The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Read online

  Jared, helping him with the sail, didn’t interrupt and finished securing the big sail alone. After he saw the former bosun shake his head and look around him as though he were suddenly aware of his surroundings, Talbot jumped with surprising ease and grace up to the pier deck and turned back to the sloop. “You lads comin’ with me, or are you just gonna set there and take your ease?”

  “Aye, Jared. We’re with you. Where’re we goin’?” Isaac clambered up to the pier with less grace than his acting commodore, but Talbot had over a foot of height on the former topman. Scooping up the big dog with a strength well hidden in his lanky frame, Jack pushed Carronade up and followed him immediately. Jared stuck out a hand and pulled Tate up from where he had been standing on the sloop’s main boom. The dog waited, taking the opportunity to cast a look of unfeigned indignity at his master over the way he had been unceremoniously boosted onto the pier.

  “Reckon the tide’ll be in some by the time we get back. Won’t be such a climb for you little coves!” Jared couldn’t resist the opportunity and the remark was taken in stride by his smaller companions as they set off toward the head of the harbor, Carronade trotting along in their wake leaving startled looks and retreating citizens astern.

  The waterfront was packed; men in a variety of uniforms and men who’s clothes indicated they were clearly unused to physical labor worked and sweated side by side with dock workers, white and black, and sailors. Masters worked alongside of their slaves. Horses pulled carts loaded with boxes and crates, many marked as ammunition. Some ladies – obviously from a higher social strata than might be expected by their current employment – prepared food and drink, while others helped hand it out to the sweating workers.

  “Seems like they’s all lending a hand, here. And looks like they’s glad to do it.” Isaac and Jake stopped to allow a heavy cart pulled by a pair of mules to cross in front of them and Jake looked around, impressed by the effort.

  “Aye, these folks shoulda been down to Washington. Reckon it mighta come out some different, by the Almighty!”

  Jared stopped alongside his fellow captains. “Every now and again they’s a British ship what puts its bowsprit into the mouth of the river; seems to inspire the folks to lend a hand here. Course, havin’ all that militia showin’ up from everywhere under the sun helps give ‘em some confidence. Makes ‘em think they got a chance even if the damn British show up like they done down to Washington. And I reckon they do, by God; I reckon they do.”

  The four continued up the road along the wharf side, stopping frequently to give way to carts, wagons, and drilling soldiers. At one point, they passed an open area and heard clearly the cry “Board ‘em, lads. Board!” Responding to the orders were a force of about one hundred seamen, clutching muskets and running across the field. Their bare feet kicked up clouds of choking dust which, once in the air, stuck to their sweating bodies and cloaked them in layers of red dirt.

  “Those sailors yonder? They’ll likely be Commodore Rodgers men – or mayhaps Perry’s. Since they ain’t no vessel for ‘em to ship on, the Committee of Vigilance and Safety assigned ‘em to train and act like army or militia coves. Reckon they’re right glad it ain’t a permanent assignment!” Jared chuckled, both at the ill-fortune of the sailors drilling and his own good fortune for having a fleet of gunboats to occupy his time.

  Suddenly, a clamor went up behind the flotillamen. A mounted civilian, forcing his way through the throngs of people, was bellowing for them to “Clear the way!” As he drew abreast, Jack put his hand on the horse’s bridle and looked up at the rider. “What’s your hurry. These folks is doin’ they’s best to get ready to fight the enemy – maybe save your arse, should it come to that. You got no call to push ‘em around and ride through ‘em like you’re doin’.”

  “Leggo my bridle, you damn fool. I got to get word to Commodore Rodgers that the damn Royal Navy is showin’ at the mouth of the river. They’s more ‘an a couple of ships this time – and big ones on top of it. Now stand outta the way!” He kicked out viciously at Jack’s midsection. The seaman stepped back, allowing the booted foot to flail at the air, and let go of the bridle; the messenger rode off, spurring his horse into a gallop as the road in front cleared. The men watched as the horse and rider disappeared around the corner of a large building.

  “I don’t know what that cove’s so worked up about; the damn British been showin’ up out there with one ship or another for a month an’ more now. Ain’t like it’s something new. An’ I’d reckon that Commodore Rodgers, if’n he’s back by now, likely knows all about it. He’s set up a whole run of signal towers and people to man ‘em all the way from here down to the Potomac. Been reports bein’ brought in every day by the folks live over on the Bay. Firin’ ‘alert’ guns and lightin’ fires to let the people know where the ships is passin’.” Talbot was stepping along now as though he had suddenly decided on a destination and the men, especially Jake and Isaac, had almost to run to keep up with his long-legged strides.

  Jack Clements, sweating freely as he maintained Jared’s pace, spoke between gulps of the dust-laden air. “I ain’t seen anyone in a panic, Jared. These folks ain’t actin’ like they was gonna have the fight of their lives facin’ ‘em any minute now; no sir: they’re goin’ about their business like this was what they done every day. Not like them ones down to Washington. My Gawd! Them ones, what they was of ‘em left by the time the British showed up, was runnin’ every which way they might. Didn’t have no idea what was actin’ or what they oughtta be doin’. Just plain scared and showin’ it!” Clements shook his head in disgust as he recalled the horror of the British Marines marching into the Capitol unopposed, buildings and homes left abandoned as the citizenry fled in abject terror.

  “Aye, Jack. These folks here? Why they’s full disgusted with the way their ‘cousins’ down to the Capital behaved. ‘Shameful’ they’re callin’ it. Militia units and volunteers from all around the area started showin’ up here soon’s the word reached us of what had happened in Washington. Had plenty of people, just didn’t have no one to lead ‘em – least ‘til Commodore Rodgers and Cap’n Perry showed up. And they come with more’n five hundred sailors. Rodgers is the one, though. He’s the one what figgered out how to defend the city. You lads’re gonna meet him right quick, I ‘spect.” Jared never slowed the pace and soon conversation became next to impossible for the shorter-legged sailors; they gasped and panted and struggled to keep up. Even Clements became silent as all his breath was needed to stay alongside Talbot. The heat was again oppressive, with little breeze and a palpable humidity; the sky had become white, the sun just a bright spot in the high overcast.

  The road they followed took them up a hill and the sweating, dust covered sailors were greeted by even dirtier, hotter men – some stripped to the waist – wrestling long guns into firing positions on platforms behind the embankment that had quite obviously been hand built. The guns already emplaced pointed to the east rather than toward the water, and caused Clements, when he had caught his breath, to comment.

  “Somebody must be ‘spectin’ trouble from the shore side, the way these guns is pointin’.” He turned and looked out over the landscape and saw little but a few houses and the Philadelphia Road disappearing into the shimmering heat.

  “Aye, that’s exactly what Commodore Rodgers had ‘em set up for. He ain’t as sure as some that the Brits’ll only attack from the water side; he figgers it’d be just as easy for ‘em to come down from yonder with army or marine units. Oh…there’s the commodore right over there. Come on, lads. I’ll introduce you to him.” Jared, not the least out of breath from their walk, but sweating and grime covered like the others, turned and strode to the far end of the redoubt where John Rodgers was directing a group of sailors in the mounting of a long eighteen-pounder. He ignored the approaching group, maintaining his focus on the task at hand. The four new arrivals stood silently and watched as the barrel of the cannon, suspended from a crude but effective lifting frame,
was gently lowered into position and Rodgers, standing behind it, sighted down its length. Satisfied, he stood erect and greeted the flotilla commander.

  “New men, Captain Talbot? We surely can use all hands for what I reckon is comin’, by the Almighty!” All of a sudden, Rodgers noticed the huge gray dog who had found a tiny patch of shade. He had sat down to wait for the men, his tongue lolling from his open mouth.

  “Hell’s bells! Where’d that beast come from? I never seen a dog – I collect he is a dog – that big!”

  “Oh that’s just Cap’n Clements’ dog, Commodore. He seems to go everywhere with Clements, scarin’ folks what don’t know him. He ain’t a bad beast and he ain’t got no love ‘t’all for the damn British.” Talbot pointed at Jack as he spoke; the dog remained motionless and completely unconcerned with the attention. Rodgers walked over to him and, after letting the dog have a sniff of his hand, patted his head and spoke quietly to him.

  “Commodore, these here men’re from the gunboats down to the Patuxent. Just got here a week ago from Washington. Cap’n Isaac Biggs and this razee cove here, he’s Jake Tate, part of Isaac’s crew from his sloop. And you met Cap’n Jack Clements already.

  The commodore returned his attention to the men in time to see Tate smile at Jared’s comparing his lost arm to a cut-down war ship. Jake extended his left hand to the commodore. Each of the others shook hands with Rodgers in turn and, while he wiped his dripping face with a piece of dirty cloth, the commodore questioned each about their backgrounds – the dog, for the moment, forgotten.

  The men noticed that of all the workers, sailors included, at the site, Rodgers was the only one who maintained some form of uniform; his shirt, sodden and filthy, remained buttoned and his britches were still tight around his knees. His white stockings were torn and grimy, and his shoes were covered with dirt. His blue jacket, with its gold epaulettes shining dully in the flat light, was draped over the barrel of a nearby eighteen-pounder. He sized up the men before him with hard, though bleary, eyes.

  “A sloop, eh? You wouldn’t be the skipper of the black hulled sloop I was hearin’ about some months back, would you? Made quite a noise, that one did; even heard about it up to Philadelphia.” He addressed Jack Clements, who beamed at the recognition.

  “Aye. And black sails as well. That’d be me – and Isaac here. I reckon we made pests of ourselves to the Royal Navy. I’d warrant they was some glad to hear they was burned with the commodore’s gunboats just afore Washington.” Jack’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “Isaac here, he seen that Royal Navy admiral – what was his name, Isaac? Oh right, Cockburn, it was – sit there in a cutter and watched the whole damn flotilla go up in flames. But they was fired by us, not them.” The smile was gone as Clements recalled the tragedy of the lost gunboats and their handy little sloops.

  “Well, you surely was helpin’ the cause with them. And for that, I thankee most kindly. We could use a few of those sloops now.” Rodgers scratched his chin thoughtfully and looked at Talbot. “You know, I reckon there might still be a right handy vessel available. Cove named Ferguson over at Fells had one he offered to me afore I went down to Washington. When you get back down there, Jared, look him up and see if he still wants to hire it out. Be right useful to have something that can swim well for carryin’ messages and checkin’ on the progress the enemy is makin’ towards the city.”

  “Well, Isaac, if’n that vessel’s still around, I reckon that puts an answer on what you’ll be doin’ – and Jack too. You can decide who’ll skipper, but with the men we got available, I don’t imagine it’ll be a problem finding a few bodies to fill out a crew for you.” Talbot looked back at the man responsible for the defense of the city. “What you figger we gonna do with the gunboats, Commodore? I still got twenty an’ more of ‘em ‘tween Fells and Ridgely’s Coves. And crews to man ‘em. Even with half my men mannin’ guns at McHenry. And that shot and powder you had sent down to us is all loaded aboard and ready to go.”

  “We likely won’t need all of ‘em, Jared. But I want ‘em standing ready on both sides of McHenry to support the batteries there. And while I’m thinkin’ on it, you’re going to have to send some men – likely forty-five or fifty should answer – up to the battery at Fort Covington. Something’s laid most of Addison’s men low and I understand that even Captain Addison is sick as well. That battery could be real helpful if the enemy tries to get past McHenry.” Rodgers paused, thinking. He cast a glance down the hill toward the harbor and suddenly slapped his leg with his open hand.

  “Oh yes. It almost slipped my mind. On the Fells Point side, I want you to rig a boom – one just like is on the west side of the fort – between Whetstone Point and Fells. You may not have the time to make it as perfect or fancy as that one, but we need something that’ll answer there. You’ll need to have a gunboat tend it on account of it’s real likely that there’ll be a need to get some vessels out from time to time.” While he spoke, Rodgers had diagrammed in the dirt how he wanted the boom rigged. His eyes pierced the acting commodore of the flotilla and, seeing the big sailor nod, he went on. “Anything else you think might answer down there, go ahead and do. Use my authority if’n you need it.” He looked at the other three. “It was a pleasure to meet you lads and I can only wish you good luck now. Send a runner up here if you find that sloop of Ferguson’s to let me know. I imagine I’ll find a use for it – and you – afore this mess is done with.” Without further comment, Rodgers turned and gave Carronade a welcome scratch on his ears and returned his attention to the gun platforms; the interview was over.

  Jared called after him. “By the bye, Commodore. Something else you might be wantin’ to know; one of my gunboats come in the other day with some news of a scrap over to the Eastern Shore – somewhere near Tolchester, I recollect. Had quite a fight with the militia over there, and got sent packin, they done, by God! Just a week an’ more ago, it were, I’d reckon.”

  “Aye. On Caulk’s farm.” Rodgers looked at Talbot and again wiped his forehead. “Heard about it myself. Lord Peter Parker got himself killed, I heard, into the bargain. I surely won’t be sorry to have him gone from these waters! Been raidin’ and destroyin’ farms and crops all up and down the Eastern Shore. He even sailed the Menelaus frigate right up to North Point not a month ago. Didn’t land, but had a cutter out sailin’ right around the point. But that fight you heard about – that was nothin’ but a diversionary effort. Tryin’ to make us think they were going to attack in force, I’d warrant. That and keep the militia over there busy. Don’t signify, I’d wager; they’ll be comin’ here – not over yonder.” He turned his attention again to the waiting laborers.

  Suddenly, Rodgers whirled around and called to Talbot. “Say, Jared, where’s Commodore Barney got to? He down at the waterfront with the gunboats? Tell that ornery old dog I send my compliments on a fine job over to Bladensburg. Wasn’t for him and his lads I reckon the enemy woulda marched into the capital even easier than they done. His sailors and Marines were the only force that inflicted any casualties on ‘em afore they got to Washington.”

  “The commodore caught a bullet at that very fight, Commodore. ‘Cordin’ to these men what was with him there, he lost a fair share of his blood and was took prisoner by the Royal Marines. Admiral Cockburn and General Ross their selves took him. Reckon he’s either dead or in some British ship as a prisoner by now.”

  Rodgers made a sour face, shook his head, and muttering “Damn! We’re losin’ good men all too often in this scrap,” turned back to the work force as they made ready to lift another cannon barrel into position.

  Talbot looked at the sky, studying the change for a moment. “Look’s like they’s gonna be some weather comin’ in sooner than later, lads. Let’s get us back down to the Point and find that sloop the commodore was talkin’ about.”

  Indeed, the sky had gone from the bright white of the morning to a dull pewter color; the beginnings of puffy white clouds were showing to the northwest and the day seemed e
ven more oppressive than it had. As they started down the back side of the gun emplacement, a rider who had quite obviously come some distance, reined his lathered horse to an abrupt halt and jumped off, handing the reins to Isaac without a look back. He ran up the hill and made straight for Rodgers.

  “Heave to a moment, lads. Let’s see what this is all about.” Talbot stopped and walked halfway back up the embankment, while Isaac, a startled look still in place, remained holding the horse he had so unceremoniously been handed. Carronade, who had left his shady spot to join Jack and the others, sat down again, watching the horse which was pawing the ground nervously and keeping his own weather eye on the dog.

  It was only a minute of two before Jared was back and, stopping briefly where his men stood, said only, “I’ll tell you on the way down. Let’s make sail.”

  The four walked at Talbot’s pace – easier going downhill for Isaac and Jake – in silence for some time, as Jared digested what he had heard. The men knew better than to badger him; he would tell them what he had found out when he was ready. Occasionally they heard him mutter “Damn!” and they noticed that his good eye continually darted toward the harbor and beyond as they made their way through the still busy gangs of men preparing gun batteries, redoubts, and various other defenses to forestall an invasion.

  Without preamble and, in a quiet voice, Talbot spoke. “Word is, they’s fifty and more ships less’n a days sail down the Bay. That cove what rode in was from the alert tower just south of Annapolis. Less’n the breeze quits all together – or comes in more from the north – Rodgers figgers they’ll be at the mouth of the Patapsco by noon on the eleventh. By Gawd! That’s only two days from now. Lookouts said a few smaller vessels – he didn’t know what they was – sailed by last night, so it’s right likely they’ll be out there by now even. I’d warrant they’ll be scouts, lookin’ for a likely spot to land they’s troops – if landin’ is what they got in mind.