A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 29
“Drink this down, sir. It’ll likely fix you up jest fine. Gonna be a fine day, good breeze and once she backs around to the nor’west, we’ll be seein’ flatter seas.” The acting first smiled at the young man. The color had returned to Blanchard’s face, and he no longer found it necessary to maintain his grip on the backstay.
“Thank you, Mister Clements. I’ll expect I’ll be able to get a sun line presently and work out a latitude for us. We must have made a fair piece to the south during the storm. I collect you have sent lookouts aloft?” A nod from the former bosun indicated he was still ahead of the younger man, but his eyes crinkled at the comers as he smiled at the midshipman’s return to command.
Clements turned and headed forward to oversee repairs to the minor storm damage the schooner had sustained in the early morning hours. He passed the gunner, Tim Conoughy, checking the vessel’s single four-pounder cannon lashed down amidships.
“Everything righty-o with your toy gun, Tim? Surely glad that little fellow was lashed tight last night; woulda made a hell of a mess if she’da broke loose.”
“Aye, Mister Clements. ’Pears she weathered that recent bit o’ unpleasantness just fine, by me lights. I was just awonderin’ now we’re out, where’re we gonna get us back in? I mean, if we’re out ’ere to tell other vessels bout the blockade, what’re we tellin’ ’em ’bout where to go?"
“Don’t you worry none ’bout that, Tim. Mister Blanchard got it all figgered out. Said somethin’ ’bout New York or Connecticut, depending on where we could get in.”
“Aye, an’ it’s righty-oh you are. I guess it ain’t for me to worry bout. It’s surely a puzzle to Missus Conoughy’s boy though why I can not get meself on a vessel with some guns. Seems they ain’t been but a moment or two when I coulda done some good ever since I left the service of the King. Thought I was gonna be righty-oh on that frigate, and now this. What ’appens when we get to New York or the other place you mentioned?”
“Reckon they’ll tell us then, Tim. Right now, we got other things to get done. Think that little gun’ll fire if’n we need her?”
“Aye, she’ll be a firin’, for all the good it’ll do. One gun…and a wee little four-pounder inta the bargain...what do they ’spect me to do with this?” This last was under his breath. Tim had volunteered for the berth on the schooner, but was beginning to have doubts. Well, at least he was at sea, and not holed up in Norfolk with all them other coves. And he might get a real warship that might even get to sea when they got into wherever it was Clements said.
The wind backed later that afternoon, and as Clements had predicted, flattened the waves as it filled in from the northwest. The sunset, when it came, was brilliant red, orange, and violet and turned the clouds remaining from the storm into an artist’s palette; the colors reflected onto the sea, giving the steady ground swell an eerie, molten appearance.
They sailed to the north, keeping a sharp look out for any vessels –American to warn, and British to run from; the crew fell into a comfortable routine. And Jonas Blanchard ran a taut ship. He knew he had a fine crew, and looked to this commission as his stepping stone to lieutenant.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Tina/Visual Xpressions
William H. White is a maritime historian, sailor, and former Naval officer with combat service. He lives and sails in New Jersey.
A Press of Canvas, his first novel, was born out of his love for history and the sea.
Visit seafiction.net to view additional information on the author and his books. Follow Mr. White on twitter@1812war.