Home of the Brave

by D P Prouty

  We stopped only twice that first day before arriving at an inn along the roadway. Mr. Duffy was quiet throughout that first day as well. The journey had a healing effect on me as I reflected on my own adventures. It had been nineteen months since I left home, but it seemed an eternity. It was already dark when the driver stopped and after we exited he went to take care of the horses. It was cold, but there was no snow here, it must have melted, I thought. We went inside and sat at an open table near the center of the room. The fireplace was emanating comfortable warmth and a large pot of stew on the fire was emitting a most welcome aroma. A young servant girl approached us, smiled, and welcomed us to the establishment. She then said that they had a tasty stew if we would like. Mr. Duffy told her to bring two bowls and a couple of beers. “Do you have fresh water?” I asked. She nodded and I told her I’d like water instead of beer. Mr. Duffy looked at me and gave a chuckle, “Ship’s beer gets old, I suppose.”

  “Sure is good to get some fresh water, that stale water on board is terrible and beer gives me a headache sometimes,” I told him.

  Mr. Duffy looked around the large room. There were about fifteen or twenty guests, some travelers and some locals I suppose, all engaged in conversations among themselves. He leaned over the table and said to me, “Do you come from a town like this, Clyde?”

  I looked around and said, “I suppose we all

  do.” “Not me,” he replied.

  Curious, I said, “Where is your home, Mr.

  Duffy?” “The Eagle,” he said without hesitation.

  “No, I mean, where are you from?”

  “Boston,” he said, “I lived in the city.” Then he looked as though searching for something not seen. “Rarely did I travel much further than a few miles. Isn’t that something, now I’ve been round the world.” He explained that he learned how to be a cooper from his father. His father owned a cooperage in Boston, making casks of all types for dry goods, gunpowder, and liquids as well as washtubs, buckets, and butter churns. “My brothers and I learned from our father, he was an exceptional cooper,” he proudly said. “He passed away many years ago, but my brothers are still in Boston working the business.” I was somewhat baffled, Boston? It must have showed in my face as he looked at me and continued, “I was married and my wife passed in childbirth, that’s why I decided to get away. I loved her with a great passion and I couldn’t bear it any longer, everywhere I went reminded me of her.”

  I fell silent for a few minutes, then I said, “I didn’t mean to pry, everyone has a reason for shipping out I guess, I figured you just liked the ocean.”

  “Then why did you look like you had a burning question that had to be answered now?” he inquired.

  I responded, “I just wanted to know why you didn’t have an accent like all those merchantmen from Boston. I could barely understand them?”

  He smiled and said, “I guess I’ve spent so much time around you southerners that I lost my accent.” The servant girl brought us our stew with some bread and our drinks and we ate heartily before going to our room.

  The next morning we met the driver and continued on our journey. We stopped for the night at another inn. Mr. Duffy took his bag and emptied the contents on his bed in the room. He then proceeded to give me a new pair of pants, a shirt, and a pair of shoes.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  Mr. Duffy answered, “The captain wanted you to look presentable for Mrs. Best tomorrow, so before we left Norfolk, he bought you some new clothes.”

  I didn’t know what to think, I just stood there looking at the clothes. Then he said, “The captain is fond of you, Clyde, he’s a good man.” I felt a warm gratitude and thought how I must always make my shipmates proud, what great brothers they were—even Mr. Edwards. Then Mr. Duffy added, “But you might be playing with fire in your intentions with his daughter.” I felt embarrassed, I said, “How did you know I liked his daughter?”

  He said, “I hear things, besides, I handle the mail—I’ve seen the address marks on your letters to Charleston.”

  The following afternoon we arrived in Chesterfield. We went to the inn in the center of the town just as it began to snow. Mr. Duffy asked the innkeeper for a room and said, “Sure getting cold, beginning to snow outside.”

  The innkeeper smiled and said, “You should have been here last year. The snow was up past our knees. Never seen nothing like it.”

  After paying for a room, Mr. Duffy asked the innkeeper where the Best family lived. He gave us directions to a house on the western edge of town, a white house with a blue door. We put our luggage in the room and then set off to find the Bests’ house. My leg began to ache as we walked down the street. Bat gave me some bandages and told me to change them regularly, but I hadn’t changed it since we departed Norfolk. That night, I would change it and clean the wound, I thought. We went to the edge of town and found the house just as we were told.

  There was smoke billowing out of the chimney, so we guessed someone was home. The snow was coming down a little heavier as we made our way up to the door and knocked. No one answered so I knocked again. Again, there was no answer. I saw a curtain move in a window not far from the door so I knew someone was inside. “Ma’am, my name is Clyde Carter and his is Mr. Duffy, we are friends of your son Charlie.” There was no reply. Mr. Duffy suggested we try again later, so we turned to leave and I heard giggling from inside. I shouted, “Ma’am, this is very important, I must speak with you!” The soft voice of a child replied, “I’m not allowed to let anyone inside.” I repeated who I was and asked her if her mother was nearby. She responded, “She will be back soon, only me and my two little brothers are here.” Mr. Duffy convinced the little girl that we meant no harm, so she opened the door. Just as we caught sight of the little girl a woman screamed, “Close that door, Elizabeth!” We turned to see a tall blond-haired lady carrying a bag of provisions and swiftly moving past us to the door. She pushed the little girl in the door and stood in the opening. She said, “You don’t let anyone in, you hear me, Elizabeth?” Mr. Duffy asked if she was Mrs. Best and she barked that she was and made no attempt to hide her disdain for our intrusion. Mr. Duffy graciously apologized for any inconvenience and explained who we were, but she seemed disinterested. I said, “Ma’am, it is important that I speak with you, may we come in?”

  “You may not, young man, I don’t know you nor do I care too,” she replied rudely. Mr. Duffy told her softly,

  “Ma’am, if you will allow me just a minute of your time… It’s important.” She stopped short of shutting the door, and slowly opened it up again.

  Two men approached from the street, both were covered in coal soot. One of them, a young man, stepped forward and said, “Is everything all right? Are these people bothering you, Mother?”

  She motioned for them to stop, looked at Mr. Duffy, and said, “Say what you came here say.”

  I looked at Mr. Duffy and he gave a slight nod, “Go ahead and tell Mrs. Best what you came to tell her, lad.” I looked up at her and said, “Mrs. Best, I’m sorry to inform you, but Charlie was killed just before Christmas.” She just stared unemotional. One of the young men outside sat down and quietly wept. The little girl behind her started crying as did the two little boys. Mr. Duffy pulled a bag out from his coat and gave it to Mrs. Best, explaining that this was all of Charlie’s earnings and he gave her the captain’s condolences. She took the money and turned around and went inside the house without saying anything.

  The two young men outside went through the doorway and closed the door behind them leaving Mr. Duffy and I standing outside in the snow. We turned and began to walk back into town. I thought Mr. Duffy showed great restraint—as rudely as she was, he never raised his voiced or acted in any way disrespectful, I admired that. I said to him, “Mrs. Best didn’t even say thank-you. She didn’t even ask where he was laid to rest or how it happened!” He looked down at me and replied, “Clyde, people grieve in all sorts of ways, don’t judge her. You fulfilled your promise
, what she does now is not our concern.”

  We were almost to the inn when the young man we had seen earlier ran up to us. He caught his breath and said, “Gentlemen, I apologize for my mother’s harsh demeanor. I am Charlie’s older brother Seth.” He explained that he had just gotten back from mining and was not expecting company. “Please forgive my mother. She has been through a lot in this life.” Mr. Duffy invited Seth into the inn for a drink and we got out of the cold and near the fireplace. He asked about Charlie and how he had died and we explained how it happened and where he was buried. After a time, he thanked us both for coming here to tell them and departed for home. That night I was visited again by my recurring dream. I reached into the black water to retrieve the sailor crying for help and his fingers became claws as before. He ripped at my arm while sinking under the waves and then lightning made the night into day as I looked at my arm to discover it was full of worms. Unexpectedly, a large form loomed over me and took me by my wounded arm, lifting it up. I looked at him and another great flash of lightning blinded me. My vision returned and I was standing on deck alone— everything cleared, the storm stopped, the night became full of stars and I looked at my arm and it was whole. I awoke peaceful.

  The next morning we began our journey back to Norfolk. The dream was still on my mind and I told Mr. Duffy about it. He listened but offered no understanding. I asked him if he thought Charlie’s family cared about him. He just said that we should pray that they are comforted in their loss. I said, “What do you mean, how can they receive comfort? Maybe time will make them forget.”

  “No, Clyde, you see, they should take comfort in the fact that he is with our heavenly Father and will never endure pain again.” I sat in silence absorbing what was said. Mr. Duffy leaned in and said softly, “Clyde, do you know Christ?”

  “Sure,” I said, “I know he is the Son of God.” He said, “Yes, but is He in your heart?”

  “I don’t know? I suppose.”

  Then he said, “I think I know now what your dream is about. I think the blackness of the sea is the world and the worms inside you are your sin. The Lord took your arm and made you whole.” Then he explained that some believe good people can go to heaven, but that good people are not granted refuge in heaven, that is reserved for the children of the Most High. You cannot be a child of the Most High unless you are born again in spirit. Then He is with you forever and you have no need to fear death. All you need do is accept the free gift and ask for forgiveness of sin and for the Lord to come into your heart. Your body will die, but your spirit will live on forever. That day, February 27, I became a child of the Most High God on that cold road back to Norfolk.

  I showed Mr. Duffy my trinity knot and he explained that to Christians it represents the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—not the spirit of my mother or Simon or anything else as I once thought. It wasn’t luck either, but the protection offered by God that saved me from death. All that I have, or ever will have, is a gift from God. I felt a sense of peace knowing that I would see Charlie again someday.

  Upon arriving back in Norfolk, we made our way down to the Eagle where the crew was busy preparing the ship for sea. Mr. Freeman told us that the crew of the Retaliation was recovered by a merchantman and were on their way back to the United States. We also heard that the Constellation had fought and won a great victory against a French frigate called Le Insurgente, one of the two frigates that pursued us after capturing the Retaliation. The other was the French frigate Le Volontaire which was still at large, probably around Guadeloupe. The news had boosted the spirits of the crew and conceived in them a great desire to hunt down the corsairs La Flechette and Le Flambeau. I was overjoyed to receive a letter from Charlene. She wrote about nothing in particular, but just knowing she spent the time to write me warmed my heart. She wrote that she thought her father knew of our communication because she was sure her mother knew and would write to tell him. She didn’t know how he might respond, but I should be prepared if I was to be questioned.

  18

  Instrument of Reckoning

  Captain Campbell assembled the crew a few days later. The atmosphere was one of determination. He stood on the dock in front of the crew and asserted, “Gentlemen, we have orders to proceed to Havana as convoy escort. We will be sailing with the sloop of war Warren and about twenty merchantmen. Once the convoy safely arrives in Cuba, we sail for St. Kitts with orders to engage and capture or destroy any and all privateers we encounter.”

  We took on a few replacements to include a new powder monkey to replace Charlie. His name was Richard Douglas from Norfolk. He didn’t talk a lot—I didn’t know if he was just shy or scared of what he got himself into. Frank didn’t care to converse with him much. I thought maybe he just needed time to heal. The crew prepared to sail out and rendezvous with the convoy already anchored off shore. The captain stood on deck and offered a prayer, “Lord, I thank you that I am able to serve you once more and I ask for your protection upon this ship and crew. I know that vengeance is yours as is written in your Word, but I ask, that if it pleases you, please allow this ship to be the instrument of reckoning upon our enemies.” Then he gave word to set sail and we took our place in the convoy. The twenty-gunned Warren took her place at the forward third of the convoy and we sailed near the aft as we saw no threat to the convoy and clear skies all the way to Cuba.

  Upon departure from Cuba, the captain revealed that he had received information before departing Norfolk that the corsairs La Flechette and Le Flambeau were operating in Mona Pass, between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. We sailed eastward along the northern coast of Hispaniola when the lookout reported seeing a single ship on the horizon. Closer, it was reported that the ship was a merchantman and she was flying a British flag. The captain took a look through his spyglass and commented, “A bit far out of the normal shipping lane—especially alone.” He ordered the crew to action stations and a course to overtake her. The name on her stern was the Henrietta and the captain hailed her. There was no response from the merchantman. The captain again hailed her saying, “Ahoy Henrietta, what is your course and destination?” Again, no response, so the captain informed them he was going to board and should they show hostility, would order our cannons to engage. They then struck their colors and allowed boarders. The ship was a British merchantman which had fallen to a corsair. The merchant crew was held captive below while the privateers attempted to sail her to a neutral port. The Frenchmen refused to provide details of their ship, however, the captain of the Henrietta exclaimed, “The French captain had a large scar on his face.” And he told that they sailed off southeast toward Puerto Rico. The privateer prisoners were taken below deck and secured, the Henrietta gratefully bid farewell and made way to port.

  Just before dusk, the lookout reported sails in the distance and we made way to intercept. Sailing at best possible speed, we began to lose sight of her as the darkness slowly blanketed our objective. The captain told Lieutenant Potts, “Have everyone remain at action stations and douse all light, I want no light or noise. Pass the word.” He departed and word spread to maintain silence. When Lieutenant Potts returned, he called for a gathering of officers and said softly, “She’s La Flechette, I’m sure of it.” He took his hat off and looked at the map on the table. “Damn that Frenchie’s smart. Sailing through the Mona Pass will be risky. If we get too close to a sand bank, we could get caught and then they’ll have us.” The captain looked out into the darkness. La Flechette had lanterns on her stern. “Either she doesn’t know we are here, or she’s baiting us. I think it’s the latter,” the captain grunted.

  We sailed onward on the same course as our adversary until very early in the morning, perhaps two or three o’clock, when Lieutenant Gross whispered, “Sir, she doused her lanterns.”

  The captain replied softly, “As I expected, she is La Flechette, who else would douse their lights? Where are we?”

  Lieutenant Gross replied, “Approaching Mona island just off to our port, sir. Shall we alt
er course?”

  The captain took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and ran his hand through his hair, then replied, “Not yet.” About fifteen minutes later, our ship’s bell rang out like a cannon shot.

  Mr. Freeman grunted, “What the devil?”

  A sailor ran up to the captain and uttered, “I’m sorry, sir, one of the men tripped and accidently hit the bell.”

  The captain rubbed his face and said, “All right, just as well, they know we are here.” Then he said softly, “All right, Lieutenant Potts, heave to and let’s come about quietly.” The crew scurried about trimming the sails as we turned hard to starboard. Lieutenant Potts asked the captain why we turned away from the corsair. The captain said, “We must be in a position that she does not expect.” A slight mist began to roll in contributing to our lack of vision. An hour later, we turned again back toward our original course. The captain explained that he instinctively believed La Flechette made a similar turn to set up an attack posture, however, she will not realize we are behind her in a favorable position until it is too late.

  As the sun began to rise the morning drizzle began to lift. There was no noise except the ship’s bow cutting through the waves and the stifled popping of the sails in the wind. The gun crews lay ready to fire, as was Lieutenant Baker and his marines with their muskets. I stood by the captain and put cotton in my ears anticipating a shot at any moment. The mist opened and we could see her stern close to our starboard bow. Clearly written on the stern was the inscription ‘La Flechette.’ The captain maneuvered alongside then shouted, “Fire.” Fire engulfed La Flechette as she was taken wholly by surprise.