A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Read online

  “I am about to go into action again with your countrymen, sir. I would like your assurance that neither you nor any of your men will interfere with the running of Orpheus or I will be forced to lock you below on the orlop deck. It is quite safe there, and out of the way of harm.”

  “I will not interfere, Captain. As to my officers or men – those that are able at least – I can not answer for them. If you are concerned, perhaps you should do whatever you think best. I…”

  The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the bosun, who waited patiently, but in the line of sight of his captain, knowing he would get the captain’s ear as soon as he was seen.

  “Yes, Mr. Tice. Are you quite prepared, as we discussed?”

  “Aye, sir. The men are ready for some play-acting as soon as you give the word.”

  Winston turned to Captain Faitoute. “Sir, I would ask that you go below and see to your own safety. It would not do to have you injured, or, heaven forbid, worse, while you are under my protection.” Turning to Hardy, he continued “Mr. Hardy. Find the Captain of the Marines, if you please, and inform him I would like the French sailors and officers – the healthy ones at any rate – escorted to the orlop deck where they shall be guarded until the imminent action has been decided.”

  The French fleet was clearly visible now from deck, and the captain issued more orders. “Quartermaster, signal Etoile Noire to execute the plan. Mr. Tice, let us begin. Get your men started.”

  As he watched, Orpheus was transformed into a wounded prize; the sails were eased by their sheets and braces, buntines and clewlines slackened, yards were cocked and skewed in a manner no seaman would find acceptable, and sailors began to disappear from view on deck, heading to the main deck where they would be out of sight behind the bulwarks until the proper moment. As a final touch, Winston ordered the French flag shown at the spanker gaff with the British ensign below it, clearly denoting that Orpheus was the prize of the damaged, but proud frigate flying the Tricolor at her gaff. He maintained his position to leeward of Etoile, further enhancing the appearance of captor and prize. Hopefully, the probably skittish French merchant masters would happily accept the illusion Harry Winston had so carefully crafted.

  “Masthead there – any sign of Jolie or the second frigate?” The cry came from Lieutenant Burns, hoping that a brief respite in the rain might have given a sharp-eyed lookout a glimpse of the two ships.

  After a lengthy silence – it seemed as though the entire ship’s company was awaiting the answer with the quarterdeck – the lookout at the fore t’gallant yard yelled down.

  “I thought I saw a top hamper to wind’ard. Sir. ’Pears ten miles an’ more distant. Might could be a frigate, but I cain’t make it out good. It looks like it’s rainin’ pretty ‘ard where they’s at. Cain’t see ‘em at all now.”

  “Well, Captain, if it is the Frenchman, he’s likely not to cause us concern for a while, I’d warrant.” Burns wasn’t going to let a single French frigate spoil his day. “Looks like the rain’s going to begin here momentarily again as well. Should hide us from him as well.”

  A few men standing nearby caught the optimism in Burns’ tone, and it quickly spread forward, with a ripple of chatter.

  “Silence fore and aft. Mr. Tice, take note of any who feel moved to noise. We’ll deal with them later. Gunner, load your pieces. Captain of Marines, have your men stand by to go aloft. Clear for action quietly, if you please.” This last order was mostly out of habit; the men had been at their quarters stations almost since the fleet had come into sight and were as ready as could be. The decks had again been sanded, but the nets had not been rigged to catch falling debris from aloft as their presence would enable the French – assuming they were alert – to smoke their caper and, while it was unlikely that any of the ships could outsail either Orpheus or Etoile, Winston did not want a stern chase.

  The hours passed and the two ships bore down on the French merchants as fast as the “wounded prize” could sail; they passed the afterguard and as McCray’s frigate, under French colors, went by, a cheer, muffled in the now torrential rain, went up from the quarterdeck of the merchant and was joined enthusiastically by the hands forward. McCray and his officers waved their hats in acknowledgment of the welcome as did Winston from his own quarterdeck. Since the merchantmen were under shortened sail – apparently an order from their escorts given before they left to deal with the intruders – sailing through the now disorganized fleet was readily accomplished, and soon the two frigates were in the van.

  On signal, they separated, Orpheus bearing down a point and Etoile Noire heading up similarly. The topmen were called to their stations and without so much as a shout, yards were squared, sheets, braces, and bowlines tensioned and sails were handed and reefed to a battle configuration; two men-of-war, serious and threatening, appeared where there had been a wounded and sloppy French frigate with her damaged prize. The frigates matched the pace of the merchants.

  “We’ll have our proper colors now, Mr. Burns, if you please.” He raised his voice. “Mr. Chase, you may open all the gunports and run out your battery. Load the windward bowchaser with a powder charge only and stand-by for my order.”

  Winston watched as Etoile followed suit, and the Royal Navy ensign snapped to the mizzen peak of both ships in the fresh breeze.

  Biggs and his fellow topmen were fascinated as the scene around them unfolded. Here they were, just as Coleman and Toppan had predicted, in the middle of the French fleet without a shot fired. Coleman nudged Biggs with his elbow and pointed at the nearest merchant ship.

  “I’d give ‘alf me prize share to see the look on their faces now; what do you think, Isaac. They gonna fight or strike?”

  “I surely don’t have an idea, but I most earnestly hope they’ll not decide to put up a fight.” Biggs had learned in his relatively short military career that a ship in a fight is a most dangerous place to be, and now that he was headed fair towards a sound financial footing, he did not want to be taking any risks which might interfere with his getting off this man of war and back into a nice quiet merchant ship.

  Interrupting his thoughts came the voice of the lookout in the crosstrees of the foremast; “Deck there. Sail bearing down from wind’ard. Hard to tell through the rain, but it ’pears to be a frigate. Cain’t make a flag, but looks like she’s a’comin’ on hard.”

  Before either of the topmen could comment on this new turn of events, a windward gun on Orpheus spoke, emitting a roar and a great cloud of acrid smoke. The topmen jumped at the sudden noise, even though they had expected the gun to fire.

  “Now we’ll find out.” Toppan nodded knowingly at Coleman, smiling at the perplexed look on Isaac Biggs’ face. “That gun was to suggest to the merchant skippers that we intend to fight, unless they strike. If they throw in now, the nearest will fire a leeward gun, and lower their colors; if they’re gonna fight, they’ll still fire a gun, but at us. You watch now, if they take too long, Captain Winston’ll put one across the nearest ship’s bow, seein’ if he can encourage them to make up their minds. If that frigate comin’ down on us is that other Frenchy, them merchants might think they gonna be saved and not strike; fancy them thinkin’ one frigate gonna be able to protect ‘em from the likes o’ us!”

  A few quiet minutes passed while all hands waited for a reaction from the merchant captains. Then a gun, neither on Orpheus, nor on a merchant fired. In fact, until it fired again, nobody was sure from which ship it came – only that it came from the windward side. Then it spoke again, and this time, there could be no mistake; the roar was followed by a splash close astern of Etoile Noire, the source was readily identifiable; the second French frigate had closed the range, and seemed determined to do what they might about saving their charges. Her bow chasers fired again, and a hole appeared in Etoile’s foretops’l. The French frigate was clearly acting out of desperation, her captain seeing his entire career bursting into flames before his very eyes. Firing a bowchaser at the broadsid
e of a man-of-war is the act of either a very desperate man or a very stupid one. McCray waited, as the French came on, then Etoile responded with a well aimed broadside, a mix of ball and chain shot. When the smoke blew away from the two ships, the result was immediately visible; the Frenchman had lost his foremast and his main topmast. The wreckage of the topmast and yard was fouled in the mizzen rigging, and the foremast was dragging over the starboard side, causing, as they watched, the ship to bear off drastically, rolling her rail down to the water. One more shot came from the now badly wounded Frenchman. Etoile’s wheel disappeared in a cloud of splinters; the two quartermasters’ mates just disappeared – completely. While McCray was attempting to get men below to steer by hauling on falls attached to the rudder head, the sailing master was directing men to heave on the sheets and braces in an effort to keep the vessel from rounding up, head to wind. Come up she did, however, and without a means of quickly steering his ship, McCray was helpless to stop her. Etoile reached stays and stopped, her reefed tops’ls and courses instantly backing and as they filled began to move the ship backwards through the water.

  Orders rang through the ship, clearly heard on Orpheus. The crew watched in helpless horror as the ship was caught all aback. McCray was a splendid seaman, and his crew had the tackles rigged to the rudder post as quickly as humanly possible. Sheets were slacked, braces hauled, and stays’ls backed to get the ship out of stays, and stop her backward motion. Gradually, Etoile eased off the wind, but, as the report McCray received on the quarterdeck confirmed, too late; with the sudden sternway, the rudder had sheared off. His ship was out of control. For the moment, she was headed downwind, and would remain that way for as long as his crew could manage the braces and sheets. He needed time to rig a jury rudder; a sweep made from an extra tops’l yard and some lumber would suffice; rigging it would take time.

  The French frigate was forgotten; her crew had their hands full and would not be problem for a while. On Orpheus, orders rang out from the quarterdeck in a steady stream. Biggs and Coleman, along with the foretopmen, were ordered to clew up courses and stand by. They watched as the men on deck made ready lines and grapnels.

  “They look like they’re gettin’ ready to board the Frenchman, Bob. Why don’t he just sink her, and be done with it?” Biggs said what was on all their minds, and Coleman didn’t have an answer. Jack Toppan was below, bellowing at the waisters and idlers to “Bear a hand there, you lay-about farmers!” and so was unable to share the wisdom gained over many years as a man-of-warsman. The topmen watched and suddenly it dawned on Coleman.

  “Boarding that Frenchy don’t answer, mates. Were goin’ to board Etoile!” Already, Orpheus was easing up, and was less than a cable’s length from her rudderless sister and closing as they watched. Matching speed was important, and Winston’s voice carried very clearly to the maintop.

  “Ease the sheets on the foretops’l; mind your braces there. Brace those headyards square! Let go the bowlines!” The scene on deck was that of a carefully choreographed ballet; men moving quickly to obey the orders issuing in a steady stream, lines being hauled and sails responding and alternately billowing and shivering as their yards were braced around to control the ship’s speed. Gradually, Orpheus closed to within a pistol shot of Etoile Noire, then closer still; grapnels and heaving lines were thrown and the two ships were joined, side by side.

  Winston yelled to his junior captain, “Get your sweep rigged; we’ll keep you out of trouble. Leave your tops’ls set in a single reef and furl everything else. You might keep some of your starboard battery manned, and I shall man a few of my larboard guns.”

  A wave, a deep bow, and a smile came from the Etoile’s captain. Words were unnecessary, and would be saved for later when the action was replayed over cheese and port in Winston’s great Cabin on Orpheus. Biggs watched the maneuver open-mouthed. Never had he seen anything like it. Not only was this an extraordinary display of seamanship, it demonstrated lightning-quick thinking on the part of Captain Winston, putting the young topman in mind of his former captain, Jed Smalley, probably the only other man he knew, in his limited experience, who might be capable of such a maneuver. He looked around; the French frigate was still struggling with her spars, and the merchants sailed on, for the moment reprieved from their ultimate and ignominious fate and most likely, equally fascinated by the display of British seamanship they had just witnessed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Bull and Feather Tavern

  “You don’t say! I never heard anything so remarkable in all my days. This Captain Winston must be a splendid sailor. But how did you manage to get all eight vessels into a safe harbor?” The gentleman – at least he was dressed like a gentleman in a forest green jacket and vest with fawn colored trousers – was enthralled with the tale told by these men, sailors from the British frigate Orpheus. He had heard their detailed and thrilling account of the capture of the French fleet without a single interruption, save the refilling of tankards as required to keep the story rolling along like a ship under full sail in a t’gallant breeze. His brow occasionally furrowed over close set eyes and he tugged at his mutton-chop whiskers as he listened intently, pondering how he might use his newly acquired knowledge.

  The man made a habit of frequenting Nassau’s taverns, especially the ones visited by sailors. The sailors’ visits were generally in pursuit of liquid and physical refreshment; his were in pursuit of information. His sources always seemed to know which waterfront taverns were currently popular with the sailors, and which with the officers. He also knew from experience when the visiting seamen had something to share with him. To the sailors just in from the sea, a willing ear and open purse were guarantees of stories and information. As long as the tankards were kept filled, and he occasionally interjected comments or opened wide his eyes, indicating his continuing interest, he was assured of talkative sailors long at sea and eager for a new audience to impress with their derring-do. The story he was hearing now was certainly as impressive as anything he had heard in the recent past, and demonstrated clearly that this Winston chap was a captain of some substance, a man whose actions would bear further investigation.

  “We put an officer, masters mate, or midshipman on each one with a few prime ‘ands, and of course a ‘andful of marines. The French crewmen who didn’t want to ‘elp us sail the ship were put in the ‘old under guard and kept there. A few usually volunteered to ‘elp after some days with the rats and wet of the ‘old. As long as we ‘ad no weather or Frenchies come callin’, sailin’ the prizes in was as easy as kiss my ‘and, and ‘o course, Orpheus and Etoile Noire was right there for most of the time. Since we was nigh on to due east of New Providence, it was an easy run in, and Etoile, bein’ a prize ‘er own self, took a few of the prizes down to Antigua, to get refit right along side o’ her. Too bad, I’d say, cause they missed out on comin’ inta New Providence. I mean to tell you, we got some attention sailing into Nassau with four French ships as prizes. The doxies lined the quaywall, they did. Ain’t seen nothing to equal it in three years on the Leeward Island Station. Why, when we come ashore, we ‘ad to push through ‘em just to get to the taverns. Course not all the ‘ands pushed through; some picked ‘em a pretty one and did they’s pushin’ later. Hor hor.” Toppan laughed at his own crude humor, and was joined by the other men at the table, save the gentleman, who smiled indulgently; his eyes, though, showed no mirth.

  “I am not quite clear on why the French merchantmen struck without a fight. You say they never so much as fired a shot?” The gentleman’s incredulity showed in his voice as he looked with hooded eyes down his hawkish nose, but the implication was lost on the sailors who by now were feeling the effects of several tankards of the coarse local rum, and were only too happy to tell again of the capture of so many prizes at one time.

  “After Captain Winston laid Orpheus right alongside Etoile, we kept an eye on those French bastards, we did. Not just the frigate, mind you (though she was fallin’ astern pretty quick
and was soon out of range), but the merchants also. We knew at least some of ‘em had cannon, and with us lashed tight to a ship what couldn’t steer, we was in no position to fight.” Coleman paused to take a drink, and Biggs chimed right in.

  “Or even steer much. Cap’n Winston had brung us up some so we was goin’ more or less the same way as the Frenchies was, so we just all sailed along together. Strange, it was, I’m telling you.” The gentleman nodded encouragingly. Biggs continued.

  “I don’t know why they never tried to sail away from us. We couldn’t have done much about it, save leave Etoile to fend for herself and go after ‘em. The only one of ‘em showed any fight came down on us from weather and fired off a few guns – they sounded like nine-pounders – but the range was too long. Etoile let off a few eighteen-pounders and took a chunk off’n they’s jib boom and splintered some o’ they’s bulwark. I think the Frenchy lost interest after that, cause they bore up and kept their distance.”

  “What happened to the frigate. Did you ever see it again? You haven’t mentioned her since you told me about Etoile losing her steering. Surely your captain didn’t just leave her adrift and go on his merry way?” Their friendly benefactor was paying attention to the details, making sure he missed nothing of substance. His eyes shifted from one sailor to another as he waited. Coleman picked up the story.

  “Most of the time we was ‘elping Etoile, we didn’t see ‘ide nor ‘air of her. She’d drifted astern, what with ‘er foremast and ‘alf her main down, and ‘er mizzen rigging all ahoo. Good thing, I’d say, seein’ as ‘ow we couldn’t a done much about her right then. No, Cap’n McCray got Etoile rigged with a jury rudder – wasn’t ‘alf bad, neither, I don’t mind sayin’ – and we cast ‘er off. We sailed down a trifle then, and turned the leeward ships around, makin’ ‘em ‘eave to so’s the cutter or longboat could put a prize master and crew aboard. Then they ‘ead ‘ere for New Providence. We knew that’s where we was ‘eaded from Cochrane – he’s the cap’n’s steward and tells us what’s what, ya know.” Coleman smiled at his own interruption, and the recollection of a most extraordinary event. When he continued, his serious demeanor had returned.