I could not find a comfortable position in the cot. No matter how I turned, something poked into me or the motion of the ketch made sleep impossible. The cabin became close and hot, confining me. I lay in the cot, asleep, but, at the same time, aware of the sounds and motion of the vessel, sweating as images of Edward’s prison, incongruously interlaced with memories of a snowy Christmas in Philadelphia, churned through my tortured dreams. Then they combined: Edward in chains and rags staggering in the snow down Held Street, the street we lived on, and me riding in the sleigh with Mother and Father laughing while my cousins threw snowballs at Edward. All of us, even Edward, singing Christmas carols. With a start, I awoke, sat up, and hit my head a resounding whack on the overhead. The blow jarred me back to the reality of the ketch, and I took in, as if for the first time, the cramped cabin with its single portlight, tiny table and chair, and my clothes strewn about. The scene was lit by the flickering light of a guttering candle I had left burning on the table. In spite of the scene’s familiarity, it took me a moment or two to remember just where I was.
The cot was soaked with my sweat, as was my sleeping shirt. I could take it no longer. I stepped out of the narrow bed and donned my clothes. When I returned to the deck and the fresh air, I was surprised to see the first hint of dawn in the eastern sky, not more than a faint red glow, but the clear harbinger of a new day, nonetheless. To the north, a dark line on the horizon which could only be Sicily. Home! The ease with which I labeled this foreign, faraway seaport as ‘home’ struck me like a hammer-blow.
What is becoming of you, Oliver? I chastised myself. Syracuse is not ‘home’ by a long shot. But won’t it be grand to see James and Thomas again. Wonder how James is coming with his reading. I hope he’s kept up even though I haven’t been there to help him. He’s a bright boy. I am sure he will attend avidly my tales of this adventure! Maybe even Thomas will. But whether he does or not, it will be good to see them again and learn what they’ve been doing. Hope Enterprise and Constitution are in when we get there. They certainly should be; that gale we struggled with would have been a blessing to them. Well, I reckon I’ll find out soon. And whether there might be a letter from Edward. What a delight that would be! I was rambling; my thoughts jumped from one thing to another without any conscious effort and were jumbled, almost as jumbled as my dreams.
“Mister Baldwin! How nice to see you up. I collect you’re here to take the watch? I was about to send someone to awaken you.” Judd’s voice, quiet as it, was made me start and, grateful that the dark hid the flush as it started up my face, turned to see him, lit by a single lantern, smiling at me from the quarterdeck. So wrapped up in my thoughts of family, I had quite forgotten that Judd would be ready for relief. He leaned on the chart table, a pair of brass dividers in his right hand poised over the chart.
“Oh, sir. Yes, sir. That’s it exactly. I came to relieve you so you could get some breakfast.” I looked around the vessel, the horizon, the sea near at hand and saw none of it. Then I stepped aft to peer over his shoulder at the chart.
“We’re just here. The land you no doubt noticed would, of course, be the southeastern tip of Sicily, here. Our course will continue just east of north as it has been, and you should be raising the harbor at Syracuse within a few hours. Wake me as soon as you have it, Oliver. We’re almost in, and you should know you’ve done a fine job. You’ve come a long way in just four or five months!” Judd smiled at me and, I confess, I puffed up just a little at the compliment he offered. I agreed; I had come a long way!
Our breeze held nicely, and we tacked for the harbor at Syracuse shortly before the noon hour sounded. As we made our way in, I looked in vain for Enterprise and Constitution. Nautilus, Vixen, and several others I did not recognize swung to anchors near to the piers. A large British vessel of three masts and two decks of gunports showed the blue pendant of an admiral at her mast head and the church flag at her mizzen peak. As we passed by, I could make out the masses of men mustered in the waist for religious services. They were in dress finery, and the red coats of the Royal Marines stood out most clearly. Officers in their own full regalia stood or sat on the quarterdeck as someone, I assumed him to be a chaplain, spoke in stentorian tones, reading from a book he held before him.
“Stand by to fire the salute!” I shouted forward, pleased to demonstrate my alertness to Judd and continue to earn his regard for my performance.
“We won’t be firin’ a salute this time, Oliver. On account of it bein’ Christmas and services are bein’ held. Just head over yonder, and we’ll drop the hook just there, to the east of Nautilus. Judd spoke quietly into my ear, but I caught the smile on Lockhart’s face as he heard me corrected. I glared at the cox’n with as harsh a look as I could muster. The moment passed quickly as the need to navigate the vessel through the anchorage took all my attention, and Judd’s.
No sooner had the best bower splashed into the placid waters of the harbor than I saw a boat pulled by four oars to a side making for us. It appeared to have come from Vixen. I took up the glass from the chart table and focused on the boat.
That’s Captain Decatur in the stemsheets! What’s he doing here? I must have spoken aloud because Judd responded, again quietly.
“I reckon he’s coming to take possession of his prize. Probably has orders for us as well.”
“But . . . How . . .” I sputtered for a moment, caught all aback. “How did he get here? Where’s Enterprise or Constitution?”
“Well, the schooner there, the one the boat came away from, that’ll be Enterprise. I have little idea of the whereabouts of Constitution, but perhaps Cap’n Decatur made a faster trip than the commodore.”
Chagrined, I focused the glass on the schooner; sure enough, Judd was right. It was, with a more careful look, unmistakable as Enterprise. My self-confidence at being able to recognize ships of our squadron wavered. I recalled that day in Boston when Decatur had proudly pointed out his wonderful brig Argus to me after I had mistook the forty-four gun frigate Constitution for the smaller, two-masted vessel. Well, at least Vixen and Enterprise are both schooners and about the same size!
Judd interrupted my musings. “Are you going to hail that boat, Mister Baldwin? And since we know who it is, would not some ceremony at the side be in order?”
I covered my embarrassment and lapse by hailing the boat, then ordering the side manned with sailors and a bosun to blow his pipe. Then the captain was over the rail and smiling at us as he doffed his hat to the flag and us.
“You had an uneventful . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, looking around. “I seem to recall there was a deckhouse of some sort here.”
We stood on the quarterdeck as Judd recounted the tale of our passage to him, the assistance provided by Amazon, the storm, but mercifully leaving out my inattention that allowed the fire to gain the hold it did. Then he asked about the human cargo we carried.
“I have arranged for a boat to take them ashore post haste, Mister Devon. And that Turkish captain as well. I suspect there are those, including the commodore, when he arrives, who will want a word with him.”
“Sir, I thought Constitution would be in now also. Did you not sail in company with her after we separated?”
“As a matter of fact, Judd, the commodore went on to Tripoli to have a look around. He wanted to see firsthand what the harbor held and have a look at the defenses. I ‘spect he’ll be along in a day or two.”
“Captain, sir, has . . . uhh . . . would you . . . ahh . . . has there been any further word from the Philadelphias since . . . well, since Captain Bainbridge’s letter to the commodore?” I could no longer hold back. I had to know if there was any chance, any chance at all, that there might be a letter for me from Edward, even if it meant I would be chastised for approaching Decatur in this off-handed manner.
“Not a peep, Mister Baldwin. But I expect if Bainbridge did it once, he will manage to do it again. Don’t despair or give up hope. At least not yet.” Decatur smiled at me and, once again, tou
ched me lightly on the shoulder as he watched my face fall in disappointment. “Right now, however, I think we have some work to do as the lighter I requested is soon to be here. And I want the prize moved alongside the schooner as soon as those poor souls in the hold, and that perfidious captain, are off-loaded. It is our hope, Preble’s and mine, that the captain, the Turk, will be more forthcoming regarding the action of his vessel and the others of its ilk.
“I can tell you, the ketch’s crew, those I had on Enterprise, have been no help at all, save one fellow who bragged, in very limited English, that they were present for the capture of Bainbridge’s command. He took a great pleasure in describing, as best as his barely intelligible English could manage, how they rounded up the crew and marched them through the town.” Decatur’s eyes had become hard as he thought of the ignominy our officers and sailors must have felt; the smile was gone and his lips described a thin line. “I sustain myself with thoughts of re-taking our frigate and punishing the Bashaw to the fullest.”
As he spoke, I noticed that his eyes grew bright, whether in fury over the capture of our ship or in anticipation of a bold and dangerous strike into the very heart of the enemy, I knew not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
James seemed to have grown up in just the few days it took Judd and me to sail the captured Tripolitan ketch into Syracuse. He stood straighter, looked you in the eye, and seemed not to whine any longer. It had been a week since our Christmas arrival, and there had been not a day that he had acted like the old James. And not a day had passed that he did not, with unrestrained enthusiasm, recount the brief battle in which we came to capture the ketch. His eyes grew bright, and his whole being became involved as he flew over each detail of his own role in the action, which he had taken to calling his “blooding,” despite the fact that exactly no blood was shed—on either side. I chided him good naturedly as we stood in the bow, watching the activity in the harbor.
“Whether it was a real battle or no, Oliver, it was glorious! I have never felt such excitement over anything, not even when . . . well, never. And I can scarce wait until the next time!” His demeanor gave credence to his words. “And bein’ able to read—or pretty much read—helps me a lot. I don’t feel so much left out of things now. And I ain’t . . . I mean, I’m not . . . afraid of Wheatley and his bragging any more. Knowing your letters . . . well, now I can make some sense of ‘em, Oliver, I can see how important it is for a body to be able to read.” He looked at me earnestly, and I knew I had been wrong to tease him. “And I don’t reckon I need to tell you how grateful I am for you teachin’ me.” He smiled, and I recalled the delight he had exhibited at his new-found skill shortly after Judd and I returned aboard the previous week.
I had not been back in the cockpit for half a glass when James grabbed my arm and nearly dragged me out and up to the deck, where he proceeded to pull a copy of Bowditch’s new book on mathematics and navigation out of the back of his trousers. Opening it, he read from it, haltingly, to be sure, but nonetheless accurately. To any noticing us, he might only have been explaining or discussing some elusive celestial concept rather than demonstrating his new-found ability. This was some different than reading from the English primer I had found in Gibraltar for him, and I told him so. He beamed and seemed actually to grow taller, straighter, before my very eyes.
We had returned to the cockpit, smiling with our secret, and Judd and I told of our adventures in Mastico, leaving nothing out. James hung on our every word, but Thomas seemed disinterested. It was not until Judd turned the conversation to the actual capture of the ketch that we discovered why.
“My guns fired, too, you know, Devon. Shots told, too. Fact is, if you recollect the actual events, my battery fired before either little Jimmy’s or Baldwin’s.” Wheatley’s jaw thrust forward, daring any of us to contradict his statement.
“Thomas, I don’t think any of us is questioning your participation in that skirmish; we—all of us—had a job to do, and we did it. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Well, it ain’t right that Fat James gets all the glory for firm’ his guns. Like you said, we all fired. But I didn’t see any of your shots tell; mine did. Fact is, I saw one of my shots take down their t’gallant mast.”
I couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Thomas, was it you who laid that gun yourself? I thought the gun captain did that. I know Bradford and Kelly sighted mine.”
While he said nothing, Wheatley’s jaw clenched and thrust farther forward. He glared at me with a killing look. Over his shoulder, I noticed Judd wink his eye at me. All of the bold talk from Thomas during our training had been as empty as his other boasts, and now he realized that we knew it.
“Wheadey’s been some quiet this past week. Have you noticed it too, Oliver?” James changed the subject, and a smile formed on his round face as he savored the peace he had enjoyed.
“Aye. I think it’s likely from knowin’ we see him as nothing but a braggart. Either he’s figuring a way to get back at us, or he’s decided there’s nothing to be gained from . . .”
“‘Scuse me, Mister Baldwin.” One the Marines who stood watch outside the captain’s Cabin interrupted us, saluting smartly as he spoke. “Cap’n sends his respects and wishes your presence in the Cabin, sir.” He turned at my acknowledgment, and James and I followed him aft and below.
“Do you want me to wait for you?” James inquired as we reached the door to the Cabin. A different Marine was posted there and came to attention, nodded at his mate, and knocked.
“I’ll see you back in the cockpit, James; perhaps we can go ashore later for supper.” Despite the changes that had come over James Stevens, his eating habits remained a constant.
“Oh, Mister Baldwin. Good of you to come.” Decatur was seated at his table, studying a chart of the coast of Tripoli. “I have something for you.” The captain fished around among some papers near at hand until he produced, with a flourish, several pages of foolscap covered in writing. Familiar writing.
My breathing seemed to stop at the same time as my heart did. My gaze fastened onto the papers he held, and I was unable to speak. It could only be from Edward. Oh, thank God! He’s alive. He did it! He got a letter out to me! My thoughts swirled. Give it to me! Don’t wave it around like that. That’s my letter. I can not wait another second for it. Thank goodness, Captain Decatur could not hear my thoughts!
“How . . . where . . .” I stammered, not knowing what to say.
“You may have noticed that Constitution came in last night. Commodore Preble had stopped by Malta on his way back from Tripoli. Actually, the ship got damaged in a northeast gale they encountered, and he stopped there to do some knotting and splicing. The British had just received a communication from Bain-bridge. Apparently, the Danish Consul—Nissen, I believe—delivered it to them, and in the letter were these pages which your brother, through Commodore Preble, asked be passed on to you. A messenger brought it this morning with a note from the commodore.” He indicated another paper on his table. Decatur’s smile was genuine as he extended his hand and the papers in my direction.
It took some considerable effort, but I took them like a gentleman rather than a starving beggar being offered a crust of bread. I glanced quickly at the fine familiar hand and then back at the captain.
“Take it and go, Oliver. I know how much that means to you. I am grateful my own brother, James, is free and with Dick Somers in Nautilus. I am sure that Bill Bainbridge’s brother, Joseph—he’s a lieutenant in Vixen, you know—feels much as you do. ‘Course, he knew his brother was at least alive right from the start ....” I did not know Captain Bainbridge even had a brother, let alone that he was here in the squadron and very much in the same frustrating predicament as me. But right now, I could not have cared a whit for Captain Bainbridge’s brother; I was interested only in my own and in the letter I held. Decatur’s words drifted into the background noises of the ship as I furtively took a longer glance at the letter. When I looked up, finally coming to
the realization that he had stopped speaking, the captain was still smiling at me. He waved his hand to the door, dismissing me, and I turned and, I’m afraid, in a not very officer-like way, stumbled out of his cabin to find a place where I could read undisturbed.
My dear brother, he began. I brushed the tears of joy from my eyes and the page jumped into sharp focus.
As you must, by now, be fully cognizant, the Philadelphia frigate has fallen into enemy hands, her crew, including the officers and yrs. truly, held in captivity by the Bashaw of Tripoli. The capture of that fine ship was through no fault of Cap’t. Bainbridge; indeed, he did everything within his power to regain the deep water so near at hand. After jettisoning most of our great guns to no avail, he went so far as to order the foremast chopped off just above the deck in a final, and futile, effort to lighten the bow of our stricken ship so she might slide off the rocks which held her and back into the water. We held up under the almost constant fire of the pirates for nearly four hours with hardly a shot returned as we were unable to train our remaining guns far enough around to bear, a fact which the rogues in their small craft took full advantage of. When a further dozen and more gunboats came out from shore to assist their brethren in their piratical business, they all—the whole fleet of them—approached to board us. Cap’t. Bainbridge took the only avenue open to him at that point; he struck. And I can tell you, my dear brother, it was with a great sadness that we all—officers and crew0 alike—witnessed the Stars and Stripes hauled down to the shouting and cheering of our attackers. However only one man was hurt during the attack, and the cap’t. was sure that, should the pirates board us in furtherance to their attack, many more would be cruel hurt and killed. David Porter, our first lieutenant, and I as well as the other officers, all agreed that he had little choice but to strike.
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