A Press of Canvas: Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy Read online

  He was right; the storm continued to deepen as he alternately stood by the helmsmen and paced up and down the quarterdeck. The captain had apparently decided to hold the sails currently deployed, at least for the time being, trying to make up some of the time lost in the calm; his orders to the watch were quite explicit and woe to the mate that countermanded them without damn good reason! Shortly before he was scheduled for relief, Jakes saw two of his maintopmen appear by the covered area abaft the deckhouse where the waisters and idlers were allowed to shelter in bad weather. Watching them for a minute or two, he realized they were arguing about something; hearing what was out of the question. Then he saw one of the men turn toward him and shout something; the wind carried the words away as soon as they were out of his mouth, but their implication was clear.

  Ben Jakes had some unsavory characters in his watch and had found them useful in carrying out some of his less-than-honest chores. Those same men also found that Jakes could be helpful to them on occasion as well, and the resulting symbiotic relationship was usually at cross purposes with the goals of the captain and the owners. On a ship the size of Anne, many of these “deals” and goings-on were known throughout the fo’c’sle and mates’ mess, but it was often better to ignore things that didn’t affect you if you wanted to avoid an “accident.” The captain and first mate suspected that Jakes was behind some of the problems they had experienced in the six months since he joined the ship, but none were as yet serious enough to override the fact that he was a very good seaman, and could be counted on to act properly when the situation required it. His primary “business,” so far, appeared to be selling ships’ stores and extra equipment ashore, and while it certainly was not desirable, it was common enough practice in both the merchant fleet and the Navy that it could be overlooked for now. If it developed into a greater problem, he could be paid off and put ashore.

  Raising his voice over the increasing whine of the wind as he moved toward the two, Jakes shouted, “What are you two lubbers doin’ hangin’ about back here? You’re s’posed to be for’ard.” One of the men, an older topman with a natural sneer to his face shouted back, “ We can get there quick as ever you please should we be needed there, but we wanted to have a word with you.”

  They stepped into the deckhouse to continue the conversation at a more moderate tone. “Well, here I am. Have yer word.”

  “Biggs is gettin’ to be more of a problem than ever. He was mentioning again to the first this afternoon that a lot of his spare line and blocks was gone missin’ and that idler, Billy, ‘at works as the captain’s steward was standin’ right there with his ears flappin’ like wings. We wouldn’t want our “business” to get snuffed by a nosy mate. If Billy happens to mention it in front of Cap’n Smalley, Clark mightn’t have a choice but to close us down and God knows what else. What do ya think?”

  “I think Biggs might have an accident aloft. There’s some dirty weather makin’ up tonight and my guess is the tops’ls and courses will have to be reefed during the evening watch. I’ll…” Before he could finish the thought, Joe O’Malley appeared on the ladder, heading for the quarterdeck where he expected to find Jakes awaiting relief from his watch. A look passed between Jakes and his men that said, “He heard it all – now what?”

  O’Malley instead spoke up and said, “I figgered you’d be aft, Ben. What are you doin’ in here? A little weather botherin’ you?”

  “Just chasin’ these two back up for’ard, Joe. And you needn’t worry ‘bout me and weather; I seen more than most. You here to take the watch now?” The menace in the third’s growl was clear. Ignoring the tone, O’Malley moved on, speaking over his shoulder to Jakes.

  “Aye. Let’s get on with it before it gets any worse out there. I wouldn’t want you to have to stay out in this any longer than necessary.” They stepped outside, Jakes ignoring the jibe, accompanied by the two topmen who, with a look at Jakes, disappeared forward. O’Malley led the way to the quarterdeck, and turned when he got to the binnacle. “What was that all about?” he said. “You doin’ ‘business’ at sea now? I thought you only traded in port. I would mind me ways at sea; there’s no place to lay up if it gets stormy, if you get my drift.”

  “I would keep me nose in me own damn business, were I you, Joe O’Malley” snarled Jakes. “You gonna relieve me or stand there spoutin’?”

  “You’re relieved. But I’ll warrant I see you again before the middle watch. We’ll be shortenin’ down, way this wind’s risin’, is my guess.”

  Jakes turned and moved forward, going around the deckhouse to the pin rail at the foot of the mainmast where his two sailors waited. “Well?” asked the older of the two, who had assumed the role of spokesman for these two miscreants.

  Jakes studied his crony for a moment before responding. “He’s thinking he knows more ‘n he does. Don’t worry about him. I think that foretopman, Biggs, is going to have to be taken care of though. Maybe I should have a word with one of his men later. If this weather holds, it’s just possible that Biggs might have an accident while he’s out on the foretops’l yard. That’ll ease his sheets and at the same time cut us some slack with Clark. O’ course, we’ll be ashore in a couple of days, and sometimes men have trouble when they’re drinkin’ and carousin’; anything might happen.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Preparation for Trouble

  Having resolved the matter in his own mind, Jakes moved forward and, ducking the occasional green water and now almost constant spray flying down the main deck, headed for the fo’c’sle hatch and a sailor on whom he thought he might depend for help in Biggs’ crew of foretopmen.

  Entering the crew’s berthing area just forward of the galley, Jakes looked around, trying to pierce the gloom and smokiness. The contrast of the atmosphere in the fo’c’sle with that which he had just left on the main deck was dramatic; the air was close and fetid, filled with smells of food recently consumed, burned whale oil from the lamps, unwashed, sweaty bodies and smoke from the cheap tobacco most seamen used. The creaking and groaning of the ship could be heard more clearly down here, without the screaming of the wind. In less boisterous weather, the water rushing past the bows made a comforting, restful noise which a landsman might favorably compare with a mountain stream. The noise heard now from the water meeting the bow was anything but comforting, and would be, to a landsman, positively distressing!

  Jakes checked the few hammocks swinging with the roll of the ship without success. His man was not here; Biggs, however, was, and he and Jakes saw each other through the fog of the cramped space. There were no words spoken; it wasn’t necessary. Biggs, while able to get along with just about anyone, could barely tolerate Jakes, whose dirty dealings and underhandedness had no place aboard a ship, and were certainly not what Biggs would seek in an officer were he in a position to choose – which of course he was not. Jakes, jealous of Biggs’ favor with the other mates, and more particularly the captain, had a burning desire to be rid of him, or make him look incompetent in any way he could. He didn’t like being compared to an able bodied seaman and coming up short in the comparison. With a snort of disgust at not finding his man – or at finding Biggs – Jakes turned and left the forward living compartment. He stopped in the galley to scrounge some leftovers from the pensioner serving as cook on this voyage, and found Billy, the ship’s boy, helping him clean up.

  “Billy,” he said. “Run up on deck quick as ever you can and see if you can find Reese for me. Tell him to meet me at the foot of the foremast. And step lively!”

  The boy ran out, heading for the ladder and leaving Cook to finish the clean up. Needless to say, Cook was not pleased at having his helper taken from him. Being old, and a veteran of numerous passages including six ‘round the Horn, Cook had seen mates like Jakes time and again; they never came to any good, and usually had to “lead” their men from behind with a starter or rope’s end. If Jakes was looking for Reese, Cook thought to himself, there was something in the wind that wouldn’t do an
yone but Jakes any good. Not wanting to get on the bad side of the short tempered third mate, Cook said nothing, but thought he might mention his premonition to Mr. O’Malley or Mr. Clark when next he saw one or the other.

  Third Mate Ben Jakes left the galley gnawing absently on a piece of hardtack; he did not see the look Cook threw in his wake, and had he, probably would not have cared a whit. He seemed impervious to the hate and discontent he routinely aroused in both the foredeck sailors and his fellow ship’s officers. Stepping out on deck again, he realized that, even in his short absence, the weather had deteriorated; green water was rolling down the deck with more frequency and violence. The wind had increased noticeably, and the lee bulwark was just inches from being continually awash. Glancing aloft as he worked his way aft to meet Reese, he saw the courses and tops’ls straining at their buntlines and sheets. The braces on the yards were stiff as iron bars and the mainyard had the beginnings of a bow in each end. Shortening down was going to come quicker that he had guessed. Good thing the carronades already been secured, he thought. I better tell Cook to get some weather cloth around the livestock. Deck’s gonna be under water, these waves keep buildin’. He wrinkled his nose as he passed to leeward of the pen holding some chickens, a couple of pigs, and several lambs. Even with the breeze up, the odor emanating from the “floating barnyard” was strong. The animals stirred nervously, huddling together as the lambs bleated soulfully, sensing as they did the worsening weather.

  It was full dark now, and the low flying clouds obscured any light that might have come from the heavens. Rain was beginning to fall, blowing horizontally in the howling gale and mixing with the salt spume in the air; it was getting on towards being a really dirty night! He saw Reese standing just aft of the foremast, his canvas jacket buttoned to his chin, and a raggedy tarpaulin cap pulled down low over his face. His bare feet seemed rooted to the deck, and his natural seaman’s ability to adapt to the motion of the ship allowed him to stand in the scant shelter offered by the foremast without so much as resting a hand on the pin rail next to his hip. Indeed, his wiry form seemed adequately protected by the girth of the mast, though his tarred braid stood off to leeward as the occasional gust of wind caught it. Reese wiped a small, almost delicate hand across his face, momentarily ridding his stubbled cheeks and close-set eyes of the mixture of rain and spray.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Jakes?” Reese’s unnaturally high pitched voice seemed to carry clearly in spite of the noises surrounding them. “I was just thinkin’ we’re gonna be shortenin’ down right quick now. I was hanging here on deck cuz Biggs likes us to be first aloft when a sail change is called. I noticed the captain aft talkin’ to Mr. O’Malley just now; hadda be ‘bout reefin’ tops’ls and courses. If this keeps gettin’ worse we’re…”

  The last thing Jakes wanted to hear was that O’Malley and the captain were deep in conversation; had O’Malley mentioned what he had overheard from Jakes and his two sailors?

  “Shut up Reese, and listen to me.” Jakes’ growl provided a strange counterpoint to the nasal whine from Reese, and he raised his voice even though he was practically touching the foremast jack. “You can even an old score tonight if you’re up to it. You might even get to be captain of the foretop – you will if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Biggs is captain o’ the foretop, Mr. Jakes. You know that. I shoulda been; I got more time aloft than he’s got at sea, but the first picked him when the Swede paid off in Boston.”

  “That’s just the old score I was thinkin’ of, Reese. If something were to happen to Biggs when we’re reefing tops’ls later on, like a weakened becket up there, he might just go overboard. I’d see to it that you were named to replace him. It would be a big help to me.” His conspiratorial smile, and a wink from under the brim of his hat put one in mind of a shark about to enjoy a tasty meal. “There’s always room for one more hand in some of my business dealings ashore, but I need someone I can trust and count on to help me when I ask. Think you might be…”

  His words were cut off by a particularly violent gust of wind-driven rain and spume followed by the ship lurching so hard that both men grabbed for the pin rail to steady themselves.

  “I sure would like to be captain of the foretop, like I deserve, Mr. Jakes, but if you’re askin’ me to pitch Biggs overboard, I don’t think I kin do that. He ain’t a bad sort, and he is a pretty fair hand.”

  “You wouldn’t be pitching him overboard, you muddle-headed lubber!” Jakes started backwatering, realizing he might have picked the wrong man to enlist in his plot. He had to convince this man to become a confederate now that he had tipped his hand. Accomplishing his objective without Reese would not be impossible, but it wouldn’t do to have Reese talking to his shipmates about the third’s murderous intentions. Having gone this far, Jakes had to either enlist his assistance or ensure that Reese did not share his new insight to the third mate’s mindset with any of his shipmates.

  “Listen, Reese, all you have to do is cut one of the beckets up on the foretops’l yard – not all the way through – just enough so it won’t hold him when he puts his arm through it. The weather’ll take care of the rest, and since you’ll be at the other end of the yard, you’ll be clear of it, if someone asks. He might not even use a becket, if he holds the jackstay. You know that men fall from yards in bad weather from time to time. Hell, I’d bet you even saw it more ‘n’ once.”

  A cloud passed over Reese’s face as the memory of just such an incident came to his mind. Jakes watched him carefully and realized he could lose his complicity if he allowed his conscience to bubble up anymore. Reese spoke again, before the third could seize the initiative.

  “Mr. Jakes, I can’t do what you want. You’re right. I’ve seen men fall from the yards. One fell who was right next to me on the main tops’l yard on the old Pride out of New York, back in the year four, I think it was. I watched him grab for the mainyard footrope as he fell and missed. He landed on the pinrail and I still ‘member the sound when he hit; the cap’n said he broke his back. No sir, I wouldn’t want to see that again. You better find yourself another foremast jack to cut that becket.”

  Jakes realized Reese was about to turn and end the discussion. He had to do something to get his help, or climb up to the tops’l yard himself and cut a becket. He could handle that easily, and, he realized, should have done so from the outset. Now he had to do it himself, and on top of it, he had a sailor who knew of his intention to cause Biggs to have an accident. “Reese! Just keep in mind you could have something go wrong up there too…’specially if someone hears about our words here.”

  Reese staggered away toward the forward hatch, timing his movements to match those of the ship as she labored through the now heavy seas. The third mate watched him disappear in the rain and spray, then moving carefully over to the windward shrouds, swung up onto the ratlines, heading for the foreyard and a becket that needed to be dealt with.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tragedy Strikes

  “All hands on deck!” The first mate and Second Mate O’Malley were hollering down the hatches, rousing the men to heave out and get topside. Since the watch was about ready to change, it being nearly midnight, the men were quicker on deck than might have been expected. However, they were still rubbing the sleep from their eyes and hitching up their trousers. Shoes were not an issue; most were barefoot and had the splayed and callused feet to show for long periods of shoeless sea time. Shoes and boots were for going ashore, and for use at sea only in the colder parts of the globe.

  The captain’s appearance on the quarterdeck shortly before had precipitated the call. As was his habit, he spent most of the dark hours when the weather was making up or already bad on the quarterdeck. He trusted the seamanship of his mates, but it was his ship and his responsibility. He was known to have taken a turn at the wheel from time to time just to “see how she felt,” particularly after a sail change. Like most men of his experience, he truly believed that a properly tri
mmed and managed ship would “talk” to a knowledgeable seaman through her wheel, and like many captains, had favorites among the seamen qualified to steer. In touchy situations he would tell the mate which he wanted; this night might yet become one of those situations, but for the moment, any four men qualified to handle the big wheel would suffice. The wind and resulting seas had picked up to the point where two were required on each side of the big helm just to keep Anne on course without shivering the sails, or worse, backing one or more, as the wind fluked around a couple of points either side of east.

  Dirty ain’t in it, he thought as the leeward rail scooped up another wave and rolled it down the lee side of the deck nearly waist-deep. The wind had increased its wail to a constant scream now, and the low racing clouds totally obliterated any possible light from stars or moon. The spray whipping down the deck had some sting to it and maintaining footing was getting to be more and more difficult, even to the experienced hands in Anne. The new men, mostly landsmen who had given up farming or store keeping to go to sea, found it impossible to move down the deck without holding on to the safety lines Clark had had rigged earlier in O’Malley’s watch. Additionally, since this was the first really bad weather to hit them since they left Boston, many were feeling its effects. Captain Smalley had seen several earlier in the watch chasing a yard of puke to the rail. This night’ll give ‘em their sea legs, or they’ll never get ‘em, he thought. Fortunately, most of the men who would be working aloft were all good hands and he had confidence in their ability to do their jobs while maintaining one hand for themselves and one for the ship.

  In response to the orders Smalley had issued moments before to Sam Clark, the mates were sending men to their positions for shortening sail – again. He would see how his ship rode under the shortened sail before he would significantly alter course to scud before the storm, or heave to. They were still more or less making their heading, and if he could safely continue, they would make St. Bartholomew in good time, in spite of the two days lost to the calms. He would shorten more than was necessary, leaving a stays’l up for’ard as an acknowledgment of the essentially beam winds. He heard Clark’s whistle as the men assembled at their assigned positions.