One Sloop and Slow Match

Home > Other > One Sloop and Slow Match > Page 20
One Sloop and Slow Match Page 20

by James Spurr


  Captain Hall, aboard Lady Prevost, had issued strict orders just the night before to the commanders of all vessels, including General Hunter, Chippawa, Mary, Nancy, Miami and Little Belt, to maintain strict silence. Dunlap therefore shook his head and cursed under his breath. From the larboard cathead Little Belt’s anchor broke the surface with an uncontrolled splash, announcing for several cable lengths inland the proximity of the British squadron to American soil. While the splash broke the morning calm and caused wildfowl amid the marshes to take wing, it was likely little more than sloppy seamanship, perhaps on the part of the inexperienced or ill trained. What then followed, however, was in Dunlap’s mind, inexcusable. Lieutenant Fleet called out from the quarterdeck of Little Belt in anger and frustration, “You worthless lubbers! Canadian dogs! Quiet, or you shall swim back to Amherstberg!”

  Dunlap exchanged glances of disdain with his First and among the crew of General Hunter for such a breach of priorities as had just been witnessed by them all from one of their squadron’s own. Dunlap stressed the utmost need for silence among even the lowliest of seaman just two hours before. How was it that no such restrictions seemed, to his men, to apply to Little Belt? Fleet’s outburst was certainly not the example Dunlap or any other commanding officer appreciated from his counterparts.

  Dunlap looked over to Lady Prevost and spied Hall throwing his arms up in utter disbelief. Quiet settled again over the squadron. Fleet’s outburst, Dunlap knew, was merely his feeble attempt to register his disapproval for his crew’s less than artful lowering of the anchor. Having announced his displeasure to the entire squadron, Fleet felt exonerated and standing orders applied to him, once again, among all.

  Fleet had returned to the squadron at Amherstberg more than a week after Salina was abandoned in the ice at his order some miles off Long Point. All of his crew survived, although two suffered moderate frost bite from the long march home. Now, less than three weeks after Fleet was greeted by his own with doubt, criticism, questions and disbelief, the yard at Amherstberg was still coming to grips with how it could ever finish and equip the ships on its ways without the supplies from Fort Erie.

  It was unclear until just the night before the squadron set off for the mouth of the Maumee, whether Fleet would retain command of Little Belt. Hall’s shock and anger was both obvious and justified. If Hall, or any of them, had known about the cargo falling into American hands, the decision might well have been different.

  But Hall’s concern, as Provincial Marine, was that of replacing a commissioned officer of the Royal Navy with one of its own. Hall’s inaction confirmed Thomas’ impression of him as he had expressed to Abigail months before. Hall was uncertain of his authority and overly concerned about what others would later come to think and conclude.

  Thus, as the British squadron set forth from Amherstberg, the afternoon before its somewhat less than stealthy approach to the mouth of the Maumee, Fleet was still in command of Little Belt; the only vessel so far in his career that had not as yet come to grief as the result of his judgment, or lack of it.

  As Hall from Lady Prevost and Dunlap aboard General Hunter independently considered the dilemma of leadership and command among the squadron, they took soundings and determined to sail cautiously upriver, offering their guns as cover for the movement of substantial militia and even more native allies.

  At the same time, Colonel Proctor and his British regulars maneuvered so to converge on the north bank of the Maumee, within sight and range of the log stockade and stout blockhouses General Harrison and his army had only recently labored to erect.

  Oliver fully understood, as he led his small scouting party back to Fort Meigs, his recent labor expended in completing its defenses was with the hope of keeping the King’s men and ships from sweeping east along the south shore of the inland sea. A successful defense of Fort Meigs would leave William and the yard personnel, Naval and civilian, at Erie free to complete their Herculean tasks. Within mere weeks, the small band of men with whom Oliver spent only one day three weeks before must launch a squadron that would match if not best what the British already enjoyed, and viewed by Oliver just hours before from the marsh grasses, and already making its way upriver.

  Late that night, risking the last half mile only under the cover of darkness, Oliver led his party back to within the walls of Fort Meigs. Reporting to General Harrison, Oliver and his corporal offered details as would be valuable for their success, if not survival. The number of ships, their rigs, likely draft, armament, and troop movements revealed to Harrison how far the ships might swim before shoal waters would halt their progress. Hopefully, progress upriver would halt well before Fort Meigs fell within range of so many naval guns.

  That very night in a blockhouse overlooking the northern bank in a dim lantern light, General Harrison and Oliver took turns looking out the narrow ports and considering the north bank of the Maumee River flooded with moonlight.

  “There, Oliver, just to the left of those trees on the small rise Proctor will place his guns,” Harrison explained. “Fortunately, the range is long, almost extreme,” he observed. “Mark me, however,” he warned soberly, “that will be the center of the British main battery.”

  Oliver observed and quietly considered. He then asked, “How long do we have?”

  General Harrison shrugged, “Maybe a few days; a week at the most if we harass and slow their progress. By the time they establish that battery, we shall be under siege.”

  Oliver offered, “Sir, my company will harass them daily, beginning tomorrow with your permission.”

  Harrison thought for some seconds, then announced, “Permission denied.”

  Oliver’s eyes revealed surprise and hurt, even in the dim light.

  Harrison explained, “Your leadership these past days has been obvious and valuable. The information you brought back will form the basis for our defense until Proctor’s grip closes.” He stepped to the porthole again and stared into the bright night, continuing, “Your sense of what risks are worth taking is rare.” Nodding in affirmation, Harrison confessed, “Much too rare among my officers.”

  Oliver interjected, “All the more reason my company should be permitted outside the walls come dawn.”

  Harrison nodded and looked at him. “Oh, they will be. But you will no longer be their Captain. Sir, I am extending you a field promotion to Major. You will lead three companies, including one of Kentucky long rifles.”

  Oliver was stunned and literally swallowed hard, considering the implications. He whispered, “Sir, I have little formal military training.”

  Harrison turned and walked for the ladder, “Major, neither do I. You have common sense and the ability to recognize opportunity.” Facing Oliver as he began to descend, “What was your occupation in Detroit, before the war?”

  Oliver offered, “Sir, I was a storekeeper and a merchant ship owner.”

  Harrison considered for a moment, nodded and said, “If only but all my officers were experienced in matters of business. We may well have wintered in Detroit!”

  A week later, Oliver, having had little sleep and still struggling with directing men under circumstances resulting in death and dismemberment, stubbornly withdrew all three of his companies for the first time since he spoke to General Harrison within the wall of Fort Meigs.

  The gates were closed and would likely remain so for a long time.

  The British squadron was but a mile downstream but could swim no closer for shoal water. Colonel Proctor, however, had established his artillery on the north bank of the Maumee River.

  As dusk fell, Oliver assured that his men had a hot meal on the parade ground, their first in three days. Suddenly, a British cannon roared, as an ominous gesture, Oliver guessed. He could not determine where the shot came to rest. Likely short, he would wager, its barrel not yet warmed so to allow for maximum range.

  It was May 1, 1813. The siege of Fort Meigs, Oliver’s personal battle to repay William for his delivery from Kingston and for hi
s very freedom as a man, had begun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  William and Daniel stood at the larboard bulwarks, the hammock nettings extending well above their heads, attempting with little success to feel comfortable aboard U.S.S. Madison.

  At 110 feet on the keel, Madison’s deck was longer than the sparred length of Friends Good Will, even with the sloop’s extreme headrig and main boom. At 580 tonnes, William marveled at more than 10 times the volume of his former command. Just a year ago, sailing on the peaceful inland seas, he never would have imagined a man-of-war so large swimming the sweetwater of the lower Great Lakes.

  Despite the limitations of William’s imagination and foresight as a merchant master, Madison nonetheless slid down the ways at Sackets Harbor in late November of 1812, only 45 days after her keel was laid. She was thus, in late May of the following spring, essentially new.

  William recounted to Daniel his seeing Madison on the ways, in the final stages of completion, when he visited Commodore Chauncey, hoping his efforts would free Oliver from captivity in Kingston. Daniel was equally impressed with Madison and could not have imagined that his efforts in Washington during those same weeks contributed to a race of arms as Madison most certainly represented. At 24 guns, 32 pounders no less, flush decked and ship rigged, she was the most formidable vessel of so many vying for dominance of Lake Ontario.

  William gazed aloft at the beautiful maze of rigging, black and tan, tarred and seized, whipped and spliced, rove through blocks, joined by lanyards, reflecting the best of nautical arts. “Daniel, I recall Chauncey referred to her as his ‘beautiful corvette’.”

  Daniel studied the pennant flowing lazily from the mainmast truck in the gentle evening breeze. The sun was setting over the Niagara peninsula just a few miles down river from the falls. The water flowed past the entry port, a current which in the light breeze dictated the manner in which Madison lay to her anchor. Daniel’s hearing was now just returning to normal after a day of near constant bombardment from the American vessels gathered before Fort George near the village of Newark. Daniel regarded William’s comment and Chauncey’s pride, “Aye, as well he would. She is a sight to behold.”

  William pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket, self conscious that he had not as yet in more than three months managed to acquire much of a uniform, noted the time and asked, “Do you think Captain Perry will be much longer?” He was growing tired of pacing a deck aboard a ship on which he was so universally regarded a stranger.

  The wait was difficult for Daniel as well. He shrugged, but then smiled, recalling, “Captain Perry certainly presents us challenges, even as he serves up surprises!” Shaking his head in appreciation of his commanding officer, Daniel continued, “I was certainly happy to make land in that small boat. Rowing all the way from Erie! Why thank goodness for Tiffany and the cox’n sharing the long pull. My hands are raw and blistered!”

  William smiled, “And then without so much as a wink of rest, to seize that sad looking pony with no gear, and fashion a crude saddle using the boat painter as a girth. Why, I never saw anyone in uniform looks so ridiculous!”

  Daniel and William were now laughing aloud, attracting the deck watch, with Daniel recalling, “Calling out to me, no less, ‘Any port in a storm Mr. Dobbins; this is the best we can do!’”

  In Madison’s great cabin, commanding officers of the squadron were uncomfortably warm and cramped, now just seated after leaning over charts and maps with insufficient headroom to stand erect. Patience was growing thin and they were just finishing their questions. Chauncey was about to summarize.

  Laughter from on deck arose during a pause and attracted some frowns. Captain Perry tried to take no notice, certainly pretending not to recognize the familiar banter and good nature of his junior officers at their leisure.

  The conference began mid-afternoon upon the arrival aboard Madison of Army officers, including a young Colonel Winfield Scott. Daniel had observed Colonel Scott climbing through the entry port. Daniel and William, having no more than a glass before arrived with Perry, after a night of reconnaissance and little sleep, were assisting in the service of the same gun just aft of the larboard entry port, where both enjoyed a good look at the officer ranking just below General ‘Granny’ Dearborn.

  Daniel leaned over to William as another on the gun team began to worm the debris of the last charge from the barrel. William, upon the gun captain’s order, grabbed the wet sponge and approached the massive piece yet smoking from the last round, and noted to William, “There goes a near hero from Queenstown Heights.”

  William shot him a glance while dipping the sponge in the bucket and began to align the rod, parallel to and outboard of the muzzle, “Where Brock fell?”

  Daniel offered in a low voice, “The Colonel was taken prisoner.”

  William ran the sponge back and forth inside the length of the barrel, looked again at the subject of their conversation and raised his eyebrows. He quickly withdrew the sponge. The stopped vent, forming a vacuum, allowed the characteristic ‘pung’. He tapped the barrel, signaling the piece was ready to dry sponge then load, and asked, “Exchanged this soon; that senior?”

  Daniel shrugged and allowed, as others on the gun team saw to their assigned tasks, “Perhaps we had in our grasp a counterpart of equal rank, but I have heard rumors.”

  As the rammer withdrew, the charge was pricked through the vent and fuse inserted. William considered what all recognized as possible; parole violations and the loss of honor, despite the sentence of immediate death, if caught. Still, perhaps Colonel Scott had been more fortunate than Oliver. In any case, there he was, ascending the companionway of Madison for a summit called to decide upon events as would unfold on the morrow and determine their collective fate.

  William was a novice with great guns, as was Daniel. Perry suggested they use the afternoon, not otherwise engaged, to obtain some experience. Unspoken among them was the realization that they would need it. The rate of fire amid the squadron bombarding the shore and Fort George was far more leisurely than one would have encountered during a ship to ship action at sea, so the training opportunity was excellent. Still, William, distracted by Daniel’s comments, barely stood back in time as the call “Give fire,” from the gun captain resulted in the gun’s roaring, the carriage leaping, all thousands of its pounds of iron and oak indifferently willing to crush those behind it as casually as the thirty two pound ball preceding the sparks and smoke was willing to kill those in front.

  Chauncey called the meeting to order, introducing and politely thanking Colonel Scott for attending aboard Madison. Interservice cooperation was all but unheard of in the young United States military and Colonel Scott was, by general posture, defensive, peevish and somewhat suspicious. He was taken off guard, therefore, when Perry, the only naval officer present without a floating command, advocated passionately for a joint operation between the Army and Navy with Scott taking a leading role.

  Perry explained, “So you see, gentlemen, as I witnessed through last evening and this morn, the British defenses are such that only a sudden, overwhelming show of force on the opposite bank could ever command that bluff and break through their lines.”

  Quiet settled in among all. Scott agreed, but could not walk, nor could his soldiers march, upon water while crossing the Niagara River. He was concerned that if he endorsed Perry’s plan, noting Perry was a junior officer to some of the Captains and the Commodore in the room, he might make more enemies than awaited him on the west bank. He had assumed his troops would cross all too slowly upon the decks of the larger ships.

  But Perry again surprised his colleagues. “There are plenty of local fishing craft up and down the river. I myself arrived in such as could handle a dozen men. With all of our ship’s boats and those commandeered from locals, we could send waves of Colonel Scott’s troops across the River while using our ships as they were intended—powerful gun platforms, covering the landing and punishing the first wave of defenders. We
are most certainly not the Captains of mere transports!”

  Again silence. Then Chauncey ventured quietly, “The current would keep our broadsides to the shore. We could pivot on spring lines, so to bring our guns to bear.”

  Scott exhaled, grateful for this youthful, dark haired yankee Perry, an obvious transplant upon the inland seas,

  As a cautious optimism took hold, as like that first gleaned from a taut cable, the anchor apparently well set, Lieutenant MacPherson of the Schooner Hamilton offered, “We could even still take some troops upon our decks and keep the small boats shielded along our unexposed sides, thus reducing their pull across the river.”

  They unrolled the charts, studied maps, discussed deployment and then turned to the timing, the staging, the logistics of matters so mundane as breakfast and so hopeful as the march southward should Fort George fall as planned.

  Perry was just days before invited by Chauncey to leave Erie and join him at the mouth of the Niagara River. Chauncey saw an opportunity to get acquainted with Perry; little more. Perry, however, gleaned an opportunity for his first real action. With little experience with amphibious assault and no reputation for such among his new fellow officers, Perry had in the first conference since his arrival on the scene solved the most difficult logistical problem. He persuaded more senior offices to cooperate with each other in a complex ballet of men, ships and boats, only some of which were familiar with the latter, crossing a river running at a swift current so to charge uphill in an effort to dislodge a well encamped enemy, with friendly fire from ships screaming overhead and withering enemy fire trained amid their ranks.

  As the officers climbed the companionway into the cool, clear air of an early evening, there were many smiles, extended courtesies and well wishes, reflecting a confidence which the task before them did not naturally encourage. As the others departed, Chauncey observed to Perry within earshot of William and Daniel, “Well, Captain, you have a full night ahead locating all the boats you promised.”

 

‹ Prev