The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy

by William H. White

  It was two full days and into the third when Tom Morris sailed easily into the anchorage in Ridgely’s cove, rounded up, and brought his vessel to anchor as smartly as anyone had seen. It wasn’t until after his boat had been lowered and was pulling for the pier that someone commented, “Will you have a look at the larboard bow, there. He musta took some heavy iron in there, chewed up like he is.”

  Of course, every pair of eyes that weren’t otherwise engaged squinted into the morning light reflecting brightly off the water and soon a crowd of men, eager for some good news, gathered at the landing point and began shouting questions at the skipper – who mostly ignored them.

  By the time the boat had landed, Talbot had been found and was waiting on the pier for Captain Morris’ report – and news of what was “actin’ on the Bay.” Isaac and Jake, who were both currently unemployed, stood near at hand. Isaac looked hard at the young Tom Morris.

  A nice looking cove, he thought. Seems like he might be some smart. Eyes peerin’ out of a too thin face, takin’ in everyone and everything…seems to be lookin’ everywhere at once. Them eyebrows pokin’ up in the middle make him look kinda surprised-like. Or like he knows something no one else does, Isaac decided. Must be on account of he wasn’t expectin’ a reception like this. Or mayhaps, he beat that frigate Jones and his lads was tellin’ us about a few days ago. An’ he ain’t any older ‘an me, neither.

  “…ashore there they was. One of my lads heard ‘em talkin’ ‘bout chasin’ the militia clear across the Eastern shore, all the way into the Atlantic! Well, I can tell you, they got ‘emselves some kinda surprise, they done, by God. Reckon they’d heard ‘bout Colonel Reed’s men there at Belle Air and was fixin’ to teach ‘em a thing or two. ’Ceptin’ Reed an’ his men wasn’t at Belle Air, they was waitin’ for the British to come ashore over toward Chestertown.” Morris’ eyes sparkled as recalled the sight of the Menelaus frigate anchoring in the last glimmer of light on August thirtieth right off the shore opposite William Raisin’s farm, Chantilly.

  “We was practically within cannon-shot of ‘em, but kinda round the point so they couldn’t see anything more’n our mast, an’ I reckon they lost that in the trees soon as the sun set. ‘Bout an hour after full dark, the moon come up bright as you please and there they was, puttin’ sailors an’ marine into they’s boats and headin’ ashore. All whispers and muffled oars, they was. They was sneakin’ in to take the farm and run off the militia, I reckon. Wasn’t long afore they had the soldiers ashore – whole mess of ‘em, probably over a hunnert, seemed like – and they started movin’ inland. Left the Raisin’s farm alone, likely figgerin’ to burn it on the way back.” Morris paused and looked around that the now large and still growing group of sailors who seemed to be hanging on his every word. Including Captain Jones and several of his crew. The new arrival smiled, enjoying his momentary celebrity.

  “Well, me an’ some of the lads followed along. We didn’t have a plan, just figgered to stay out of sight and mayhaps warn the militia if’n we got the chance to get ahead of ‘em. Hadn’t gone more’n a half mile inland when up ahead, they’s shots, then the sound of runnin’ horses. Then we heard more shots, comin’ from the direction the horses run and pretty quick, cannon shots. Well, any thought them Marines had of surprisin’ anyone was gone then; don’t reckon they wasn’t anyone within a league an’ more what wasn’t alert an’ ready for ‘em.

  “They commenced marchin’ quick-time right down the middle of the road then and it wasn’t long afore they took fire from some of the advance warning posts Colonel Reed had set out. When the riflemen in them outposts started backin’ up, the British followed ‘em into a place called Caulk’s fields an’ right into the middle of the biggest damn artillery bombardment you ever seen! They was grape and canister flyin’ and musta been a couple o’ companies of riflemen firin’ right into them Redcoats. We seen some red-coated cove carrryin’ a bunch of staffs – musta been for them rockets they’s so fond of – but he caught a round early on an’ we never seen a rocket used. Good thing, too, I’ll warrant; mighta come out different if’n they’s a-fired them Congreves.” Again, Morris paused, letting his audience digest what they had so far.

  “Them damn-fool Royal Marines charged right into the face of that heavy fire – they was either damn well-trained or plumb stupid, you ask me – and was fallin’ like leaves in a gale. This cove, Sir Peter Parker – he was their leader and been around the Bay on the Menelaus frigate for a year an’ more, I heard – took a shot. We saw him go down, but in the fightin’ and confusion and the dark, I couldn’t make out what happened next.”

  The silence that surrounded the gunboat captain was complete. Even the harbor sounds and the hustle and bustle of a city fortifying for an attack seemed to be momentarily suspended, waiting for Morris to finish his story. He looked around the eager faces, making them wait, still savoring the moment. So far unimpressed, Jared brought him back to reality quickly.

  “How’d you get your boat shot up, Tom? Was that the same action Jones was in when you two thought you’d take on a thirty-eight-gun frigate?”

  “Naw, Jared. I’m gettin’ to that.” The smile had left his face and without it, Isaac thought, it looked more drawn and severe. “We got that other damage fixed up right quick next day. Didn’t Jones tell you ‘bout that?” A nod from Talbot brought a quick smile to Morris’ face, which faded just as quickly as he thought about what happened next.

  “So like I was sayin’, the British just don’t know when to haul they’s wind and head out. What’d they do after gettin’ they’s commander shot and half they’s men hurt or killed? They charged again. Only this time, the militia was in an even stronger position and whoever was leadin’ the British musta decided then that followin’ these coves from one position to the next, an’ each one stronger than the one afore, was right dumb, and he ordered ‘em to withdraw.” Someone in the group made a ribald comment at this, but Morris ignored it and went on.

  “They done it so fast they left a fair number of they’s dead and wounded right where they fell, they did. And a passel of muskets, pistols, and cutlasses. Militia chased ‘em a bit, then let ‘em run off. Nearly got ourselves caught when they run by us, but since we didn’t, it don’t signify. The Marines scurried back to the shore and they’s boats. We got our own selves back to the gunboat and figgered to give ‘em a bigger headache than the one they already got from the militia.” Morris’s easy, matter-of-fact delivery and his almost smiling look put one in mind of someone talking about nothing more consequential than the weather, not a life and death encounter with a vastly superior force.

  “Planned to hit ‘em as they was loadin’ they’s troops an’ what wounded they had – mayhaps take out a few of they’s boats into the bargain – but the wind was dyin’ to a whisper and by the time we got out there, they was already settin’ tops’ls and winnin’ they’s anchor.

  “Reckon either they seen us comin’ or was just ready, not wantin’ to get caught short again like they done ashore. But they got off a few lucky shots from they’s stern-chasers and that’s what you seen yonder, on the larboard bow. Carson an’ Scott was close to cut in half by the ball, an’ I reckon, the splinters. Dead afore they hit the deck, they was, and the larboard six-pounder blown to smithereens.

  “We bore off, an’ they headed south down the Bay, settin’ courses and stays’ls as they went. Goin’ like hell, they was, and the devil take the hindermost. That was yesterday morning. We kinda took our time comin’ back with the bow shot up like it were. Didn’t want to take more water aboard than we could pump out, so we didn’t turn North Point ‘til first light this morning. Spoke to a schooner comin’ in just now – said he seen ‘em anchored off Kent Island.” Morris looked around again at the faces of his fellow flotillamen; he saw disappointment and heard mutterings from various quarters.

  “Thought he was gonna tell us he took the frigate!”

  “Aye. An’ all he done was got his boat and men shot u
p.”

  “Maybe we oughtta get our own selves out yonder and have a crack at them Royal Navy bastards.”

  “Aye. Gonna have to, if’n we want to fight. Don’t figger ‘em to come in here; be right stupid of ‘em to think they could just sail in, tip they’s hat, and take the city.”

  “That’s a fact, mate. This ain’t Washington, by God.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Several days after his gunboats returned, and while the men were engaged in patching them up and strengthening the fortifications around Ridgeley’s Cove, Jared Talbot sailed across the harbor to Fells Point, passing Fort McHenry to larboard. Jack, his dog, Isaac and Jake Tate accompanied the flotilla commander.

  “That sure is some big fort, Jared. Them walls don’t look like they was nothin’ what could get through ‘em.” Tate’s eyes were wide at the sight; never had he seen anything quite so impressive. “Looks like they got guns set up outside the walls as well. See there, Isaac. You can see ‘em pokin’ out through them dirt mounds.” He nudged his friend and pointed. “Don’t reckon I’d want to be out there firin’ them outboard guns. Too exposed by half for me. Course I don’t reckon I’d be much use on any gun crew with but one arm.” This last was spoken quietly, almost under his breath.

  As he had described, there were indeed what appeared to the men to be thirty-six-pounders in emplacements in a high embankment before the ramparts of the fort. And the ramparts themselves fairly bristled with smaller guns – likely eighteen-pounders, they decided – as the little sloop Talbot used sailed easily by, throwing up spray from the light chop only to have it whisked away by the fresh breeze. The fifteen star flag flew from a tall mast just inside the massive walls. Except for Jared who had seen the fort countless times and, in fact, been through it more than once with Major Armistead, the Fort’s commander, all hands on the little sloop were rapt with the imposing structure.

  “I reckon you coves can see it ain’t just a wall with some cannon set on it; that fort is built in the shape of a star. See there, you can see some of the points pokin’ out right ‘round the whole end here. They ain’t gonna be much what can get past that place, I’ll tell you!” Talbot gestured at the high stone and masonry walls that did indeed resemble the shape of a star.

  He eased the sloop up some, making the big mains’l shiver as the wind fluked further to the east. Slowed, he turned his eyes to the impressive structure on which Baltimore depended for its protection. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the flogging of the mains’l. “The guns facin’ toward Fells can reach over there easy as kiss my hand and, on the other side, they likely could hit anything tryin’ to get into Ridgely’s Cove, I’d warrant. And there’s a pair of smaller forts – more like batteries – just round there.” He pointed again to the north, back the way they had come. “You seen ‘em when we cleared the point outta Ridgely’s. That first one – the one with the high brick walls and the barracks building – was what they’re callin’ Fort Covington.” He paused, seeing a questioning look on Jake’s face and anticipated the question. “Aye, Jake, that’s the one you seen from the cove and further in ‘tween that one and McHenry is Babcock. That’s only a little fellow – reckon they’ve only got six or so guns in her, but they’s all pointin’ into the harbor so whatever the lads at McHenry cain’t fire on, they can. Pretty smart settin’ up like that, you ask me.” Jared smiled at his mates, pulled the tiller over to make the sloop bear off some, and sent the little boat again flying through the harbor.

  Everywhere they looked, the American seamen saw a bustle of activity; gangs of men digging redoubts, dragging guns large and small to strategic locations along the waterfront, and noticeable numbers of troops in uniform drilling – marching and counter-marching – to the shouted orders of their commanders. They were impressed.

  “What a difference from them poor souls down to Washington, eh, Isaac? Why these folks here look as though they might actually fight if the British show up. And seein’ what’s goin’ on yonder, I, for one, surely hope they do. Might be a right fine scrap!” Jack Clements smile grew broader as he watched the preparations ashore. He scratched the head of his big dog who was leaning contentedly against the bulwark of the sloop completely unmindful of the motion and the spray. Carronade seemed less interested than his human counterparts in the activity on the beach and was quite happy just being with Jack and Isaac.

  As they rounded the end of Whetstone Point and its huge fort, they could see similar hustle and bustle on Fells Point and a small fleet of gunboats moored along the shoreline. Isaac noticed them first.

  “Them gunboats yonder – they yours too, Jared?”

  “Reckon so, Isaac, now that the commodore’s not here. Them gunboats, and the ones back at Ridgely’s, is about all the ships available to fight from the water. And I for one ain’t lookin’ forward to goin’ up against what I hear the Royal Navy’s got out on the Bay. Commodore Rodgers told me afore he run off to Washington that we was it should the British try to sail into the harbor. Course, I reckon the shore guns’ll be some help.” The big man smiled ruefully as he thought of even a fleet of gunboats taking on the might of the British Chesapeake Squadron.

  “What about them yonder, Jared? Looks to me like a couple of frigates ‘long the shore there just outside the gunboats. I reckon they’d be able to help out – not that we’d need ‘em!” Jake pointed out what indeed appeared to be several large men-of-war as well as a couple of sloops tied alongside a pier at Fells Point. He smiled at his remark, as if hearing it pointed up its obvious bravado. He returned his arm to its resting place on the bulwark and looked expectantly at Talbot.

  “Aye, need ‘em indeed! That one closer in – that’s the frigate Java. The one Commodore Perry’s takin’ command of when she’s done buildin’ and fittin’ out. Only problem with her is that on account of her not bein’ finished, they never put her guns aboard. No sir, they got them spread all over the city – and manned by sailors. So she’s not gonna be much help if’n it comes to that. An’ I don’t reckon Perry’ll do anything to change that when he finally gets hisself back here. Rodgers himself had a bunch of them guns set up on the hill above the city. Said the only ones he trusted to man ‘em proper was his sailors and the ones come with Perry from New York. Them two smaller ones on the next pier are the navy sloops Ontario and Erie. They’re done building and fittin’ out, but they ain’t goin’ nowhere real soon.” Jared stopped talking as he watched the shoreline for a place to land his sloop.

  “Isaac: you wanna get yourself forward there and standby with a line. Looks like a spot we can tie up right yonder at that dock there. Jack, you can get ready to hand the mains’l when I tell you, and Jake, you handle the stern line.” Assignments for landing made, Talbot concentrated on working the sloop through the heavy traffic of rowboats, small sloops, and a good sized merchant brig heading out. All of the small boats were loaded either with men or materiel; some had large stacks of boxes and baskets piled so high on their decks as to cause concern over their stability. Jake commented on the merchantman.

  “I surely hope that cove knows what he’s headin’ for – out yonder. I don’t reckon he’ll make it much past the point without runnin’ afoul of some Royal Navy vessel. What the hell do you s’pose he’s thinkin’, Jared?”

  “I don’t reckon he’s gonna…mind your head there, I’m comin’ ‘round now…like I was sayin’, I don’t figger he’s plannin’ on leavin’ the Patapsco. Probable headin’ out to Sparrows or North Point with some o’ the Army’s gear. That or figgerin’ to run up toward the Elk River and get himself outta the way for when the fightin’ starts.” He directed his full attention on the landing and, with a skill born of a lifetime of handling vessels large and small, brought the little sloop easily alongside the dock, giving the orders to drop sails and heave the lines just as she coasted in, gently nudging the pilings.

  “You lads can sail with me anytime; that was right fine. Don’t know what I expected what with you gents bein’ ca
ptains an’ not used to actually handlin’ lines an’ doin’ sailors’ work!” He winked at Jake, a broad grin splitting his face.

  “Hey, Jack. Lookee there. Ain’t that the self-same pier we come into back in the year ’12 – you remember – on the Glory.” Isaac was hauling down the sloop’s jib, but looking beyond it to the next dock now three deep with gunboats secured alongside. What had caught his attention was the four or five privateers also moored there. They were the same sharp-built schooners that had given Fells Point the reputation of being a “nest of pirates,” according to the English press.

  Clements stopped putting gaskets on the furled mains’l long enough to look at where his friend was pointing. “Aye, I reckon it is, Isaac. An’ there’s the Anchor an’ Owl Coffee House, right over yonder. You ‘member, Isaac. That’s the place where Cap’n Smalley and them others met with the owners when we come in to settle up our prize shares.” Seeing the privateers, apparently suffering from the blockade just as were the merchant vessels and Navy men-of-war, Jack got a distant look in his eyes as he recalled the day, sitting on the foredeck of the private armed vessel Glory, he made the decision to join the “frigate navy and do some real fightin’.”

  “They’s sure been a lot of water pass under the keel since then, by God, Isaac. And it ain’t been two years yet. Seems like a lot longer than that – gettin’ sent into that damned Chesapeake frigate and bein’ caught up by the Royal Navy and locked away in that pest hole on Melville Island. Makes me wonder what them other coves is up to. You remember, Robert and Tim, an’ ol’ Sam Johnson…and Mr. Blanchard. Wonder what become o’ him. Wonder if’n he ever got hisself promoted to lieutenant.” Clements voice trailed off and his eyes took on a far away look; he was deep within himself as he recalled some of the men he sailed and fought the British with in Chesapeake just a year and more previous.