by James Spurr
Please pray that our leaders may serve up victories, Robert, so that as the roads freeze and travel quickens, I might without too much hardship return to Halifax and to…
She read the last line, almost inserted the word “England,” then thought of his wealth, the uncertainty of her situation and quickly instead scripted in a replacement:
… you.
She did not make mention to Robert of her mother. Her preoccupation with her interests as presented by James had as yet left her no time to travel to Dover Mills. She wondered if Robert would notice and question the omission. She wondered whether those in Amherstberg wondered the same.
Still, she had no time to add more, her evening engagement was pressing. She completed the address, the seal and resolved to deliver it to Thomas after she dressed and made ready for another dinner at the Inn with James. She considered which wine she had as yet not suffered from that poor excuse for a cellar in a game of wits and will with a troubled man.
Lieutenant James Fleet glowered at Lieutenant Owen Dunlap. His look of intense hatred chilled Master Commandant Hall as the three stood alongside the hulls of the squadron, hauled up on the hard and wrapped for winter. Dunlap had just corrected James. “Our brig, General Hunter, last changed her water more than a month ago. It is so foul amid such bounty of fresh water ‘tis a crime to serve it up to anyone but the dogs.” Hall noted a snowflake pass amid the dry, blowing leaves.
“The men have been working upon converting Little Belt to a proper man o’ war and adding gun ports,” offered Fleet, defensively.
“Ports for what guns?’ chided Dunlap. Hall raised his eyebrows and Dunlap continued. “This sloop, for all her beauty is still, after all, one of our smaller ships. More time should be spent caring for that which can throw some serious weight in metal. I shall have my crew attend to the water in the morning.”
“Pump her yourself, Dunlap. That’s all your Provincial Mariner’s are good for,” retorted Fleet.
Fleet turned to Hall, implored, “Sir, while you have been stationed at Amherstberg, granted for just some weeks, we have yet to discuss reassignment of your officers among the available vessels. Little Belt is our fastest, no doubt. But I am senior and would spend much more time on General Hunter would you confirm her as mine.”
H. M. Brig General Hunter, while not large, was one of the more highly regarded in the squadron, armed with six guns although pierced and capable of carrying more. She was built and launched to replace H. M. Schooner General Hope, which had been lost under Fleet’s command. The irony was not lost, even upon Fleet, and he wondered if the Royal Navy would entrust to him the replacement in light of his history with the original.
Dunlap was aghast at Fleet’s presumption. Hall walked away from the sloop and toward his office. The two officers followed Hall like opposing ships pursuing the prize, exchanging broadsides throughout the chase. The three men were trailed by a high wicked wind stripping the oaks of their most stubborn leaves and casting them adrift in the river beyond.
Dunlap ignored Fleet’s previous personal insult about his background in the Provincial Marine. Dunlap, since commissioned in the Royal Navy, had thus far throughout his career easily impressed his superiors to a far greater extent than Fleet ever could. To make the rivalry even more explosive, Dunlap had years before served as First Officer to Fleet in command of the ill-fated Hope.
Dunlap began, “Sir, I am Senior on this station, date of commission notwithstanding, and my previous commands included schooners returned safely to their moorings, together with brigs not much different from General Hunter.” Dunlap stressed the phrase purposefully, just to send Fleet into a rage, his reference obviously to the schooner Hope put on the rocks with Fleet in command. Dunlap noticed Fleet place his hand around the hilt of his dirk and did not take his eye from Fleet’s hand until it relaxed a few steps later and returned to Fleet’s side, assisting him in keeping a brisk stride.
Hall nodded and wished his destination was not so near. He rather relished the strong winds and rustling leaves which made for difficult conversation. It postponed the necessity of that which was utterly unknown to him by way of an adequate reply to his warring officers.
Finally, boots pounded across the wood plank porch, the door slammed from the wind and boat cloaks were strewn about on chairs as the men made their way straight to the fire. Hall began, “Gentlemen, let us not quarrel over assets on the hard. Our squadron will not swim again for some months.”
“Precisely, Sir,” interjected Fleet, “which is why it is important to appoint those in command now, so to render the vessels our own and allow us to improve each to suit our needs.” Dunlap had to agree with Fleet on that point. A squadron of ships, without assignments, would only serve to unnerve and divide the officers amid a sea of uncertainty. Still, Dunlap was glad that Fleet had spoken the point, as it obviously annoyed Hall to new heights.
Dunlap took another tact. “Of course, Sir, you are correct. My apologies. Still, as we discussed earlier this afternoon, the magazine of General Hunter could stand many improvements, for the safety of the men.”
Hall offered Dunlap his total attention. Fleet was wary, not knowing what Dunlap had in mind. Dunlap continued. “Sir, while laboring at a trade as a youth in York, I worked daily with copper sheet and picked up additional skills while residing with surrounding natives just this past summer. We have access to copper sent to us from England; Plymouth yard mistaking our waters for salt instead of sweet. Let me take some men and line the entire magazine with copper. ‘T’would make for a capital improvement for which I am uniquely qualified to direct.” Copper lining was standard safety practice for larger ships as it did not spark, which when in the vicinity of black powder, was reassuring to all aboard.
Hall nodded in agreement and approved, “An excellent idea, Dunlap. You have my permission,” causing Fleet to slip into a state of near debilitating frustration.
“But, Sir—!” stammered Fleet, only to be cut off at the knees.
“Gentlemen, leave me,” Hall commanded wearily. “The hour grows late, I grow hungry and your bickering grew old some time ago.”
“Aye, Sir,” Dunlap quickly confirmed. Fleet recognized his rival had achieved his desire: the opportunity to grow still more familiar with General Hunter. He hadjust finished down rigging and covering her for the winter. Task by task, Dunlap was acting as, if not yet appointed, in command of a larger and more powerful ship than he was given the previous season with no guarantee of a command come spring.
With Dunlap’s exiting the office, Hall offered an expression of exasperation for Fleet’s failure to follow. James Fleet wheeled about and recalled he was near to late for his dinner engagement.
James was typically waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Abigail knew James enjoyed watching her descend the steps. Not this night. She instead found him seated in the front room of the inn, drinking a brandy, scowling into the fire with such intensity as to brighten the blaze. Abigail attempted to distract him with her most coy smile. “James, I say, am I no longer worth waiting on, even in your favorite sea green gown?”
James looked and considered her, his faint smile hardly disguising his angry, dark brown eyes. She had seen those eyes many times before over the past ten years and wondered at how father and son, so different, could bring to bear near identical expressions for such similar reasons. “Abigail, I tell you now, lest true gentlemen maintain the integrity of our ranks and our superiority as officers, I fear we are lost, both in purpose and merit.”
Coyness having failed, sympathy yet stood a chance. Abigail looked concerned and attended him. “Pray, James, what has happened? You seem so vexed.”
Remembering his manners, James stood, extended his arm toward their usual table and shook his head, “That weakest of men, Hall, has once again put too much faith in Dunlap.”
James seated her first, took his chair, and Abigail reached out and placed her hand on his arm across the candlelit table. “How is that?” sh
e asked. At that moment, the door swung open and Dunlap and another officer entered the inn and took a table, one of only six in the parlor. James’ face reddened with anger as he watched his rival’s procession and he took another large swallow of brandy.
He turned back to Abigail. “We were discussing project assignments,” he said curtly, withdrawing his arm from Abigail’s hand, not quite ready to as yet admit to himself the support he derived from her company. “As you might expect, a mere provincial marine is far more interested in stealing a command than in earning it from years of good breeding and grace.”
Abigail nodded and hid the fact that she had no clue as to what was the problem. James continued, “Dunlap appears to covet the Brig General Hunter, one of our finer vessels and a proper command for true Royal Navy. Hall has such a dearth of experience in command on these inland seas, I wonder but that he may just be agreeable to turning her over to Dunlap.” James shuddered as though he was unable to bear a certain degree of injustice in the world.
Dunlap stood to welcome still another officer to his table and in so doing, glanced round and noticed Abigail. At that precise moment, Abigail allowed one of her gloves, resting upon her lap, to slip to the floor.
Instantly Dunlap approached. As he bent to retrieve the glove, he could not but hear Fleet continue, “If that dandy, Hall, hands General Hunter over to that backwoodsman,” James confessed, his voice low and his eyes narrow, “I shall demand that my seniority and status dictate an even greater command.”
Dunlap straightened stiffly. Fleet caught his presence and Abigail blushed, more out of embarrassment for James to have been overheard than from attendance by a well mannered officer. Dunlap waited some seconds for the chagrin felt by Fleet to have its full effect, then said quietly, without so much as acknowledging Fleet, “I feel a far greater privilege to extend you a courtesy, widow Fleet, than obligation to dignify that comment by way of reply. Your glove, ma’am.”
Fleet caught Abigail’s blush, mistook it as caused by an advance from Dunlap and seized upon it as conduct with which, for years, he had been much too patient. In that instant, all of the admiring looks, the encouraging glances, the sly comments and arranged excuses of men seeking to win Abigail’s favor for years, even while still a girl and before she had even met his father, came to the forefront of his clouded memory and emotion. James stood and in a voice strong enough for others in the room to hear clearly, challenged, “Lieutenant Dunlap, you will beg our forgiveness this moment for your untoward behavior to my companion, or answer for it, by God!”
Dunlap calmly looked to his fellow officer and dinner companion and requested, “Pray, request of Lieutenant Fleet whom he should wish to appoint as his second. Please call upon whomever he should name and make all the necessary arrangements for the ‘morrow.”
Lieutenant Dunlap turned and with a confidence and calm that was slightly unnerving to all, left the inn. His friend, instantly being thrust into the midst of the conflict by implication, stammered a bit in the presence of Fleet, having felt his sharp tongue before, but managed, “Sir, upon whom should I call?”
At that moment, James came to realize how truly alone he was in terms of peers he could count as friends. Abigail, sensing his hesitation suggested, “My man, Thomas, if you please.”
Dunlap’s companion nodded, shrugged off his surprise at the lowly referral and left but a few seconds behind Dunlap.
James felt just a pang of humiliation. He did not like Thomas and was sorry he had shown Abigail even a slight hint of the isolation he felt, throughout, it seemed, nearly his entire life since he had introduced her to his father. He was filled with sadness and rage, for her, his father, for his mother divorced and deceased near penniless, and it took him some seconds to even remember he would soon be taking aim at Dunlap, who seemed suddenly rather irrelevant to all that was pulling upon him in those moments of his brash challenge.
James took his seat and tried to absorb how his world had changed in just the last few seconds. He had practiced with pistol and ball some years back and had a rather nice set at one time, which he gambled away in Plymouth, following the courts martial convened for the loss of Hope. He doubted Dunlap had ever handled such fine pieces, but they were of little use to him now. He tried to bring his thoughts back to Abigail and dinner, but Dunlap’s calm was unnerving. Damn that poise, that sense of confidence and equality from a commoner by birth!
The landlord took their order. James mumbled his usual. Abigail knew James was most upset. He had even neglected to ask her of her preference for wine. She made the point by waiting until the Landlord had turned away. Abigail purposefully, as a reproach for his distraction, made a point of adding, “I shall be most grateful for a glass of red with my dinner.”
The Landlord assured, “Of course, M’ lady” and looked disapprovingly over to James as to suggest he had best consider the widow Fleet, or certainly others would. As Abigail sat, watching James stare it seemed at the wall behind her or the tablecloth in front of her, it dawned upon her that sometimes fate could be a friend. If this Dunlap fellow was a good shot, she and Thomas would be making their way to England by week’s end, Article Twenty First of the trust, drafted by Wellstone, having attended her circumstance nicely and all of her plans rendered so ironically unnecessary.
Late that evening, as Abigail informed Thomas of his duties on the ‘morrow before sending him to meet his counterpart, he assured her that he served in such capacity on prior occasion for Sir Edgar, a fact with which she was unfamiliar. After the arrangements had been made, pistols at dawn, Thomas drifted off to sleep in the next room, disappointed that he may not after all provide that service to the widow Fleet that he resolved, while upbound on the St. Lawrence late the past summer, would fall so easily within his scarce conscience.
“Absolutely not!” affirmed Hall. “No, no, and never!” His head was shaking; his fist near to pounding upon his desk. Hall was already ornery that his late dinner at the inn had been interrupted upon reports of his officers’ misconduct.
Dunlap protested, yet tucking his shirt into his pants. He had been hauled by a mere midshipman, at Hall’s direction, from his bed, having retired less than an hour before. Dunlap had retired somewhat later than usual. After the altercation at the inn with Fleet, Dunlap had checked his nerves with various tasks such as polishing boots, brushing his jacket, selecting a shirt and taking most of his time cleaning and preparing a standard issue Naval pistol. He was prepared to suffer a short night, an early morn and perhaps much more for the sake of his honor. “Sir, I had no choice. He accused me of advancing upon the widow Fleet and demanded my apology.”
Hall dismissed the reason. “Dunlap, I am surprised and disappointed. You know well that dueling has been prohibited among officers for now some years. You will tarnish your reputation, perhaps lose your life, deprive me of an officer no matter what fate has in store and blemish my command. I will not hear of it.”
Another midshipman burst through the door, the cold wind fanning the waning fire. Hall raised his eyebrows and without words, demanded an explanation, “Sir, Lieutenant Fleet will not stir. He is…,” the lad hesitated, was about to say ‘sodden with drink’, but rather phrased it, “well… in the deepest of sleep.”
Hall and Dunlap looked at each other. Dunlap smirked and considered the possible advantage he might hold, within hours, on the field selected outside of town, along the banks of the river, with his opponent dulled by drink. Hall, rather, rolled his eyes and considered his ill fortune and challenges inherent in commanding such children for officers. It was through Fleet’s own weakness that Hall found inspiration.
Hall ordered a midshipman, “You will post a guard outside Fleet’s hut and another at the inn. Keep that widow’s man, that rogue … what is his name, Thomas, inside for the entire morn and let no one approach and awaken Lieutenant Fleet.” Hall smiled and began to enjoy the picture unfolding for the entire naval establishment to witness and embellish by noon. “If Fleet must
sleep, let him and by all means, leave him to take every advantage of our consideration.”
Dunlap looked perplexed. What was he to do? How would such device serve his honor and reputation? Did not Hall realize that such tricks would only cause the event to be rescheduled, after chuckles and sneers amid all? Certainly, Dunlap would not stoop to claim satisfaction by default. Never under such circumstances.
Hall gathered Dunlap’s dismay and revealed the next part of his plan, “Dunlap, you will dress this instant, ride to Tecumseth’s camp and inform him that I request that you visit with White Elk, south of the River Raisin on the Michigan side.”
“But Sir—!” Dunlap’s protest was not yet even articulated and Hall waved him off, insisting upon silence. The expression on the part of the young gentlemen enforced Dunlap’s worst nightmare. It would certainly look as though Dunlap had fled in the night.
“Believe me, Dunlap, I know how it will look. That is precisely why these young men standing before us this night will bear witness and attest for the entire establishment come morning that you were ordered to depart against your protests, in part precisely because there will be no dueling within my command and no dishonor from its avoidance.” Hall looked to the midshipmen, “Do you hear me and understand?”
The young officers, barely teenagers, looked simultaneously disappointed to miss their first duel while excited by their role as witnesses for the entire naval community and affirmed, in unison, “Aye, Sir!”
Still, Dunlap was chagrined, “Sir, it appears a fool’s errand! I implore you—”
Hall remained stalwart, “Look here, Lieutenant,” using Dunlap’s rank to purposefully remind him of proper discipline, “I am informed we are to expect an attempt on the part of the Americans to retake Detroit. They have successfully defended Fort Wayne and may move northward. I need you to moderate the natives and ensure that should we see action we have no more senseless violence as was employed at Fort Dearborn. No one has a better rapport or has achieved a level of trust with the allied tribes as have you. The presence of White Elk will only reinforce the importance of your mission.”