by James Spurr
Chads turned to those men nearest the stump of the mizzen and ordered, “Cut it down. Get it down, now!” His words were filled with dismay and disgust, but he said them emphatically and with some urgency.
Mr. Parker half smiled, not with delight but with the thanks one offered when relieved, having been most assuredly delivered by grace. He cried to Captain Bainbridge, “Sir, their colors are cut down!”
Captain Bainbridge felt the same relief to be sure and would be forever grateful for the good sense and humanity of whomever now commanded the wreck of her former majesty’s ship. “Mr. Parker, go over in our boat and take command. We shall stand by for your signal. Make a damage assessment and bring over her senior officers.”
Mr. Parker nodded, blankly, like a man in a dream. Others began to relax just a bit, stand more at ease, look round to each other and Mr. Parker walked to Captain Bainbridge, smiled broadly, and offered, “Sir, my congratulations and gratitude! Well, done!”
A cheer rose among the Ship’s Company, “Huzza! Huzza!” Captain Bainbridge allowed this small celebration and smiled humbly. They deserve that and more, he thought, and while some may not know, none would sleep for at least several watches to come.
Trove found James and Jesse by their gun and together they took the deck from exhaustion, breathed deep and thanked God they were alive. Trove thought about how, as the year came to a close, he had gone from a frontier waterman on the run to a United States Navy topman, having vanquished the pride of the most powerful navy on earth. Jesse pondered, from the stories told him by James, the odd, but peaceful image of an inland sea filled with ‘sweetwater’. James struggled with why, if he had that day fought with honor, his father, just months before and facing far fewer of the same foe, had fled.
All men, American and British, worked more fervently through the evening, night and next day than perhaps at any time during the five hour battle. Pumps were constantly returning the invading sea water back to the South Atlantic, trying to keep the American prize afloat. Captain Bainbridge knew his nation could well use another frigate and he would have dearly loved to divide the prize money among his officers and throughout the crew. But it was not to be.
The following day, the eve of the new year, after prayers for the dead, attention to the wounded and while holes were plugged, rigging spliced, canvas rents patched and with hundreds of tasks yet before them, hope for Java was lost. She was fired and both American victors and British captives watched in fascination the sinking of a surrendered English frigate. Less than forty hours before Java had been well found and well armed, with a seasoned captain, a well trained crew, and represented the best the Royal Navy had to offer.
Before she was fired, however, Java’s perfectly intact ship’s wheel was removed, installed and made entirely serviceable on the quarterdeck of
U.S.S. Constitution.
Lieutenant Chads, having been extended every courtesy, wrote to the Admiralty, hardly knowing how to form the words from the quill.
Decr 31st 1812
To John W. Croker, Esquire
Secretary
Admiralty
Sir, It is with deep regret that I write you for the information of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty that His Majesty’s ship Java is no more, after sustaining an action of the 29th Inst for several hours with the American frigate Constitution which resulted in the capture and ultimate destruction of His Majesty’s ship. Captain Lambert being dangerously wounded in the height of the Action, the melancholy task of writing the detail devolves on me.
Mr. Chads continued his report for some time but then put down his quill. He wondered, together with more than 300 ‘guests’ now aboard Constitution and, eventually, with many others throughout the Royal Navy and across the English empire, what could possibly have caused the world to upend?
Chapter Eleven
Lieutenant James Fleet was at last given an assignment that signaled to all at the Amherstberg naval yard and Fort Malden his true worth to the Crown. The fact that Dunlap was a witness to the event, brought him great joy.
Master Commandant Hall acted on the advice Lieutenant Dunlap offered late the previous year. Now, in March of 1813, with the navigable season drawing near, supplies were scarce and American plans at Presque Isle to mount a challenge for the dominance of Lake Erie were well known to all on the inland seas. Soon ice yielding to open water would, like a stage curtain rising, allow the drama to unfold.
Hall stood from his desk chair, walked round the desk and sat on the front corner closest to Fleet. He paused. The fire crackled. A log hissed with steam from recent moisture. The room was otherwise absolutely silent, the yard outside still in a state of semi-hibernation. Hall looked to Fleet and spoke with emphasis, “This recent spell of warmer weather has provided us an opportunity. The ice has receded and some water surrounds the remaining floes. Mr. Fleet, we need ship building materials and supplies badly. You have most recently been to Fort Erie and, from what I understand, its commander merely awaits a means to transport fastenings, ironwork, and all that is too heavy and bulky to have sent by sled these past weeks. The critical items for building ships must be brought by ship.”
Dunlap sat silently and looked out at the snow flurries. Light squalls had blown through all day, but Hall was correct. The temperature these past several days hinted at spring, with a narrow range between highs and lows, all slightly above freezing. He stared out the window and Fleet took Dunlap’s disinterest as depression. He half smiled and assured Hall, “Salina is perfect for the task; a merchantman with a large hold. I am not unfamiliar with her, Sir, as Lieutenant Dunlap commanded her last August as we sailed down from Mackinaw.”
Fleet purposefully worked that fact into the conversation. It implied Fleet had been given Dunlap’s command and by all accounts, Dunlap could do nothing about it. Had he been more observant, Fleet should have thought it very odd that Dunlap was not, apparently, so much as registering an objection.
But Fleet could not goad Dunlap; not this day. Dunlap was much too busy making a mental list of how he would best utilize this day and all of those in the next fortnight organizing yard personnel, crew and scarce assets. Hall added, “Mr. Fleet, Salina is yours and you shall depart tomorrow. You know the commander at Fort Erie, you know Dover Mills as a port of refuge along the way. Be careful of the floes and bring us those materials. The Americans seem to have the advantage in terms of supply routes and local knowledge.”
Fleet recalled the documents he searched for in vain last summer, thought to have been drawn by an American merchantman, Captain William Lee, but he said nothing in reply. Rather, Fleet merely affirmed, “Aye, Sir,” as a prelude to changing the subject. “Is Mr. Dunlap available to serve as my First?” Fleet would relish being senior to his rival.
Hall was dismissive. “The Provincial Marine will supply all of your crew. We expect no interaction with the enemy who to our knowledge are not yet on the Lake.”
Dunlap just looked at Fleet with an incredulous expression, as if to say the arrangement Fleet suggested would never happen again; not after the loss of General Hope in ’05.
Fleet caught Dunlap’s expression, was uncomfortable with Hall’s quick rejection of his suggestion, and suddenly a queasy feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. “Captain Hall, will Mr. Dunlap be otherwise engaged?”
“Lieutenant, it is not my practice to explain myself to you.” Dunlap looked out the window once again. Hall seemed agitated, almost offended at Fleet’s impertinence. He strode to the fire, grabbed a poker like a sword and rather than wield it at his troublesome officer instead attacked the stack of logs, stirring sparks to match his mood. “But as you insist on provoking me, Mr. Dunlap will be engaged commissioning his new command, General Hunter. We expect open water within three weeks and we will be asserting our authority and advantage from the first days possible.”
Fleet was crushed. He had hoped for the General Hunter. His mission looked like an errand by contrast, however important f
or future building. He gathered all of his discipline to hide his disappointment, hoping to deprive Hall and Dunlap of any satisfaction. But he involuntarily flushed and hoped they did not notice in the early evening, quickly dimming light.
Fleet managed to recover and ask, “And Little Belt?”
Hall confirmed, “She is yours. The Provincial Marine will provide crew for you this season and Mr. Dunlap will supervise some initial tasks, such as removing her cover so that you will soon be ready upon your return with Salina.”
Fleet did not know which was worse; being absent from commissioning or having Dunlap attend to such initial tasks with respect to his sloop, Little Belt. He heard vaguely Hall confirm, “That is all. Mr. Dunlap, another moment, if you please.”
Fleet stood and consciously tried to cover the fact that he was, at best, staggering out from Hall’s office, struggling to minimize the impact of the news. He wandered into the early evening, alone, across the naval yard. He was bitter, resentful and missing Abigail, who his pride told him each day he should spurn. Fleet gave no thought to the importance of his mission on the eve of his departure. He was Royal Navy; his father, whom he detested, had nonetheless achieved the rank of Admiral and he was well above and beyond a mere errand for yard carpenters. He turned, once again, to the comfort for which he had become known among his peers.
Salina would not depart on the ‘morrow as early as her crew was prepared.
The voyage itself was a bit tricky. The winds shifted the floes and the ice islands gave little warning as by shoaling of their approach or proximity. The lead line and chart was of little use, as the chief danger was entirely mobile and largely unpredictable. Sail had to be set with caution, not merely for course and speed.
Salina crawled along the northern shore near the same route Trove had taken in Sarah some months before. Northerly winds kept the floes off shore, but the north winds were laden with cold Canadian air which prompted a resurgence of ice. The Provincial Marine Sailing Master, Mr. O’Connell, suffered Lieutenant Fleet’s arrogance better than most, and with a moderate north wind and partly cloudy skies, dusk of the first day brought Salina just north of the western islands.
The moon was waxing though, but a quarter, and Fleet had the good sense to listen to his Sailing Master, “Sir, sailing through the night is very risky.”
“The moon offers sufficient light. We can yet anchor when it sets.”
“Aye,” agreed O’Connell, “but some of the smaller ice, splintered from larger floes, lie just inches below the surface. We should navigate by hope?”
Lieutenant Fleet thought for some seconds, then confirmed to O’Connell’s relief, “Mr. O’Connell, we shall anchor in the lee of that island. Prepare tomorrow for an early departure.” Fleet was not persuaded by O’Connell’s reasons, but rather by his mention of ‘hope’. Fleet had already lost one ship, H.M. Schooner Hope, and knew that his career could little afford the loss of another.
The following day brought light wind from the west and temperatures well above freezing. The morning sun made sailing due east difficult, with the glare and reflection off of the open water hindering the lookouts searching for ice, but by noon, Salina set its outer jib and sailed Sou’east so to avoid and eventually round Long Point.
O’Connell did well avoiding the floes and steered so to keep way on Salina and the speed reasonably constant. Salina was gradually sailing more distant from the northern shore, perhaps as far as two leagues at one point, as Long Point peninsula loomed as a fine haze off the larboard bow. Salina sailed until after dark the second night, needing to reach the shallows so to anchor, precariously, off of what was well recognized as could become lee shore. But the wind remained light, the bottom offered good holding and the night passed quietly, with rest for all but the minimal anchor watch.
The third day brought a light wind from the south and so anxious was O’Connell to sail from the lee shore, he pressed Captain Fleet to allow a tack, following a course between the floes, just north of east.
At noon, O’Connell approached Fleet with caution, “Captain, look to the east. I see nothing but open water. Permission, Sir, to change course.”
Fleet did not look, as suggested, but merely replied, “Make it so.” Fleet went below, remaining in his cabin until Dover Mills loomed off the larboard bow.
As Salina sailed past the harbor of Dover Mills, Fleet grew silent and allowed O’Connell the deck. Fleet stood for hours it seemed along the rail aft of the tiller and stared back to shore. He stared through his long glass and convinced himself that he caught sight of Abilgail on the town dock at Dover Mills. He thought of his inheritance, recently inventoried by correspondence from Mr. Wellstone. The allowance for Abigail was also revealed and he wondered as to whether she had received her own letter and her reaction. He last spoke to her briefly on his return trip, overland, from Fort Erie, but her mother and Thomas were close by and there appeared little extra room in the home for another guest or much privacy between them.
At Fort Erie, Fleet paid his respects to the Commander, made a point to visit the gun crews yet harassing the American yard at Black Rock. He noted their progress, while slow, was steady and he was of the opinion the Americans were likely to try to make the open waters within the month. At dinner that evening, Fleet offered as much, with a typical lack of tact, sounding disappointed and somewhat critical.
The commander, Captain Alex Leonard, assured Fleet, “Our shots scatter the yard workers often enough, but the sheer amount of ammunition alone, were we to attempt to keep up the fire round the clock, would exhaust every magazine in the Northwest.” In an attempt to force Fleet on the defensive, Leonard observed, “If I were in the Royal Navy, I would worry far more about these American frigates! I trust you heard of the poor showing of our H.M.S. Java?”
Fleet angered quickly, but could not disagree. Rather, he repeated what was the common line heard at the yard in Amherstberg, “Sir, the American ‘frigates’ are much larger, heavier and better armed. Indeed, the term is misleading. Just wait until our ships of the line find what few they have launched. Then you will see a fair fight! Then you will see the superiority of the Royal Navy.”
Unexpectedly, Leonard, an army officer, replied with a far more intelligent point than those navy personnel in Amherstberg, “Perhaps. But when our ships of the line manage to find these American frigates, or however you prefer to classify them, will ours be able to catch theirs?”
Fleet considered the point and, having no answer, changed the subject. “Captain, ships of the line are not our concern. Shall I assume the hold of my schooner will be filled by morning?”
“Easily, Mr. Fleet.” Captain Leonard filled their glasses yet again with a credible brandy and added, “I have asked a few men to help your crew. I expect they are hard at work even now. When will you depart?”
“Early in the morning, as the wind allows.” The two soon came to the mutual conclusion, unstated, that they had little in common and allowed their subordinates at the table to carry most of the conversation well into the night. Fleet, as usual, found entertainment enough from the private stock of his host.
Fleet walked the perimeter of Fort Erie until late into the night, pretended to check on the trim of Salina, but the entire time he thought of Abigail. He resolved to weigh on the ‘morrow, bound for Dover Mills. As Captain of Salina, he could simply declare the need to take refuge. In reality, he needed to put the ghost of his father by the board. He needed to put what he viewed as both his father’s and Abigail’s betrayal of him well astern as his life unfolded. It could wait no longer.
Lieutenant Fleet rapped on the door and Abigail’s mother answered. She was surprised but polite enough, explaining, “Abigail is out walking our fields with Thomas. I am so grateful for his work about the farm.” Fleet held his tongue.
The late morning promised both sun and unusual warmth. Ice floes and open water were far from his mind as James walked up behind Abigail and Thomas, strolling leisurely and seeming
to enjoy the view of the harbor, having noticed the anchored schooner. Abigail was all in white, a cotton blouse, vest and full skirt, with her golden hair tucked loosely behind and above her neck. A white shawl provided some warmth for the early spring day and her golden hair, braided loosely behind her, contrasted perfectly with her white clothing and patches of snow spotting the light brown of the fields.
James called out, surprising Abigail and Thomas, just as she had surprised him the previous fall. James relied upon his station instantly and requested that Thomas return to the farm and leave he and “Miss Wheems” to talk.
Thomas found his tone offensive, his address to the widow Fleet disrespectful, but he reluctantly complied at the touch of Abigail’s hand upon his sleeve, “It is alright, Thomas. Please?”
Recovering, Abigail turned her undivided attention to this surprise visit, also somewhat unnerved by James’s reference to her by her maiden name. “James, it is wonderful to see you. Is that your ship in the harbor?”
“Yes. I am returning to Amherstberg from Fort Erie with critical materials for the war effort. But navigation is dangerous with ice yet on the Lakes and we took refuge this morning.” Abigail witnessed only clear skies and light winds, but asked no questions. She knew little of sailing, but her instincts as a woman were often quite enough when dealing with sailors.
“Well, it is nice of you to visit. I have been concerned for this past week since hearing from Lord Castlereagh by letter. He informs me of two additional defeats for the Royal Navy. Three frigates lost! And privateers, he cautions, stopping English packets and merchantmen over the entire North Atlantic; however will I get home? Indeed, he informs me that the Admiralty has issued strict instructions to our frigates to decline any engagement with these American vessels. Imagine! Sir Edgar would be mortified.”