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

by William H. White

  The helm went down, and Glory rounded up smartly, passing stays as only a fore-and-aft rigged vessel can, coming back across the bows of the Britisher some one hundred yards distant. The swift schooner passed down the windward side of the larger ship, wore around again and wound up just off the vessel’s quarter, paralleling her course. Neither ship fired a shot, though it was apparent to Smalley that the British master was doing his best to reorganize his crew and bring another gun into action. The fact that the ship was a merchant with only four guns for its own protection, combined with what appeared to be a short crew prevented him from fighting effectively. It surprised the captain that his opposite number didn’t strike, faced as he was with overwhelming odds and guns that were old and obviously poorly maintained. It had become apparent that the explosion of the forward gun was not caused by a shot from either Glory or Rights; it simply blew up when the crew tried to fire it, and this of course, did nothing to inspire his crew to load and fire another.

  Smalley saw that his boarders were standing by in the waist. Half a dozen seamen were scrambling up the windward ratlines with muskets strapped across their shoulders. He looked aft; Rights was now half a mile behind and firing into the hull of the other British ship. He noted that Stebbins was also receiving fire in return, but his ship looked unscathed. The American fire, either from Rights or Freedom, had taken down the main topmast of the second British merchant, and Smalley wondered to himself if she were short handed as well, how the master had managed to get men aloft to deal with the snarl of rigging as well as maintain sporadic fire from the main deck. He was still puzzled as to why these two were fighting at all, unless their masters thought a Royal Navy frigate might come along and help out.

  Feeling a hand on his elbow, Smalley turned as First Mate Halladay gestured to the British ship, now nearly alongside. They could see a fevered bustle of activity amidships on the vessel, and realized they were trying to get a gun loaded and run out.

  “Bear off. Bring us alongside quickly, now.” Smalley spoke to the men on the big wheel and the schooner bore down on the ship, rapidly closing the few remaining yards separating them. “Standby with the grapnels – look lively there!” The ships were separated now by only half of the schooner’s length, and the size disparity was more pronounced than before. The closer they got, Smalley realized, the more likely it was that the shot, if the British did in fact fire, would fly harmlessly over the schooner’s much lower deck. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind when the amidships gun on the British ship fired with a thunderous roar, momentarily deafening Smalley and most of the men on Glory’s deck. The ball flew through the air six feet off the deck; it cut one of the larboard main shrouds as cleanly as though a knife had done it, and flew on, decapitating Third Mate Phineas Tillet, albeit less neatly. His headless body landed athwart the starboard nine-pounder, and what was left of his head rolled into the windward scuppers, the sightless eyes open in a gruesome stare. Nobody had time to grieve over the death of the third mate; Glory was alongside and the grapnels were sailing through the air. The boarders, led by prize master Tom Corbett, were at the schooner’s bulwark, poised to leap the rail and clamber up the side of the larger ship. Already, the men in the foretop were firing, causing the men on the British ship to seek cover. There were only a few left in the Britisher’s waist when the cry went out. Smalley and Halladay realized simultaneously that the officer they saw on the British ship wore the uniform of the Royal Navy – the ship was not a simple merchant vessel at all. Halladay spoke first.

  “Well, that’s why they fought us – they’s Navy. Must be bringin’ they’s own prize in, and didn’t want to give ‘em up without which they fit us. Musta’ figgered we’d run off, bein’ smaller ‘an ‘em. Guess they’s got a surprise comin’.”

  By way of an answer, the captain turned toward the waist of his vessel and fairly bellowed, “Boarders away!” The two men stood on the quarterdeck, watching as the tough Maryland watermen swarmed aboard their prize. They met little resistance; the officer they had seen wearing the single epaulet of a Royal Navy lieutenant was running forward from the quarterdeck waving a sword and screaming for his men to fight; most had laid down their arms, while a few tried to stem the tide of Glory’s sailors. He saw one of his men go down, a man named Samuels, he thought, and then the swarm of Glories had rounded up the Britisher’s crew remaining on deck and faced the lieutenant with the sword. Realizing he was unlikely to prevail, the man wisely lowered his sword and doffed his hat to Smalley’s second mate, Jack Clements, who had been leading the afterguard of the boarders. A cheer went up from the Americans and one of their number went aft to the taffrail to lower the British ensign. In fact, the man cut the halyard with his cutlass, and Smalley watched it flutter out behind the vessel, caught by the wind, before it fell into the sea astern.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A Reunion

  “Have the commander brought aboard Glory, if you please, Mr. Halladay. And have the men over there check the below decks for hold-outs and cargo. Pass the word for the bosun, and let us see if we can do something about that larboard shroud.” He saw that the surgeon’s mates had already removed Tillet’s body from the gun carriage and his head from the scuppers and presumed that the sailmaker was preparing a canvas shroud for its burial.

  After some time, Halladay reported back to his captain.

  “All the crew been found, sir. You was right on the mark. We catched a fair group hidin’ out below – Frenchies as well as Brits, and they wasn’t in no mood for a fight, I’m thinkin’. We gots ‘em bein’ watched ‘midships. The cargo, what there was of it, was spices, tobacco, and a small amount of sugar. ‘Cordin’ to one of ‘em, most of it already been off loaded when the Limey’s first took the vessel. Corbett and his men are aboard, and the carpenter has looked at most of the biggest damage and said she’s seaworthy. That damage what been done when the for’ard gun blew up wasn’t too bad, ‘ceptin’ o’ course the gun ain’t fit for nothin’ save heavin’ over the side. ‘At gun blew itself up; wasn’t our shot what did it. Probably why them lads wasn’t too keen on firing another ‘un.”

  Most of the damage had been done by several shots from Glory striking the ship just above the waterline, the mate concluded, and he had put a crew, supervised by his carpenter’s mate, to work repairing those holes. Some of the men had helped Samuels back to the schooner, carefully handing him down to the lower deck, where the surgeon looked at his wound. Not life threatening, but painful, Samuels would be returned to duty in a fortnight or so with a nasty scar on his thigh that would most likely enable him to drink for free in waterfront taverns for some time to come, as his story was told, and enhanced by the passage of time.

  Suddenly, Smalley realized that he was not hearing any more firing from astern, and he turned to look. Both Freedom and Bill of Rights were tied alongside the other British ship. From what he could see, there was some action on deck, but with two boarding parties fighting against a short handed crew, he figured it soon would be over. Hearing a quiet “Ahem” behind him, he turned, and found himself face-to-face with a strangely familiar man in the uniform of a Royal Navy Lieutenant. The lieutenant, obviously overwrought, blustered, saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth as he struggled to regain some of his dignity.

  “Sir. I am Lieutenant Joseph Burns of His Majesty’s Navy, and commander of the British vessel Fleur. While I know your country has most recently declared war against England, I most strongly protest this act of piracy on the high seas. You certainly do not appear to be a Naval ship, and as the rag-tag collection of civilians you most closely resemble, you can have no use whatever for this vessel. I demand that you release my men and ship at once so that we may return to our business of delivering this ship and the other vessel astern to Antigua.”

  “Lieutenant Burns, I am Captain Jedediah Smalley, commander of the schooner, Glory. We are sailing in company with Captain Joshua Abrams, under a commission as a private armed vessel from th
e President of the United States of America, Mr. James Madison. As such, we enjoy much the same status as a naval man of war, as far as you are concerned. I would be interested in knowing why a rather raggedy merchant is being sailed under the command of a Royal Navy officer, and why you have such a variety of additional men at your command. As to “piracy,” your words must ring hollow as the practice is certainly not foreign to English ships; your country has been stopping and stripping crew from American vessels for…”

  With the words “stripping crew…” it suddenly dawned on Smalley where he had seen this pompous lieutenant before; he had boarded Anne in the Atlantic just two years past and pressed three of Smalley’s sailors on the pretext they were Englishmen avoiding service in His Majesty’s Navy. He stared at Burns for a long moment, recalling the incident in which not only had three of his men been kidnapped, but one of his men shot dead by a Royal Marine. As he spoke his lips formed a thin line and his deep set eyes glowed like two coals as he recalled the incident, then a sparkle developed in them, and a tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth as he was struck with the irony of his present circumstance.

  “It seems the tide has turned, Mr. Burns. Do you recall when last we met?” Seeing a puzzled look on the man’s face, he continued. “No? Well, perhaps I can refresh your memory. I was in command of the American merchant vessel Anne which was stopped by your frigate Orpheus about two years back. I believe your parting words to me, if my memory doesn’t fail me, were something to the effect that we colonists were going to be put in our place and it was your hope that you would be involved in the doing. It would appear the shoe is on the other foot; unfortunately you will not be returned to your ship. You will remain aboard Glory in confinement until I can get you to an American port where you will hopefully be imprisoned until the hostilities between our countries end. Good day to you. Mr. Halladay, have this man taken below and confined where he will be safe from any harm.”

  Smalley turned away from the English officer, who was by now purple with rage and speechless at this turn of events. Nobody, least of all some upstart from America, acts this way to an English officer, but here it was, and he was impotent to do anything about it. Halladay took the English officer by his elbow, and gently led him below. Unintelligible utterances, more closely akin to choking noises, dribbled from the lieutenant’s mouth as his brain struggled to equate the facts before him with his own long standing beliefs.

  Smalley, only dimly aware of the disposition of Lieutentant Burns, was watching a knot of men on Fleur’s deck. They seemed to be having a lively discussion with one of the captured British sailors. Suddenly, Glory’s second mate accompanied by one of his boarders and another, apparently a British seaman, detached themselves from the group and leaped the ship’s rail, landing on Glory’s main deck. They headed aft toward Smalley and Halladay, led by Jack Clements, whose gangly form and impishly smiling face gave no hint of his mission.

  “Cap’n. This cove claims to be an American, and wants to sign on with us. Sounds enough like one to me, but I don’t know if’n you want to sign on a sailorman off’n a Britisher. Might be a spy or somethin’.” He winked at his captain, and shoved the seaman in question forward.

  “My God, it is you, Cap’n Smalley. I am Isaac Biggs. I sailed as captain of the foretop on Anne, sir. Pressed by Lieutenant Burns into the frigate Orpheus two years and more ago. Do you remember me, sir?”

  Now it was Smalley’s turn to be thunderstruck. He stared at the man, while a flood of memories of the old Anne flooded back. His satisfaction at confronting the man in charge of the British sea-going press gang was prize enough, but liberating one of the pressed men was a bonus he hadn’t expected. Many pressed seamen are not soon heard from.

  “Welcome aboard, Biggs. Of course I remember you.” He turned to the second. “This man is no more a spy than you are, Mr. Clements. Sign him into the ship’s articles…Wait a moment, Mr. Clements.” He paused, thinking. He looked sharply at the American sailor. “As I recall, Biggs, you had been studying some navigation with Mr. Clark back on Anne. I would doubt you’ve had much opportunity to keep up with it in the Royal Navy, but mebe you kin remember enough to be of some help. And I reckon Mr. Halladay might help refresh them skills.” Seeing the confused look on Biggs’ face, he continued.

  “I have no third mate, Biggs. Tillet was killed in the action with Fleur. I am sure Captain Abrams will have no problem with it, if you’re interested in filling Tillet’s berth.”

  Now Biggs was speechless. When he found his wits, he smiled broadly and bobbed his head, his curly hair bouncing, his eyes alight with joy. “Yes sir, Cap’n. I would be most grateful for that. I won’t let you down, neither, sir. Thank you. And I’ll work real hard at gettin’ back my navigatin’ quick as ever I can, sir.”

  “Very well, then. Get whatever slops you have and Clements, here, will show you to Tillet’s berth.” Smalley dismissed the men by turning back toward the prize. The sailor who had accompanied Clements and Biggs from the prize looked at Biggs now in a new light, appraising him as possibly the luckiest man in the West Indies. It was unusual enough for a pressed sailor to be rescued, but by the captain under whom he’d served, and then be made an officer into the bargain!

  Halladay stepped to the rail next to Smalley. Waiting until Clements and Biggs were out of earshot, he ran a big hand through his beard, trying to put his concerns into words without appearing to question the decision of his captain. A scowl crossed his face like a shadow, then passed. After hesitating, he determined that the only course was to say it straight out.

  “Cap’n, I know it ain’t my place to say nothin’, but they’s men aboard qualified to fill Tillet’s berth. This Biggs fellow might be gonna have a problem with some of ‘em, bein’s how he ain’t been aboard but a few minutes.” Halladay tried as tactfully as he could to suggest that Smalley’s decision was wrong, but the captain would have none of it.

  “You mark my words, Mr. Halladay; that man is a natural leader, and unless I’m getting forgetful, he’ll do just fine. He sailed with me first as able seaman on Anne, and worked his way to captain of the foretop. And he convinced the mate to teach him navigatin’ on top of it. He’s a fine sailor, and men work willingly for him. If my memory ain’t gone, I was lookin’ for a third mates’ berth for him then. He don’t know ‘bout bein’ an officer, but I think you can help him out with that.”

  Realizing his captain’s mind was set, Halladay nodded and said, “Aye, that I can. Looks like Mr. Corbett’s got his crew ready to sail that vessel, now, sir. Should we cut ‘em loose?”

  “If you please, Mr. Halladay. Have the men stand by to bring Glory about. We shall see what is happening with the other ship. ‘Pears as though Stebbins and Cap’n Abrams have got everything under control, but we’ll have a look.”

  Captain Smalley watched as his mate gave the orders to retrieve the grapnels and as the ships separated, he shouted over the water to Mr. Corbett, the prize master on Fleur.

  “Stay hove to for a bit, Corbett. We’ll be back with instructions in a trice. We’ve got to figure where Cap’n Abrams wants to take the prizes.” A wave from Corbett acknowledged his understanding, and he quickly sent men aloft to furl tops’ls and tie a reef into the forecourse. As Glory slipped away to windward, Fleur was brought ‘round closer to the wind where she would lie hove to until Smalley returned with orders.

  By the time Glory arrived at the second British, formerly French, and now apparently American ship, all was quiet. Activity on both Bill of Rights and Freedom indicated that they were getting ready to cast off from the larger ship. The English colors had been removed from her, and an American flag fluttered in the now gentle breeze from the mizzentop. As Smalley watched from his quarterdeck, a flag hoist climbed to the top of Freedom’s mainmast. The quartermaster was at the captain’s side with the book before the flags were two-blocked. A look from the captain was all the prompting he needed.

  “‘Heave to. Well done. Captains repa
ir aboard’…that’s it, sir.” The quartermaster closed the book, keeping his finger in the place in case more flags appeared.

  “Very well. Thank you. Mr. Halladay, you may have the bosun pipe secure from quarters. Have my boat crew assembled and put the cutter overboard as soon as we are hove to, if you please. I have been summoned aboard Freedom. Stay hove to with Rights and the prize, as I expect I shall be back promptly with Cap’n Abrams’ instructions. You can use the time to get our new third mate acquainted with the schooner and the men. I will conduct a burial for Mr. Tillet quick as ever we are underway again.”

  After the schooner was hove to and order restored, Smalley watched as the boat was rigged to a tackle from the foremast gaff, swung out, and lowered into the water to leeward. He noted with satisfaction that his cutter was ready a full two minutes before Tom Stebbins’ crew had his boat ready. He sent below for his hat, and after jamming it onto his head, climbed over the schooner’s bulwark and stepped onto the larboard channel for the main shrouds. When the cutter rose on a wave, he stepped in as smoothly as a younger man might have, and told his coxswain to carry him to Freedom, lying hove to a scant musket shot away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Arrival and Shore Leave

  By the end of the second week in September of 1812, Abrams’ schooners had escorted their prizes to the southwest corner of the recently independent nation of Haiti, on the island of Hispanola, where Captain Abrams believed there to be an Haitian prize court which he hoped would fairly adjudicate their prizes. After discussion with his captains, he had made the decision not to sail the prizes back to a U.S. port as their letter of instructions had indicated; there were simply too many British warships these waters and sailing a lightly armed prize through them would be perilous at best, as he had so recently proved to the British. Yes, they agreed, better to get the vessels into friendly – or at least neutral – hands as quick as ever possible. Had they been traveling alone in fine weather, Freedom, Bill of Rights, and Glory could have made the trip from the north coast of Puerto Rico, east of the Mona Passage, in under a week. As it was, they had a week of unusually contrary winds and generally inclement weather which caused the square-rigged merchants to sail a course well off that which would take them through the Mona Passage and then west to Haiti, and with the short-handed crews on both prizes, setting a press of canvas when the wind did turn fair was out of the question.