Home of the Brave

by D P Prouty

  As soon as we dropped anchor, the captain said, “Lieutenant Potts, please have Mr. Porter take a detail ashore and get what we need to make repairs.”

  Dr. Batterton said to him, “Sir, I’d like to get the wounded ashore as soon as possible, the noise of ship repairs will not be good for recovery.”

  “Yes, of course, Doctor,” turning to Lieutenant Potts, he said, “Have the boatswain send the ship’s boat back for the wounded as soon as they get ashore.” Lieutenant Potts saluted and went off the find the boatswain Mr. Porter. The captain looked at Bat and exclaimed, “I don’t know what kind of facilities you’ll find there, but go make the best of it, Bat, they’re in your care. When you can, get some rest—I can’t afford to lose you.” The captain returned a slight smile as Bat turned to go, then added, “Ensure you take Clyde with you.”

  I said, “Sir, I’m all right.”

  He answered sternly, “You go with the doctor, I need you well.”

  I acknowledged, and then Lieutenant Potts approached the captain and reported that the ship’s boat was in the process of launching.

  The captain said to him somberly, “Thomas, after the wounded are ashore, have a detail go ashore with our dead and dig the graves, I’ll want to have the crew give respects when you’re ready.”

  A cold tick jolted through my body as I thought of the dead. I didn’t know who had died other than Mr. McCall. The dead were lying near the bow—I didn’t want to see them, I didn’t want to know. But I realized that this ship manufactured death, whether inflicted on another vessel or sustained within our own crew. Till now, we had not endured a single death in our crew, still, the realization was difficult to grasp.

  I found Charlie with the wounded—he was pallid, but awake and appeared in good spirits. He had sustained a wound to the right shoulder and had a bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulder, pinning his arm close to his chest. He said his shoulder burned, but otherwise he felt all right. He explained, “It was strange, Clyde, I heard the cannons, then I was hit really hard in the shoulder, so hard I felt I was flying through the air. Then I don’t remember anything until I woke up here on the deck.” I told him what had happened to me and asked if he had seen Frank. He told me he had not and I expressed what happened to Mr. McCall. He reached up with his left hand and pulled me close, “Clyde, you must promise me something.” He became very resolute and looked straight into my eyes. “Promise me that if I die, you will take all my earnings and personally give them to my mother in Chesterfield.”

  I replied, “You’ll be fine, you’re not going to die!”

  He raised his voice, tensed up, and pulled me closer, “Promise me!”

  “Aye,” I said, “I’ll visit your mother.”

  Charlie let go of me and rested, he had a peace about him and smiled as if achieving his aim.

  Frank came by before we loaded into the ship’s boat—he was busy helping the boatswains mates repair damage and expressed how he would see us later on the island. Frank had told us that seven men had died during the action including Mr. McCall, and with fifteen wounded, about 20 percent of the crew was harmed. He said that Mr. Freeman and Mr. Porter were pushing the repairs vigorously so we could sail as soon as possible.

  Soon we were in the ship’s boat heading for the dock where there were several small fishing boats positioned. A crowd of Negro people began to form on the beach as we tied off the boat. I felt an uneasiness as the eyes followed us to the village, there was not a single white man among them. One of the wounded men was being carried by a couple of loblolly boys and sobbed, “Why don’t they just get it over with? We have no weapons, what are they waiting for?” Bat turned and said, “Easy, lads, if they wanted us dead they would have let the Frenchies take us at sea.”

  When we arrived at the edge of the village, Bat told the group to wait where we were and went off to find a suitable location to shelter the wounded. He returned and directed that we follow a young black man down a path. The man was clothed in a pair of knickers without socks or shoes and wore a worn shirt that had been mended several times. We walked to a large hut with a thatched roof and sturdy beams but no walls. It was large enough and must have been used as a kind of warehouse for transporting goods. We carried in the wounded that could not walk and laid them in the middle of the hut. The crowd gathered around the hut as the people began to whisper in strange tongues. Soon the voices became louder, but the crowd did not approach or threaten us physically. The young black man came back with some water jars and gave them to Bat.

  Bat and his mates began checking bandages and treating the most needy first. One of the loblolly boys looked at my bandages, nodded to Bat, and went to another crewman. I sat down and watched a crowd gather outside the hut. They peered in with quizzical expressions. A tall man came through the crowd that I recognized, it was Captain Daquin. He began speaking sternly with one of the men outside the hut. Their voices got louder as they spoke in a language I did not know—it seemed to have some French words but otherwise it did not sound at all like French. Captain Daquin’s face turned from sympathetic to demanding. He pointed over at us and then he struck his fist into his open hand. He raised his voice and said something to disperse the onlookers. They quickly departed about their affair but seemed to keep their faces on us.

  Captain Daquin came over and said to Bat, “Sir, I presume you to be the doctor?”

  “Aye, sir,” Bat replied. “I am Dr. Batterton. I must say, sir, we are eternally in your debt for saving us from sure catastrophe!”

  Captain Daquin nodded in gratitude and said, “Is Captain Campbell about?”

  Bat said politely, “No, sir, not yet, I suspect he will be along shortly.” Bat looked at the crowd backing away from the hut and said, “What did those men want?”

  “Your heads,” Captain Daquin said bluntly. Perplexed, Bat replied, “Sir?”

  Captain Daquin sat down on a log and exclaimed, “This is the island of St. Gabriele. It was found quite by accident and only a few know how to navigate through the shallow reef. Large vessels cannot enter the cove. I use this place to transport slaves I have freed from slave ships. They come here until I can transport them to safety on Hispaniola and to General Toussaint. The people here have known only sorrow and hatred for the white men who stole them from their homes in Africa. So you see, please forgive them for their lack of hospitality.”

  Captain Campbell appeared outside the hut and Captain Daquin went out to greet him. I watched the two men shake hands from a distance. They walked away from the group so I could not hear what they said. I thought how strange the sight, one man a freed slave and one man from a community that supports enslavement. I did not understand why the pirates risked their lives for ours. It did not make sense.

  As the day progressed, I checked on Charlie. He was sleeping and a loblolly boy had put a wet cloth on his forehead to keep him cool. I found a spot, laid down, and shut my eyes for a moment. When I awoke, my leg was swollen and I had a shooting pain. I told one of the loblolly boys and he gave me some rum to numb the pain. Several crewmen were digging behind the hut on a slight rise. I watched them and thought of those who died. Reilly, a loblolly boy said, “You’ll be fine, lad, their digging eight, we lost another poor soul this afternoon.” Mr. Edwards came into the hut, looked around, and saw me. He slowly limped over to me, sat down next to me, and said, “How are you feeling, lad?” I told him, and he informed me that repairs were coming along and thought we might be sailing home in a few days. I was surprised that he came to visit me, I wondered if he was expecting me to get back to work. “I’m well enough, do you need me to restore the galley?” I said.

  He replied, “No, lad, just rest.” He peered at me and pushed his hat toward the back of his head revealing sad eyes. His gray eyebrows pushed together and his forehead wrinkled. He said softly, “Clyde, I’m very sorry to tell you, Charlie died while you were sleeping.” The words penetrated deep and sent a burning sensation throughout my body, “No! He couldn’t
be—I just spoke with him!” I shouted. I stood up and looked around the hut, but I didn’t see Charlie. The hut became quiet, all eyes fixated on me as the realization of what I had just been told sunk in. My eyes began to fill with tears as I fought the urge to bawl. Mr. Edwards took my arm and slowly pulled me back down next to him. I started crying, I couldn’t stop it. Mr. Edwards whispered, “It’s all right, lad, I know.”

  I said, “What do you know? He was my friend, how could you know how I feel?”

  He replied lightly, “I know exactly how you feel.”

  Just before dusk, the men gathered together as the bodies of eight of our crew were laid to rest. The captain stood in front of the crew, took off his hat, and said, “These were all fine young men. Lord we commend their souls unto you. May they all rest in your gracious peace.” He then walked up to each grave, reading the name etched into a piece of wood as he passed by. He stopped at McCall’s grave. He read, “Midshipman Robert McCall.” He took a deep breath, then looked back at the crew and declared, “Mr. McCall was a great pupil and a better friend. He once served as my cabin boy. Not long ago he asked me why men go to war. Are they motivated by a sense of purpose or patriotism, or is it ego, a drive to show themselves brave? What motivates men to leave their families and sail into the unknown? I told him that I believed the reasons are as various as the stars in the night sky. But I can tell you what we all have in common, a willingness to sacrifice for our shipmates. These men are of noblest creation and are surely favored by the almighty because they have shown great love for their fellow man. It says in the Gospel of John, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ These men were my friends, rest in peace.” The captain put his hat back on, unsheathed his sword, and rendered a salute to the fallen.

  Frank stood next to me during the funeral and could hardly contain himself. I too had a difficult time trying to keep from sobbing. I felt an overwhelming grief for Charlie, but I did not want to appear weak in front of the others. My eyes filled with tears making it difficult to see. After the captain’s speech, the men filed by the graves to pay final respects. Frank and I walked up to Charlie’s grave together. We just stood there, unable to say anything. I finally got out the words, “Good-bye, Charlie, I will…I will do what I promised you.” I could say no more and Frank could not manage anything.

  We conducted repairs for several days. I was well enough to work and it occupied my mind to do something instead of lay down and dwell on our sorrow. My mind wandered back to how young Charlie was, he didn’t live to have a family. I thought of myself, I wouldn’t even see my fourteenth birthday for another three months. What if it was me in that grave? One morning, Mr. Freeman announced that we would not work that day, but assembled together and have the best possible meal together, for it was Christmas morning. It didn’t feel much like Christmas, we were tired and the loss of our friends had blanketed us with a sullen demeanor. Even Mr. Duffy, who was normally the cheerful and inspirational leader, struggled to smile. The captain and officers were meeting together to discuss repairs.

  Mr. Edwards stood up and declared, “You chuckleheads don’t know how well you have it! Stop sulking and look around. You’re still alive—the ship is still intact, we are here together on a beautiful island in the middle of nowhere. We have food, drink, friends, and it’s not storming out. What right do you have to make yourselves miserable?” He pointed at where we had buried Charlie, Mr. McCall, and the others and said, “Do you think they died so you could be miserable? Would you want your comrades to be miserable should you die? I think they would want us to bound together in merriment, fix our ship, and go after those sons of bitches!”

  The crews of the Eagle and Cetus had remained mostly separated, however this day both crews were brought together for a special meal. Many of the Eagle crewmen had not known free slaves and certainly they had not known white sailors. The question of why they attacked the corsair still lingered. Perhaps this was the night I could get an answer. Captain Daquin had several long tables placed on an open area near the beach. The tables were short, only about a foot tall since there were no chairs. The men gathered around the tables, white on one side and black on the other. Captain Daquin’s table was normal height with chairs. Captain Campbell and the officers of the Eagle were invited to join Captain Daquin and his officers at his table. Captain Campbell asked Frank and I to join him with the officers. Charlie’s death had cut deep and the captain thought a lot of him as well. I think inviting us to join the officers for a meal was his way to encourage us. Captain Daquin told us that the ship that attacked us was the corsair La Flechette. They had been pursuing the convoy from a distance and struck in the limited visibility of the fog.

  People from the village brought out food in trays and put them on the tables along with cups. Captain Daquin, as the host, said grace at his table and the men began to eat. A commotion started at one of the crew tables but was quickly squelched by Mr. Freeman and one of the seamen from the Cetus.

  Mr. Talbert sat next to Lieutenant Potts. He looked none too pleased as he clenched his jaw and roughly put his plate and cup on the table. His disapproval at eating with former slaves was clearly evident and did not go unnoticed by Captain Daquin. Captain Daquin said, “I know for many of you the idea of eating with black men is disagreeable, but I tell you, that attitude is not limited to just white men. Many of my crew embrace those same feelings toward white men. So for tonight, let’s all be gray men and share a drink on behalf of all men who sail these most dangerous waters.”

  Lieutenant Potts finally asked the question that I think most of us at the table wanted to know, “Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask, why did you come to our rescue?”

  “Good question,” he said.

  “I spotted La Flechette at dusk the day before she attacked you. She was trailing you and I was lurking just beyond her view. I am a Christian, many here are and many are not. I had a dream a couple of nights ago similar to what is written in Daniel chapter 5 of the Bible. In that dream, I was at a banquet comparable to this meal we are currently having, and just like King Belshazzar, a hand appeared without a body and began writing. The hand wrote on the table in front of me, Malfini lib—Fee Eagle. I did not know what it meant, but when I saw the La Flechette I had a strong urge to follow.” He went on to explain that he saw our vessel the night before but wasn’t sure if we were the Retaliation or Eagle. Then it came to him clearly, he needed to free the Eagle of this menace lurking in the morning fog. His only request of us in return is that we pledge to tell no one of his activities on St. Gabriele, nor how to navigate into the island cove which we gladly proclaimed.

  Christmas of 1798 came and went. I will certainly not forget that day, one that started so bleak, but ended with a realization that men, no matter the color, can live together as equals. Our ship was repaired and we made preparations to sail home while the Cetus departed on her own mission. For just a short while, we were gray.

  17

  Chesterfield

  A few days later, we were sailing westward. The lookout reported a ship on the horizon to the northwest, it was the Norfolk. Captain Murry had left the USS Norfolk behind to search for our hereabouts after hearing the cannon fire in the fog several days earlier. The Eagle was patched up enough to make it back to the United States but more repairs were needed to get the ship back to full ability. Two of our portside cannons were damaged and the provisional repairs to the rigging would not last through a trying storm.

  We caught up to the convoy and escorted the merchantmen as far north as the outer banks. Nearing Hatteras Island, Captain Murry signaled for the Eagle to put in at Norfolk while the convoy continued to Boston.

  After anchoring at Norfolk, the captain went ashore to report our condition and await orders. The men did their best to keep their spirits up, but the cold wind bled their drive. Frank looked dire and began shaking uncontrollably. It began to snow and Mr. Edwards took Frank close to the cooking fire on de
ck to warm up. Green Gato was spotted on deck running about. He had not been on deck much since he lost part of his tail.

  The captain returned to the ship with orders to put in for repairs. He explained we would remain in Norfolk for a few weeks until further instructions from Washington. We weighed anchor and sailed into the dock. The thought of warm and dry quarters lifted the spirits—a long anticipated comfort.

  Once ashore, I requested the captain to allow me to go and see Mrs. Best in Chesterfield. I had never been to Chesterfield, but I knew it to be about a hundred miles. I explained to the captain that I had promised Charlie that I would visit his mother. He understood my imposition and said, “I would truly like to accompany you on your most somber trip, Clyde, but I must attend to the repairs of the Eagle.” He explained that he would have someone go with me and he would arrange for transportation. Mr. Duffy volunteered to accompany me and the captain gave him Charlie’s wages along with the prize money due him to provide to his family with his condolences.

  Mr. Duffy and I left the following morning in a carriage with just the driver, Mr. Duffy, and I. It was a very cold February day as we made our way through the Virginia countryside toward Chesterfield. We just rode along in the carriage listening to the rhythm of the wheels turning and the occasional bump in the road. Left to my thoughts as I looked at the fresh snow that had fallen, covering the streets of Norfolk and the surrounding farms as we made our way west. I thought of Charlie and how he wanted to go home with all his wages and surprise his mother, he had gotten half of his wish. I wondered if his family would appreciate his sacrifice. The sea was a tough life, made tougher by the fact that it was full of men set on the destruction of their rivals. He told me he hated the mines, but I wonder if a coal mining life was that much more difficult.