by D P Prouty
Later that afternoon, the captain went ashore with Lieutenant Potts and Mr. Freeman. I later went ashore with a group of sailors which included Mr. Edwards, Mr. Duffy, Frank Hill, and Charlie Best as we looked for needed supplies. I was glad to see Frank and Charlie come along. We were supposed to help Mr. Edwards in appropriating food provisions and I liked that I had Frank and Charlie to talk with. Mr. Edwards was always in a foul mood. He did not talk much, grunted most of the time. When he did speak, his accent was hard to understand, he was from up north somewhere. He was older than most of the crew and what was left of his hair was gray. Mr. Duffy always said that old Edwards was not the sort for meaningful conversation, but he could make seaweed taste palatable. I dwarfed in comparison to Mr. Duffy who was a large man. His arms were as big as my legs but had a gentle temperament about him. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had thick black hair and long sideburns. Although always kind to the other crewmen, he seemed to prefer remaining preoccupied with his work rather than mingle with the crew. Mr. Duffy, was a very smart man, being the ship’s cooper, he would assemble the storage barrels and know exactly how many to assemble to encapsulate the amount of supplies we took on. We still had a lot of beer and rum, but we needed fresh water, along with fresh fruits and vegetables.
The market was busy with sailors of all kinds. There were British and American, as well as merchantmen from all over the Caribbean. Warehouses lined one side of the street and business shops catering to sailors lined the other with sailmakers, woodshops, rope makers, blacksmiths, whitesmiths, and tailors. The islanders had plenty of fresh fruits, vegetables, and fish on display, as well as fresh water for filling up the water casks. Once we got into the market area, Mr. Duffy left to see if there was any mail for the crew. Mr. Edwards had a very noticeable limp as he walked and Frank decided to have a little fun with him. As he made his way through the market area, Frank mimicked his every move. He slightly bent over and partially dragged his right foot as we made our way through the peddlers. Charlie and I thought it to be very funny and began to laugh aloud, but Mr. Edwards heard us, spun around, and saw Frank doing his best impersonation of his walk. Mr. Edward reached out to slap Frank, but he was too fast and had moved. In his excitement, Frank ran into a banana cart and knocked it over, causing the peddler to tell him a few choice words before Mr. Edwards grabbed him with his left hand and gave him a swat with the right. Mr. Edwards shouted, “Damn it, boy, this is not a playground!” Frank began to tear up, the impact of Mr. Edwards’s palm made the side of his face bright red. He let him go and Frank stood up and looked at us, I think the embarrassment of his tears stung more than the slap. He quickly wiped away his tears and tightened up his jaw, seemingly bracing for our eventual ridicule. Mr. Edwards gave us a stern look and said, “You boys represent our ship and crew, you’re not schoolboys!” He pointed at porch near a tanner shop and said, “You all wait over there, I’ll come and get you when I’ve made arrangements for the supplies.” We reluctantly did as we were told. Frank said, “That old man can really hit!” We started laughing and Frank said he was thankful that he didn’t have his fist balled up. The laughter somehow made the seriousness fade away. We guessed that Mr. Edwards would report our mischief and our punishment would probably be additional duties, but at that moment, there was nothing to be of concern since we could not go back and change the situation.
About an hour later, Mr. Edwards and Mr. Duffy appeared with a cart of supplies. Mr. Edwards said,
“You boys take these supplies along with the mail down to the boat and load them. Wait there, we’ll be down in a while. No horseplay, you hear?” We agreed and began to push the cart to the dock.
On our way we spied four boys throwing rocks into the ocean from the nearby pier. They had British sailor uniforms on with black hats. As we got closer, one of them said, “Look, what kind of rabble is this? Baby faces in pirate cloths!” Then they all began to laugh. I was thinking this could be another situation that I’ll regret. I looked at Charlie, distraught, he said, “Look who’s babbling about, you look like a girl and throw like one too!” They looked surprised, but took no action. Then I saw in Charlie’s face that he was about to unleash some words that would certainly provoke a physical reaction. He said mockingly, “You sure look pretty in those uniforms, do you get tucked in at night too!” At this, they rushed up and one boy hit Charlie in the gut. He doubled over and Frank hit the aggressor and knocked him to the ground. Another boy lunged and swung at me but missed as I lurched and hit him on the chin. My hand stung as I saw blood oozing from his mouth. Another grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms down at my sides while the boy I hit gathered himself, swung, and gave me a knock to my gut. The punch took my breath away as I was flung down to the ground along with the other two boys that were attacking me and I lost sight of what Charlie and Frank were doing. A large man appeared and shouted, “Stop this nonsense! The next boy who shows the slightest bit of aggression is getting thrown off the dock!” I got up and dusted myself off. My hand was still searing with pain as I thought I probably should have aimed for something softer to hit then his chin. There were three men standing in front of us. The large man said to the British boys, “You boys go about your business, we are not at war here!” After they left, he turned to Frank, Charlie, and I, “Don’t you rascals know not to cause tomfoolery? This is a British seaport, the local magistrate can have you locked up for fighting them boys. What ship are you from?” I told him we were from the Eagle, anchored in the bay. He said they were from the Retaliation and said he was Rob Richards, the ships boatswain’s mate.
Mr. Richards told us that the scuttlebutt on the Retaliation was that the whole squadron would be departing soon on a convoy to the States. He said, “I think we are expecting a grand fight, we’ve loaded more powder, round shot, and canister.” He wished us well and we made our way to the ship’s boat and began to load. Mr. Edwards and Mr. Duffy soon arrived. Mr. Duffy looked at us and saw that Frank had a split lip and Charlie had a swelling eye. I did not have any noticeable injuries, but he seemed to know we had some sort of scuffle. He said, “You boys get in a disagreement with the locals?” We said nothing, then he said, “Save the fight for the sea boys, as the proverb says—‘It is an honor for a man to cease from strife: but every fool will be meddling.’ That means don’t be a fool and fight at every insult, keep the ship’s honor and your ship will honor you!” That evening, I had a terrible nightmare in which I saw the man that had been cut in two with a chain shot on Le Fougueuse. The torso of the man was on the deck still alive and beckoning me to come and put him back together with his lower extremities. I awoke, covered in sweat, it seemed so real. It was dark below decks, I made my way to the hatchway and up on deck to get some fresh air. The ship was still anchored so there were only a few watchmen up on deck. I walked to the gunwale and looked out over the water to the docks which had only a few lights visible. That was just one battle that I had participated in, how many more were stored up? Would I have more nightmares? Impulsively I grabbed Simon’s bone and held it tight.
Then I heard a man shuffling across the deck toward me. In the dim moonlight I could tell it was Mr. Edwards by the way he limped. That’s just ideal, I thought. He was the last person that I wanted to talk with at the moment. I wanted to clear my head, not get a lecture about how to stay out of trouble! He walked up and stood beside me. He did not speak for a few minutes, just looked out at the docks, then he turned to me and said, “Can’t sleep, boy?”
“No, sir,” I said. Close up I saw his face, his demeanor was different than how he’d treated me before, more gentle, almost fatherly. I didn’t know how, but he seemed to know what was bothering me.
He said in a soft voice, “You know, Clyde, the ghosts of things past cannot harm you.” Then he paused, I thought that was strange and maybe he’d walk away, but then he continued. “I believe the spirits of those who perished are jealous of the living. They visit us in our dreams to ensure we do not forget. But if you
reason that they cannot do you harm, nor influence your life choices, then perhaps you can be at peace with them.” Then he slowly walked away. That was bizarre, I thought, he spoke more words than I’ve ever heard him say. I wasn’t sure of the meaning, but thought he must be trying to help me in some way and left it at that.
“Strange man, don’t you think?” I spun around to see a figure in the darkness. Stepping into the moonlight, I saw that it was Lieutenant Baker. He had a small knife and was carving a piece of wood. “That’s a fine piece of trinket you have there,” he said pointing at my fist as it clutched onto Simon’s bone. “Clyde is it?”
“Aye, sir,” I replied. He asked to see the ornament and I showed him the piece.
“Great workmanship,” he said as he admired and studied the trinity knot. He asked who made it and I told him that it was a bone from my horse Simon and my father had it made. Impressed, he pulled a wooden cross from his belt and showed me the figure. It was an image of Christ on the cross and he explained that he carved when he could. He went on to say that he wasn’t much of a religious person, but he liked to whittle things.
Lieutenant Baker had an aura about him like that of a tiger silently observing, studying, and stalking. He didn’t talk too much and his answers were always frank and direct. He was of medium height and build—nothing to make him stand out in a crowd except his expressionless face and the coldness of his eyes. He had dark eyes that seemed to look through you. The Eagle had twelve marines including Lieutenant Baker. They kept to themselves mostly and focused their attention on sharpening their knives and swords as well as maintaining their muskets and pistols.
I told him I thought the cross was well molded and he put it back in his belt. He returned the trinity knot he examined and told me not to lose it. Suddenly the horizon burst with an eruption of light in the distance followed by a booming crack a few seconds later. “Sailing into a storm,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s going to be a messy breakfast.” Glancing at me, he gave a wink and began to walk away, but turned and said, “Pay no mind to all that ghost crap, kid. The best way to stay alive is to eradicate those who do you harm, not talk to them in your sleep.”
6
Prize of the Tempest
The next morning, the crew assembled on deck as the rain poured down. The captain stood elevated on a container as he began to speak, “We will be sailing for Charleston as soon as this storm passes as part of a larger convoy of ships. Keep sharp and at the ready. We are to protect the merchantmen. I don’t expect there will be trouble with corsairs along our voyage, however, there are French warships prowling these waters.” He ordered the men to continue preparations as the storm soon passed. We could see the other ships beginning to make their way out of the harbor. Soon we joined up with the squadron of four ships along with what looked to be about twenty American merchantmen and a few British merchant ships joining us as well. As we began our journey the captain seemed agitated and impatient. Lieutenant Gross asked him, “Sir, with all due respect, I understand our responsibilities to the merchant fleet, but I don’t think we will destroy the threat as long as we conduct escort missions.” The captain seemed irritated at the comment and said nothing for a few moments. Then he raised one eyebrow, took his hat off with one hand, and raked his hair with the other and gave a heavy sigh. “Economics,” he told him, “Money pays our salary, the powers that be maintain that we must first protect the supplies. Soon we will have several squadrons operating in the Caribbean, freeing us up to hunt down the corsairs.” He went on to explain that Commodore Barry is pressured to act on behalf of the taxpaying shipping companies, which currently are more interested in the short-term solution of procuring wealth than the long-term solution of destroying the enemy that tries to take it.
It was autumn when we set out on our voyage back to America. Some of the officers were still grumbling about having to escort merchantmen instead of hunting corsairs. Lieutenant Gross, who was standing near the boom at the stern, was speaking to Midshipman McCall and Lieutenant Baker saying, “This is a wasted opportunity the French frigates are not going to strike this time of year. They’re probably at anchor near Guadeloupe or patrolling close to port in the event of bad weather.”
Lieutenant Baker replied, “That may be true, but perhaps we will catch sight of a corsair and run him down.” “No, we have orders to stay with the convoy. Besides, it would be unlikely that they will get close enough to the convoy once they spot the escort vessels. Corsairs prey on the stray sheep while the shepherd is not looking.”
Lieutenant Baker declared with a smile, “Relax Will, they aren’t going anywhere, I’m sure we will have many opportunities to engage them!”
A couple of days passed without so much as a seagull spotted when the weather began to churn up the sea and spit heavy bouts of rain. It wasn’t a short gale, but rather a continuous storm that seemed to have no end. For a couple of days the storm impeded our progress. We continued to make our way through it when on the afternoon of the third day the lookouts reported a mast off the starboard bow. The captain looked through his glass and said, “That captain must be mad to be stalking in this weather, a desperate fellow that corsair!” He did not give orders to pursue, however, the nearest warship in the convoy, the Norfolk, began to give chase. The corsair quickly changed direction and disappeared over the horizon. The Norfolk negated her pursuit and returned to her place in the convoy. The constant rain and heavy seas tossing the ship about made it difficult to keep watch on the convoy at night. The large lanterns on the stern of each ship were scarcely visible. During the middle watch, very early, just after the five bells indicating two thirty, the watchmen sounded the alarm with a constant ringing of the bell. Men soon scurried about the ship getting to their stations as I too made my way to the deck as soon as I could manage. Lieutenant Potts was near the helmsman looking off the starboard side with the eyeglass. The captain made his way up on deck and asked Lieutenant Potts for a report. “Sir, I heard a cracking sound then the faint holler of men in distress. As I looked off the starboard, I could see the stern lanterns of a merchantman pitched drastically leeward.” The captain ordered the ship to close with the merchantman. As we approached we could hear the cries for help grow louder over the wind and rain. One of the two stern lanterns flickered then went out. The sea was too rough to lower the ship’s boat to search for survivors. Lieutenant Potts said, “Those poor bastards, how heartless their fortunes!” The last light on the merchantman went out as we shortened sails, and lit up lanterns along our starboard as we looked for survivors. Still several hours before daybreak, we searched through the darkness. Standing near a lantern, I could see a couple of men in the water about fifteen feet away, Mr. Freeman threw out a line and one was able to grab on. The other man drifted with the wave and was unable to grab hold. He lifted his hand and gave out a yell for help, but was gone before another line was tossed. Throughout the night we had retrieved eight survivors from the clutches of the sea.
One of the survivors informed the captain that their ship had a complement of twenty-one men aboard. At dawn, the sea began to rest from the night’s tempest and the rain softened to just a drizzle, all that remained of the merchant vessel were the eight survivors aboard the Eagle. As the sun peaked through the remaining clouds, the captain ordered full sail. The Retaliation sailed to within earshot and hailed the captain. Captain Bainbridge shouted out, “Rough night, Hugh, we saw you picking up survivors from a wreck!”
“We pulled eight in, lost thirteen,” Captain Campbell replied. “There was another wreck a couple of miles back earlier in the evening, a merchantman collected up survivors but I don’t know how many made it.” Then Captain Campbell said, “Looks like better weather ahead. God willing we will have smooth sailing into Charleston!”
The Retaliation tacked up and returned to her place in the convoy behind us. Smooth sailing, God I’d hoped those words rang true. I was soaked to the bone and it was getting colder as we sailed further northward. I w
elcomed the calmness of the seas that pummeled our small ship the night before; I was exhausted from lack of sleep. I was amazed that anyone could sleep, but there were some that slept just as soundly as if on a calm night. The crew was busy inspecting equipment, ascertaining damages, and effecting repairs to ensure everything was functioning after the storm.
As I was standing on the quarterdeck, Mr. Edwards came up on deck and slapped me on the back of my head, “Boy, what are you doing? Get down to the galley and start cleaning up that mess!”
“But, Mr. Edwards, I didn’t know you needed my help!” I said, rubbing my head.
“I need you below decks, I shouldn’t have to come and look for you! Everyone works, you hear me?”
I conceded and ran down to the galley. It really wasn’t a galley, it was just an area that Mr. Edwards stored all the provisions and his cooking equipment. He liked to call it a galley as if we were on a larger ship, but he did most the cooking on the deck. He didn’t cook anything for several days during the storm, so the men were looking forward to something besides hardtack and salt pork rations. The storm had shifted the stores everywhere and even broke a couple of casks. Mr. Edwards liked to intimidate me. I burned with anger at the crotchety old man and kicked over a cask and threw one of his pots up against the bulkhead. I could hear him coming down the hatchway, “What’s that noise, boy? You get to work and stop any nonsense, we got bellies to fill in a couple of hours.”