The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Read online

  “Silence fore ‘n’ aft! Get you down behind them trees, lads. Sounds like someone’s comin’ this way.” Biggs saw his men instantly unsling their muskets and crouch behind convenient trees and cannon. They watched silently, waiting as the sounds of men moving none too carefully through the woods got louder and louder.

  “Hold! Avast and lay down them guns.” Isaac stood, his musket leveled at the leader of the small group as he emerged into the clearing. The American sailors also stood, muskets at the ready.

  “Who the hell are you? And what do you think you’re about, pointing them guns at us? Do we look like Royal-damn-Marines to you? These coats is blue, by all that’s holy.” One of the newcomers, apparently the leader, took exception at having been surprised by this rag-tag bunch. And he did not lay down his weapon.

  “Who are you coves and what are you lookin’ to find hereabouts?” Isaac would not be put off.

  “We are members of the Maryland Militia, sent here by Captain Carberry to recover them artillery pieces and anything else ‘at’s here. Now who the hell are you? And I ain’t gonna ask you again.”

  “Part of Barney’s flotilla. We was sent back to see if’n you coves needed any help. And get our own equipment we left up the Creek yonder. Brought a medico with us, should you got any what’s wounded. Figgered to spike these guns if’n we couldn’t get ‘em down the hill to the boat.”

  Both sides lowered their guns and the militiamen stepped forward, clearly out of sorts at finding the sailors here. One was openly hostile, pushing a sailor out of his path, uttering an oath as he did so.

  “…wasn’t for you bastards, none of this woulda happened. Damn Britishers ain’t got no interest in Calvert County or the river. Just lookin’ to get you damn sailor-boys an’ your boats. Tore up half the country side ‘round here, they did, stole the food stocks, burned or stole the tobacky outta the warehouses, run off the slaves. An’ now they’s settin’ out yonder just waitin’ for the chance to catch Barney’s flotilla. What the devil have you to come into the Patuxent fer, anyway?” A chorus of “aye’s” indicated that the man spoke for his mates and probably for most of the citizens of the county. Isaac was fairly caught aback by the venomous attack. He’d had no idea the vitriol aimed by the locals at Barney’s men was so widespread.

  “Well, we’re gone outta your creek now and back only long enough to get our belongin’s and take care of a couple o’ gunboats got left behind. An’ we didn’t – none of us – want any part of bein’ holed up here.” He turned to his sailors. “We’ll leave these guns to the soldiers, lads; let them carry ‘em off. Let’s get us back down to the water and get about what we was sent for. No tellin’ how long afore the Royal Navy down off Point Patience decides to have a look into the Creek.” And without a further comment, the flotillamen clambered down the hill behind their captain, to the beach where Jake Tate had just returned from his foray to the other side.

  “They’s there, Isaac. Counted three frigates – one of ‘em’s smaller than the others, mebbe twenty-two or twenty-four guns – and a brig. Schooner’s there too. Reckon it’s the self same one we tangled with. Looks like they’s a powerful lot of knottin’ and splicin’ goin’ on, ceptin’ on the little frigate. A few boats – barges mostly – either anchored with ‘em or strung out alongside. Don’t seem like they’s fixin’ to go anywhere real quick. Fact is, one o’ the frigates got his foretopmast struck down. Mighta took a hit the other day.”

  “That’s a good report, Jake. Don’t sound like they’s real worried about they’s men here yet. Sooner or later, though, they’re likely to send a boat out to have a look for ‘em.” Isaac looked around and saw Clements standing up to his waist in the water near the sloop. Carronade paced up and down the water’s edge, never taking his eyes off the former bosun.

  “Jack, what’s actin’ with the boat. They got them planks replaced yet? We need to get up the creek right quick.”

  “Aye, Isaac. Just about done, they are.” Jack waded back toward shore, to the obvious delight of the big dog.

  “We’ll leave half the men here to keep an eye on our prisoners. Leave ‘em the rowboat, ‘s’well. The rest get aboard the sloop soon’s the job’s done, and get up to where we left the gunboats and the rest. Likely take the rest of the day to load the spars and whatever else we find an’ burn the boats.”

  Isaac’s orders set off a flurry of activity and soon the sloop was sailing quietly up the creek, manned by half a dozen flotillamen, Jake and Isaac. Several were still finishing up the repair work, but the sloop, to Isaac’s pleasure, was sea-worthy. Clements, the dog, and the other half of the sloop’s augmented crew, all well-armed, were left on the beach. As was Jeremiah Plumm.

  The doctor watched the sloop as she made her way up the creek. His patients had all been treated and, save for the lieutenant, none had life-threatening wounds. And all by now knew the identity of their captors. Plumm was certain that word would get to the Royal Navy before the day was out that a vessel and several dozen flotillamen were back in St. Leonard Creek; he just had not yet determined how to accomplish it. He was sure that Clements and that damn dog would hamper any plan he might make, but hopeful that he would be able to get one seaman out of the makeshift camp.

  He continued making his rounds of the British sailors, accompanied by a young man, a boy really, who carried a few instruments and a pouch of medicines. With frequent and furtive glances at the more attentive American sailors and Jack Clements, he looked for a Royal Navyman who might slip out of the camp unnoticed and either swim out to the anchored ships or somehow signal them from the shore just down the coast.

  Jack and Sam Hay, also left behind, chatted at the water’s edge; Carronade had lain down on the sand, his back to the water, and watched the sailors moving about the area. Suddenly the dog sat up, his ears alert. The movement made the two Americans look beyond the dog and they watched as the doctor stood, patted one seaman affectionately on the shoulder, and made his way into the lieutenant’s tent. The boy followed.

  “What’s happenin’ with them, do you s’pose? Seems that Doc Plumm is bein’ real attentive to our guests, Sam. Some of them Britishers don’t look that bad hurt to me, ‘ceptin’ the lieutenant. I’d warrant that cove won’t make another day, being gut shot with a chunk of grape like he was.” Jack touched Hay’s elbow and nodded toward the tent.

  The two men moved closer to the makeshift shelter and stood where they could make out the voices of Plumm and the young lieutenant. The hushed tones that filtered out sounded strained, filled with urgency, but the two Americans could make out only a few of the words.

  “…Pennington said…could…likely…word…ship…”

  “…barge…matchwood…dark…”

  “What’d you make of that, Sam? Sounds to me like them bastards is planning something. I thought that Plumm cove was more ‘n he seemed. I’d wager a month’s pay – ain’t much, thinkin’ on it – that he’s figgerin’ a way to get our prisoners out of here. Isaac said we ought to watch him; he sure was right.”

  “Aye, get ‘em out or maybe somehow get a boat from one of them ships yonder in to catch us. Be a real feather in they’s cap were they able to catch one o’ Barney’s boats and a bunch o’ his men.” Sam used the same barely audible tone Clements had used. The two moved away from the tent just as Plumm emerged, cast them a dark look, and made his way to a fallen tree where he sat down. As far from the big gray dog as he could get. His temporary loblolly boy followed, then wandered down to the water’s edge and began idly to pitch stones into the water.

  Gradually, a quiet, relaxed atmosphere descended on the camp; the Americans and unhurt British sailors sitting together, yarning and comparing notes, while others slept. All sought what shade they could find from the summer sun. Several of the Americans had decided to make the repairs to the British cutter and the sounds of their hammering and sawing broke the tranquillity. The heat built steadily as the day wore on and more and more of the men, both British an
d American, became less animated in their conversation; it simply took too much effort – even to talk – and with little now to occupy themselves, most slept.

  At midday, a makeshift dinner was served out and Jeremiah Plumm again made his rounds. When he emerged from the lieutenant’s tent, the final stop on his tour of the wounded, he walked directly to Jack Clements who was sitting on a driftwood log eating some ill-prepared lobscouse, while he shared off-soundings stories with Sam Hay. The medico stood, looking down on the two sailors.

  “With this heat, I think it might be salubrious for the men to have a swim, them what wants to. Cool them down some. Course, the wounded would have to stay put – and someone to watch ‘em, but the others might find it a pleasant diversion. Unless you have something for ‘em to do after they eat. And what is this…this…mess you’re feedin’ ‘em? It is certainly beyond the capabilities of my palate. I’d warrant it cain’t be healthy – even for a strong, well person – to swallow this…”

  “Doc, they’s gettin’ fed same as everyone. Wounded and healthy alike. It’s what we got and ‘til Isaac gets back with the sloop and, hopefully, some of the vittles we left ashore a few days back, it’s all we got. So eat it if’n you want, or not, but quit your carpin’. As to the men havin’ a swim, I got no objection. Might be I could use some ‘salubrious’ my own self.” Clements returned to his meal and, after fixing the former bosun with his one-eyed glare for a moment, Plumm backed away, returning to his log on the opposite side of the clearing.

  In spite of the doctor’s complaints about the food, there was little left; even the wounded British sailors were happy to fill their bellies. Carronade sat anxiously by the fire, hoping. And the men went swimming.

  They cavorted around the shallows of the creek like children, splashing each other, the men working to repair the shot damage to the British cutter, and those who remained ashore. Some who could swim, ventured further out and the cries and laughter of the sailors, American and British, filled the afternoon air. Nobody noticed one swimmer who ventured further out into the creek and, indeed, made it all the way to the far shore.

  After a scant supper of ship’s biscuit and peas, the two crews settled down to await the setting of the sun and the anticipated relief from the heat. A gentle breeze stirred the trees above them and rippled the waters of the creek. As the night sucked the daylight out of the sky, dry lightning could be seen, lighting the distant sky with sheets of brilliance from beyond the horizon. A glow in the sky to the northeast told the Americans that Isaac had fired the hulks of the two gunboats Barney had left behind.

  Jack and Sam Hay kept a watch on the group, with occasional glances up the creek. Each carried a musket and had a cutlass slung over his shoulder. A lantern near their feet made a pool of yellow light which only a few yards out faded to black, unable to compete with the profound darkness. Other lanterns cast similar puddles of light, making weird shadows as the men moved around the camp.

  “Jack, have a listen, there. Don’t that sound like a boat movin’ through the water? Can’t get a direction on her, though. Could be comin’ from the river easy as the creek.”

  “Aye, likely to be Isaac comin’ back from burnin’ them two gunboats we left. Hope he didn’t run into any troubles. An’ got us some vittles.”

  The two listened intently, trying to determine the source of the sound. Jack walked a ways down the beach heading for the Patuxent, his head cocked favoring his good ear. Carronade moved silently at his side, as if sensing that he should be hearing something too. Suddenly, the dog turned and bolted back up the beach, reaching the camp and continuing along the edge of the water, further into the creek. Jack laughed and reversed his own course, realizing that the dog had heard and identified the American sloop.

  “Sam, that’ll be Isaac, more ‘n likely. Have a few of the lads bear a hand there and stand by, case it ain’t, but I cain’t fathom who else it might be from that direction.”

  Sure enough, the sloop’s barely visible form appeared, first as a dark smudge, then solidifying into the familiar sleek, rakish hull and rig. She ghosted into the shallows, rounded up and dropped an anchor with hardly a sound. As the sloop drifted back toward the shoreline, Jack could see that her decks were cluttered with spars, cordage and oars. A large mound of indeterminate form took up much of the foredeck, and even in the dark, he could see that the men aboard were moving with difficulty around the cluttered deck. The sloop settled to her anchor and soft splashes were the only indications that the crew, led by Isaac, had dropped into the water and were wading ashore. Clements met his captain at the water’s edge.

  “I collect you had no problems, Isaac? Didn’t meet any Royal Marines hangin’ about? Appears you found a good stock of spars and what-have-you. Come to any plan on the course we’ll take with these prisoners? How ‘bout vittles; find any we could use?”

  Isaac laughed. “Ease her up some, Jack. First off, any problems here? I heard from one of the locals we talked to up the creek that the Royal Navy been pokin’ around the creek a few times since we left. ’Course, I had more troubles with the locals – they was hard on it, strippin’ everything they could off’n both boats. Already had spars loaded on a wagon, and was fixin’ to add some powder an’ shot when we got there. I can tell you, they was none too happy to see us sail in and tie on alongside! None too friendly, any of ‘em. Sounded like I was talkin’ to them militiamen – or they’s kin!” Isaac laughed ruefully, then continued.

  “I guess they ain’t many ‘round here what favors Barney’s flotilla. Most of ‘em figgers we’re the reason the British ships are in the Patuxent. Never mind that Washington City, Annapolis, and Baltimore are less than a days march from up the river a ways.” Isaac paused, peered through the darkness at the camp and the pockets of conversation among the Americans as the sailors caught up on each other’s activities. “I reckon you had no trouble here. Doc Plumm behave himself? Where is he, still treatin’ the lieutenant?”

  “I ain’t seen him much since supper, Isaac. We ain’t exactly cozy, him an’ me. He’s kinda kept his distance and I sure ain’t gone lookin’ for him. Cove seems more at ease with them damn British prisoners than ever he does with his own.”

  “Mayhaps them prisoners is his own, Jack. He do anything what caught your attention while we was gone?”

  “Well, he spent a lot of time in the tent with the lieutenant. Sam an’ me heard ‘em one time – we was right outside; couldn’t catch much of what they was sayin’ but it didn’t sound real good to either me or Sam. Somethin’ ‘bout a ‘barge’, an’ the ‘dark’, an’ what we thought mighta been ‘matchwood’. Didn’t make much sense to either of us, but that’s about all we could make out. Plumm didn’t seem none to happy to see us standin’ around by the tent when he come out, neither.” Clements shook his head, unseen in the dark. “But what’re we gonna do with the prisoners, Isaac. More I thought about it today, the more I don’t like takin’ ’em with us back to Benedict. ‘Sides, folks there’d likely let ‘em go if’n they’s as fond of the British as Plumm is.”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’, too, Jack. Figgered to leave ‘em here. Right where they’s settin’. But we’ll burn the cutter afore we go. Don’t want to make it too easy for ‘em. Figgered to take the lieutenant with us, bein’ how’s he’s cruel hurt, an’ the Doc can keep an eye on him while we head back. If’n he lives long enough, Barney can have a chat with him. Mayhaps find out more’n we been able to.”

  “Some of the men fixed up the cutter, Isaac. Mostly for want of something to do, I reckon. Likely good as new, by God! Might want to take ‘er with us ‘stead o’ burnin’ her. Could tow her right behind the sloop. Even could put a couple of men in her an’ sail her back. Don’t seem right to burn a perfectly good boat.”

  “Aye, we’ll do that, then. Just tow the cutter astern. Maybe put the doc and the lieutenant in her.” Isaac laughed at the thought of the doctor in the cutter; his frustration at being in a position to escape, but with his
lack of seamanship and the incapacitated British officer, unable to, would be palpable. “Aye, that’s exactly what we’ll do. Let’s see about gettin’ the lads aboard and make preparations to get under way.”

  The two moved up the beach, rallying the American sailors while they continued their conversation.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Sounds like a boat, Isaac. You can hear the oars scrapin’ on the gun’ls. Someone’s tryin’ to be quiet, but whatever they’s doin’ don’t answer.” Tate, leaning on the swivel gun forward, was alert as always.

  “Silence there. All hands stand fast!” Isaac’s whispered command was probably more forceful than had he shouted. Instantly, the final loading of the sloop halted and the hands remained stationary. Even Carronade stopped his pacing on the beach and sat down, his ears cocked as he too listened intently. The British sailors, certainly not helping with the loading, but not yet informed that they were to remain behind, moved toward the water’s edge. One of them picked up a lantern and swung it back and forth, its yellow light reflecting off the ripples in the creek and creating dancing highlights further out from the shore.

  “Put that damn lantern out.” Jack’s hoarse whisper cut through the silence. It had no effect.

  “Over ‘ere…‘ere we are, lads.” The British voice from the shore was soon joined by others and the quiet night was filled with their shouts.

  “Man your guns, lads. Hands to actions stations. Clear away that cordage there. Get the swivels loaded. Run out the side guns.” Isaac moved through the sloop giving orders and inspiring his men to faster action. It was plain to any now that a British row-barge was about to engage them.

  Guess they finally missed their shipmates, Isaac thought as he helped pull spare spars from the gunboats to one side so the little six-pounder cannon could be manned. He could not have known about the young sailor who had swum across the mouth of the creek and made his way along the shore to Point Patience.