The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Page 27

  Before Isaac could respond, Frank Key was back, his face wreathed in smiles. And he was accompanied by Midshipman “Runt” who drew himself up to his full five-foot height as he approached. A tall, elderly man, dressed in none-too-fresh civilian clothes, brought up the rear.

  “In the absence of Admiral Cochrane, General Ross and Admiral Cockburn have authorized you…gentlemen,” the young man stumbled on the word as though getting it out was an effort, “to return to your vessel.” The Americans, to a man, brightened and Midshipman “Runt” went on before any could exclaim. “However, the boat shall remain secured to Tonnant, astern, as she is now, and you will be accompanied by a cadre of His Majesty’s Marines. Just to ensure you remain with us until we have finished our work here.” He showed a mirthless grin, delighting in the rise and fall of the men’s hopes. It was more a grimace than a smile, showing a broken row of uneven teeth, the gaps between several a testimonial to the surgeon’s skill, which did little to enhance his already gnome-like appearance.

  The young officer-in-training went on. “The bosun will see that the boat is hauled alongside without delay. And I might add…gentlemen…it has been a pleasure having you aboard His Majesty’s Ship Tonnant. I am hopeful we will meet again – after Baltimore has fallen.” The little midshipman strutted away, filled with his own sense of importance.

  “At least the company’ll be better. Be right interesting to see how the – what did he call ‘em, Isaac? a ‘cad-ray’? – the Marines, I mean – take to spending time with ol’ Carronade. Oughtta keep ‘em entertained right nice.” Jack was already heading for the ladder to the spar deck.

  True to his word, the bosun had a dozen and more sailors, idlers, Isaac reckoned, hauling on the heavy hawser attached to the bow of the sloop, and the dog aboard it, awakened by the movement, reprised his earlier concerto of barks and growls.

  “You ain’t leavin’ us, Isaac? Cain’t believe you coves would rather be on that little boat than nice an’ dry – ” Wallace smiled at his own joke, seeing the sodden jackets and trousers on the Americans, and continued with hardly a pause. “…and with all this lot for company – here on the finest of ‘is Majesty’s Navy!” Wallace had happened by and seen the sloop being dragged alongside. He watched with the crew as the sloop was secured alongside the British two-decker.

  “Well, Wallace, it ain’t we’re actually leavin’, exactly. And we will have some of your marines for company, since the general,” Isaac nodded in a generally aft direction, “don’t seem to think we’d want to stay close aboard without someone to make sure we do.” Isaac put out his hand and the British topman took it. “A great surprise to see you again, Wallace. If you cross tacks with any of them other coves I knowed on Orpheus, let ‘em know I’m still alive.”

  “Aye, and glad I am indeed to ‘ave seen you as well, Isaac. Mind you don’t get yourself ‘urt in the fightin’ what’s comin’. An’ after…”

  “’Ere, you – sailor. I am sure you must ‘ave duties to see to – and likely more important than talking to these…gentlemen. Move along now.” Midshipman “Runt” was back. Wallace glared at him, muttered something under his breath, and winked in the darkness at Isaac and his mates.

  As the men waited for their escort of marines, they noticed that the bustle of activity on the troop transports seemed to have increased and that there were dozens of large pulling boats milling around the fleet.

  “Reckon them boats is just waitin’ on a signal to go alongside and start takin’ the troops ashore. Looks like they’re some serious ‘bout this landing.” Jack looked aloft. “Leastways, it looks to be clearing some. See? You can just make out the moon behind them clouds. Folks ashore gonna be able to see ‘em comin’, I’d warrant.”

  “Isaac, you think we might be able to cut that cable and sail away? Don’t reckon a two-decker gonna come after us. And we can likely outsail any of they’s pullin’ boats, ‘specially if this breeze keeps up.” Jake Tate spoke in low tones to his captain, but Isaac was unable to respond beyond a shake of his head as a half dozen Royal Marines, apparently their guard, marched to the ship’s waist and arrayed themselves alongside the hammock netting.

  Without ceremony or so much as a ‘good evening’ from Midshipman “Runt,” the American sailors, lawyer Frank Key, Colonel John Skinner, Doctor William Beanes – for that is who the older man turned out to be – and the six Royal Marines clambered down the battens on the side of the flagship and into the sloop. And were welcomed by its keeper with a wagging tail and joyful barks – at least until the British soldiers appeared. The tail stopped and the barks turned to a most menacing growl, causing one of the newcomers to unship his musket and hold it at the ready. Isaac saw a disaster in the making and moved to head it off.

  “You leave him alone and I’d warrant he won’t bother you, save for some growls or snarls. He don’t much take to the British. Now you coves just make yourselves right at home, but I think you’d likely better stay for’ard there out of the way.” Isaac pointed at the bow of the little ship which looked even smaller after their visit aboard the eighty-gun flagship. The sloop’s hawser was paid out and again she returned to her position astern of Tonnant.

  “Captain Biggs,” Mister Key touched Isaac’s elbow seeking his attention. “We didn’t have the opportunity to introduce you and your men to the object of our mission. This gentleman is Doctor William Beanes of Upper Marlboro who has, until now, been held captive by Admiral Cochrane. Doctor, Captain Isaac Biggs.”

  “I am indeed happy to make your acquaintance, Captain. And thank you for bringing Colonel Skinner and my good friend Frank out to rescue this tired old doctor. I should be hard pressed to know how I would have survived much longer as a prisoner.”

  Hands were shaken and introductions made to by Isaac to Jack and Jake. The other Americans were forward, seeing to some none-too-happy Royal Marines.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jared Talbot, was overseeing a handful of his flotillamen as they labored shifting shot and powder at Fort Covington, where Addison and most of his men were indeed ‘laid low’ by some illness. The fort, sited on a point across from Ridgely’s Cove, could fire over both water and the land behind Fort McHenry. It commanded a clear view of the harbor and, beyond it some eight or nine miles, North Point. During the brief period of daylight when the rain had stopped, he and his sailors could see the masts of the British fleet as it came to anchor off the point, and more clearly – even through the rain – the bombardment fleet as the frigates and bomb ships took up their positions only a few miles away.

  “I reckon you’ll be lookin’ out for Isaac and ‘em what took them two coves out there eh, Jared?” Bill Andrews came up behind Talbot and spoke softly to the tall back with the braid reaching down its length. The two men had sailed together since before the war, when they ran sharp-built schooners up and down the Bay.

  “Aye, you can bet on that, Bill.” Talbot spoke without looking around. His huge paws rested on the embrasure which provided the gunport for a long eighteen-pounder. “Shoulda been back by now, I’da thought. ‘Specially since them ships out there off North Point gotta be most of the fleet and, I’d warrant, one of ‘em’ll be Cochrane’s flagship.” The lights of the British fleet winked dimly in the dark, competing with the few stars that managed to appear from time to time through the thin overcast.

  “Maybe the British took ‘em as prisoners – wouldn’t let ‘em leave. Or mayhaps that ‘truce flag’ that agent cove had didn’t answer and they got took under fire.” Bill Andrews was never one to look for a silver lining.

  The acting commodore turned and studied his friend and mate. After a prolonged silence he managed to produce a grunt in acknowledgment of the remark, but preferred not to dwell on it. After another moment he spoke. “Reckon they’ll turn up after whatever the Royal Navy got in mind for us is done with. Less’n o’ course they grabbed that doctor they was after and made a run over to the Eastern Shore. No tellin’ what mighta happened.” He tur
ned and cast one more glance toward the harbor, taking in the smaller ships anchored at about four or five miles distant, as well as the larger ones – the transports and most likely the flagship – anchored almost hull-down off North Point. Then, followed by Andrews, Talbot made his way past the row of guns, speaking to each of the crews as he passed.

  Most were flotillamen and included a significant number of the men who had arrived with Isaac and Jack some ten days earlier. They were unused to manning batteries on land, preferring instead the flexibility and maneuverability of their gunboats. It didn’t seem quite right to most that they should be stationary targets for the British gunners they would be facing – even with the thick stone and mortar walls that surrounded the fort.

  “Say, Jared. We gonna be stuck here – or we gettin’ back to the boats so’s we kin fight proper?”

  “Aye, what about it Jared? We’re sailors! This job o’ work here is fer them army and militia coves.”

  “When you figger they’s likely to start shootin’, Jared? You think they can reach us from out yonder? Looks like pretty long range to me!”

  “I reckon we’ll know when they start shootin’, Ike. You just set there and wait – an’ stay awake. If’n them ships yonder decide they’s gonna come in closer, we gotta be ready to turn ‘em around.” Jared raised his voice so all could hear. “You men. Hear me now. I’d warrant McHenry’s gonna be takin’ most of the firin’, but this battery and the one there,” he pointed in the dark toward the battery known as Babcock, “gonna be right important if’n the fort cain’t hold ‘em – or if’n the British try to get round the back in boats. You got to keep a sharp lookout and stay alert. No tellin’ when this scrap is gonna get started, but I don’t reckon we’ll have to wait long. And I’d wager they’re gonna give us everything they got.”

  His short speech was received with somber nods and a few anxious looks toward the dark harbor. A few of the men looked around and at each other, as if looking for a way out. But nobody left.

  Talbot and Andrews continued moving around the battery, answering questions and trying to maintain their men’s spirits. Both felt, as many did, that a shore-side battery was not where they wanted to be – especially with an entire fleet of gunboats anchored barely a musket shot distant, but this is where Rodgers wanted them, and by God, this is where they’d stay – and fight.

  The American sailors enjoyed a sleepless night as they kept a “sharp lookout” and milled about the modest fort talking and smoking. The rain began again during the small hours of the morning, soaking most of the men since the limited cover available provided scant shelter. Not long after dawn had eased the black night into a gray day and the men had been fed their breakfast of burgoo and chocolate, someone heard the first sounds of conflict. Faint, to be sure, but carried on the wet easterly breeze, came the unmistakable sounds of musket and artillery fire.

  “Sounds like they’s fightin’ over to the east, Jared. You reckon the British’ll put troops ashore there like they done in Benedict?” One of the sailors who had come to Baltimore with Biggs and Clements spoke. “I seen ‘em at Bladensburg an’ if’n they put them same Marines ashore here, I reckon they can go anywhere they’s wantin’ to go. The militia sure ain’t gonna stand up to ‘em! Them so’jers’re the same ones what was fightin’ against that Frog cove – what’s his name – Boney some-such or other.”

  “Well, sailor, I wouldn’t be too sure about that; Commodore Rodgers put a whole passel of regular troops as well as militia out yonder towards the east and south. Reckon that’s what we’re hearin’. ’Cordin’ to what the commodore told me just a few days back, we got plenty of men and artillery out there and they’s set to stop the Royal Marines comin’ in from North Point. Gotta be right hard for all of ‘em out there, movin’ through the mud and this damn rain. But what’s goin’ on over to North Point ain’t my concern. Them ships yonder is all we got to worry about – at least for now.”

  Indeed, “them ships yonder” had come no closer nor had any fired a shot. And this troubled Jared. Why hadn’t they come in some and begun the bombardment which they were clearly planning? He called Bill Andrews over to where he stood in the drizzle watching the fifteen or sixteen ships that he could see well out of range of both his guns and those at Fort McHenry.

  “This waitin’s takin’ it’s toll on the men, Jared,” Andrews said when he showed up. He, too, looked out at the ships positioned to menace, but as yet, not do harm to the forts or the city. “You figger they’re just a…what was the word…distraction, yeah, that’s the one. Tryin’ to make us think they’s gonna fire on us and while we’re watching them, they come in from the shoreside astern and catch us lookin’ the other way.”

  “Could be, Bill. Mayhaps that’s what’s actin’ over to North Point. We might never see a Redcoat; them English Marines could just march theirselves right down the point and into the city without no problem. ’Ceptin’ for the army and militia what’s out there. I’d be willin’ to wager that them soldiers what’s comin’ down the point gonna run into something they ain’t expectin’ – ‘specially after Washington. ’Cordin’ to what I’ve seen round here, these folks is some riled up and they’s gonna fight. You mark my words, Bill Andrews, this scrap ain’t over by a long shot, and them ships out there ain’t just there to look pretty – or scare us into surrendering.” Talbot was clearly as anxious as his men, and it came through in his voice. But he believed to the very core of his being that what happened in the capital would not happen in Baltimore.

  All day sporadic firing could be heard, carried on the still easterly but now drier breeze, as fighting continued on the eastern approaches to the city. But still the British ships remained passively anchored just a few miles off of Fort McHenry, maddeningly just out of range of the fort’s guns.

  As the flotillamen of Fort Covington were sitting down to their supper – if the scant rations available could be called such – a rider rode in on a lathered horse.

  “Message for Commodore Talbot from Commodore Rodgers here. One of you Talbot?”

  Jared identified himself and took the proffered letter from the civilian who immediately remounted and spurred the tired horse back toward the city.

  “What’s it say, Jared? We done? We can get back to our boats and go after them bastards out there?” Hopeful thoughts which they all, including their commander, shared.

  “Don’t look like it, lads. What this says is that the militia and army coves under General Stricker seen action most of the day and held. They are fallin’ back toward the city, but it ain’t a rout and looks like the British had a high butcher’s bill. Says here they lost they’s head general – some cove named Ross.”

  Silence greeted his words while the men digested their import. Almost as one, the sailors broke out in a lusty round of huzzahs at the first good news they’d heard. Maybe this wouldn’t reprise Washington, after all. Talbot ordered a small cask of beer opened to allow his men to toast the success. Smiles and an uneasy good humor flooded over the little fort and brave epithets taunting the British vessels were uttered. And eventually, all but the watch found restless sleep under the still threatening sky.

  No one was still asleep at about five in the morning when one of the lookouts found Commodore Talbot standing under an overhang of the roof on the brick magazine, one of the few dry places still available after the rain had again begun its noisome torment just past midnight.

  “Looks like something’s actin’ out there, Jared. Hard to see through this damn rain, but it sure looks like some few of them ships is movin’ closer.”

  Talbot followed the sailor to the wall and peered through the wet darkness. After a moment, he turned, nodding. “Aye, that it does. Them smaller ones is closer by half. And still comin’. Rig them signal lights to let the fort know. They probably seen ‘em their own selves, but it cain’t hurt. And find Andrews.”

  “Reckon it’s gonna be startin’ right quick, now, eh, Jared? Looks like some of them rocket ves
sels have moved up closer.” Andrews appeared and stood beside his commodore, staring out the gunport at the slowly approaching ships.

  “And maybe a bomb ship inta the bargain. Lookee there – that one to the east. Looks bigger ‘an them other two. Must be a bomb ship. Get the men ready; load the guns – use cold shot – and get the linstocks lit. They’ll likely try McHenry first, but we might as well be ready.

  Talbot moved restlessly around the small enclosure, making sure the men were at ease, but paying attention, and that the cannon were loaded as he had instructed. In the pre-dawn darkness, he could make out few faces, save those near the now glowing slow-matches. Those faces, he saw, were drawn and tight, showing the concern at being stationary targets, clearly a difficult lot for men used to the mobility of ships.

  The sky continued to lighten and once again the rain had eased its relentless soaking. Under a desultory drizzle, the British ships were plainly visible as they came to their anchors barely two miles off Whetstone Point. The flotillamen at Fort Covington, as well as their army and militia counterparts at McHenry and Babcock Battery, crouched behind their cannon, keeping the long barrels trained on the encroaching fleet of rocket launching ships and their bomb firing sisters. An occasional glance at McHenry showed Armistead’s huge American flag waving weakly in the light breeze.

  One of the frigates, HMS Cockchafer, had detached itself from the afterguard and, as the men watched, she moved through the re-anchored fleet and came to her own anchor. They could plainly see the cable was rigged with spring lines which would allow her crew to turn the ship, bringing her broadside to bear regardless of the wind direction.

  After watching and waiting, the broadside was almost a relief; with synchronous perfection, the entire fleet – those which had moved in close to the shore – delivered their thunderous greeting. Buildings trembled from the blast and though bombastic to the extreme, little damage, save to the walls of Fort McHenry, was wrought on the city. People rushed to rooftops – the same ones from which they had witnessed the distant glow of Washington’s flames – to see the battle.