by James Spurr
Captain Lambert offered a courtesy to Captain Marshall, “Sir, while you have no official duties this day, I thank you for your earlier offer to assist in any manner. Pray, what are your thoughts?”
The gesture was appreciated and Captain Marshall, a gentleman of less experience, replied, “You do us proud, Sir. I perceive we are ready and with your skillful protection of the weather gauge, this American has few options.”
Captain Lambert appreciated the compliment in front of the Lieutenant General Hislop and suggested, “Perhaps Lieutenant Chads would appreciate your assistance with the gun crews?”
“Certainly, Sir,” Lieutenant Chads confirmed. “I shall take the foredeck guns if Captain Marshall would be so good as to lend his attention to the quarterdeck.”
As Captain Marshall made his appreciation, Captain Lambert interjected, “Let us reverse that, if you please. I suspect we will be maneuvering this day and, Lieutenant Chads, with your familiarity with our people, you will be more valuable to me on the quarterdeck.”
Both officers quickly assented and Captain Lambert advised, “General Hislop, Sir, you are too valuable a cargo to lose to a musket ball. I would be pleased were you to take precautions assuring your delivery in the Indies. I will not order you below, merely encourage it for the sake of our nation and intending no dishonor.”
The General understood, “Thank you, Captain, for allowing me discretion. I will use caution, but will assist your marines any way I can.”
Lieutenant Chads called out, interrupting, and indicated by gesture, “Sir, our American is tacking!”
Captain Lambert wryly commented, appreciated by his guests, “Gentlemen, it appears our American has come to conclude we now have sufficient room to greet one another appropriately.”
More than an hour after the stranger hoisted the Union Jack, Captain Bainbridge tacked to stand for his opponent and ordered the royals stuck and the courses clewed up; thus shortening sail for the impending fight. The reduction in sail slowed Constitution, but allowed for tighter maneuvering and raised much of the lowest sail cloth from close to the deck and the fire and sparks which would soon spew from her guns.
Convention suggested that Captain Lambert would soon follow suit. Captain Bainbridge observed through his glass his opponent assuming the same configuration in sail plan, with the same skill and obvious seamanship displayed all through the morning.
Trove was aloft, on the windward, or larboard, mizzen topsail yard. The cross-trees were rather clumsily manned by a marine with whom he had to contend but he managed to climb over and around him without causing the marine to drop his musket upon the officers below. Trove had a fine view but wished he were at the arm of a longer yard. He was dismayed that his stomach felt queer, his knees a bit weak. Should he vomit, he preferred to be well out over the side of the ship.
James was at his gun, which he regretted was to starboard and thus was not on the side of Constitution that would first engage. Still, the sulfur waft of slow match reminded him for the first time in some months of U.S.S. Chesapeake and the horror of taking those broadsides from H.M.S. Leopard, now five years ago. One of his gun crew, Jesse Williams, an African, asked, “Mr. Lee, you alright?”
James was staring off at nothing in particular. He felt clammy and he noted his tanned arms and hands looked pale. He could only imagine his face. How he wished the fighting would begin. The waiting was near torture. He wondered if he had what it took to kill. He worried that he lacked what it took to die, here among so many brave comrades, with no dishonor.
He replied to his steady African, “Make no mistake, Jesse, we shall give it to them, fast and sure, you and I.” James smiled and so did the rest of the crew, reassured by his tone, if not his coloring.
Suddenly Mr. Parker was walking swiftly down the larboard side authorizing gun captains, “Fire on the uproll, lads.” Before he was at the main mast, as the stern rode up a quartering wave, the guns on the quarterdeck were firing and the broadside rolled down the deck from stern to bow, bringing the thunder, the smoke, the crash of recoil and calls for reloading to each of those, the many, whose stomachs and nerves needed fortification. The smoke drifted back across the deck, which together with the heel of the ship herself, obscured James’ attempt to assess the damage. Before the last gun was fired, on the foredeck, however, James observed the Captain’s scowl, as he stared across the water with his glass. He felt his disappointment.
Captain Bainbridge walked to the forward edge of the quarterdeck and met Mr. Parker. Parker was calling above the din of the clattering blocks of gun tackles, worming, sponging, calls for powder, shot, and admonishments from gun captains to quicken the pace, all while trying to calm the inexperienced. “Mr. Parker, that will not serve,” Bainbridge told him. “We did little damage!”
Mr. Parker observed respectfully, “The range was extreme, Captain.”
“After this next, switch to bar and chain to larboard. Inform the starboard guns to double shot.”
James, overhearing, nodded and waited for the word while carefully selecting another ball from the rack and readying it to add to the round shot already rammed home. His guns would be used at closer range and the Captain desired to send twice the normal weight of metal into their opponent. His larboard counterparts would switch to bars of iron connected with a length of chain which would spin through the air and sever any rigging it encountered.
Before James could set about with his crew to double shot his gun, he heard, then felt, their enemy’s wrath: the whooshing and scream of balls parting air just before striking targets, the horrendous noise of a simultaneous broadside, a huge shuddering of the ship at the smashing of spars and the crushing of bones accompanied by the screams of men. Splinters flew, one coming to pierce a gun crew in the adjacent station. James could not for some seconds take his eyes off bright red blood, now on the deck and darkening quickly in the heat.
Captain Bainbridge looked concerned as he swept the glass forward in a gradual arc, which James knew could only mean their opponent was preparing to rake them from the bow. The Captain called for Mr. Parker, “Set courses and royals,” then raising his tone, “quick as thought now. Helm hard over to starboard, Mr. Barlow, prepare to wear; bear off, on the instant!” The move was unusual, one that would lead to wearing the ship in close proximity to the enemy. Constitution needed more speed through the water and Captain Bainbridge was risking fire and ruination to get it. James glanced at Trove, as busy as he had ever seen him as he could not have been expecting to be setting sail in the midst of battle.
But all hands were to stations and Constitution turned smartly within seconds aided by the extra canvas hurriedly set. Captain Bainbridge, with his unorthodox maneuver, seemed to ward off disaster and forced a second exchange of broadsides instead of suffering one without reply.
Mr. Parker, this time, did not wait for orders but called for the starboard guns, “Aim for her spars, lads. Fire as you bear!” Again, Constitution opted for a staggered broadside, less impressive perhaps for its violence, but if well aimed, more effective and damaging to the enemy. James sighted down the barrel, took his time, waited until the relative angles of his gun aligned with the enemy’s mainmast and called “Fire!” The linstock and slow match lowered to the vent hole. The gun roared, belched and jumped back, nearly crushing his cheekbone much too close to the gun while attempting to follow the double shot home.
James saw the shot fly through the air, black upon blue in a predictable arc. He laughed, shouted, waved his arm, hat in hand and slapped Jesse on his bare back, “Two balls right in the foremast, boys! Two more and this fight is over!” He heard more exclamations down along the larboard guns before he was knocked from his feet.
James did not recall even hearing the English fire a second broadside.
But the balls hit hard, slamming into the bulwarks with splinters sent flying. The fact that James was instantly knocked to the deck might have saved his life, but it took him some seconds to realize where pre
cisely the destruction occurred to have leveled him from the concussion alone.
James raised his head and was amazed to see the double wheel of Constitution shot clear away, recognizing various pieces shattered and scattered over the quarterdeck. One of the men at the wheel was severed and made a horrendous mess too near to him to for him to remain lying in place. As the flowing blood spread, James sat and saw Captain Bainbridge addressing him, but could not at first hear his words. Time seemed to slow, then his hearing returned and he understood he was being asked to descend below and assist in steering the ship. “Take a good man with you, lad, and report to Mr. Barlow. Not a moment to lose!”
Constitution, James could tell, was turning slowly, caused solely by the force of the wind on the sails which as yet had not have been set or trimmed to counteract the absence of any pressure upon the rudder. Mr. Parker was shouting commands to brace round the yards to straighten her course, but it would take some time with some of the rigging damaged, some of the hands injured, and soon the enemy would notice she was unmanageable. Like a drunken man staggering about in a street fight, despite all obvious strength, Constitution was vulnerable and all but beaten.
James climbed to his knees, nodding his understanding. Captain Bainbridge made to assist in reestablishing order upon the quarterdeck. James recalled he was told to take another good man. Even before taking his feet, while afraid his balance would fail him, he called, “Jesse, I need you! Come help me!”
The Bosun was at that moment sending men aloft, not allowing them to descend, but just as he went to admonish Jesse who had turned aside at James’ call, the Bosun caught Captain Bainbridge’s eye, also noticing the impassioned plea of James to a shipmate and nodded to the Bosun. The marine stepped aside and Jesse joined James. Together they made their way amid fire and smoke, splinters and cries, to the darkness below into chaos, where one might expect to find hell.
Calls were coming down directly from a hole in the deck where damage had enlarged that opening where the steering ropes led to the mechanical advantage used to turn the rudder. Hands were rigging triple blocks and reeving lines. Men, aided by mechanical advantage, were stationed to haul steering ropes wound between the wheels in the hopes of replacing what strain had been previously taken by the drum on deck. After a few clumsy attempts, the men got their bearings and essentially were told when to haul, starboard or larboard and by how many feet they must advance together. The action was reversed and for a moment seemed counterintuitive for those used to steering with a wheel, for below decks they were essentially now steering with a tiller. To turn to starboard they quickly realized the men stationed to larboard had to haul their line while the men to starboard eased.
Constitution narrowly avoided being raked yet a second time. Trove was aloft and when not trying to repair sliced rigging, was constantly taking in and setting more sail to adjust to the fact that their opponent was faster. He watched the battle when he could, which was not as often as his vantage point would suggest as possible. He did notice with considerable hope the loss of several spars from their enemy’s sail plan, mostly forward, thus effecting her maneuvering. First the jibboom, then the foremast dragged over the side causing the English frigate to lose way and maneuverability.
Constitution’s guns kept firing despite the damage she suffered. Her wounds were significant but not debilitating. Her main topmast snapped and broke away to larboard and Trove hung on tight for whatever standing rigging he hoped might survive the cascade of spars, yards, blocks, canvas and rigging. He heard the cry of one of his shipmates as he fell from the main topmast rigging collapsing underneath him and crashed to the deck.
The accuracy of Constitution’s gunnery, however, was beginning to tell. While the enemy still had the weather gauge, she appeared to be losing her ability to maneuver under sail. Trove descended from the mizzen shrouds, was ordered by the bosun into the main top to help repair the damage and on his way along the deck, was assured that his friend, James, was below. Trove misunderstood and took it to mean James was wounded, but then was told that James was steering the ship. Trove scrambled aloft in the main shrouds, proud of his friend but disappointed James was missing such a sight.
The work below, attended by James, was hot, frantic, hard and frightening. As the wounded were sent below, the screams rose from the surgeon’s table even over the noise of the heavy guns. The lower decks filled with acrid smoke and barefoot men began to slip on the scattered sand flung upon well worn deck planks, with occasional wet pools. As a matter of grotesque irony, the blood of the dying, mixed with the sand, assisted the footing and balance of the living.
Trove was laying out to starboard to reeve a sliced clewline in the topsail, A marine in the main top called out that the enemy Captain was down, wounded, on the deck. While the Marine did not claim credit, Trove noticed his musket barrel was still smoking from a recent shot.
Captain Bainbridge walked the quarter deck, Mr. Parker the waist. They supervised the larboard gunners, alternating between grape shot and chain and bar. The grape kept potential boarding parties at bay, the chain and bar wreaked havoc amid the rigging, essentially keeping the English frigate from maneuvering so close to Constitution so to board.
Trove could sense, even from aloft, that the battle was reaching a new height. The enemy frigate was close and the angle from which the marines were aiming at the enemy crew grew ever lower. Broadsides were indistinct, but firing was still fierce. Trove wondered if Constitution was actually firing faster and more frequently, or was that an illusion given his fevered hopes, if not inner fears? Trove slid out along the top of the main t’gallant yard, reeving another footrope between the eyelets in the stirrups, when suddenly the great guns stopped firing and even small arms faded to a sputter.
Trove finished his task as he was in much too precarious a position to break his concentration, then tested his work with his own weight and beheld the situation below. Constitution was sailing to windward, finally having won the weather gauge. The English frigate was dismasted, a floating hulk of wreckage; spars, canvas, rigging having cascaded over and off the deck in a tangled mess that would have made even moving about, let alone fighting effectively, a major effort.
James, below, also noticed the quiet, but was now receiving regular reports from the quarterdeck in the relative silence. The men were relieved, no, overjoyed and thankful to the point of prayer, that Constitution could spare the luxury to stand off, her opponent incapable of significant movement or aggression.
Captain Bainbridge studied his enemy as a wounded beast. At such a time, she may be the most desperate and, hence, the most dangerous. At first, he spied no colours and wondered if she had struck. Parker, blood dripping from a splinter wound above his left ear, joined him on the quarterdeck and pointed to the Union Jack now nailed, it appeared, from the stump of the mizzen mast.
“Very well,” Captain Bainbridge, resolved. “We shall take our time, make our repairs, aid the men and return to our foe upon our terms.” For the next glass and more, all came to the aid of their wounded ship and to each other. Water was distributed, wounds were wrapped, line and rigging repaired, guns cleaned, tended and systems made certain. Some of the men below deck at the steering ropes were rotated with others, less exhausted, and James and Jesse, having been there from the first, were allowed to return to their gun crew.
Jesse teased his gun crew, “My, my, lookee here! You manage a shot without us?”
A rammer from Baltimore replied, “Have no fear, our English cousins may not have had enough of us, even yet.”
“We did well,” boasted the youngest of the crew, just fifteen, “to make our gun captain proud!”
The oldest of them, on the other hand, conceded, “A little slower, granted, but we fired so true I am sure our work warrants a dram or more!”
“No doubt,” allowed James, nodding his head in affirmation. He was mightily relieved they were all as yet alive and only two of them were sporting bandages with little blood weepi
ng through.
Captain Bainbridge called out loudly to the entire Ship’s Company, a rare occasion, but effective in marking a special moment, “Alright lads, let’s see if they have anything left! You have fought well. We shall return to the fight, proud and strong!”
A cheer went up from the waist, rolled to the foredeck and then came up from the hatchways and open gunports from below, where quite likely not one of the men even heard the Captain’s praise. The helm was put down and Constitution closed the short distance between the combatants, staying at such an angle as to assure that she could rake the English frigate and keep away from what English guns were yet serviceable.
Constitution made her slow turn, bringing her starboard guns to bear across the stricken bow of the English frigate. The enemy ship’s jibbom was shot away, stays sliced, spars fallen and rigging all ahew. Captain Bainbridge hesitated, looked to Mr. Parker. James saw in his eyes a plea for someone to tell him that which he much preferred to hear than that which must surely comprise his next predictable order.
Mr. Chads, now in command of H.M.S. Java in her most desperate moment and with few options remaining, looked over to Captain Marshall. It was an awkward moment. Both men knew as Constitution made her turn they could well be just moments from their deaths along with so many of the men over whom Mr. Chads, for no longer than a single glass had assumed complete responsibility.
The first Lieutenant looked for some confirmation in the eyes of Captain Marshall, albeit he was a Captain only by rank, lacking an appointment to command Java. If he struck, Chads wondered, would Captain Marshall forever condemn him? There was no time to confer. The expression worn by Captain Marshall, in so much as Chads could tell through the smoke and the blood and the grime of a hard fight, now some hours old, was one of shock, not criticism. Suddenly Chads knew precisely what Captain Lambert would do were he not lying below, perhaps at that very moment growing gradually more cold.