A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 12

  The cutter drew alongside the frigate, the crew tossed their oars, and with pipes trilling, the drum rolling, and the sideboys at rigid attention, the captain appeared over the rail. Burns met and welcomed his captain rather excessively, the men in the maintop thought. They watched as Winston stopped and said to Burns in a voice that carried easily to the top, “Have the officers assemble in my cabin as quick as ever you can, if you please.”

  “Somethin’s goin’ on, Biggs, and I’m not sure it’s goin’ to be for the better. Either Winston got ‘is bloody arse chewed out by the Admiral, or ‘‘s gone and gotten new orders for us. In either case, I’m bettin’ we’ll not see the inside of a pub here.” Wallace had experience and spoke with conviction. Biggs believed him. The men slid down the backstay to the spardeck, and rejoined their mates on the fo’c’sle to see what would develop. The ship seemed unusually quiet, and it was almost a relief when eight bells rang out and the crew was piped to supper.

  It was during the second dog watch when Cochrane appeared on the weatherdeck, headed below to a storeroom. Wallace, Biggs, and several other men were lounging on one of the long guns telling stories and smoking when they saw him and called him over.

  “What’s going on in the Cabin, Cochrane?” Wallace came right to the point.

  “You know I can’t tell you that, Wallace. Captain Winston’d ‘ave the ‘ide flayed off’n me back if ‘e thought I’d even whispered what I ‘eard. But I will tell you, you men ain’t goin’ to be goin’ ashore this time. We got barges comin’ ‘longside tonight with provisions an’ water so as we can weigh anchor at first light…but I…you didn’t ‘ear that from me. I’ve already told you too much.”

  “Where’re we goin’, Cochrane?” This time one of the other men asked what was on all their minds.

  “Like I said, I’ve already told you more’n I shoulda. You men know I don’t blab what I ‘ear in the captain’s cabin – and I can tell you, I ‘ear most everything. In fact, sometimes Captain Winston asks me what I think of this or that. ‘e didn’t have to ask me tonight though. ‘e had all the officers in there and fairly kept me ‘oppin’ bringin’ ‘em this and that. Coffee, brandy, biscuits, sweets…I’m tellin’ you, I was in and out of there so much I could barely keep track of the conversation. I reckon the Admiral’s got us joinin’ up with a couple ships – a brig, I’m thinkin’ and mebe a frigate, sixth rate for sure. Goin’ to intercept a bunch of Frenchies comin’ up from Guadeloupe. Sounds like they…no I can’t tell you more’n that. You just forget what you ‘eard and who you ‘eard it from. Which is to say, it weren’t me.”

  “COCHRANE! Where’s that coffee?” The captain’s voice carried easily to the waist and made Cochrane jump, caught doing what he should not have been, and keeping the officers waiting on top of it. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the Cabin, he scurried off to complete his errand as quick as ever he could.

  Biggs, Wallace, and their mates looked at each other, and then rose as one, heading for the fo’c’sle. They found Toppan and Coleman with a few other starbowlines staring across the harbor toward the town where faintly could be heard the beginnings of a raucous evening as the sailors from other ships arrived at the docks of English Harbour.

  “Don’t get yer ‘opes up, then, fellows. There’s work to do tonight if we’re to be under way at first light.” Had a spar dropped from the foremast to land at their feet at that very moment, the men could not have been more surprised, nor would they have attended more closely the words Wallace spoke. He told them what they had heard, without revealing the source, and when he finished, they all spoke at once. Naturally, Toppan’s voice seemed to float above the others.

  “What the bloody ‘ell are you blowin’ about, Wallace. We ain’t gettin out o’ ’ere tomorrow. We got stores to get aboard, and leave to enjoy. Why, I meself heard Burns sayin’ to Mr. ‘ardy just after dinner that ‘the men’ll be goin ashore tonight and I hope not too many jump ship as we’ll be needin’ ‘em to bring on stores over the next few days’. ‘Sides, I ‘spect a little dark eyed young lass seen us come in and be waitin’ on me ashore. Probably pacin’ up an’ down the dock wonderin’ why I ain’t come to git ‘er yet.”

  “Well, Jack, I don’t ‘spect even the petty officers’ll get ashore tonight. Word we heard was takin’ stores aboard from barges tonight and sailin’ on the tide.” Wallace wasn’t going to let Toppan enjoy his dream even for a moment.

  The group continued to discuss the veracity and reliability of the unknown source Biggs and Wallace had until Tice and his bosun’s mates began bawling for the crew to muster in the waist, and don’t tarry. Starters and canes encouraged the ones who lagged, and soon the entire crew, including the marines were assembled, toeing the same deck seams they had used to form on for witnessing punishment. Hushed voices wondered aloud what was going on and conjecture ran rampant. The officers suddenly appeared at the rail of the poop, and Captain Winston, still resplendent in his finest uniform, stepped forward and spoke.

  “Men of Orpheus. I know we just came in and are in need of stores, and some time ashore. All of us. But it is not to be. We will be joining with Amethyst, thirty-two guns, and Jolie, a twelve-gun brig captured only last month from the French to attack and capture a merchant fleet which is reported to be homeward bound with only two thirty-two-gun frigates and a brig as escort. We will load stores tonight, and be under way on the first tide thereafter. Lieutenant Burns will see to the loading.”

  The total and absolute silence that greeted this disastrous tiding gave credence to the stunning effect Winston’s words had on the men. Shocked open-mouthed stares searched the faces of the assembled officers, and were met with looks which did little to cover the disappointment they also suffered.

  Lieutenant Burns let them stand and stare for the moment it took for the shock to hit home in each man, then stepped forward to the rail and spoke in a voice that demanded immediate attention; he did not yell, but raised his voice enough to be heard by the men in the furthest ranks and got their attention with his tone.

  “Men,” he said. “We will be loading stores tonight by watch. The starboard watch is due to take the deck in about half an hour. They will work loading from the barges we expect shortly and at eight bells, the larbowlines will take over, and starboard watch will lay below. This will continue until we have taken on sufficient stores, powder and shot, and water for this commission. It is likely we will see action, and be in a position to take prizes, and every man jack of you has to do his job perfectly. When we come back to English Harbour, there will be sufficient time for shore leave, and spending some of your prize shares.” This last was greeted with cheers and stamping of feet.

  The lookout in the foremast shrouds hailed the deck. “Deck there. Barges off the larboard bow pulling out from shore. ‘eaded this way, they are too.”

  Whether he had finished or not, this ended the first lieutenant’s speech, and he dismissed the watch below while the starbowlines rigged single and double whips from the main and fore yards to swing the casks and crates aboard. They would be removed to the holds by human chains and stowed under the supervision of Mr. Beckwirth and his purser’s mates. Powder and shot would of course be stowed in the magazines under the watchful eye of the gunner and his mates.

  It was full dark, about one bell on the evening watch, when the barges were secured alongside at the waist. The two longboats which had towed them out returned to shore at once to pick up another barge or two while the first were being unloaded. The sailors of the starboard watch and all the idlers began the arduous task of swaying up the necessary stores and physically man-handling them to the lower decks. Midshipmen and officers were stationed at intervals along the way to ensure that all the provisions made it to the purser’s storerooms, and that there were no slackers. The job moved smoothly, and at midnight when eight bells rang out, the sentries made their reports, and the larboard watch took over from the exhausted men. Those who were relieved found out of the way places t
o collapse and sleep for four hours until they were rousted out again. From time to time, Captain Winston would silently appear; it might be at the waist where the whips were swaying the barrels aboard, or it might be in the hold, looking over the shoulder of Mr. Beckwirth as he tallied in a precise hand each item stowed. But for the most part, he paced back and forth on the quarterdeck obviously deep in thought. He had changed into his at-sea uniform, giving credence to an imminent and hasty departure.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Next Morning

  The new day broke, not with the bright Caribbean sun dancing across the waters of English Harbour, but with a gradual lightening of the gray sky, heavily overcast, and showing promise of rain before the day was out. Men and stores littered the deck of HMS Orpheus, a silent testimony to the night’s frantic activity of preparation for a rapid departure. There were still members of the human chain passing barrels and crates below to the hold where an exhausted Warrant Beckwirth still tallied each new arrival with his usual precision and directed its stowage, assisted by the carpenter and his mates. The last barge had been towed away by a longboat only half an hour previously, and men of both watches, not otherwise immediately needed collapsed where they stood until called again to finish striking the materiel below. Captain Winston and Lieutenant Burns stood on the quarterdeck watching as the deck gradually became cleared of all the goods necessary for sustenance of ship and crew, and once again took on the appearance of a man of war of the Royal Navy.

  “As soon as ever possible, pipe the men to breakfast. The tide will begin to ebb soon and I want to take advantage of it. Amethyst is to meet with us before noon, and Jolie will be weighing anchor directly. Since she’s slower, we have some time, but dallying will never do.” Winston turned and headed over the to larboard side of the quarterdeck, his sacrosanct dominion, cutting off any thought of discussion or comment from Burns.

  “Aye, Captain.” Burns spoke to his retreating form, and watched as the captain began pacing forward and aft, deep in thought and apparently planning the day’s events and the upcoming fight. He saw Paisley Cochrane waiting patiently at one end of the quarterdeck with a cup of coffee for the captain; when the pacing took him past his steward, Winston took the proffered cup without word or look, and Cochrane returned to his pantry below to prepare breakfast, for once without comment.

  The last of the casks swung below, and already Bosun Tice and his mates were stirring the exhausted men of the larboard watch to begin the daily ritual of holystoning and washing the decks. Tice had already had the captain’s coxswain sand the larboard side of the quarterdeck so as not to disturb the captain’s regular morning walk, but the gangways and weatherdeck had been so littered with stores that the daily cleaning would have been impractical at best, and impossible at worst. Burns called to him now.

  “Mr. Tice. You may pipe the hands to breakfast now, if you please. We will be making sail after the change of the watch.” Burns watched for a few moments as the bosun started a few of the crew with his cane and then piped the watch below to their breakfast. By the time they finished eating, the larbowlines would be finished with the decks and would be sent to their meal. Tice, ensuring that one of his mates was keeping a watchful eye on the men on deck, went below himself for breakfast.

  Biggs and his messmates, topmen all, had retrieved their food and were sitting on chests in the gundeck eating and discussing the pending commission against the French merchants and their escorts. Taking a bite of a ripe melon which had come aboard last night and thus was wonderfully fresh, Biggs asked the more experienced men about what they could expect dealing with three French men of war.

  “Depends,” responded Coleman ambiguously. “They could strike their colors soon as we show up, or they might just decide to take us on and then it would be a sight you won’t soon ferget. I remember still my first fight with another ship. On the Frolic brig it was, under Cap’n Harbrace. Not much of a fighter was he, goin’ mostly after merchants, but that Frenchy give us a tussle, I’ll tell you. Brig, she was, like us. Shot away our foremast and knocked out ‘alf our larboard guns. We gave ‘im a hot-shot from a carronade and hit their magazine. What a bang! Wasn’t nothin’ but scrap wood and cordage left floating. What crewmen didn’t get ‘emselves kilt in the action got ‘emselves blowed ‘igh as our mainyard when that magazine went up. Harbrace put over the only boat what wasn’t broke up to look for survivors, but not a one did we find. Lost a lot o’ me mates in ‘at one, I did. Won’t soon be forgettin’ it, neither. No, Biggs, you’ll ‘member yer first one same as me – same as all of us.” The men nodded and looked seriously at each other as they recalled their own baptisms by fire. Fingers absently fiddled with earrings, pigtails or whatever came to hand; some faces grimaced as, in their minds, they heard again the crashing roar of cannon and the tearing of wood, all punctuated by the screams of their wounded or dying shipmates.

  Biggs had stopped chewing, so rapt was his attention to Coleman’s story. He sat there, mouth slightly ajar, and a line of drool pooling on the piece of melon he held. Never in life had he imagined such a picture as Coleman’s story inspired. He blinked as his thoughts came back to the present and swallowed. Wiping his chin with his sleeve, he wondered aloud how Orpheus would make out if the French decided to fight, which was, of course, most likely.

  “We’ll get hurt, and no mistake about it. There’ll be splinters flyin’ and if the Frenchies get in some lucky shots, we might get a long gun or two dismounted or lose some rigging. Them kind o’ things add mightily to the butcher’s bill, and the surgeon’s mates’ll be busy in the cockpit with dismounted arms ‘n’ legs. Har har.” Toppan laughed at his own grisly joke. The others merely smiled, having seen first hand the carnage caused by a naval battle. “No matter about that,” he continued, “ain’t a Frenchman on the seas we can’t take as a prize easy as kiss my ‘and. Make no mistake. You don’t get shot outta the top or what we lose the mainmast, you’ll likely live to tell yer tale to yer kids.” His speech lost some of its bravado as he unconsciously ran a finger down the scar on his neck. He caught himself and smiled at Isaac, knowing the young New Englander had seen the gesture, and self-consciously grabbed up a piece of pork and popped it into his mouth.

  One of the bosun’s mates came through the gundeck encouraging the men to finish their food as “we’ll be makin’ sail quick as ever, make no mistake.” Biggs stood, leaving the remainder of his pork and fruit to his mates. Suddenly his appetite wasn’t quite as voracious as it had been, and he felt the need for some fresh air. Wallace went on deck with his fellow topman.

  “Don’t you worry none, Isaac. Things’ll be happening so fast you won’t have time to think about anything but sponging out your gun and gettin’ aloft when they call us. If we’re goin’ to board, you’ll be aloft anyway to tie up their yards when you can so you won’t get killed goin’ over on deck.” Wallace’s words seemed to provide little of the comfort they were intended to, and Biggs, grim-faced, decided that he would do his job and not worry about the future.

  Isaac noted that the weather had not improved any; in fact it looked as though the heavens might open at any minute deluging them with rain. The wind had picked up some, and was starting to whine in the rigging; the surface of English Harbour was showing flecks of white as the calm water of last night picked up a short chop. Orpheus, like the other smaller ships in the harbor began to work at her anchor rode, impatiently lifting and bowing as though engaged in some elegant minuet, eager to put to sea.

  “Hands to stations for making sail and up the anchor.” Tice’s voice carried forward and was followed by the pipe calling the crew to their positions for getting underway. Men ran to the capstan amidships, putting the twelve bars in the numbered pigeonholes around the top of the big drum and lining up four deep on each bar. The ship’s boys ran forward with the messenger and under the supervision of a bosun’s mate, secured it to the massive hawser leading to the best bower. At the signal from the quarterdeck, “heave short
the anchor,” the capstan turned, the men marching round and round, stepping without thought over the messenger while the fiddler perched on top played to keep them in step. The continuous loop of the messenger came in, pulling with it the anchor hawser which disappeared below to the cable tier where the carpenter’s mates supervised its stowage. When one end of the messenger was amidships, the boys freed it and ran forward with it again to attach it to the hawser, timing their efforts so the men on the capstan would not break their rhythm. The fiddler’s tune was insistent, encouraging the men to “haul away lively-like,” and “stamp and go.”

  “Anchor’s at short stay, sir.” The hail from the bosun’s mate on the fo’c’sle was readily audible on the quarterdeck, and the captain stepped forward and looked aloft, reassuring himself that the topmen were in position on all three masts and were ready to let go the sails. A smart departure was even more important than coming in smartly, and Winston was damned if he couldn’t take Orpheus out with the best the Royal Navy had to offer.

  “Mr. Smosky, stand by to make sail, if you please.” Winston’s quiet tone belied the angst he generally felt getting under weigh under the scrutiny of the admiral. His hands alternately clenched and relaxed at his sides and he seemed unable to stand still. “Mr. Tice, heave around and signal up and down, if you please.”

  Tice’s bellow started the capstan moving again, and from the quarterdeck, Winston could see the hawser begin to take a huge strain, noting as it did, that it gave up what seemed fully half its girth under the tremendous load. Still, the ship didn’t move, though the men on the capstan labored mightily. Tice called for more men to assist, and a handful of idlers who had been unemployed up to now jumped in to help on the bars. Still nothing happened.

  “Get one more pawl. She’ll break out. Put yer backs into it.”

  The previously regular clicking of the pawls on the capstan had stopped; only occasionally could be heard the single click as one dropped into place, holding the messenger’s bight from slipping out and losing the strain on the hawser. Smosky looked to the captain for instruction. He could not drop tops’ls until the bosun called the anchor clear without orders from captain.