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

by William H. White

  A sharp rap on the door and the Marine’s announcement that the messenger of the watch wished entry snapped Ballantyne out of his momentary reverie.

  “Sir, Mister Weiss’s compliments, and a signal from Helena, sir.”

  “And what is it that Helena requires, sailor? Mister Weiss gave it to you verbatim, I presume.”

  “Sir. Yes, sir. It was our number followed by ‘captain to report aboard.’ Sir.”

  “Thank you. And you may tell Mister Weiss that I will be along directly. Have the jollyboat manned and at the entryport. Dismissed.”

  “Damn all and sod it, Stokely! It seems that the admiral has already communicated with him about his plan. While I surely would not want to keep Montressor waiting, he’s going to have to wait for me to put some food in my belly. I am beyond sharp-set. Heading over there, famished as I am, would not end well!”

  And that would be less than professional and certainly not politic! Hard to fathom how he’s actually senior to me…but that’s what the admiral said…So…

  Captain Ballantyne ruminated about this conundrum and how he would deal with his new commodore, who undoubtedly desired to carry out the admiral’s orders promptly, never mind that Pelican had only come to anchor just that morning.

  He will simply have to wait until I can provision my ship and make my water. Maybe he would like a new midshipman in consideration of his having to wait!

  He laughed aloud at the thought, causing Stokely to look at him curiously.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  9 July 1813

  Irish Channel

  “Gentlemen: as I explained last evening, we will be in company with Helena until such time as Admiral Thornbrough recalls us…or until we catch the American privateer marauding to the north of Ireland. We will be sharing in prize money, as I agreed with Cap’n Montressor, regardless of which of vessel makes the capture. What I might have neglected to mention was that this arrangement will be in force only for the time we are under Helena’s orders.” Ballantyne paused in his delivery, noting the reaction of his officers. “The commodore had readily concurred with my suggestion, as it would, of course, work both ways. He seemed no more interested in agreeing to a long-term arrangement than I.”

  Pelican had got underweigh, as the admiral had ordered, less than twenty-four hours following their meeting. Ballantyne and his first lieutenant – Thomas Welch – sent their crew off in a frenzy of activity: finding provisions, making their water, and assigning the six new ordinary seamen sent over from Trent to their watches and duties. The six new hands ultimately only worked out to a net gain of four, as two had ‘done a runner’ when they were ashore filling the water butts, and, in the interest of time, Welch decided against sending out a party to find them. Not to mention, it was not unheard of that sometimes the search parties ended up losing a few of their own number. As it was only two men – why risk it?!

  The rain finally stopped, at least for a while. No trace of the sun, save what might have been a brighter spot in the eastern sky, but no rain – something they all were pleased about. It was what the Irish called a ‘white’ day, when the rain stopped and the sky merely turned from gray to white. As the anchor was still being catted, the headsails were set backed to starboard, and the brig fell off on a starboard tack. A fair breeze carried them out, under the guidance of the same pilot who had, only the day before, brought them in. Helena was in the van, about half a league, hoisting signals one after the other, which ranged from “close up” to “keep to my lee.”

  Ballantyne knew his officers had hoped for a bit of time ashore; it had been a long time since any of them had set foot on United Kingdom soil. Next time…

  After he had convened with Helena’s commander, Henry Montressor, been reprimanded for keeping him waiting, and had a chance to go over the plan that Montressor had concocted for their hunt for the raider, Ballantyne met with his officers following the evening meal. Most were displeased to learn they would be operating in the shadow of a superior command. They had grown accustomed to operating independently for over six months and, save for the occasional convoy assistance they provided, had enjoyed sailing between Plymouth, England and Antigua or Barbados in solitary splendor. Now, here they were finally in a position to take a prize or two, and they would have to share! Where was the justice in that? So, when their captain mentioned that they would be sharing prize money only while in company, they were somewhat assuaged.

  Once seaward of the harbor entrance, Pelican and Helena would set a course south by west to get clear of the southern end of Ireland before altering course to the north. Making their way up the west coast, they would check into the seemingly endless number of bays and coves along that stretch of the coast, hoping to find the American privateer hiding in one of them and catch her unawares.

  “Do any of you have a question? No? Very well, then. You are dismissed – you may offer the intelligence to your mids and petty officers as you see fit. It is likely it will be all over the ship by morning in any case.

  “Mister Coniby and Mister Stewart: you will remain, if you please.” The surgeon and the gunner looked at one another, not a little curious as to why they had been called on to stay behind.

  Once the cabin had cleared, Edward addressed them individually, starting first with the surgeon. “Mister Coniby: have you had the chance to look over those six we got from Trent? I would hate to think that Cap’n Somers might have rid himself of some problems. I can ill-afford laggards, fakers, or the sickly, if we are to be successful in our commission.”

  “I give ‘em a quick once over, Cap’n. They’s healthy, near as I can tell without a closer look. They been too busy by half for any more than that. You want me to check ‘em more, I surely can. Ain’t but two of ‘em can write they’s own names, though. So you mighta suspicioned righty-oh about Cap’n Somers sending you his troubles. Guess we’ll have to wait and see what happens. Sir.”

  Ballantyne nodded without a word. There was nothing to say. Coniby’s assessment was likely spot on; they would have wait and see. He turned to the gunner.

  “Mister Stewart, you have checked our powder? Screened the casks we have for impurities, irregularities? It would be most awkward were we to have bad powder when we find this American trouble-maker. I would find it embarrassing to explain why to Montressor.”

  The gunner thumbed the brim of his hat, studying it carefully for any imperfections. Finally, when he heard nothing more from his captain, looked up at him, and mumbled that there was no change in the casks he had loaded in Barbados.

  “That is not what I asked you, Mister Stewart. I will repeat it in case you did not understand me the first time. Have you checked our powder, the casks in your magazines that is, for purity and dryness? Have you screened a sampling of each to ensure the grains are properly sized? Hmmm?” He paused a moment, then added – perhaps to soften his tone – “You know those merchants who supply all the navy’s needs in the Caribbean are not beyond adding weights to a cask or sending out the lowest grade of powder, knowing we likely would not discover it until it was too late to correct.”

  Stewart looked up from his hat again and shook his head. “No sor, I ain’t done that since we loaded it. Didn’t seem necessary since I done it in Bridgetown and what little we used for practice was good. But I will have my men get right after it, sor. And beggin’ yer pardon, I am, sor. Won’t happen again.”

  Ballantyne struggled to control his mounting frustration. His jaw clenched and his mouth was a thin, tight line, as he dismissed both men from his cabin. He followed them to the companionway and he made his way topside to the quarterdeck. The cool air, and late day light would calm him, he hoped.

  “Signal from Helena, sir.” He heard the quartermaster’s mate call out to the watch officer, who happened to be the first lieutenant, Thomas Welch.

  “Now what does that bloody – Sorry, Cap’n. Didn’t know you were on deck. He’s been sending one signal after another to us. One might think we had never sail
ed in company before. ‘Close up,’ ‘lay back,’ ‘keep to my leeward.’ Jackson, here, has about worn out the new signal book already. He emphasized his outburst by pointing first at Helena and then at the quartermaster, who indeed, was thumbing through the thin volume, seemingly non-plussed by either the flurry of signals or Welch’s expostulation.

  “No worries, Mister Welch. Carry on. I will be having a look about the ship. Should you have a problem, send your messenger to find me.”

  He shot a look at the other ship and thought she looked a trifle sloppy, not the taut, Bristol-looking ship he had observed yesterday.

  But she’s only just got out. Maybe Montressor will tighten things up. Thornbrough did say he’s a stickler.

  The two ships left Cape Clear at southern tip of Ireland to starboard and began to make their way up the coast. Repeated signals from Helena sent the Pelican on one quest after another: chasing and stopping any of the several vessels they either passed or overtook, inquiring of their masters about the mysterious marauder supposedly ravaging shipping along the coast. Each turned out to be a wild goose chase; there was not a whisper of the Americans. They would try further to the north; so on they sailed, checking into sloughs and rivers to be sure the Americans were not hiding – or worse, ravaging some unsuspecting village or hamlet, burning and pillaging and, for all they knew, raping the women. But again, no sign of them, nor did they find any who had even heard the rumors. The non-stop side trips and detours, of course, significantly slowed their progress to the north side of the island, where Thornbrough had said the reports originated. Ballantyne chafed at their lack of progress.

  On 12 July 1813, the two ships found themselves enveloped in a thick fog. It had been passably clear for several days and nights, raining only in spits, and Ballantyne was satisfied with the fair breeze they had enjoyed. Even Montressor had ceased sending the constant stream of flag signals, instructions Ballantyne surely neither needed nor welcomed. Then, not far from the slough that would take them in to Tralee, the wind quit entirely, and, the next thing they knew, the air turned a sickly gray, coating everything with the wet mist. It was insidious, not only dripping off every piece of deck furniture, line, spar, and rail, but finding any breach in the men’s coats to send a cold incessant trickle down their necks and sleeves. Without a hint of a breeze, they lost steerageway and simply floated, less than a league from Helena. The thick fog – it seemed more like a heavy cloud-enveloped the two ships, effectively hiding one from the other. From the quarterdeck, the officers could not even make out their own mastheads or the bowsprit. Sounds were muffled and the atmosphere itself was claustrophobic. The more superstitious of the men whistled and knocked their knuckles on the mainmast, hoping their actions might stir up a breeze that would blow the fog clear and get the ship moving.

  After several hours of drifting, with Pelican’s crew frustrated and drenched, the fog lifted almost as suddenly as it had descended. A breeze filled in, rippling the still water and gradually puffing out the hanging, dripping sails. But there was no sign of Helena. She had simply disappeared like the fog! Ballantyne sent two of his midshipmen, one of whom was the already less-than-popular Jameson Bierbak, aloft to the fore- and main tops, to assist the lookouts. After a suitable time, the call came down, “On deck. No sign of her. Nothing, not so much as a masthead.” The two were recalled, Bierbak’s descent painfully slow, maintaining a death-grip on the shrouds as his feet felt gingerly for each ratline. His counterpart, William Pearce, had scampered aloft quick as a seasoned topman might and came down the backstay, hand over hand, reporting to the quarterdeck while his colleague was barely halfway down.

  “No, sir. She is nowhere in sight. Like she wasn’t never there in the first place. Didn’t see a glimmer of any vessel out there, not even close in to the shoreline.”

  “Very well, then, Mister Pearce. We’ll have to have a look about – prudence would dictate that. But I don’t doubt your eyes. You may carry on.”

  Captain Ballantyne ordered the watch officer to return to a northwesterly course, shortening sail in case Helena had somehow got behind them in a current or tidal flow that somehow had missed Pelican. It would never do to lose his commodore!

  On the following day with no ship in sight, he backtracked, sailing into the slough all the way to Tralee, finding no sign of Helena. Furthermore, they hailed a few fishing smacks and a coastal trader and made inquiries, but none had seen any warships, nor any knowledge of the supposed American raider. By day’s end, Pelican was headed back out to the deep water of the Atlantic to resume her northerly course, now on her own, as her captain preferred. “I have no idea where they have got to, Tom. In all my years, I have never seen the likes. She has simply vanished. A prestidigitator could perform no better a trick!” Ballantyne expressed his utter bafflement to his first lieutenant, while they shared that evening’s meal of toasted cheese and port at the captain’s table.

  “How long will we wait for him to turn up, Cap’n? I should think that, were he going to, he would have surely by now! We were only in the fog bank a bit over four or five hours. And there was nary a breath of a breeze on top of it. I agree, it is most puzzling.” Welch knew better than to disagree with his commander.

  “We will not tarry, Tom. I intend to press on – alone – and discover the raider we have been sent to capture. And when we do, the Pelicans will be the sole beneficiaries of the prize shares, since Montressor is no longer in company.”

  As Pelican pressed on toward the top of Ireland, she stopped several passing vessels; in each case, it was the same story: “We have seen nothing untoward, sir. No sign of any hostile either at sea or in the harbors where we have been.”

  A Danish trader carrying a load of timber offered some hope. When Ballantyne sent over boarding party, ostensibly to check her license to carry cargo in British waters, the master mentioned a rumor of an American privateer that he had been warned of. Hopeful that, at last, here was something solid, Lieutenant Weiss had the Dane brought back to Pelican to tell his story directly to Captain Ballantyne.

  Anticipating good news, the English captain had Stokely put out a meal and some decent claret. Following the naval tradition of not conducting business over a meal, Ballantyne finished quickly, hoping his guest would as well.

  The Dane instead enjoyed every morsel, savored his wine, and chatted in broken English about everything and anything, except what the frustrated naval captain wanted to hear. Finally, Edward could wait no longer.

  “Lieutenant Weiss tells me you had been warned about an American privateer prowling these waters. Have you seen him? Or know of any who might have?” Captain Johanssen took a moment, as he translated the Englishman’s words in his head as best he could, while Ballantyne studied his expression, trying to interpret its meaning.

  Finally, “Yah, Cap’n. Warned, I was. Mebe t’ree weeks back, it were. But ain’t seen nothing like dat! Didn’t talk with no one who did, at all. I t’ink it was a false warn…alarm, no?” He smiled at his helpfulness and poured himself a bit more claret.

  Total waste of time. Damn Weiss! He might have sorted this story out without bringing this useless leech back with him.

  “Stokely. Find Mister Weiss, if you please, and have him see to getting Cap’n Johanssen back his ship…no! Belay that. Have Mister Bierbak take him back and tell Mister Weiss to attend me on the quarterdeck.” Stokely knuckled his forehead and hurried out to find Bierbak. He knew Weiss was on the quarterdeck already.

  “Ya, Cap’n Ballantyne. T’ank you for hospitality an’ fine meal. An’ a fine voyage to you also.” Johanssen smiled, shook Ballantyne’s hand for the third time, and stepped easily down the boarding battens into the cutter, bobbing alongside with Jameson Bierbak squatting, not unlike a large frog, in the sternsheets.

  Ballantyne hastened to the quarterdeck where his second lieutenant was waiting by the leeward bulwark, watching the boat bounce across the water to the Danish ship.

  “Mister Weiss, a word, if you pleas
e.”

  Weiss was suitably contrite, apologized for the delay and for unnecessarily bringing the Danish captain back to Pelican. Ballantyne retired below, leaving the watch to manage the deck as they rounded the top of the island, with standing orders to call him should they sight another vessel. By now, he had come to the conclusion that the rumors of an American raider in these waters were just that – rumors. Pelican would continue her circumnavigation of Ireland but would take a quick detour into Lough Swilly at the tip of the island to see if Helena might be waiting for them there – though he strongly doubted it. The admiral had directed him to check in there regardless, and there might be a letter with further instructions or even a recall waiting for him, even if Helena was not.

  By midday on the 19th, Pelican was in the lee of the headland, riding the tide and a fair breeze some seven miles in, to anchor off Dunree Head. There was no sign of his consort.

  Late in the afternoon Ballantyne sent a boat ashore to get information, in the event that Montressor had, in fact, been in and had left instructions for him or if a message was waiting from Admiral Thornbrough. About an hour before midnight, just as last glow of twilight was giving way to darkness, the boat returned. It came alongside, the men manning the oars strangely quiet. Noise was not the only thing missing from the boat, it came back with no information, no messages from the Montressor or the admiral, and missing two crew who had taken the opportunity to do a runner.

  Since the night would be short, only about four hours in those latitudes, Ballantyne took advantage of the early sunrise to get underweigh and head for the next port where there might be a message waiting. Recovering their anchor around three in the morning, he planned to ride the ebb out of the Lough, but when the wind came up with the sun it was contrary, offsetting most of the advantage of the outgoing tide. By midmorning, Pelican had yet to reach open water, so her captain ordered the sweeps run out – an option they rarely exercised – to row the brig out of the Lough until they found better wind or the open sea. Their progress was slow; the men were unskilled at their awkward task and the result was less then pleasing. Mercifully, the wind piped up, sparing the men a lengthy stint at the sweeps. Once they were able to make progress under sail, he set his head for Killybegs to the west, the alternate port where Admiral Thornbrough had said he might leave communications for the two ships.