by James Spurr
Chapter Nineteen
As the British squadron changed course for Amherstberg, Trippe slipped back into Presque Isle Harbor. William was summoned immediately aboard Lawrence. Perry listened carefully, said little and only offered, finally, “Captain Lee, I am impressed with your seamanship, tactics, common sense and good judgment. There will be permanent assignments within days, but I would like you to assume command of Scorpion. She is the fastest schooner we have and carries, of course, more numerous guns than Trippe. I assume she will play a larger role in the coming weeks than will any sloop.”
William was pleased, but entirely taken aback when, upon coming up to the deck of Lawrence, Perry called for quiet amid the frantic activity and announced, “Now lads, you have worked hard and let me demonstrate to you the rewards for weeks of training, sharpening your sail handling and gunnery. Captain Lee here has just surprised a British ship at night and drubbed her soundly. I applaud his courage and seamanship and that of his entire crew!”
Three cheers erupted from the deck. Captain Lee recognized it for what it was, a slight exaggeration intended to boost morale; important and appropriate, but did not permit the compliment to inflate his ego. James was on the foredeck. He did not manage to catch his father’s eye, but as his shipmates congratulated him on the success of his father, he wondered, for perhaps the first time, whether his judgment of his father’s actions last summer at Mackinaw was just. He made no outward showing, however, and was silent as the crew erupted in “Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!”
Barclay and Dunlap had been mistaken, however. Perry was not enroute to Amherstberg, nor would he be. That morning, as Captain Lee made his report, the Erie station stepped the lower masts of the twin brigs and sent up the topmasts and yards, tightening and tuning stays, shrouds and other standing rigging and bending on sail. The next day the Erie squadron stood down and took their ease. The brigs were at anchor just outside the harbor; the smaller ships inside the bar. They were a considerable squadron, holding the advantage in number of ships and guns serving them. Having sent Lawrence over the bar on 3 August, Perry was ready to sail just more than a week later.
“Captain Elliott,” Perry announced in closing a conference of his officers in the aft cabin aboard Lawrence, “has experience on these Lakes and in conflict with our enemy. Commodore Chauncey has responded to my request to send us personnel and we are fortunate to have received, just yesterday, the hero of Black Rock, having cut out the Caledonia and President Adams last autumn. Captain Elliott will take command of Niagara.”
William expected as much. Elliott had formally acknowledged him upon introductions the day before, but he seemed uncomfortable, and William was certain Elliott would have preferred not to have encountered him ever again, what with William’s memory of Elliott’s near surrender of Adams.
Perry kept to himself his own misgivings. Elliott had suggested that with his greater local and combat experience, he should command Lawrence and the squadron. Elliott merely implied, politely, what would have amounted to a modification of Chauncey’s express orders, but Perry correctly smoked his intent and was dismayed to observe more than disappointment in his eyes, but quiet anger, upon Perry affirming he was in command of not only construction and commissioning, but also sailing and fighting the ships and all matters of tactics.
Perry studied the faces of each of his Captains then offered, “Gentlemen, any questions?” The cabin was silent. The men were anxious. Morale was high. “Excellent! Let us get underway!”
The men took the deck and while waiting for their small boats, offered each other the best of luck and other well wishes. Captain Dobbins offered William, “Joy upon your new command! Well earned!”
“Thank you, Daniel. I am not certain, as yet, Scorpion is as fast as your Ohio, but we shall see.”
William then turned to Perry. Unaware of what fate would deliver once underway, or if they found immediate action, which among them would survive, he offered, “Sir, if you could extend my greetings and affection for James, here aboard Lawrence, I would be obligated to you still more. I have not seen him yet this morning and have had little opportunity these past days.”
“Indeed. I should be happy to do so,” confirmed Perry. He offered, “Your son has worked very hard these past days and his assistance with the guns and rigging was invaluable.”
Despite the risks suggested by William’s request, he was very much looking forward to the short cruise. Perry was sailing the squadron to Sandusky for a joint conference with General Harrison and all land forces under his command. William was hopeful that he might see Oliver and they could spend at least some minutes sharing news.
The sail from Erie to Sandusky was among the best as any William had enjoyed on his beloved inland seas. The sun was warm; the north wind stiff. The sight of the squadron upon which he had toiled for so many months now heeling uniformly to larboard, slicing along just off the south shore of Lake Erie, was both beautiful and inspiring. The spirits of all onboard were grand, making for a happy ship. As Captain Lee stood at the weather rail of his new command under reefed topsail and mainsail, the foresail driving them headlong, rolling over the five foot seas, he enjoyed the spray cooling him as it blew over the starboard bow. William looked back at Trove standing near the helmsman and recognized the moment as one he would never forget and wished would extend for all time.
His heart began to ache at the thought of what may soon come to pass; violence shattering these fine vessels, counted among the most complex and beautiful creations of man, even as death splintered the hopes and dreams of so many strapping youths.
Chapter Twenty
William waited for the signal. It seemed to take much too long. The sun was sinking fast. He wondered what could be taking so long. Perhaps Perry had forgotten. He asked Trove if they should depart on that assumption. Trove, half his age, knew enthusiasm and excitement when he saw its effects and with wisdom beyond his years, counseled patience.
Finally, Lawrence ran up flags to the peak of her gaff. But in the dead calm, the flags hanging limp, the signal was yet a mystery. “Surely, Trove, that must be our invitation!” William asserted.
“Perhaps, Sir. But I see no other boats heading for the flag,” observed Trove.
“Well, by God, let us row over and ask!” insisted Captain Lee, intoning his authority of command. They stepped from the entry port of Scorpion to the ship’s boat made fast alongside. The other rowers had long since been ready at their oars. Before Trove took his seat at the stern sheets and grasped the tiller, a small brass gun rang out from Lawrence, confirming the desire of Captain Perry, given the lack of wind, that his other officers join him immediately.
Trove was not at all surprised that Captain Lee set a pace as would have them arrive first. With no basis upon which to assume, William was certain nonetheless. As Captain Lee stepped up to the deck, his eyes instantly befell his old friend, Oliver. Trove beheld a look of joy as touched his heart. The greeting between them was as warm as one had ever seen between fellow officers and family relation, distilled and then aged through years of past adventure. “Oliver, what joy!” cried Captain Lee. Still beaming, he continued, “I was hoping you would be sent out by Harrison, but I never expected you now a Major! Most impressive!” he teased.
Oliver grasped his arm warmly, pointed over to Scorpion and returned in kind, “What is this? A sloop will no longer serve? Soon you will have a ship of the line, no doubt!” The other officers smiled at the reunion as they made their greeting. Trove simply waited before departing back to Scorpion and was ultimately rewarded.
Even before official introductions were completed among officers, no small breach of protocol for which Trove would be forever proud and grateful, Oliver approached and embraced him, a mere gun captain. He had not seen Trove since Friends Good Will sailed from Fort Dearborn in July of 1812, more than a year prior and before natives began to gather outside its walls. Trove was greeted by a man of rank, privilege and reputation in such manner as surpr
ised all surrounding. “Trove, the sight of you is an answer to prayers!”
Trove smiled and replied, “Thank’ee, Sir! It is most comforting knowing that someone is taking care of that for me!” Both men laughed and Oliver made to assure they would speak more when Trove later returned to retrieve William.
Harrison was below with Perry. The two had corresponded for months, but had never yet actually met. Their letters shared intelligence, sometimes no more than rumor, but also helped form a bond and level of trust and cooperation as was rare between the services. After breaking for dinner in the aft cabin of Lawrence, joined by many other officers in both the army and the navy, Oliver and William took some minutes to stroll the deck.
“Pray, William, where are we? I do not recognize this part of Lake Erie,” puzzled Oliver.
William pointed off the starboard bow, “Cuningham’s island, off the mouth of Sandusky. There to the east lies Marblehead point, from which you departed late this afternoon.” Oliver nodded and William asked, “So, I gathered from the conference Harrison is camped just up this river?”
Oliver confirmed, “Just a few miles.” Then, changing subject and growing rather somber, “It also was apparent from the conversation at dinner that you will soon be sailing into harms way. Good luck to you, William, in the coming action. You have my prayers.”
“Thank you Oliver. It sounds, however, as though you have seen more action than have I. We did, however ironically, encounter Friends Good Will less than two weeks ago on the open water. She sails as Little Belt now.”
Oliver seemed astonished, so William provided some detail, “Our courses converged on a moonless night and I got off a couple of shots. No major damage, I suspect,” William assured, “but it was rather fun to get the best of Lieutenant Fleet!” Both men laughed.
Then William grew serious and observed, “Promotion in the field usually indicates valor in action.” William looked at Oliver’s stripes, “Take care, my friend.”
“Yes, a scrape at Fort Miegs in May. Then, blast Proctor, he and his natives tried again in July. He had no better luck. Finally, they turned to Fort Stephenson, where I saw my third siege. I am anxious, William, for your ships to ferry us across and let us stretch our legs on a long march!”
William assured, “I sense that Perry’s the man as will have you marching soon enough!”
“I pray as much. The men who have spent the last weeks building bateaux will otherwise be sorely aggrieved to think they have wasted their backbreaking labor. At least they deserve a small voyage in their crude craft!”
Both men smiled, continued to catch up, extended greetings to mutual friends and shared hopes and fears. With action so near, Oliver thought the better of inquiring as to William’s relationship with James. Time was short and sadness had no place at such times.
William acknowledged the immanence of that to which Oliver alluded, “If it goes badly…”
“James and Be-Mo-Se will forever have a place within our family,” Oliver assured softly. Both men nodded and walked amid a bond of trust as was uncommon and entirely comforting.
Meanwhile Captain Perry and General Harrison resumed their serious discussions. Perry offered, “My apologies, General, for our delayed introduction so late in the season. The bar slowed us just a bit, but there is yet time this season, I am certain!”
Harrison shared what was recently learned from two prisoners. “Barclay is at Amherstberg with his entire squadron. Detroit is afloat and rigged. He is arming her, apparently with the guns from Fort Malden! I understand he is short of men and supplies. Will you attack him in his home port?”
Perry grew concerned, “I think not, General. With a narrow river, the enemy holding both banks, and a contrary current, we would not have any options sailing up into a funnel of sorts. No, I shall have to wait, draw him out and engage him on the open waters.”
Harrison thoughtfully offered, respecting Perry’s view of the situation, “I know just the place for your base; Put-in-Bay at South Bass Island, some miles to the north of here. You could easily keep close watch for the British squadron should they try to take to the Lake.”
Perry nodded and suggested, “That may serve very well. Let us sail out together tomorrow and reconnoiter.” Perry then confessed, “We, just as the British, are frightfully short of men and I can expect no more from Chauncey.”
Harrison thought for some moments, considering the demands currently put upon his more than 2,500 man army. “Captain, let me see if I can assist you with your needs in that respect.”
The two leaders requested their after dinner brandy and as the night air seemed so refreshingly cool, wafting in the stern window on a mid-August evening, elected to walk the deck. Oliver and William were careful to keep a respectful distance but could not help but overhear and take heart at an interruption from Mr. John Brooks, United States Marine Corp. Mr. Brooks approached with enthusiasm and was excited to announce, “Captain Perry, Sir! I am pleased to inform that some native chiefs of the Wyandot, Shawnee and Delaware tribes who witnessed the salute from our great guns this afternoon and have since toured our ships, wish an audience with you and General Harrison.”
Perry asked, “For what purpose?”
Mr. Brooks smiled, “They wish to renounce their allegiance to the crown and switch sides!”
“By all means,” exclaimed General Harrison with unrestrained glee at the thought of the fits such news would cause Tecumseth and Colonel Proctor.
Captain Perry hoped that may have been the effect when he invited the native chiefs aboard. He welcomed the news, but both he and Captain Lee recognized its relevance only in so much as they would soon be able to get Harrison’s army across the inland sea as stretched out before them.
Perry knew well, from the intelligence Harrison shared, that a combat hardened veteran of the Napoleonic Wars, having already seen such action as Perry could only imagine, was like Nelson nearly ten years before, with one arm and many guns, resolved to keep that crossing from occurring.
Abigail sat on the porch at her family home in Dover Mills. She dropped the letter she was viewing to hang from her hand as her arm rested at her side. She no longer needed to read. She knew the last sentences by heart.
Captain Barclay had dashed off a quick but sincere thank you for the dinner party hosted in his honor and explained his change in plan as the British squadron reacted to the news from Little Belt and changed course for Amherstberg. Queen Charlotte had hove to just off Long Point, allowing the smaller ships a full glass to bring up the rear. Barclay’s lead over his other vessels was purposeful. It gave him time to launch and retrieve a small boat, the oarsmen posting the letter that Abigail had nearly memorized.
She was flattered. “My dear Abigail,” the letter began, the familiarity suggesting a trust and closeness that she felt as well. He compared her meal to those he remembered so fondly taken on his estate in Scotland, writing specifically, yet beautifully with incredible detail of color and aroma; the dinner itself blending into the very landscape in such manner as it hinted of an invitation. But the close of the letter haunted her, his anticipation of the upcoming days in Amherstberg. Barclay suggested loneliness and anxiety, with the urgency and inevitability of action, all endured without her company. She had no doubt the suggestion of need was as close to an invitation as propriety, at this stage of their relationship, would allow. Again, she trusted her instincts as a woman.
She studied Thomas, having just closed the barn door, as he walked across the curtilage, gave but a moment of thought for her mother. As the sun was setting, it was time to plan for the ‘morrow and hopefully the rest of her life.
“Thomas, let us take a walk along the ridge, observe the sea and sunset,” she suggested playfully.
“Aye, M’Lady. Dinner will wait until dark,” he affirmed.
As they walked, she grew more serious and asked, “I understand, Thomas, Captain Barclay is very short of good men.”
“I ‘eard ‘im speak of it,” Th
omas admitted, “while serving the dinner. The Admiral and I, we’ve been there before.” Gravely, Thomas added, “Could make all the difference.”
Abigail played the comment for dramatic effect, “Oh, Thomas,” she gasped. “Do you think it portends danger?”
Thomas wondered, but did not ask, was the Widow Fleet asking with respect to Captain Barclay or Lieutenant Fleet?
Abigail read his eyes, guessed his question and clarified, “For our cause?”
“Aye,” he confirmed and boldly continued, sensing time was short before the deepening dusk would require their return, “as well as for James and Captain Barclay.”
Abigail confessed that which she suspected Thomas had already guessed, “Captain Barclay has expressed some interest in me and my situation.”
Thomas knew full well the last statement was but a hint. “Have matters been resolved with James and the Admiral’s estate?”
Thomas’ question was precisely as she had hoped. “Sadly, James has shown no generosity. I am quite certain Captain Barclay will not pursue our relationship without a sizable dowry, which he likely assumes from my title and situation.”
Both were quiet as they turned and started back to the house. After a short time, Abigail added, “Do not fear, Thomas, whatever the outcome for our nation on these Lakes, in the upcoming contest, I will keep you with us as best as we are able. Pride has no place against loyalty.”
Thomas thought of the prospect of the two of them, poor and aging in Upper Canada. He was quite unaware of Abigail’s considerable allowance.
Thomas hinted, “Perhaps I could sign on with Captain Barclay, just for the conflict itself, and suggest I would be grateful if I were assigned to ‘look after’ James; be watchful of him when the work grows warm.”