“Yes, I think I know the rest. Very well, Mister Baldwin. Get control of yourself, now, and stop your blubbering. It will accomplish nothing. Do you have anything to add to what you have told me?” Decatur, his look unchanged, his voice still cold, studied me while I got control of myself.
“No, sir. I think I told you the whole of it.”
“Very well, then. You may go. Mister Wheatley as well. I will determine what I shall do, and recommend to the commodore. We will bury your messmate on the morrow, prior to our departure for Syracuse.”
I turned to leave at the same moment Thomas did, and we collided. For once, he said nothing. I think I mumbled an apology to him, the captain, and any within earshot, and then we were in the passageway and the marine was closing the door.
“What’s going to happen to us, Thomas? And you? Do you think the captain will have us court-martialed? What if he does . . . what will we do? It was an accident. I mean your shooting James, not the duel. I know you didn’t mean to hit him. Do you think Captain Decatur . . .?”
Thomas stopped my babbling with a harsh look, and the tone of his voice, when he spoke, showed me that the “old” Thomas was back. “Oliver, shut up. I have no idea what will happen. You might have put that part about an accident in your story to the captain. He might think I shot him on purpose.” Thomas kept walking, not looking at me.
We found ourselves on the main deck of the schooner. Little knots of men stood around in the dark talking among themselves. The glow of their pipes and cheroots lit their faces. I saw some eyes shift and, with murmured words, they all went silent.
I followed Wheatley, having no better plan, and stood on the quarterdeck as he studied the harbor intently. I watched the reflections of the lights of vessels mingle with the dim lights of the stars above as they were disturbed by the course of a ship’s cutter bringing officers in for a night of gaiety. The wet blades of the oars shone as they passed a vessel near at hand, picking up the lights from its deck. As the ripples from the passage of the boat died away, the little points of brightness again appeared in the water, winking and seeming to have life. Then as the water grew calm once again, the reflections became stationary, as still as the lights that created them.
I wondered what Thomas was thinking as he stood at the rail, his hand gripping then releasing the cap of it. I could make out his jaw clenching as the muscles in his cheeks worked.
“What are you going to do, Thomas?” I could stand it no longer.
“I have little idea, Oliver. I reckon it depends on what Decatur, or the commodore, decide to do to me. I doubt they, either one of them, have a problem with the duel, but James . . . well, that’s going to be trouble.” He shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bulwark. His jaw gave me a clue to what he was thinking before he resumed. “Damn the little bastard, anyway. He couldn’t get it right even to the end. And I had to be the one to kill him. Decatur didn’t even inquire as to my own wound from Devon! I wonder if our captain would be all lathered up if it had been the great Devon what pulled that trigger. Decatur’s had it in for me right from the start, right from that first time he had the midshipmen for dinner after we left Boston.” He was musing, almost to himself. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he recalled I was standing next to him.
“Oh, Thomas! Don’t say such things! Of course Captain Decatur would want to know what happened had it been Judd who shot James. And he doesn’t ‘have it in’ for you at all.” I could barely believe that Thomas would so quickly seek another to blame.
“Well, at least with James gone there’ll be more room in the cockpit for us, and more food, too!” I gasped aloud at his words, and he smiled in the dark, enjoying the effect his words were having on me.
Leaving him to decide what course he would follow, and to his outrageous ruminations, I went below to our quarters and found Judd sitting at the table staring into nothingness. He looked at me when I entered and raised his eyebrows.
I related our late conversation to him. His only reaction, that I could see, anyway, was to shake his head. His hands continued to be busy with something small.
“We are all diminished by the loss of our messmate, Oliver. While I realize that I had little to do with James’ death . . . that it was little more than a tragic accident . . . I . . . we all must take some responsibility for it. Just as if . . . well, I know that had Thomas not challenged me, called me out, this would never have happened.”
If you had apologized, even right before you two started pacing the twenty steps, it would not have happened. You were so convinced that Thomas had to be taught a lesson and that you must be the one to do it. My look must have given away my thoughts; Judd studied me for a moment.
“I guess you must think I am just as much to blame as if I had shot him myself, aren’t you, Oliver?”
“No, Judd. But it would have been so much . . . easier . . . had you just apologized to Thomas instead of going through with that ‘lesson’ you had to teach him.” My anger bubbled quite visibly to the surface. It only remained for Judd, now, to blame poor James, too.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The following afternoon, Enterprise cleared the harbor of Messina and pointed her bowsprit into a short, wet chop, as we headed on a close reach due south to Syracuse. Little gaiety marked our departure; indeed, we were all quite sober and serious as we went about making sail to leave this place. We left James behind, finally at peace with no one to bear him ill, in a shady little cemetery in Messina.
The burial had been read by Captain Decatur and a local parson, a Romish priest, I believe, who, according to local law, was required to be in attendance. All hands, save a few left to mind the schooner, were present, each dressed in his best uniform. The officers and midshipmen stood to one side as the captain spoke of James, read from his bible, and offered a prayer for his soul. Then the local priest said all manner of things which I am sure were very nice, but to us, unintelligible, as he used not a single word of English. Each of the officers and then Thomas, Judd, and I threw a handful of dirt into the hole, beginning the process of covering our messmate. The two local gravediggers, who had stood a little away smoking cheroots during the ceremony, would finish. We left the burial ground and marched together in somber silence through the town and back to Enterprise. The whole affair seemed to take very little time.
A number of our sailors, tugging at a forelock, had come up to me to offer their condolences.
“Sorry about yer mate, sir.”
“A right nice young lad, he was.”
“Comin’ right along, he were, sir. Mighta made a fine officer one day.”
I am not sure whether any spoke to Thomas, but clearly, all hands knew most of the details of James’ death. His role in the accident did little to enhance Thomas’ standing with the crew, most of them having, at one time of another, felt the hostility that seemed to surround my colleague.
Thomas, for his part, went about his duties in silence. His jaw held its defiant cast, and his eyes were barely slits, an expression that encouraged none to engage him in conversation. Any words, orders only, that he uttered were spoken in a growl and received little in the way of acknowledgement.
None of us had received any further word from Captain Decatur as to what our future might hold. This uncertainty seemed to occupy all my thoughts not taken up by the performance of my duties.
I promised myself, no, I forced myself, not to despond. I would maintain a jaunty attitude, at least in the company of others. After all, it was not I who had shot my messmate. Indeed, was it not I who tried repeatedly to avoid the armed confrontation? But in the privacy of the cockpit or alone about the deck, the memory of James flooded back, and I discovered that my reaction to his death was quite another matter. Everything below reminded me of my friend, and, topside or aloft, I could see him clearly in my mind’s eye as he went cheerfully about his duties.
I stood my watches with Lieutenant Hobbs as before; our conversation was limited to courses, sail t
rim, and other official subjects. I wanted desperately to return to the relationship with the officers I had previously enjoyed, but so far, it seemed that only the sailors were prepared to treat me, and the others, as anything but a pariah. As Judd and I sat down for dinner on the second day out of Messina—I had just been relieved from the watch by Thomas—I voiced my concern.
“Do you think Captain Decatur has told the officers to have naught to do with us, Judd? Seems like none of them will even talk to us.”
“I have little idea, Oliver. But I quite agree with you. What I can’t understand is why they would treat me, and you, that way. Thomas . . . well, I can understand that some might not want to keep company with him as he might be facin’ a court martial, but we surely aren’t. Doesn’t seem to tally, in my book.” His brow furrowed and his eyes got a distant look to them.
He really doesn’t think he did anything out of the ordinary! As if fighting a duel with pistols at forty paces could be considered normal! I shook my head, quite perplexed at his attitude.
“Judd, do you think that facing a messmate at forty paces with pistols would not . . . might not . . . earn one a court martial?”
“Captain Decatur himself stood as second in a duel when he was last here, in ‘02 or ‘03, it was. Captain Bainbridge’s brother—he’s here in the squadron— fought some British fop. As I understand it, young Joseph Bainbridge, who was only a midshipman then, endured some insults in the theatre from this Englishman and then gave him a punch in the jaw. This, of course, earned him the right of facing the British civilian with pistols. He asked Decatur to second him and the captain set up the duel. I heard that their first shots proved nothing, and that neither would apologize. So they loaded their pistols again, and, after pacing off the requisite ten, I think, paces, Bainbridge killed the other with a shot through the heart. Decatur not only witnessed it, but he set it up, arranged for the place . . . everything you did for me, and more, Oliver. So I would think it unlikely that Captain Decatur would want to convene a court martial for me. Since Thomas killed an innocent, a bystander, if you will, a court martial might signify more in his case. And it would upset me not a whit were he to do so.”
How can you sit there and cast all the blame on Thomas? I certainly have no love for him and, to be sure, it was him that shot James. But he wouldn’t have been up on that hill dueling by himself! Had you apologized to him, the duel would never have taken place and James would still be with us. I reckon my thoughts must have been clear from the expression I wore.
“Oliver, when will you grow up and realize that in the world of men, honorable men, there are things that simply must be done. It is expected. And dueling is and, I suspect, will continue to be, honorable and not only accepted, but expected as well when the circumstances warrant it. And in the case of Thomas and myself, they surely did.” Judd spoke quietly, but with a tone of frustration at, I assume, my inability to grasp the responsibilities of men, mixed with his growing impatience with me.
We finished our meal silently, each of us turned inwards. Immediately it was done, Judd stood, nodded to me, and left the cockpit. I was in my cot, thinking about how I was fast running out of friends because of my narrow views on killing one’s messmate, when I realized he had left to take the watch. The night, the glowing sky over the volcano, still brilliant and colorful, held little interest for me.
The next morning, shortly after sunrise, I stood silently on the quarterdeck with Lieutenant Hobbs when the headlands of Syracuse were sighted, announced, and acknowledged. Hobbs did not even send me aloft to confirm it. By the time the watch would have been called to breakfast, we were shortening sail and making for the anchorage.
When I saw Preble’s flagship dominating the harbor, my heart beat faster as the thought of a letter from Edward flashed through my head, and then an uneasiness came over me as I realized that the ultimate decision on our futures would soon be reached. Syren was also visible, and I could make out the little Intrepid secured to the brig’s side. We made our number, fired a salute, and saw it acknowledged. Then flags whipped to the mizzen cro’jack yard on Constitution. I didn’t need the signal book to read our number followed by “Captain repair aboard.”
As soon as our anchor was set, Decatur had a boat lowered. “Mister Lawrence, see that the midshipmen remain aboard, if you please. And the officers are available should they be called as witnesses to a court martial.” The captain’s words as he stepped into the boat still rang in my ears, causing my stomach to churn with great enthusiasm.
I found myriad little chores to occupy myself while he was reporting to the commodore. I was sure that it would be some time before Decatur returned, since Enterprise had been away from the squadron for several months, and there would be a host of details to be gone over, as well as the matter of one midshipman killing another.
When I heard Anderson’s pipe summoning attendants to the side for the captain’s return, it seemed that only an hour had passed; in fact, he had been gone nearly all morning!
“Officers to the Cabin, Mister Lawrence, if you please.” Decatur barely hesitated between the break in the waist and the hatch to his Cabin below.
“You wish the young gentlemen there also, sir?” Lawrence inquired of the back of the captain’s head as he disappeared from view.
“We will deal with them after I have talked with the officers.” And he was gone.
I hurried to the cockpit to share this intelligence with my mates, who still sat in stony silence at the table. As I repeated what I had heard, both looked at me with no more interest than had I mentioned it was raining.
“Why should you care about that, Oliver? Ain’t likely nothing’ll happen to you; you weren’t holding a pistol.” Thomas spat his words out of his mouth like they tasted bad.
“I think we’re all in this together, Thomas. I wasn’t holding a pistol and, to be sure, I didn’t shoot anybody, but I was there as Judd’s second, and that makes me a part of it.” I stopped and looked at my adversary for a moment. Then I gave in to the temptation that lurked in my breast. “But I expect you’ll likely come out the worst, since you did the killing.” I was unable to suppress a smile as I said it.
“Aye, I done the killing. And you know, we all know, it was an accident. They don’t court martial people for having accidents, you fool. There won’t be nothin’ what happens to me. You watch and see if I’m not right.” His sneer and surly tone did nothing to hide the concern that showed plainly in his eyes. He clearly did not fully believe his own words.
So we sat, each wrapped in our own thoughts, and waited. Before dinner was piped down for the crew, a Marine knocked on the doorway to the cockpit, told us the captain requested our presence, and departed. As one, we rose, followed in the Marine’s wake, and were summarily shown into the Cabin. The officers had already left.
Decatur spoke without preamble upon our entrance. “As you may know, I personally have no compunction about settling differences by dueling. It is an honorable tradition used for generations by honorable men. And I am imbued with the idea that it is an entirely appropriate activity for gentlemen. However, it would seem to go without saying that the participants only should be at risk, not the witnesses or bystanders. When others become involved, the event becomes less than honorable.”
The three of us stood in a line in front of his desk at rigid attention, looking straight ahead. On, God! Here it comes. He is going to court martial Thomas.
“I have discussed your actions with the commodore and am in agreement with his decision; Enterprise will be returning to the blockade within the week and, Mister Wheatley, you will remain here. I will arrange for you to take lodgings with an acquaintance of Commodore Preble who, I am assured, will see to your needs and well-being.” Decatur looked squarely at Thomas, who quickly exchanged the beginnings of a smile for a more sincere and serious face.
“I would be pleased to see to my own lodgings, sir. I would not want to trouble the commodore’s friend. I have some money to
pay for my keep, as well, sir.”
“That will be quite unnecessary, Mister Wheatley. It is being arranged even as we speak. But I am sure your host will appreciate your willingness to defray his expenses on your behalf. And since you will be under confinement, there will be little else on which you might squander your funds.” Seeing the look of surprise, then horror that crossed Wheatley’s face, the captain continued, his voice still hard. “Remaining here while your messmates handle your duties, stand your watches, and essentially take your place will only answer if you are precluded from enjoying the pleasures that Syracuse has to offer. And there will be a letter of reprimand sent to the Secretary of the Navy for placement in your file.” Decatur paused, watching Wheatley for a reaction. Save a stony, fixed expression and a grayish cast to his face, there was none.
“You other two,” he continued, pointing a finger from each hand at Judd and me, “will, as I mentioned, take on all of Mister Wheatley’s duties; you will stand his watches, handle his division, and slack not a whit in the execution of your own responsibilities while doing it. Having something to keep you busy will, perhaps, keep you out of trouble. I would suggest that, in the future, a different way of settling your differences might answer better than pistols. At least until you gain respect for the tradition.” He stopped, returned his hands to his desk while he studied each of us in turn and then steepled his fingers, adding, “I hold each of you responsible for the death of your messmate, Mister Stevens. While Mister Wheatley actually pulled the trigger, you all were involved. It is indeed fortunate for you that, unlike the Army, the Navy has no laws against dueling, and neither the commodore nor I feel the need for any. However, there is no honor to be had in the killing of innocents. Mister Wheatley, you will collect your seachest and be ready to go ashore by six bells in the afternoon watch. You are dismissed.” The captain dropped his eyes and began to shuffle some papers on his desk as we turned to march out. “One moment, if you please, Mister Baldwin. Stand fast; I have more for you.”
The Greater the Honor Page 30
