Not One Shred of Decency

by Bob Brown

  “Do your best then, Mr. Perry, and impress upon Mackenzie how anxious I am to have his report.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Now I must go break this horrible news to Elizabeth. Thank you for coming, Mr. Perry.” He picked up the candle holder and ushered Perry to the study room door. Cold clammy air surrounded them in the hall.

  After showing Perry out, Spencer started up the stairs, then stopped on the first step. He thought about how he would break the news to Elizabeth. To hear that Philip was in trouble again would not surprise either of them. In fact, after all Philip had done, it would be surprising to hear some good news about him. But regardless of Philip’s past, John and Elizabeth had a large reservoir of hope for him, even long after everyone else had given up. One thing they never expected was death, and dishonorable death, that was unbearable. He decided that there would be no easy way to tell Elizabeth. He would tell her all he knew. When mired in muck it would not help to tiptoe.

  With one hand on the back of a chair for support, Elizabeth leaned to retrieve her soft cotton shawl from the dresser. The yellowed light from a whale oil lamp near her bed was too far away to ameliorate her shadowy image in the dresser mirror. Her ghostly reflection distressed her. How could her vitality, her health, all have evaporated so quickly?

  “Liz.”

  John’s voice startled her. She hadn’t heard the door open. Besides, the subdued tone of his voice sounded strange, a tone she had never heard him use before. She turned to face him. He sat his candle down.

  “Liz dear, something dreadful has happened on the Somers.”

  “It’s Philip, isn’t it?”

  “He …”

  “I had a premonition . . .”

  “Philip is …”

  “Dead.” Her hand dropped to her side and the cotton shawl slipped through her fingers like a waterfall to the floor. “Of his own making, John?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes, I fear that is true. I’m so sorry.”

  They stood face to face, reading each other’s anguish for a long minute. Each suffering flashes of disbelief, pain, and pangs of guilt over how they may have failed their son. They knew each other’s thoughts, they did not have to voice them. John thought it just as well that Elizabeth did not ask him to explain how Philip had brought about his own death.

  Her son was dead, for now that was all Elizabeth wanted to know  maybe tomorrow. She did not wail or sob  wailing was not her nature. Sobbing  well, that may come later too. At length, she shivered and murmured, “I’m so tired. I’ll lie down now.”

  John put his arm about her waist and helped her to her bed. He pulled back the spread and quilts. She laid down on her side and he removed her slippers. He covered her and pulled up a chair beside her bed. She looked at him and a tear rolled over her nose and onto the pillow. John’s eyes were glassy and he bit hard on his lip.

  “I’m so awfully tired, I’ll go to sleep now.”

  “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sorry too, John.” She shut her eyes and more tears cascaded down her cheeks and onto her pillow.

  John held Elizabeth’s hand while she lay without the slightest movement. He could not even tell if she was breathing. The tick, tick, tick, of the clock on the wall seemed exceptionally loud in the stillness. When he thought she was asleep he eased his hand away from hers and very quietly got up and added two logs to smoldering ashes in her fireplace. She has never tended to her own fire, he thought. He watched until yellow flames begin to whip up the sides of the logs. He blew out her lamp and walked toward his candle and the door. On the way he bent over and picked up the shawl, barely visible in the flickering light. He laid it over the back of the chair and it promptly streamed to the floor again as he left the room.

  CHAPTER 29

  By Friday, the second day after the Somers arrival, the newspapers thought they were onto something big, but efforts to obtain facts were frustrating. The waters around the Somers were churning with reporters in rowboats. If one approached too close, an officer would wave them back, for Mackenzie had left strict orders for secrecy. Maintaining this curtain of secrecy was more difficult at night when fog settled around the Somers. Perhaps some reporters made contact with some of the liberty starved boys milling around on the deck. With deadlines to meet and under fierce competition to scoop each other, the newspapers felt obliged to go with what they had. In a turnaround from Wednesday’s paper proclaiming that all men had returned healthy, the Courier and Enquirer’s headline now read, “Most Atrocious Mutiny In A United States Man-Of-War.” The editors acknowledged their intelligence had come from whispered sources, for none of the officers would speak of the matter. The Herald’s Saturday morning headlines read, “Horrible Mutiny On The Somers  Twenty-Two Men Hanged On The Yardarm.” The Herald reporters insisted that they had conducted a diligent inquiry revealing the following:

  Seventy-six cold-blooded men attempted to murder the officers and convert the Somers into a pirate ship. After a furious battle with over a hundred lives lost, Captain Mackenzie, his officers, and some loyal seamen prevailed to squelch the insurrection. Twenty-two guilty mutineers were dutifully tried and promptly hanged from the yardarm. Captain Mackenzie’s prompt and fearless leadership is to be celebrated along with the courageous devotion to duty of his true officers. A melancholy aspect of this nefarious episode must come to light. The Secretary of War John Spencer’s incorrigible son, Midshipman Philip Spencer, was the instigator of this most wicked affair and was first to be hanged. We suffer to print news that will cause pain for such a honorable family, but it would be useless delicacy on our part to refrain from allusion to it.

  Another small item on page 6 tells of a well known madam of ill repute abruptly taking leave of her senses. They printed:

  For no apparent reason a highly distraught lady of dubious character ran out of a bawdy house and down Bay Ridge Avenue screaming, “They’ve murdered Cromie, my true love.” With consoling intentions, two men and a woman chased after her. Their uninvited concerns were not appreciated by the distraught madam and they themselves were victims of her ferocious threshing about in their futile efforts to calm her. One man’s commiseration was promptly repaid with a vicious kick to private parts that would be untoward of us to mention. He doubled over on the boardwalk and moaned, “She’s crazy! To h__l with her.” No charges were filed, since no visible crime had been committed.

  **********

  Mackenzie’s wife, Kate, had the parlor rug stretched over the backyard clothesline and dust puffed out with each beat of a heart-shaped wire beater. This job would usually wait until warmer weather but she wanted to stay busy to mitigate her nervousness. Washington Irving had stopped by briefly the day before to tell her that a New York newspaper reported that the Somers was anchored in Brooklyn Harbor. She had told her two boys that Papa would be home soon and they would get excited but she knew they were so young that they might not remember who Papa was. In her hooded cape, she had not seen Mackenzie approach her from behind, carrying his sea chest on his shoulder.

  “Kate.”

  “Alexander! You’re home.” She dropped the beater, hugged him and kissed him as her hood fell back over her shoulders. For the moment she cared little that neighbors might criticize her unladylike conduct. “Come, let’s go inside. The babies are dying to see you.” Once inside, she removed a chair blocking a door that had imprisoned the children in a small bedroom. The youngest baby, Andrew, was too busy crawling and exploring to care who the new stranger was. The 2 year old, Timothy, hid behind his mother and peeped wide-eyed around her skirts.

  Mackenzie loved his babies, but he never quite figured out what one was supposed to do with them. He tried to entice Timothy to come out from behind Kate, was unsuccessful, and quickly gave up. He then picked up Andrew, who protested and kicked vigorously, so he put him back on the floor.

  Kate’s eyes sparkled as she looked Mackenzie over with adoration. “Your hair is so long  I’ll ta
ke care of that later.” Mackenzie seemed pleased. She said, “Tell me about your cruise. Where did you go?”

  “The cruise was successful, nothing of consequence to tell. We ran into a stimulating storm soon after leaving New York. We sailed as far as Monrovia.”

  “Washington Irving stopped by yesterday to tell me that he had seen in a New York paper that the Somers was back. He said the paper said something about some trouble on board, but he wouldn’t elaborate because he said he was sure it was all hogwash.”

  “The papers’ll blow everything out of proportion. There is nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

  “Well I’m glad you’re home. Do you think you’ll stay long?”

  “I haven’t even discussed that with Commodore Perry yet.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Mackenzie looked at her and gently brushed her hair with his fingers, “Maybe later.”

  Kate blushed, tucked her chin, and smiled coyly.

  **********

  Soon after the Somers dropped anchor, ominous rumblings of trouble begin oozing out like rotten apples being squeezed through a cloth bag. At first these drippings generated ripples like pebbles tossed in a pond. By Monday the cloth bag had split and rotten apples were spilling like large rocks splashing in deep water causing cross waves to radiate in every direction. As fast as news could travel in the cold December of 1842, the newspapers in Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, and elsewhere were hawking the Somers “bloody butchery” as the story of the century.

  Secretary Upshur’s efforts to talk to newsmen and debunk wildly inaccurate rumors was partly successful by exposing most of the basic facts. It resolved that only three men had been hanged and that one of the three was indeed Midshipman Philip Spencer, the son of the Secretary of War. In hindsight Upshur may have wished he had stopped at simply stating the facts. He ended his interview by praising Captain Mackenzie’s wise and courageous acts under extreme circumstances. He argued that only the captain’s decisive actions preserved the honor of Old Glory and the lives of officers and men under his command. Some news accounts had already labeled Mackenzie’s actions as “intemperate and hasty” and Upshur’s unqualified endorsement tended to deepen the chasm between two opposing camps. Quite unintentionally his statement ignited a firestorm of national controversy.

  Friends and sympathizers of the Spencer family became vicious in their skepticism of Mackenzie’s motives. An opposing group, consisting of Mackenzie’s friends and navy supporters, were just as vocal in their dismay that anyone would question Mackenzie’s honor, integrity, courage, and wisdom. In every walk of life, congressmen, navy officers, gentlemen, blacksmiths, boys, and tavern patrons heatedly argued for their views on Mackenzie’s judgment. Some barroom discussions degenerated into brawls and a few had the opportunity to think of “I should have saids” in the relative quiet of a jail cell. Even before the full story was published, there seemed to be no middle ground of sentiment. Mackenzie was judged to be either a dirty, rotten, murdering scalawag, or an honorable officer performing his sworn duty. President Tyler judiciously withdrew into the shadows, and since everyone already had their opinion, he was not at this time pressed to give his.

  CHAPTER 30

  Before the ink had dried on Upshur’s version of the mutiny, the New York Advertiser printed an article written by someone who signed his name as simply S.

  The friends of young Spencer, who was executed together with two seamen on the Somers would have been content to abide by the investigation which the laws of the country require in such cases. They would have trusted to that justice which our tribunals award to all entitled to the protection of the constitution and laws of the country. Various New York publications have, however, given versions obviously furnished by some officers who had a hand in the bloody deed. This is evident from their containing some facts which could be known only to those officers  but so perverted, so exaggerated, and interspersed with so much surmise, and so much downright falsehood, as to evince the deep anxiety felt to make sure of the first impression on the public mind. An awful responsibility rest on those officers, and above all on their captain. Without the least desire to render that responsibility more hazardous than it now is, it is still deemed an act of simple and bare justice to the memory of the slain, to say that an examination of the papers transmitted by Captain Mackenzie show these facts:

  1st. That Midshipman Spencer was put in double irons on the 26th of November, and the boatswain’s mate Samuel Cromwell and Seaman Elisha Small soon thereafter, on a charge of intended mutiny.

  2nd. That no disorder of a mutinous character appeared among the crew in the succeeding days; that the vessel was going with good breezes and in good weather towards the island of St. Thomas where she actually arrived and took on supplies on some day between the 1st and 5th of December.

  3rd That on the 28th of November, the opinion of the officers was requested by Captain Mackenzie as to the disposition of the prisoners. These officers appear to have accepted the word of certain crew members as witnesses to prove the alleged mutiny (and who are therefore supposed innocent of any participation in it). The examination was held, so far as the papers show, in the absence of the prisoners, and without giving them any opportunity to cross-examine the witnesses or to make any explanation or defense, or to procure any testimony in their own behalf. These officers, without even the form of a court, without even the obligation of an oath, and upon this ex parte secret information, united in the opinion that the safety of the vessel required that the prisoners should be put to death! How far this recommendation was influenced by the acts or fears of Mr. Mackenzie does not appear.

  4th. That on the 1st of December, when every thing and person on board the vessel were perfectly quiet, after four days of entire security, the three persons were, by order of Mackenzie, hanged at the yardarm.

  The allegation in some of the papers that it was proved to have been the intention of the mutineers to execute their project on arriving at St. Thomas is wholly destitute of any evidence. And had it been their design, it was effectively frustrated, so far as these prisoners were concerned, by their confinement. At St. Thomas, any of the crew might have been left, and the power of the officers of the vessel strengthened to any extent that was necessary.

  The statement in the Intelligencer that Spencer violated an engagement formerly made to resign seem to have been deemed necessary to prejudice the public mind against him, that those who slew him might have a more favorable hearing. It is untrue. He did resign, and the secretary of the navy, on the recommendation of his commanding officer, considering the nature and circumstances of the offense (inebriation), restored his warrant with a strong admonition; and this was done without the solicitation of any of his friends. His age is represented in the same paper to have been over 20. Had he lived, he would have been 19 the 28th of January next.

  It is incredible to suggest that such a mere boy  utterly unacquainted with navigation, brought up in the interior  would seriously endeavor to seduce to mutiny Cromwell, an old seaman, who had arrived at the rank of boatswains mate. An impartial tribunal is sorely needed to determine this highly suspect circumstance.

  The idea of the mutineers cruising off Sandy Hook to intercept the packets seems to have been thrown in for the special benefit of the merchants of New York. The papers such as they are, contain no such information. The only account we have given by Spencer himself is, that “it was all a joke.” If it shall appear to have been the mere romance of a heedless boy amusing himself (it is true, in a dangerous manner but still devoid of such murderous design as imputed), and if the execution of him and two seamen (against one of whom, at least, there is not yet a particle of evidence) should prove to have been the result of unmanly fear or of a despotic temper, and wholly unnecessary at the time to repress or prevent a mutiny  if all this can appear, it cannot be doubted that the laws will be vindicated. The laws of Congress prescribing the navy regulations forbid the taking of human
life even by the sentence of a court-martial, before which all parties are heard, without the sanction of the President of the United States, or if without the United States, of the commander of the fleet or squadron. This is believed to be the first instance in our history in which the law has been violated  the first in which prisoners, not of the enemy but of our own citizens, have been put to death in cold blood.

  These remarks are made not to excite prejudice, but to repel the attempt to create it, and to enable the American people to see what mighty principles are involved in this unheard-of proceeding. Let justice be done. Let it not be denied because one of the victims was connected with a high functionary of government, nor because another is unknown and has not a friend or relation on the face of the earth. And let not wanton disgrace be heaped upon the memory of the dead to justify the bloody deeds of the living.

  S.

  Philbrick Hone, an articulate, wealthy New York merchant, freely offered his opinion whenever asked. He supported Mackenzie and well he should, for he had suffered mightily at the hands of pirates ravaging his own ships. Some of his wealth would have been preserved if his ships had been under the command of a captain like Mackenzie. He also knew Secretary Spencer well, so when asked if the story signed S could have been written by Mr. Spencer, he replied, “Spencer’s stamp is unmistakable. The statement keeps its eye on target, is fierce in style, and rigid in argument, precisely as I would expect from Mr. Spencer. If it is indeed Mr. Spencer, then Captain Mackenzie could not face a more dangerous opponent. Mankind has not born a man with such exceptional talents, who is uncompromising, stern, obstinate in temper, determined, and energetic. Woe be the man who’s responsible for his son’s death.”