“Mister Baldwin: Cap’n wants all officers and mids to attend him in the Cabin, sir.” The message came by way of our youngest midshipman, John Thayer, who currently presided over the quarterdeck.
“Thank you, Thayer. I shall go at once.”
When I knocked on the open door, I was waived in by none other than Peter Cochran who was standing next to my father’s sideboard, his hand resting on it, and his posture such that he seemed more the inhabitant of the Cabin than did it’s proper occupant. Henry sat opposite Decatur, both deeply involved in quiet conversation. As I stepped around and past Cochran, he neither moved nor made any indication that he even saw me.
I took a seat below the quarter gallery next to Judd and watched as Lieutenant Cochran directed his juniors, most particularly the midshipmen (who would dare to say nothing to him), to seats around the Cabin. He, of course, remained standing; Henry kept his seat in front of the captain’s desk. Finally it appeared as though all of us were in attendance and Captain Decatur stood and, in the silence the act promoted, looked at each us of in turn.
“Gentlemen: I have received a letter just this hour from Secretary Hamilton.” Decatur brandished the missive aloft in case any of us doubted him. Cochran smirked as he looked toward Judd and me.
“As you know, Rodgers has mistakenly engaged a little twenty-two gun frigate with results that could have been easily predicted. The secretary seems to think that President might be marked for vengeance by our British friends and has ordered us to proceed at once to New York to join his squadron. Additionally, he has ordered a court martial for Commodore Rodgers and named me to preside over it.” The look on the captain’s face made it quite clear that he agreed with Rodgers’ actions and presiding over the trial of his friend was distasteful to the utmost.
“To my mind, gentlemen, the unfortunate incident with Leopard some four years ago has been avenged. My only sorrow is that it was President and not our United States that achieved the honor.”
“Oh Glory, Oliver.” Judd whispered to me as soon as we had departed the Cabin, “the Cap’n was right; there’s likely to be another war. They ain’t about to sit still and let us shoot up some little pipsqueak ship like that. Hamilton’s right; Brits are apt to be huntin’ Rodgers and his squadron already. Won’t they be surprised when they find a pair of heavy forty-fours as well as the others ‘stead of just President!” Devon laughed joyfully at the thought that we might actually find the opportunity for some glory.
We sailed two days later.
The court martial was called to order a day after United States set her anchor in the mud of New York Harbor and, in addition to Decatur, included Captains Charles Stewart and Isaac Chauncey. Having experienced only one such event in my past, I was surprised at the small number who sat on the court, but was delighted that, after a most thorough examination of the facts surrounding the incident, including interviews and testimony of many of the officers and crew who had sailed with Rodgers, the three men exonerated Rodgers of all blame. Indeed, they commended him for his vigorous defense of the flag.
As soon as the court adjourned, we sailed, in company with President, Essex, Hornet, and Argus on a patrol designed more to show the British that the rumors of retaliation would do little to keep us harbor-bound than to actively seek out runners or slavers. We saw no other ships during the month we were out save one Spanish trader in which we had no interest whatever.
And in October, eighteen eleven, we were ordered back to Hampton Roads along with our consorts. We spent a month and more in the yard at Gosport getting the ship’s bottom re-coppered while Essex, Nautilus, and Wasp sailed to interdict embargo runners, and slavers, and offer assistance to any American flag vessel being harassed by the Royal Navy.
Christmas and the new year came and went with many of us officers and a few midshipmen being allowed leave to pursue our own plans. I managed to get myself to Philadelphia for a most pleasant visit with my family which, with Constitution also undergoing some much needed repairs in Boston, included my older brother, Edward.
Thinking it unlikely that he would be able to make it all the way to Boston in the short time allotted to us, I prevailed upon Henry to allow Tom Goodwater to join me at my parents’ home on Held Street in Philadelphia, something my friend enjoyed, though I suspect he pined for his own parents.
Needless to say, much of the discussion, particularly between Edward and myself, centered on the increased American hostility directed at England in the light of her continuing practice of impressments and persecution of our merchant ships and the likelihood of it leading to further confrontations, or even another war. I voiced our captain’s sentiment, so oft expressed of late, and Edward mentioned that Isaac Hull, commanding Constitution, felt similarly inclined. Our parents, though outraged at the British actions and clearly pleased that Rodgers had fired at Little Belt, were inclined to a more moderate stance, preferring that the politicians be given more time to sort out the differences that had, for a dozen and more years, troubled our two nations.
“Don’t you understand, Mother,” Edward had remarked one evening at supper, “that the English will continue to stop our ships, strip crew from them, and try to suppress our trade until such time as they are made to stop. Even the latest embargo President Madison put in place last March has not made sufficient impression on them—though I hear in some quarters they are suffering—to promote sincere talks with any from Washington City. The reality is that they have over one thousand sail in their Navy and, even while occupied with the French, they have sufficient strength to completely overpower our little Navy of a mere handful of vessels. They feel that this superiority of numbers gives them the right to do what they will on the seas.”
Father, hearing this, spoke up. “Would that not speak quite eloquently to trying to avoid an armed confrontation, Edward? I know I am not a naval officer and privy to much of the talk you lads hear, whether in Boston or,” here he nodded at me, “Norfolk, but my simple craftsman’s mind says that the fleet of ships under the British flag could make short work of anything we sent out against them.”
“Father,” I offered. “Most of the opinion in the Navy seems to offer that our heavy forty-fours could make short work of virtually any of their frigates, even were they to array several at once against us. Constitution, President, and my ship, United States are solid-built and well armed with a heavier weight of metal than the British frigates. We are closer in strength to one of their seventy-fours than a frigate. I have heard Cap’n Decatur say any number of times that there is not a Royal Navy frigate he could not take in only one hour. He only pines for the opportunity!”
The conversation continued sporadically in different forms for the ten days Edward, Tom, and I were allowed leave and, when we ultimately left for our respective duties, both our parents offered the admonition not to further stir up the enmity that might, should the politicians have their way, die off simply from lack of interest. None of us felt that outcome likely, especially since it was widely known that the British had not been satisfied with the outcome of Rodgers’ court martial and continued to seek redress.
Tom, while he shared our concern over a looming war, had a different perspective on the situation, hailing from New England as he did. While he did not give voice to his convictions publicly, he did mention to me on several occasions his concern about the paucity of trade in New England and the difficulty his family and friends experienced on account of it. A war, he claimed, might finally put under those who had been struggling with the embargoes for so many years. Though he did not include them by name, I knew he was thinking of his own seafaring family.
Wonder at British intentions peaked when, in February of eighteen twelve, HMS Macedonian appeared in Hampton Roads. While trade was still cut off with England, Madison’s embargo did not go so far as to prevent their ships from entering our waters and, indeed, seeking refuge in any of our ports.
Captain Decatur, quite in thrall with the Royal Navy frigate, invited
her captain, John Carden, into United States as a gesture of friendship, mutual respect, and, I am most certain, with the hope of being invited for a look at the visitor. In this he was successful and, with Henry ashore on some business, he invited Judd and myself to accompany him.
Macedonian was a fine looking ship, her paint bright, her cannon well blackened, and her decks spotless.
“Oliver, take a look at her long guns. Eighteen-pounders, they are! Surely too light for any serious fight. I wonder how she might fare against a battery of twenty-fours.” Judd spoke quietly to me as we toured the gun deck with Captain Carden and his first lieutenant, a disagreeable fellow named David Hope. I noted that many of the younger sailors seemed some afraid of Lieutenant Hope.
“Aye, Judd.” I responded. “And I’d warrant they favor close-in fighting; heavy in carronades, she seems; I counted sixteen of them. Thirty-two-pounders, I’d reckon, but fewer and lighter of weight than our forty-two’s. On just this quick look, I’d say our weight of metal might be half again theirs. Goodness me!”
“Seems some smaller than us on top of it. Course, she’d have to be or she’d be carryin’ closer to our own broadside weight.” Judd shook his head and smiled.
It was not only interesting, but also educational to see the ships of other countries and how they compared to our own.
The same conversation was revisited several days later, but by the two captains. Decatur had invited Carden and his officers, as well as our officers, to a dinner party at his home in Norfolk. A most pleasant event it was, well enjoyed by all of us, English and American both. After the meal, when Susan Decatur and a few of her lady-friends, invited to add the softness of the feminine touch to the affair, had left our company, Captain Carden, perhaps in the flush of the fine spirits that had flowed most liberally, pointed out to our captain in a voice easily heard by all, the shortcomings of United States.
“You know, my friend,” he offered, “Macedonian is considered, by those who know, to be the finest frigate in the Royal Navy. Fast, weath-erly, and renowned for our gunnery. Even though only two years have passed since her launching, she has already established quite a fine record for success against the French. It is indeed too bad your Navy Department saw fit to provide you with twenty-fours; not nearly as efficient as our eighteens. Too difficult, by half, they are, to manhandle into battery, and demand too many men to train ‘em. I’d warrant your crews tire more quickly than were they handling an eighteen.”
I watched as Decatur smiled at his opposite number; we all knew he was of a quite different opinion, but a well-developed sense of propriety denied him the luxury of hostility toward a guest in his home. The only indication that his smile belied his thoughts was the two bright blotches of color that had appeared on his cheeks. Then Carden went on.
“You know, old fellow, should our ships ever meet in combat, I suspect there would be little doubt as to the outcome. After all, what practice have you lads had with war? Very little, I think. At least since that business in the late century, and as I remember it, you chaps did not fare all that well. There is the rub. Of course, we meet now as friends, and may God grant that we never meet as enemies, but, as officers of our navies, we must follow the orders of our governments. I would surely regret having to destroy that fine looking frigate of yours!” Carden smiled ingratiatingly.
Henry Allen, standing next to me and well within earshot of the conversation, nudged me with his elbow.
“That ought to provoke the cap’n. And he never mentioned how well we fared against the corsairs. I can’t wait to hear how Decatur responds to that bit of bluster!”
We had barely the time to draw a breath before Captain Decatur smiled pleasantly at Carden.
“I surely reciprocate your sentiment, Captain, about our meeting as enemies and offer that we may never do so. But, should our governments order us to war, and were we to meet with equal forces, you may rest assured that it would be a most severe conflict, as the flag of my nation will never again be lowered as long as there is a hull for it to wave from!”
A profound silence filled the room and a look of surprise flashed across Carden’s face. Decatur’s veiled reference to Baron’s surrender had struck home.
In the moment, the British captain regained his serene expression, smiled and proposed, “Captain: I would, in light of your considered opinion, offer you a wager. Should we ever meet in battle, though my hope, as yours, is that our two countries return to amity, and quickly, I will purchase for you a new beaver hat, should they still be in fashion, were you to prevail in a contest between our two ships. And I would expect that you would reciprocate, should the outcome be as I predict. What say you to that, my friend?”
“Would not the outcome of such a meeting provide sufficient reward to the victor without the added inducement of a new hat? But, should you desire to buy me one, were our paths to cross with hostile intent, I shall be most pleased to wear it with pride.” Decatur’s smile had faded, leaving not a trace of jocularity in it’s place. Indeed, both his grave look and his tone suggested he held no doubt about the accuracy of his words.
The story of the wager made the rounds of the ship within a day or two and Decatur’s fervent belief in the ultimate outcome surely added to the loyalty and confidence his men enjoyed. The Old Wagon would never be beat!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The remainder of the winter and spring passed without incident. United States made several cruises which provided little opportunity for action, but the time surely was not wasted; Decatur and Henry Allen saw to it that the guns were exercised regularly, providing a level of competence that we felt was the equal of any and better than most. The midshipmen gradually learned their trade, even young John Thayer proving his grasp of the mathematics involved in the astronomical determination of the ship’s position on the earth. Judd and I went through each day overseeing our divisions, supervising the training of the mids, and avoiding Peter Cochran, who continued to remain aloof and distant and, clearly, was still uncomfortable with life aboard a ship. To our great joy, he still suffered mightily from seasickness and each time we sallied forth from the relative comforts of Hampton Roads, we entreated the deity for unseemly weather.
In early June, we received orders that took us to New York once again. Only this time, there would be no courts martial or a need to bolster John Rodgers’ squadron. Talk of imminent war was everywhere; newspapers ran a steady stream of editorials, either urging action or decrying the War Hawk posture, depending on which region of the country one happened to occupy. The New England states, clearly starving for trade and concerned that war would end once and for all any chance for a return to affluence, were exceedingly vocal in their condemnation of the possibility. Elsewhere, New York and Norfolk particularly, the papers were equally adamant that a “second War of Independence to prove the first” was unavoidable. In the ships of John Rodgers and Stephen Decatur, sentiment clearly favored this latter view.
I knew that my friend, Tom Goodwater, shared the sentiment of the New England journals, but equally, as a naval officer, felt that war with England was inevitable and likely justified, and as such, he welcomed the opportunity. His private comments to me churned with consternation at the split loyalties that confronted him and I felt sorry that he could not simply share our eager anticipation of action.
That the Royal Navy was, in just the waters between the West Indies and Halifax, over seven times more powerful than our own held little sway; we Americans were defending our nation, our sailors were, for the most part, not pressed into service, and our frigates, while less numerous, were clearly superior. So too, in our considered opinion, were the little brigs and schooners that filled out our fleet.
Commodore Rodgers held the opinion that not only was war a certainty, but that it would come sooner than any expected. He had made his plans accordingly and, immediately we received word from Secretary Hamilton that President Madison had declared war on Great Britain, set out from New York Harbor in hi
s flagship, President, accompanied by two frigates, United States, mounting forty four long guns, and Congress, mounting thirty-six. Two brigs, Hornet (eighteen guns) and Argus (sixteen) filled out the squadron. Our commission centered on intercepting a large convoy of British merchantmen, which had left Jamaica for England about a month earlier. Four days out, we received word from a passing American merchantman, a brig, that the slow moving convoy was some three hundred miles ahead of us.
Only a single day later, in the final hours of the afternoon watch, the lookout’s cry of “Sail ho!” galvanized the ship’s company with the hope of action and the resultant honor and glory that would derive from being the first to engage. That we might suffer defeat was never a consideration.
Even before the Marine drummer had sounded the beat to quarters on his drumhead, sailors were at their stations, unlimbering our guns, wetting sponges, and beginning to spread the sand that would soak up any blood that spilled on the decks. Marines ran up the ratlines to the fighting tops, muskets and swivel guns at the ready. Topmen, eschewing temporarily their positions on the gundeck, stood by the ratlines awaiting the order that would send them aloft to clew up courses for the coming fight. The drum, when it ultimately rolled, was mostly unnecessary, a mere formality.
I ran to the mizzentop with my long glass slung over my back. As the officer of the watch, it was my responsibility to confirm the sighting. And indeed, there were sails, tops’ls and t’gallants, I assumed, showing above the rim of the horizon. I studied them carefully, steadying the glass on the shrouds to keep the image still.
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