by D P Prouty
“Aye aye, sir,” the crew responded in one accord.
Expecting an engagement, every effort was made to conserve our stores of balls and power. A few times the captain ordered live firing to get the new crewmen used to the firing. I didn’t like the firing; the loud blast made me tense and I anticipated their firing by capping my ears. On one such occasion, a fight ensued between two men. An older sailor had a young fellow by the neck and was bending him over the gunwale. Lieutenant Potts, the first officer and second in command, ran down to the gun and yelled at the sailor to unhand the young man. The sailor let the man go and then cried. “Sir, this idiot almost killed me, he was about to ram the power down the hot cannon without mopping out the residue—it would surely have ignited the powder!” Lieutenant Potts looked at the young man, who instinctively stood erect as he declared meekly, “Sir, I was working at best possible speed and forgot to mop the barrel.” He did not deny the allegation and Lieutenant Potts seemed satisfied with the answer. He looked at the older sailor and said, “Very well then, good instruction, Donnelly, keep training your crew, but don’t kill them.”
Donnelly looked at him dumbfounded for a moment, then said, “But, sir—”
Lieutenant Potts interrupted before he could complete his question and said, “He will not make that mistake again, I assure you!” There was no arguing against that point, even I understood that some events happen in life that you will never forget, especially if they are seared in the mind by some sort of pain.
Once we departed from the merchant vessels we were escorting to the Bahamas, the captain conducted crew drills to exercise speeding and slowing the vessel by having the crew set full sails, then tack up and change direction. We simulated attacks to ensure the crew was trained for differing circumstances. What the crew lacked in experience, was surely compensated in determination. I was finally feeling better physically, Charlie alleged I’d been baptized by the ocean and performed some crazy dance and declared we were now all brothers, I think maybe he had too much beer or got into some rum.
Mr. Freeman gathered the crew on deck one afternoon and explained to us that the Eagle was no match for a French warship or man-of-war as they are sometimes called. They have veteran sailors and a ship with much larger cannons and at least twice our number he articulated. “Our mission is to capture or destroy French corsairs.”
“What’s a corsair?” someone asked from the group of men standing near the water barrel. “A corsair is a fancy word for privateer. A privateer is a ship for hire, they fight to take ships and then profit from their sell.” He took off his hat and wiped his forehead as he exchanged glances with the captain standing near the helm. “They have been causing a lot of trouble with our merchantmen, our job is to stop them.” He explained that against corsairs, the Eagle could hold her own, but the French corsairs, although normally small, shallow draft boats, often carried more crew than the Eagle. They would attempt to avoid having to fight us, but if forced, they would attempt to latch on to our ship and overwhelm us with boarders or disable our ability to sail by damaging the rigging. He made it clear that the Eagle cannoneers and marines must become exceptional at a distance to force the corsair to strike her colors in surrender rather than fight a close engagement with boarders.
During action drills, Captain Campbell would have me stand by his side, and then give me a message for one of the lieutenants. I would then run down to transmit the order. Afterward, the captain would ask the lieutenant to translate what message he just received. I learned quickly to convey exact words. He explained that during battle, the noise would be deafening and I must focus on what is to be relayed.
After a couple of weeks, I was feeling comfortable about my position on the Eagle. Then I was asked by Mr. Freeman if I was ready to climb the rigging on the foremast. It was a clear day, but the ship was rocking rather significant on the large waves. I did not want to appear nervous, especially since Frank and Charlie had already been scurrying up and down the rigging regularly. So I nodded my acceptance and began to climb the portside rigging leading up to the main sail on the foremast. I hadn’t worn my shoes as I slipped more with them on than not and it was not cold yet, but about halfway to the top of the foremast, I wish I had. The ropes felt like they were cutting into the arches of my feet, but I couldn’t stop. I made it up to the mainsail yard, just below the topmast. The ship was rocking from side to side and I held onto the ropes with white knuckles. I looked down and it seemed I was so high, a much different view from below. I looked out on the ocean and initially began to feel that sickness I first got when we left Norfolk, but then something strange happened, I felt a peace come over me. I relaxed a little and took in the magnificent view; it seemed I could see forever. I could feel the wind and hear it in the sails as we pushed through this vast field of endless blue water. I felt like I belonged there, I felt at home.
3
Le Fougueuse
We had just passed West Caicos when the lookout reported, “Sail ho.” About ten miles out the masts of two ships bobbed side by side on the clear blue water with smoke billowing up from them. The captain ordered all men to action stations. All hands rushed about the ship preparing for a fight. The captain looked through his glass. “It’s a three-masted brig, probably a merchantman,” he said, talking to himself more than to anyone in particular. As the pair of ships began to appear over the horizon, he studied them as if searching for a dropped coin on a gravel road. “It’s a British merchantman with a French corsair. The French have boarders on the merchant vessel. We have the weather gage, if she doesn’t leave her prey, we will overtake her.” The two ships were east of us and we had the advantage of position and the sun behind us in the late afternoon. Weather gage—that was the second time I had heard the term. I heard it once before when Lieutenant Gross was speaking with the midshipman about tactics. He told them that an attack from a ship upwind has the advantage of maneuverability over an opponent and is referred to as having the weather gage. The captain ascertained that they may not have identified us as a threat. He ordered the hoisting of the French colors. “This might buy us a couple of minutes of indecision on the part of the French captain, which could prove to be his misfortune,” he said.
The captain called the officers to the helm and barked in a resolute tone, “Lieutenant Baker, get your marines posted starboard and have them fire their muskets at best possible range, then prepare to repel boarders.” He told Lieutenant Potts to have his starboard battery fire a volley of chain shot at the rigging to disable the French ship and prevent her from escape. Then he gave orders to Lieutenant Gross to prepare to fire round shot from the portside after the ship has made the turn. Several crewmen hauled up armloads of axes and cutlasses and began to distribute them to the crew. Mr. Freeman, breathing heavily, hurried up to the captain. Mr. Freeman gave a nod to the captain but did not say anything, then the captain stated, “We must not allow them to get their hooks into us and board. They will have more men and are cornered, so they may decide to fight this one till the end.” Then he dismissed the officers to prepare for action. I was sweating and my head felt as though on fire. It seemed unreal, but yet here I was only a short time away from my first, and maybe my last action against men trying to kill me! I wanted to hide, but I couldn’t do that.
“Clyde, go tell Mr. McCall to have some grenades at the ready for the portside crews then get back up here next to me.” I ran down and found Mr. McCall and delivered the message. I passed Frank and Charlie as they had already gotten the powder prepared for both batteries. I saw the same dread and apprehension in their eyes that I felt. When I got back, the captain was looking through his glass, he revealed that the two ships had their stern to the Eagle. The name of the privateer was the Le Fougueuse, and she was flying French colors. The other ship was British, but he could not make out the name due to the smoke. The privateer had seen us, but seemed slow to get her crew back aboard. It seemed that the captain’s plan had worked. They must have thought us to b
e another privateer, but about a half mile out, they had gotten disturbed and began to scurry about with more urgency, men began to climb the rigging to prepare to set sails. The captain ordered our own flag raised as we quickly approached the privateer on their portside. Lieutenant Baker gave the command for the marines to fire their muskets at the gunners first, then at the men attempting to set the main sail. Once abreast of the Le Fougueuse, Lieutenant Potts gave the command to fire a volley from our starboard battery. The noise was deafening as the seven cannons fired almost simultaneously, I could feel the shock waves of the cannons go right through me and beat me like a drum. The ship was thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder; it seemed I could hardly breathe. I grasped onto Simon’s bone and held it tight. It seemed everything slowed to a crawl for a minute or two. One of the corsair sailors climbing the rigging was hit by a chain shot in the midsection. The result was horrifying as it appeared; he exploded! Blood rained down on the decks of the enemy ship. The chain shot was very effective and did considerable damage to her foremast, sails, and rigging. The French fired her cannons and I heard the balls buzzing through the air like hornets. I could see the splintering of wood from the gunwale as a ball had hit its target. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought the captain could hear it. The privateer did not seem to fire all her cannon before we passed. The broadside they fired was mostly confined to the aft quarter of the ship or quarter deck.
Ducking down low on the deck, I looked up to see our gaff mainsail, which extended aft of the mainmast, full of holes in the canvass and there were some loose ropes dancing in the wind, but the mainmast was not damaged. It appeared the French fired round shot mostly at our rigging. We stayed our course past the privateer before turning to port and preparing for another broadside volley. Le Fougueuse was not moving and did not appear to be able to maneuver, making her a perfect target. My ears were still ringing when the captain grabbed my shoulder and shouted, “Go tell Lieutenant Baker to have a couple of his marines throw the grenades on the next pass.” I ran down and told him, but before we finished making the turn, the privateer struck her colors and surrendered. I think the bloody mess from the ill-fated member of her crew that exploded had a profound influence on their decision. The engagement only lasted a few minutes, but the extreme circumstances left me shaking uncontrollably. I grabbed the gunwale and tried to stop so as no one would notice. The captain looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and said, “Take a few deep breaths, it will pass.” Then he added, “You did fine, son.”
After securing the enemy crew below decks, the captain ordered the boatswain’s mate aboard the Le Fougueuse to make enough repairs to sail her into port. The French had about 130 men and had lost eight during our attack. Midshipman Talbert stood next to the captain and said out loud, “They didn’t put up much of a fight, with their strength they could have put up a good fight. Their guns aren’t even damaged.” Captain Campbell turned and said, “Those men are for hire, they sail for profit. There is no profit in sure death.” The first officer of the British merchant ship made his way onto the Eagle and explained that they had tried to resist the privateer. Their ship was the Hamlet, they were delayed on their journey and did not catch up with their escort. The French raised the Jolie Rouge underneath their own national flag, indicating “no mercy if given resistance.” “Ballard, our captain, ignored the bloody red flag and fired anyway. We only had four six-pounders, but he thought we might be able to scare them off if they had to fight for the prize. They fired a broadside…we were no match,” he said somberly. “Once aboard, they took Captain Ballard, who was wounded, onboard their vessel. We had three killed and five wounded on board. They threatened to kill us and said the rest of the crew would be spared only if we complied with every order. After several minutes had passed, they informed us that Captain Ballard died from his wounds. His wounds did not appear to be mortal, I think they murdered him! They were in the process of inventorying their prize when they spotted your vessel. At first they thought you might be another privateer, since your vessel is a schooner and sailing alone.” Then he explained that the French captain seemed concerned and ordered his men back aboard Le Fougueuse to prepare to sail, but it was too late. He then asked Captain Campbell if he could retrieve the captain’s body and prepare his dead shipmates for a sea burial. The captain gave his approval and sent Dr. Batterton and some of his mates to see to the wounded.
As evening approached Captain Campbell appeared nervous about our predicament and called for an assembly of the officers. He told them, “Gentlemen, this is a precarious situation. The merchant ship lost half her crew and cannot sail without our help. The corsair will also require some of our crew to sail for port. Since we will displace much of our crew, a fight in this condition could prove disastrous. We will not have the ability to man all of our weapons should we encounter several corsairs. So we will sail together at best speed for Port Royal, and pray we don’t encounter any resistance along the way.” The first officer from the Hamlet shifted back and forth and looked to disagree. He said under his breath, “Providence is a safer route. Sailing for Jamaica takes us close to Hispaniola.”
The captain looked irritated and said, “We don’t vote in my navy, Port Royal is closer and we are not going to spend any more time in this configuration than we have to. If you want to sail for Providence, you do it without my crew.” The man nodded in submission and kept quiet. I overheard the captain telling the midshipmen later that although Hispaniola was under French control, British warships also patrolled the area and Jamaica was a stronghold of British naval power. Privateers would not normally attack a convoy containing two well-armed schooners unless they had greater numbers. They would not know all the guns were not manned. Lieutenant Potts took command of Le Fougueuse and the crew was parceled out to sail both the Le Fougueuse and the Hamlet.
The three vessels sailed slowly through the night. From the quarterdeck, I could see the two shadows of the other ships as we made our way through the blackness of the sea. Charlie and Frank joined me on deck. This was the first action any of us had seen and although I was thankful for the result, I was still exceedingly tense. We sat down and began to talk of anything to get our thoughts off of the day’s events. I discovered that Charlie was thirteen. He had expressed to me that his mother was in Chesterfield, Virginia. His father had died in an accident in a coal mine and he had four brothers and two sisters. Two of his older brothers worked in the mines. He couldn’t stand the idea of working the mines so he left home for Norfolk to find work. This alleviated the family of another mouth to feed and he dreamed of a day when he could return with enough money to provide his mother a better condition. Frank was from Norfolk. He had not known his father who was also dead he was told. His mother was a seamstress and often mended clothing for sailors and their families. They lived a meager life, but his mother insisted that he attend school rather than work. Frank was not interested in school and met Charlie in the streets of Norfolk looking for mischief instead of a trade. Frank was also twelve, just a month younger than I was. That night we stayed on deck talking until late in the night. A sailor approached and said, “Here, you boys might need these,” and handed us three blankets, then he turned and walked away. Although I tried, I didn’t sleep much that night. My ears were still ringing and I had a headache that I did my best to discount.
As we neared Port Royal, Mr. McCall began to inform me that Jamaica is a British stronghold in the West Indies. Since the empire was also engaged in hostilities with the French Republic, they were hospitable to our arrival. We anchored and afterward the captain and Mr. Freeman went ashore. Upon their return, we were notified that the governor was grateful for the return of one of their merchantmen and happy to take the prisoners off our hands. We made some repairs while at anchor and prepared for departure.
Before departing Port Royal, another schooner appeared in the harbor flying our national colors. Captain Campbell could not make out the ship, and was hailed by the vessel. He ask
ed what ship was it and a reply came back with Retaliation. Captain Campbell seemed to recognize the voice and said, “Bill Bainbridge, is that you?”
The voice replied, “Yes it is you, old taxman! Thought I’d find you here.”
Taxman, I thought, what does that mean? Lieutenant Gross saw my confusion and said, “This ship was a revenue collector before reassignment to the navy. We pursued smugglers trying to avoid tariffs.” I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about, but I still didn’t understand it completely. After the Retaliation dropped anchor, her captain came across in the small ship’s boat and boarded. Captain Campbell said, “Gentlemen, may I introduce Lieutenant William Bainbridge, captain of the USS Retaliation.”
“Hugh, Great to see you, old friend. I’ve been looking for you for some weeks now.” He then said to Captain Bainbridge, “Bill, great to see you have your own ship now. Where was she built?”
Captain Bainbridge replied, “She’s a captured French privateer. The name was La Croyable, French for ‘The Believable.’” Then he let out a laugh and said, “They’re probably saying they should have named the ship unbelievable since we took it from them and now intend to use it against them.”
Captain Campbell said, “Why are you looking for us, Bill?”
“I have orders from Commodore Barry. May we speak in your cabin?” he replied.
“Certainly, right this way,” and led the way to the hatchway. The captain motioned to me and told me to get some tea from the mess and bring it back to the cabin, and then he nodded to the senior officers to follow him as he made his way to the hatchway. When I came into the cabin, all the officers were standing around a table with a map of the West Indies stretched out.
Captain Bainbridge was saying, “…rumor has it that these two French frigates are looking for American warships. Commodore Barry believes they will avoid an encounter with British warships and hunt the smaller American warships. He reasoned that since most of the French fleet was tied up fighting the British near European ports, and the British outnumbered them in warships in the Caribbean, it is probable that they focus on the elimination of the American threat which would enable their privateers to plunder our merchant fleet.”