“We had not loaded sufficient stores for a passage to the Mediterranean nor had we loaded the provisions and equipage we were transporting to the fleet there. The one which Commodore Barron was to take command of. Additionally, we had spars to rig and the eighteen-pounder barrels had all to be mounted to their carriages, a particularly tedious job of work given we were so shorthanded. And of course, I had to find a new gunner and powder to replace that which had proved useless.”
“Did you make an effort to remedy the problem of the shortage of sailors?”
“Of course, sir! I had two rendezvous established, one at Missus Pinckney’s Lodging House and one at the Anchor and Horn, a taproom just outside the Navy Yard. As I recall, Mister Baldwin was put in charge of the former while one of the lieutenants—Keane, it was—ran the other. They were told in no uncertain terms not to enlist any Royal Navy deserters no matter how short of crew the ship was.”
Now it was my turn; I felt the color rise in my neck and cheeks as Gordon uttered those condemning words. And Allen’s nudge to my arm did nothing to assuage my guilt.
How was I to know ifa sailor was a Royal Navy deserter if he claimed otherwise? And I imagine Lieutenant Keane got a few at the Anchor and Horn as well!
“As I recall, you told us you had arrested the gunner and had him confined pending a court martial. Did you replace him in Norfolk?” Tazewell now lowered his voice, almost to the point where I could not hear his questions.
“No, I did not. I had no choice but to release Gunner Hook and rein-state him … in spite of his gross incompetence. There was no other to fill the billet. Were we to have any chance of mounting all of our guns to their carriages, not to mention the firing locks, I needed to have a gunner. But even with him—or perhaps because of him—we were unable to complete the job before we were ordered to sea.”
Tazewell now stood erect, took a deep breath, and spoke loudly enough for anyone, even someone loitering on the pier, to hear him. “So, Mister Gordon. You set sail on an Atlantic crossing with an incomplete and incompetent crew, unmounted guns, and cargo and stores strewn about willy-nilly. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And who ordered you to sea, Mister Gordon?”
“Commodore Barron.” A silence, elegant in its completeness, filled the Cabin.
I stole a glance at Barron who, for once, was not engaged in conversation with his lawyer. He stared at Gordon, his eyes hard as diamonds, and a killing look on his jowly face. Gordon, for his part, met the glare of his former commodore without a flinch, then looked away to see the members of the panel nodding as if in agreement.
“Mister Taylor, have you any questions for Mister Gordon?” The president broke the silence.
“As a matter of fact, I do, Captain. Only one … or perhaps two, if you please.” Lawyer Taylor did not stand up, merely shifted his gaze from the panel to Master Commandant Gordon. “And who, Mister Gordon, informed Commodore Barron the ship was ready for sea?”
Gordon shifted in his seat, as if suddenly finding the hard seat of the straight-backed chair intolerable. But he looked at the commodore’s counsel (or perhaps it was the commodore himself) and spoke quietly.
“I did.”
“Why did you do that, sir? It doesn’t sound as if that was the case at all.” Taylor shot back, a smile beginning to form on his face.
“For a fair weather crossing, it would be no effort to stow the cargo and finish mounting our gun barrels. Since we were not at war with any country, we quite naturally expected no need for defending ourselves against any of hostile intent. Once the decks were clear and the work on the guns completed, including the mounting of the firing locks—no more than a few days out from the Capes—I had anticipated drilling the crew in gunnery, among other things. Additionally, sir, the commodore had received word from the Secretary that we were to make our departure with all haste. There was some considerable pressure to carry out his orders.”
“But nonetheless, Captain Gordon, the ultimate determination as to the readiness of the frigate was yours, was it not?”
I wondered at Barron’s lawyer suddenly referring to Gordon as captain. It seemed to catch Gordon all aback, as well.
“Well… in a manner of speaking, sir, it was. But Commodore Barron had said he would …”
“Thank you, Mister Gordon. That will do for now.” Taylor smiled wolfishly and shifted his gaze to Captain Rodgers. “I would like to request a short recess, if you please, sir, to discuss some matters with Commodore Barron. I expect to continue with Captain Gordon’s testimony following it.”
Rodgers consulted a gold timepiece which he had extracted from his waistcoat pocket and looked up at Taylor.
“We can take a recess now. We shall stop for dinner and reconvene at a half after three. I assume that will give you enough time to ‘discuss some matters with the commodore,’ Mister Taylor?” Without waiting for an answer, Captain Rodgers picked up his gavel.
“We are adjourned.”
The sharp report of Rodgers’ gavel put the period at the end of his sentence and, almost as one, the members of the court rose and walked through the Cabin without so much as a glance left or right.
Henry and I also stood and, after waiting for the court to file out, fell in line behind Lieutenant Lawrence and made our way topside. Once standing in the cold air, refreshing after the closeness of the Cabin, I pulled out my silver watch and was surprised to find it barely a half one.
“Henry, we have almost two hours for dinner. What say we dine ashore today? I am not sure I can manage the swill the cockpit steward will filch from the galley. Besides, I am brimming over with questions for you!” Even though it was still nearly an hour before our usual meal time, my stomach was rumbling a protest at being empty.
“A fine idea, Oliver. I should check on a few jobs of work I ordered started today before we go; give me a few moments and meet me in the waist. It will be a pleasant respite from the gunroom fare as well!” Without waiting for an answer, Lieutenant Allen turned and made his way toward the bow of the frigate, speaking to a few sailors he passed on his way.
Lieutenant Rowe, still learning his way (there was a rumor that this was his first assignment to first lieutenant and I was inclined to believe it) was standing at the break of the quarterdeck talking with Captain Decatur and I waited at a discrete distance for the chance to speak.
After several days of quite mild weather, we had experienced a change for the worse only yesterday and some of the older hands had predicted further worsening before it improved. Now, here was the proof of their prognostication; it had begun to snow, large, wet flakes which quickly coated everything they touched. I noticed that both Rowe and the captain were beginning to be quite liberally coated even though they could not have been standing there for more than a few minutes.
Should be finishing up soon, I’d think. Were they going to be in a long discussion, I would expect they’d likely move under some cover.
I was right; with a crisp doffing of his hat, which resulted in a brief blizzard as it’s collected snow fell off, Lieutenant Rowe stepped around the captain and headed right for me.
“Sir: may Lieutenant Allen and I have your permission to take our leave ashore. Just for dinner, sir, as we will be returning to the court martial thereafter.” I lifted my own hat and spoke as he drew close.
“Hmmm … what’s that? What was it you wanted, Mister …” He stopped and looked at me, his puzzled expression telling me he had again forgotten my name.
“Baldwin, sir. Oliver Baldwin. May Mister Allen and I go ashore for dinner, sir?”
“Oh, my, yes. Mister … uh … Baldwin. By all means.” Rowe doffed his own hat, recognizing my salute, and hurried on forward to carry out whatever orders the captain had issued.
I waited only a moment or two for Henry to appear and, leaving tracks in the fresh snow, which seemed to disappear almost at once, filled in with fresh snow fail as they were, we hurried through the cold streets, followi
ng the faint—visible only as slight indentations—tracks of our predecessors. We came to an eating establishment where, to our surprise, we discovered several of the lieutenants from the court martial panel already ensconced at a table. Including Lieutenant Lawrence, who noticed us come in and stood to wave us over. We shook the snow off our great coats and hung them on a peg by the door, stamping our feet as we did so.
“You may as well join us, gentlemen. There appears not to be an empty table in sight and we would be glad of your company.” Nods around the table, along with a few smiles, encouraged us and, pulling up two more chairs in the space made for us, we sat.
Formal introductions were made for our benefit—the three lieutenants from the panel, of course, knew our names from our having testified early in the trial—and a silence descended upon the group. Naturally, the officers involved in judging the guilt or innocence of Commodore Barron and the others would be breaching a confidence were they to discuss the matter with us, and there seemed little else of import that any cared to converse on.
After several moments of awkwardness, James Lawrence spoke up, pointing at me with his knife. “Perchance you gentlemen were unaware that Mister Baldwin and I served together in that business with Tripoli some years back. Got his blooding in the Philadelphia raid and later accounted for a few other rascals from that cursed country of scoundrels and pirates.”
More nods and mumbled comments greeted this statement as the others considered his remark around large mouthfuls of beef stew. Henry, of course, was well aware of my past and merely caught my eye and winked. I suspected he knew what would come next.
“Pray tell us, Midshipman, how you saw that action on our late frigate. I have gathered from other accounts that it was quite bloody considering its short duration.” The man across the table from Henry and me looked at me much the same as a fox might view a hole in the henhouse wall.
“Sir,” said I, “it was indeed bloody and brief. Twenty minutes, as I recall.” As I “recall?” I would neverforget those twenty “brief” minutes! I thought as my stomach turned over just from the thought of that ferocious night. Am I to go through this every time I take a meal with someone I have not previously met?
“Well, do tell! Lieutenant Lawrence said you were ‘blooded’ in the scrap, Baldwin. I assume he meant you killed one of the villains.” My questioner prodded.
Lieutenant Lawrence responded with gusto before I could even take a breath. “Baldwin was quite literally ‘blooded’ gentlemen. He apparently engaged in some swordplay with one of the pirates and, in the process, got himself covered in gore. I distinctly recall seeing him, his shirtfront, waist-coat, arms, and, indeed, his face, all crimson from the rascal’s life blood. Even called for our surgeon to have a look at him! Ha ha. Thought he had suffered some severe gash to his own being when first I noticed him, but it turned out he was unscathed. Clipped off the man’s head, or nearly so, right, Oliver?” Lawrence was positively gleeful at the recollection of my sorry condition when I appeared after the fight.
Despite my earlier hunger, I was fast losing my appetite. The memory of that fight, my first staggering steps of mortal combat, flooded into my mind and I saw that huge, black-bearded, corsair coming at me with his scimitar held aloft, ready to split me stem to stern. I could again feel the tingle in my arm as my cutlass parried his blow. And I could almost feel the warm gush of his blood as, after several moments (it seemed like hours!) of cut and thrust, parry and strike, I landed a lucky blow to his neck. As Lawrence said, almost severing his head from his shoulders. My gorge rose up as I again tasted the metallic bitterness of the man’s blood.
“It would appear that Oliver remembers the occasion all too well, gentlemen. He seems unable to utter a word! Oliver, are you quite all right?” Henry’s concern (he knew well the story and thus had no interest in hearing it again) was evident and I knew he would quickly seek a way to change the subject.
After a moment or two, I felt the color return to my face and, with some considerable effort, finished chewing and swallowed the mouthful I had been caught with. “Aye, just fine, Mister Allen. Thank you.” I smiled thinly and nodded to him.
“Then you must have been one of Preble’s Boys, were you not, Baldwin? I believe he was commodore of the squadron that was involved in the Philadelphia scrap and that dreadful affair with Somers being lost in the fireship.” This from another of the lieutenants.
“Yes, sir. I was in Commodore Preble’s squadron. With Mister Lawrence and Captain Decatur. My brother was in Philadelphia with Captain Bainbridge.” I answered, hoping they would let me finish my dinner without the Grand Inquisition. After all, Lawrence was there too, and no doubt had told them every gory detail of every engagement.
“Too bad about Preble; a good man he was. A dreadful shame he had to take ill and pass so quickly after being named a hero by our Congress. Hardly had time to bask in the glory of it! And just a few weeks after the shameful event about which we’ve been hearing these past weeks. Must have been the killing blow to a weakened constitution is all I can think. Dreadful waste, it is, to lose a man of his caliber.” My first inquisitor took a long draught of whatever was in his pewter, after first raising it in, presumably, a silent toast to the late commodore.
“My stars! Look at the time! We have very nearly frittered away the entire time Captain Rodgers allowed. We must return to our duties, gentlemen!” Lawrence held up a large gold timepiece, as if to add emphasis to his remark.
I sneaked a look at my own—it was silver, and not so large as Lawrence’s— and saw that it was not quite as close to the appointed hour as Lawrence would have us believe; in fact, we had a good half hour to make the five minute walk to the frigate. Perhaps he was rescuing me from his associates! In any case, they each stood, threw some coins on the table, and, with mumbled pleasantries, departed. Leaving Henry and me to finish our meal alone.
“Well! That was interesting! But I don’t think we have to rush back, Oliver. We’re not on the panel, and I am sure Taylor will continue to lambaste Gordon for the remainder of the day. You certainly drew the lion’s share of the fire, my friend! You might think those poor chaps had never seen a shot fired in anger, so interested in your ‘blooding’ were they. I would have thought that James Lawrence might have given them all the details before this. After all, it’s been almost four years since you and Decatur attacked the Philadelphia frigate, right?”
“Aye, Henry. Almost to the day, in fact. February sixteenth, 1804. I shall most probably never forget any of it, so indelibly etched into my memory it is. Just as are the events of June. And while I was on the receiving end of shots fired by the corsairs off Tripoli, they were nothing like what I… we experienced from Leopard. I had dreams about that for some months afterward.” I did not mention that, over several of the nights since the court martial began, I had been revisited by the same cursed brother of Orpheus.
“You know, Oliver,” Henry adroitly changed the subject, perhaps sensing my reaction to the memory, “I was wondering the other day about the men you and Keane took aboard from the rendezvous. How did those four—the ones that got took back to Leopard—convince you … or Keane that they weren’t British deserters. They must have looked like sailors and likely used words common to a seagoing man.”
“Henry, those men had to have come to Keane’s rendezvous at the Horn and Anchor; I could swear that I never saw them until we were under way from Norfolk. I would have at least recognized them, had I recruited them, I should think.” I had wracked my brain countless times over that question and had drawn the same conclusion each time. “You could ask him the same question. I would, but I am not sure he’d take kindly to a midshipman questioning him about it.”
“You may have to, Oliver. Swear, that is. That you never saw those four sailors until after we had won our anchor. They might just call you back to answer a few more questions, you know. You recall what Cap’n Rodgers said … to you as well as to each and every witness, when we were excused.”
Henry spoke very seriously, making me jerk my head around to look sharply at him. Then he broke into a smile. “I wouldn’t worry too much about how those four got into the frigate; that is not what Barron and Gordon and the others are charged with. Disgraceful behavior is what they’re charged with, not to put too fine a point on it!”
It had stopped snowing when we left the tavern and the snow, where it had not been trampled by passers by and horses, lay about a small finger’s depth on the street. Elsewhere, the frozen dirt which, with a thaw, would quickly become a morass of sticky mud, showed through, rutted by the wagon wheels and carts which carried goods to the Navy Yard.
Commodore Barron was just sitting down with his lawyer when we quietly took our seats again in the back of the room. The usual buzz and hum of muted conversations filled the air.
Bang! Rodgers’ gavel slammed down on the table and we were once again in session, Tazewell calling for Captain Gordon to again take his seat in the witness chair so that Mister Taylor might further question him.
What more could they possibly extract from the poor man? We have heard over and over about how it was the commodore who surrendered the ship, not Gordon. Does Taylor think he’s going to unearth some new bit of evidence, some uttering that will exonerate his client?
Taylor wasted no time in niceties. “Captain Gordon, let us turn to the matter of the British deserters who were in your ship. We have heard from several of your lieutenants that you were, in fact, aware of some of these men in your muster. Is that correct, sir?”
Gordon shifted in the chair. “Well, Mister Taylor, you must understand that Chesapeake was extremely shorthanded when we left Washington and even more so when we arrived in Hampton due to the desertions, sickness, and deaths we had experienced en route. I gave the matter of British deserters little thought as it is quite common for them to seek employment in our navy. Since we ran several rendezvous’ during our time in Norfolk, it would be quite natural, I think, for a few to sign on, despite my admonition to the recruiters. I am certain that, were you to step aboard any American warship almost anywhere in the world, you would likely find British sailors, a few at any rate. But I was not aware, specifically, of any by name who had signed into Chesapeake.”
In Pursuit of Glory Page 8