The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy

by William H. White

  By the time it was full dark, the rain had again started, first as a desultory drizzle and then, more steadily. The wind had eased some, but remained easterly, pushing the sloop down the Bay toward the on-coming British battle fleet. A scant meal of dried peas and ship’s biscuit was prepared and eaten, though with little relish by the normally shore-bound passengers. Only Key commented and was ignored by all. Isaac offered him an extra tumbler of wine or beer which he thought might make the meal more palatable to the lawyer and it was accepted with alacrity.

  “I got some lights – I think – showin’ broad on the bow, Isaac. Fact is, when I can see ‘em, they pretty well cover the whole horizon. Looks like a passel of ships.” Hay was perched halfway up the windward rigging, his hand sheltering his eyes from the rain running unnoticed down the back of his soaked tarpaulin jacket. When he turned to shout down to the quarterdeck, Isaac could see the water droplets glistening in the man’s beard, reflecting the dim light from the lamp rigged amidships.

  “Well, that’ll likely be what we’re lookin’ for, Sam. Keep an eye on ‘em. How far off do you s’pose they might be?” Biggs would normally have climbed aloft to have a look for himself, but only he and Hay were on deck at this point midway through the middle watch and there was no one to whom he could turn over the tiller.

  “I’m guessin’ maybe five leagues – maybe more. I’m only seein’ lights – and in this damned weather I cain’t even see the horizon – let alone rigs and hulls.” Hay let fly a string of curses as his bare foot slipped on the ratlines as he made his way up another few steps.

  “I don’t reckon I want to sail into the fleet in the dark, Sam. They won’t see the flag and some cove thinkin’ to make a name for hisself’ll likely fire on us. Come on down here and get Clive and Frank out; we’ll shorten down some and let them come to us.”

  By dawn – or more aptly, a general brightening of the sky from black to gray – the sloop was off the mouth of the West River, sailing on an easy reach under reduced sail toward the largest of the British ships, barely nothing more than ghostly images emerging from a rain storm at the mouth of Eastern Bay. The bulk of the fleet was spread across the Bay, tacking up toward the Patapsco River and Baltimore. Jack Clements had called Isaac out of a well-deserved sleep and the captain stood alone at the bow studying the impressive display of the Royal Navy’s might. Even Carronade, unwilling to be left in Baltimore, had vacated his normal post in the bow for the relative dryness of the deckhouse – much to the chagrin of the two passengers, who had yet to become accustomed to his company. His presence at the top of the ladder from below had necessitated their stepping over him when they came topside, a move requiring some care so as not to wake to beast.

  “This light easterly gonna slow them down some. Reckon they’re tacking all the way ‘cross the Bay. They ain’t gonna be gettin’ to North Point much afore dark tonight, I’d warrant.” Jack joined his friend and captain at the foot of the bowsprit and smiled tiredly. “Headin’ to the far shore, they’ll be givin’ up damn near what they make goin’ on the other tack. Less’n the wind backs around some, they got a long slow ride.”

  “Aye, Jack. You’re right about that. Let’s get that reef out and see about findin’ Cochrane’s ship. I’d guess it’d be that two-decker there – the one about three back from the lead. Better get that white flag up now that it’s light. Wouldn’t want ‘em to start shootin’ at us.” Biggs joined his first mate as they moved aft where Tate was once again on the helm.

  “You see that bigger one out there, Jake? The two-decker? Let’s make for that one. More’n likely that’ll have the admiral aboard. I looked for a pendant at the masthead, but in this light, I cain’t see if he’s showin’ one or not.”

  Gradually the sloop, a large piece of white bunting flapping lazily at the masthead, closed with the fleet. The Americans could feel the British longglasses trained on them and could imagine the conversations taking place aboard each of the vessels about this brazen little sloop sailing defiantly into the midst of their battle fleet.

  “What do you s’pose they’s thinkin’, Isaac?” Jake, relieved at the helm by Isaac, was balancing the longglass on the wind’ard shroud, steadying it with his hand, and spoke without removing it from his eye. “Don’t look like they got any guns run out. Probably figgerin’ we ain’t worth the powder and iron!”

  “I’d imagine they’re more ‘an a little curious as to our intentions and perhaps even who we might be, young man.” Colonel Skinner, Key at his elbow, had joined the group and answered before Biggs could take a breath. Jake kept looking through the glass. “Lookee there, that biggest one – what’d you call her, Isaac, a third-rate? – she’s just put up a flag hoist of some kind. What do you s’pose that means?”

  Before any could answer his question, Jake called out again. “Isaac! They’s tackin’! The whole damn fleet of ‘em. Headin’ this way now they are, by God!”

  And they were indeed. All aboard the sloop could see that with the unaided eye and, clearly, the fleet was now closing the sloop at a greatly increased rate – even given the light breeze.

  “Well, Mister Key, Colonel Skinner: reckon you’ll be wantin’ to get your papers and such in order. We’ll be standin’ in to ‘em quicker ‘an kiss my hand now. And I can see that blue pendant flyin’ on the two-decker. Reckon that’d be Tonnant, Cochrane’s ship. Eighty guns would be my guess.” Biggs voice was flat, without emotion, but his mind was in turmoil – jumping from thoughts of previous encounters with the Royal Navy to what he saw at Melville Island, back to his forced service aboard a Royal Navy frigate and the floggings and other injustices he witnessed, to Sarah Thomas, to his parents’ admonition against ‘running off to the Chesapeake Bay’ to seek danger again.

  Then a sharply etched image of Sarah overshadowed the other thoughts and, in spite of his best efforts to refocus his tired brain, remained there as clearly as though she were standing along side of him. She wore the same straw bonnet tied with the blue ribbon and pale blue dress she had worn when last he’d seen her, galloping her horse down the road back to Benedict after warning Commodore Barney of the British landing in that town.

  Snippets of conversations flitted through his mind – their dinner with her father that warm night in Benedict and the brief but wonderful kisses they’d shared; stolen moments of privacy in the middle of a war.

  Wonder what’s actin’ with her now, Isaac thought, recognizing the futility of putting the girl back into the recesses of his mind. Reckon she’s likely back to some kind of normal life now the Redcoats’ve left down there. Hope she’s all right and takin’ care of herself…sure would be nice to see her again…wonder if her daddy’s home yet – or alive. Reckon if’n he got hisself killed afore Washington, her godfather’s takin’ care of her…no…I don’t reckon she needs nobody to take care off her…she’s likely still rilin’ up all the men there with her opinions…gotta get myself back there when this mess gets itself played out. He smiled, unseen.

  Without warning the earlier image he had of her – fighting and firing a musket at the British troops – appeared. Oh lordy! What if’n she’s gone and got herself killed or something. I don’t reckon I could handle that. No, Isaac. You cain’t let yourself think on that. Keep your mind on what’s actin’ right here and now. That’s the whole British fleet there in front of you and you likely oughta pay it some mind. He shook his head and forced himself to study their present situation.

  It was rapidly becoming demanding. They were within a cannon shot of the flagship and with the glass, Isaac could see several officers studying his vessel with their own glasses. The sloop had passed astern of two frigates which had watched it go by with scarcely a look. The white bunting at the masthead seemed to be doing its job!

  “What is your plan, Captain? If you don’t mind my inquiring, that is.” Skinner had appeared at Biggs’ side and was watching the eighty-gun Tonnant loom large as she grew closer. Key had remained amidships, but even from there, Isa
ac could see his eyes get big as the obvious might of the enemy surrounded them. Before he could answer Colonel Skinner’s question, a voice boomed out over the water, sounding tinny from the speaking trumpet held by an officer part way up the mizzen rigging.

  “Boat there! Ahoy! What is your intention?”

  “You got one of those trumpets aboard, Captain?” Skinner looked expectantly at Isaac. Jake appeared at the man’s side with one in his hand and offered it to the colonel.

  “I am Colonel John Skinner, Agent for Prisoner Exchange. I would like to come aboard and speak with your Admiral Cochrane, should he be available. The admiral knows me. Please offer my compliments and ask if he will see me.” Skinner, the well-worn speaking trumpet at his mouth, fairly bellowed his response.

  The man in the two-decker’s rigging waved in acknowledgment and climbed down. After a hasty consultation with others on the ship’s quarterdeck, he disappeared below. Shortly he returned and, as the Americans watched, again climbed the mizzen ratlines and raised the trumpet.

  “Boat ahoy. Colonel: Admiral Cochrane says come alongside. He would be pleased to wait on you.” Even as the officer spoke, the great ship began to change course slightly and men swarmed aloft to clew up some sails and back others to slow her allowing the tiny American vessel to approach. And approach they did. The Americans could plainly hear the orders being issued to heave to the British vessel. The bosun’s whistle and harsh commands brought back memories to the young New Englander. But at least they had replaced the unnerving image he had had of Sarah.

  As Isaac swung the sloop around to make his landing along her massive side, he kept his mind focused completely on the task at hand. However, as the huge ship got closer and her side loomed high above the diminutive sloop, he became aware that his hands were clammy and that a trickle of moisture was making its way down his face and on down his neck. It was not the continuing drizzle making him uncomfortable.

  The Americans could plainly see the battens fixed to the towering side of the British vessel – a vessel whose sides were pierced on two decks for the barrels of her eighty guns. It was small comfort that the gunports were closed and no cannon, save the stern chasers on the poop, were visible. Red-coated marines were in evidence, however, and the crew of the sloop could plainly see them aiming muskets at the Americans from the spar deck as well as the fighting tops. Isaac noticed that both Clements and Jake Tate were showing signs of their own discomfort at being this close to the Royal Navy. Carronade issued forth with a low, deep-throated growl, somehow recognizing the ships for what they were. Jack patted him and spoke softly to the dog, but the growl continued.

  Without warning, the whole of Isaac’s life in the Royal Navy flooded into his head; the terror he had felt when he and his mates were pressed from the bark Anne, the excitement and fear that had overcome him when faced with his first encounter with a French naval squadron and his first taste of a real sea battle between equals; the floggings; his friends in the Royal Navy – Robert Coleman and Tim Conoughy, Jack Toppan, and the others. And young Michael Tyler who had leaped overboard to his death rather than face an unmerciful and undeserved flogging. Now, here he was again about to secure his vessel alongside one of the finest of the Royal Navy – and his was completely unarmed, not that it would have made a difference at this point.

  The sloop came into the lee of Tonnant’s tall side and her sails were at once all a-luff, the two-decker as effectively blocking the wind as would a headland. As Isaac guided his vessel, now coasting slowly without wind, along the side of the warship, manropes dropped down on either side of the battens and a heavier length of hemp was thrown accurately onto the little vessel’s foredeck. Billings and Frank Clark grabbed it quickly and made it fast to the bits there and the sloop was secured alongside. Carronade, his forepaws on the sloop’s low bulwark and his tail unmoving, increased the intensity of his menacing growl. Isaac noticed that a fair number of the dog’s teeth showed at the side of his mouth and the fur on his back formed a ridge from his neck to his tail.

  Isaac and Jake craned their necks to stare up at the break in the bulwark of the British ship; several officers stood there along with a few marines and some sailors. It seemed nearly as far away as the top of the sloop’s mast, but both men knew well that it likely was not that high.

  Jack Clements and Sam Hay had released the main halyard and were gathering the sail along the boom as it slid down the mast. The other two, forward, were handing the jibs. Within minutes, the sloop, her sails furled, was rocking easily under the side of the larger ship. With no need to stand at the tiller, Isaac stepped into the waist and spoke with Colonel Skinner and the Georgetown attorney.

  “How long you figger you’re likely to be, Colonel? I can stay here alongside if you think it’ll be quick, or sail nearby Tonnant ‘til you signal me to come get you and Mister Key if’n you’re gonna be a while.”

  “I have no idea, Captain. Hopefully, we shall see the admiral promptly and, with luck, he will acquiesce to the release of Doctor Beanes without undue argument. Should that be the case, we will likely only be a short while and will return directly so that we might sail straight back to Baltimore. But we shall have to see what the British have in mind.” Skinner, his papers in a leather case tucked under his arm, had a hand on the manrope and was already lifting a foot onto the lowest batten. Key looked anxious to get on with the task at hand, alternating his glance between Isaac and the lofty deck of the man-of-war.

  As the crew of the sloop watched the two men scramble up the side, they heard a voice shout down to them from the deck.

  “You there…the American captain. Have your men come aboard, if you please, and you as well. We shall trail your vessel astern. The captain is anxious to get underway as quick as ever possible.”

  Here was a turn of events none of the American sailors had anticipated; were they to be taken prisoner, or just held until the negotiations between Skinner, Key, and the admiral were completed? Jack and Isaac exchanged looks and Isaac noticed that, not for the first time since they had set out on this commission, Jack had lost his easy-going and seemingly ever-present grin. Almost without hesitation he called back up to the British officer. And Isaac noticed that the annoying trickle of sweat had again begun to track down his back, in spite of the comfortable temperature.

  “If’n you want us, you’re gonna have to lower a sling. Got a big dog here what we ain’t gonna leave aboard.” Quietly he spoke to Isaac. “That oughtta give ‘em something to think on for a moment or two. What do you figger them bastards want with us, Isaac? Capturing this sloop sure wouldn’t signify to ‘em and a handful of American sailors ain’t likely to turn they’s heads.” Jack stopped and suddenly smiled his impish grin again. “Less’n some cove up there recognized you as a former Royal Navy tar and wants you back!”

  “Oh lordy, Jack. Don’t even joke about that. I ain’t real comfortable with this right now, my own self. But I don’t see where we got any choice in it. Hell’s bells!” The young American captain spat over the side, then shook his head in resignation. “Let’s get ourselves up there afore them Redcoats decide we’s takin’ too long.” Biggs motioned to Hay and the others to get up the side and followed them up. Jack waited on the sloop until the officer yelled down to him.

  “You will ‘ave to leave the dog on your vessel as we have no desire to have ‘im aboard. This is a ship of ‘is Britannic Majesty’s Navy, not some damnable kennel for your filthy Jonathan dogs. Now you, sir, will get your self aboard quick as ever you might, should you know what’s good for you.” More quietly, but audible to all around him, he added, “Damn Jonathans. ‘is dog, indeed! Can you imagine the arrogance! Ought to just ‘ave a Marine shoot the miserable cur, by God!”

  Jack patted the dog and left him to his own devices, following the officer’s instructions to “get yourself aboard quick as ever you might.” Biggs was still making his way up the tall side. No sooner had Jack left the deck of the diminutive vessel than the sailors on th
e warship began paying out the line attached to the sloop’s bow, easing her back down the side and, ultimately, astern. Carronade, Jack noticed from his perch on Tonnant’s side, moved forward as the sloop drifted back and was now standing in the eyes of the little vessel, his forepaws on the butt of the bowsprit. Jack wondered idly if he was still growling.

  The topmen in the rigging dropped courses while the heavers on deck of Cochrane’s flagship hauled the yards around to catch the still light breeze and she was underway again, heading across the Bay toward Baltimore. The two decker now occupied a position in the middle of the fleet instead of in the van where she had been – or nearly so – when she hove to, to receive the Americans.

  As Isaac Biggs, former Royal Navy topman, stepped through the bulwark gate onto the deck he staggered slightly and quickly caught himself with a hand on the hammock netting. Waves of familiar sights and sounds washed over him and he found himself glancing aloft at the men still occupied with the tops’ls and courses. Higher by far than on the Orpheus frigate, and with more men on each yard, Isaac watched for a moment, remembering, as the Royal Navy topmen worked their way along the spars, releasing the brails to allow the sails to unfurl.

  “These lads seem to know well they’s business – as I reckon they should, bein’s how they’s in the flagship.” Isaac muttered to himself.

  “How’s that, Isaac. Didn’t catch that. You got to speak into the side what’s got the ear, remember? And these coves are wantin’ to close up the bulwark, there.” Clements came up behind his friend and playfully pushed him out of the way of the boarding area. His eyes made a quick circuit of the deck – as far as he could see – and took it all in; the red-coated marines, the crowds of sailors hauling on halyards, sheets, and braces, the carronades fore and aft and, through the gangways on the spardeck, the twenty-four-pounder cannon that lined the sides and, he knew, the sides of the deck below the one he could see. It was an impressive amount of fire power.