A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 19

  “A shot across they’s bows usually convinced ‘em we was serious, and colors came down quick as ever you like. Etoile was doin’ the same thing with the three vessels to wind’ard. I heard ‘em fire only a handful of times, so I don’t ‘magine they ‘ad anymore difficulty than we did. Once we ‘ad em all ‘eadin’ in the right direction, with British skippers and topmen aboard, and the marines keepin’ the Frogs quiet in the ‘old, it was easy as ever you please.”

  Jack Toppan picked up the story. “Me an’ Isaac, ‘ere, was sittin’ on the main tops’l yard. I don’t know who seen ‘er first, but there she was plain as day, jury-rigged masts and all. She was carryin’ a press of sail, considering her make-shift masts an’ all, and headin’ up high enough to close with us. I couldn’t believe she was actually sailin’ what with ‘er foremast and ‘er main topmast shot away. They got spars rigged quick as ever they could, you ask me. I even said so to Isaac, ‘ere. I said, ‘Lookee there, Isaac, that’s bound to be that Frog frigate. I’ll warrant ‘e’s lookin’ to even the score.’ Course, we told ‘em down on the Quarterdeck quick as you please, soon as we seen ‘em. The cap’n – ‘e’s ‘ad men flogged for missin’ seein’ a ship like that. Lookouts wasn’t lookin’ out, I’d warrant, but Biggs an’ me, we saved ‘em from a whippin’, we did. Anyway, he’s comin’ right along. Course, the deck ‘ad been told already. Captain Winston bore off a mite and ‘eaded right down on that vessel, ‘e did, and before you could say ‘ease yer sheets’, ‘e ‘ad Mr. Chase fire off the bow chasers at ‘er. We was still long on the range, and the shot fell short. Still the Frenchy came at us; we was about bow to bow. Isaac ‘ere, ‘e saw a puff o’ smoke from her and we saw the shot land well to leeward of us. Mr. Chase kept firing the bow guns, gettin’ closer and closer to the vessel. Then Mr. Smosky, ‘e’s the master, brought Orpheus up a couple o’ points. We was some kind o’ busy then, what with reefing the tops’ls and clewin’ up the courses, so we couldn’t watch what was goin’ on down on deck, but I knew we was gettin’ ready to give ‘em a raking broadside, soon as the range was good.

  “When the starboard guns fired, I was watchin’ that Frenchy, and I saw what was left of ‘er rig come crashin’ down. Cap’n sails us ‘longside smooth as kiss my ‘and. Then ‘e boards ‘er and quick as you please, they struck. Reckon they’d ‘ad enough fightin’ for a while. We put a few men under Mr. Duncan – ‘e’s a midshipman – aboard and take that French frigate in tow. Now we got us a frigate – or what’s left o’ one – as a prize inta the bargain. After about a day or so, someone see’s smoke comin’ out o’ the deck on the Frenchie. They’s crew what was ‘elpin’ our men clean up the deck got below and put the torch to ‘er. Not much we could do, and poor Mr. Duncan, ‘e went an’ got ‘isself kilt by ‘em. We got most o’ the men off’n ‘er with the boats, and then cut ‘er adrift to burn. They’da been some prize money ‘ad we brung ‘er in, but I ‘eard Mr. Burns tellin’ one o’ the other officers we likely would get ‘ead ‘n’ gun money, since they was able to get the muster books and ‘e knew what guns she was carryin’. I guess that’s somethin’.” Toppan paused, taking a long draught from his tankard. The gentleman waited patiently and then voiced a final thought.

  “So you saw no other ships on your way in, I collect?”

  “Well, we did see a couple of schooner-rigged vessels a ways off, pretty near hull down, they was, but they either didn’t see us – I don’t know ‘ow they could have missed us, bein’ five ships pretty much together the way we was – or they weren’t interested. Coulda’ been some coastal traders, though they looked faster than that, you ask me.” Coleman thought again about the two ships they had seen, and added, “No, thinkin’ about it now, they coulda’ been privateers, French most likely, I collect.”

  “You lads might not have heard the news just yet, as you’ve been at sea, but they could have been American, just as easily. England is at war with the Americans. Just last month those scoundrels from the colonies declared war against us – ungrateful wretches, it would appear. Something about seaman’s rights or some rubbish. I have it on quite good authority that there are a number of private warships here in the Caribbean from a place called Baltimore. They have been raising ‘old Harry’ with some of the merchant vessels flying the British flag.”

  The color drained from Isaac’s face; he was thunderstruck. America was at war with England and here he was on a British frigate, and looking at the possibility that he would be called upon to fight his own countrymen. His jaw went slack and his eyes grew wide as the gentleman told them the news. Now he absolutely had to get off Orpheus. He ran a hand through his curly hair, then over his face as if trying to wipe away a cobweb, and with it, this shocking news. He barely heard the rest of the conversation. He noticed the other men were looking at him, expectantly.

  “Isaac, you’re an American. What do you think about all this?” Coleman was first to realize their friend was in an awkward position. “What are you gonna do now that…”

  He stopped mid-sentence as a pair of youngish women approached the table. One, the men saw was fairly attractive, the other less so.

  “You boys are surely serious, ‘ere.” The less pretty one spoke in a hard street accent, and the other smiled at Biggs, an invitation implicit in her expression. “Why not buy a couple of ladies a drink, and we’ll ‘elp you celebrate your good fortune.”

  Jack Toppan looked up, at first startled as he had not seen the women approach, then pleased at the prospect of furthering the evening’s entertainment. The gentleman stood up, obviously less than pleased with the interruption of his conversation with these most talkative sailors.

  “I must be on my way,” he said, not unpleasantly. He adjusted his jacket and hitched up his trousers. “I certainly enjoyed visiting with you men. I do hope I haven’t upset you with my news of the difficulties with the Americans. Perhaps we’ll meet again, if your ship is to be in Nassau for a while…” He let the unasked question hang, waiting for a final piece of information which would further his knowledge. He didn’t have to wait for more than a heartbeat or two. Coleman fairly jumped at the opening.

  “I ‘eard the cap’n tellin’ Lieutenant Burns that we’d be ‘ere for a fortnight and then back out. Course that mighta changed now when they ‘ear ‘bout the war. I collect things mighta got knocked into a cocked ‘at with that. Probably won’t be getting our shares anytime soon I’d reckon. I ‘ope Mr. Beckwirth is plannin’ to give us advances; I surely won’t last a fortnight without I get some money.” A chorus of agreement from the other sailors indicated a similar potential shortage of funds.

  Their friend nodded sympathetically, smiled, and turned to leave. He stopped after but two steps and called one of the girls to him. A whispered conversation ensued, followed by what appeared to be his offering her a small bag, which she readily took and dropped down her bodice, returning to the table smiling broadly.

  “Your gentleman friend must like you boys. ‘E wants that you ‘ave good time, so drink up.” She motioned to the pub keeper who delivered two brimming tankards and a small cask of rum to the table. He set the tankards down in front of the two women, and the rum he placed in the middle of the table. Coleman and Toppan wasted no time in filling their own tankards, casting appreciative glances at the two women. Biggs remained almost motionless, still in a state of shock over the sudden change in his circumstances; a slight tremor had taken hold of his hands and the glass spilled as he lifted it.

  “Either of you got a friend?” Toppan knew he didn’t want to be left out when the pairing off began, and as the senior member of the group, assumed the role of leader naturally. It would be much easier now to even up the party than later when they would all be three sheets to the wind.

  “What do you think, darlin’? ‘Becca here surely ain’t going to take on two of you, and neither am I. Why it would wear us out, sure it would. You just stay put right ‘ere, and I’ll be back before you can miss me.” She winked at ‘Becca and rose, m
oving quickly to the rear of the tavern.

  Coleman watched her go, enjoying her stern view and elbowed Biggs who, though still in a fog, was beginning to notice that the lady sitting next to him had her hand on his leg. He barely acknowledged his friend, and in spite of his efforts to control it, his shaking hands gave away his feelings. He had been caught quite aback by all of the events of the past several minutes and more, and it was taking some time to sort through it all and make sense of it. First a war, then this young woman sitting next to him and touching him. It was beyond his experience. ‘Becca recognized his confusion, not knowing that she was only part of the reason for it, and, rightly assuming him out of his depth, thought to herself that she would enjoying “showin’ ‘im the ropes” a little later.

  When the other girl returned, she had with her a most ordinary looking woman, older than she and showing it, but with a quite extraordinary tophamper. Stringy brown hair framed a narrow face with wide spaced eyes and a flat nose. Her lips were unnaturally red, and her cheeks showed pink blotches, the result of hastily applied paint. Other make-up was caked on her chin and throat. Their earlier companion made the introductions.

  “This ‘ere’s me friend Abby, an’ me own name’s Sara. Abby’s not busy at the moment and would be most obliging if you invite her to join the party.”

  Abby smiled, showing a paucity of teeth, but the wide spaced eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile. She sat down next to Jack Toppan, moving close to him on the bench, and giving him the opportunity to appreciate her ample bosom as she reached for a tankard of ale.

  “O’ course she can join us.” Jack was never one to be bashful where the ladies were concerned; his eyes never left her more obvious but most endearing qualities. Coleman made room for Sara, and the men, save Isaac, chattered excitedly as they drank, and thought of the pleasures that lay in the offing. Biggs’ reticence went unnoticed until, after several more rounds, each of which raised the level of boisterousness, the group broke up, moving off in pairs as they headed for the rooms the girls called home. ‘Becca took Isaac, now out of one fog and into another, by the hand, leading him to the stairs as his eyes once again grew wider. Coleman staggering a little himself, noticed his friend’s expression.

  “It’s righty-oh, Isaac. You’ll see…gonna be sweet as a t’gallant breeze on a smooth sea.”

  Biggs nodded, and allowed the girl to lead him up the stairs. Toppan showed no ill-effects from the vast quantities of rum he had consumed and, being experienced in the way of things ashore, moved eagerly ahead of his comrades. The other two men made their way haltingly up the narrow stairs, and stopped when they reached the landing at the top.

  ‘Becca guided Isaac into the first room in the dark hallway. He glanced back at his comrades, his eyes darting quickly around the hall, as if looking for an escape. A tug on his sleeve moved him and he followed the girl inside, still looking after his shipmates. The two other men were going into separate rooms further down the hall. ‘Becca closed the door, ending his view of his mates, and he turned to face her, his eyes adapting to the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the light of a few candles burning, one on a chest of drawers, and two on a window seat next to the bed. The bed and the chest shared the limited floorspace with an unstable looking chair which heeled on a pair of poorly repaired broken legs like a ship rail-down in a blow.

  “Now what, ‘Becca?” Isaac seemed to regain some level of sobriety as his immediate future – or at least what he was beginning to realize would be his immediate future – began to solidify. He looked questioningly at the girl, his head reeling.

  During his several runs to the Caribbean on Anne with his American shipmates and Captain Smalley, Isaac had never been in this situation before, though he had certainly heard a host of tales and sea stories about what he surmised he was getting into. None, however, had prepared him for actually dealing with himself as the main player in this story. His strict Methodist New England upbringing had all but precluded the possibility even entering his mind, and now here it was quite literally staring him in the face. He could, and had many times, handled gales, with their screaming winds and enormous seas, calms, and disasters at sea; he functioned through his fear, showing a steady and reliable pattern of actions that gave his shipmates confidence in him. Now he was alone in a room with a young woman with but one purpose in mind and he was virtually paralyzed with fear; all thoughts of the recently declared war, and his own predicament forgotten.

  The woman’s quiet words soon calmed the young man’s fears, and before the dawn showed red in the eastern sky, he had joined the ranks of other sailors who had visited this room before him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Letters Home

  My dearest wife:

  It has been some months since I’ve written, and God alone knows when this letter will find its way to you. I pray that when it does, it finds you in good health, and spirits, secure in the knowledge that I will be home within the year instant, and with some considerable wealth. We have enjoyed extraordinary good luck and have only recently captured an entire French squadron of merchantmen sailing fully laden for home. We had to fight their escorting frigates – there were but two, and a brig – and we had help from Captain Edwin McCray in Amethyst, and Jason Smithfield with a recently captured brig, Jolie. Unfortunately, in the fighting, there was a number of lives lost, and Amethyst herself was lost with a large number of hands. Captain McCray was able to board and capture the French frigate, Etoile Noire, before Amethyst was lost, so the Frenchman sailed with us under British colors. Captain Winston hatched a brilliant plan which the enemy did not smoke until it was much too late, and right into the middle of the French merchants we sailed. I tell you, Samantha, it was glorious. These poor blighters never knew what happened. To be sure, a few tried to get off a shot or two at us, but to no avail, and we rounded them up, heaved them to and put our prize crews aboard. Being well to the north as a result of our chase, we sailed four of them straight west into New Providence while McCray took Etoile and his three ships south to Antigua. They were all rich prizes, and should provide a plentiful purse for all hands, including yrs. truly.

  Unfortunately, we shall receive no reward for destroying the French brig which was burned and sunk; however, the frigate Etoile Noire was a prize herself, and the other frigate, while lost, will provide Head and Gun money since we were able to save the muster books and knew her armament as well. Captain Winston allowed to me that I had acquitted myself quite well in the action and would be passing on favorable comments to Adm. LaFoury.

  The fleet remained in New Providence for nigh onto three weeks, with the hands getting some much needed leave. Orpheus was put right as rain from the wounds she suffered at the hands of the French, and the cargoes, after cataloguing and bonding by the British Magistrate here were, for the most part stripped off the merchants. The French crews were given their parole, promising not to take up arms against British forces, and will remain for the time being on New Providence. We have not seen Smithfield’s little brig, Jolie, since she sailed off to provide a diversion so we could catch the French merchants un-escorted, as it were, and Captain Winston and I fear she has been lost with all hands.

  Do you recall young Oliver Fitzgerald? I’m sure you must; an unfortunate looking, rather portly, young chap, and our junior lieutenant. I know I’ve written you of some of his misfortunate escapades. Well, he will be suffering the wrath of Captain Winston and the taunts of the gun room no more. He was shot dead in the recent action against the French. A most disagreeable event as it left us even more short-handed than already we were. Even with his frequent missteps, he had brought his battery of six guns to an excellent state of accuracy and speed, and though he would most likely never make commander and certainly not post, he filled an important role among the lieutenants here. Captain Winston had the good grace to bury him separately from the crew after the action – gave him a little status, you know, and while he never had it in life, he finally was
elevated in death.

  The action was a great relief for all of us, especially the men, as it had been too long since the ship had fought, and discipline was being maintained only through virtually constant floggings. You know that Winston firmly believes in the use of the lash, contrary to my tradition, but it seemed as if even for him, this was too much. You recall I wrote you about that young sailor we pressed a year and more ago from the American vessel, and who leaped overboard to his death when confronted with the lash? (I can only hope that the missive found its way to you intact.) Surely we’ve had no more incidents like that, so inured to floggings are the British sailors – they have come to expect it as a routine part of life at sea. I don’t think it needs to be that way. There must be a better way to maintain order without resorting to whipping a man as if he were an animal. I have participated in entirely in too many of these inhuman punishments. I will depress you no more with such unpleasantries. On to other items of recent import.

  We were informed while in Nassau that England is now at war with America. I don’t imagine it will signify here in the Caribbean, except as to provide us with more opportunity for prizes. Can you imagine that upstart country declaring war against His Majesty? I have it on good authority they have barely a dozen men of war, and few of those are crew’d and fit for sea. We heard in New Providence of some small private vessels which are reported to be at large, but they should be of little bother. I should imagine the Americans will be suing for peace quick as ever they can, once they taste a few broadsides from some of the King’s ships. I should not be at all surprised were it to be over by the time you receive this letter. A bit of good news to cheer you, my dear.