by James Spurr
Captain Lee strode confidently to the foredeck and gathered men along the way as he shouted, “Alright now, lads, aim for their eyes, if not with your pistols, than with the points of you cutlasses.”
The hesitation on the other side of the bulwarks was noticeable, as few wanted a cutlass tip in their eye. A crowd gathered ‘round Captain Lee in support, a few shots were fired, but he witnessed no casualties and the attack melted away, back, he assumed, into the British boat, which made haste toward Caledonia, hoping perhaps for a less prepared target.
Caledonia, however, was the finer lined and faster of the two by far, and was well on her way in a diminishing wind, sailing for the middle of the river where the current would, combined with the great guns of the fort, become the real enemy.
Soon William heard the familiar voice of Trove calling from a distance, “Friend approaching, permission to board!” The men on deck were so surprised to see a lone man in a single canoe, they looked to Captain Lee, who smiled and assured, “Help him aboard, lads, and full honors for the Master of our fire raft!”
Trove tied the canoe to the channels and clamored aboard amid congratulations from Captain Lee and fellow shipmates. Trove took his place in the waist with the rest of the crew just as the great guns in the fort roared thunder and belched flame and spark, announcing the prospect of death across a beautiful starlit sky.
With Caledonia well ahead, both ships struggled to make the open lake. The light wind, with enough easting in it earlier in the evening to give some hope, had gradually since midnight veered almost due south and with the current and great guns conspiring, the aged Detroit, never the best in terms of handling, slid northward in the current and made little headway. Balls splashed nearby. William knew it would only be a matter of time before the full force of the current would cause them to abandon their attempt.
A ball smashed into their transom. Another struck the starboard spritsail yard. Lieutenant Elliott, ahead and well to windward, to his credit noted the difficulty in which Detroit found herself and dispatched himself in Caledonia’s ship’s boat with four crew and made to assist Captain Lee. Elliott boarded, took command and although he ordered minor, cosmetic adjustments to sail trim, his efforts added little or no favorable performance from an ungainly ship in a light wind entrapped in a strong current. To make matters worse, other batteries along the western shore were now awakened and as Detroit slid sluggishly north, with little steerage, they were exposed to harassing fire from shore.
Just as Detroit gained the middle of the river, the wind died completely with a last, dying puff. Captain Lee could make out Caledonia, now alongside the shore of Black Rock and thanked the Almighty for what he presumed was James’s safe deliverance. He then turned to Trove and noted wryly, “It appears, Trove, you made for the wrong ship!”
Trove replied, without regret, “Now Sir, I merely kept your promise that I’d be in the thick of it!”
Lieutenant Elliott was looking about, considering options and, like Captain Lee, was likely aware that soon British boats would set off from shore with more boarders than their few could repel. Captain Lee approached and with deference and respect, suggested, “Shall we put her on Squaw Island, lest soon we ground in less favorable circumstances, or go over the falls altogether?”
Elliott replied, “I did not take her to ground her, nor lose her under enemy guns!”
Irrespective of good intent, thought William, the river had a will of its own and they would be there soon enough. “We may as well plan for that which we cannot avoid.”
They would strike within seconds. Elliott nodded in concession of the inevitable and was surprised when William, rather than proceeding into the waist to prepare the men, instead strode to the tiller, took it himself and called “All hands to sheets and halyards, prepare to ground.”
As he felt the first scrapings of the bottom sliding along the keel but with momentum yet in her hull, William then cried, “Loose sheets, cast off halyards, haul away clewlines, and downhauls!” He turned the tiller to larboard and Detroit struck lying just east of south with her broadside to the western shore and Fort Erie in the distance. They next brailed the spanker. With all sail struck and the risk of fire minimized, Elliott requested Captain Lee to accompany him below. As they proceeded from the companionway into the wardroom, Elliott seemed shaken and mentioned, “Of course, it may go better for you, being a civilian.”
Captain Lee was confused. Elliott reached for the cupboards above the captain’s desk, traditionally where flags were kept for various purposes, such as signaling, and in the cabin of Detroit he saw a white flag for surrendering. He reached above the desk and placed his hand upon the white cloth, then turned to William and began, “Mr. Lee, if you please—”
Captain Lee interrupted instantly, “Aye, sir, I would be proud!” He reached over Elliott, seized the Stars and Stripes which remained aboard what had until just recently been the President Adams and now kept by the British for the sole purpose of confusing their enemies. “I will have her run up on the instant and will prepare to fight the ship.” He looked at Elliott with such conviction and reproach as to evoke a brief look of shame followed by embarrassment. Captain Lee rushed up the companionway ladder before Elliott could reply or respond.
Even while charging up the ladder, Captain Lee ordered “All hands, shift the larboard guns, bring them to bear to starboard on the instant and prepare for action!” He delegated to the gunners all the autonomy they would need to fight the ship and within a bell, as dawn approached, they were as well fortified as possible for what they expected to unfold at first light. The Stars and Stripes, the national ensign, was hoisted; albeit hanging limp from the peak of the gaff.
Lieutenant Elliott soon took the deck and watched as boats set out from the western shore. As they approached, the barrage from shore batteries opened up yet again. With the assistance of a bright eastern sky, the profile of the stricken ship made for an excellent target.
The roar was ominous, the scream of the passing balls and the occasional splash of round shot in the river was even more unnerving than was the crash of the same against planking, splinters flying and men crying in agony. As the British boats drew close, the great guns on shore cooled so as not to strike their British comrades.
Now it was the turn of the American gunners. Some assorted musket volleys together with two sporadic broadsides, the recoil of all six great guns smashing across the deck, straining their tackles, energized the crew and drove off the first wave of boats. The work was neither fast nor pretty, with the gunners and mates quite new at their work, but the roar of their own wrath caused all to cheer their small success.
As the British boats reassembled, however, the great guns on shore began again, with improved aim. This time both Captain Lee and Lieutenant Elliott looked to each other and agreed. It was time to go. It was time to save the men.
The crew assisted each other in swimming and wading the few yards to shore. The officers carried documents, the log and signal books into Trove’s canoe and kept them dry in the landing. Captain Lee led the men as they crossed around to the east shore of Squaw Island in full view of their comrades at Black Rock. The Durham boat launched against Caledonia was already underway to their rescue, with a skeleton crew steering downriver and taking off all survivors, the wounded and several dead comrades.
As they landed at the yard at Black Rock with Captain Lee assisting Trove in paddling the canoe, William directed that a shore battery at the yard open fire on Detroit, yet aground but with a British crew now setting sails in an attempt to wrest her from the hard. After several telling shots, flames leapt from the main course, spread quickly to the topsail and rigging and soon the brig was ablaze as well as abandoned and still aground. As all were content that she was a total loss and at least forever deprived to the British, James approached his father. After assuring their mutual safety and congratulating themselves on a fair degree of success, James reminded, “You see, father, Lieutenant Elliott fi
ghts with a will, does he not?”
Captain Lee made no response, but the mention of the commanding officer reminded him not of Elliott’s heroism, but rather, his absence.
Captain Lee walked to the cabin serving as headquarters and was only mildly surprised to find Lieutenant Elliott already answering questions posed him by a newspaper reporter from The Buffalonian, who upon hearing the great guns in the early morn had traveled to the naval yard to obtain the full account.
Standing on the porch, holding forth with respect to the overall strategy and preparation, including the fire raft, the capture of Caledonia, the retaking of President Adams, the dawn hoist of the Stars and Stripes, the spirited defense of the grounded prize, even if later destroyed, Lieutenant Elliott would have had a grand time but for his catching, out of the corner of his eye, the expression upon a well informed and entirely independent Captain Lee, standing arms folded, holding many documents. The two men looked each to the other. Elliott’s narration paused and the reporter glanced over to discern who had caused this war’s first American hero to suspend his enthralling account of impressive achievement.
Lieutenant Elliott requested politely of the reporter, “Excuse me, Sir. You understand I must have a brief word with a comrade, as matters are still requiring my attention.”
Captain Lee was motioned into the cabin where he surrendered the remaining documents. Lieutenant Elliott beamed with joy, until Captain Lee reminded him of James and his request for a direct order, now that James had enlisted, that he be transferred east. Elliott paused and considered the options available to this particular father if disappointed with the state of affairs as impacted his son. Captain Lee, a merchant master not under his direct command and in the presence of a reporter waiting just outside, may recall a differing version of the events of the previous night and early morning.
Lieutenant Elliott reached for some parchment, a quill and quickly dashed off a note:
9 October 1812
To Captain William Bainbridge, United States Navy:
Sir, I recommend to you James Lee and his party as experienced seamen enthused to advance the cause. They have seen action on these Great Lakes, served with distinction and have experience beyond their years.
Your most sincere servant,
Lieutenant Jesse Duncan Elliott
Handing the note to Captain Lee, he cautioned, “I know not his present situation, but Captain Bainbridge could last be found in Boston. He is a fine officer with whom I enjoy a fond relationship.”
Captain Lee thanked Elliott even as the Lieutenant dashed an order for James, officially a member of his command, Proceed with all dispatch to deliver this document to Captain William Bainbridge, United States Navy. In a great hurry to rejoin the reporter before he began to interview others, Elliott attempted to hand both papers to Captain Lee. William declined and harassed him with just one more request, and an additional demand. William requested the order to James and accompanying note be delivered instead by the clerk of the yard.
Happy at the prospect of Captain Lee well on his way, Elliott agreed and with respect to William’s new demand, penned for him one more quick note, shook his hand, thanked him, wished him luck and rejoined the reporter, picking up his tale without any loss of enthusiasm.
Captain Lee folded the last note, slipped it into his pack and strolled out onto the porch, first having made certain the clerk had run off on his errand.
Later that morning, after breakfast and while Captain Lee napped under the shade of a tree, both James and Trove approached with news of new orders. James was disconsolate, but he knew well, orders were orders.
Chapter Five
Sleet melted as it struck horse and rider, the cobbled street and slate shingles. A light steam rose from those quarters of the city which first warmed by the morning sun were now protected from the cold northeast wind. Boston had enjoyed a mild late October, which suddenly within hours seemed to turn into an early winter.
The sleet stung his ears, face and hands as the rider dismounted his horse and dashed for cover. The wind caught the tavern door as he opened it, slamming it back against the iron rail adorning the stoop, and he struggled to close it with such vigor the tavern patrons looked up in surprise. He shuddered to emphasize to them, warm and comfortable within, what he had suffered to earn what he hoped was a vacant chair by the fire. A familiar voice chuckled from deep within the shadow of a high backed chair, making light of his ordeal.
“I say, Perry,” the voice said, “I may have seen you look worse, but never upon the hard.”
Perry smiled at the observation, recognized the voice and retorted, “I only hope, Lawrence, this Nor’easter veers through the midnight watch. You well deserve a brutal sendoff. And don’t think I won’t have my glass upon you, watching for a hint of luff in the topsails.” Perry approached and as Lawrence stood, Perry shook his hand and both grasped the shoulder of the other in a warm greeting.
Lawrence caught the attention of the landlord, “A tall brandy, good man, for my friend, Lieutenant, no, Master Commandant Perry.”
Perry slipped off his soaking boat cloak and hung it upon a hook near the fire. He reminded, “On the account, of course, of Master Commandant Lawrence!”
The men smiled, looked each other over and Perry offered, “You look trimmed, rigged and ready! And of course, congratulations on your command; I was overjoyed!”
Lawrence nodded, dismissively and gestured for his friend to take a chair as he took up his own drink, “Thank you, Perry. Aye, good fortune, indeed!”
Combing back his thick, dark hair with his fingers, Perry insisted with graciousness, “Perhaps, but well earned, certainly.”
Lawrence looked to his friend and offered with quiet appreciation, “Thank you for coming; sorry for the weather.”
Perry warmed his hands by the fire and assured, “Now really, Lawrence, do you think I would have missed the squadron’s departure? While it is a joy seeing you, I would have made the trip from Newport even without having received your note.”
Lawrence smiled and asked, “And how is Elizabeth?”
“Very well…” and after hesitating slightly and looking at his friend directly, Perry added, “… indeed, I am happy to inform you we are expecting!”
Lawrence beamed and confirmed, “Well, there is never much point to wasting time! The honeymoon must have gone very well!”
Perry took the hard chair next to Lawrence. “We had a wonderful time and plenty of it. Why not?” And he added ruefully, “The navy seems not to require my services.”
Trying to make the best of the obvious, Lawrence observed, “Now, Perry, how many gunboats are actually under your command on the Narragansett? Five? Six? I set off tomorrow with a single brig and you have an entire fleet!”
Perry nodded, but recognized the comment as little more than consolation. After some moments, he sighed, unable to contain his frustration, and added, “They are numerous, but pitifully small. There is less chance of me making any difference with them than there is in the Royal Navy even noticing our presence!”
Perry continued in attempt to break the grim mood he had not wished to set, “But the Hornet!” he referred to Lawrence’s single brig. “Now there’s a proper command. And sailing in company with Constitution and Essex, why, the prospects for action and prize money are inestimable!”
“This conflict has just begun, Perry. No doubt you will see blue water and soon.” Lawrence stoked the fire, stirred some coals and Perry enjoyed the increase in heat and intensity.
Perry confessed to a good friend that which he could not as yet come to share with his bride, “I fear the demise of Revenge may have also served as the demise of my career.”
Lawrence disagreed vehemently, “No, Perry, you are wrong. You were acquitted and complimented at the inquiry and I suspect the reason for your present command is your earlier experience with gunboats.”
Perry recalled the events of late that Lawrence referred to as the two men settle
d into momentary silence, watching the fire and enjoying their brandy. In January, 1811, Perry was in command of the schooner Revenge, ordered to complete survey work along the New England Coast. The pilot, assuring Perry of his experience with Rhode Island Sound, put her on a reef opposite Block Island in a thick fog. The schooner was lost but Perry was complimented for his conduct in saving the crew and his impressive attempts to salvage all government property. It was a low point in his career, which had otherwise been progressing well.
Born in South Kingston, Rhode Island, the son of a naval captain, Perry was off to sea at age thirteen. He had sailed from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, accumulating experience and favorable reports as he advanced from Midshipman to Lieutenant, and now recently confirmed as Master Commandant.
Lawrence broke the silence, “If the gunboats were intended to signal a backwater, the navy would have never confirmed your rank, same as mine. That gesture, I am sure, was intended to assure you they see promise in your future.”
“Yes, well, nonetheless, the navy must have a much better view of it than do I.” Perry attempted to change the subject yet again from that duty he recently found so empty of any significance, “Who is your First? How do you rate him?”
As Lawrence made to answer, Perry abruptly stood, acknowledging a superior approaching, “Captain Bainbridge, Sir.”
The tall, broad shouldered man in full dress uniform was making his way from his table within the dining room and had detoured to the fire. “Captain Lawrence, Lieutenant Perry, good afternoon,” he acknowledgeed.
Both Perry and Lawrence glanced at each other as each registered the Bainbridge’s unintended slight. Perry, confirmed as Master Commandant, a Lieutenant entrusted with a command, was deserving of being addressed as ‘Captain’ as well as Lawrence. The fact that such was not generally recalled or acknowledged by officers in command of men-ofwar in regards to their brethren shepherding tiny gunboats on a well protected bay underscored Perry’s concerns only too clearly.