Jack grabbed Carronade’s shoulders and, shouting “Let go, boy! Leave him be,” to the dog, pulled him off his terrified victim. But not before the animal’s powerful jaws had ripped through the red jacket and well into the man’s flesh.
“’Ere – whot’s ‘appenin’ down there? Whot’s all the caterwaulin’ about? Who fired the shot? Lieutenant Parker: over ‘ere, sir. I think there’s trouble on the Jonathan’s wee boat.” The quarterdeck watch on Tonnant was peering over the rail at the sloop. He could not see what had happened, but surely heard the shot and the subsequent screams and yells.
“Nothing to worry about, young man. Just a minor altercation between one of your Marines and our dog.” Key responded quickly. “The shot was fired when the gun slipped from his hands. Go about your business, now.” Jack noticed that suddenly “that damn beast” had been replaced by our dog. He smiled in the dark as he pushed and pulled the animal back to the scuttle, lifting Carronade’s front paws over the lip and starting him down the ladder.
The wounded British Regular had regained his feet and, in the dim light of a nearby lantern was examining his arm, clearly alarmed at the blood flowing freely from the wound.
“My God. That animal has bit me through and through. Look at me arm; I’m bleedin’ to death, by God!” He held his arm close to the light and then waved it in front of his mates who had hustled aft, drawn by the shot and the noise. One of them took the arm to steady it and looked carefully at the bite.
“’Ere, now, Dicky, you ain’t ‘bleedin’ to death’ ‘t’all. Barely scratched you, ‘e did. You’re lucky ‘e didn’t take your bloody arm right off! Big dog like that. You shoulda shot ‘im soon’s ‘e showed up.” The marine, a sergeant and apparently in charge of the detail, looked at Isaac, Key and Jake. He shook his head, causing rain drops to fly from his hat.
“As for you Jonathans, you’ll keep that animal out of our way or I will damn sure shoot the beast my own self! Keepin’ a bloody dog aboard a boat, indeed. ‘Ave you by chance something that might answer as a bandage for this? Or should I ‘ave the watch aboard Tonnant ‘aul us back alongside to take us all on board and ‘ave the surgeon ‘ave a look while you and your men are put in irons for attacking a soldier of the Crown?”
“I reckon we might have some cloth below that’d serve right fine for your friend, Sergeant. And I’ll see the dog stays below. You and your men get back up to the fo’c’sle. Best you stay there, like you done afore.” Isaac started for the hatch and saw the marines turn to go forward as his head disappeared below the deck.
Jack was grinning broadly and patting the big dog on the head. “How ‘bout that, Isaac. Ol’ Carronade got his own self into this scrap even if we’re stuck out here.” He bent over the dog. “Good boy, Carronade. You showed him ‘bout pointin’ guns at us ‘Jonathans’, by God!” The dog responded with an enthusiastic thump of his tail.
“Jack, you’re gonna get us sent back on board that two-decker and locked up, like as not, you don’t keep him under control. Don’t be so damn happy about it!” Isaac tried to maintain some level of the stern commander in his voice, but his pleasure at putting one of their “guard” out of action – even temporarily – came through and Clements called him on it.
“Isaac lad, you’re just as happy as me ‘bout what Carronade done, and don’t try to hide it. I know you’ve come to like him just fine – near as much as me – and I reckon you’d be some put out if’n it’d gone the other way; if’n that Redcoat hadda shot him. You know that. ’Sides, Carronade was just gettin’ him some payback for that splinter he took down to the Patuxent! And we ain’t gonna wind up back in Tonnant; them Navy lads ain’t got no want for the likes of us. They got much more important fish to fry, ‘specially if’n they took the city.”
“Aye, I’d warrant you’re right about that, Jack.” Isaac smiled at his friend and reached down to scratch Carronade’s head. “But all the same, try to keep him in your lee. Ain’t no…”
“Captain Biggs! A boat is coming alongside the Tonnant. You had better come up here and have a look. No telling what is happening.” Key shouted down the ladder and Isaac turned to go back into the wet night, his collar turned up and his shoulders hunched against the steady downpour in a futile attempt at keeping the rain from running down his neck.
“Seems to be quite a flurry of activity there. More ‘an a few officers turned out up there where the boat landed, it appears.” Key’s attention was riveted on the men climbing up the two-decker’s massive side. Colonel Skinner, on deck since the altercation, stood beside the lawyer and was equally intent. Isaac noticed that yes, indeed, there did seem to be quite a number of officers turned out awaiting someone’s arrival. A few words drifted back, carried on the breeze from the ship ahead as the messenger from the boat reached the deck.
“…Ross…blood…Jonath…olding…not moving for…Cockburn and Colonel Brook say…off…”
The words were meaningless to the Americans. They could only hope it was good news and that the lull in the shelling of Fort McHenry did not tie into a victory being reported to the flagship. Skinner turned back to Isaac and Frank Key.
“I think the British are having some trouble over there. From what I could hear – which was precious little – they didn’t sound like they were reporting victory. It just could be that Stricker’s troops held and turned the enemy back. Admiral Cockburn wouldn’t allow the Royal Marines to retreat, I’m sure.”
“No, I reckon not. He’s a fighter. He’s the one followed Commodore Barney’s flotilla all the way up the Patuxent to Pig Point just so’s he could burn our boats.” Isaac chimed in with his own personal experience with the British admiral. And then the firing started from shoreward.
“By God! That’s a good sign. Firing again. Captain, have you a nightglass, by any chance?” Key was again at the rail, straining to see through the dark and rain as the dull booms and distant flashes resounded dully. The streaks left by Congreve rockets winked red in the wetness.
The Georgetown lawyer peered through the provided glass for a moment then exclaimed “That’s our guns firing, by the Almighty! They must have got within range of the Fort.” He seemed to dance in place, then shouted out, “Give it to ‘em lads, keep pouring it into ‘em!” Only those on the sloop and a few still on deck on the British ship could hear his encouragement, but the firing did, in fact, keep up for some time and eventually was answered by the entire bombardment fleet. Congreve rockets and mortar shells could be seen quite clearly, even through the rain, as they flew from the warships into, around, and over the Fort.
“Well, I’d warrant that settles that! They wouldn’t keep firing into a Fort they had taken, by God! Armistead has not surrendered – and I would presume, neither has the city! Oh, how I hope this is a harbinger of what is to come.” Key was more animated than even Colonel Skinner had ever seen. “You gentlemen may retire downstairs, if you wish; I shall remain here and watch – and pray.” He hauled a watch from his pocket and considered it for a moment. “Should be dawn within a few hours now. They can not possibly maintain this bombardment for very much longer – but should they be able to, I pray that those brave lads in the Fort can withstand the onslaught as long as they have to. Been at it nearly twenty hours.” Completely oblivious now to his departing shipmates, he continued, mumbling under his breath, “Inhuman, absolutely inhuman. No one should have to bear that punishment! What an unholy ordeal!”
He lowered the glass from his eye and looked around the fleet anchored close at hand. More activity on the ships’ deck; more people seemingly interested in what was happening in the harbor. Even the marines taking their ease – as much as they could given the cramped space and steady rain – on the fo’c’sle seemed to have taken a new interest in the bombardment. They talked among themselves, cursing Jonathan, the rain, and a host of officers who apparently were responsible for assigning them this miserable duty on the American sloop. Their voices drifted aft to the lawyer’s hearing.
&
nbsp; “Well, lads, we mighta been over on the shore, just as wet, but with the added joy of flying shot into the bargain!” One of the marines got it right and the others eventually returned to silent suffering.
Below, Isaac, his crew and John Skinner each found some room to, if not stretch out, at least to recline enough to sleep; and sleep they did, lulled off to an exhausted slumber by the continuing dull booming of the on-going punishment being delivered to Fort McHenry and the city of Baltimore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I can not see through this blasted fog. First rain and now this fog! Damme! And I could see stars earlier! The guns are finally still, but did they hold through the night? Damn the fog!” Frank Key greeted his shipmates with his back as they emerged from the cabin and hurled epithets at the fog.
“What do you see, Frank?” John Skinner asked unnecessarily. The fog blew in wet sheets across the harbor. One could barely make out the British bombardment fleet at anchor – and of them only their topmasts were visible. There was no sign at all of the target of their attack through the preceding long day and night.
“Blast all! Not a thing! The tops of some of the masts of the ships yonder, but nothing beyond them.” He glared through the longglass again, savagely jamming it into his eye with a force born of frustration and anger.
The colonel and Isaac flanked the lawyer while Jack and Jake stood with Doctor Beanes behind them staring into the whiteness. The doctor had missed the doings of the early morning, managing in his exhaustion, to sleep mostly through the night. Carronade remained below, out of the sight of the Royal Marines still camped on the sloop’s bow. Isaac noticed that Key’s free hand was clamped onto the bulwark with such a force that his knuckles had turned white. His cloak hung, sodden, from his shoulders, the bottom of it so waterlogged that it barely moved in the increasing wind.
“With this wind gettin’ up, the fog ain’t gonna be ‘round for long, Mister Key. You’ll be able to see the shore right quick, I’m thinkin’, now they’s a breeze.” Jack Clements looked around, sniffed the air and made his pronouncement. Which, as it quickly developed, was right on the mark.
“There! There it is! Oh my God! Is that the most beautiful sight you’ve ever beheld? Look. Armistead’s flag is still there! We held through the night and that ungodly punishment! Oh thank God!” Key was doing his little dance again, this time a dance of joy and excitement and, indeed, the others could see through the torn wisps of fog, as the wind moved it away, the huge American flag waving from its mast in the yard of Fort McHenry. It was truly a stirring sight and none could take their eyes off it as it flew, a little tattered and holed, but still high over the ramparts.
As the Americans watched the flag, they could not help but notice that the bombardment fleet was beginning to stir, winning their anchors and making their way back down the harbor toward the rest of the fleet. And suddenly, it seemed, the deck of Tonnant was bustling with activity.
A barge had appeared, rowed smartly and quickly to under the side of the flagship. Oars were tossed on command and the boat coasted in under the towering side. Isaac, his days as a Royal Navy tar coming back to him yet again, watched and recognized a very senior officer – likely an admiral, he thought – climb quickly from the sternsheets and up the battens to the deck where he was greeted with appropriate ceremony. The bosun’s pipe and a marine drum signified the new arrival’s importance. Within a few moments came a hail from the Tonnant.
“Ahoy…on the American sloop. We’ll be bringin’ you ‘longside, ‘ere.” A voice from an unseen officer or midshipman shouted down from the taffrail high above them.
“Well, now what? I certainly hope they haven’t changed their minds.” Dr. Beanes voice was tight with concern.
He didn’t need to elaborate; there was no doubt about what William Beanes was thinking. Isaac and Jake started forward as the sloop gathered way, pulled by unseen heavers on the spar deck of the British vessel. The lawyer, prisoner exchange agent, and their prize remained with Jack Clements in the waist of the sloop.
“Well, glad to see you’re still alive! Maybe you was a little quick with your comment last night, soldier. And how’s your arm?” Isaac smiled at the Royal Marine who had visited them during the night. Isaac got a glare from the man for his trouble. “Looks as if you lads might be about ready to get yourselves back aboard the flagship. I hope your night was not too uncomfortable. We have such little space for passengers.”
A voice called down from the deck above them. “The admiral’d like to ‘ave a word with Colonel Skinner, if you please – and you can send up our marines. Then you’ll be free to go on about your business, Captain, as soon as your passenger returns. Admiral Cochrane sends his apologies for any inconvenience he may have caused you and asked me to wish you a speedy return to port.”
“Reckon that’s who was in the boat then, Jake. I guess it’s over. They must be gettin’ ready to leave.” He turned and called to the agent for prisoner exchange. “Colonel Skinner: seems as if the admiral wants a word with you, sir. You can get up there soon’s we’re secure ‘ongside.”
Isaac waited on the fo’c’sle for the American’s return, which happened within the space of half an hour. The Royal Marines had already made their way up the Tonnant’s side, pleased to be back on the deck of a real ship. The sloop’s crew was chafing at their lines to get away from their forced confinement and, as soon as Skinner’s feet touched his deck, Isaac grinned at Jake and said, “Let’s cast off this line, here Jake, and get ourselves back to Talbot an’ ‘em.”
Jake nodded at Isaac and, even before the words were finished, was working one-handed at the post holding the sloop’s tether to the warship.
“Stand-by to make sail. Jack, Sam! Get the mains’l unfurled. Clive: same on the jib. Stand-by the halyards!” Isaac turned to Jake. “Soon’s the mains’l’s up, cast off and give a holler. I’ll get aft.”
As Isaac made his way to the tiller on the sloop’s tiny quarterdeck, he noticed the Georgetown lawyer busily scribbling on the back of a well-worn piece of paper. Judging from its damp appearance it had spent the wet night somewhere on Key’s person. The man, Isaac noted, was totally engrossed in what he was about and quite oblivious to the fact that he was still soaked to the skin; that they were getting underweigh at long last did not signify in the slightest. He did not even look up as Biggs and Skinner passed him.
Within a few moments, the sloop, free from her twenty-four hour captivity, was making light of the chop as she scooted on a close reach toward the harbor and the flotilla anchorage in Ridgely’s Cove.
“What was all that about with the admiral, Colonel? If’n it’s any of my business, that is?” Isaac guided the sloop toward Baltimore, the tiller resting against his leg and his glance alternating between the set of his sails and the agent who stood nearby watching the approaching British ships.
“Oh, not a great deal. Cochrane apologized for detaining us and wondered how the lads in McHenry could have withstood the barrage the fleet poured into them. Said it was quite a testimony to their will and courage.” Skinner paused and looked back toward HMS Tonnant, still a hive of activity and, even from the short distance the sloop had gained, standing large in the fleet. “He also said something about sunken hulks between McHenry and Fells Point; had they not been there, he mentioned, the British would have been able to rush past the Fort and cut off the city. Those hulks made it impossible for the naval support of the marines to have any real impact. Probably helped defeat the siege. That of course, and the militia units on North Point. I collect that was a complete disaster. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to find a well-trained and competent militia…with apparently decent leaders. Mentioned also that General Ross was killed. Too bad that; I kind of liked the man.”
“Them hulks bein’ sunk where they was was the flotilla’s doin’s. Glad we was able to help. He say what they was gonna do next?”
“No. He did say that they considered this a diversionary raid. I ca
n’t imagine why, but that’s what he said – and no point in continuing it with the resistance they met. Cut their losses, I figure. But he did indicate – obliquely, to be sure – that they would be getting their marines back into the ships quick as ever they might, so my guess would be they’ll be heading somewhere else to wreak their misery and havoc.”
The sloop continued in toward the city, its crew silent. Isaac noticed from his post at the tiller that Key continued writing whatever it was he was writing, head down and scribbling intently.
Closer in to Whetstone Point and its beleaguered Fort, Jake called out from the bow where he had been watching the British bombardment fleet sail by them on its way to rejoin Tonnant and the others still anchored of North Point.
“Something in the water, Isaac, just comin’ up on the wind’ard bow.” He studied the object for a moment, then called out again. “Looks like a body, Isaac!”
Biggs let the sloop’s head come up some and shivered her sails, slowing her dash up the harbor. He peered over the side as the body drifted by.
“Aye, Jake. A body it is, and from the uniform, British…an officer, I’d reckon. He’s still got the swabs on his shoulders.” Isaac pointed at the epaulettes waving languidly from the blue jacket as the body was lifted on the crest of a small wave. “Reckon some of them shots the lads at McHenry fired found they’s mark!”
“There’s another yonder, comin’ up in our lee.” Billings irritating voice chimed in. “Missin’ a limb, it looks like.” He pointed at the corpse as they approached the grisly sight. “Watch it, Isaac. They’s somethin’ sunk right by it…looks like a boat – or a piece of one, by God!”
The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Page 29