The Greater the Honor

by William H. White

  I looked through the dissipating smoke and saw the ketch round up as she hauled down the bit of color I had noticed at the top of her mizzen. The top of her mainmast and what must have been a t’gallant yard hung at a crazy angle while crewmen, their white robes billowing in the dying breeze, struggled to control the wreckage.

  “We done it, by God! They’ve struck their colors!” A voice floated forward; I recognized it as belonging to James. Before I could take in his enthusiasm, the entire crew joined in, echoing his cry. Enterprise eased her course once more, this time to go alongside our prize. My stomach seemed more settled, at least until I noticed the activity going on amidships.

  Perhaps recalling the tale of treachery he had told us at his table, Captain Decatur had cutlasses, half-pikes, and hatchets issued to the men and pistols to the officers and midshipmen. If the commander of this vessel was of a like mind to his brother in arms who had surrendered three times to Captain Sterrett only to fight again when he tried to board, we would be ready. I gripped my pistol nervously, my hand sweating and slippery. With my other, I pressed gingerly at various points in my midsection.

  The schooner seemed to fly through the water, even in the fading wind. It was now full dark, and we could see the lanterns rigged on our prize and the reflections of their light on the robes of the Tripolitan sailors; they did not look ready to repel boarders. nonetheless, I shifted my pistol to my left hand, wiping my right on my pant leg. My mouth, in contrast to my hands, had gone dry; I knew that if I spit, only dust would come out. Speaking was out of the question. I worked the lock on my pistol carefully, so as not to create a spark, and silently prayed that, should the need arise, I could fire it into a man.

  I glanced around me. In the dim glow of our battle lanterns, the sailors looked a rum bunch of cutthroats; grime-covered faces under sweat-stained bandanas, cutlasses held in one hand, pikes or tomahawks in the other. Tom Wheatley stood some aft of me, fondling his pistol as his eyes darted about the ship. Gone, I thought, was the arrogant and cocksure midshipman who had pounded the butt of his pistol on the bulwark. Farther down the deck stood James, sweat running down his red face, his hat askew, and smudges across the front of his white shirt. He spoke with considerable animation to one of the sailors nearby. He was smiling; I could make out his teeth in the yellow glow of our own battle lanterns.

  “Heave your grapnels, lads! Make fast!” someone, I think it was on the quarterdeck, shouted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a four-pronged hook fly through the space between our vessels, its hempen rope snaking out behind it. Two others were heaved and made fast, securing Enterprise to her capture.

  “Get ready, lads!” Decatur’s voice was decidedly closer this time. “Boarders away! Follow me, boys!” The captain brushed by me as he sprung onto the bulwark, sword held to the fore, pistol jammed into the top of his breeches. He leaped nimbly across the considerable gap of water still separating the ships and dropped onto the deck of our prize. Without thought, I followed him, pistol in one hand, dirk in the other.

  In seconds, the enemy deck swarmed with American sailors; half-pikes and cutlasses waving in the air, horrifyingly close to friendly ears and noses. We pressed forward, then split, half of us working our way toward the quarterdeck of the little ship, while the others herded part of the Tripolitan crew forward in an effort to confine them around the butt of the long, rakish bowsprit.

  The noise was awesome; the sailors of the pasha screaming at each other, or perhaps at us, in their own language while the American sailors shouted encouragement to each other and invective at the enemy with equal fervor. Strangely absent was the clanging of steel on steel or the sharp crack of discharging pistols.

  Gradually, both the enemy crew and the Americans fell silent as Decatur’s voice filled the night.

  “She’s ours, men. They’ve surrendered without condition. Disarm them and lock ‘em below.”

  When we opened the hatches on the ship, we discovered her cargo. She carried female slaves, apparently in some quantity, and Decatur immediately belayed his order to lock the crew below. Instead, they were taken to Enterprise and put in the hold there.

  “Mister Baldwin, Mister Devon will be sailing as prize-master to bring this vessel back to Syracuse. You will accompany him. We will meet you there within the week.” When Captain Decatur, now back aboard the schooner, informed me that I was to be second in command of the prize, I am afraid I was only able to stare at him, slack-jawed and dumb.

  “Get a seabag, boy, and step lively.” Decatur, his hand firmly guiding my upper arm, steered me toward the aft scuttle to ‘get a seabag.’

  By the time I returned to the deck, a few hastily grabbed possessions thrown in a canvas seabag, the prize crew was aloft on the mainmast of our prize sorting out the damage and cutting away the t’gallant rigging so the spar could be lowered to the deck. Judd stood on the quarterdeck looking for all the world like a captain. I joined him, clambering over the bulwark of Enterprise and throwing my bag unceremoniously toward a small deckhouse on the ketch.

  As I glanced backward, I saw Wheatley glowering in my direction. He stood next to a battle lantern which cast its pale yellow light on his face, leaving little doubt as to his thoughts on my selection. James, on the quarterdeck, waved at me enthusiastically, his still grimy face wreathed in a smile at my good fortune. I waved back. Then, on Decatur’s orders, the grapnels were cast off, and the ketch and Enterprise separated, we to sail directly to Syracuse, and Decatur to report to the commodore on Constitution, then hopefully to join us in port.

  I watched as the schooner’s lights grew fainter and fainter then winked out altogether. Judd was busy giving orders and figuring our course to Syracuse, and I had my first opportunity to look around.

  This vessel was some smaller than Enterprise and about half the size of Argus. She was narrow in her beam, about twelve feet, I thought, and actually quite sleek. She carried four carronades of about twenty-four pounds. She was also filthy and poorly kept. Part of this, I realized, could have been due to the brief skirmish, but most of the filth and disarray had long been in residence. I returned to the quarterdeck, if the slightly elevated deck aft where stood a helmsman at the long tiller could be so dignified, and approached Judd— Captain Devon.

  “What do you think, Judd ... I mean, Cap’n Devon? Will the rig hold?” I thought that sounded sufficiently intelligent.

  “I expect she’ll see us in to Syracuse safely, Oliver. And belay that ‘cap’n’ nonsense. Judd’ll answer fine. Or Mister Devon. Perhaps you might have a look into the hold and see what shape our cargo is in. Likely scared and probably hungry as well, since these pirates aren’t too concerned about their health. Takin’ ‘em to Constantinople, they were, slaves for the Sultan there. The vessel’s named Mastico, by the way, and her captain, a Turk, it turns out, is still aboard—there, in the deckhouse. I got a man watchin’ him, but I don’t expect he’ll give us any trouble. And he speaks some English, [ discovered.” Judd’s smile was lit by the yellow glow of the binnacle light as he leaned over it to check our heading.

  How proud he must be, this being his first command. I know how I feel and I’m only first lieutenant! Just thinking that title made me smile. I knew I wasn’t really first lieutenant, but I might as well be, the only other officer aboard ‘sides Judd. I made my way forward, stepping over indeterminate objects and piles of tangled cordage, stores, and an extra spar or two.

  Amidships, the hatch over our hold was open, and two or three of our sailors were leering into the dark of the hold. I joined them to determine the reasons for the ribald comments they uttered, both to each other and down, into the hold. In the dim light cast by a shuttered lantern held below the coaming of the hatch, it quickly became clear. Our cargo of female slaves, packed into the confines of the hold, was each as innocent of covering as the day she was born!

  When two of the men made to climb down into the hold, I stepped quickly and grabbed one by the shoulder. He turned to question who it
was impeding his progress, and the curse that he might have uttered died on his lips when he saw my blue jacket.

  “Just goin’ down to give ‘em some proper cover, sir. Ain’t right, them bein’ all nekked like that.” I didn’t recognize the sailor and assumed him to be one of the original Enterprises. He smiled hopefully at me as he tore his eyes away from the women.

  “A fine idea, sailor.” I thought fast, looking around me at the faces of his mates. They appeared none too happy I had spoiled their fun. “Some canvas would likely answer just fine. Perhaps the bosun will give you the t’gallant they just took down. He’s just there.” I pointed toward the mainmast where, indeed, Mister Anderson was overseeing the removal of the sail from the t’gallant yard. “You others, slide that hatch cover over, since you’ve nothing else to do.” I continued on my way forward without a backward glance.

  I did it! My first confrontation and I acted the officer! Oliver, you may just have a future in the Navy yet. You didn’t get all red and flustered. I actually straightened my back and, as I made my way, smiling inwardly, toward the bow, might even have swaggered a trifle. I determined to include my small triumph in my letter to Edward. I thought it might make him smile in spite of his most awful circumstances.

  Heading aft again, I passed the hatch; the cover was on and the men were sitting on it, the damaged sail across their knees. Each held a sheath-knife with which they cut wide strips from the canvas. Several pieces had already been carefully stacked on the deck, ready to be sent into the hold.

  The same sailor I had stopped from joining the women looked up from his work. “I reckon it’ll be all right to open this hatch enough to take this canvas down yonder, Mister Baldwin? I figgered to show ‘em what we done for ‘em.”

  “Yes, of course. But just open it and throw the strips down; I suspect they’ll figure out what to do with them.” I smiled and saw his smile fade to a scowl. I continued aft, still smiling.

  Judd greeted me as I stepped onto the quarterdeck. “Mister Baldwin, looks like we might be going to get a bit of weather shortly. Have the bosun shorten her down to a reefed tops’l and single jib. We’ll tie a reef into the mizzen later. I’d be willing to wager she’ll manage some weather just fine, bein’ as how she’s French-built and not all that old. Cap’n Decatur told me before we parted company that she was built as a gunboat for Napoleon’s attack on Egypt back in ‘98.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” I smiled in the dark, suspecting that, although he told me not to call him captain, he liked hearing it. Forward I went again to find the bosun and pass on Judd’s orders.

  Some considerable time passed before I returned to the quarterdeck. I had supervised, well, I watched, the shortening of our sails, and made sure that the canvas strips had been made available to our ‘passengers’ with due regard for their modesty. I also ensured that they got some vittles and water.

  Judd was yawning. I could make out his tired eyes and furrowed brow in the light of our binnacle. “Why don’t you take the watch for while, Oliver? I am dead on my feet.”

  I was speechless. I had stood countless watches with both Lieutenants Hobbs and Morris in Argus and again in Enterprise, but there was never a time when I was alone on the quarterdeck and ‘in command’ of anything. Judd had ordered me to relieve him with no more thought of my qualifications than anything. The weather was starting to make up. My brain raced, question after question surfacing faster than ever I could give them voice.

  What happens if this storm comes in worse than you expect? What if the men won’t follow my orders? Will I have to make any decisions? How long will I be “in command”? Where will you be? Will the rig hold up if the wind gets stronger? Should I shorten down some more? My God! How am I to manage the ship alone?

  As matter-of-factly as if he were telling a story, and quite without regard to my own concerns, he told me the course we were steering and admonished me to check from time to time that the helmsman was, in fact, steering it. “And throw the log every turn of the glass and write down on the slate our course and speed. You’ll need them to get our position tomorrow if the sun doesn’t break through.” Then he left. I barely had time to say, “Aye, sir,” before he disappeared into the tiny deckhouse.

  And here I am! Dear Lord, let nothing go awry, I prayed fervently, but silently. I noticed the sailor at the tiller was watching me closely. Did I look that different from any other officer or midshipman he might have sailed with? He was an older cove and not one of the men from Argus who had transferred with Captain Decatur. I either never knew, or could not, in my anxious state of mind, recall his name.

  “Something wrong, sailor?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Then you’ll be wantin’ to mind your helm.” I peered into the binnacle. “Looks like you want to come off some to hold your course. We’re getting a trifle high.” I spoke with no rancor and only loud enough for him to hear me. He looked once more, hard, at me then shifted his gaze to the compass and, muttering something that sounded to me like “children at sea,” pulled the tiller to weather a bit. The French/Turkish/Tripolitan ketch eased off some and, even with her shortened sails, flew across the dark sea towards Sicily. At least I hoped it was toward Sicily. The helmsman’s muttered comment did little to ease my own concerns. While I no longer considered myself a “child,” I did recognize my lack of experience, especially at managing a ship by myself, and struggled to appear confident.

  After a few hours, I began to feel the same bone tiredness that I guessed Judd had felt. I caught myself nodding off, even while standing. I moved around the tiny quarterdeck, feeling the wind in my face and the occasional splash of spray we threw up. My eyes felt as is they were full of grit, but rubbing them seemed not to help. Keep moving, Oliver. You can’t fall asleep if you’re walking around. The helmsman had been changed twice since Judd retired, and I was pleased to see the current sailor manning the big tiller was none other than Lockhart, Captain Decatur’s cox’n.

  “How’s she feeling, Lockhart? Does she respond all right?” I thought some talk might revive me. Earlier in the watch I had been worried and, as a result, wide awake. Nothing had happened, my concerns had pretty well vanished, and now it became an effort just to maintain a proper watch.

  “Yes, sir. Just fine.” Lockhart knew better than I about officers, or mids for that matter, chattering with sailors on watch, particularly on the quarterdeck. He shifted his glance from the compass to the reefed main tops’l, watching for any sign of a shiver that would indicate a wind shift.

  “Keep her full and by, Lockhart. I am going to take a turn around the deck.” I stepped forward with the thought of checking the watch, lookouts, sail handlers, and whoever else might be abroad at this hour. I found a clutch of men hunkered around the mainmast, sitting on the still closed hatch, and talking quietly. In fact, they did not hear my approach and started when I spoke.

  “Everything all right up here, men?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Just fine. When do you figger to be back in Syracuse, Mister Baldwin? I collect that’s where we’s headed?”

  I have no idea. Not a hint of when we’ll be back in Syracuse. Can’t tell them that, though. “Soon enough, sailor. And, yes, Syracuse is exactly where we’re heading. Might even beat Enterprise and Constitution back.” I was guessing, pure and simple. “Are you men supposed to be on lookout here?” Always let them think you know what they’re supposed to be doing.

  “No, sir, lookouts’re aloft at the main crosstrees. We’re here to relieve ‘em and handle sails. Sir.” I couldn’t see who was talking even in the dim glow of the shuttered lantern, but thought it sounded a mite sharp. But I had asked, hadn’t I?

  “Very well. Stay awake and alert.” I could think of nothing else and headed down the starboard side toward the quarterdeck.

  “Light! Deck there! I have a light just for’ard of the beam to weather!”

  Damn the luck! In another hour I could have turned the watch back over to Judd and gone to bed myself. Now the
re’s something out there and more than likely, not a friend. “Aye. How far do you make it?” I called quietly back up to the man in the rigging.

  “Cain’t tell, sir. Might be a bit more ‘an a league. Light keeps disappearing into the troughs.”

  “Very well. Keep watching it. Sing out if there’s any change.” I headed for the deckhouse and noted that the Turkish captain continued to sit quietly, occasionally glancing out the port. I made my way below and spoke softly to Judd, who was instantly awake and alert. He pulled on his boots, picked up his hat and a pistol and was on deck in a trice. After a quick look about the vessel to ensure everything was as it should be, he stepped onto the bulwark and into the main shrouds and climbed to the crosstrees with a night glass.

  I suddenly realized that several lanterns were showing on deck and moved to get them extinguished without bellowing. I knew how sound carried over the water, even to wind’ard. While the wind was still up and pushing the waves to a height of several feet over the deck of the ketch, there was only a small chance the other vessel would see our lights; but, it occurred to me, we had seen theirs even with the waves.

  By the time Judd had returned to the deck, I had ordered all our lights extinguished and cautioned the men to silence fore and aft.

  “I can’t make anything out of it, Oliver. Could be anyone out there. From the look of the lights, there are three of them. Whoever it is, is bigger than us and appears to be on a similar heading. Best we keep dark and quiet. No point in courting disaster.” Judd sounded concerned. Maybe I was reading something into his tone, but I was concerned as well. Suddenly I realized I didn’t seem to be tired anymore!

  I pulled my watch from my pocket and squinted at its face in the dark. Nothing. I could make out not a single feature on the timepiece. Without thinking, I stepped to the glow from the deckhouse portlight and saw that it would be dawn in something more than an hour. And then I realized there was a light showing from the deckhouse, a very bright light.