by Bob Brown
Ganse considered the St. Thomas idea had just suffered a fatal blow. He felt that he should not say any more about other ideas right now but plunged ahead recklessly, more on impulse than reason. “It has been suggested that we place the prisoners in irons in a small boat and tow them the rest of way to New Yor . . .”
“Nonsense Ganse, that’s worse than your bird cages perched on the spar deck. Every recommendation you’ve made is more ridiculous than your previous recommendation. I expect you to reconvene, toss out all these senseless ideas, and report back with something realistic. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir. Uh, well, could you provide me with a little guidance as to kind of recommendation you’re expecting?”
“It would not be your recommendation if I told you what to recommend. All I can say is it should be final, decisive, and conclude this miserable mutiny intrigue once and for all. If you and the officers are unable to make a recommendation soon, then I’ll issue an order myself. I will not say more.”
“Yes sir.” Mackenzie’s demeanor was calm but his words cut deep. Ganse had never in his career been so harshly rebuked. His relationship with Mackenzie had deteriorated drastically in recent weeks. To suppress his trembling fingers he pressed his hands underneath his belt beside the two pistols. He was a good man. Why was fate running roughshod over him? He had done nothing wrong. Now he felt trapped into acting as an unwilling barrister for the defense of three degenerates who he personally disliked. He was a lone, inept voice arguing for their lives, at the expense of his career. The poor hapless souls with him as their solicitor their chances were slim indeed.
Alexander Mackenzie
Courtesy of American Antiquarian Society
U. S. B rig-of-War Sommers
Courtesy of United States Naval Academy
Philip Spencer
Courtesy of CHI PSI Fraternity
John Spencer
Courtesy of Library of Congress
CHAPTER 22
At eight bells that evening, whale oil lanterns swung in concert with the Somers’ movements casting blurred shadows that meandered around the wardroom in their endless search for a resting place. Back in New York the plainly outfitted wardroom had been the most comfortable and inviting place on board the brigantine. But now its prestige had plummeted, it was too familiar, the unnatural low ceiling beams, moist stagnant air that was sometimes hot, sometimes cold, often smelly, and always gloomy at night. This night its last vestige of respectability was tethered by a very fine thread. Ganse met with weary officers to ponder the fate of three rebellious men sitting in irons on the deck above them. Serious business, or it should be, but Ganse felt that he was swirling in a whirlpool in which life and death matters were being decided with little more concern than squashing a few of the Somers roaches. By resisting suggestions of hanging the mutineers he felt he was the only one swimming against the current and his resolve was waning. Would he ultimately join the others and be sucked into the pool’s vortex? Ganse looked at the officers sitting at the table, all young, most of them under 20 years old. What could they know of justice? What devious twist of fate empowered them to make life and death decisions?
Perry asked, “I saw you talking to the captain, did he say anything helpful?”
“He gave no specific instructions.”
“Nothing?”
“He said that if we didn’t make a recommendation soon then he would issue orders himself.”
“Well damn it, let’s sit down and decide something.”
“We will, I hope.”
Perry, Hays, Rogers, and Leecock joined Ganse for this session of meetings.
Rogers grumbled, “The crew is restless, I’m worried that they’re about to attack us. I think they’ve had some contact with our barbarians in irons. I think the prisoners have won most of the crew over.”
Ganse asked, “What do you mean? How? Who?”
“They sit in huddles. They know our meetings mean something will happen to the prisoners. I keep breaking up the huddles but they don’t obey without argument and they look pretty damn mad.”
Leecock said, “When there’s only two of us, one of us has to guard the prisoners, leaving the other one to patrol the spar deck alone. When it’s dark like tonight it’s scary because you can’t see from the stern to the bow. They could throw us over and no one know.”
Rogers said, “Yeah, I’d like to put several more of the conniving scum in irons.”
Ganse asked, “Who?”
“Wilson is the worst one, then McKinley, maybe Green. Wilson came up on me from behind last night and laid a hand on my shoulder. I near about shot the bastard. I don’t scare easy, but he scared the peehunkus outa me.”
Hays said, “Hell, we can’t guard more prisoners.”
Perry said, “One or two swinging from the yardarm would settle ‘em down.”
Rogers said, “You’re right about that, by damn.”
Leecock asked, “Who’d you hang?”
Rogers said, “Cromwell. If they saw that bully swinging in the breeze then the crew’d know we’re in charge for sure.”
Perry said, “Spencer would have to go first. He’s the one that started all this.”
Rogers said, “All right then, hang ‘em both.”
Hays said, “You can’t hang the Secretary of War’s son.”
Rogers said, “The hell we can’t. When he’s twisting in the breeze, that blinky eyed bastard will be dead’er a mackerel and dear old papa can’t bring him back.”
Hays said, “Leecock, you’re a doctor. What makes Spencer’s eyes pop like that all the time?”
“Born that way, I spec.”
Rogers said, “His eyeballs are trying to get away from his addled brains, that’s why. He scrambled his head reading all those pirate books.”
Perry said, “Spencer is guilty of mutiny and it’s the Captain’s duty to punish him. There’s plenty of powerful men in Washington that’ll support the Captain on that. Hanging is justice for mutiny and the captain would be in worse trouble if he’s lenient with the spoiled brat of a powerful man.”
Ganse said, “Wait a minute men, this is serious. You’re talking about lives here. Do you realize what you’re saying?”
Perry said, “I’m serious.”
Rogers said, “Goddamn right. Me too. Aren’t you Hays?”
Hays did not comment immediately. Finally, he said, “I could vote to hang Spencer and if that didn’t work we could hang Cromwell.”
Rogers asked, “What about Small? He’s as guilty as the rest.”
Perry said, “I think all three have to go.”
Rogers said, “I’m with you on that.”
Leecock said, “Perhaps you’re right. I need to think about it.”
Perry said, “The Captain told Ganse that the time for thinking is over. We must decide something now.”
Ganse efforts to save the prisoner’s lives was slipping away as if sand in open fingers. His voice faded, “Do we have enough proof . . .” But his spineless plea was swept away in the stronger currents.
Perry said, “Ganse, we need you to make this unanimous.”
“It’s not unanimous. Leecock hasn’t agreed.”
Perry asked, “You do agree don’t you, Leecock?”
Leecock took a few seconds, “Hell, I guess so. I don’t see any other way.”
Ganse said, “Hieskill and Thompson are on watch. They haven’t agreed.”
Perry said, “Hays, Leecock, go relieve Hieskill and Thompson and we’ll find out what they think.”
Ganse thought Perry was presumptuous to take over his meeting, but he made no move to stop Hays and Leecock when they got up to leave. Besides, Hieskill and Thompson might support his view. Anyway, his will to argue for Spencer and Cromwell was melting. Maybe they deserved to be hanged. To see no more of Cromwell would certainly pull a thorn from his side.
Perry did not wait for Hieskill and Thompson to sit down. “We’ve decided that the only recommendation w
e can give the captain is to hang Spencer, Cromwell, and Small.”
Ganse said, “It is not unanimous.”
Perry said, “The majority has decided. We need to stand together on this. Can you support our recommendation?”
Thompson without hesitation, “Hang the buggars.”
Hieskill said, “I wish there was some other way, but I can’t be the only hold out.”
Ganse said, “I haven’t decided yet, Hieskill.”
Perry said, “Really Ganse, you know there’s no other way. If you’re the lone vote against this, you’ll place the Captain in a very difficult position. He simply must have our unanimous vote on this.”
“There is still Hieskill.”
Hieskill said, “I’m sorry Mr. Ganse, I think I’ll vote for it.”
Ganse chest sagged, his head drooped. Everyone looked at Ganse and waited patiently in silence.”
At length Perry glanced at Rogers with pursed lips and winked. Rogers nodded with a combined frown and smile.
Without looking up Ganse said, “It’s all right Hieskill, I understand.” Then he was silent for another minute. Perry started drumming his fingers as he had earlier. Ganse said, “Please, Perry, stop that.” Perry clinched his fist to silence his defiant fingers.
Elusive ribbons of logic were floating all about in Ganse’s mind. He envisioned his weary arms grasping for them, but batting them away instead. At what point does living or dying lose its meaning, its importance. What gives a few men bound to a table the right to decide that this person can live, that person must die? Is that the Lord’s will? Ganse thought not. But how did the Lord want it? If he’d wanted it different, then why didn’t he interrupt their meeting with a booming voice and give mere mortals the benefit of some divine guidance? Ganse pleaded in silent prayer, please Lord, just one word, a whisper in the far reaches of my mind, how welcome it would be but no booming voices, no whispers nothing. Perry’s militant fingers began again. Ganse gave him a sharp look.
Perry moved his hands down to his thighs. “Sorry, I forgot. Can you vote with us now?”
Ganse straightened to see Perry glaring at him like a stalking animal about to pounce. Ganse blurted, “All right, all right.” There, he had said it. After all his torment, he dumped the words right on the table, almost on impulse. Would he live to beg for the chance to unsay those words?
Perry relaxed just a little, “Good then it’s unanimous, I’ll tell the captain for you?”
“No, I must it has to be me.” He felt he had just sworn allegiance to a pack of wolves and now it was his honor bound duty to be their pack leader.
Hieskill and Thompson shoved their benches back and inserted their pistols in their belts in preparation of returning to the spar deck to relieve Hays and Leecock who had only spelled them long enough to make their vote. One by one they left, leaving the bewildered Ganse looking at the table. Every bone in his body was exhausted. He longed to lie down for a long sleep, certain that upon awaking the world would look brighter.
He cupped his chin in his hands and thought about how he would tell Mackenzie about the officer’s recommendation. “Captain, the officers have unanimously decided that Spencer, Cromwell, and . . . “No, not unanimous, that sounded too much like he agreed with them but he had agreed with them he had voted with them. He started over, “Captain, after careful deliberations we feel . . . the officers have determined . . . in the interest of the safety of the Somers . . . and of course our flag . . . in honor of our flag . . . we have no choice . . . we must recommend that Spencer, Cromwell, and Small must forfeit . . . In a brief release of tension, he sat erect. “Hell captain, we gotta hang the sons-of-bitches.” Humor was not Ganse’s nature and this moment of lightness failed miserably to amuse him. It even triggered a wave of guilt for having the thought. An undertow of self-abuse abruptly sucked him under, his only home of late.
Forcing himself to continue, and after several more rehearsals, he settled on: “Captain, in response to your request and after careful deliberations, the officers have concluded that for the honor and safety of our country, our ship, and our flag, we have no alternative but to recommend that Spencer, Cromwell, and Small be executed. We respectfully await your further instructions.” Going to his locker, he removed a flask, and swigged some rum before leaving to find Mackenzie. He never liked the bitter taste and burning sensation of rum but somehow it did lessen the tautness of his nerves.
CHAPTER 23
On deck Ganse passed the large canvas mound covering Cromwell. He heard the muffled snorts and wheezing of Cromwell’s deep sleep. Waves of cold mist had saturated everything above deck and Cromwell must surely be laying in rivulets of water washing under his canvass. He wondered if any punishment man could devise would penetrate Cromwell’s walrus hide. If they hanged him, would he feel it? Or would he just hang there bellowing oaths until he wore everybody down and they lowered him.
He could tell that Mackenzie was still awake, for he could see light in the small ports to the Captain’s cabin. His knock brought an invitation to come in. He climbed down the ladder with his back to Mackenzie. He had done this many times, but this time he could feel Mackenzie’s gaze on his back. When he turned around, Mackenzie was looking at him and asked, “Any recommendations?”
“Yes sir. We have uh met. By your request we have decided . . . concluded, that is, that we have no choice but to recommend that the three prisoners, that is uh Spencer, Cromwell, and Small, you understand. That they, those three, should be hanged, uh I mean, pay with their lives for their mutiny attempt. I mean for the honor and safety of our ship and our flag sir.” Ganse cursed himself for not remembering the words he had rehearsed, but they had fallen apart and become scrambled in the time it took to go from the wardroom to Mackenzie’s cabin.
Mackenzie remained expressionless. “I see. What was the vote count?”
“It was everyone, it was uh, unanimous, I’m afraid, sir.”
“Hmm, any special recommendations?”
“No. Well, actually there is some concern about some other men in the crew who may try to free the prisoners.” Ganse asked himself why had he volunteered this information. It would only confuse things.
“Who are they?”
“It’s mostly suspicion of course. I’d hate to falsely accuse.”
“Just tell me who, Ganse.”
“Wilson perhaps, McKinley, maybe Green.” Ganse had a sinking feeling. Had he just condemned three more men to be hanged?”
“Anything else?”
“No sir. I think that’s everything.”
Mackenzie said, “Prepare a letter stating your recommendations and have all the participants sign it. With such a united opinion it’ll be hard for me to take any other course of action.”
“I’ll start right away, sir.”
Perry found Ganse writing, sat down without invitation, and began to help him. Ganse resented Perry’s boldness but in his heart he would liked to have handed the whole assignment to Perry and be done with it. Instead, he accepted most of Perry’s recommendations without argument. After writing the final, official version, he paused before signing it. This was his last chance to think of some other way, but it was too late now for new ideas. He had no choice, he held the pen, looked at Perry, then forced his hand to sign his name. Perry eagerly took it from him and scrawled “Acting Master Perry.” After Ganse found the others and got their signatures, he delivered the letter to Mackenzie.
U. S. Brigantine Somers
November 29, 1842
Captain Mackenzie,
In answer to your letter requesting our counsel as to the best course to be pursued with the prisoners, Acting-Midshipman Philip Spencer, Boatswain Mate Samuel Cromwell, and Seaman Elisha Small, we would state that the evidence which has come to our knowledge is of such a nature as, after as dispassionate and deliberate consideration of the case as the press of time would admit, we have come to a cool, decided, and unanimous opinion that they have been
guilty of a full and determined intention to commit a mutiny on board of this vessel of a most atrocious nature. The uncertainty as to the extent they are leagued with others still at large and the impossibility of guarding against the contingencies of which a day or an hour may bring forth, we are convinced that it would be impossible to carry them to the United States and that the safety of public property, the lives of ourselves, and of those committed to our charge, require that they should be put to death in a manner best calculated as an example to make a beneficial impression upon the disaffected. This opinion we give, bearing in mind our duty to our God, our country, and to the service.
We are sir, very respectfully, your obedient servants,
Lieutenant Ganse
Acting Master Perry
Midshipman Rogers
Surgeon Leecock
Purser Heiskill
Midshipman Thompson
Midshipman Hays
Mackenzie, replied after reading it, “You’ll be remembered for carrying out this difficult assignment, Ganse. Please convey my thanks to the other officers. I will also remember their dedication to duty.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell them sir.”
Ganse returned to his bunk after a momentary visit to his locker to consult with his flask of rum. This whole affair had left him exhausted, confused, and depressed, but at least it was in the hands of the captain now. Convinced that even though exhausted he would not sleep any that night, he lay on his back and looked at the beam overhead and went right to sleep.
After all the pressure to make a recommendation, Ganse expected Mackenzie to have decided about hanging Spencer, Cromwell, and Small by the time of their early morning meeting. Mackenzie did not even mention it and Ganse, of course, did not bring it up. He became more anxious as the day wore on. Would Mackenzie spare their lives after all? If so, what punishment would he order? Would Mackenzie decide to hang Wilson, McKinley, and Green also because he, Ganse, had been so loose with their names?
