by Bob Brown
“Nah, go on.”
“You got to have enough good seamen who aren’t lazy cause there’s a lot of work to sailing a brigantine. On the other hand if you have too many, as the Somers here, you’ll have a lot of squabbling all the time and you’ll have to split the plunder more ways.”
“Want some more rum?”
“Yeah, sure. And of course you have to have a good leader.”
“Un huh.”
Small paused as if trying to remember if he had left anything out. He gulped his rum down, beat his chest, and liberated an unearthly belch that he had perfected for its shock value. “And you gotta be ready to die in case things don’t work out.”
“You’re not afraid of dying are you?”
Small pulled out his knife and stuck the point to his own belly and with a low animal gurgle, “Hell man, many’s the time I’ve thought of slitting my gut wide open. What’s to living, anyway.”
Cromwell walked up, putting an end to their conversation. Spencer, reverting to English, felt obliged to offer Cromwell rum which he eagerly accepted. Cromwell borrowed Small’s cup for the occasion. The three men had at least one thing in common a taste for rum. They talked for some length in the dark, leaning on the aft bulwark.
**********
For the boys, a remarkable phenomenon had taken place. Almost overnight Cromwell’s battering and yelling subsided. They had not the slightest idea what had brought about this metamorphosis, but lifting the burden of constant fear from their shoulders allowed them to relax, and life began to look brighter.
Cromwell now joked and kidded the young boys and hauled them before Captain Mackenzie less often than in the past. He favored some and ignored the rest. Only the most severe infractions resulted in a flogging. The mood of most of the boys improved almost immediately. Even so, Cromwell’s change of heart puzzled a sizable minority for they knew that Cromwell’s soul could not be cleansed so abruptly.
Mackenzie was privileged to have the only private quarters on board the Somers. The overhead was seven foot high and the forward bulkhead was 8 foot wide. The side bulkheads converged to the aft bulkhead which was only 4 feet wide and the ladder to the spar deck consumed half of that. The cabin’s odd shape restricted it to a bunk bed, a small desk, and a storage case for navigational equipment, maps, books, and a few personal items. One morning Mackenzie and Ganse reviewed the supply inventories. Rolled up maps had landed on the cabin deck due to the constant motion of the brigantine. The restless maps rolled all about, for Mackenzie had long ago given up keeping them corralled and simply searched the deck when he needed a map. A lantern swinging overhead was as restless as the maps but it was not free to roam.
Ganse waited on the right opportunity to say, “You must have talked to Cromwell.”
Mackenzie responded, “Cromwell? What about? Oh, you mean about floggings. No, I never talked to him.”
“He certainly has changed for the better lately.”
Mackenzie said, “Maybe the boys have finally found they can’t get away with anything and aren’t making as much trouble.”
Ganse rubbed his chin, Cromwell’s behavior puzzled him, but apparently Mackenzie had not noticed anything.
CHAPTER 8
Land ho! Dead ahead!
From a distance Madeira appeared tiny as the mountainous peaks slowly pushed their way upward through the horizon. The base of the peaks gradually expanded to spread across the ocean and turn from gray to an emerald green. A pleasant sight for young boys after three weeks and a day at sea. Loud sea gulls flocked around the Somers and schools of colorful fish could be seen in the crystal clear water. Playful dolphins raced alongside in the ship’s wake. They seemed eager to greet the strangers. Sunlight flashed silver streaks across the water. The island, 400 miles west of the coast of Africa, enjoyed a mild, sunny climate and proudly claimed fame for its excellent wines.
When isolated for weeks, sometimes months, it is the nature of man for basic human cravings to rise as yeast-impregnated dough. This propensity intensifies when survival is uncertain, as with soldiers going to war. The same was true for sailors, for their ships often disappeared, leaving no trace of their fate. Challenges of storms, pirates, frail ships, or errors in judgment, might appear with amazing suddenness to seal their fate, their legacy destined to be just one more mysterious footnote in someone’s ledger.
At sea, sailors dreamed of the next port where they could seek relief from the stress of isolation, sea hazards, and incessant harsh treatment. The filling of hormonal reservoirs often overwhelmed inhibitions. For sailors deficient in self-control, the craving for hard spirits and sex became an obsession. Too often it became their highest ambition. Carousing sailors in bustling ports, as New York, infuriated many citizens. In such places a few businesses displayed signs saying NO DOGS OR SAILORS ALLOWED.
The Somers dropped anchor in Funchal harbor in the Madeiras on October 5, 1842. Excitement boiled as the crew, especially the new recruits, anticipated visiting a strange and inviting land.
Cromwell blew his boatswain whistle for all hands to report on deck. His pleasant disposition had disappeared. “You, you, you, and you . . .” He pointed his finger at different ones in a boisterous command, until he had selected twelve men. “Launch the small boats.” Then he ordered six more men to bring the empty fresh-water jugs topside.
One boy lightly nudged Daniel McKinley in the ribs with his elbow and whispered, “Are you going to ask him?”
McKinley, considered by his mates to be bolder than most, whispered back, “I am, I am.” Eyeing Cromwell out of the corner of his eye, he eased up beside him. “Mr. Cromwell, when might we be shoving off for liberty?”
Cromwell swung his arm with all his might and struck McKinley in the mouth with the back of his hand. The blow knocked McKinley into the air and he landed flat on his back. Dazed, he never heard Cromwell shout, “You bilge buggers ain’t goin’ on no liberty. Now hear this all you damn bastards. There ain’t gonna be no liberty. Our god almighty captain has ordered us ashore for fresh water and then we’ll weigh anchor and get our smelly butts back to sea.”
The Somers shuddered from bow to stern as discontent rippled through the crew. Grumbling surfaced and spread like a contagious plague. In honored navy tradition, it sounded like a cursing competition. Grumbling stopped abruptly when Cromwell picked up a small boy and lifted him over the bulwark and let him drop 10 feet down into a small boat. A loud crash and muffled moans could be heard on deck. Turning to face the rest of the work detail, he bellowed, “Now the rest of you scum, lay to.” Not a curse word, nor a word of any kind, accompanied the scuffling as the appointed boys tangled with each other getting over the bulwark to board the small boats.
After spitting out two teeth, McKinley struggled to his feet. Doubled over and with two fingers in his bloody mouth, he tested for more loose teeth.
Captain Mackenzie, Purser Steward Wales, and Midshipman Spencer appeared on deck, dressed to go ashore. Mackenzie looked unconcerned, the same as always, Wales had a serious expression, and Spencer’s flushed face would wrinkle a lemon.
A few minutes earlier, Mackenzie had met with the officers and Cromwell in the wardroom. He told Ganse to assume command while he was ashore to visit U. S. Vice-Consul Burden. He instructed Cromwell to make the small boats ready to take on fresh water. He casually mentioned that they would shove off as soon as they could load the water. Cromwell, who could squander a liberty with more vigor than ten other men, looked as if he had been run through with a cutlass. The part of his face not hidden by the black beard turned a vivid red and he rumbled, “Dammmn! No liberty?”
Perhaps Cromwell’s size and obvious anger influenced Mackenzie to pass the remark off as a joke and he said, “You’ll survive, Cromwell.” If he had been more astute he would have realized that the news rankled the dispositions of all. But one man in particular displayed shock beyond belief. Spencer’s jaw dropped in dismay and his eyes widened and relaxed uncontrollably. Macken
zie intended to ask Acting Midshipman Perry to be in charge of the water detail, but when he looked at Spencer, he decided that he should be kept busy so he put him in charge.
Mackenzie took charge of one boat with Purser Wales at the rudder and Spencer assumed charge of the other boat with pouting Cromwell on the rudder. If given a choice, the men who went ashore might have opted to stay on board the Somers. Loading empty jugs in the small boats, rowing, carrying empty jugs on dusty paths to a spring, carrying full jugs back to the small boats, rowing, lifting full jugs to hands on deck and then repeating this several times certainly not the liberty they had envisioned.
While Mackenzie visited the consulate, Wales negotiated for fruits and vegetables. Cromwell vented his disappointment on the men carrying water.
Having the easiest job of all did not improve Spencer’s disposition. The sailors performed the work while Spencer walked beside them. Speaking in Spanish, he whistled and talked to pretty girls who had huddled together out of curiosity. Some of the girls giggled and talked to him. Envious boys carrying water jugs could not understand Spanish and had no idea what was being said. When no girls were around, Spencer retreated into his sour shell.
On the second trip to the springs, Spencer said, “You’ve got your jugs and you know where the springs are. I’ll wait here for you.” When they returned, he was with three girls and he had his arms around two of them. They laughed and talked in Spanish.
Cromwell chuckled, “Damn Spencer’s soul, he’s a goddamn octopus.” He went over and said to the third girl, “Hi lovely.” He tried to put his arm around her but she backed away.
Spencer told the sulking boys to take the water jugs to the Somers, that he would wait on shore for them to return.
Cromwell said, “Yeah, you boys hustle that water, I’m staying here too.”
One boy being careful not to be actually heard, said, “Aye, aye, sir, you son’a’bitch.”
The boys did not see either Spencer or Cromwell when they returned, but they knew severe punishment would be certain if they did not continue on with the water detail.
After several hours a native boy ran down the street and rushed into a tavern. In a minute Spencer and Cromwell sprang out the tavern door and several girls followed them as far as the door. Spencer’s clothes were in disarray and he blinked his rum glazed eyes in the bright sunlight. He dug in his pocket and finally came up with a coin to toss the native boy who had served as lookout. Cromwell took a few steps before looking back to see why Spencer was so slow. Spencer gave him a silly grin and staggered forward a few steps.
Cromwell said, “Hurry Spencer or the captain’ll keelhaul our ass.”
Spencer responded by stopping, he arched his back to look skyward and howled a loud, “Whoooee.” Then he doubled over in laughter. He turned back and waved at the girls, who laughed with him.
Cromwell grabbed Spencer’s arm, causing him to look as if some force under his arm pit would lift him completely from the ground. In this manner Spencer hopped and skipped back to the dock where the water detail was waiting. The tavern girls found Spencer’s untalented ballet departure to be very amusing. To the delight of them all, one girl stepped in front of the others and pulled her skirt high to reveal dingy scanties as a final farewell.
Mackenzie came in view just in time to see Spencer stumble and fall against one of the boys as he scrambled towards the bow of the boat. Cromwell hurried the boys and they shoved off before Mackenzie reached the dock.
Mackenzie’s boat crew hastily boarded their boat but by then Spencer’s boat was far ahead. As distance increased between the boats, Mackenzie shouted to get Spencer’s attention. Spencer heard him but pretended he had not. One of the boys rowing said, “Mr. Spencer, Captain Mackenzie is tryin’ to get your attention.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“If you’ll look sir, he’s waving.”
“Waving at seagulls, no doubt.”
“No sir, I’m sure he wants you, sir.”
“Well let the old mother hen wave away. I’m not gonna look his way. I’m half a mind to take command when we board the Somers. We could weigh anchor and leave the old crab-ass fuming amongst his jugs and cabbages. He could beller and flap his wings til hell freezes over, for all I care.”
Cromwell, standing at the rudder, refused to look in Mackenzie’s direction also. His eyes sparkled and a blackened tooth smile emerged from the depths of his greasy black beard.
One or two of the tired and hungry boys rowing the small boat snickered, but exhaustion dominated their thoughts. They would not have felt like liberty if they got it now.
Mackenzie did not see Spencer when he climbed aboard, so he told Ganse to have Spencer report to his cabin at once.
Spencer took his time reporting and with a smirk, “Did you wish to see me, sir?”
“I shouted and waved at you in the small boat. Why didn’t you come about?”
“I didn’t hear you, sir.”
“You did hear me. You intentionally ignored me.”
“Absolutely not, sir, I’d never do that, sir. With all the splashing of oars and... oh, I think the sailors were singing, sir. They were in a happy mood today, getting to go ashore and everything.”
“Mr. Spencer, you’ll serve double shift on your watch for three days.”
“But sir, that is not fair, since I really didn’t hear you.” Spencer’s smirk transformed into an angry snarl.
“Double shift, three days. Dismissed, Spencer.”
“But captain . . .”
“Dismissed, Spencer.”
Mackenzie did not receive a “Yes sir” or a salute. Spencer climbed the ladder and slammed the hatch on the way out.
CHAPTER 9
“Captain, I’ve found the books you’ve written useful in my training sessions with the midshipmen.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ganse. Which books have you used?”
“We’ve studied John Paul Jones and recently we’ve reviewed part of your biography, The Life of Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry. Since you served under Captain Perry, perhaps you’d like to address the midshipmen for a session or two about Perry’s naval strategy.”
“I’d be honored. Captain Perry secured the warrant to make me an acting midshipman when I was 11 years old. That was before he made commodore. I admired him greatly and I’ve tried to put into practice the things that I learned from him.”
“Good, I’ll schedule you for Tuesday. The training sessions are going very well for the midshipmen, but I’m concerned that the new recruits aren’t fairing as well.”
“We lost time due to rough seas, but Cromwell keeps them busy now.”
“I know they’re busy scrubbing decks and polishing brass, but I don’t think they’re getting enough instruction on things like rigging and signal flags.”
Mackenzie said, “Maybe, but the most important thing for a new recruit is discipline. In that respect I think we are doing very good.”
“In all due respect, sir . . .”
“Ganse, I know your feelings about Cromwell’s floggings. I don’t mind that boys grumble about strictness or about me, for that matter. Sailors always bellyache about something. After the cruise they’ll say, Captain Mackenzie, a tougher bastard you’ll never find, but he made a man out of me.”
**********
Mackenzie presented a scholarly and interesting talk to the midshipmen the following Tuesday morning. The brothers, Acting Master Matthew C. Perry, Jr., and Acting Midshipman Oliver Perry, paid special attention since Mackenzie talked at length about the brilliant strategy of their uncle, Oliver Hazard Perry, during the War of 1812.
Both brothers wanted to excel and uphold the family honor by continuing the Perry name in the Navy. When attending class, Oliver Perry wrote only key words for notes. This allowed him to absorb more thoroughly the speaker’s message. At the first opportunity he would use the key words to reconstruct in lengthy detail what he remembered the speaker saying.
That a
fternoon, Oliver Perry recorded in his notebook many details of the naval strategy his grandfather employed along with other more personal bits of information about his famous relative. Once Mackenzie strayed from his main subject and talked about men falling overboard. The example Mackenzie used moved Perry and he carefully recorded the story in his notebook: He often wrote in prose style and occasionally thought that he might someday write a book about his experiences. He entered the following in his notebook.
The Captain talked about hazards for seamen. He said, “From time to time men fall overboard. On sailing vessels men must furl or unfurl sails. The ship rolls, the wind blows, and the spars may be wet.” Captain Mackenzie paused, as if undecided whether to go on or perhaps change the subject. I felt as if he and I were alone in the wardroom and we were talking confidentially, or maybe he felt alone and talking to himself.
Then he looked at the bulkhead and continued in a low voice.“I served with a good friend and I was only 12 at the time. One day the ship tossed and turned for the sea was heavy with white caps on every swell. I was standing by the bulwark and my friend Marshall worked directly above me lashing a sail to a spar he yelled as he fell past me I could’ve put my hand out and touched his screaming face that momentary glimpse those bulging eyes . . .”
Captain Mackenzie paused for a minute, he looked stern and pinched his chin. Would he continue? He must go on. “The sea instantly silenced his scream. He surfaced 10 feet astern with the most frightened, pleading expression. I ran down the spar deck, but I lost sight of him when I had to go around the cannons. I saw him again at the stern. I wanted to throw him a rope or anything, but I couldn’t take my eyes from his terrified his pleading face. I could only watch. I saw him several more times at the crest of swells. He waved I think he yelled and then my friend, Marshall, was gone I had to let him go.”
