A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 15

  “Why don’t we just go at right them and get on with it?” His inexperienced impatience caused Coleman and Toppan, who had just come aloft to see what he could see, to smile.

  “It’s real important that we ‘ave the weather gauge, Isaac. That way, Captain Winston decides when ‘e wants to start the action, not them damn Frogs. When the captain decides we’re far enough to windward that we can swoop down on ‘em, ‘e will. And you’ll see your action.” As an after thought he added, “Probably faster than ever you wanted, once it starts.” His voice held a somber note, and he unconsciously touched his scar. Toppan had seen a great deal of action with a variety of captains, and Winston was one who favored Lord Nelson’s strategy of “Go right at ‘em and board ‘em in the smoke.” Before he did that, however, he would be sure he was tacitly in control of the situation. From the main top, where the three men watched, the French masts were plainly visible, and it was surprising that the French lookouts had not yet noticed the British ships.

  “Something’s going on on Jolie.” Coleman had noticed that the little brig had born off and was sailing large, almost fully before the wind, heading for the nearest of the French ships. The men noticed also that Orpheus was flying a hoist of flags from her mizzen yard. Toppan had enough time in the Navy to recognize many of the flags and the meanings of various combinations. He spoke to his companions.

  “Those flags we’re flying…you see? Jolie is flying like ones. I would imagine Winston’s telling the brig to sail down there. Lookee there, would you! She’s puttin’ up a Frenchy flag…and some numbers. Could be that she’s going to make them Frenchies think she’s one of em. If it works, they’ll let ‘er right in among ‘em.”

  As Jolie gained some distance, about half a league, Amethyst and then Orpheus bore off and headed downwind also toward the enemy fleet. Suddenly, the fife and drum could be heard, playing the stirring “Heart of Oak,” signaling the call to quarters, and the three men went to their battle stations. The ship was cleared for action; bulkheads below were removed to gain greater access to spaces as well as minimize the opportunity for fire and more importantly, splinters which could fly amazing distances, spitting a man like a pig. Sand was spread across the gun and main decks to allow the men to maintain their traction when the decks were covered in blood; shot and powder cartridges were run up from the magazines by the powder monkeys to be placed by each gun, and the galley fire was extinguished, again a precaution against an enemy shot breaching the galley bulkhead and spreading the fire. The nets were rigged over the decks to protect the gun crews and sail handlers from falling blocks, spars, and other tackle which could be brought down by a well-aimed shot and could crush a man’s skull like an egg shell. Gunner Chase was making his rounds to be sure that the guns were all unlimbered and properly prepared to be loaded, which command would come from the quarterdeck at the appropriate time. He sent one of his mates to report to the first lieutenant that all was ready. The bosun’s mate had just made a similar report, and the carpenter informed the officer that the bulkheads had been struck below and the pumps were manned; the captain was duly informed that his ship was indeed ready to fight.

  “Pass the word for Mr. Chase.” The captain wanted the gunner himself. When he appeared on the quarterdeck, the captain spoke quietly to him.

  “Mr. Chase, I would like you to have a bow chaser loaded – load a light powder charge, if you please – and place a ball to the wind’ard of Jolie and slightly astern of her. Kindly sight the gun yourself. I do not wish to give Captain Smithfield cause for alarm, but I do hope to make the French think we are in pursuit of the brig.” He turned to Mr. Smosky.

  “Sailing Master, maintain the sails we have set, but leave them a trifle slack. I am not looking to close with Jolie just yet, but we must look to the French as though Orpheus is a slab-sided Dutch-built lugger that could not catch their fleet-of-foot brig, and we must be convincing in our performance.”

  It hurt Winston to refer to his fine sailing frigate as he had, but the French captains would find out in due course just how fine a ship his Orpheus truly was.

  Smosky went off to see to the easing of the sails, just enough so they would not draw well, but from forward would look as if they were indeed full and doing well their jobs. He noticed Bosun Tice gathering some men to carry a spare tops’l yard to the quarterdeck. They balanced it on the taffrail, stout lines were affixed to either end, and then the yard was pushed into the water, the lines paid out, then secured on deck. Smosky smiled in spite of himself; dragging the spar would act like a brake on Orpheus, slowing her down substantially and adding to the illusion that she was sailing for all she was worth, but was unable to make up on Jolie. Amethyst seemed to be employing the same charade to equally good effect and was maintaining her position relative both to Jolie and Orpheus.

  As Smosky watched this action on the quarterdeck, he saw the captain turn to face forward and wave his arm; with a less than deafening roar, the windward bow chaser fired. Smosky looked up in time to see the shot land in a small geyser to weather and astern of Jolie, exactly as Winston had requested. Amethyst fired an equally well placed shot just to leeward of the apparently fleeing French brig.

  “The last ship in line is coming to weather, sir. Appears to be the brig.” The lookout’s shout had confirmed Winston’s unspoken thought that firing at Jolie would undoubtedly give substance to their deception. Another shout from the lookout indicated that one of the frigates was also altering course, trimming sails to move more to weather and provide succor to their fleeing countryman.

  “They have taken the bait,” Winston exclaimed to Lieutenant Burns, as they watched the two ships move further away from their merchant charges, which, judging by the sails visible from deck – they were hull down – seemed to be continuing on their east-northeasterly course with now but one thirty-two-gun frigate to guide and protect them.

  “Hold her steady, now, quartermaster, keep her on course. We don’t want to catch up too early.” There was no chance that the French vessels could gain the weather gauge on the British, but they would have to have time to try, and in the process, separate themselves further from their merchantmen. Winston had to time this maneuver correctly, cutting adrift the towed spar and trimming his sails at precisely the right moment to sweep down on the French with Orpheus positioned to present her broadside. He waved his hand forward and was rewarded with another roar from the windward bow chaser, followed by a splash to windward of Jolie, closer than last time, but still a safe distance away.

  The French ships – the ones coming to the aid of Jolie – had now broken out their colors and a hoist which could have meant many things, but probably was telling Jolie to sail toward them for protection, which she was doing at a great rate. As the distance closed, the crews on Orpheus’ gundeck craned their necks to see out their open ports, waiting for the order to run out the guns and fire, and not understanding why their ship was sailing so poorly. The French ships were clearly visible now from deck, and while still just out of the accurate range of any gun on Orpheus, were tempting targets for the British gun captains.

  Biggs, aloft with the other topmen awaiting the order to shorten to battle sail, watched, fascinated with the dance being performed by these ships. The strategy was discussed as it happened at the maintop, and Winston would have been pleased to know his topmen were enjoying his efforts. They watched as Jolie drew closer to the French brig, maintaining her windward position and thus control of the situation. Naturally, the French captain felt no threat from Jolie, and so was unconcerned with his leeward position, and the lack of control it carried with it. Suddenly, Coleman elbowed Biggs, and pointed at the brig.

  “Lookee there, Isaac. Jolie’s taking down the French flag. There she goes. There’s the British battle flag. I imagine that Frenchy’s about to b’foul ‘is britches.”

  The American topman watched, thrilled, fascinated, and more than a little fearful of what was coming. He remembered his friends’ words of yesterd
ay about an action’s start coming as a surprise even when a body expected it, and now suddenly, here it was. A wave of nausea swept over him, then passed.

  As the Royal Navy ensign whipped to the gaff, Jolie’s larboard broadside belched fire, sending grape and chain shot through the smoke, flying like a scythe over the deck of the Frenchman. The battle had begun.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Fire as You Bear”

  Jolie’s broadside had caught the French man-of-war completely off guard; while the captain had cleared for action as he altered course to help what he thought was another French brig, the guns had not yet been charged with powder and shot, nor had they been run out, and many of his crew were leaning on the bulwark, laughing and enjoying the spectacle of their countryman outsailing the British frigates. The mixed broadside of grape and chain shot had done its gruesome task well, clearing men and standing rigging from the Frenchman in a shower of splinters and body-parts.

  Jolie wore around quickly, presenting her other broadside to the stern quarter of her target. The guns crews ran across the deck, manning the already charged and run-out guns. The deafening roar of six eighteen pounder carronades, the accompanying smoke, and the knowledge that their guns were playing a vital role in the taking of the French fleet, encouraged the crews to work faster, and indeed, the guns were ready to fire again in just over one minute thirty seconds.

  After firing her second broadside, Jolie, using her diminutive size and superb maneuverability to good advantage, “spread her wings” and headed back downwind. Now she sailed away from the staggering French brig and the shocked and ill-prepared frigate, and toward the remaining escort which had not had the advantage of witnessing the recently played-out charade, being below the effective horizon. Captain Smithfield hoped this third French vessel would be as unprepared as had been her sisters. Orpheus and Amethyst would take up the fight now and finish what Jolie had started.

  Captain Winston bore down on the nearest of the two ships, the damaged brig which had tasted Jolie’s iron, while Captain McCray in Amethyst matched his move, heading for the as yet unscathed frigate, a trifle further away, but to leeward.

  “Load and run out your guns, Mr. Chase.” The order rang out from the quarterdeck, and was answered by the unmistakable rumble of four-thousand-pound gun carriages, twelve to a side, being man-handled into the stops with their muzzles run out of the gun ports.

  “Mr. Smosky, we’ll reduce to battle sail, if you please, sir.” Winston couldn’t sail into a fray with as much canvas as he had aloft, and while it had been necessary to close the enemy quickly, it would now be a disadvantage to maneuvering and maintaining a position for effectively exchanging broadsides with the Frenchman. Courses were furled and the tops’ls set full again; about half the jibs and stays’ls remained in case it became necessary to sail to windward. The topmen on all three masts moved with the speed and sureness that came from practicing this very maneuver, and quickly Orpheus was under her fighting canvas. With his speed now diminished, Captain Winston sailed his ship directly for the wounded French brig, presenting a small target for her broadside guns.

  With a roar and a belch of flame and smoke, the French guns spoke, poorly laid and raggedly fired. The shot, for the most part, landed wide or short of Orpheus, but two balls did come aboard; one buried itself in the foremast, the other flew down the larboard side of the spar deck, wounding several and dismounting a quarterdeck carronade.

  Captain Winston barely noticed. Oblivious to the cries of men injured as the carronade overturned, and the splinter from the carriage which flew past his shoulder, his only concern was putting his ship in the most favorable position to inflict the most devastation to his enemy.

  “Bear off! Haul your braces, ease sheets, starboard guns, standby…fire as you bear.” Winston bellowed these commands, taking no chance that they would not be heard. Looking aloft, he ordered the Marines in the fighting tops to open fire as they came within musket range. He did not have to tell them where to aim; exposed gun crews, and quarterdeck officers were the prime targets. Orpheus bore down, away from the wind until she was almost dead before it, and presented her entire starboard broadside to the relatively undefended starboard quarter of the Frenchman. As the forward guns fired, the ship continued to come around, opening up the rest of the battery, and each gun fired in turn. Even with barely a cable’s length between them, Winston had time to bring his ship back onto the wind before the Frenchman could counter the move.

  The French ship’s ability to maneuver was severely reduced. Indeed, as those on Orpheus who could watched, the main mast began to lean aft and to leeward. As if in slow motion, it fell, landing on a bias across the quarterdeck with the topmast in the water trailing all manner of lines, spars, and canvas astern. The drag caused the brig to fall off to leeward, helping Orpheus gain further advantage to windward. The French sailors sprang into the mess with alacrity, and with axes cut away the remaining shrouds and the tangle of halyards, sheets, braces, clewlines and buntlines in a frenzied effort to loose the mess dragging alongside and effectively killing any chance the ship had to maneuver or even sail effectively. Captain Winston seized upon this opportunity in a trice.

  “Braces ease, trim your sheets…trim the bowlines.” Again bellowed orders from the quarterdeck. More quietly to the quartermasters at the wheel, “Bring her up two points.” Orpheus responded as her sails were trimmed and Winston watched as her long jib boom led the bow of the ship back to windward, which, in a few minutes, would unmask her larboard guns for an additional broadside before he would lay alongside and board.

  “Larboard guns, fire as you bear!” From the quarterdeck, Winston could see Chase moving along the larboard battery, from gun to gun, checking the elevation of each piece, talking quickly to the gun captains, making sure the slow matches were trimmed and properly burning to ignite the powder in the touch holes of the long barrels in case the sometimes finicky flintlocks malfunctioned. The bow guns spoke, answered in kind by the French guns. Better served this time, but still ragged in their firing sequence – no doubt due to the number of men still involved in cutting away the remains of the main mast – their shots took a toll; the larboard bulwark smashed in two places, splinters flying and finding their marks in human targets. One ball scythed through most of the shrouds for the foremast leaving only a few puny strands holding the lower mast aloft. Still others slammed into the hull with jarring impacts. A long gun was dismounted and overturned, killing several of its crew in the process. Lieutenant Fitzgerald, let out of his cabin for the engagement, but not yet back in the good graces of the captain, stood by his forward guns, encouraging his crews and generally acting the part of a responsible officer. When the eighteen-pounder was hit, pieces of hot iron flew in all directions, and one struck the lieutenant in the shoulder. So intense was his concentration on his tasks, he barely noticed, and was surprised to smell something close at hand burning. Gunner Chase noticed and remarked with no more alarm than had he been discussing the weather, “Sir, your jacket is on fire.” One of the many buckets of water placed throughout the deck for such emergencies was hastily thrown in the young lieutenant’s direction, extinguishing the smoldering coat, thoroughly soaking the young man, and eliciting a few smiles from the men who saw the officer get wet down. The amusing interlude lasted only a second or two, as now the guns were being fired as fast as ever they could be swabbed, loaded, and run out again.

  After the ship had been put under fighting sail, Biggs and the other topmen had assumed their positions as haulers at guns close to the mainmast so they could get back aloft quickly should the need arise. The view out the gun port was not nearly as all encompassing as from the maintop, but anyone who looked could see that Captain Winston was sailing Orpheus on a closing course with the French brig, and that if the Frenchman withstood the point blank broadsides, the Marines and sailors of the boarding party would be ordered to stand by with the pikes, cutlasses, pistols, and muskets with bayonets which had been place
d at the ready in strategic locations along the main deck when Orpheus was cleared for action. Glancing aloft, Biggs saw that the Marines in the fighting top of the mainmast had found the range and were systematically picking off the sailors and officers on the exposed deck of the enemy frigate. Marines on the foremast were following suit. Of course, the French Marines, aloft on the foremast of the brig, were also doing their best to shoot the British officers and sailors who were exposed, and while they weren’t having the same degree of success the Royal Marines were enjoying, their fire made moving about the decks somewhat risky.

  The noise was continuous now; the two ships were only separated by barely one hundred yards, and both had what remained of their full broadsides engaged, firing independently at point-blank range. The roar of the cannons was augmented by the staccato exclamations of the Marine’s muskets from both sides, the shouted orders of petty officers and commissioned officers directing their men in barely intelligible commands, and the cries and screams of the wounded and dying on both ships. The entire scene was shrouded in the thick smoke generated by both ships’ guns. As Winston moved his ship into position for the grapnels to be thrown which would secure the hulls together, he turned to Midshipman Murphy, the officer in charge of the quarterdeck carronades.

  “Belay the ball shot, Mr. Murphy. Now is the time for grape. Concentrate your fire on the Frenchman’s quarterdeck, if you please.”

  He watched as the small canvas bags containing hundreds of bits of iron, musket balls, and other deadly projectiles were rammed home and fired. The effect was startling; men fell on the brig, others ducked behind any convenient cover and while the captain continued to direct the action in the open, he did move into the lee of the helmsmen. The Frenchmen, realizing that boarding was imminent, grabbed up hand weapons and, seeking the protection of what was left of their bulwark, waited for the inevitable.