A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 21

  “I like the sound o’ that. I won’t say nothin’ to my boys; I’ll let Captain Smalley tell ‘em the good news. I best be gettin’ aft to relieve Little now, or he’ll be whinin’ all day about my bein’ late.” The sailor made his way aft with the same ease his mate had shown, and disappeared into the pre-dawn gloom.

  The schooner’s crew had by now fallen into a traditional at-sea routine with only minimal haranguing from the mates; the watch relieved, decks were scrubbed and sanded, breakfast was piped and the watch below made order out of the chaos in the berthing deck caused by a spot of nasty weather recently encountered which stirred the berthing area the way a cook would stir of pot of soup. Clothes and sea chests, boots and still strung hammocks shared the cramped quarters with the off-watch, a parrot, and a small dog, who had acquired the unlikely name of Rufus. To the men scrubbing the berthing area deck, it was apparent that Rufus was not a sailor, and extra effort accompanied the additional complaints sparked by evidence of the dog’s unseaman-like behavior.

  “All hands on deck. Assemble by division amidships. Lively now.” The inescapable voice of the mate rang throughout the ship urging the men to “move smartly.” Buckets and swabs were left where they fell, hammocks in the process of being unshipped were dropped as if they were on fire and the men tumbled pall-mall out of the hatches to find their division-mates and make more-or-less straight lines forward of the quarterdeck in the widest part of the ship. The crew was larger than normal due to the shipping of extra hands for manning prizes, and the men jostled one another for space. Captain Smalley stood silently by the helmsman, watching the proceedings, and waiting for Halladay to indicate that the men were ready for him.

  “The hands are mustered, Captain, all save those on lookout and on the wheel. Also two below with the heaves – either drunk up a week’s worth o’ grog they been savin’, or really are laid low genuine.” Halladay snatched off his hat, a habit born of and carried unconsciously from his early days as a seaman, as he delivered his report. His dark hair, streaked with gray as was his beard, blew awry in the easy breeze and stuck out at odd angles, unnoticed, when he returned his hat to its place aloft. His penetrating eyes, whose stare had unnerved more than a handful of sailors over the years, were focused on his captain.

  “Aye, then. Let’s get started.” Smalley stepped forward to the edge of the quarterdeck, and stood facing his crew, his legs braced against the easy roll of his ship, and his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

  “Men, you have been assembled so that I can outline broadly for you what we’re about here, and what Captains Abrams, Stebbins, and I hope to accomplish before this week is done. You may wonder why we carrried a press of canvas throughout the night. Captain Abrams intends to find us a passel of British merchants headin’ to Antigua with stores for the Leeward Island Station and take ‘em before they can find out that they’re at war with America. It’s likely they’ll be unescorted by the time they get here and the pickin’s ought to be rich. We need to sail fast as ever possible to get us into position, and then lay in wait for ‘em to come along. Some of you will be named prize crews to sail what we take into an American port, so you’ll be gettin’ home faster than the rest of us. But you’ll be responsible for gettin’ the prize to an American port so’s it can be condemned and sold, so your shipmates’ll be countin’ on you for their shares. It’s also possible that we could sail into a neutral here in the West Indies where the American Consul, if they be one, could handle the whole thing for us. That’ll be up to Cap’n Abrams, though, not me. It’ll be right important for each of you to do your job good as you done off the Carolinas a few weeks back. Now get back to your work, and keep a weather eye open.”

  The silence broke like a summer thunder squall; everyone was talking at once. The cleverer among the men were figuring aloud the value of the potential prizes and each man’s share; others listened to them, the excitement of action and riches further animating their joy at the prospect of wealth. The balance just chattered, sounding for all the world like a pack of monkeys in the jungle. The mate let them vent their excitement for a few moments, then his booming voice thundered out.

  “Silence fore and aft. They won’t be no prizes if you lubbers don’t get your lazy arses back to work and keep the barky a’sailin’. Save your dancin’ and cavortin’ ‘til we’re done with this work and you gots your prize tickets in hand. For now, the starbowlines got the watch, larbowlines report to your petty officers for the day’s work. Dismissed.” Halladay’s strength manifested itself even with his easy manner and casual stance, fists balled on his hips and legs spread against the motion of the schooner. His voice carried authority now rather than menace but most knew that in spite of his easy going habits, slackers would see a completely different side of the mate.

  The hands moved off, still discussing the potential riches that lay only a few days distant – practically just over the horizon. Glory returned to her routine, her sharp clipper bow knifing cleanly through the rolling Caribbean as the few white wind-driven clouds raced her through the blue brilliance of the clear morning sky, mirroring the crisp white capped waves contrasting with the glorious blue of the water.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Night Watch

  “You think tonight’s gonna be the night, Cap’n?” Willard Halladay leaned on the weather rail, absently scratching his beard, and spoke quietly to the man standing next to him. When not on the quarterdeck, Captain Smalley was approachable by his officers in a casual way; this was one of those times. He thought for a minute or two before answering his mate.

  “Who knows, Mr. Halladay. We got to get a little lucky here, but they’s bound to be ships comin’ into Antigua sooner or later. Let’s just hope it’s sooner – an’ that we see ‘em. They could be swingin’ to their hooks in English Harbour ‘fore we know they’ve got by, but I think, and I guess so does Cap’n Abrams, we’re on their course into Antigua.”

  “Aye. Seems to me any ship bound into Antigua from the east or the north got to pass within a cannon-shot of here. Now we just got to wait for ‘em to show, eh, Cap’n? I collect that’s the drift of Cap’n Abrams’ plan?”

  “You’ll get your action again, quick enough Mr. Halladay. I would guess they won’t keep us waitin’ more ‘n a day or two.” The captain looked aloft as he finished speaking.

  “Should be about time for the signal.” Halladay glanced up at the main crosstrees just as three bells sounded, marking an hour and a half into the middle watch.

  Joshua Abrams, in command of the three Baltimore privateers, had a standard nighttime procedure which consisted of each ship showing a lantern aloft at every turn of the glass during the dark hours. It allowed the schooners to cover a vast amount of ocean, spreading out as they did, but it kept them in visible contact without showing continuous lights. Should a potential prize show himself during this time, an additional light was shown next to the standard one, it’s orientation indicating whether the stranger was to weather or leeward, and summoning the other two ships to join with all haste.

  As if in response to his comment, a lantern appeared at the tops’l yard on the mainmast, moving forward and aft of the topmast to ensure it’s being seen. After a few moments, it was doused, leaving a darkness so profound that one could doubt it had ever existed. A lookout on the crosstrees of the foremast hailed the deck.

  “Light forward, half a point to wind’ard. ‘Nother to leeward, near on the beam. Singles both.”

  “Old Tom Stebbins gettin a little for’ard of his position, looks like.” Captain Smalley spoke with amusement in his voice; he had nothing but the highest respect for his fellow captain, and knew that being a few degrees for’ard of where he was supposed to be was not going to cause them to miss any ship that might cross their part of the ocean. Captain Smalley chalked it up to enthusiasm on the part of the crew of Bill of Rights. He had high confidence in the small fleet’s ability to find the British, and having found them, take them successfully.
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  “Aye, but shouldn’t matter much, Captain. When those Brits’ tops’ls come over the horizon, like as not they’ll be forward of us, headin’ for English Harbour quick as they can.” The mate had echoed his captain’s thoughts. Smalley nodded silently in the dark, and turned to move aft to the quarterdeck.

  Over his shoulder he said, as he disappeared into the gloom of the night, “I’m going below, Mr. Halladay. Call me at once should anything be sighted – by anyone – if you please.”

  Halladay grunted “Aye” and continued to stand at the rail for a few minutes more. Then he too moved off into the night, heading forward to check the men on his watch. His bulky form moved with surprising grace and he tugged with his strong arms and large hands at each piece of running rigging he passed. It was a habit born of years at sea on vessels large and small.

  The lower lookouts appeared alert, he was gratified to see; even with the prospect of lucrative prizes likely to appear at any moment, lookouts at this point in the middle watch tended to nod off from time to time. Halladay spoke to the man standing on the lower shrouds, receiving a response quickly. The two men in the bows were chatting quietly, looking forward, one to larboard and one to starboard, as they had been trained. He came around the leeward side of the fo’c’sle and went aft, checking the larboard lookout as he passed.

  “How ‘bout it, Mr. Halladay. We goin’ ta catch us another prize soon?” The voice came from a small knot of men, haulers all, hunkered down in the waist of the ship. They were on call should a sail need to be trimmed or changed. They talked among themselves to help stay awake. Tonight there would be little likelihood of shortening down, as the ship was already down to just its fore and aft sails and a single jib, and the foresail had a single reef tied into it. Since they were not in any hurry now, but rather just holding a station while they waited for a suitable prey to turn up, speed was not an issue. However, should a British ship, or two or three, appear, the reef would be shaken out, tops’ls, stays’ls and jibs set, and the schooners would maximize their speed to cut them off, chase them down, or engage them as their positions dictated. And that would be the call for all hands. Halladay stopped and peered into the dark, trying to identify the speaker.

  “I ‘spect so. Leastways I hope so. Cap’n thinks it could be right soon. Aye, a ship could come through this water any time now. Those of you going to relieve the lookouts, stay sharp, and don’t dope off. Tell your mates in the larbowlines the same thing when they come up to take the watch.

  “Aye, aye, Mr. Mate. Nobody’s sleepin’ here – too much to think about, what with all that prize money just awaitin’ for us to pick it up. Be just about as easy as fallin’ overboard, I reckon.” Halladay recognized the second speaker as his favorite farmer-turned-sailor from Virginia. “We been talkin’ about the things all that money gonna buy us. Me, I was thinkin’ I might even go back to Virginia and fix up the farm some, buy me some new slaves, and be a gentleman farmer. I think I might do that right fine. My missus’d like that too, I’m thinkin’. Course, if the prize share’s enough, I just might take me a new missus, a lady befittin’ my status as a gentleman…” The Virginian’s sentence drifted off, as his mind was filled with images of his ‘new’ status, his new wife, and his big plantation, formerly a modest and struggling farm.

  “Don’t you spend all that money yet, sailor. You got a lot o’ haulin’ and heavin’ yet to do and with luck, some boardin’ and fightin’ ‘fore you’ll even get you a smell o’ a prize share – an ever’ man-jack o’ you got to do your jobs righty-oh on top o’ it. And you ain’t gonna get rich in one cruise – if’n you live through it. You can mark my words on that. It surely ain’t goin’ ta be easy as ‘fallin overboard’, just a’ cause them two off’n the Carolinas struck without which we hardly fired a shot, any o’ you what thinks ‘at way’ll be in for a surprise like you never thought possible.” Halladay’s rebuke created a silence among the men. He hoped it would give them time to think about what he had said, and possibly encourage them to give an inspired performance when the time came. He continued aft while the impact of his words was still ringing in the men’s ears, and before they had time to begin chattering again about their anticipated earnings.

  The mate stepped onto the quarterdeck, his seaman’s eye seeing immediately that all was well; the quartermaster at the wheel looked alert, keeping an eye on the compass set in the binnacle and the mains’l’s eerie glow of reflected starlight. The bosun was nearby, and the log slate showed an entry for the last turn of the glass. As if to solidify his impression, the voice of one of the lookouts forward floated back with an “all’s well for’ard,” and was echoed by his starboard and then larboard counterparts. The watch continued for another two hours; the larbowlines were called and took over, allowing their mates in the starboard watch to go below for rest for as long as they could, or at least until 8:00 AM when they would be turned out again. The men going below barely heard their mates begin again the noisy process of cleaning the ship’s deck and taking their turn on the pump handles for the standard watch-and-watch pumping of Glory’s bilges.

  As two bells sounded, the single lantern was carried aloft, indicating again that all was quiet and Glory’s lookouts had sighted no other lights. The officer of the watch awaited the cry from his lookout forward, maintaining the solitary status of the three American privateers. It came.

  “Light to leeward, three p’ints abaft the beam, single light.” The third mate, who had the watch, waited for the rest of the report. When it wasn’t forthcoming, he bellowed to the tops’l yard. His high pitched nasal voice carried easily to the foretop.

  “What about a light to windward? Look sharp, man, and make your report. Do you see Freedom’s light?”

  “Nothing, sir. No lights to wind’ard ‘t all. Dark as the insides of a whale out there.” The third scratched his chin while he digested this report. He had been on deck last night before the middle watch and knew where the other ships were supposed to be. What could be have happened that Freedom wasn’t showing the requisite light from her mainmast? They had heard no gunfire, which, with Glory being to leeward of Abrams’s schooner, would have been clearly audible. The half-gale had been steady from the northeast with nary a shift for the past twenty four hours as was common in these waters. The mate could come up with no reason why the light should not be shown. He decided Captain Abrams had indeed shown the light, and the lookout on Glory had missed seeing it. He would handle the inattentive sailor personally, bringing him before Captain Smalley only if he insisted that there had been no light. He had ways of disciplining seamen that would not bother the captain, who most certainly had more important things on his mind.

  Aye, he nodded to himself, that’s what I got to do. No point in disturbing the captain or the mate for something I can handle me own self. He turned around, looking for a sailor in the watch.

  “You there, get aloft and relieve the lookout at the fore crosstrees,” the third ordered the nearest man, “and tell him to git his arse down here to me quick as ever he can.”

  The junior mate paced up and down on the quarterdeck while he waited for his orders to be carried out. He had managed to work himself into quite a rage by the time the unfortunate seaman showed up and said “Sir?”

  Third Mate Phineas Tillet turned and began berating the man standing before him. His small eyes burned with fury at this man who was trying to make him look bad, and in this, his first cruise as a mate. He pointed an overlarge nose at his hapless victim.

  “You slab-sided fool. Your momma know she give birth to a blind boy? Any idiot could o’ seen that light from Freedom. Why, lookouts been seein’ them lights all night long. Why’d you miss it now, on my watch? You know which way is for’ard, lad? And wind’ard? All you hadda do was look. I don’t think Cap’n Abrams decided not to show a light just acause you was on watch. I’m gonna keep you up there the rest o’ the watch, and most o’ the day’s well. Your eyes gonna be burned out lookin’ inta that sun all day,
and by suppertime, by the Almighty, you’ll…”

  “Light for’ard, half a point to wind’ard. Single…now there’s another…showin’ above the first.” The cry from lookout on the foremast silenced all conversation for a heartbeat. A ship, potentially a prize, had been seen by Freedom’s lookouts, and from the position of the lights, to the weather of all the ships. Third Mate Tillet changed his course abruptly, regaining his voice and galvanized his watch into action.

  “You there, messenger, respects to Cap’n Smalley, and there’s the signal sighted from Freedom showin’ a vessel to her wind’ard.” Raising his voice to the men perched high up the mainmast, he shouted, “Show two lights to leeward, to Bill o’ Rights, second atop the first. In the waist, there. Shake out that reef in the fores’l, and look lively ‘bout it. Call the watch below. All hands on deck to make sail.”

  The action on Glory was duplicated by the men on Bill of Rights as the two schooners came alive. There was little noise save the cracking of canvas as sails were hoisted, and a brief snapping and popping as an over eager quartermaster began bringing Glory’s head closer to the wind before being ordered to do so and before the heavers in the waist were ordered to “trim ‘er, oh…heave together, now”. A quick correction by the third eased the ship back off a trifle and the sails filled with a satisfying whoomp.

  Captain Smalley appeared silently on the quarterdeck, taking in the action going on around his ship in a glance. He saw Tillet had the watch, and while he knew his third mate was a fine sailor, he was a little green in his role of ship’s officer, and would bear some watching as Glory came to life at the hands of her well-trained sailors.

  “Mr. Tillet, I assume you have called the watch below to make sail. Did you signal Captain Stebbins to leeward?” Smalley was pretty sure the answer would be “Aye” to both, but his skill and attentiveness could not let the questions go unasked. He was not disappointed, and noted with some satisfaction that already the recently relieved watch was climbing out of the hatches, and were being directed by Mr. Halladay to their sail handling positions. He soon felt the schooner respond to her greater sail area, and quietly spoke to the man at the wheel.