The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy

by William H. White

  Clements had only seen one British warship close up and he had been in no position then to make a study of Shannon’s gundeck beyond noticing a few elements that had caught his eye. He looked aft toward the raised poop and saw the rail lined with blue coats trimmed in gold over sparkling white knee breeches. Most wore swords while others wore the dirk allowed to midshipmen.

  “Issac! They ain’t even at quarters! Damn arrogant…” He was interrupted by an uninspiring figure approaching from aft and raising his voice in an unsuccessful attempt at command.

  “You men: stand out of the way, there. You may remain for’ard of the break of the poop and off the quarterdeck. And do not wander about. Someone will come and deal with you when I know the captain’s pleasure.” The nasal, youthful British voice dripped with arrogance and disdain. Flashes of white on the young man’s uniform jacket, along with the dirk carried at his side, identified him as a midshipman. His pocked face and smallish eyes set over a sharp nose gave him a look that did not command trust or even obedience, but none of Isaac’s crew thought to question him.

  Isaac and Jack just looked at the man, neither trusting their voices to respond. The other Americans all mumbled “Aye” and stayed where they were, standing against the bulwark behind the hammock netting.

  “Jack, you thinkin’ on your time in Shannon? This oughta look some familiar, I’d reckon.” Isaac was still looking around the mighty ship, as awestruck as a landsman. He recalled seeing the seventy-fours in English Harbor some years ago and how impressed he’d been with their size; while Tonnant was not as big physically, she carried a greater weight of metal and surely more sailors and marines.

  He looked at the faces he could see, hoping not to recognize any of the crew or officers. He barely heard Clements’ response to his comment.

  “The Shannon frigate, aye. Course them coves aboard that one wasn’t quite so warm and friendly! Wasn’t real keen on any of us havin’ a look around, as I recollect, neither.” Jack’s grin was back; he seemed comfortable with their situation now that he knew they weren’t about to be marched down to the orlop deck as prisoners.

  “Isaac, what do you figger they’s gonna do with us?” Jake was none too comfortable being here on the deck of this huge British vessel. He also had a memory – albeit slightly fuzzy – of spending some time on Shannon in a hammock drifting in and out of consciousness from the laudanum he’d been given to ease the pain of his just-amputated arm. Absently, he rubbed the stump of his arm as he looked around, still gaping at the magnitude of Admiral Cochrane’s flagship.

  When Isaac turned to respond to his friend, he noticed that Jake, too, was sweating and seemed unable to stand still. He shuffled his feet and shifted his weight from one to the other, unsure of what was in store for all of them. Biggs tried to ease his mind – as much as he could. He smiled and Clements responded to the young man’s concerns.

  “They’s likely gonna just let us stand here and wait on the colonel and Mister Key, I reckon. Don’t nobody seem to payin’ any mind to us, Jake. ’Sides, what would they be wantin’ with the likes of us – a one eared bosun and a one armed topman?”

  Tate managed a thin smile, but it faded quickly. Frank Clark and Sam Hay were clearly in awe of their surroundings; even Clive Billings was, for once, silent as his gaze took in the lofty rig and the crowds of men who seemed to be everywhere he looked.

  “Crew’s gonna be piped to dinner right quick, you lot. Should you be wishin’ a bite of vittles, I reckon we might manage to scare up a wee bit for some Jonathans. May’aps even a wee taste of grog, should you be wantin’ it.” A tall, swarthy man with his long hair neatly braided down his back and a blue cloth coat missing its lapels over none-too-clean white canvas trousers spoke to the visitors. “You’ll just ‘ave to fall in there at the foot of the mainmast on the weatherdeck when you ‘ear the pipe. Reckon you’ll ‘ave to fend for yourselves at the mess, though.” He looked at the Americans for a moment, thinking. “Which one of you is the captain of that wee vessel. I’d warrant one of you oughta be?”

  Isaac stepped forward and haltingly, in a quiet voice, identified himself as such.

  “You’ll be eatin’ in the Gunroom with the officers, since you’re our guest. Reckon that Cap’n Porter ain’t likely to be arskin’ you to jine ‘im an’ the admiral in the Cabin. Har har.”

  He looked at the two disfigured sailors. “You two look like you might ‘ave seen some action somewhere along the way. I’d warrant you met up with the Royal Navy afore?”

  “Aye, and spent some time enjoyin’ the hospitality of your lodgings at Melville Island on top of it.” Jack smiled to the stranger. “Who might you be?”

  “Taggert, Bosun. Since you’re Jonathans, I’d warrant you lads was traded back quick as ever you please from Melville. Seems like only the Frogs manage to stay put there.”

  “Aye, was something like that, it were. We…” Jack’s next thought was cut off by the pipe followed by the fife playing the call to dinner. None of the Americans recognized the tune, but Isaac immediately recalled the Nancy Dawson and again his former life rushed back to him. Fortunately Bosun Taggert moved away to supervise the grog line and Isaac grabbed Jack’s elbow.

  “Don’t go tellin’ any more ‘bout your time in the prison, Jack. They might not take kindly to the way you – and Jake – was ‘traded’ back. Let’s see about some grog.” Isaac smiled – for the first time since coming aboard – and took a step toward the ladder leading down to the weatherdeck.

  “’Scuse me, Cap’n Biggs, but didn’t that cove Taggert say you was ‘sposed to take your vittles in the gunroom with the officers?” Clements comment was accompanied by a grin as he now fully returned to his easy-going self. And tried to lighten the spirit of his fellows.

  “Wouldn’t know how to act in the gunroom, Jack. Rather be eatin’ with you coves anyway, though only the good Lord knows why. Right now, I’m thinkin’ we’re better off stayin’ close aboard each other, so if’n you ain’t objectin’, I’ll just be an able seaman for a while.” Isaac smiled back, more at ease since it was becoming apparent that they were not to suffer any ill effects of their ‘visit’ to the Royal Navy. His familiarity with the routine of the Royal Navy – and the fact that he was the only member of his crew with that familiarity – provided him with some comfort. “’Sides,” he added with a wink at Jake Tate, “it’s some sharp-set I am right now, and I don’t take much to the idea of waitin’ an hour and more for the Gunroom mess to take they’s vittles.”

  “Biggs! That you, by Gawd?” The voice came from forward, by the mainmast. Isaac started as though shot. He turned and peered through the gloom of the weatherdeck searching for its source, his smile vanishing. It took him a moment or two to realize he had stopped breathing.

  Then the voice called out again. “Biggs! Over here. It’s me, Wallace.”

  “Looks like you got you a friend here, Isaac. And you look a little peaked, of a sudden. You feelin’ all right? Maybe you shoulda made for the gunroom after all!” Clements tone was cheery, but the implications – for all of them – were less so. Isaac continued to stare at the knot of seamen from where Wallace had called.

  “There you are, Wallace. Couldn’t smoke your voice right off; been close enough to two years since I seen your ugly face last. What are you doing here, in the flagship, no less?” Isaac hoped that his own cheery tone would help prevent disaster.

  “Got put off’n the ol’ Orpheus – and away from that damn flogger, Winston – in Bermuda last spring. We was ‘eadin’ for ‘ome, and Tonnant was ‘eadin’ ‘ere, needin’ some hands. Winston sent me an’ a dozen others over – seein’s ‘ow it were the admiral what was askin’. Reckon ‘e felt it might do ‘im some good – ‘elpin’ out the admiral. What ‘appened to you? Last I recall, you and Cochrane and some others was sailing them prizes down to Antigua. With Burns, if’n I recollect rightly. Never did ‘ear what happened to you. Some one of the officers once mentioned that the prizes wasn’t in to E
nglish ‘arbour, but ol’ Burns never showed up again – nor any of the others. I’ll tell you, lad, you’re the last one I’d expected to see ‘ere. Didn’t you once say you was from somewhere north of ‘ere – Massachusetts, if’n I recollect.”

  “Aye, Wallace. Massachusetts it is. An’ the prizes got themselves took by some American privateers.” Isaac brought his old friend and fellow topman up to date on his activities – leaving out a fair amount of detail, especially about his visit to Halifax a year back – and concluded with “…and I seen – well, I didn’t actually see him – but I heard that Lieutenant Burns is now Captain Burns and has a vessel right here in the Bay. So I reckon he made it ashore down to Haiti and then found hisself a way back to the fleet.”

  Isaac made the introductions of his crew each of whom responded to Wallace’s greetings with a wan smile and a quiet voice.

  “I surely hope you ain’t plannin’ to mention to some officer who I am, Wallace; that would make things right uncomfortable.” Isaac smiled hopefully.

  “Wouldn’t think of it, Isaac lad. You got your own self off’n that hell-ship an’ I admire that. No, I ain’t gonna mention your time in the Royal Navy. Especially now you’ve got your own vessel. I collect that wee one trailin’ astern is the one you mentioned just now?”

  “Aye that it is, and soon’s Colonel Skinner and Mister Key’re done talkin’ with your admiral, I aim to get it – and us – away from here quick as ever I might.” The relief in Isaac’s voice – and in the faces of his crew – was evident and the men got their grog and joined Wallace’s mess for their dinner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  By the time the last British ship had dropped its anchor, it was dusk. The weather had improved not a whit; in fact, the drizzle had evolved into a steady, soaking rain and the approaching night held the promise of little change. Tonnant, the American sloop still secured astern, and a dozen troop ships along with a few frigates had found their anchorages a mile off North Point and the Americans still aboard the flagship could see Royal Marines mustering in the troopships for what could only be a landing. Tonnant’s position in the center of the row closest to Baltimore city – but still a safe eight miles distant – allowed Isaac and his crew a good view of the ships to either side as well as those astern and, through the rain and gradually descending darkness, the frigates, brigs, bomb and rocket ships, and tenders as they anchored some five miles off Fort McHenry.

  Jack and Jake had watched as the deeper draft frigates (Jake stopped counting as the sixth passed) led by HMS Surprise, to which Admiral Cochrane had shifted his flag, had spent a good part of the day tacking up the Patapsco River, running aground several times in the process, bringing smiles to the American faces. They also watched – in less good humor – as each in turn was pulled or kedged off the shoals and the bomb ships and rocket ships continued even further, coming to anchor barely two-and-one-half miles from the massive structure.

  “Them smaller vessels close in, Isaac; I seen ‘em when they went by us. Looks to me like they’s rigged to fire shells ‘stead of shot. Them short-barrelled carronades they was sportin’ could only be for shells. They could make some trouble for the lads in the fort if’n they can hit what they’s aimin’ at.” Clements stood beside Isaac observing the activity of the fleet. He looked again and continued. “Reckon that cove what’s in charge there – what was his name? Armistead or something, I recollect – would be right interested in knowing what them ships is plannin’ on throwin’ his way.”

  “Aye. I imagine he rightly would, Jack. You figgered a way we can get ourselves off’n this ship and sail in there to tell ‘em? These rascals here ain’t likely to just hand us down into the sloop with a tip of they’s hats and give us a push toward the city so’s we can warn ‘em.” Isaac paused and looked around the ship, he gaze finally settling on the American sloop where she tugged gently at her bow line some two hundred feet away. “Say Jack, what about your dog. Have you gotten an eye on him. I ain’t heard him bark since we left him there. I don’t reckon he’s enjoyin’ hisself settin’ back there in the sloop.” Isaac nodded astern of the two decker.

  Jack’s face darkened as he looked aft. He could see little of the sloop save her rig and the top of the deckhouse. Carronade was not in sight, but Jack had no doubt the big dog was still aboard and waiting for him to return.

  “How much longer you figger they’s likely to keep us here, Isaac? I ain’t real fond of standin’ here bein’ looked over by these Royal Navy coves like I was a piece of meat a-hangin’ in a butcher’s shop.” Tate had noticed that many of the seamen aboard were treating the Americans as a curiosity – as were the officers and, most particularly, the midshipmen. They seemed to relish moving their guests around, ostensibly to get them out of the way, but it was obvious to all that the youngsters were merely exercising their limited authority to impress the Americans. And some took real delight in bullying them.

  One midshipman who appeared to the American crew as the “runt of the litter,” as Clive Billings had put it, seemed to spend most of his time waiting for the men to seek some shelter from the rain and then moving them to another place on deck – in the open. By now, the sloop’s crew was thoroughly soaked, their hair plastered to their heads and Sam Hay and Jake were actually shivering with cold in spite of the moderate temperature.

  They had enjoyed some lively conversation with Wallace and his mates at their mess, and the American sailors realized that there was little difference between the men of the Royal Navy and themselves – none relished their existence – and most of the talk centered on life ashore or the pursuits each would follow when the war ended. Jack had again pointed out that the ship had still not been called to quarters to which his British messmates had only shrugged. One, a topman under Wallace’s command on the foremast, had disdainfully pointed out “We ain’t got no need to go to quarters. Heard it meself, I did, from Mister Reed, that we ain’t gonna fire or even put our marines ashore. Said we’s just gonna set ‘ere an’ watch an’ then when the frigates and bomb ships ‘ave done they’s work, we’ll move in to put our lads ashore and meet up with the marines marching in from that spit of land yonder. Shouldn’t be any trouble takin’ this little place, ‘specially after Washington!”

  The comment had sparked a brief but lively round of comments from both sides of the fray; the Americans hoping this man’s assessment of the situation was wrong, but fearing the worst, while the British seamen nodded knowingly at their mate.

  Immediately after Cochrane had shifted his flag to the Surprise frigate, now anchored with the bomb ships and tenders close to the fort, Skinner and Francis Key had appeared on Tonnant’s deck and sought out Isaac.

  “Looks as if we have been successful in convincing the admiral to release Doctor Beanes, Captain. But, unfortunately, the admiral has given orders that we are all to remain aboard this ship until the fight is over. He pointed out that it would do their effort no good at all should we go ashore and announce his plans – which I must add, we discussed in some detail at dinner – to our fellows defending the city. So it is here we shall stay for the moment.” Colonel Skinner was pleased with their success in securing the doctor’s release, but quite distressed at their apparent temporary captivity.

  “You figger they might be willin’ to let us get back aboard the sloop, Colonel? At least there, we’d be able to get outta the weather without Midshipman ‘Runt’ and his mates chasing us out of any lee we can find. And Jack, here, could see to his animal.” Isaac’s earnestness brought thoughtful frowns to the faces of the two negotiators, but Key responded quickly.

  “I shall inquire of General Ross and the captain. Ross mentioned that he will be personally leading the troops who go ashore, but he is still aboard, I believe.” The lawyer turned and stepped quickly aft toward the quarterdeck, his shoulders hunched up in limited defense against the still falling rain.

  The sloop’s crew had moved to a position under the blue cutter on the weather deck, which of
fered some limited protection from the rain and Isaac noticed that Jake and Sam Hay kept an alert lookout for their nemesis, the bantam midshipman who seemed to delight in denying them any shelter. He also noticed that, now in from the rain, they had stopped their shivering. The colonel made idle conversation with Isaac, detailing the British plans he knew of and lamenting the fact that they were unable, for now, at least, to do anything to help the American cause.

  “If I could somehow get the word to Commodore Rodgers that General Ross is landing something on the order of four thousand marines and sailors to attack Baltimore by way of North Point, I am sure it would be helpful to him. I am sure he has seen the bomb ships, rocket vessels, and frigates already close in. I would assume their mission is quite obvious to even the most casual observer. But I don’t know that he is expecting an attack from the land.” Skinner’s frustration was palpable, and, in the dim smoky glow of a nearby lantern, Isaac could make out the lines furrowed into his forehead.

  “Colonel, I don’t reckon you need worry your own self about that. Some of the lads and me met the commodore a few days past and he allowed as how he had right plentiful troops all set to the east of the city and ready to march out this way. Fact is, I’d wager he’s started ‘em out here already. Mayhaps these coves might be in for a surprise once they get ‘emselves ashore. They’s thinkin’ Baltimore’s gonna lay down and just let ‘em march right in – just like down to Washington; from what I seen ashore, that surely ain’t likely. I’ll warrant these folks’ll fight – and fight good. Rodgers is a pretty smart cove, ‘cordin’ to what most say and he seemed ready for whatever the British come up with.”

  “Captain, I do hope you are right on that score. As Mister Key mentioned to your…commodore? Captain Talbot?…if Baltimore falls, we are most assuredly sunk and, I fear, our cause lost.” The agent for prisoner exchange shook his head. “I just wish there was some way we could get in there and be of some help.”