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

  Regardless of the problems of the past, the men were indeed glad that a burial service was to be held for Mr. O’Malley; a sailor left “unburied”, or without a memorial, was understood to return to the ship, haunting and bedeviling the crew. No proper captain would forget such a duty, and the men knew that Captain Smalley took such responsibilities seriously.

  Jakes, seeing that most of the crew were now here and waiting, called to Billy.

  “Billy,” he said with an attitude that befitted his assumed role of second Mate, “run down to the Cabin quick as ever you can and tell the captain and Mr. Clark the men are mustered.” His eyes darted around the ship, taking in the assembled crew and lightly brushing over the youthful messenger as if he were unworthy of the mate’s attention.

  Billy turned and dashed into the deckhouse and clattered down the ladder. He almost stumbled in his zeal to do Jakes’ bidding, and instead of knocking on the captain’s door, more or less fell against it with an embarrassing thud. Mr. Clark opened it, and realizing what had happened, smiled.

  “A simple knock will do in the future, Billy.”

  The color rose in the boy’s neck and face. He stammered out the message from the deck, and turned to go, lest he embarrass himself further.

  The captain, carrying his well-worn, dog-eared prayer book and followed by the Mate, headed topside to begin the burial at sea, but without a body to bury. Smalley wanted to get this behind them all as quickly as possible, and while he had handled this same chore many times before in the twenty-five years he had been a captain, he always dreaded it. While he was privately a religious man, and read his Bible faithfully, he wasn’t a parson, and was uncomfortable reading scripture aloud and pontificating on things spiritual. He was probably made most uncomfortable by the memory of having to say the words over the body of his captain that awful day in 1782 when he woke up in the cockpit of a navy brig with the surgeon’s mate leaning over him. The memory rushed back, as he climbed the ladder to the deck. He recalled that the body next to him was what remained of his captain, recognizable only by the tatters of the jacket on his torso. His head was gone, and much of his upper body burned. Smalley could not help but bring to mind the final moments of the exchange of broadsides with a British man o’ war, and the sight of the captain as his upper body took the full impact of a white hot “hot shot,” decapitating him in a fountain of blood and turning his shoulders into a torch that burned brightly but mercifully briefly. That was the day his hair had started going gray. He shook his head, and stepped out into the sunlight.

  At the edge of the quarterdeck, he took a minute to look at the faces of his men. He had been through some pretty nasty weather, and even an encounter or two with privateers with some of them, but he had never had to lay to rest one of their shipmates. Their faces returned his stare expectantly, and he heard the first behind him cough discreetly and clear his throat.

  Better get on with it, he thought, and began thumbing through his prayer book for the appropriate passages. When he found them, he marked them with his index finger, holding the book in two hands, and looked back at the men for whom he was captain, mother, father, judge, and occasionally parson. His normally gaunt face seemed even more drawn, his eyes deeper in their sockets.

  “Men, before we get started with the service for Mr. O’Malley, I want to tell you what a fine job you all did in the unpleasant weather we experienced the other night. Without your quick response to the mates, and your skills, so recently learned by some of you, we would not have fared as well as we did. Together, we kept Anne sailing safely, and while not always toward St. Bartholomew, we didn’t lose a lot of time over what we lost to the calms some days ago. I have heard that a foretopman almost fell during reefing that night, but since apparently no one was hurt, and as no one has come to Mr. Clark, I guess all’s well.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glance Ben Jakes directed at Biggs, who was standing with his foretopmen on the windward side; the color had briefly drained from Jakes’ face. He recovered his composure as quickly as he lost it, but the scowl that appeared on Reese’s face did not go away. The topman shifted, as though to take a step. The captain noticed Biggs put his hand on Reese’s arm, and then the moment passed; there was probably no one else on the ship, including Sam Clark, who noticed the exchange.

  “As you all know, we are here now to give Mr. O’Malley a proper burial. You are all aware that he was killed and knocked overboard while reefing the spanker the other night. There was nothing that anyone could have done to prevent it, or save him. Mr. Clark and I both believe that he was dead before he hit the water, and heaving to would have been for naught. Let us now bow our heads and put his spirit at peace.

  “God is our hope and our strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved, and though the hill be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters rage and swell and though the mountains shake at the tempest of the same.

  “There is a river, the streams whereof make glad the city of God; the holy place of the tabernacle of the Most Highest. God is in the midst of her, therefore shall she not be removed; God shall help her and that right early.

  “Be still then, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, and I will be exalted in the earth.

  “The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.

  “Out of the deep I have called unto thee, O Lord; Lord hear my voice.

  “O let thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint.

  “My soul fleeth unto to the Lord before the morning watch; I say before the morning watch.

  “O Israel, trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.

  “And he shall redeem Israel from all his sins.”

  The captain paused for a moment from his reading. He removed his spectacles, saw that he still had the attention of the men, and moved to the leeward rail of the quarterdeck. Facing the sea, he returned the spectacles to his face, checked the page in his prayer book, and raised his voice to its quarterdeck command level.

  “Remember thy servant, Joseph O’Malley, O Lord, according to the favor which thou bearest unto thy people, and grant that, increasing in knowledge and love of thee, he may go from strength to strength, in the life of perfect service, in thy heavenly kingdom…”

  “Sail ho! Fine on the windward bow”. The disembodied voice of the lookout standing in the foremast crosstrees effectively ended the service; for two or three heartbeats, even the breathing of the ship’s company stopped; the easy motion of the ship on her southerly course belied the urgency of the lookout’s words. He called out again.

  “Deck there. Sails on the wind’ard bow. Showin’ topmasts fore ‘n’ aft.”

  PART TWO

  On Board

  HMS ORPHEUS

  1810 – 1812

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Meeting at Sea

  “She’s to leeward, sir, about four leagues. Showin’ t’gallants and tops’ls.” The lookout shouted down in response to the question from Lieutenant Oliver Fitzgerald of His Majesty’s Navy. Lieutenant Fitzgerald had the morning watch on the 5th Rate HMS Orpheus sailing the Leeward Island station.

  So far this cruise had been quite unremarkable, and he hoped that perhaps this ship, seen only minutes ago from the crosstrees of the foremast, would provide some diversion, and maybe even a French prize. As the officer in charge of the forward six guns, three on the larboard side, and three on the starboard side on the weather deck, he hoped for some action. His crews needed some practice, and Captain Harry Winston, of rather parsimonious leanings, was firmly convinced that shooting at contrived targets was a waste of time and effort, not to mention shot and powder. His opinion was that crews learned fastest when someone was shooting back at them, and so spent little time in actual shooting; he did, however, have lengthy dull drills of “dumb show” wherein the great guns were run in and out to simulate firing. The crew
s, as well as his officers, did not feel this provided much benefit beyond learning the motions involved; some of the new men had never heard the crashing roar of one of the frigate’s twenty-six eighteen-pounders, not to mention the thunder of a thirty-two-pounder carronade, of which she had eight.

  “Mr. Blake, step up to the main tops’l yard, if you please, and tell me what you see.” Lieutenant Fitzgerald did not particularly care for the midshipman assigned to his watch. Blake was a good looking young man of seventeen years, well muscled and tall for his age, and quite bright. He had been at sea now for five years, first as a boy, then with an appointment to midshipman from a captain who had taken a liking to him. He most likely would pass for lieutenant in two years when the Board would hear his oral examination, and it bothered Fitzgerald that he had done well without the political connections so common in the Royal Navy. While he was loath to admit it, Lieutenant Fitzgerald would have struggled to attain masters mate without some heavy shore-side pushing by an uncle, well connected in Whitehall. He rarely missed an opportunity to send the lad aloft- usually higher than necessary – or on a fool’s errand.

  “She’s still hull-down, sir, but I can see courses fore and aft. Four leagues, I make it, and closing. It appears she’s born off some, and if we do so as well, we’ll close even faster.” Midshipman Blake further annoyed his lieutenant with the speed at which he attained his lofty perch and the completeness of his report, giving Fitzgerald little room for criticism or complaint.

  He managed, however; “When I need the instruction of a midshipman as to how to close a strange vessel, I will let you know. Until then, Mr. Blake, restrict your answers to what you were asked!”

  He added, for good measure, “Her flag, man. What flag does she show?”

  The response was immediate. “None, sir. No colors. Not even a house flag.”

  Captain Winston, a seasoned commander who had made an excellent record for both himself and HMS Orpheus, chose that moment to appear on the quarterdeck. His presence was immediately felt by all on the quarterdeck; without looking at him, the watch knew with certainty that their diminutive captain would be in full uniform, clean-shaven save for his mutton chop whiskers, and capable of instantly assessing the situation. That he was a harsh man who firmly believed in the power of the cat was offset by his superb record of taking prizes, and his well respected ability as a seaman.

  “What do we have, Mr. Fitzgerald. I assume you had already sent your midshipman to find me?” Winston raised one bushy eyebrow at the portly young lieutenant, a gesture that spoke volumes to any unlucky recipient.

  As the color rose in his face, Fitzgerald noticed beyond the captain that Midshipman Blake was about to step onto the bulwark from the main shrouds. Turning slightly, the lieutenant of the watch raised his voice and put as much authority as he could muster into it.

  “Mr. Blake, you needn’t go find the captain, as I had instructed you. He is here. Instead, find the Gunner, and have him step aft, if you please.”

  Recognizing that his lieutenant was barely competent, and that the young mid had just been aloft, Captain Winston turned to face Blake. “Mr. Blake, what is your opinion of that sail? What would you do to close with her?”

  “Sir,” Blake began to stammer. An eyebrow began to rise. Responding to the officer of the watch was one thing; responding to the captain was another one entirely, especially Captain Winston. It was unusual to have this captain address a midshipman directly, especially in front of the watch Lieutenant, and it slightly unnerved him. “I would ease sheets enough to bear off some. That would close her faster, but maintain the weather gauge in the event she was not friendly.” He saw the eyebrow return to its place, and a smile begin to play at the corners of the captain’s mouth. He gained some confidence. He went on, his words accelerating enthusiastically. “She could be an American merchant going to one of the neutrals down here.”

  “Very well, Mr. Blake. It appears that you have been learning your lessons well. Now go and fetch the Gunner, as Lieutenant Fitzgerald asked. Quickly, if you please.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald, if you agree with your midshipman, you might give the order to ease sheets, and bear off a trifle. When we’re closer but still ahead of him, we will tack the ship and maintain a position from which we can cross his bow if it proves necessary. In the meantime, let us see what we have found here. Opportunity awaits us, perhaps.”

  The sails were now plainly visible from deck, and although the ship itself was still below the visual horizon, from the maintop she would show her hull. Fitzgerald looked at the captain, picked up his long glass, and said “With your permission, sir, I will have a look myself from the maintop.” He did not wait for an answer, but moved smartly forward to the weather shrouds at the break of the quarterdeck.

  The captain watched his junior lieutenant struggle up the shrouds, noting the strain on his none-too-clean britches as he climbed slowly to the top. His strength had not kept up with his girth, and as a result, the effort expended climbing to the fighting top of the mainmast caused him to lean on the rail up there and pant for breath for a full minute before he ever put the glass to his eye. He remained on the top for longer than was probably necessary, and when his breathing returned to normal, he headed back down to the spardeck, then aft to the quarterdeck.

  The Gunner had already appeared, and was waiting patiently for Mr. Fitzgerald. The word had traveled throughout the ship very quickly, and the men were eagerly awaiting the determination that this was a potential prize. They were gathering near their battle stations, in obvious anticipation. The Gunner had his own ideas of what it was, and was ready for orders which would confirm his thoughts.

  “She appears to be a merchantman, sir. No colors, but I would guess American from the way she crowds on sail. Bark rigged. She shows gunports, but I would guess that from the stowage of the cargo on deck, that if there are any guns aboard, there is no room to work them.” Fitzgerald wiped his sweating, red face with a dirty handkerchief, feeling he had covered the subject, and waited for an acknowledgment of that opinion from his captain.

  Winston barely looked up; the eyebrow shot to the limit of its range. Almost as if to himself he spoke so quietly, his words were for the lieutenant alone. “Mr. Fitzgerald, assuming she doesn’t have, or can not serve her guns is perilous at best and suicidal at worst. Let us assume she is heavily armed until we know otherwise.”

  Once again, the red in Lieutenant Fitzgerald’s face deepened, and to mask his discomfort, he turned and walked to where the Gunner was waiting; he instructed him unnecessarily, “Gunner, have shot and powder brought on deck, and let the carpenter and bosun know that we will be tacking and then clearing for action, if you please.”

  Orpheus was now bearing down rapidly on the ship under her lee bow. The vessel was clearly visible from deck and had herself born off to improve her speed. While fast, she proved an unequal match for Orpheus and in time, the two ships were almost within the range of an eighteen pounder. Watching the relative position of the two ships, the captain waited until he felt the time was right and spoke quietly to the officer of the watch.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald, we will tack the ship, if you please. And do it smartly as we must hold our position on her windward bow after we have reversed course.”

  Fitzgerald barked to the Bosun, who having heard the captain’s words had already started forward. “Bosun, stations for stays, if you please. Clew up the main course, and smartly now.”

  Bosun Tice had, in fact, begun sending men aloft and was chasing others to their sail handling positions on deck. Seeing the main and foretopmen on their respective yards, he bawled, “Course clewlines, heave together now. Braces haul.”

  The ship slowed perceptibly and began to head up toward the wind as the helmsman responded to orders from Lieutenant Fitzgerald. “Keep her full for stays…careful, man. Don’t bring her to high.” He nodded at his transplanted Russian sailing master, a warrant named Ivan Smosky, indicating all was ready and to bring her abo
ut.

  With the courses clewed up, and the ship close hauled, Smosky bellowed for all to hear, “ready about…lee the helm…ease your jib sheets…cross trim the spanker…”

  As the ship headed up and into the wind, he again yelled “Mains’l haul,” and to the helmsman, more quietly, “Keep her up, lad. Let her come around easy now.”

  Orpheus passed through stays smoothly; had she not, more than one would have felt the cat. The courses were let down, and braces hauled to fill them on the new tack. Tops’ls filled, and as the jibs and stays’ls backed, they were sheeted home on the new tack. The frenzy of activity slowed at the same rate that the ship accelerated, and soon the Bosun reported to Smosky, “all lines coiled down and ready to run.”

  Captain Winston saw that his ship was almost exactly where he wanted her, to windward and slightly ahead of the stranger. He was positioned to fire a broadside if necessary, or bear off ahead and deliver a raking fire.