“Eldridge sent you down here – his own self?” The man stopped inches in front of Isaac; his two companions stepped back without thought, but Isaac stood his ground. His nose wrinkled some, but he stood fast. Carronade watched the man closely, almost sitting, but tense and ready to leap should he feel it necessary.
“Aye, that he did. Said we was to find Talbot and wait on Commodore Perry to show up. Who might you be?”
The man’s hand tightened on the cutlass and he continued to stare at Isaac. He looked him over unabashedly from the top of his sweat-streaked head with its curly dark hair plastered to it to the worn leather shoes, still covered with mud from their march out of Washington on rain-soaked streets. Isaac waited and unflinchingly returned the stare, aware that, on his flanks, both Clements and Jake had taken a grip on their own cutlasses. He heard a hint of a growl from the dog.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the man spoke. “I can take you to Captain Talbot. But if you ain’t what you say…” The wild looking fellow shook his head and turned. Isaac, Jack, and Jake released the breath they had unconsciously been holding and looked at one another as their guard and, hopefully, their guide stepped off toward the waterfront. Only once did he scowl back at them to ensure that Biggs and his sailors were following. After a moment of hesitation, they did.
And in a few minutes – less than a mile away – they saw the masts of the gunboats anchored along the water’s edge. As the remnants of Joshua Barney’s flotillamen reached the pier, Isaac and Jack heard a familiar voice bellowing from a building on their starboard hand.
“Clements! That you? And Biggs. Reckon the rumors we heard wasn’t true after all. But how you’d get here? Ain’t been no boats come in here in the last day an’ more. Been waitin’ on a couple of my lads to get back from the Eastern Shore.” Jared Talbot’s huge form stepped out of the open front of a waterfront stall and lumbered toward the four men, a smile covering his scarred face. The familiar knife hung in its sheath at his back and the plaited hair slapped his grimy shirt just above his rope-tied trousers as he walked toward them.
“Jared, you old dog. You just been settin’ here on your arse while we been doin’ all the work down to the Patuxent. You must be bored to death.” Isaac grasped his fellow captain’s great paw and pumped it. Talbot shook hands with each of the men he knew and welcomed them to Baltimore. “Glad that Crazy Bill found you – and didn’t do nothin’ hurtful to you. He sometimes does; don’t mean no harm, but forgets where he’s at from time to time. Got hisself head shot in the War for Independence and been carryin’ a little luff in his sails ever since. Here, let your lads have a look around the cove – it’s called Ridgely’s Cove, by the way – and come in here out of the sun for a glass. You can catch me up on what’s actin’ down to Washington.” Talbot reached down and scratched the big dog on the back of his head and, ever hopeful of more, Carronade paced beside his old acquaintance as they marched into the shack.
‘Crazy’ Bill followed them in bringing up the rear. And then, quite without warning or word, turned about and set sail for the street. Jared watched him go, shaking his head.
“Poor bastard. Found him wandering around the waterfront when we first got here. Seemed to latch on to me right off and kinda been following me around since. He’s like as not back where you lads found him, guarding the street. Been doin’ that ever since he heard us talkin’ ‘bout the British invadin’ Baltimore! Reckon he fancies hisself a lookout.” Talbot sat and signaled the publican for a round of ales.
Jack and Jake had followed Isaac and Jared into the stall which turned out to be a rudimentary alehouse. Carronade welcomed the shade and thirstily drank a pan of water Jack put down for him. Frank Clark, Jack’s mate on the sloop, figured to sit a while as long as Jake was.
When all the new arrivals had found chairs, the big gunboat captain smiled ruefully at them. “So you couldn’t stop them damn Redcoats afore they got themselves to the capital, eh, lads? Sounded up here like they done run ever’ damn soul – soldiers an’ politicians both – right outta the city. Had they’s run of anywhere they wanted to go. Heard too they burned more’n half the city down. Couldn’ta been that bad, right men?” Jared wrapped his huge hands around a partially drunk tankard of ale and took a long draught while he waited for confirmation that the rumors were nothing more than exaggerations.
“Aye, Jared. Bad as that and more. Militia and army run off damn near afore the politicians done it. Most never even fired a shot. They just seen them damn red coats comin’ down the road and high-tailed it for the hills of Virginia. British marched in and set every public building afire right off. Waited ‘til the next day and fired the ones they missed. But for the rain squall – more like an Indies hurricane, it were – what come through, the whole damn city woulda likely burned to ashes. Then they up and left. Heard they marched right back to Benedict and they’s ships.” Jack paused long enough to take a big swallow of his own tankard, then continued.
“Heard they was a bunch of ships headin’ back down the Potomac, but one of them Commodores – Porter, wasn’t it, Isaac? – was firin’ on ‘em as they left. Don’t know that that’ll do any good, but mayhaps he’ll get one or two of they’s frigates. Be that many fewer what can raise Cain over to the Eastern Shore and the rest of the Bay – or here, I reckon. ” He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, then drank again.
“What have you and your lads here been doin’, Jared?” Isaac was trying to figure out where he and the almost three hundred men he brought were going to fit in.
“Well, Isaac. The Committee’s got itself a plan for the defense of the city. Reckon Porter and Rodgers had a hand in figgerin’ it out since they’s a passel of gunboats and sailors gonna figger into it. The men you brung sure gonna come in handy, I’d warrant. I got shore side batteries and such what gotta be manned and I’d wager a fair piece of change the commodore’s gonna want to move a few more of the boats over to Fells Point.” Talbot stopped, as though suddenly realizing that something was wrong.
“Isaac, where in Hell is Commodore Barney? It just dawned on me he ain’t here.”
“Commodore got hisself shot by some Royal Marine at Bladensburg, Jared.” Seeing the horrified look on his friend’s face, he hurried on. “Not shot dead. It was just a leg wound. Cruel hurt he was, though, and lost more ‘an a little blood. He made us leave him when the British was comin’ on hard, figgerin’ they wouldn’t hurt him none, just take him prisoner.”
Jack picked up the story. “Isaac an’ me watched that admiral – Cockburn, right, Isaac?” Getting a nod, he continued. “Him and the head of the whole army, Ross it were, come and took him prisoner personally and when we left, they was loadin’ Barney on a litter. I reckon to take him to a hospital or a doctor. If he lives, I reckon he’ll be fine right quick. Might even turn up here. I know that’d be his want, if’n he’s able.” Clements smiled lopsidedly. “Bein’s how Luke got hisself killed in the same action, reckon young Isaac here’s in charge of the flotilla. Leastways, ‘til we got here and found you.”
“I’m right sorry to hear that Luke’s gone, Jack. He was a fine man and a damn good skipper. A good friend too.” Jared raised his tankard in silent and solemn tribute to his friend and the newcomers followed suit.
After a swallow and a thoughtful pause, Talbot continued filling in the newcomers on the preparations for a British invasion at Baltimore. Suddenly he stopped his narrative and, getting up, walked to the fireplace. He rooted around in the cold ashes for a moment and found a serviceable lump of charcoal. “This’ll answer,” he muttered as he made his way back to the table. Using the charcoal, he quickly drew a map on the tabletop, saying as he did so, “Lookee here, lads.”
“We got gunboats set here in Ridgley’s what we’ll move right across to Fort Covington across the way, yonder.” He pointed out the door of the alehouse to a structure on the far side of the cove. “As I said afore, I reckon they’ll want to put some others of ‘em over to Fells Point; I got
more ‘an I need here. Afore he headed over to Washington, Rodgers had the townspeople start building entrenchments and settin’ batteries above the city up on Federal Hill and here to the east…and here, along the waterfront. And of course, there’s Fort McHenry on Whetstone Point. They got some pretty heavy artillery and some naval guns there, and they’s a good man in charge, a Major Armistead. That fort’s a stout built structure – reckon it could take more’n a few balls without much notice.” Talbot paused, drank, and went on with a smile. “And I hear he’s got damn near a thousand hands behind the walls – regulars and volunteers.”
Isaac looked at the rudimentary, but quite accurate map, Jared had drawn. “Reckon that fort is ‘bout all what’s between the Bay and the city, so if the British plan on comin’ ashore, they’ll likely have to get past ‘em there. Seems like the folks here got this planned out pretty good.”
“Aye. But who…” Talbot never finished the thought. He was interrupted by a cry from the quay wall.
“Boat! Boat comin’ in, Jared. Looks like Jones and Andrews in number twenty-seven – and they’s some shot up.”
The men stood as one, tankards falling unnoticed as the unsteady table was jostled, pushed their way through the narrow door, and ran to the waterfront.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Looks like you lads mighta bit off more’n you could chew, Jones. Who’d you tangle with over there?” Jared, like his late friend Luke Cooper, was never one to mince words.
“It were the Menelaus frigate, Jared. An’ Tom Morris an’ his lads’re still over there. Sent me in to tell you what’s actin’ and mebbe get some help.” Captain Jones stepped onto the quay wall as the gunboat’s sails came down, hiding holes in both, fore and aft. A bloody bandage was tied around his upper arm and smears of red remained on the side of his face where he had hastily wiped away the blood from a scalp wound. He looked back at his battered boat and shook his head.
“They was settin’ right there in Fairlee Creek, swingin’ to they’s hook like they owned the whole damn place. Didn’t even have a lookout posted. That was a couple…no, three days ago. We seen ‘em and Tom and me just sailed in there in the dark of the night. Reckon most of the bastards was ashore burnin’ farms.” He paused and shifted the cutlass hanging from his shoulder. “Heard they got John Waltham’s place – “Skidmore” he called it. Burned every damn thing on it, buildings, storage sheds, even the wheat standing in the fields. We could see the fires from the creek and I reckon the sailors what was still on the frigate was watchin’ it to boot, ‘cause we sailed right up pretty as you please, an’ fired a few rounds of chain and some grape into ‘em. Some surprised they was, I can tell you!” The wounded man’s eyes sparkled as he recalled the audacious attack, then quickly grew serious as he recounted what happened next.
“They musta found enough men to run out a few guns even in they’s confused state. Cause quicker ‘an anyone of us ever expected it, they was firin’ back. Used mostly grape, I’d warrant. Tom took a load of it into his hull but got hisself over toward the shoreline where either they couldn’t see him no more, or didn’t care, seein’ as how they had me lookin’ like easy pickin’s. We took some shot through the sails and into the hull ‘s’well, but the wind was up and, since they was to they’s anchor, we was able to get clear afore they done any real serious damage to the boat. Had one killed and one asides me what got hisself hurt some.”
He looked back into the boat where some of his crew were lifting one of their number into willing hands ashore. “Whaley, it were. Took a piece of grape through his belly an’ a splinter in the leg. Lost a lot of blood, but if they’s a medico ‘round here, reckon he’ll live.”
“Where’s Andrews?” Jared peered into the boat in the rapidly failing last light of the day and then looked at his junior captain.
“He was the one killed, I’m sorry to tell. Took a chunk of British grape right full into the face. Wasn’t hardly enough left of his…well, reckon he died pretty quick. Buried him ashore the next morning, we did.” Jones shook his head again, recalling the devastating turn of events.
“You was some crazy, sailin’ in there and firin’ on a frigate. You was just askin’ for trouble. What happened to Tom and his boat?” Jared’s one eye squinted down at Jones and his face clenched as his anger – and color – rose.
“Well, we got us outta the creek and round the point some. Didn’t figger they’d follow, bein’s how they was anchored with most of they’s crew ashore. An’ they didn’t. Tom and me fetched up on the shore line some to the north of the creek’s mouth and spent the rest of the night knottin’ an’ splicin’ our riggin’ and pluggin’ the holes in the boats. They’s a big farm right there an’ some militia was camped there on top of it. Figgered if they was more trouble, them soldier-boys might lend a hand.
“We talked to one of ‘em. Tol’ us they was more soldiers just inland a bit – at Belle Air it were – an’ they was just waitin’ to get them damn Royal Marines ashore where they’s colonel, a cove named Reed, if’n I recall rightly, was waitin’ to give ‘em what-fer.” He stopped and looked around, suddenly noticing the throng of men standing around the quay in the growing gloom. His gaze took in Isaac and Jack standing close behind Talbot, and then Jack’s dog, sitting at his side.
“Who’re all these coves, Jared? You recruitin’ locals to help out? An’ what about that beast settin’ yonder – he gonna sail with us?”
“Never mind about them for now, Jones. Tell me the rest of the story. What happened after you got your boats mended?” Jared couldn’t afford to lose a boat, especially now, and needed to know when Morris would be back…or if. His scowl and sharp words put Jones back on course and the gunboat captain picked up his story again.
“Well, like I was sayin’, them militia coves was strainin’ at they’s lines to get a whack at the enemy, an’ Tom, he spoke up an’ tol’ that militia soldier ‘Why, them Redcoats is just ‘round the point yonder, burnin’ farms and raisin’ Cain right there. Damn near under your nose, they are.’ An’ the soldier, he says, ‘Well, we cain’t go after ‘em ‘til Colonel Reed says to. Reckon we’ll get the chance; yes sir, I reckon we surely will!’ Tom an’ me, we just went back to our knottin’ an’ splicin’ an’ didn’t pay that cove no more mind. Just like all them militia coves, I reckon. Only ones doin’ anything to help out with this damn mess is the Navy and us flotillamen.” He looked again at the sea of faces around. “Jared, why don’t we finish this in the tavern there. I’m in powerful need of a pint o’ something; reckon it’ll ease the pain of this arm, it will.” He rubbed the dirty, blood-stained bandage thoughtfully as he looked beyond the huge commander – now in charge of the flotilla – and eyed thirstily the welcoming light of the still empty alehouse.
“Aye, we can do that. Forgot for the moment about your wound.” Jared softened some and turned to make his way back to the makeshift tavern. Isaac, Jack, and Carronade followed. Jake and Frank Clark remained on the quay with most of the other men, lending a hand as the work began, putting the gunboat to rights.
“Like I was sayin’, Jared.” Jones again picked up his tale after finding a stool and taking a long draught from the tankard placed before him. “A day later, we was put mostly to rights again and then she come – the Menelaus frigate, I mean, sailin’ outta the creek under her tops’ls and a stays’l or two. Reckon they didn’t see us, on account of we was behind a little rise, and they turned to the south. Likely figgered they chased us off for good. Well, they was wrong! We made sail and went right after ‘em, we did. Eased our way out toward the middle of the Bay and come up behind ‘em. Tom an’ me both fired into they’s quartergallery an’ then bore off under they’s stern. Figgered on hittin’ they’s rudder post. That’s the weakest place on them frigates, you know,” he added unnecessarily. “Wind was fair outta the nor’east, an’ we thought we might be able to make the damn ship chase us over to this side. ’Ceptin’ they was headin’ somewhere right purposeful, they was, an’
when we bore up astern of ‘em again, they kept right on headin’ sou’west just like they been. Fired a couple of stern-chasers at us. Got a lucky hit on my boat what raised some splinters and stove in the bulwark aft there like you seen and tore up the sails a trifle more. Missed ol’ Tom clean, they done.” He paused in his tale to take another long pull at the ale.
“So where’s Morris and the other gunboat, Jones? You ain’t tol’ me much of any use, ‘ceptin’ they’s a frigate out yonder doin’ what they been doin’ for a year now – burnin’ farms and crops. That an’ that you an’ Morris ain’t got much sense – takin’ on a frigate, for God’s sake! What was goin’ on in your minds I can only imagine! Guess you thought you was gonna be the first gunboats ever to take a frigate as a prize! Commodore Barney was here, he’da had you flogged by now and likely locked up. Now,” Jared paused and looked right at the gunboat skipper, hard-eyed and ugly. “Where in hell is Tom Morris and Gunboat Forty-Three?”
“Honest to God, Jared, right now I ain’t got any idea; he sent me in to tell you what was actin’ and said he be along soon’s he found out what the damn frigate was up to. He could be here tonight yet or more likely tomorrow or the next day, be my guess.” Jones had finally come to the realization that Talbot was fast losing patience with him. Contrition filled his voice as he realized that their actions had been not only dangerous, but stupid as well. But the longer he thought on it, the more his regret over the attempt on the frigate eased itself into anger – both at himself and Tom Morris. He was none too pleased with Jared Talbot at dressing him down in front of the men, either.
Figuring that his absence might save his hide – at least for the moment – he stood suddenly, rocking the little table. The color was up in the back of his neck and his hands made tight fists as he struggled to control his temper. He didn’t take to the hard-edged questioning from Talbot – even if Talbot was his commander. “Gotta see to the boat. Reckon I tol’ you everything I could tell. Tom’ll have to tell you what he done when he shows up.” His voice quavered slightly as he tried to maintain a neutral tone. Without so much as a glance back, the gunboat skipper strode into the night and made his way to the quay, pushing angrily through the stragglers of the flotillamen who had been pressing closer to hear what they might. He muttered curses aimed with equal rancor at Jared Talbot and Tom Morris.
The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Page 20