“Let’s get it done, Sailing Master. No point in prolonging the joy more than necessary!” I hoped my glib response made it through the noise of the wind.
Without further comment, Cheever blew his whistle and I heard almost immediately the faint trill of Kelly’s some sixty feet below us indicating his men were also ready. Barely a heartbeat later, I felt the mast tremble as the big sail was eased and the brace hauled around. The heavy sodden canvas began to shiver then luff in earnest. I knew the yard would be shaking as the canvas began to flap and, in addition to the already wild motion of the maintop, felt it shuddering as the yard transmitted its own motion to our lofty perch. I tightened my grip on the halyard.
Gradually, the sailors hanging over the yard bundled up almost all of the sail and were tying the sodden mass of canvas to the yard. In a flash of lightning—it seemed to be almost on top of us—I saw one of the men reaching over the yard to gain another handful of sail when one of his feet slipped off the gyrating footrope.
“Watch it! Hang on, there!” I yelled, quite unnecessarily. If he wasn’t already hanging on with every fiber of his being, my shout (assuming he even heard me) would do little to help.
Cheever lurched toward the rail and before I could utter a word, dropped down onto the futtock shrouds, the almost vertical rope ladder which would take him to the lower shrouds and the yard. As his head disappeared from my view, I heard a shriek, decidedly not the wind, that was cut off almost before it started.
Panicked, I released my grip on the halyard and moved to the weather edge of the top, peering into the downpour and struggling to discover what might have happened.
What if Mister Cheever lost his own footing and slipped. No matter how the ship might be gyrating, he would most likely land at the foot of the mast in a broken heap ready only to be sewn into his hammock and …
The rain lashed at my eyes and blurred my vision, but I could make out the form of our sailing master as he stepped off the futtock shrouds onto the ratlines of the lowers some ten feet below me.
Thank God! Cheever did not fall. What, then made him scream like that?
“Mister Cheever. Are you alright? What has happened? What was that scream I heard?” I bellowed over the edge of the top.
A streak of fire lit the sodden sky and in its light I could see Cheever now on the mainyard, grappling with the sail. He did not even look up at my call but remained with this feet firmly on the swaying footrope and his body bent over the yard as he passed a length of line around the sail and the yard. The man who had slipped seemed no longer to be hanging onto the footrope; in fact, I saw no sign of him.
The motion of the ship had eased noticeably now with both the fore and main courses handed and a reef in the fore tops’l. The topmen were moving in from the mainyard and, without a word among them, climbing up to the top where they would continue to the main tops’l yard to reef that sail as they had the foretops’l.
Cheever appeared beside me on the top. Grabbing my arm, he shouted over the noise of the wind and groans of the ship, “Meyers musta fell. Time I got there, wasn’t nothing I could do to stop him … already gone … reckon … goner.”
“Overboard? Or on deck?” I screamed back, peering cautiously over the railing toward the deck. Hope he hit the deck and was killed fast. Going into the sea in this weather would be dreadful! It wasn’t necessary to share my thought with Cheever; I am sure the same thing ran through his own mind.
“No idea. Didn’t see much activity from the lads below in that last flash. Probably fell into the water.” The sailing master shouted, his foot already on the ratlines as he headed further aloft to assist his men.
Mercy! What a horrible way to die. You hit the water and, if you still have your wits, you realize there is no way the ship can be turned about or a boat launched to save you. The huge seas toss you about like so much flotsam and it becomes a struggle just to stay afloat.
I reckon that after a while you realize you’re dead and maybe stop struggling. I shuddered at the thought.
Whistles, luffing canvas, and muted shouts pierced my thoughts and then the men were passing by me on their way back to the safety of the spar deck. When Cheever went by, he gently took my arm and steered me to the ratlines of the futtock shrouds; I offered an unseen nod and made my own way down, stepping carefully through the howling madness lest I join our star-crossed topman.
CHAPTER NINE
… at last, dear Brother, I have found a few minutes to add to the scribblings I started more than a week past.
My mind continues to reel, though it has been now more than a month since our topman was lost. I am still bedeviled by dreams and even waking moments of consternation about the event. And not a soul on deck even caught a glimpse of him falling! Of course, that would mean the poor devil went into the sea and, assuming he was still alive when he came to the surface after his plunge, he must have suffered an unimaginable horror, first of watching his ship sail into the dark tempest away from him, and then realizing he was as good as dead. I can not fathom what he must have suffered, likely the reason for my continuing discomfort over it. That and the torment of what I might have done to have prevented the tragedy.
The storm finally blew itself out two days—and dreadful ones they were, indeed—later. During the day, the wind offered its range of shrieks and screams; waves, their white-topped crests reaching often as high as the mainyard, put me in mind of great dark horses with their white manes and tails streaming out behind them. But at night, with nary the pinprick of a star to light them, their enormity could only be imagined which, I think for most of us, made them even more fearful. By the middle of the first watch on the second day, the wind’s shrieks had moderated to a hollow keening; it penetrated to our very cores and there was no place on the ship where a body could escape the sound.
With the wind easing, I knew the seas would settle, but until then we had to endure the thrashing they provided. Mercifully, Capt. Decatur had hove us to, a wonderful respite for the crew. Even some of the more seasoned hands had felt the effects of the storm, but, dear Brother, I am proud to tell you, I was not among them! I continued, unlike several of my mates in the cockpit, to stand my watches and perform what few duties I had and, several times, I took the employments of some too sick to work.
You will want to know also, that the gunroom suffered in similar fashion; some were overcome with more than simple queasiness and took to their cots, a modest dosage of laudanum providing some respite from their miseries. I am happy to report, Edward, that our nemesis, Lieutenant Peter Stoll, was, according to Henry Allen, among the worst stricken and, after the first night of the storm, appeared not once on deck, or elsewhere, save his cot. Even the mids too ill to leave their own were lifted by this bit of news.
I may have neglected to mention earlier in this missive (writing it, as I am, over a lengthy period of days and, as time permits) that during Taggart’s and my travails the first night, Mister Stoll appeared as I stepped from the rigging having completed our tasks aloft and quite in shock over the loss over our sailor. He spent some considerable minutes shouting, into Taggart’s face, instructions as to what the 1st It. had in mind, quite unaware that the job was, in fact, done. Or that a seaman had fallen to his death. When I appeared, he had worked himself into a state or frenzy and launched his further criticisms into my face. For some reason, he had neglected to look aloft and, in my opinion, he was not enough of a sailor to recognize that the ship was managing easier under the reduced sail. In any event, my surmise about his seamanly skills was lent further credence when a wave washed down the deck and took him completely off his feet (he seemed to disdain holding the lifeline which allowed Taggart, Blanchard, who had returned to lend a hand to us, and me, as well as the others near at hand to maintain our own footing) and swept him right to the leeward scuppers! Mercifully, in the darkness and noise of the storm, he could have neither heard our laughter nor seen our amused expressions. He did not reappear to offer further instruct
ion nor was his presence noted beyond the confines of his cabin for the next two days.
By the third day, the skies had cleared, the seas moderated to a manageable size and we made sail, continuing our patrol to the northward. Little of moment broke our routine and the days dragged on; gun drills, often with actual firing, filled our mornings, with ships work and assorted employments occupying us until the evening meal was piped. Nary a ship did we see, nor anything to arouse suspicion of nefarious activities, the reduction of which was our stated mission, as I am sure you recall. I am certain the Capt. and Lt. Rowe were disappointed and hoped for something with which they might justify our very existence! Especially, the Capt.
In early June, I think around the eighth or ninth, I had the watch with Lieutenant Allen (you must remember him from your visit to Chesapeake last spring) when a lookout cried from the foretop that he had espied a ship and she appeared to be on fire. As you may well imagine, Edward, after weeks of perfect weather, idleness and complete boredom, the entire crew was galvanized into action!
Many climbed to the tops—so many in fact that the 1st It. had to call them down as it was fast becoming too crowded there!—just to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. Henry sent me to the maintop with a glass to determine what it was that the lookout had reported.
Indeed, it did appear that there was a ship, two masted she was, making great gouts of smoke, giving every appearance of being fully engulfed in fire. As I continued to glass her, I realized that she was making way in a perfectly regular fashion, but there were no sails set!
I duly reported this to all on the quarterdeck upon my return and the captain studied me as though I had quite lost my mind.
“How would you imagine, Mister Baldwin,” he asked me, blinking in disbelief, “is a vessel able to make way with no sails set and fire consuming her?” He continued to study me closely as he waited for my response.
“I can not fathom that, Captain.” I replied as calmly as I could manage. “But there is a white trail of wake astern and clearly, the ship is moving through the water.”
“We will go and have a look. I can not have my midshipmen hallucinating. Mister Allen, you may bring her up a point.”
By now, Edward, the vessel was plainly observed from our deck and, if she was not making way from her own efforts, she was drifting faster than we could sail in the very modest breeze. Decatur ordered us set to t’gallants and gradually, we overtook her.
We finally hove alongside of her close to shore at the mouth of the Delaware Bay where a strong tide was making. And to our absolute amazement, not only was she not on fire, she was indeed moving through the water quite handsomely without a shred of canvas aloft! A great plume of smoke, spotted with bits of burning embers, poured forth from a chimney amidships and, as we drew close alongside, we observed two large half rounds attached to her sides, starboard and larboard. None aboard seemed frenzied by the smoke and sparks; in fact, they acted more concerned over our proximity to them. I noticed she flew the Stars and Stripes from her taffrail.
Capt. Decatur stood on the bulwark and addressed their quarterdeck through his speaking trumpet. “What ship are you, sir? And by what means do you propel yourself at such a rate?”
The answer came back at once. “We are the steamboat Phoenix, sir. Colonel John Stevens commanding. We are nine days out of New York Bay and bound for Philadelphia!”
“Steam, then, she is. My stars! Small wonder you can sail … er … steam into the very eye of the wind! And what, sir, do you burn, wood?”
Again the tinny voice of Colonel Stevens shot back. “Aye. Wood it is, sir. And a fair bit of it! Three times we’ve had to put in along the New Jersey coast to take on more.”
“Congratulations, to you sir. What a splendid accomplishment … and vessel. God speed to you!” Decatur had heard enough.
He climbed down from his perch at the mizzen shrouds, a quite disbelieving look upon his face. But he, nay, all of us (most of our crew lined our leeward rail, completely agog at the spectacle), saw the ship with our own eyes as she sailed directly up wind, a feat no sailing vessel, no matter how weatherly, could manage. And as I wondered about this smoke-belching vessel alongside of us, the Capt. spoke his own thoughts.
“Mister Rowe. Do you imagine that we have just been given a glimpse of the future or is it merely some lunatic’s fancy that will die a-borning?”
And Mr. Rowe answered. “I can not believe, Cap’n, that such a vessel will ever replace the power and capabilities of a modern frigate. Just don’t seem likely, I’d warrant! And besides, can you imagine the amount of wood she’d have to carry to go beyond the limits of a short coastal cruise! You heard Stevens mention he’d put in three times just from New York to take on more.”
Brother, it was quite fantastic. Something none among us could fathom!
We tacked away to give her sea room to navigate the entrance to the Bay and because we were unable to place our bows in the eye of the wind (as Phoenix did so handily), we were, in fact, getting quite close alongside of her! I can assure you, the sighting and the ship itself were the center of conversation from the fo’c’sle to the Cabin for the remainder of the day and into the next. Not a man among us could comprehend such a remarkable and, according to some, ludicrous sight.
We now cruise with Block Island visible at the horizon and little but fishing smacks and the odd coastal trader to provide us opportunities to carry out our commission. We did manage to stop a fair-sized brig two days back as she seemed under a press of canvas in her haste to make her easting. At the instant, we were just to the east of the curve of Cape Cod.
The capt. was duly notified, quarters sounded, and we overhauled her quite handily. Hailing seemed fruitless when her watch appeared unwilling to heave to as we requested, but a single shot fired across her bow answered nicely and we quickly had a boat over and headed for her side.
Mr. Allen and I had the privilege of leading the boarding party to view her papers and cargo. It was most exciting and I was sure my colleagues in the cockpit were envious to a man that I got chosen to assist Henry.
A very angry man, we presumed him to be the capt. of the brig, greeted us at the bulwark, shouting all manner of epithets and decrying the fact that we were causing him delays. It turned out he was not only the capt., but also the owner of the ship, whose name was General Washington, and called himself Asa Rogers. Henry waited until he had spoken his piece and then explained our mission and the laws of the embargo precluding trade with foreign nations. At this, Mr. Rogers became further agitated and Henry’s wink and nod to me said he believed, as I did, that we had finally caught a “runner,” as those who sailed to foreign ports in contra to the embargo were being called.
Rogers told us to follow him to the cabin where he produced his papers indicating the ship’s destination to be Charleston in the Carolinas and that he was carrying many puncheons of rum, woolen manufactured goods, and sugar in great hogsheads. A quick inspection of the hold confirmed his cargo and, after offering our apology, we collected our seamen and marines who had amused themselves by sharing stories with the men on the brig, and departed. I noted that Rogers got General Washington underway even before we had covered half the distance to Chesapeake!
Our cruise seems quite pointless at times and I am sure that more than just the mids spend many waking hours discussing what we might prove out here, chasing mostly ourselves around the sea, with the occasional suspect vessel proving quite harmless to us or Mr. Jefferson’s embargo. Either the shippers and customs officers are truly following the law or they are so clandestine in their commerce that we are unable to find them. And the fact that we are sailing off and on in the coastal waters seems little more than an annoyance to them. I wonder if the great Nelson felt as frustrated in his blockade of France some years ago!
I must close for now, brother, as I have been called for the watch. I am again standing with Lt. Dunne who seems a fine and competent sea officer. You will be no doubt pleased to know that I
have learned much from his tutelage while on our watches. I shall send this off at the first opportunity.
Affectionately, I remain
Oliver Baldwin, Midshipman, U.S. Navy
CHAPTER TEN
“O liver! Did you see that schooner alongside just this morning? I am told she was sent out to fetch us in! We are to have new orders, but first, it is rumored, we will have some time ashore. Perhaps our luck is changing! I, for one, can scarcely contain myself; an opportunity to go ashore and break this dull patrol!” Young David Mosley seemed to be fairly dancing in his exuberance.
The prospect of a run ashore, I knew, would be well received by all of us, officer, midshipman, and enlisted alike. And, should we actually receive a new commission, an opportunity to do something beyond this embargo patrol would be most welcome!
Of course, I was only assuming Mosley’s information was accurate, but I surely hoped it was; he had been known to reach surprising conclusions quite unrelated to reality in the past. And I had seen a schooner making on us as I left the deck at the start of the forenoon watch. I recalled it had been shortly after the sun had burned off the early morning fog, an annoyance brought about by the cooler September nights in these latitudes. I knew we all shared the captain’s frustration in finding and stopping embargo-runners as they likely sailed right past us in the mists. Our frustrations stemmed from continuing boredom; his, I am sure, from our failure to accomplish anything that might accrue to our, so far, unimpressive record.
We had been patrolling without stop from Charleston’s entrance to Cape Cod for very nearly four months and had succeeded in catching not a single illegal trader. Indeed, we had stopped only a handful of vessels, hoping for a “runner,” but sadly, each had turned out to be quite legitimate. The duty had been tedious beyond measure, making several of us pine for some of the excitement we had experienced in previous commissions. Or even some bad weather! But the weather, save for the single storm we encountered early in the cruise, had been splendid, clear blue skies, for the most part, with easy tops’l breezes that, while not always fair, were never overpowering. And when it had rained or squalled, the inclemency rarely lasted for more than a day or two. Captain Decatur trained us incessantly, ensuring, not only in his mind, but in the mind of each of us, that Chesapeake would never again be caught unawares by any, friend or foe.
In Pursuit of Glory Page 17