A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy

by William H. White

  After completing their duties, Biggs and Coleman watched from the maintop as the cutter was put overboard and the captain clambered over the bulwark and down the side of the ship. While much of the conversation on the quarterdeck had escaped them, the two ensigns showing on the Frenchman had not, and Coleman interpreted what they watched for his shipmate.

  “Amethyst must be lost, Isaac, and they’ve moved bag and baggage onto the Frenchy. Looks like Cap’n McCray gave ‘em what for, though. That topmast spar they’ve rigged up as a foremast gonna slow ‘em down a bit. See that, there’s men working rigging a new jib boom too.”

  “Aye. The hull looks tore up too, Coleman. You can bet they’re pumping watch and watch.” One of the other topmen joined the conversation, adding, “she looks a trifle down by the stern to me.”

  The cutter bumped alongside the damaged ship, and from the maintop, the men could see Captain Winston welcomed aboard by Captain McCray. As they watched, the two captains headed forward, pausing at the foremast, before moving aft again and disappearing below when they reached the quarterdeck.

  Lieutenant Burns had the men stand down from their quarters stations, and work continued rigging the new foresail while Orpheus and the formerly French frigate sailed close by one another toward the prize awaiting them to the east. The men at the maintop had been instructed to keep watch on the quarterdeck of the other ship and to inform Burns the moment their captain appeared.

  After the turn of two glasses, Coleman hailed the deck.

  “Lieutenant Burns, sir. I can see the cap’n on the Frenchy. ‘E’s headin’ for the waist. Looks like the boat crew’s gettin’ ready to shove off.”

  A wave to the masthead acknowledged the observation, and the first lieutenant ordered the man ropes rigged on the lee side, and the sideboys called out to render honors to the captain. As the cutter made its way around the stern of Orpheus, Burns could see his captain in the stern sheets wearing a satisfied, if not smug, expression. He hurried to the waist to greet Winston as he climbed quickly up the battens on the ship’s side. Doffing his hat in a salute to the sideboys and quarterdeck as the bosun’s mate trilled his pipe, Captain Winston took Burns’ arm, and immediately headed aft.

  From aloft, Biggs and the topmen could hear him instruct Smosky and Tice to “clap on a press of canvas, as much as she’ll carry, if you please,” in a tone that was more animated than usual, and out of character for the normally taciturn commander. The orders were bellowed out by the sailing master and bosun, and the topmen had no time for observation; they were busy as you please setting the main course, t’gallants, and finishing the work on the foresail so it too could assist in driving the ship to her ultimate goal with all possible speed. A glance at the other frigate showed them following suit, and cracking on as much as her damaged spars could stand.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rum Capers

  The two ships, Orpheus and her new sister, Etoile Noire – for that turned out to be the name of the frigate McCray took – sailed east a half north in pursuit of the French fleet under a vast spread of sail; the wind had held for them, moving the men-of-war at nearly ten knots, even with their wounded spars and, in the case of Etoile, a jury-rigged foremast. A palpable feeling of excitement brought both ships’ crews to high spirits and eager anticipation for the prizes and resulting riches that awaited them, hopefully just over the horizon. The overcast had given way to rain, foreshortening visibility and as Coleman put it to Isaac, “Likely ‘idin’ what we done from them other Frenchies.”

  With the starbowlines as the watch below, Biggs and his mates lounged under the fo’c’sle deck, sheltering from the weather and comparing the distinctions in their lives before and after the prize shares from the capture of the French fleet would be cashed out. The conversation was one that carried over from their dinner discussion with their mess mates. Biggs had not been as verbose as his companions, choosing rather to listen, and keep some of his thoughts to himself; thoughts indeed of his former life aboard an American merchant ship. His introspective posture and silence continued as the conversation turned to former ships on which they had served, almost as if echoing his own secret thoughts. Wallace noticed the friend’s dour look, and asked him point blank, “‘Ow’d you happen to be on that merchant barky we stopped all them months ago, Isaac?”

  Biggs, remained silent for another moment, and thought about the life he now had, filled with dangers, unthought of before his impressment. He smiled, as he recalled better times. Times on Anne, and Captain Smalley and his other shipmates. Even Third Mate Jakes didn’t seem so bad now with some of the Royal Navy for comparison.

  “Where I grew up,” he started, “pretty much everybody was either a fisherman or deep waterman. My Pa fished the Banks with a cap’n called Mr. Rowe, and I useta go out with ‘em when I was just a kid from time to time. Cap’n Rowe musta thought he might could turn me into a fisherman, and he saw to it I learned to hand, reef, and steer. When I’d had me some schoolin’, he got me a berth on a Salem brig runnin’ to New York and back. After I’d made some trips on her and some other coastal vessels – schooner and brigs, mostly – I went out again to the Banks with Pa and Mr. Rowe. I reckon my Mother got him to take me on, since she wasn’t none too happy ‘bout me bein’ away so much on the deep water. Fishin’ was fine fer some, but it didn’t hold no attraction fer me. I wanted to sail the deep. I ‘member comin’ in after Pa and me talked on that and Mr. Rowe, he said if’n I needed any help gettin’ a berth, he knew some men still sailin’ from his days in the deep water that might help me out. ‘It was four years an’ more past now, that I found the Anne sittin’ out in President’s Roads – that’s in Boston, you know. A fine vessel she was, outa Marblehead, just like me; she cut a fine picture settin’ out there. I got myself a ride out in a wherry carryin’ out some last minute stores. Bein’s how she was fixin’ to get under weigh quick as ever she finished takin’ on a crew, the mate was happy to sign me aboard. Started out an able seaman. I was cap’n o’ the foretop when Lieutentant Burns pressed me. Mr. Clark, the mate, he was teachin’ me ‘bout navigatin’ so’s I could move into a third’s berth when one come open.” He paused, thinking how drastic was the change in his life. Coleman, always a willing listener, wanted more. Perhaps something about the ale houses and taverns of Boston.

  “Some change fer a lad used to schooners, brigs, an’ fishin’ smacks, you ask me. I reckon Boston gave you some ‘igh times afore you sailed though, eh?”

  “Never once even went into a coffee house or tavern. Didn’t need to; I went out to Anne soon’s I got there, and signed on. Didn’t need to go to a rendezvous to find a berth, an’ most of ‘em are held in taverns and the like. Cap’n Smalley – he didn’t need to get crew that way most o’ the time; ‘bout everyone on the waterfront knew a berth on his vessel would be a good one. A fine seaman, he is, and I ain’t never heard of him floggin’ a man. Fact is, he jest runs a good barky. Ain’t a bit like Cap’n Winston.”

  “Aye, as it may be, but ‘e gets us the prizes. You’ll see soon enough.” Coleman’s praise of his captain had a most sincere ring to it. Wallace nodded in agreement.

  “What you gonna do with yer share of the prize money, Isaac? Might amount to a lot. I’ll tell you, I aim to live the good life ashore, long’s it holds out.” He nudged Coleman and winked. This had obviously been discussed before. “You got a plan?”.

  Biggs thought for a moment before replying.

  “I don’t know what I aim to do, yet. Don’t figger to stay here, if I can help it. Don’t know how I can get myself off, and I ain’t yet spent a lot of time thinkin’ on it so I haven’t a thought about how to go about it, but I’m thinkin’ surely the money’ll help. But more immediate, how do you think we’re goin’ to get into the fleet to take the prizes? I’m bettin’ most of those merchants is armed – at least old Anne was, to be sure. We couldn’t practice with the guns much; scuttlebutt was that the owners wouldn’t pay for shot and powder for practicin
’, but we had ‘em, and most knew how to run ‘em in and out, load and prime, and the mates could sight ‘em. We’d never try to stand up to a frigate, to be sure, but that’s on account of we usually sailed alone, and Captain Smalley knew we were outgunned most of the time. But a fleet is a different tale again; we can’t be takin’ on all of them at once, even with Etoile helpin’, can we?”

  “Isaac, ain’t you learned nothing in the past year and more you been aboard this ship, lad?” Toppan had joined the group and was amused at Biggs’s continued naiveté. “Why would you ever think that Captain Winston don’t ‘ave a plan to catch those Frenchies by surprise and take the whole lot of ‘em without firin’ a shot? With a mite of luck, the brig Jolie ‘as run off the last man-o’-war, and those merchants’ll be just sittin’ there like chickens to a fox, an’ us an’ Etoile’ll just sail up, show our colors, and those Frog masters’ll strike their colors quick as you please, they’ll be in such a rush to save their own ‘ides.”

  “Jack, how’d you expect Jolie could run off that frigate. She’d be outgunned two or three to one and not stand a chance. One broadside from the Frenchy and she’d be headin’ for some French port as a prize – what was left of her. I’ve learnt that much aboard here. I know Captain Winston wouldn’t take on a seventy-four by hisself either.” Biggs’ eyes got hard and the color rose in his face; he bristled at still being thought of as something other than a man-of-warsman; while he didn’t like being a pressed seaman in a British ship, he still thought of himself as a sailor-man, and a good one at that, and capable of performing all the chores set out for him on this British frigate, and well.

  “She ain’t goin’ to take on a frigate, you pea-brain. All she has to do is show the flag and the frigate’ll chase her; Jolie can outsail damn near anything that swims, she can, and Captain Smithfield likely will lead ‘em on a merry chase, while we come up and take our prizes. By the time that French frigate skipper realizes he ain’t gonna catch the brig, we’ll be sailin’ ‘em into Jamaica or back to Antigua to collect our shares. Mark my words, Isaac, it’ll be sweet as kiss my hand.”

  “I can’t believe the Frenchies’ll let two British men-o’-war just sail into the middle of their fleet, Jack. How’re we gonna do that?”

  “You can bet your arse that Captain Winston’s got a plan for that. He ain’t shared it with me or asked for my advice yet, but I’ll warrant he ain’t gonna just sail in there, tip ‘is ‘at and say ‘howdy do’. ‘E don’t ‘ave the luck ‘e’s ‘ad taking prizes without but ‘e always seems to ‘ave a good plan.” After thinking for a second or two, he added, “I’d bet a fair piece that the Frenchy Captain McCray took gonna figger into it some way or other.”

  Indeed, Jack Toppan’s experience with Captain Winston stood him in good stead and had he wagered, he would have done quite well, as that was exactly what Captain Winston and Captain McCray had planned. The only fly in the ointment was the whereabouts of the other French frigate and Jolie; had the formerly French brig been successful in luring the frigate away from her charges? Had they heard the sounds of the recent action, and smoked the ruse? Time would tell. For the immediate present, however, a whole host of plans of varying degrees of complexity, reality, and absolute silliness pervaded the foredeck conversation on Orpheus and even the normally dour Winston would have laughed aloud had he heard most any of them. His plan was simple, obvious – at least to him – and eminently workable, even if Jolie had been unsuccessful in her efforts.

  The routine of the ship, always an underlying theme in a British man-of -war continued apace; the men went about their duties with no more conscious thought than they might give to the sound of the wind in the rigging. Cleaning, maintenance, knotting and splicing the rigging and their own clothes carried on. Dinner was piped, grog issued, the watch changed and throughout it all, the lookouts kept eager weather eyes glued to the gray slash of the horizon for the flash of white that would be the top hampers of the French fleet. The intermittent rain and overcast did not make their task easier, but no one had to remind the men that fortunes stood in the offing for most of them, and had a lookout missed a sighting so that the fleet was seen first from the deck, you may be sure that his mates would make his life miserable for all eternity, not to mention the flogging that would be imposed.

  Four bells in the afternoon watch had just sounded; the watch below had long finished their dinner, but the officers were still at table in the gunroom and, save those on watch, the mids were dining and cavorting in their mess when the lookout’s cry galvanized the quarterdeck into action. The knock came on the captain’s door within a minute or two of the sighting being confirmed by the midshipman who was sent aloft for that purpose.

  “Mr. Hardy’s cah…cah…compliments, sir, and we have sighted the Fr…Fr…French sails, sir. Huh…huh…hull down and ta…ta. . two points to leeward.” Midshipman Duncan’s stammer was not improved by his excitement over the prospect of prize shares and the still-present flush of victory from the recent action. He stood ramrod straight just inside the door – he left it open, remembering his blunder the last time he was in the Cabin as a messenger from the quarterdeck – and awaited the captain’s pleasure.

  “Very good, Mr. Duncan. Tell Mr. Hardy I shall be up directly, and show a proper signal to Etoile Noire if you please. Firing a gun to windward will not be necessary.” He could not resist adding, “Mind the door”; a twinkle in his eye was proof positive that Duncan’s previous visit, though a week and more distant, was still in mind, in spite of the other more weighty matters he had been dealing with.

  On the quarterdeck, and indeed, throughout the ship, there was a great bustle of activity, though most of it non-productive. Duncan conveyed the captain’s message, and was instructed to have the quartermaster rig the flags for “Enemy in sight, two points to leeward”. No gun accompanied the signal, but Etoile acknowledged it immediately; obviously their lookouts were as alert as the ones on Orpheus. Hardy sent Midshipman Duncan back to the foretop with a glass to keep an eye on the Frenchmen and report any changes promptly to the deck.

  He moved quickly to his position, used as he was in being “mastheaded” for various minor infractions which called for spending the balance of his watch, not at the main or fore top where he was now sitting, but at the highest yard rigged, frequently the main t’gallant yard. He had gotten to actually enjoy the view and motion there, and did not mind being sent up. Indeed, the solitude and relief from the almost constant harassment had made the tops a refuge for the young mid. On more than one occasion, the upper yards had been fairly alive with midshipmen mastheaded for various minor missteps, but since their nemesis, Lieutenant Oliver Fitzgerald, rest his soul, was no longer in a position to award punishments, Charlie Duncan figured that might ease in the immediate future.

  Winston appeared on the quarterdeck, suddenly at Lieutenant Hardy’s elbow, and his words startled the young officer.

  “Pass the word for Mr. Burns, if you please, and the bosun.” He turned the two men on the wheel. “Bring her down a point, make your course east. Quartermaster, make the signal ‘Execute plan on my order’.” To Hardy he added, “We’ll ease sheets and braces, now, Mr. Hardy if you please. Maintaining our speed will be important for the next hour or so.” He still had not divulged his plan to any but his first lieutenant, but Hardy thought nothing strange in the order. When Burns and Bosun Tice arrived on the quarterdeck, he moved to the leeward side, away from the others and spoke to the bosun.

  “Mr. Tice,” he said, “In a short time you will make the ship look like she was badly beaten, but sailable. We’ll have the yards all ahoo and sheets slack. No stays’ls or jibs, I think.” His eye twinkled uncharacteristically when he added, “Wouldn’t do to strain the weakened shrouds and stays. Gunports both open and closed will add to the illusion, but do not run out the guns. Use as few men aloft as possible, and do not allow the others to stand about visibly on deck. We must look as though we are short-handed – the way a prize might be.�
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  Tice caught on immediately and smiled. “Aye, sir. I think we’ll make a good show of it. Let me round up my petty officers and we’ll be ready when you give the word.” He turned forward after putting a knuckle to his forehead, and with the rolling gait of a man who has spent his life at sea, moved up the deck to begin readying the ship for her part in the charade which would put the frigates in the middle of the French fleet. Winston noted that the gash on Tice’s arm had been cleaned and the handkerchief replaced by a proper bandage, indications that the surgeon or more likely, given Tice’s well-known aversion to the man of medicine, one of his mates had finally caught up with him.

  “Send for Captain Faitoute, if you please, Mr. Hardy.” The captain wanted to be sure that there would be no complications from his prisoners when they closed with the French, and with Lieutenant Burns, he awaited the French captain’s arrival on the quarterdeck, while the ship was prepared to capture Faitoute’s countrymen, their ships, and their goods.

  When the French captain appeared on the quarterdeck, Winston smiled at him, a trifle patronizingly it appeared to some, and asked how he did.

  “And how are your wounded, Captain? Are the medicos patching them up? I apologize for not dining with you, but I have been rather occupied of late, and a formal dinner was not a luxury to be enjoyed today.”

  “Thank you for your kind words, sir. My men are being adequately taken care of – those ‘at are still alive. We ‘ave lost several more from their wounds, and I fear more will follow. Do not concern yourself with the meal, sir. I assure you, I was fed satisfactorily with my officers in the gun room. May I inquire as to why you sent for me?”