He was right; the storm continued to deepen as he alternately stood by the helmsmen and paced up and down the quarterdeck. The captain had apparently decided to hold the sails currently deployed, at least for the time being, trying to make up some of the time lost in the calm; his orders to the watch were quite explicit and woe to the mate that countermanded them without damn good reason! Shortly before he was scheduled for relief, Jakes saw two of his maintopmen appear by the covered area abaft the deckhouse where the waisters and idlers were allowed to shelter in bad weather. Watching them for a minute or two, he realized they were arguing about something; hearing what was out of the question. Then he saw one of the men turn toward him and shout something; the wind carried the words away as soon as they were out of his mouth, but their implication was clear.
Ben Jakes had some unsavory characters in his watch and had found them useful in carrying out some of his less-than-honest chores. Those same men also found that Jakes could be helpful to them on occasion as well, and the resulting symbiotic relationship was usually at cross purposes with the goals of the captain and the owners. On a ship the size of Anne, many of these “deals” and goings-on were known throughout the fo’c’sle and mates’ mess, but it was often better to ignore things that didn’t affect you if you wanted to avoid an “accident.” The captain and first mate suspected that Jakes was behind some of the problems they had experienced in the six months since he joined the ship, but none were as yet serious enough to override the fact that he was a very good seaman, and could be counted on to act properly when the situation required it. His primary “business,” so far, appeared to be selling ships’ stores and extra equipment ashore, and while it certainly was not desirable, it was common enough practice in both the merchant fleet and the Navy that it could be overlooked for now. If it developed into a greater problem, he could be paid off and put ashore.
Raising his voice over the increasing whine of the wind as he moved toward the two, Jakes shouted, “What are you two lubbers doin’ hangin’ about back here? You’re s’posed to be for’ard.” One of the men, an older topman with a natural sneer to his face shouted back, “ We can get there quick as ever you please should we be needed there, but we wanted to have a word with you.”
They stepped into the deckhouse to continue the conversation at a more moderate tone. “Well, here I am. Have yer word.”
“Biggs is gettin’ to be more of a problem than ever. He was mentioning again to the first this afternoon that a lot of his spare line and blocks was gone missin’ and that idler, Billy, ‘at works as the captain’s steward was standin’ right there with his ears flappin’ like wings. We wouldn’t want our “business” to get snuffed by a nosy mate. If Billy happens to mention it in front of Cap’n Smalley, Clark mightn’t have a choice but to close us down and God knows what else. What do ya think?”
“I think Biggs might have an accident aloft. There’s some dirty weather makin’ up tonight and my guess is the tops’ls and courses will have to be reefed during the evening watch. I’ll…” Before he could finish the thought, Joe O’Malley appeared on the ladder, heading for the quarterdeck where he expected to find Jakes awaiting relief from his watch. A look passed between Jakes and his men that said, “He heard it all – now what?”
O’Malley instead spoke up and said, “I figgered you’d be aft, Ben. What are you doin’ in here? A little weather botherin’ you?”
“Just chasin’ these two back up for’ard, Joe. And you needn’t worry ‘bout me and weather; I seen more than most. You here to take the watch now?” The menace in the third’s growl was clear. Ignoring the tone, O’Malley moved on, speaking over his shoulder to Jakes.
“Aye. Let’s get on with it before it gets any worse out there. I wouldn’t want you to have to stay out in this any longer than necessary.” They stepped outside, Jakes ignoring the jibe, accompanied by the two topmen who, with a look at Jakes, disappeared forward. O’Malley led the way to the quarterdeck, and turned when he got to the binnacle. “What was that all about?” he said. “You doin’ ‘business’ at sea now? I thought you only traded in port. I would mind me ways at sea; there’s no place to lay up if it gets stormy, if you get my drift.”
“I would keep me nose in me own damn business, were I you, Joe O’Malley” snarled Jakes. “You gonna relieve me or stand there spoutin’?”
“You’re relieved. But I’ll warrant I see you again before the middle watch. We’ll be shortenin’ down, way this wind’s risin’, is my guess.”
Jakes turned and moved forward, going around the deckhouse to the pin rail at the foot of the mainmast where his two sailors waited. “Well?” asked the older of the two, who had assumed the role of spokesman for these two miscreants.
Jakes studied his crony for a moment before responding. “He’s thinking he knows more ‘n he does. Don’t worry about him. I think that foretopman, Biggs, is going to have to be taken care of though. Maybe I should have a word with one of his men later. If this weather holds, it’s just possible that Biggs might have an accident while he’s out on the foretops’l yard. That’ll ease his sheets and at the same time cut us some slack with Clark. O’ course, we’ll be ashore in a couple of days, and sometimes men have trouble when they’re drinkin’ and carousin’; anything might happen.”
A Fine Tops’l Breeze
SECOND EDITION
Volume Two in the War of 1812 Trilogy
by William H. White
© William H. White 2000
William H. White’s action-packed tale continues the adventures of the newest character in American sea fiction: Isaac Biggs of Marblehead, Massachusetts. In the second volume of the trilogy, Isaac ships as Third Mate on the Salem privateer General Washington in February 1813. At the same time, his friends from the British frigate Orpheus and the Baltimore schooner Glory find berths on the American warship USS Constellation and, eventually, they wind up on the USS Chesapeake in Boston just in time for her disastrous meeting with HMS Shannon. Throughout the spring of 1813, Isaac and the General Washington roam the waters between Massachusetts and Nova Scotia, taking prizes and harassing the British. When the American survivors of the Chesapeake/Shannon battle are confined in Melville Island Prison in Halifax, the General Washington and Isaac play an important role in securing their freedom.
Written from the aspect of the fo’c’sle rather than an officer’s view and through the eyes of an American, A Press of Canvas and A Fine Tops’l Breeze provide new perspectives and exciting stories of this oft-neglected period in American history.
Readers’ Comments
“With the publication of A Fine Tops’l Breeze, the second of his War of 1812 Trilogy, William H. White has taken his place in the charmed circle of writers of really good fiction about the days of fighting sail: Melville, Forester, O’Brian, Nelson, and Kent. Like them, his attention to the detail of ships and their hulls, spars, rigging and sails is meticulous. And, like them, his characters are not only credible, but memorable. He is a thoroughly welcome writer to this genre, which has brought so much pleasure to so many.”
Donald A. Petrie, author of The Prize Game: Lawful Looting on the High Seas in the Days of Fighting Sail (1999)
“Through Bill White’s evocative prose, one smells the salt breeze and feels the pulse of life at sea during the War of 1812.”
John B. Hattendorf
Ernest J. King Professor of Maritime History, U.S. Naval War College
On the War of 1812 Trilogy…
“Read the trials and tribulations of Isaac Biggs and enjoyed them immensely. Haven’t read anything like this since Forester. You write better sea stories than I do.”
Clive Cussler, Author of the Dirk Pitt Series
Following is a selection from
A Fine Tops’l Breeze
the second book in the War of 1812 Trilogy
by William H. White
© William H. White 2000
Percival “Butterfingers” Dunn raised up his lanky form and war
med his big hands for a moment over the galley camboose. Then he hitched up his canvas trousers and offered his messmates a grin. His face was mostly hidden by a brown beard specked with gray, and his mouth displayed a number of holes where there had once been teeth.
“Hang on to your story, Isaac, I got to go to the head…though it’ll surely be a wonder if me arse don’t freeze where it sits, har har.”
“Watch yerself, Butterfingers. You don’t want to go fallin’ into the sea here. You’d not make it past the stern afore you’d be an iceberg. And we likely couldn’t get the barky wore around in time to drag your frozen arse out’n the sea.” Ebenezer Stone, foremast hand and captain of the top winked at the third mate, Isaac Biggs, as he cautioned his shipmate. “‘Sides, we ain’t got time to be comin’ after the likes o’ you. Cap’n Rogers seems in an all-fired rush to get on with this cruise an’ take us some prizes up yonder.” His face was serious, only his eyes giving away his amusement, as he watched Dunn move toward the ladder.
General Washington, a brig of three hundred tons burden, a dozen nine-pound long guns and four carronades, labored under reefed foretops’l, spanker, and single jib as she slogged eastward on her second day out of Salem, Massachusetts, one of the ports left open by the blockading fleet of British line of battle ships which had, since the end of the year, effectively closed the Chesapeake and Delaware Bays. Why Britain had not run the blockade northward to include New York and Long Island Sound puzzled many, but they surely weren’t about to question the wisdom of His Majesty’s Navy, and Salem, Boston, and a few waterfront towns in Connecticut had become homeport to many private armed vessels, or privateers, which, with large crews, sallied forth to harass British merchant shipping.
In response, Royal Navy brigs, sloops and sixth rate frigates were being assigned convoy duty, taking them away from the blockade and action with American ships.
Dunn stepped out of the companionway hatch; the icy wind hit him just as a wave broke on the windward side of the bow, sending freezing spray over him. Each wind-driven sheet of spray froze as it hit the ship, leaving a growing coat of ice on everything – decks, rigging, bulwark, and the watch on deck. The footing was treacherous. He pulled his tarpaulin coat tighter around his neck, shrinking himself down inside the protective canvas, then, clapping on to the ice-covered lifeline, inched his way toward the bow, and the head.
Butterfingers clung to the equally slippery line. Hope me arse don’t seize up, hangin’ it out in this Gawd forsaken weather, he thought as he ducked an ice-flecked sheet of spray and tightened his already death-like grip on the safety line. He looked aloft, and spoke aloud, more for his own benefit than anything, as there was not a soul within fifty feet of him. “God awmighty. Would you look at that. Wouldn’t want to have to get up there anytime soon. Ice on ever’thin’ an’ slick as ever it could be, I’ll warrant.” His seaman’s eye took in every detail, from the ice coated pin racks at the foot of both masts, to the shining yards and topmasts, each with a layer of ice which could bring a topman down, or should it get thicker, create a dangerous instability aloft from the added weight. The decks, bulwarks and boats were likewise glinting in the weak afternoon sunlight, their individual blankets of ice catching the rays of what little sun poked through the racing overcast.
Dunn saw a figure approaching him as he eased his way carefully back toward the hatch, thinking how good the heat of the fire in the camboose would feel warming his backside after its recent exposure to the elements.
“Dunn! That you? What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing out here. Ain’t your watch below?” First Mate Jack “Starter” Coffin squinted his eyes down even tighter than normal, his face screwed up in a grimace. The ice on his beard and the white scar over his cheek gave him a look even more grotesque, and the gravel in his voice, the result of a stroke from a belaying pin many years before, had caused many a poor landsman to go rigid in fear. His towering height added to their fear; indeed, Coffin was about the only man aboard who could look Dunn straight in the eye. “You’ll be comin’ on deck soon enough to enjoy this dandy weather, I’m thinkin’.”
“Aye, Mister Coffin. Headin’ back below right quick, I am. Just payin’ a call to the head. Surely hope we ain’t gonna be shortin’ down on my watch. God alone knows what that ice yonder is doin’ to the top hamper. Hope the ol’ Gen’l can take it.”
The mate smiled, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Why, Butterfingers, you been aloft in worse ‘n this. ‘Sides, why would Cap’n Rogers want to shorten down. This bein’ such a fine tops’l breeze. I’d warrant we’ll have this all the way to Canada – just like last time.” As the mate spoke, an outsized wave smacked the bow, causing the ship to shudder, and sending a gout of ice laden spray over both men. Coffin laughed as the wind-driven spray hit him, and waited until Butterfingers straightened up from where he had ducked away from most of the icy deluge. “Gen’l Washington sails right fine in a nice breeze o’ wind like this’n. When I was a foremast jack like you, I sailed in her ‘round Hatteras in the wild weather – that was back afore the war – an’ she behaved like a perfect lady. You don’t need to worry none ‘bout her. She’ll outlast all of us.” With that, Starter Coffin turned and made his way aft, moving with more caution than one might expect given the tone of his words, and Dunn returned to his mates below.
“Right nasty it is out there, lads. Worth a man’s life to tarry up for’ard. I’d warrant even the quarterdeck ain’t noticeable better.” He pulled off his coat, the ice falling from it and melting quickly on the warm galley deck, and ran a huge paw across his beard combing out the ice that had accumulated in the few minutes he’d spent topside.
“I hope you didn’t go on with your tale, Isaac, whilst I was topside. I’d not want to miss any o’ that yarn.”
Biggs looked up at his shipmate, his wide-spread, penetrating eyes studying him briefly, and shifted his compact frame into a corner of the galley, both to provide a backrest and minimize the motion of the ship, as it beat its way east into the steep, icy seas.
“No, Percival, I waited on you…where was I? Oh righty-oh. My ship, Glory, and them other two, Bill of Rights, and Freedom, had just got into Baltimore – that was afore the Brits closed the Bay. As it was, we had to take it real careful headin’ in toward the Virginia Capes; they had a third rate sittin’ outside sailin’ off and on and stoppin’ anything they could catch. Wasn’t many sharp built schooners they catched, though; I ain’t never sailed on anything what could sail like that, on the wind or off. I’m tellin’ you boys, she was some fine swimmer and, under a press of canvas, ain’t nothin’ afloat, Brit or American, what could outsail her.
“After we was paid off an’ got our prize tickets cashed in, I headed off to Mrs. Wright’s for a real hot bath an’ a full night’s sleep in a honest-to-God bed…”
“Aye, and a honest to God doxy to share it with you, I’d wager.” Ben Stone voiced what each of the men were thinking; Isaac merely smiled at his shipmate. A slow blink and a hand pushed through his curly dark hair were the only indications of his annoyance at the interruption.
“Not then, Ben. Sleep’s all’s I was thinkin’ on there. They was other nights…well, I guess that’s another story for another time. Right now, I’m tellin’ you coves ‘bout gettin’ in and me back home again. Anyway, now where was we? Oh yeah, in Baltimore. Well, Cap’n Smalley wanted me to come back aboard Glory an’ stay on as third for the next cruise, and mebbe permanent-like, but I had to get meself up to Marblehead to see my kin. You collect I ain’t seen ‘em in two years an’ more.
“Ol’ Coleman, Brit though he was, took our second, Clements and the Irishman, Conoughy, down toward Annapolis to see ‘bout signin’ onto a Navy frigate. Likely he thought they’d be better off on a bigger vessel, him bein’ a topman an’ all, and Tim Conoughy bein a gunner. Tried to talk me into joinin’ ‘em, they did, all the time we was waitin’ for our prize tickets. Couldn’t make me change my mind ‘bout headin’ up here, though by t
he Almighty, they surely did try. Surely do hope those boys are takin’ care, and that they found ‘emselves a Navy ship to sign into. Coleman was dead-set on that right from the start. Called himself a ‘man o’ warsman’, he did, and while he surely was grateful ‘bout bein’ took out o’ Haiti on Glory, he pined for a frigate or line o’ battle ship. Mister Halladay – he was firstmate on Glory you recollect – he told ol’ Coleman the United States Navy didn’t have no ‘line o’ battle’ ships, alls we got is frigates and a few brigs, so Coleman, he says, ‘well, that’ll ‘ave to do then. I bin on a frigate most o’ me life, I ‘ave, an’ make no mistake’.” Isaac mimicked the English sailor’s accent quite accurately.
He continued. “I didn’t have an idea in my head ‘bout how I was gonna get myself up here to Massachusetts. Didn’t know even if I could do it – they was talk ‘bout the Brits bein’ ashore in some places I’d have to go through, but I figgered I had to try, so I bought me a horse right there in Fells Point and tied my belongin’s onto its stern end. Climbed aboard and headed north – didn’t have no idea where I was going. Seemed like I was makin’ course corrections at every turn of the glass. Good thing I didn’t have to worry ‘bout a bunch o’ foc’s’le Jacks handin’ and settin’ sails – they’da mutinied like as not with all the changes I made. Findin’ a place to lay up at night proved a bit of a worry to boot. Most of the time, I stopped aside the road and slept in some ol’ barn or should one not show up, in a field. Had to belay that after I’d made a little northin’ – it started in a gettin’ downright cold, and they was snow on top of it. So then I’d have to get myself into a tavern, get some hot vittles an’ a real bed. I didn’t like to do that ‘cause I didn’t want to part with my money.”
The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Page 34