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

by William H. White

  The minister stepped back toward his secretary to resume his earlier post. Even with his feet on the deck, his upper body extended well above the protection offered by the bulwark. I touched his arm as he went by, and he stopped and looked at me.

  “Yes, Mister Baldwin?”

  “Minister Crawford, I think it would be safer for you were you to retire to the wardroom until we see which way this will go. As Cap’n Allen mentioned earlier, it would be unfortunate were you to fall victim to some eagle-eyed sharpshooter in that English brig! It would be so difficult to explain to the secretary how we managed to get you this far, but failed to deliver you to France, at a time when your services are so clearly needed there.”

  Crawford scowled at me, perhaps seeing this as just the latest in the series of minor skirmishes that would only serve to escalate the tension between us. Beyond him, I saw the captain nod and smile.

  “Doctor Jackson, would you care to accompany me downstairs? It seems Mister Baldwin thinks it unwise for me to remain on deck should we get within shooting range of that enemy ship.” He drew himself up tall and added, under his breath but still loud enough for me to hear, “I cannot for the life of me understand why we are not trying to evade them rather than just continue on our merry way.” A scowl directed at both me and the captain accompanied his mutterings.

  Jackson pushed himself off the bulwark from where he had observed the exchange and, without a word, marched off the quarterdeck astern of his principal and followed him down the companionway.

  “Mister Watson! Stand to your guns! Marines aloft!” Allen raised his voice sufficiently to be heard all the way to the bow…and most likely all the way to the approaching vessel that was now almost within range of a long gun.

  “Flags, sir! Flags goin’ up on the Brit!” The quartermaster called out, his glass to his eye.

  Both the captain and I refocused our glasses and studied the ship.

  “You have any idea what that means, Oliver?” Henry asked me quietly as he lowered the telescope.

  “Not a clue, Cap’n.” Louder, I said, “Quartermaster, anything in the book that looks like that?”

  “No sir. Not that I can find. Must be some kinda Brit signal or something. You want the ensign now, Mister Baldwin?” Farnsworth, the quartermaster had become a bit edgy.

  “No, Farnsworth. No flags! Nothing!” The captain answered before I could take a breath. “Let ‘em keep guessing.”

  “Aye, sir. They’s puttin’ up more flags. Must mean something. Maybe they’re talkin’ to them other two ships.” Farnsworth pointed with the telescope to weather where one of the other ships was still visible.

  “Must be, aye; must be that’s what they’re doing.” Captain Allen sounded more hopeful than certain.

  “She’s bearin’ off, Cap’n. Gonna pass a fair distance off.” The lookout in the maintop noticed the brig’s course change first.

  And so she was. As the lookout reported, the British brig had fallen off some, easing her sheets a trifle to maintain her distance, and would clearly pass down our leeward side, but still well within gun range. But her guns – unlike ours – had not been run out and, as she came abeam and continued on, we could see the watch studying us intently.

  “Keep her on course, Mister Levy. We just got lucky!” Captain Allen was almost jovial in his relief.

  I doubt there was a single eye that did not follow that British brig as she fell astern. Those of us on the quarterdeck were relieved; those manning our guns most likely disappointed at not being allowed to test their skills at a live target. I suspect, though I could not know it at the time, that the Honorable Minister Crawford and his secretary, Doctor Jackson, safely tucked away below, were not in the slightest disappointed in the event, eager as they were to bring this cruise to its conclusion.

  “Mister Baldwin, it would appear you can stand your people down. We will not be seeing action today.” Allen smiled.

  I called out to our sailing master, whom I noticed at the main fife rail, “Mister Hudson, will you locate us on the chart, if you please. And have someone find Monsieur Loremy. It’s time for him to earn his passage.” I received a wave in response.

  Keeping a wary eye on the British ships astern – no one was certain they would actually leave us to our own devices – we sailed on, gaining an increasing measure of safety from them as we closed with the coast. A short while later, the master had taken his sun sights and plotted a line of position on the chart. Captain Allen and I were pleased, relieved actually, when we saw the course he drew for the Quimper Peninsula. But still a good day’s sail off, assuming the weather and the wind held.

  “Have the watch get a bit more sail on her, Mister Baldwin, if you please. We can be on soundings by nightfall if this breeze will hold.” The captain was pleased with our fairly quick passage and, like me and, I suspect, the rest of the officers, eager to be shed of our passengers and on to the important part of our commission. Those very passengers, I was certain, would be just as anxious as were we to get on with their own assignments.

  I quit the cabin, nearly knocking our French passenger – the fisherman, Loremy – off his feet as I made for the ladder. He apologized profusely, adjusted his jacket, and pressed on, only to be stopped by the Marine corporal standing at attention, his musket at his side, outside the captain’s door. As I ascended the ladder I could hear their exchange – each attempting to communicate in his own tongue, peppered with random words in the other’s that they had picked up: anguished English opposite gruff and curt responses that seemed less than helpful to the Frenchman. Even with the corporal struggling to understand the Frenchman’s tortured English, Loremy was sure to gain admission, considering that we had sent for him.

  Argus pressed on, making a good turn of speed under a press of canvas, toward what we now felt confident was exactly where we wanted to go. I discussed with Hudson putting a leadsman in the chains but decided it could wait until the second dogwatch, since, even with the deep-sea lead, we did not expect to find the bottom anytime soon; the chart, rudimentary as it was, showed no soundings out this far.

  The day progressed: watches changed, meals were served, and the coast grew closer, albeit still visible only as a hazy line from aloft. We began to see the occasional vessel in the offing, but mercifully none showed any interest in Argus. They were more likely focused on the shoreline, rather than seaward, presumably interested more in keeping the French bottled up in whatever ports they might be and not in a vessel entering. Leaving, however, might present a different picture…

  “Are those ships a concern, Mister Baldwin?” Doctor Jackson had returned to the deck to catch the last of the day’s fine weather. The day was losing its struggle to what promised to be a clear night.

  “They seem not interested in us, Doctor. We surmise that their attention is focused on keeping the French fleet in Brest, and, perhaps, LaRochelle. They have paid us scant attention so far. I hope it will continue!”

  He let out a great sigh. “I am so glad. I helped Monsieur Loremy explain to the captain about where we should enter, and Captain Allen and Mister Hudson each mentioned, several times, in fact, that there was a blockade in place off the peninsula. I thought I would come up and see for myself. Mister Crawford seems quite unconcerned about it; perhaps he feels that his position will ensure his safety should the worst imaginable occur. I am not equally convinced of his – or my – invulnerability under such circumstances, but your words give me great relief. Let us hope you are right.”

  He smiled engagingly at me, for once free to express himself without his constant companion within earshot. For my part, I had no problem with the doctor either now or earlier; it was Crawford who got under everyone’s skin…and stayed there. Together we moved toward the quarterdeck.

  “Mister Watson, all is well, I presume, with the watch and Argus? Please ensure your lookouts remain alert; there is no telling if one of those Brits yonder might change his mind about us.” Bill Watson had the watch for anoth
er half hour or so, until I would relieve him at eight bells.

  The good doctor visibly started at my instruction to the watch officer, thinking, I am sure, that this was just the opposite of what I just told him.

  “Relax, Doctor. It is only prudent to keep a proper lookout. At sea, a surprise is not often considered welcome!”

  It seemed only a few minutes had passed before the ship’s bell began to toll the hour. Out of habit, I glanced at my watch, noting the bell was accurate – at least it agreed with my timepiece – and gave it a perfunctory wind.

  Midshipman Temple made the deck to relieve his opposite number, Mister Snelson, and I left my companion to relieve Watson. The starbowlines took over from their counterparts on deck, and new lookouts scrambled up the rigging to take their position in the fore- and maintops.

  With darkness about to fall, we lit our lanterns, trimmed the wicks to burn properly, and continued on our heading toward the coast.

  “Bottom! I got the bottom at eighty fathoms!” The leadsman cried out. Thank God for Sailing Master Hudson; he remembered to get a man in the forechains with the deep-sea lead. I had completely forgotten!

  “Messenger: my compliments to Cap’n Allen and we are on soundings at eighty fathoms, if you please.”

  We still had a fair distance to make before we would be close to the shore, but I could make out lights flickering in the distance – lights I assumed came from shore and not from ships between Argus and the coast.

  “Let us shorten down a bit now. No point in rushing headlong through the darkness into who-knows-what.” The captain had arrived on the quarterdeck while I was engrossed in my study of the coastline. I started when he spoke, but recovered without him noticing.

  “Aye, Cap’n. We are on soundings now, so it shouldn’t be long to the coast. I will keep the leadsman employed as we go in. How close would you like to get before we tack offshore?”

  “Given ample water under the keel, I think we can go within a few – say three or four – leagues without a problem. And keep an eye on those Brits – still keeping their distance, I assume?”

  “They have paid us no mind whatever, Cap’n. Almost as though they are consciously ignoring us – which is just fine with me.” I swung my night glass around to leeward, saw their lights and, beyond them, the lights ashore.

  “Very well. Since this is what I hope will be our final night at sea with our cargo – I mean guests, I am inviting the minister and Doctor Jackson to join me for supper in the cabin. Care to join us? When you get off watch, I mean.”

  “A pleasure, sir. And I am sure that our guests take on a more jovial attitude knowing their ordeal is nearly over.” Even in the dark, I could sense Henry’s amusement at my not so subtle sarcasm.

  “Yes, I suspect you are quite right. But I can see the smile on almost everyone’s face, not just Crawford’s and Jackson’s, now that we’re within sight of shore. I think the lads are ready to be done with this and get on with our commission. And I will not be sorry to regain possession of my own quarters!

  “I will tell Appene to set a place for you, then. I will be in my cabin should you need me.” Henry looked around, his gaze taking in the entire ship, the water close aboard, and the lights in the distance. Then he disappeared down the scuttle, twisting his large frame to accommodate the small opening.

  Just before Gunner Conklin come topside to relieve me, the moon poked itself over the distant shoreline, shooting a bright path right out to Argus across the gently rolling sea. And, silhouetted in stark relief, a three-masted ship lay in the center of it.

  “Ship! Ship off the larboard bow. Two miles. Showing three masts!” The lookout halfway up the foremast must have seen her at the same moment.

  With the confusion on deck during the change of the watch, no one was paying close attention to what might be around us until the lookout hollered down to the deck. Now everyone stopped to stare at the stranger, clearly visible from the deck.

  “We gonna fight?”

  “Is he a Brit?”

  Calls and comments whipped around the spar deck like a strained line snapping back as it suddenly goes slack. The hands on deck all ran to the larboard side, climbing onto the carronade slides to better see the ship. Some went so far as to begin to unlimber some of the guns.

  “Stand down, men. It’s just one the blockade ships. She has no interest in us. Lookee there! She’s easing her sheets right now. Headin’ away, she is. You’ll get your fight soon enough, lads. Stand easy!” The gunner was quick to restore order, moving around on deck, calming the excited sailors, making sure the watch was relieved as he made is way aft to assume the conn from me. A good man, for sure!

  CHAPTER NINE

  Port Louis, France

  12 July 1813

  My dear Ann:

  At last! We have got ourselves across the sea and are safely anchored in France, and not a moment too soon! We have been visited by every penny-potentate in the neighborhood, I think, and finally cleared to put our guests ashore. For a country that is supposedly on our side in this conflict – or at least not against us – the officials here have been a great deal less than pleasant, nor even courteous. One might think, from their attitude towards us, we were British! More on them in a moment.

  We made our landfall last evening – No! It was the evening before! I have been so busy that I have completely lost track of the days. In any case, we got on soundings just before dark two nights back and tacked off and on all night, even though it was wonderfully clear and a three-quarter moon lit the sea like a huge lantern. The British are maintaining a blockade along the coast, being close enough to the Channel to give them grief should the French fleet escape from their harbors at Brest or LaRochelle. But the ones we came across showed little interest in us or our arrival. I suppose our departure might draw some inquiry, but that remains to be seen.

  Once the sun came up – that would have been yesterday, the 11th – we made our way cautiously inshore and passed a small port with what appeared to be a decent entrance. Henry hove us to while our French passenger, M. Loremy, guided us in, his directions adequately translated by Doctor Jackson. He had fished these very waters for years, and thus was quite familiar with the shoals and imperfections in the shoreline. When we were close enough to signal, we fired a gun, hoping to attract a pilot. No response at all! No one even curious enough to check us out! M. Loremy suggested we might have better luck farther to the south, so that is what we did. Using an outdated chart and M. Loremy as our guide, Henry piloted us himself, quite nicely, I must confess. We sailed east by south, kept seaward of the Îles de Glénans, then cut in along the coast leaving another island, Île de Groix, to starboard and set a course toward L’Orient. We short tacked into the estuary of the Blauvet River in Port Louis Roads and came to anchor about 6 in the evening. We were crossing our fingers we might secure the services of a local pilot in the morning.

  Regrettably, the master’s mate got himself whipped by the anchor cable as it ran out of the hawsepipe, giving him a nasty wound on his arm which gave Inderwick, the surgeon, some employment and kept him busy a good part of the night putting it to rights. While we were not quite inside the harbor, we were nonetheless at anchor on the coast of France, and thus, for all intents and purposes, our voyage – at least this part – was over.

  Our guests, Minister Crawford and his secretary, seemed positively giddy at our circumstances and the knowledge that the seagoing portion of their journey was concluded. They still have to make their way to Paris – well, I assume they are going to Paris considering that it is the seat of government in France. I have no idea how they expect to get there, but that will be taken care of once they get ashore. And I can also say with some certainty that M. Loremy seems mighty pleased to be home again. With only one other person on board who speaks his language, I would think this trip has been less than a pleasure for him. Of course, Minister Crawford speaks French, but would not lower himself to converse with Loremy; he left that chore to Ja
ckson.

  And I know both Henry and I are pleased with the performance of the ship and the crew – there are no landsmen aboard now. The men have become a well-functioning crew, tested by both the weather and at the guns and not found to be wanting. With Minister Crawford’s departure, Henry has as much as told me that he relishes having his cabin once again to himself!

  Shortly after we broke our fast this morning, a pilot came out in a small smack, and with Doctor Jackson serving as interpreter, directed us into the harbor at Port Louis where we let go two anchors. The pilot departed and in another hour or so, we were inundated with officials: police, customs, and representatives from the local maritime prefect, the latter of whom was there to welcome Minister Crawford. He actually spoke some English, but Crawford chattered away in French quite handily!

  What a distinctly unpleasant group of people – except for the prefect – they were. If this is what the regime of Napoleon’s France is all about, I want no part of it! And neither does Henry! He was interrogated like a common criminal, all while Dr. Jackson interpreted the policemen’s questions about his commission (he actually had to produce it which I found amusing since neither of them could read or understand English!), his heritage and all manner of things quite disagreeable. They succeeded in driving a normally patient and calm gentleman to refuse any further questions. Henry was so angry at his ill-use that he was positively vibrating, and threatened to throw them into the water. Even Crawford, the American Minister to France, was interrogated and forced to turn over all the dispatches he carried, along with letters to the French government. They even demanded to see personal letters he was carrying as a favor to the French Legation in America. Crawford was, as you might expect, some upset by this treatment and grumbled – privately, to us – that he was now in a country where the rulers are everything and the people nothing! Nonetheless, the French authorities finally left – after several hours of this behavior – and Crawford and his party prepared to take their own departure. Which they did that evening in our boat. I trust they will eventually become used to the Frenchman’s habit of referring to everyone as “citizen” rather than “mister” or “sir.” As they pulled away, Henry had us fire a seventeen-gun salute – half charge and no ball, though I am sure Henry would have preferred to put one into the French boat! – in recognition of Crawford’s position and perhaps, though he didn’t say as much, poke a finger in the eye of the French officials! It was splendid to see our shipmates depart, and take their imperious temperaments with them! Perhaps they will fit right in with their new hosts.