In Hostile Waters: The Cruise of USS Argus (Oliver Baldwin Novel Book 3)

by William H. White

  “Mister Hudson, a moment if you please.” I plucked at the sailing master’s sleeve as he passed by. “We will be using the schooner as a target directly, and Argus will need to be underway when we fire. You may get your people to stations for sail handling and put your topmen aloft.”

  He smiled, having anticipated what I planned, and knuckled his forehead in acknowledgment.

  Aboard the schooner, I could see young Jamesson and his crew disappearing below to set the charges. Hudson had his men at their stations, and Bill Watson, with Gunner Conklin, were hard at it, setting up their weather deck carronades, both larboard and starboard, to fire on Captain Allen’s order. Then Allen appeared, followed closely by both Minister Crawford and Doctor Jackson. Captain Roe was not in evidence.

  “He was uninterested in seeing his ship blown to matchwood, I think. Decided to remain below under the eye of Appene, who will come a-runnin’ should things go awry.” Allen offered, seeing my gaze shift in apparent quest for our prisoner.

  “If you have things in hand, Mister Baldwin, you may proceed. Get us underway and fire as your guns bear.”

  And that is exactly what we did.

  With the seas making up as the wind increased, I thought the exercise would be most helpful to our gun crews – laying a gun, even a carronade, can be a true test of skill when the deck is rolling, heaving, or otherwise gyrating! – and firing would provide a welcome relief to the boredom of the passage so far. Even on a ‘make and mend’ Sunday.

  Argus began to move, shaking off the uncomfortable rolling as she gathered way under reefed tops’ls and a jib. I nodded at the Marine drummer who immediately began the tattoo for quarters, at this point only a formality since the men were already at their stations. Once we were making way, I had the helmsmen fall off to pass astern of the schooner and well within the range of our guns. And then I remembered that Midshipman Jamesson and his crew were still on the schooner!

  I grabbed a glass from the rack by the binnacle and focused on the schooner. Sure enough, I could see the men on the deck and could make out their respective expressions of horror when they saw our gun ports open and the bore of the cannons aimed at them. I handed the glass to Uriah Levy, who had assumed the deck, and grabbed a speaking trumpet.

  “Mister Jamesson: You may light your slow match and take your departure. Get clear and we will collect you directly.”

  It was almost amusing to watch them scurrying about, and I hoped that, in their haste, they had left a long bit of slowmatch and a lengthy powder train!

  In no time, the men launched themselves into the boat and shoved off, rowing enthusiastically away from the schooner and toward Argus. I didn’t have the heart to shout that we would pick them up after our firing exercise. I watched carefully as they pulled, gauging their distance from both us and the schooner. I noticed that both Henry and our passengers watched as carefully.

  The captain looked at me, his eyebrows raised. I nodded, a silent agreement to wait a moment longer.

  “You are not planning to fire at the ship with the boat in the way, are you, Mister Baldwin?” Crawford’s tone was incredulous.

  “I think not, Minister. We can ill-afford to lose the men and one of our boats. And certainly not Mister Jamesson!” I knew my tone was a trifle caustic, and one small part of me hoped it would not offend. I added, “We have yet to fire, as you may have noticed.” Sarcasm and again, caustic; oh dear! Would Minister Crawford think I no longer cared for him?

  I couldn’t be concerned now. I had other fish to fry, namely a target that would blow itself to matchwood were I to dither too long and a narrow window of opportunity in which to give our gun crews a chance of hitting it! Then, of course, there was the boat with our shipmates rowing madly in the gap in between. Seeing Argus was within the range of the carronades and Jamesson’s boat clear, I looked at Henry and raised my eyebrows. He nodded his acquiescence.

  “Mister Watson: you may commence firing as you bear. Be mindful of the boat, if you please.” I raised my voice to carry to weather, knowing Jamesson’s people would perhaps take some comfort in my concern for their safety.

  With the first roar from the number two carronade, I focused my glass on the schooner only a bit over a musket shot distant – maybe a half mile – and was rewarded with the sight of a splintering concussion in the midship bulwark and a visible cloud of wood bits flying into the air. I was aware of the captain nodding his satisfaction on the shot. Before I could lower the glass and shout a “well done” to Watson, the next gun roared out, shooting a six-foot tongue of fire just behind the iron ball. Lavender smoke wreathed the snout of the gun and quickly dissipated, swept astern by the now brisk breeze. A second hit! Well done, Watson, I thought, my ears ringing in the sudden silence.

  “Mister Baldwin. Are you planning to destroy that lovely ship with the guns? You will never sink her, I think.” Doctor Jackson had entered the fray, still holding his hands over his ears.

  “No, Doctor. But I am hoping more of our gun crews might get some – ”

  BOOM! BOOM!

  The next two guns bellowed their roar, following so close to each other that it was difficult to determine which fired first. Distracted by my brief conversation with the secretary, I swung my glass around and realized I had missed the impact, should there have been one. I watched the schooner carefully for some sign the two balls had struck a telling shot when the mainmast began to teeter, finally succumbing to the roll of the hull and falling against the standing rigging of the foremast.

  “Do you see that smoke, Oliver?” Henry kept his voice low, intended for my ears alone.

  I raised my glass again, pushing past our privileged guests, to gain the bulwark. And sure enough, there it was, a wisp of gray smoke rising up from a hatchway.

  “Guess she’s took the fire, Cap’n. Shouldn’t be long now. Maybe Watson’s crews can get a few more shots into her before the powder goes.”

  I looked forward, up the larboard side where Bill Watson was pacing with the gunner, encouraging his crews to load their weapons faster.

  “If you’re ready, Mister Watson, you may have another go at her. Your lads are doing quite nicely!”

  Hardly had the words left my mouth when the first carronade fired again, followed in less than a heartbeat by another. The combined roar of the behemoths was deafening, while flame and acrid smoke briefly obscured the target from the gun crews’ view. And then the fuse met the first of the powder casks Jamesson had placed below. With a sharp explosion, the stern of the schooner lifted out of the water. Bright flames – red, orange, and yellow – danced aloft through thick black smoke, licking the flailing mainmast and setting alight the tarred standing rigging. The effect was as if we viewed a magnificent torch, rising up from the sea, held aloft by an unseen giant hand.

  Even with my ears still ringing, I heard the sharp intake of breath from Minister Crawford followed immediately by an exclamation from his secretary, Doctor Jackson. I was inclined to agree with their unspoken assessment: it was quite spectacular!

  Another of our carronades fired; the effect of the shot lost in the conflagration of the target. The captain waved his hat, directing his focus forward to where the second lieutenant and the gunner stood, enshrouded in swirling smoke blowing back over the deck from outboard. When he realized they likely were unable to see him, he called out.

  “That will answer nicely, men. Well done. You may stand down.”

  A cheer went up from the gun crews, either simply pleased with their performance or perhaps hoping for an extra tot over and above the already distributed Independence Day rations they had only recently enjoyed!

  I looked back at the burning schooner, my emotions mixed. On one hand, it was sad that we had destroyed a lovely little vessel, American built no less; on the other, our gun crews had proven their worth, showing that they would be ready to fight when the time came. As if to punctuate my thoughts, the second powder charge blew, actually launching the foremast into the air, a spear
thrown aloft by that same giant hand that held the torch. And the flames, now unquenchable, flew across what remained of the weather deck, fanned by the increasing breeze and fueled by the tar and oakum on deck. The schooner was now awash, the waves making the fire hiss in protest.

  As she slipped beneath the waves, she settled on an almost even keel, while her mainmast wobbled with the swell, drunkenly to the end. Smoke hung over the sea briefly before it, too, vanished, leaving a few bits and pieces of wreckage to mark the grave of a once proud schooner.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Landfall

  “Where will you be pursuing the war, Mister Baldwin, if I am permitted to know such things?” Doctor Jackson queried. He had repeatedly expressed his and his principal’s awe at the sinking of the schooner two days previously, not only the explosives set by Midshipman Jamesson and his crew, but also by the accurate fire from our carronades.

  “I am not sure I am allowed to share that information, Doctor, and only Cap’n Allen has all of it. What I know would likely tell you little, but nonetheless, I have been instructed not to divulge anything. Even the officers have been kept in the dark – and will be – until we leave France, once you and your party have left us.” I smiled, hoping to assuage his possible disappointment at my refusal.

  “Well, both Mister Crawford and I have heard several times the mention of ‘hostile waters,’ so I would surmise that you will be sailing towards England at some point. From the brilliant display we witnessed the other day, I would imagine your cannoneers are well prepared for action.” He paused, offered a small smile, and continued cautiously. “However, I might offer that no one was shooting back at them from that poor schooner. Might be a bit different when – ”

  “What you say is true, Doctor. I would suggest that the landsmen in the gun crews will draw strength from the experienced hands and manage well enough. I reckon we will have to wait and see, but I am confident in their abilities.” Bill Watson rushed to defend his men.

  I nodded in agreement and rose to go on deck for my usual morning tour.

  “We should be seeing the coast soon, gentlemen. Your journey is almost at its end – the ocean part at least!” I smiled at the officers and guests around the table, knowing that my smile meant different things depending on who observed it. Sailing Master Hudson caught my drift at once and, with considerable effort, suppressed the grin that began to form on his face.

  The captain of the late schooner stood at the larboard bulwark, staring at the horizon, apparently quite lost in his own thoughts.

  “Good morning, to you Cap’n Roe. I trust you are keeping well, considering your circumstances?” I spoke quietly so as not to startle the man, but he visibly started nonetheless, turning abruptly about to face me.

  “I am, sir. And thank you. A lovely day, what?” His expression of good cheer was not convincing, but I doubted I would do much better were our positions reversed!

  “Your brig is a splendid swimmer! She moves with ease through the water, even in the light airs we have experienced since…well, since I came aboard. By my reckoning, we should be getting quite close to the coast, are we not?”

  “I would expect the lookouts to sight land at any time now. With the fine weather we have enjoyed, the master is confident of our position and we could easily be on soundings before the day is out.” I saw no reason to withhold this information; he would discover it for himself soon enough.

  He acknowledged me with a tilt of his head, said nothing further, and turned back to stare out to sea. I continued my tour of the spar deck, noting the two Marines keeping an eye on a dozen or so British seamen, now prisoners of war, standing in a tight group at the heel of the bowsprit. Fourteen had been taken off the schooner, but two of them – a sixteen-year-old French lad and a nineteen-year-old Swede – elected to sign our articles and join our crew as sailors in the U.S. Navy.

  “Sail! Sail to leeward! Three, maybe four leagues distant – two masted, I think!” The lookout’s cry stopped all activity on deck and, to a man, every eye – including my own – turned and looked out to leeward to find nothing, as the vessel was only visible from aloft.

  “Her course, man! What’s her heading?” Levy’s harsh voice demanded of the lookout, but I heard nothing further from the top.

  I hastened aft and arrived at the quarterdeck in time to see Captain Allen step out of the scuttle, donning his jacket as he did so. Appene followed close astern, the captain’s hat clutched tightly to his chest.

  “What have we got here, Mister Levy? Another opportunity? I almost hope not. By my reckoning, we are close enough to the coast that we’d attract some curious Britishers, should we be obliged to fire.” Allen picked up a glass, ignoring his steward’s extended hand with the hat.

  “I don’t have her heading, Cap’n. The fool in the tops seems unable to determine which way she’s going.” Uriah, in spite of the obvious need for additional information, had not sent his midshipman aloft to glass this new target.

  “Damn all. Can’t see a thing from here. Mister Baldwin, mind the store. I will be aloft.” Ignoring the excuse offered by our acting lieutenant, who currently held the deck, and, without a further word or look, Henry slung his glass over his shoulder and leaped onto the bulwark and into the ratlines, his speed belying his ample size. “Hold your course, Mister Baldwin and let’s get some sail on her.” His voice floated down from halfway up the rig, and before I could say “aye, aye” he was at the fighting top.

  I espied the sailing master, late of the little group in the wardroom, making his way aft and signaled to him. He stepped up his pace and, even before he got to the quarterdeck, I shouted to him – perhaps a bit indecorous, but haste was the order of the day.

  “Mister Hudson, we’ll have the rest of our plain sail, if you please. And lively!”

  He lifted his hat in response and immediately turned about, bellowing for the bosun and the watch to take their sail-handling positions. Crawford and company, aware that something was going on topside, arrived and without so much as a ‘by your leave’ ensconced themselves on the quarterdeck, near at hand, but not quite in the way of any watchstanders.

  “She shows British colors. And I can see two more of the devils, one to wind’ard and one off the quarter. Hold your course and give nothing to leeward.” Allen’s consternation was clear in his voice as he shouted down to us on the quarterdeck.

  Shortly, he was back on the deck and took his place beside me. “No, no colors. We’ll keep ‘em guessing for a while. I suspect they’re part of a blockade force, so we’re best to evade. We can’t take on three of ‘em!”

  “Land! I got land dead ahead.” The lookout’s cry did little to ease the tension that now gripped those of us who realized what was acting!

  “Well, that would seem to prove my thought; this is part of the blockading fleet. We’ll see if they’re interested in our little brig and hope they are not! I surely do not want to get into a fight now, with our destination in sight. And for certain, not with three of them!” The captain spoke almost to himself, watching Hudson’s progress as we piled on sail.

  “Are you planning on clearing for action, Cap’n?” I had to ask.

  “Aye, do so, Mister Baldwin, but quietly, if you please. No sense in beating drums and blowing pipes – just lets the other fellow know we expect a fight. If he hears ‘em, that is.”

  “Mister Levy, I will take the deck now. Please have the petty officers get their men into their action stations quickly and quietly. Then return to relieve me.” I spoke quietly to the acting lieutenant who nodded, doffed his hat, and stepped forward off the quarterdeck.

  “Captain Allen: you are not planning on fighting them, are you? Your orders forbid you to pursue any confrontations. I understood the reason behind our engaging with that small ship several days ago, as it was to glean information. A finite purpose – but clearly not our goal now.” Crawford had stepped forward from where he and Doctor Jackson were watching the scene unfold.

&nb
sp; “It is my fervent hope, Mister Crawford, that we will not have a confrontation. Against three of his Majesty’s ships, I suspect we might be at a bit of a disadvantage! We may have no choice in the matter, however, and should that come to pass, you may be assured that I – and Argus – will do our utmost to succeed and keep you and your party out of harm’s way at the same time.” The captain was understandably distracted by the approaching vessel, now visible from the deck through his glass.

  We all watched as the brig drew closer, a bone in her teeth and her sails taut. Allen paced, periodically glassing the enemy ship, which showed a large British ensign standing out stiffly from the peak of her gaff. For our part, we showed no colors whatsoever, the captain sticking to his plan to ‘keep ‘em guessing as long as possible.’

  Midshipmen reported in from around the ship and, we were quickly cleared for action, the crew ready at their battle stations. After getting a taste of some action a few days ago – albeit a bit one-sided – they were eager for more, even with the understanding that this time, there would be someone shooting back. Levy returned, reported, unnecessarily, that all stations were manned and correct, and announced his intention to relieve me on the quarterdeck.

  I acknowledged his request and turned control of the ship over to him, then took a position next to Captain Allen. Through my glass, I could see that only the brig seemed to show some interest; the other two had either not seen us or determined that we were not a threat. Or perhaps they assumed the approaching brig would handle the situation without them. I didn’t much care, as long as they stayed uninterested!

  Crawford pushed past me, heading for the after-most carronade, where he positioned himself with one foot on the barrel and one on the slide. Clapping onto one of the main shrouds to steady himself, he made a conspicuous target for some sharp-eyed British Marine!

  “Mister Crawford! Please remove yourself from there at once. I cannot be responsible if some marksman on that ship should get lucky with a shot. And it would be such a pity to have brought you to within sight of the French coast, only to have you succumb to a sharpshooter now!” Allen’s tone offered no room for negotiation; Crawford, perhaps realizing how inviting a target his tall and stout form made, jumped down with alacrity. No time for taking an heroic pose!