One Sloop and Slow Match

by James Spurr

  Dunlap considered. He too had heard the rumors of an attempt to retake Detroit. General Harrison was in Ohio, having relieved Fort Wayne, and was somewhere along the southwest shores of Lake Erie. His movements were watched as carefully as the season would allow. White Elk enjoyed status among the tribes, lending gravity to the mission, and indeed, as Dunlap well knew, no other naval officer at Amherstberg was more experienced or better qualified to moderate the natives. The massacre at Fort Dearborn had actually hurt the British cause. If not for the timing, Dunlap would welcome the mission as both important and honorable. Still, his expression revealed his conflict and reluctance, even as he held his tongue.

  Hall appreciated Dunlap’s restraint, was actually sympathetic to his position and had no doubt but that Fleet had provoked the incident with his wildfire temper. His voice and expression moderating, he offered softly, “Owen, do this for me, do it well and I assure you, I had you in mind for General Hunter now for some weeks.”

  Dunlap’s expression brightened and the encouraging glances exchanged by the young gentlemen reinforced in his mind the merit of his promised appointment. Hall caught the glances and realized his indiscretion with his promise of quid pro quo in the presence of other officers, however young. He cautioned, “Not a word of this discussion, but for the direct orders and the mission, you hear me well, now!”

  Both the midshipmen nodded. Dunlap knew the entire arrangement would be common knowledge within a week. He considered Fleet’s dismay and consternation, smiled slightly and affirmed, “Aye, Sir. However I may be of service.”

  Hall smiled, exhaled with relief and sat to write two copies of orders, one for Dunlap to take with him across the Detroit River, the other so to protect Dunlap’s reputation on the banks from which he would soon depart.

  Within the hour, while Fleet snored and guards were posted at his quarters and outside the inn, Dunlap led a mount down to the landing for a crossing, by bateaux, with his native companion.

  Well after the sun rose and the frost on the designated field melted, with the residual steam yet wafting up from the river as it cooled still further from the advancing season, Lieutenant Fleet bolted from his slumber. With his head pounding, he ran outside in his nightshirt, panicked at the thought he had defaulted and his honor was forever lost. Within seconds, he noticed the guards, heard the laughter and was appalled at the thought that his contest had been cancelled. The reality worsened when he realized that Dunlap yet again appeared as the more trusted between them in service rendered to the Crown.

  Abigail considered, with the duel cancelled, that Wellstone, for all his foresight, would not as yet be able to apply the law as supplied by Article Twenty First to the facts.

  Thomas merely smiled and took hope. His services for his mistress might yet be needed.

  Chapter Seven

  Perry leaned into the hill, increased the depth of his breathing and delighted in the cloud of steam, soon turning to frost on his coat and hat. The snow parted with each step, his boots furrowing water, though frozen, as would his ship leaving a wake, had he a real command.

  Perry noted that even such routine observations of nature reminded him of his situation and underscored his longing and professional malcontent. He resolved to not allow his frustration to ruin his walk. The storm from the night before had moved offshore leaving in its wake only flurries. The flakes swirled around him but were not heavy enough to block out a promising early morning sun.

  Perry followed his routine, having years before realized that sailors for the most part celebrate routine as both safe practice and reassuring measures amid the risk and uncertainty with which they lived. Here, on the hard, in Newport, Rhode Island, despite the season leaving his gunboats little real activity and none of it important, his wife had grown accustomed to this particular routine; his early morning brisk walk up the hill from the green, behind Trinity Church, proceeding still further up the hill from the harbor to the ancient stone tower; to take his view of Narragansett Bay.

  He would scan the horizon and all inlets and anchorages visible, both north and west, along the western shore of Connanicut Island and the village of Jamestown, justifying his mission as not only favorable to his health, good for his legs and maintaining his wind, but also as consistent with his duties and command, patrolling the all too vacant and inactive waters within reach of his tiny gunboats.

  Perry passed Trinity Church graveyard, causing him to consider the near 200 years of spirited settlers and seamen who came before him. The headstones served to memorialize voyages, commands and notable ventures. Soon he earned the crest of the hill, rested in the shadow and took refuge in the lee of the abandoned stone tower.

  Perry turned to study the sea. He was instantly stunned and visibly started, as one starts upon realizing one is not alone when thinking quite assuredly the opposite. There, now entering the inner harbor, pinching her way upon a larboard tack between Fort Walcott on Goat Island and Fort Adams on Brenton Point, was a large ship, its subtle lines and rig unfamiliar to him. He within a split second adjudged her a frigate. Causing his heartbeat to pound more heavily, the outline of topmasts and the headrig of a second frigate was standing up the Bay on the opposite tack, having left Castle Hill on its starboard quarter and was, like a sheep dog, preparing to tack in the wake of the lamb.

  He raised his glass instantly, fumbled excitedly with the extension of the barrel and focused as quickly as his unsteady hands would allow. Whether caused by his heavy breathing from his climb up the hill or his excitement at the spectacle before him, he cursed his trembling and made to steady himself, resolving to hold his breath.

  Still, he gasped as he beheld the upper leach of the spanker and the flags punching to leeward of the lead frigate. He confirmed, yes, two flags. Again, he confirmed their order. Yes, the Stars and Stripes, flying above the Union Jack. Holy mother of God, he thought. He was not dreaming. This was real. He was beholding a prize of the United States.

  He turned his glass to the second frigate, now making her way through her stays and within an instant, her flag too punched out to leeward from the end of the gaff, the flag halyard just then slipping off the leach of her spanker and making itself free to the breeze. Again, the Stars and Stripes.

  A thought darkened his joy. Was this a trick? Were these British vessels flying false colours, standing into the inner harbor so to bombard the town? But as he studied the lines of the second frigate, he confirmed her familiarity to his seasoned eyes, capable of picking up subtle differences; a figurehead, the paint scheme employed along the badge of a great cabin, the rake of a bowsprit and jibboom, the particulars of a quarterdeck and wheel. There was no mistake; the second ship was the

  U.S.S. United States, frigate, 44 guns.

  The last he knew, Perry recalled, Stephen Decatur was in command of United States. And here was Decatur, and here was he; Decatur a Post Captain, bringing in a prize from the quarterdeck of his own frigate and Perry, a Master Commandant, with no action, no victories, no prizes and standing not even upon a deck, not even of his tiny gunboat, but at the crest of a hill, watching it all from the hard through a glass that he would rather be wet with spray.

  The thought nearly clouded his joy, but with a will, he fought it into the recesses of his profound self doubt. But the thought also prompted his movement. He began to jog down the hill, at a clip the snow covered path and then cobbles would allow, a pace that was all too slow. He ran into his home, called excitedly to Elizabeth and hurriedly shifted from his clothes into his full dress uniform and boatcloak. There were compliments to extend, tales to gather, favors to beg.

  Perry hurried directly to the wharves. Two guns reported with supreme authority, one from each of the visiting goliaths and someone had begun to peel the Trinity Church bell as the smoke from the salutes drifted quickly to the south. Perry’s First, Mr. Goodman, had spent the night aboard one of the gunboats, tied to Bannister’s Wharf and was walking briskly toward Perry. Perry called out from several yar
ds between them, “Quick as thought, Mr. Goodman, reply to those salutes. Next, assign some hands to my gig and get this gunboat and the number 4 and 5 boats underway as soon as possible.”

  Goodman nodded, called out to the gunners to fire both bow swivels, each just four pounds, replying in good faith but feebly to what had been a salute from 24 pounders. After calling for some hands to man Perry’s gig, admonishing two sailors for their all too slovenly, early morning appearance on deck, Goodman began to direct a question to Perry, but was waived off, “Then, Mr. Goodman, I want all three boats to stand out into the bay such that you can sail up if necessary and close the gap into the inner harbor. There may be enemy closing in chase.”

  The frigates made anchor in the inner harbor, paid off and were lying to their cables, to a dying nor’easter. Topmen were aloft, furling sails, making all taught and pretty while alow, boats were in process of being swayed out and made ready. Perry stepped into his gig and called out to Goodman, “I will visit Captain Decatur, attend to his needs and you will be in command of the three boats as I have directed until further notice. Watch for my signals should I get underway.”

  “Aye, Sir. Understood.” If it was one thing Goodman loved about this otherwise droll mission, it was the enthusiasm and decisiveness of his superior.

  Perry gathered his thoughts as he took to the sternsheets of the gig. He doubted very much if any enemy were nearby or certainly Decatur would never have anchored. But impressions were important and he would, by God, have his command ready to alert and assist. Perry was excited, both to witness the event and to be the first officer over the side to offer his congratulations. But he also was sober enough to realize there may be opportunity with this prize. As he was rowed out to the United States, lying to the south and further west than the prize, a more northerly gust blew the transom of the prize to an angle from which his quick and now steady focus with his glass made out her identity. Macedonian.

  The gig drew smartly alongside United States and Perry hauled himself up and stood at the entry port, acknowledged and welcomed politely by a second lieutenant. Perry looked about, amazed at the order amid so much activity and announced, “Master Commandant Perry, in command of the squadron of gunboats, for Captain Decatur.”

  The second lieutenant was about to reply, when the First approached from the companionway and offered, “Captain Decatur is engaged with the ship’s books and logs. I will direct your boats in accordance with our needs, Lieutenant.”

  At that moment, Perry would not be denied nor disrespected. He turned his left shoulder to the First Lieutenant, who had not even the courtesy to introduce himself—his shoulder with the epaulette confirming his rank as a captain, even if not Post. His voice lowered, his eyes flashed and he retorted, “That would be Captain Perry, to you, Lieutenant. And I will consult with Captain Decatur as to my command in my home waters.” Neither of the United States’ lieutenants quite knew what to make of this Master Commandant, certainly with the demeanor of command well within his grasp, if not a sizeable ship.

  “Very well”, the First smirked to his subordinate, “Announce ‘Captain’ Perry, if you please,” directing his subordinate to a task he suggested was beneath him.

  “Perry! Welcome aboard!” sounded a voice from behind them all.

  Perry turned, smiled and exclaimed, “Captain Decatur, congratulations, Sir!” Captain Decatur approached, handed a ship’s book over to his First, grasped Perry’s shoulder and recalled, “It has been some years. Please, come below.”

  As Perry entered the great cabin, marveling at the spaciousness and luxury as compared to his ‘flagship’ gunboat, he assured, “Captain, my six gunboats are at your disposal. I have dispatched three of them just now to the outer harbor to warn of any approaching enemy and the other three should be making their way down from Kingston, expected by noon.”

  “Very good, Perry, and I appreciate your offer.” Captain Decatur sat at his table, motioned away his clerk and continued, “I saw no sail on the horizon, however, when we entered the harbor and I expect no trouble. Please, sit.”

  Decatur, known to Perry as only an acquaintance, was reputed to have an ego, and if anytime a captain wished to recount his voyage, it was when shepherding a prize. He was entitled, thought Perry. “Sir,” begged Perry, “may I trouble you for your account?” Perry’s excitement was precisely what Decatur craved after months at sea.

  “As you may know, we had been cruising for some months and were, in late October, west of Madeira. Do you know of Macedonian?”

  Perry shook his head. Decatur continued, “She was just launched in 1810, built of stout English oak out of Woolwich Dockyards and carries a dozen more guns then her rating of 38. Apparently she had just accompanied a rich East Indiamen and was freed of her charge just days before we met her, on 25 October. She was commanded by Captain Carden; do you know of him?”

  Perry thought, then shook his head, “No, Sir, I think not…”

  “Ironically,” Decatur chuckled, “I was his dinner host in Norfolk this past January when he was ordered to exchange some notes for specie and had planned to make sail for England before being found out. Well, he was none too discreet and his very mission was compromised!”

  Perry was amazed at the coincidence and queried, “Did you know it was Carden when you spotted Macedonian?”

  Decatur leaned back, relaxing and seeming to settle in for a chat. He motioned to the decanters and upon Perry’s nod, called to his clerk for two glasses. “Well, I was not certain he was still in command, you see, but he held the weather gauge and protected it above all else, so I really had little time or reason to contemplate personalities.”

  Perry took a glass of wine, nodded assuredly, recalling his days aboard the frigate General Greene before the war. The weather gauge, meaning from the direction the wind blew, was the preferred position from which to commence a single ship action and Perry marveled at Decatur’s audacity to ignore such advantage held by none other than a well found frigate of the Royal Navy.

  Decatur continued, raising his voice as crew above the skylights made to brail the spanker, “While to leeward, we made the most of our long guns and we fired with annoying accuracy,” he smiled proudly. “We peppered Macedonian’s hull for some hours before finally, while always running to the lee and refusing to close, we so damaged her rig as to cause her the most profound loss of maneuverability. Finally, almost as though he had not noticed, Carden found himself still holding the weather gauge, to be sure, but with few spars upon which to carry any sail. We raked his stern, then stood off to make the point that he had few options but to contemplate our return.”

  “United States looks little damaged!” flattered Perry.

  Decatur looked about, gestured with his hands the general order of his ship, “Indeed, we took little fire, comparatively.” He sighed, “Still, we regret our losses; seven dead, five wounded.”

  Both men sobered and Perry asked, “And the Macedonian?”

  “A full one third of her crew of 380 in both killed and wounded. Forty one dead. With her essentially dismasted and unable to prevent our circling, Carden struck.” Decatur shook his head and then added, almost softly, “I feel rather sorry for the chap. Can you imagine? To be the first English Captain of this conflict to have surrendered a ship yet in such condition to so allow the enemy a prize? Indeed, in more than 20 years of near continual naval warfare, Carden’s First Lieutenant confessed to me afterward that only one English ship had ever struck to the French!” Both Captains squirmed. It would not go easy on Carden, they were certain.

  Perry recalled that Decatur knew first hand the proceedings of a Court Martial. He served for the Court Martial of Captain James Barron, in 1807 after the Leopard, Chesapeake incident that brought shame upon the United States Navy and both nations closer to war. Perry also recalled and thought perhaps Decatur would appreciate: “Captain, your feat does you proud, following in the wake of John Paul Jones!”

  Decatur looked surprised
and Perry continued, “Not since Jones took the Serapis with Bonhomme Richard during the Revolution has the United States taken such a prize from the Royal Navy. Decatur looked humbled and appreciated Perry’s observation.

  Perry hinted, “Do you expect the Navy will buy Macedonian into service?” The money paid to Decatur and his entire crew would amount to a fortune in comparison with regular naval pay.

  Decatur was rather insistent, “I cannot imagine any other result, certainly, yes!” He banged his near empty glass on his desk and emphasized, “We have no great surplus of well built warships! Who can dispute we will likely need many more before standing any real chance in this conflict?”

  “I only hope the Navy remembers its surplus Captains,” mused Perry softly.

  The comment was not lost on Decatur, who added, “Perry, you have the family name and experience and all I can imagine is that it must happen soon.”

  Perry nearly blushed and regretted his suggestion, “Thank you, Captain, for your kind remarks but I feel you struck home with your first shot—we simply have too few ships among so many good men.” Perry thought it a good time to stand, raise his glass and offer, “I offer you joy, Sir, and here’s a health to you and to more of the same!”

  Decatur stood, smiled and offered, “Here’s to long guns,” and then emphasized, “and to men who lay them well!” The lesson was not lost on Perry. Here indeed. They swallowed their last and being assured that the frigates had no immediate need of his gunboats, Perry made his exit and strolled into the waist of the ship.

  As Perry made his way to the port, he overheard a young lad who along with several others was gathered on deck awaiting a boat to be launched speaking to one of the crew of his gig. The lad, who had a thick Cockney accent, was recalling, “I tell you, grapeshot and canister were pouring through our portholes like leaden hail; the large shot came against the ship’s side, shaking her to the very keel, or I’m not Samuel Leech!”