A Fine Tops'l Breeze: Volume Two in the War of 1812 Trilogy

by William White

  The Shannons had indeed carried the day. With the Americans driven forward and below, the resistance died out and the English sailors and officers moved unimpeded about the quarterdeck and spar deck of USS Chesapeake, hampered only by the wreckage of what had once been her crew.

  Robert Coleman knelt by his friend and spoke. “Looks like you was right, Jake. We couldn’t carry ‘em. Lookee there, though, would you. Looks like that cove – must be their captain – is down. Aye, and there’s another of ‘em whats down yonder. I reckon we ‘urt ‘em some.”

  Indeed, as the British sailors and officers rounded up the Americans, putting on them the same manacles laid out on Chesapeake for the British prisoners, Coleman could see several of the Brits carrying their captain back to the English frigate. He looked about him.

  “Oh, Jake. They took a terrible toll from us. They’s dead and ‘urt Chesapeakes lyin’ all about the decks ‘ere. Couldn’t be more ‘an a ‘andful of us not ‘urt.”

  “You there, back off a bit. We’ll get your friend to the medico, though it don’t look like ‘e’s long for this world to me. Lost a lot of blood, ‘e did, it looks. Won’t need manacles for you, lad; with that arm busted up like it is you ain’t gonna give us no trouble. ‘ere, boy, get yourself up then and it’s below with you. No trouble now. You lads give us enough trouble already. ‘ere – move away now. Your friend’s gonna get to the surgeon right quick.” The British sailors pushed Coleman away and, taking him by the arms, led him to the hatch. Coleman looked over his shoulder and called to his barely conscious shipmate.

  “It’s goin’ to be righty-oh, Jake. Surgeon’ll fix you up quick as ever ‘e can.”

  “What ‘ave we got ‘ere? A British tar in an American uniform? You get you below, an’ no trouble now. ‘Ow many more of ya are there, eh? ‘Ere now, stick out them paws while I show you ‘ow these manacles work.” After tightly clamping Coleman’s wrists in the iron manacles, the British seaman roughly shoved him down the companionway and shouted to a midshipman nearby. “Mister Littlejohn, lookee ‘ere, would ya? We got us a Englishman fightin’ on the wrong side, it ‘pears.”

  Within a short while, the Chesapeake’s decks held only Shannons. The American crew had all been herded below and a small cannon, loaded with grape, had been dragged over to the hatch to discourage any who might think it prudent to return to the deck.

  * * * * * *

  All over the grassy hill people strained to see why the firing had stopped, and each sought confirmation of Lawrence’s victory.

  ‘They’ve separated…there…you see…can you tell what happened?”

  “Who’s got a long glass ... tell us what’s happening…”

  “I can’t hear any firing. Lawrence must’ve carried the day quick as he did in Hornet.”

  “Pass that glass over this way…let me have a look.”

  The same conversations were repeated at each vantage point around Boston. No one was sure what exactly had happened, but they all knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had witnessed yet another American triumph. Celebratory dinners were being planned in anticipation of the victory parties that would take place later. In The Presidents’ Coffee House, plans were being laid to fete Captain Lawrence and his brave crew in a triumphal parade through the city streets.

  Philip and Elizabeth sat silently, young William asleep on his mother’s breast. The former Constitution midshipman, who had experienced naval battles and indeed, had lost his arm in the action against HMS Java, was not ready to celebrate; what he had witnessed did not seem right to him. He again voiced his concerns to his pretty wife.

  “I ain’t convinced that Cap’n Lawrence carried the day, Elizabeth. I don’t think the Brit would have struck as quick as he appears to and it don’t look to me like theys much damage to either vessel.” He shook his head in consternation. “If only they’d been another league closer in.”

  A man, who had begun celebrating the American victory even before a shot was fired, staggered by with a long glass under his arm.

  “Excuse me, sir. Might I have the loan of your glass for a moment or two?” Philip extended his good arm and took the telescope from the unsteady passerby.

  “Shure, lad. Help yershelf. Wounded, eh? You a hero? Can’t deny a naval hero the ushe o’ me glash. Haven’t got a glash o’ your own – maybe sompin’ wet – to trade me for it, have ye?

  Philip, concentrating on the scene that materialized through the telescope, barely heard the drunk’s mumbled words as the man sat on the grass and waited either for the return of his long glass or a glass of grog to be offered. Neither was forthcoming.

  “Oh my God, Elizabeth…”

  “Philip, I have asked you repeatedly not to blaspheme in front of me or the baby. Now if you can’t say what you have to without taking the Lord’s name in vain, then you may keep your own council.” Elizabeth looked at her husband the way one might look at a recalcitrant child who was a little slow.

  “Listen to me, woman.” Philip’s voice was suddenly hard; Elizabeth recoiled involuntarily, her mouth agape. “There are two flags on Chesapeake; the British ensign over the American. Means Lawrence has lost his ship. We have not carried the day. Quite the opposite. Oh, what a disaster!” A stunned silence from those nearby lasted only a heartbeat, and then with a rush, dozens of voices began to speak at once.

  “Here, lad, give me that glass. You don’t know what you’re looking at.”

  “Lawrence couldn’t have lost. He’s among the best we’ve got.”

  “You must have lost your eyesight with your arm, lad. Hand me that glass. Let a man have a look.”

  “Everyone knows that Brits couldn’t carry an American frigate, and certainly not one commanded by Cap’n Jim.”

  The voices merged into a senseless cacophony of disjointed words and sounds that swirled around the young midshipman’s head. He was lost in his own thoughts. Lawrence had lost! He couldn’t believe it. His incredulity turned to outrage that such a travesty had been visited upon the American Navy and then just rage, first at the British for taking advantage of an untried, untrained American crew, then at Lawrence. or taking such a crew to sea with the certain knowledge that a seasoned British frigate was waiting for him.

  Slowly the realization rippled through the crowd. Conversation died down and the stunned people began to pick up their belongings and head silently down the hill for home and a quiet supper to discuss this ignominy and disgrace in the privacy of their own homes and coffee shops. There would be no celebrations this night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Aye, we seen a passel of small craft all around us last night. Real late, it was. Some was yellin’ somethin’ ‘bout Chesapeake and a battle, but couldn’t make much o’ what they was sayin’” Isaac Biggs leaned over the General Washington’s larboard bulwark along with Bosun Dobson. They were talking with a pair of men drifting alongside in a fishing smack.

  “Well, I can tell you this, brother. Me an’ me mate here, we was out there, and it was some kind o’ terrible. Them Brits just kept a poundin’ an’ poundin’ the Chesapeake. Cap’n Jim had his riggin’ all cut up and couldn’t get the frigate through stays. Seems like it wasn’t any time ‘tall ‘til them British bastards swarmed all over him and, short-handed like he was, he couldn’t fight ‘em off. Reckon he hadda strike to save his men, an’ the ship. Terrible, it were, just terrible.” The captain of the fishing boat shook his head. The two privateersmen noticed with surprise that the fisherman actually had tears in his eyes as he recounted the disaster that had befallen the Chesapeake.

  “That musta been what them two big vessels we steered clear of last night when we was comin’ in was, Mister Biggs. Thought they looked too big to be privateers – even in the dark.” Dobson scratched his head thoughtfully as he recalled that Captain Rogers had made a wide detour around the two vessels in the early morning hours, as the General returned to Salem from another successful cruise. All thought it strange that they were showing lights o
n their decks, but Asa Rogers wasn’t about to close them to investigate, no matter how strange it appeared.

  “I reckon we should pass that on to Cap’n Rogers, Bosun. Might be that it changes his plans.” Biggs started aft to act on his thought.

  The two met Captain Rogers as he unfolded his lanky frame from the aft companionway and, as was his habit, looked first aloft, and then around the deck of his ship before speaking to anyone. All appeared in order.

  “What’s on your mind, Mister Biggs?”

  “Well Cap’n, Dobson an’ me just got done talkin’ with some coves in that fishin’ boat yonder,” Isaac pointed to the vessel now full and by in the easy northwesterly breeze and heading past Salem Neck, “an’ thought you might be interested in what they had to say. Sounded to us like Cap’n Lawrence took Chesapeake out yesterday and got hisself beat pretty bad by some British frigate – HMS Shannon, it was. I believe that was the self-same vessel Dickerson an’ me run afoul of back in February, bringin’ in that Brit merchant from up off Nova Scotia. Didn’t think she was still around these waters. Wonder what’s gonna happen to Lawrence an’ his crew. Guess what’s left o’ the Chesapeake’ll be taken in, prob’ly to Halifax, be my guess.”

  Asa Rogers looked thoughtfully at the now distant fishing vessel, the bearer of this awful news, and came rapidly to a decision as to his course of action – at least an immediate one. He turned to the bosun.

  “Mister Dobson, have my boat put overboard, if you please, and round up enough of a crew to get me ashore. I shall leave directly you’re ready.”

  A quick nod, and the bosun hurried off to find the boat crew and get the boat in the water. Something was afoot; he was sure Captain Rogers didn’t go ashore this early, even first day back in Salem after a prize-rich cruise. Why, the crew hadn’t even been called to breakfast, and he was certain the captain had not eaten either.

  The daylight was gradually getting stronger as the bosun knocked on the cabin door, informing the captain all was in readiness for his departure.

  “Mister Biggs,” called Rogers as he stepped into the waist of his ship. “I should like you to accompany me.” He gestured toward the boat as he spoke and the third, his surprise evident but unspoken, stepped over the rail and climbed down the battens on the hull and into the boat. Captain Rogers followed, settled himself in the sternsheets, and the boat shoved off.

  As the boat neared the quay, the captain and his third mate could see a group of men standing in a knot at about the point where the boat would land; from their pointing and gesturing, it was obvious that they were in deep and serious conversation about something. Even before the General’s cutter was close aboard, their voices could be heard as the light breeze wafted bits and snatches of their more boisterous exclamations over the water. Rogers spoke to the cox’n and the cutter turned slightly and drifted gently against the pier at the feet of the men. They stopped their debate, and looked at the intruders with unwelcoming glares.

  “Jack Criswell! That you? Rogers spoke to a portly fellow, balding and unshaven, with the red veined, swollen nose of a habitual drinker. Then he stepped out of the boat and into the space the men opened for him, followed closely by his third mate. The man he identified as Criswell broke from the group and made his way toward the captain with his hand out in greeting.

  “Cap’n Asa. Good to see you back, sir. I collect you’ve heard the dreadful news of yesterday?”

  One of the others in the group spoke up. “It ain’t been established it’s ‘dreadful’ yet, Jack. We ain’t got nothin’ but the word o’ some half blind an’ more ‘an a little drunk fisherman what claims to been out there. Cap’n Jim mighta took that Brit and’ll be bringin’ her in this morning. They’s a lot what thinks that’s the case. You go spreadin’ that ‘dreadful’ news around Salem, folks won’t know what to believe.”

  “Hell’s fire, Sam. You saw that blue ensign up over the American one clear’s I did. Ain’t no mistakin’ what that means.” He turned back to Rogers and Biggs. “You just come in, Cap’n? You musta come right by them two out yonder.”

  “Aye, we did that, Jack. Come by ‘em in the dark of the night, it was. I give ‘em a good berth, bein’ as how I was short-handed from sending in a couple o’ prizes just last week. So we couldn’t tell just what they was; surely two vessels of notable size, they was, and showin’ lights like they didn’t care who seen ‘em. Thought it mighta been a pair of Brits and, with a short crew, I wasn’t gonna get in close to ‘em. Heard about the battle just this morning from a fisherman headin’ out past where the General is anchored. Kinda hoped I’d see them two prizes I sent in already here in Salem. Figgerin’ on startin’ the process to get ‘em condemned, collect my lads, and get back to sea. You haven’t seen Hardy or Dickerson of late, have you? They’da been the ones brought in the prizes.”

  He looked at the handful of men and shrugged when he saw their blank looks. Criswell shook his head and Rogers continued, “Well, maybe they went into Marblehead or Gloucester. By the way, this here’s my third on the General, Isaac Biggs. A Marblehead lad, and a fine sailor. Isaac, this is Jack Criswell. He runs this dock and the warehouses beyond. Ain’t nothing comes or goes without he knows about it. Wouldn’t be any trade outta Salem without Jack’s help.”

  Criswell visibly grew in stature, adjusted his soiled vest where it strained its buttons over his ample middle, and beamed at Rogers’ praise. He was, in point of fact, barely more than a watchman and occasionally organized hands to help unload a vessel for the Crowninshields’ and Derby’s. A long career of unreliability brought about by an equally long love affair with rum ended a promising term at sea, and it was through the kindness of several of the Salem merchants, including Asa Rogers, that he held the menial position on the waterfront that he did.

  “Cap’n Asa, you be wantin’ to know more ‘bout that fight yesterday, you might find Dick Waters over to the Anchor Coffee House. He was comin’ in yesterday from a trip an’ come right by them two durin’ the fight. Stayed to watch, I reckon, and came to anchor durin’ the middle watch last night, it were. He’d likely give you a better story ‘an anyone; be pleased to tell ‘bout what he seen, I’d warrant.”

  “‘Thank you kindly, Jack. I reckon young Isaac and I’ll head over that way and see what’s afoot. It’s some sharp-set I am anyway, and we can get a bite o’ breakfast at the same time.” He turned to the boat crew, still bobbing alongside the quay. “Davies, you get yourselves back out to the General and be back here at four bells o’ the forenoon watch. Tell Mister Coffin to keep a watch out for Mister Hardy and Mister Dickerson, if you please, as they could turn up today.”

  The boat shoved off from the quay. Without a backward glance, Rogers stepped off for the coffee house and information, both about the possibility of his prizes having come in, and about the outcome of the battle which seemed so uncertain in the minds of his first shore-side contacts. Isaac, watching the boat leave, had to hurry to catch up.

  * * * * * *

  Tate stirred in his swinging cot and rolled onto his heavily bandaged ann. The move brought a groan to his lips and blood to the surface of the cloth binding the wound.

  “Easy there, Jake. You’re gonna be just fine, I’d warrant. Medico didn’t have to take your arm off, after all. Just sewed it up near good’s the sailmaker could’a. Ball passed right through, it did. Chewed it up some, an’ the surgeon said your bone took a beatin’, but it’d heal up righty-oh. Reckon you’ll be aloft again afore you know it.” Bosun Clements was sitting on a sea chest next to his young shipmate’s cot in the crowded and reeking sick bay. Moans and cries of the more seriously wounded could be heard and already the smell of morbidity and wounds turning putrid pervaded the close atmosphere. Combined with the smoke from a pair of whale oil lamps swaying gently from the overhead and the tobacco some of the less seriously wounded used, the fetid air had a palpable quality to it which the open scuttle and windscoop did little to ameliorate. The Chesapeake moved easily under plain sa
il, close-hauled and heading northeast in the company of her captor, HMS Shannon. A British crew manned her decks.

  Jake Tate opened his eyes at the bosun’s words and looked around. The sight of the crowded sick bay registered slowly, and he looked at Clements.

  “We got us a passel o’ men hurt, huh, Jack? Guess they took us. What’d you figger gonna happen now? And what happened to your head?”

  Clements touched the bandage wrapped round his head and over the place where his right ear had been. “Nothing to speak of lad. Some Brit cove decided I’d be better off with but one ear and got me from behind when I was busy stroking a pistol across th’ head o’ one o’ his damn midshipmen. Likely won’t cause me no problem, ‘ceptin’ lookin’ a mite peculiar. Probably won’t be as pretty to the women ashore, neither.” Clements laughed hollowly at his disfigurement. “Reckon you’ll be drinkin’ on that arm o’ your’n for a while too, lad. As to what happened yesterday; aye, they took us, just like you thought. An’ took us hard. I heard over a hunert Chesapeakes was killed, an’ damn near as many wounded. Some pretty bad. Cap’n Lawrence was hurt bad and Mister Ludlow as well. Haven’t took notice of Mister Blanchard since they boarded us, so I don’t know his fate. ‘Sides, they put the officers on Shannon. Surgeon tol’ me they got the British lads from our crew over there’s well. Reckon things won’t go well for ‘em, what with fightin’ against they’s countrymen.” His words were punctuated with the moans of the wounded and the occasional sound of hammering and pounding on deck as the work to put Chesapeake to rights continued apace.

  “You get you some sleep, lad, an’ I’ll be by later to have a look at you.” Clements stood and saw that the young man was already dozing off, still affected by the laudanum administered by the surgeon. He moved aft, past the canvas curtain rigged to separate the expanded hospital from the gundeck and, nodding to the Royal Marine posted there, he climbed up the ladder to the spar deck.