He thought a moment, then smiled broadly at Judd, and, after another draught from his glass, went on. “I would suppose that Mister Baldwin, here, has regaled you with all the details of the morning.” It was not a question.
“Yes, sir, he has. And I hope we can do those pirates some damage again when next we meet them. I thought it most generous of Admiral Lord Nelson to offer his congratulations to us on our ‘adventure.’ And splendid that the officers and midshipmen are being rewarded for our participation.” Judd offered. Then, almost an afterthought. “And the captain’s promotion . . . that was . . . grand, yes, a grand gesture by our Congress.”
“Quite remarkable, I’d call it, that he should be elevated by two ranks instead of just one. I can’t help but wonder if it’s ever been done before that way. ‘Course, now he’s a captain, they aren’t likely to leave him in command of a puny little schooner; no sir, something bigger and fancier will have to be found for him. Maybe even Constitution!” The doctor laughed; it started as a giggle and grew quickly into a full-blown belly-laugh, one in which we were drawn to join whether we wanted to or not. I, for one, could see nothing humorous, though I joined in the laughter. Perhaps Reliance Wakefield had already slaked his thirst some before joining Judd and me.
“Why would that be so hilarious, sir?” I asked when Wakefield had caught his breath and the attention of the others on the establishment had returned to their own interests.
“He’s barely twenty-five years of age, and until this morning, was only a lieutenant, Oliver. Doesn’t that strike even you as a trifle young to be commanding the mightiest ship in the Navy?” He laughed again, though less boisterously this time.
I considered the matter for a moment. “Sir, if I may, why should his age have anything to do with whether or not he can do the job?” After all, look at me. I am barely fifteen and have already killed a man and taken part in ‘the most bold and daring adventure of the age’. . . or something like that.
The doctor considered me for a moment, undoubtedly deciding if I was serious. His brow wrinkled and two little vertical lines formed between his eyes. Then, quite suddenly, his forehead cleared, his eyes danced, and he smiled broadly. “Well, Oliver. I suppose you might have a point mere. Look at you, after all. And young James Stevens. Was he not even younger than you?” I nodded. Wakefield grew serious and changed tacks. “I can not think of a more qualified commander for that or any other ship of the Navy than Captain Decatur. It just struck me funny that such a young man would be given such a responsible employment. But these are strange and different times and call for bold strokes to be taken.”
Judd, thinking, I am sure, to turn the subject away from one that might strain my relationship with the surgeon, pointed across the room.
“Look there, gentlemen. Speaking of ‘young,’ is that not a midshipman from our flagship? Seems to walk with a certain swagger, for one so young.” Judd aimed his knife across the floor to where a young man in the uniform of a midshipman, who looked about my age, was strutting toward a table already occupied by some of his mates. He did seem to swagger, suggesting experience and knowledge beyond his years. And, from what I could see of his face, he wore an expression of disdain, as though just being there was beneath him. We all watched him until he made a place for himself at the table. Then Wakefield turned back to us and laughed quietly.
“I do believe that’s young Ridgely. Met him a few months ago, in less than glorious circumstances. If my recollection is correct, that swagger will turn into a stagger before he leaves this place. And that will be justified!”
We all laughed, this time genuinely, and continued to chat like old friends sharing a meal. Remembering my previous experiences and Wakefield’s somewhat caustic comment about staggering, I was careful about bringing my own self to that point. I did manage to suggest to him that I had a matter to discuss with him at his convenience.
“Tomorrow, lad, tomorrow. Once we are back aboard our little cockleshell of a ship, I shall be pleased to listen and offer whatever advice an old surgeon might have to offer. But, with your indulgence, I would wait until the light of a new day dawns.”
And so it would be; and he would be quite sober by then, a condition that clearly eluded him now.
Our evening ended cordially, and was financially successful for Judd and me, as Mister Wakefield would hear nothing of us spending our own money. “You lads gave up whatever it was you had planned for this evening to amuse an old man; you must let me make that up to you.”
It was only a matter of two or three days before Enterprise and the brig Syren won their anchors from the sandy bottom of the harbor at Syracuse and headed south to join the blockade with Vixen, Argus and, we hoped soon, Constitution and her fleet of gunboats. I was sure that Captain Decatur would be keeping a watchful eye on the horizon for Nautilus and his brother, lames.
Boisterous weather and contrary winds met us only a day out but, other than delaying our arrival, did no damage to either vessel. We took our station as darkness fell just a few days past the anniversary of American Independence. Syren, under Captain Stewart, was assigned a station just off the rocks beyond the eastern approach to Tripoli’s harbor. Enterprise remained to the west, in sight of Argus.
Lieutenant Hobbs and I were once again paired on the watch bill, and our quiet comments during the small hours of the next morning, as we guided the schooner off and on the coast, were interrupted by the hoarse whisper of a lookout.
“Quarterdeck! Vessel off the port bow. Might be a league distant. No lights that I can see.”
A nod from Hobbs sent me scurrying forward and into the lower shrouds of the foremast, a night glass slung across my back. I studied the vessel from my perch on the ratlines and hastened back to tell Hobbs of my discovery.
“She appears to be a schooner, sir. Not unlike ourselves. I wonder if it might not be Vixen returning. Captain Hull did say he thought we were them when we came in last night. She surely did not have the appearance of one of those pirate vessels we have seen.” I hoped I was not being overly optimistic; the arrival of Constitution and the gunboats would be most welcome in evening up the fight, when it came. Two schooners of twelve guns and a pair of sixteen-gun brigs would hardly be a match for dozens of Tripolitan gunboats, polaccas, and the few brigs the pirates held.
“Quartermaster, show a light to Argus telling her of this . . . never mind. I would reckon Hull’s seen it, whatever it might be, himself. There’s his signal lights now.” Hobbs was watching our larger colleague through his night glass.
“Sir, yes, sir. That’s just what they are. He also says ‘Do not fire without my order.’ Shall I acknowledge?”
“Aye. Do that. Oliver, you might have our forward guns manned, just in case. And fetch up the captain, if you please.” Hobbs swung his glass forward and studied the approaching ship.
“Fetch me up for what, Mister Hobbs?” Decatur’s voice was so quiet that it startled me and Hobbs more than had he shouted.
Hobbs quickly explained and offered the captain his night glass.
“I will just have a look myself, gentlemen.” He strode forward and we watched him climb a few steps up the weather ratlines.
When he returned, he was smiling. “I think Captain Smith might take exception to being fired on by his own, gentlemen. That is clearly Vixen returning from wherever Hull has sent her.”
“More lights from Argus, sir. ‘Vixen’s number, it is, sir.” The quartermaster was clearly pleased we would not be entering a contest just yet.
The captain retired below again, and the schooner fell in with Argus and ourselves. Syren remained barely visible to our west. The dark hours passed uneventfully. Dawn found us all close by one another in oily calm seas with sails slatting uselessly.
A signal came from Syren for captains to repair aboard. Of course, Captain Stewart had no knowledge of our captain’s wonderful promotion; had he, the others would likely have come to Enterprise! Judd mentioned that to me as we watched our boat pul
l smartly for the brig.
It seemed barely an hour they were gone before the boat and our captain were again alongside the schooner. Of course, all of us stood expectantly near at hand, should Decatur have something to tell us, which he did.
“Well, we know now what vessels they have in the harbor, gentlemen. And it would appear to me that with the flagship’s long guns, the gunboats Preble has borrowed from the King of the Two Sicilies, and ourselves, we can give them a right warm action. Captain Smith took Vixen right in and had himself a fine look.” Decatur was jubilant at the prospects of a ‘right warm action.’ For my own self, I still was not so sure.
In the event, it would be a while coming; Constitution was not yet here and Mother Nature had different plans for us. The oily calm augured more boisterous weather, a black squall, I heard the men call it, and we were driven to find sea room away from the treacherous rocks and shoals of the Tripolitan coast. The shallow water caused the mounting seas to break, and the northerly gale threatened to blow us ashore unless we were able to claw our way into the safety of the deeps.
Two days into it, the flagship hove into view, towing a string of gunboats behind her. They were none of them faring well. Constitution’s tophamper looked severely damaged even to my inexperienced eye; the gunboats seemed awfully low in the water and worked at their tethers in a most distressing way. Preble signaled us that he was headed for Malta to make repairs. It would be more than a week before he rejoined us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
By July’s end, and still not a shot fired, the squadron was once again assembled within striking distance of Tripoli’s harbor. Nautilus had come out just after the flagship left Messina with the gunboats, stopping at Syracuse to take in tow two mortar boats which would add nicely to our ability to provide our captain’s ‘warm action.’
The six gunboats and two bomb vessel were parceled out to the rest of the fleet; Constitution took in tow the two mortar (bomb) boats, while Argus took a pair of the gunboats behind her. Syren, Vixen, Nautilus, and Enterprise each towed one of the ungainly vessels and made their way to a position some two and one half miles to the north of the harbor, where we all anchored.
Again, Mother Nature conspired against us; not one hour had elapsed before the wind, which had been light from the east-southeast, shifted quickly into the north and threatened to blow us all ashore. The sea became alarmingly choppy, with the waves once again breaking into the low-lying gunboats. The signal was made to up our anchors and stand for open water. For three days the winds assaulted us, but to our great joy, it shortly had veered back to the east, which had the effect of knocking down the short steep seas. It would have been most awkward had we been forced to contend with big seas while we towed the small craft. Even so, our flagship suffered a split fore course and main tops’l, both having been close reefed. The shallow draft vessels, all the rest of the squadron, escaped unscathed. But our plans were again confounded.
By midday on August third, we were once again back on our stations a league off the harbor. It was a fine day with an easy, easterly breeze. Through the glass, I could see the rocks surrounding the harbor entrance; the seas were not breaking over them.
“Flags on Constitution, sir.” The quartermaster studied them with his long glass for a moment, consulted his book, and offered, “Says, ‘Come within hail,’ sir.”
“Bring her about, Mister Devon, and let us see what the commodore has in store for us. I’ll warrant we’ll all be most pleased with it.” Decatur’s eyes sparkled as he thought of what lay ahead. “It surely is time!” He muttered this last, giving voice—privately, to be sure—to the frustration most had felt with the delays in our attack.
Enterprise bore up, passed smartly through stays, and bounded off on the other tack to close with the frigate. Even the gunboat, still following obediently on its tether astern, seemed nearly as eager as the sprightly schooner as we narrowed the distance to the frigate. Judd had been restored to our captain’s good graces, having been granted the privilege of standing watches, during daylight hours, by himself. It seemed a truly fine day.
As we approached the towering side of the flagship, Decatur became increasingly agitated, his body silently urging the little schooner to sail faster and more weatherly. His glance turned repeatedly to the vessel in tow, his scowl offering a silent curse at its deterrence to our sailing ability. His eyes glowed with the now familiar fire as he chafed at his lines for action and the honor that would accrue to us all. On the quarterdeck of Constitution we could see Commodore Preble demonstrating his own urgency; he paced continually, looking up often to ensure himself that indeed the smaller vessels were responding with alacrity to his signal.
“Stand to me harbor entrance, Captain Decatur, and there man your gunboat. As quickly as the others are ready, commence your attack. We will begin our bombardment immediately you are standing in.” The voice, made tinny by the speaking trumpet, was not the commodore’s, but it mattered not a whit to Decatur, nor any of us. The captain doffed his hat and made a bow in reply, giving the order to bear off under the frigate’s stem. As soon as our rakish bowsprit was clear of the gig in its davits at Constitution’s stern, he wore Enterprise around to “stand for the harbor entrance.”
We were finally going to attack the castle and fortifications! Now that we were actually going to do it, I felt my stomach knot and noticed that my mouth was suddenly dry. It would likely be an hour and more before all the gunboats and schooners were in position and ready. An hour that I knew would pass all too quickly, and . . . I steered myself away from the timid thoughts and looked at my fellows on the schooner.
Why can’t I be like Decatur? Look at him. He is positively delighted! Almost dancing with the anticipation of doing battle. I would reckon there’s not a shred of doubt or fear in him. I looked around. Judd neither. Though by my own observation, Judd was certainly not ‘almost dancing’ with anticipation! But neither did he seem at all nervous.
It seemed barely a few minutes before we had rounded up to stays, brought the gunboat alongside on its tether, and begun passing shot and powder down to its deck. And then it was time for us and our handful of Italian seamen to take our positions in the little ship.
I had caught some of the enthusiasm exuded by my captain and colleagues, and, while not quite as exuberant as they, I was able to speak. While my stomach felt as though it had become quarters to a flock of butterflies, I no longer felt the need to remain close to the leeward rail. I consoled myself with the thought that, with our actions and my participation, I might help to speed Edward’s release from the dreadful dungeon maintained by those barbarians. As we stepped down into our gunboat and prepared to cast off from the schooner, I found that my legs were no longer watery, and, while there was a slight, very slight, tremor in my hands, it seemed not to inhibit my abilities. I found myself looking forward to the excitement and danger of our pending action.
Hobbs, standing on the quarterdeck of the now shorthanded vessel, doffed his hat and shouted encouragingly to us. I saw that the same pantomime was being carried out at the other four vessels and watched the two ungainly mortar boats as they came toward us from Constitution, propelled both by oars and sails, but nonetheless struggling to make ground to weather.
Then, we were ready. The men of the gunboats and approaching bomb vessels offered up a quite spontaneous huzzah as we made for the harbor; I was surprised to find my own voice joining in with no lack of enthusiasm. A mighty roar gave voice to Constitution’s jubilation at finally joining the fray as she fired her broadside into the fortifications around the town, signaling the start of the engagement.
Return fire seemed ineffective; only a few of the guns mounted in the castle’s battlements responded to the flagship’s offering and they were poorly laid. We pressed in, closing to a distance where our smaller guns and mortars could reach. Argus fired as her guns made the range, and I watched the shore carefully for signs of hits.
Here’s your “tribute” to the
Bashaw being paid, and handsomely, Mister Wakefield. Just as you wanted. I hope the barbarian takes it to heart! And soon enough we’ll be offering more. I surprised myself at my own fierceness as I anticipated the moment when our gunboats would join in what would likely turn quickly into a ‘warm action.’
Our orders required us to make up into two divisions of three boats each. We were in the second division under the command of Captain Decatur. The other boats were commanded by Mister Lawrence and an officer from Vixen, a Lieutenant Trippe. In the other group of three, all under the command of Lieutenant Richard Somers, were James Decatur from Nautilus and a lieutenant from Argus named Joshua Blake. Of course, Argus, Vixen, Enterprise, and Syren provided escort and shield for us as we approached the inner harbor, each firing sporadically into the fortified castle walls. The ships were all shorthanded now, but their fire appeared effective, judging from the bits of stone and debris which flew into the air with each hit. Once within the range of our own guns, we separated to our assigned sectors, and, at three o’clock in the afternoon, one of the mortar boats threw a shell into the town, signaling the start of our own attack.
Now suddenly, as though they had just taken notice of our approach, the enemy returned a hot fire, opening up with the rest of the shore-based guns in the fort as well as those in their own gunboats, which commenced getting underway from their moorings at the quay to attack us. It looked like there were dozens of them!
Our gun, as well as those of the other gunboats and the schooners, was firing as fast as the crew could swab, load, ram, and fire it. I watched as the Tripolitan boats drew closer; I counted nineteen of them and two enormous galleys. About a third of them kept to the east near the rocks, and another third moved into a position to the west. The remainder held close under the guns of the fort, apparently a reserve force, but that did not prevent them from firing at us. Oh, my God! How can we succeed against such a force? The butterflies gave way to a twelve-pound ball, and I eased myself toward the low rail of the boat.
The Greater the Honor Page 33
