One Sloop and Slow Match

by James Spurr

  Finally, O’Connell told the Bosun to wake Captain Fleet. O’Connell figured ‘an officer’ should be involved in all attempts to loose the entire ship, her cargo, and crew from ice, which by morning, would be hard, thick and holding them fast.

  After the shouting, blame, recriminations and useless suggestions, which constituted the only form of leadership offered by Captain Fleet, the sky cleared. With the loss of cloud cover as insulation, the temperature dropped further still. Crew donned all they had and borrowed from those off watch below, huddled ‘round the galley stove. All sail was taken in and men chopped ice from around the hull with pikes, boathooks, shovels and any other device as would allow them to reach the water line from the deck; channels, davits and bowsprit footropes suddenly deemed serviceable. The concern, of course, was to protect the hull as ice floes move in various directions whereas Salina’s wood planks, bent around frames, were designed to move in only one direction, forward from the bow. Everyone knew that would likely not happen anytime soon.

  By the third day, all provisions were spent, fuel for the fire was running short and while the winds were light from the north, the cold deepened each day with no sign of retreat. The ice was now thick enough to support the crew, walking entirely around Salina even as she was drifting with the ice rather quickly to the south. The bearings changed along Long Point serving as a point of reference and Salina drifted well beyond the ability to view the north shore, even from the cross trees.

  On the fourth day, Fleet emerged from the cabin just after dawn. After looking at O’Connell’s dead reckoning bearings off the end of Long Point, now discernable only from the cross trees off the starboard bow, he motioned for O’Connell to confer at the starboard rail. The hull now lay to the Northwest and Salina developed a pronounced list to larboard, adding a forlorn appearance to her uncertain prospects. Captain Fleet spoke quietly to O’Connell, “We shall abandon Salina. If we do not, this wind and current will likely take us to within sight of the enemy’s shore and I have no intention of falling into American hands. Have the men ready to depart within the hour.”

  O’Connell was stunned. Salina had suffered no damage and was full of valuable supplies for the war effort. He asked, “Walk where?”

  “Long Point, certainly,” Fleet retorted. “Twenty miles? We could be there tonight. Another twenty miles drifting on this hulk and we will be walking along the southern shore, under guard, wearing shackles! No, I will not risk these men.”

  O’Connell suspected Fleet meant he would not want to be captured. Days before, O’Connell had considered the convenience of Long Point remaining so close, should Salina come to grief. But under his care, she had not. Again, he objected, “But, Sir, how do you know there is solid ice to Long Point? Or that Salina will not be freed from ice as she drifts?”

  Fleet turned and his eyes flashed anger and the threat of naval discipline. Lowering his voice, combined with the tone of a threat, he replied, “Mr. O’Connell, the Royal Navy does not debate command prerogatives with Provincial Marine non commissioned personnel. Follow my orders or you will make the march in shackles!”

  O’Connell was both more stubborn and capable than most. He shot back, “Shall we fire the ship? At least destroy the cargo if we are not going to deliver it!”

  Fleet had not considered the fate of the ship and the supplies. He could not, however, admit that to the Sailing Master. He explained, “Mr. O’Connell, this ice will destroy the ship. She and all with her will be at the bottom within the next day, two at the most. If we fire the ship, it will only draw attention to our position and plight and make our homeward journey all the more uncertain. No, I will not have you risk these men for a ship and cargo nature has already condemned. Now, get to it!”

  In the deep cold, the work crews at Presque Isle continued with their building and outfitting. The cold slowed their progress, granted, and the gale did some damage which distracted from their more strategic goals, but under tarps and among stoves, the work proceeded nonetheless.

  Daniel Dobbins rushed to William’s door on a bright, still and cold morning, 29 March, 1813. He was excited and out of breath. He had hurried from his home on the bluff closer to town and held his long glass in his hand. “William, quick, come with me and bring your glass!” The Captains found a view clear from trees and hulls in progress and trained their optics upon a lone schooner, caught apparently in ice, perhaps seven miles Northwest of the humble naval yard. Daniel said nothing, while William studied her lines.

  “Why Daniel, can you imagine that?” William exclaimed, still focusing. After a few seconds, he asked, “Do you think a crew is aboard? We should… wait, no… it cannot… Daniel, my God… it is, indeed! Daniel, she is Salina!”

  Daniel starting laughing. “That is exactly what I thought, but not wanting to sound mad, waited for you to confirm! Can you believe it?”

  William heard shouting and activity and looked to Daniel both for direction and explanation.

  Noting William’s questioning glance about all the activity, Daniel explained, “Oh, I was certain enough to order her explored, even if not Salina. I have been studying her now for more than an hour and I have not seen a soul move about. I have ordered sleds and armed men. Quickly now, bring your boots and warm coat!”

  Later than morning, Daniel and William were going over every item in the cabin of Daniel’s former command. The surprise and glee shared by all had worn thin in the backbreaking work of off loading a cargo that was thought to be near a miracle. While the Americans were better supplied than their opponents, thanks largely to William’s maps and documents listing supply routes, this was still the frontier, in the midst of an arms race and such a cargo, including cordage, caulking, iron, and fastenings could speed the completion and launch of American ships by many weeks.

  William observed, “Whoever was in command, he removed all papers, logs, signals and flags.”

  Daniel joked, letting nothing ruin his day, “Ah, so long as he left his cargo, I am most appreciative!”

  William sat on the Captain’s bunk and heard a scroll crumple near the edge against the planks. He removed the paper and from what little light emerged from the stern window, studied a charcoal drawing. More curious still, William leaned much closer to the window and beheld a portrait sketch. The artist had created a fine rendering of a beautiful woman, with long, loosely braided hair, alluring eyes and small, but distinct lips which William was quite certain concealed an engaging smile. He admired the work, but then his expression changed from appreciation to cold resolve of their mission and the work that lie before them. William called, “Daniel, come, look at this.”

  Daniel regarded the drawing and smiled, given his jovial mood. But then William’s thumb moved down to the corner, where the artist had claimed credit for his work. In the lower left, both William and Daniel beheld the name and the return into their lives of the very man who had stolen their ships, the man that had until just days before been in command of Salina, the man who, to their knowledge, was still in command of Friends Good Will.

  The portrait of the beautiful woman, sketched by a man in love, was signed, Lieutenant James Fleet, Royal Navy, 1813.

  William observed, as cold as the cabin in which they shivered, “Salina is fast in the ice, but will soon break free.” His implication was clear.

  Daniel nodded, yielded to the point and sadly ordered, “As we cannot take her… I will not allow her to sail under the Union Jack yet again. Burn her.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Master Commandant Oliver Perry slid down from the horse. It was not his horse. He did not know its name. Its blanket was old, its saddle hard and ill fitting. The day was late, he was tired, and as he stepped into the mud of the ground he noted that still more dirt and grime from a long, tedious journey held little, if any, relevance.

  He looked over at the old French fort and blockhouse. Ever the military man, he briefly assessed its deteriorating condition even while appreciating that at its advanced age
it was serving yet again, for a new nation, in defending the mouth of the harbor.

  The harbor was formed by a narrow peninsula, like two thirds of a horseshoe, extending out from the shore and opening to the northeast; a peninsula the French had named on their charts, “Presque Isle,” or “almost an island.”

  Perry took a moment and viewed the beautiful late winter seascape comprised of the protective peninsula and the ice in all of its varieties, smooth and black, large chunks of blue, snow covered and golden, scattered thickly among open water of shimmering reflected sunlight, yet a full glass before sunset.

  Perry drew his attention again to that which had on this last day of his journey from Newport, Rhode Island, garnered his attention. While in the forests, hauling wagons through mud, hoping the wheels and axles would sustain the jarring from yet frozen ruts half as deep as the spokes were long, he suspected that someone had set fire to the town. Later, as they crossed the fields, walking and resting their mounts, he could tell the fire had not spread, but in fact diminished since early afternoon. As he approached the town, now in early evening, he could still detect a thin column of smoke from a fire obviously spent, and the high haze from a smoke cloud backlit by the sunset closing out a windless day, rising and gradually dissipating as from the ice itself.

  Perry was at Erie. There lay a ship burning offshore.

  His men, suspicious as the sailors they were, would take it as a bad omen, he feared. As the party half staggered through the streets, near spent, he knew he would have to soon find quarters for his band of eighteen and prepare the town for more arrivals, more than twice that number, he hoped, within days. Two blocks after making his way down the length of what appeared as the main street, running east and west along the waterfront, a black man stepped from the buildings, one of the few that had gathered, and addressed Perry with some curiosity but with evident respect, “S’cuse me, Sir, can I be of help?”

  Perry regarded the man, older than he but fit with the brightest eyes and a wide grin. “My good man, can you tell me where to find either Noah Brown or Daniel Dobbins?” Perry asked. His party stopped with the hope that many more offers of assistance would pour forth from the adjacent buildings, now just showing some lamps as dusk fell.

  “Don’t know about Mr. Brown, Sa’. Most likely at the yard. Master Dobbins, now, everyone in Erie knows t’ Cap’n.”

  Perry nodded and asked, “Where is this yard and do you know where Captain Dobbins might be found just now?”

  The wide grin grew broader, the wearer obviously pleased that he could answer the questions of the Navy man in a uniform as yet not seen in Erie, “I will take you to the yard. Cap’n Dobbins is still there, I’s sure, sorting through all the supplies. Why, what a wonderful day, ‘nough to launch a fleet delivered from on high!”

  Perry was unaware of any supplies that he had arranged to arrive at Erie before him, but let the comment pass. His men presented more urgent needs. The black man took the reins and walked just ahead and along side the horse, leading the rest of the party. Perry asked, “Do you know where some of these men could retire?”

  His guide turned, considered their number, assessed their condition and, while continuing his trek, pointed first to his left, upstairs, over a store, then next to a house down a side street, then to a stable for their horses and wagons. He offered suggestions for whom to ask and most importantly, upon whose authority Perry’s men would be billeted for the night, “You tell ‘em Ol’ Tiffany sent you, just for a night. Tell ‘em the Navy’s come to town!”

  As they walked westward, their numbers gradually diminishing as quickly as the remaining daylight, Perry spoke with his guide, “Are you Tiffany?”

  “Aye, Sir!” Tiffany chuckled and respectfully offered, “That’s what the Navy men say, is I right?”

  “Aye, Tiffany, quite correct”, Perry smiled. He liked this man; happy and sincere, enterprising and helpful. Perry continued, “Are you from Erie?”

  “Yessir, but I’s a free man!” Tiffany pointed out with emphasis. “I been working down at the yard, building the big ships all winter and we’s been waiting for you Navy men! And just think, you come to us the same day as the ghost ship and all those supplies.”

  Perry puzzled at the reference to ‘ghost ship’ but then recalled the column of smoke and asked, “Tiffany, what was that burning offshore today?”

  “Why Sir, that be the ghost ship. We knew her for years as Salina, used to be Cap’n Dobbin’s command. This morning, there she lie, not a soul on board, like a ghost sailed her and delivered her to us! Full of supplies, though. And we took ‘em all!” Tiffany chuckled, shaking his head as the yard approached.

  Perry dropped his voice and asked, thinking he might learn something of his new command, “Why was she burned?”

  Tiffany grew serious and admitted, “Don’t know, Sir. Cap’n Dobbins ordered it and we done it.”

  Perry adjudged there was time enough for still another question, “Tiffany, I am Master Commandant Oliver Perry, United States Navy. I take command of this yard and these ships tomorrow. If you are not otherwise bound, will you be my man?”

  As men came forth from the cluster of buildings along Cascade Creek, noting an officer with four others not otherwise placed for the night, Tiffany stared out over Lake Erie, knowing full well the importance of the contest approaching as the water cleared, “Sir, I be proud. You can count on Tiffany.”

  “Very good,” and as Perry slid off of his horse, he asked, “Tiffany, can you take our dunnage, care for the horses and find me after I speak with these gentleman?”

  Tiffany replied, “Yessir, Cap’n Perry!” and then, anticipating his next question, “Master Dobbins is the large man, with the hat.”

  Perry turned, impressed with Tiffany’s intuition. Tiffany beamed, full of pride at the promise of his contribution through what he knew would unfold as a summer as had never been seen in the town of Erie; the port of Presque Isle.

  The following morning, clear and warming quickly, Perry read his orders, delivered to him by Commodore Chauncey at their conference at Sackets Harbor, to Captain Dobbins in the presence of Captain Lee and Noah Brown as they enjoyed a hardy breakfast, “You will proceed immediately to Presqu’ Isle upon Lake Erie and assume the command of that place.” Of the vessels in progress, Chauncey was clear, “These vessels are to be completed… by Mr. Brown in the best manner and in the shortest time possible.”

  Noah Brown, a well respected builder from New York who as a result of the British blockade of American harbors along the eastern seaboard turned westward for commissions, nodded, and while Perry had met him only hours before, Perry detected some hesitation. Perry invited, “Mr. Brown?”

  Mr. Brown put down his fork, “Ships I can build; green wood, rough work, granted, but strong and dry. As for sails…,” he sighed and offered no answer.

  Perry acknowledged, “Aye, good point.” Just as expressions took a turn toward glum, Perry revealed what plans had been made over some months, “But I have sail makers coming from Philadelphia which I expect to arrive next week. Rigging, shot and anchors were purchased in Pittsburgh. We also have the vessels, naval stores, armaments and additional crew, all at Black Rock, entirely at our disposal. Together with this gift made to us by this Lieutenant Fleet, delivered compliments of Captain Dobbins, I would say we are off to a good start, with a credible plan. Would you not agree, gentlemen?”

  Captain Dobbins appreciated the compliment and beamed, Noah Brown seemed on the verge of some optimism and William was impressed. He interjected, “Captain Perry, please know that a man here, Samuel, cut sails for the vessels on Lake Champlain during the Revolution and is at our disposal as well. As for the vessels at Black Rock, I am somewhat familiar with Caledonia, but tell me, Sir, what of Captain Elliott?”

  Perry nodded and replied, “Captain Lee, it is good to see you again. Do you recall our visit in Boston early last winter? What you neglected to mention was your exploits of October last, told me just
last week by the men at Black Rock. You have my compliments, truly.” Perry raised his cup and William nodded. Perry then continued, “I am grateful for your having joined the Navy, just as you promised. As for Elliott, he is assisting Chauncey, I suspect for not having been able to free those vessels at Black Rock from the guns of Fort Erie.”

  William smiled and asked hopefully, “And we will?”

  “Aye,” Perry replied, “we need those vessels and they will make the Lake, you can be certain.” William was satisfied. Perry sounded as though he had a plan. In fact, he had none.

  Perry also sounded as though he was up to the task of dealing with Elliott. Recalling Elliott manipulating the press and the facts after his successful cutting out of the British vessels last fall, William perceived that Elliott would be the tougher nut to crack, but saw in Perry both foresight and enthusiasm and knew instantly this was someone with whom he looked forward to working.

  Perry stood and, returning to an earlier topic, requested, “Mr. Brown, we shall construct a sail loft within the next week, even if it should slow progress on the brigs. Let us have this veteran, Samuel, advise as to the design and his needs.” Indicating for all of them to follow, irrespective of food yet on the plates, “Gentleman, please, a tour of the yard and vessels, if you would be so kind.”

  Captain Dobbins, being senior at Erie and the yard itself having been his idea reflecting his personal efforts in lobbying for its establishment with President Madison while in Washington the previous fall, led the tour and supplied much of the narration. Perry would interject an occasional question while most of the others remained wholly silent as a matter of deference.

  Finally, Perry offered some comment, “Captain Dobbins, the brigs look most suitable. My compliments to you, as well as Mr. Brown.” Both nodded.