon my scouse is ‘bout done and that an’ some biscuit’ll keep their bellies full ‘til I kin fix up som’pin else for supper. We gonna have a ration o’ grog with the meal?”
“I ‘spect we might have to, Jenkins, or the men’ll never get this foul stuff down they’s throats. What did you put in there that makes it smell so bad?” Isaac wrinkled his nose and wiped at the tears in his stinging eyes.
“Just the usual stuff what goes into lobscouse; some meat I found in an open barrel – might be salt pork or beef, which I ain’t sure – a bunch o’ potatoes, and I even threw in a large measure o’ onions. As an added treat for the men, I found some fish – might be cod – and threw that it too. Don’t smell too bad, once you get used to it. I been here since the watch changed an’ it don’t bother me a bit.”
“Aye. I’ll let Cap’n Dickerson know you got something ready, and we’ll pipe the men down. Oh, and have some of that…scouse taken to the British captain; he’s in his cabin. I’m sure he’ll enjoy your cookin’!” Biggs turned and left the galley, muttering as he did, “We’re gonna have a mutiny after the men’re given this mess for dinner!”
Heading aft on deck, Isaac breathed deeply the clean, cold ocean air, expelling the smell of the galley from his nostrils. Had he not been so hungry himself, he would have been amused by the efforts of a main deck heaver – for that is what Jenkins was – in the galley. The men would hopefully be hungry enough to eat anything at this point, and there would be no trouble.
“Vittles up yet, Isaac?” Dickerson was also hungry. “I want to get the men fed as quick as ever possible. Ain’t none of ‘em et since we left the Gen’l, and I
reckon they’re powerful consumed with hunger.”
“Well, they’s up, and I hope the men’re as hungry as you say. With your permission, I’ll have the bosun’s mate pipe ‘em down now. I told Jenkins – I guess he volunteered to cook – to send a bowl of his ‘scouse back to Cap’n Stephens. I reckon we’ll know when it gets there.”
This somewhat oblique remark caused the prize master to raise his eyebrows, but otherwise elicited no response. Dickerson’s eyes were riveted on the horizon astern, searching the sea for some sign of the General Washington. He turned back to his mate.
“Yes, by all means, get the men fed. And you might send a bucket or two down to the Brits in the hold. They’s likely hungry as well.”
Biggs nodded his assent and turned forward to find Davies, the coxswain and acting Bosun’s mate, when the lookout on the foremast hailed the deck. “Deck there! I got a sail – tops’ls and t’gallants – a point on the wind’ard bow. ‘Pears to be headin’ this way. Cain’t make out a flag.”
Isaac looked aloft, seeing the lookout pointing at the stranger approaching from windward, and climbed into the foremast shrouds to check the sighting. Davies showed up as he did so.
“Davies, stand by to pipe the meal. I’m sure the men are complaining ‘bout not gettin’ it yet. I’m just goin’ to see about this vessel to weather and…”
“Deck there! I am makin’ a British ensign on that vessel. Set to the t’gallants and altering to head us. Looks like a frigate.” The lookout had been paying attention and now Biggs was in the rigging and moving aloft with the skill of a natural topman, while on deck everything stopped yet again as the American prize crew realized they were not yet out of harm’s way.
A Fine Tops'l Breeze: Volume Two in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 12