War 1812

by Michael Aye

  Following Jones’s eyes, Jonah could see the Niagara seemed to be lagging behind. As the distance between the two squadrons narrowed, Lieutenant Jones spoke again in a nervous, trembling voice.

  “Are we to take on the entire British squadron alone?”

  The schooners Ariel and Scorpion were some distance off the weather bow. Caledonia was a small brig of only three guns and was further behind than either of the schooners or Niagara. A boom was heard, and Jonah saw a huge splash as the shot fell short.

  The commodore spoke to his first lieutenant, “Please note in the log, sir, at eleven forty-five, fired on by the British ship, Detroit.”

  Five minutes later a second shot was fired, only this time it was a hit. Jonah watched, as if in slow motion, the enemy ball smash into the side of the ship, the bulwarks exploding, sending wooden splinters high into the air. Two men were killed instantly; the ball turning their bodies into a bloody pulp.

  The deck suddenly turned dark as the downed men’s blood seeped out of their lifeless bodies mingling with the wet sand. Over the side, an officer barked. The mangled bodies were hastily scooped up by their mates and thrown over the side. A memorial service might be held later, but now they were in the way, with little enough left of either to recognize they’d once been men.

  Commodore Perry ordered that the Lawrence be shifted in position so that they could return fire. By this time, cannon balls were raining down with cries of pain and anger all about. Petty officers cursed as they drove their men faster. However, the return fire had little effect, and Jonah now fully understood the commodore’s concern of closing with the enemy so that the heavier firepower would be of use. At this point, the Lawrence was being blasted to shreds while still not in range for their big guns. Elliott’s Niagara gave no indication of joining the battle. Jonah thought of Lieutenant Jones words, “Are we to take on the entire British squadron alone?”

  For the next two hours, hell rained down on the poor Lawrence from the guns of the British warships, Detroit and Queen Charlotte. Jonah had never seen such destruction and yet the ship was still afloat. However, it would not remain so much longer. The Lawrence’s firepower had dwindled. Most of the ship’s upper works had been blasted away and still the deadly bombardment continued.

  Screams, curses, and the sounds of balls plowing into the ship all seemed to mingle. The Lawrence was now down to seven serviceable guns, but after another devastating broadside, they were down to three.

  Lieutenant J. J. Yarnell, bleeding from a bad wound to his face, ran to Perry’s side. Shouting to make his voice heard, he exclaimed, “The officers in my division have all been cut down. Can I have others?”

  Looking about, Perry ordered three of his own aides to assist Yarnell. Not a quarter hour later, the lieutenant was back, bleeding now from both his face and a new wound to his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but those officers have been cut down.”

  The sound of balls shrieking across the deck made the men duck as more cries of anguish were heard.

  Perry gave a sigh then replied, “There are no more. You’ll have to see the surgeon and see if any of the wounded are fit enough to fight.”

  “Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered.

  “Yarnell.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Have the surgeon tend to your wounds.”

  Men continued to fall and Jonah felt a sharp sting to his arm. Blood started to ooze. A piece of wood or metal had sliced through his shirt and caused a superficial wound. One of the riflemen quickly tied a grimy handkerchief around the wound to stop the bleeding. The men manning the last serviceable gun were now down. Perry called for help, and men crawled over the deck strewn with corpses to answer their commodore’s call.

  Soon, the last remaining gun was destroyed. The Lawrence was now so battered she was nothing more than a floating hulk. A floating hulk out of control as all the steering, sails, and rigging had been destroyed. Of one hundred thirty-six officers and men who had made up the Lawrence’s crew, all but a dozen or so were either wounded or dead. Those left were doing all they could to care for their fallen mates. There was no one left to fight on the once beautiful ship.

  Looking about, the commodore spoke grimly to the last standing lieutenant, “Find me a boat and a crew. I will transfer my flag.”

  “Aye, aye sir.”

  “Mr. Lee.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  “Would you care to join me?”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Soon, the commodore’s brother appeared with six men to row the only surviving ship’s boat.

  “We are ready, sir.”

  “Very well, haul down my banner.”

  As the men entered the boat, Jonah noticed two of the crew were volunteers from the Kentucky riflemen. Climbing down into the boat, Jonah winced as a pain shot through his wounded arm.

  “Where to, sir?” Perry’s brother asked as the commodore standing in the stern of the boat, responded using his sword as a pointer, “To the Niagara.”

  Rowing to the Niagara, Perry’s boat passed close to the Detroit. A number of smaller weapons were fired at the boat. Canister and grape filled the air like a swarm of deadly bees. Ignoring the deadly swath, the commodore continued to stand until Jonah and a sailor persuaded him to sit. However, for all the bullets, grape, and canister fired, the commodore’s luck held and the small boat passed untouched.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Jonah relaxed and silently thanked the Lord.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the battle between the two navies ensued, Tecumseh watched from his vantage point on the shore. His leadership of the Indians was now being questioned. News of the aggressive strikes by the Southern Creeks called Red Sticks had made its way to the northern theater. The defeat of the British had many of the Indians wondering if they needed the British to fight the Americans. The Red Sticks had attacked and defeated the Americans in Alabama and massacred a settlement and Fort Mims. The American commander had been Major Daniel Beasley, who George Washington deplored and called a careless officer. Beasley had allowed the gates of Fort Mims to stay open while he played cards, ignoring the warnings he had received about the warring Red Sticks. He paid for his carelessness with his life, as he was struck down with a tomahawk as he tried in vain to close the fort’s gates.

  With the news of the Red Sticks victory, Tecumseh’s Indians felt they no longer needed to wait on the cowardly Proctor. Tecumseh wanted to see if the British navy was braver than Proctor’s army. Trying to persuade the thousands of impatient braves was proving to be difficult, and Tecumseh found he was losing control of those who desired action now. He had related that once the British had their big canoes finished and ready for battle, they would drive the Americans from the lake. Some still argued that all the British were cowards. Therefore, Tecumseh watched in anguish as the battle on the lake unfolded.

  The British guns seemed to be winning, but soon after the firing started, clouds of cannon smoke as dense as fog drifted ashore destroying Tecumseh’s ability to witness the battle. Soon, he could see nothing but bursts of orange flames erupting through a black haze. Tecumseh needed a British victory to maintain his position. However, as the smoke and fog of war destroyed his view, he had a sick, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Were his days numbered? Had he chosen to back the wrong side? Things were not as they had been when he had triumphed over the weakling William Hull.

  Well, if they should be defeated, he’d not be taken alive, he decided. He would go down in battle as was fitting for a warrior. Not like the cowardly Proctor. He’d show his braves how a true warrior fought… and if need be… die.

  Miraculously, Commodore Perry’s boat made it to Niagara’s side. He was met by Elliott as he climbed aboard. Expecting a blasting from the commodore, Jonah was surprised when Perry said no more than that he was taking command. Elliott con
gratulated the commodore on his daring in switching of ships under fire.

  “He’s a cool un, the sod,” one of the volunteer riflemen hissed, only to receive a glare from Perry’s brother.

  Jonah could think of much more to say about the coward, Elliott, but held his tongue. To make matters worse, Elliott had the audacity to volunteer to bring up the other lagging boats. What surprised Jonah even more was the commodore’s willingness to accept Elliott’s request. Maybe he thinks we’d be better off without him, Jonah thought.

  Elliott then climbed into the boat that had been used to carry the commodore to Niagara and had himself rowed over to take command of the smaller gunboats, the Somers, Porcupine, Tigress, and the Trippe. Hopefully, he’d have a better showing than was demonstrated previously. Maybe he’s embarrassed, Jonah decided.

  On board the British flagship, Detroit, Commander Barclay was elated to see the American commodore haul down his flag, thinking him defeated. But as bad as things had been aboard the Lawrence, she had gotten in her licks. Had it been balls from her carronades that found their mark or was it Perry’s forward twelve-pounders? No matter, damage was done in both life and to ships. On the two largest British ships, men had paid dearly for their efforts against the Lawrence. The two ship’s captains and lieutenants were either dead or wounded, so they were unable to fight. Barclay had been wounded in five places and was so weak he had to be taken below. The ship was then turned over to the senior surviving officer, a second lieutenant. Caring for the wounded and putting his ship back in order, the second lieutenant thought the victory had been won. He was totally unprepared for the onslaught he was about to receive from the undamaged Niagara.

  Advancing on the British squadron Perry ordered the signals, “Make all sail and engage the enemy.” Angered over the loss of life and damage to his ship, Commodore Perry sailed at the British with guns blazing. Pouring one deadly broadside after another into the Detroit and the Queen Charlotte, the Niagara’s gunners worked as hard as they could to keep up the deadly fire. The gun captains drove the gunners without mercy in an attempt to wipe away the shame they felt from Elliott’s refusal to join in the battle.

  As the battle raged, the Detroit and Queen Charlotte collided. Taking advantage of the enemy blunder, Perry had a course set to bring the Niagara between the entangled British ships and the Hunter. The wind was finally in his favor and Perry meant to make the best of it. Still seething over the destruction of his Lawrence, the commodore showed no mercy. Perry had his guns double-shotted, with a measure of grape on top, and at point blank range raked each ship as he cut through the enemy line. Realizing he may not get such an opportunity again, Perry had the guns manned on both sides of the ship. The Lady Prevost felt the wrath of the port side guns while the Detroit and the Queen Charlotte received a full broadside from starboard guns.

  “Fire, fire as you bear,” Perry yelled after the first broadsides. Jonah was quick to understand the meaning as gun captains yelled at their crews, “Load, run out, fire. Sponge her, sponge her, blast ya lubber. Do ya want the gun to blow up in your face?”

  Gun after gun leapt backward as they belched forward their fiery hell. The gunners would ram a wet swab down the barrel to extinguish any embers before another charge of powder was rammed home, followed by ball and grape. No sooner was the gun loaded than the squeal of wheels on the gun carriages would sound as men put their backs into the ropes pulling the gun back into the gun port to be fired almost instantaneously. Then the process would start all over again. Jonah noted the rags tied over the men’s ears to prevent deafness. Not a single gunner seemed aware of anything or anyone else. Caked in sweat and grime, faces black from the acrid powder, the men did their job with deadly precision.

  Feeling useless and in the way of the crew of the long twelve-pounder guns, Jonah made his way to a group of Kentucky volunteers. They were cutting down every available target. He watched as two men loaded while one man fired. Soon most of the men from a British gun crew were down without knowing what was happening. The long rifles didn’t make as much noise as the big guns did but in the right hands they were very deadly.

  Jonah had never seen such fury as the carronades belched forth utter destruction that decimated the enemy ships. The wind had also picked up, allowing the commodore’s other vessels to catch up and fire into the enemy from astern. By this time, the gunboats and schooners that had entered the battle were making their mettle felt.

  Jonah was both awed and frightened as the fearful battle raged with horrific fury. While the Americans were doing their utmost to defeat the British squadron, Barclay’s ships were making the job most difficult. Back and forth the big guns fired. The air was rent with splinters flying; nets, riggings and yards were falling. The mast had tumbled down. Men were caught under the debris, cursing and crying out in pain. The survivors were trying to hack their way out from under the mess that fell from aloft as men died about them. Cries of pain and anger rose above the din of battle. As bad as it was on the commodore’s ships, it was worse for the British. The Americans now held the upper hand. Perry seemed to be everywhere, shouting orders, directing fire and offering encouragement. Jonah had never witnessed such bravery; not only by Perry, but his entire crew. They would accept nothing less than victory…victory or death.

  Unable to deal with the ferocious attack any longer, Commander Barclay surrendered in just three quarters of an hour. Several of the mildly damaged British ships tried to slip away, but the escape attempt failed as the American commanders cut them off. Once the victory was realized, the commodore stunned the surviving crewmen on board the Lawrence by boarding it to accept the British surrender.

  Looking at Jonah, Perry said quietly, “It’s only fitting after all they sacrificed.”

  Having his banner raised on a makeshift stanchion, the commodore looked at the masses of dead bodies and a tear fell from his eye. Jonah felt emotion swell up inside him as he looked at those who gave all to keep this country free. Well, he’d do his best to never let their deaths be in vain. That was for damn sure.

  Barclay was so badly wounded he sent his senior officer to offer his apologies for his inability to move and to offer his sword. Jonah again felt himself swell with emotion as the commodore bowed and told the officer he would not accept the sword of an officer who had fought so gallantly and honorably. Damn, I’m starting to act like an old woman, Jonah thought.

  After the ritual surrender was complete, Perry called for his chief signal officer, Lieutenant Forrest. “You are to take news to General Harrison of our victory. Mr. Lee!”

  “Aye, sir,” Jonah replied, proud he’d remembered the correct naval reply.

  Smiling, the commodore reached into his pocket and brought out an envelope, which he tore the back off and scribbled a note. When he finished writing, he looked at Jonah and said, “Forrest here is going to deliver a message for me to General Harrison. If you wish you may accompany him ashore.” The commodore then smiled after a brief pause then added, “Unless, of course, you’ve decided to join the Navy. If so, we’ll swear you in directly.”

  Now it was Jonah’s time to smile. “I thank you for having me, sir. I will never forget this day but I think my talents are more land based.”

  The two men then shook hands. After climbing down into the little boat that would take them ashore Jonah noticed Forrest staring at the note he’d been given to deliver to General Harrison.

  “Interesting?” Jonah asked.

  Without speaking, Forrest handed the note to Jonah. A list of ships captured was written down but what stood out was a single phrase… a phrase that said it all. As he read the phrase, the devastation of the battle between the ships at sea was at the forefront of his thoughts. The commodore had written a single, simple phrase that Jonah would never forget. “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Moses was waiting when Jonah made it back to Camp Se
neca. Seeing how haggard Jonah looked sent a wave of concern through Moses.

  “The victory did not come easy, I see,” Moses stated.

  Recalling the roar of cannons, the screams of pain and curses of helpless men had taken an emotional toll on Jonah. How did you explain the very hell that was all about to a person who’d never been in such a battle at sea?

  “No,” Jonah replied to his friend. “It did not come easy.” As he recalled the number of dead men sewn into their hammocks with a cannon ball at one end and at sunset sent to the bottom of Lake Erie. No grave, no marker. Nothing but a letter to some family member informing them their loved one was gone, having made the ultimate sacrifice for his country. Fine words did little to provide for a man’s family. How would they survive? That was the question on Jonah’s mind.

  Perry had done his part. Now it was the Army who had to press the battle. He’d not let those brave sailors and Kentucky volunteers who died such a brave death do so in vain. He would prod Harrison all the way to Canada if he had to; even it meant shoving the tip of his sword up the general’s arse. Harrison would not take it kindly to being prodded but that was what the President had sent him to do. To push.

  Reporting to General Harrison, Jonah found their leader to be in rare good humor. He should be, Jonah thought. When greetings were completed, Jonah gave his report, leaving nothing out. When he finished his narrative, he took a deep breath and spoke again.

  “General, we now have the British on the run. We must push forward while they are reeling from the loss of their Navy.”

  “You think, if given time, they will regroup, do you?”