The enemy boats were tucked in under the protection of that besieged fort and still firing, though sporadically and poorly laid. The musket fire had ceased but, in its place, the heavy shore guns had found our range as well as that of our gunboats. We filled the air with iron, fire, and smoke. In the easy breeze, the lavender-tinged smoke clung to us, as much hiding us from their gunners as it hid them from us. It became nigh impossible to see more than the bares outline of the fort; their own thick smoke obscured their battlements and flashed eerily with each discharge of their guns. I found, from watching Bradford, that laying my guns at the brightest point of the glow would produce the best effect, and soon we had silenced at least one of the batteries firing from Fort English. The American gunboats, I believe it was Somers’ division which included Lieutenant Hobbs and Judd, continued to maintain fire into the polaccas and the fort, adding their considerable weight of metal to ours, Vixen’s, Syren’s and Argus.’
Further to the east, I could see glimpses of the other division of gunboats as they supported our bomb vessels, laying a steady fire into the castle and the batteries near to it. A deeper, more resonating voice announced that Preble had taken Constitution in close, closer in than were the bomb ships, and was entertaining the barbarians with broadside after broadside from his twenty-four-pounders. The presence of such a large target was irresistible to the enemy, and the flagship drew much of the fire away from our bomb vessels and the other gunboats. I suspected at the time that it was exactly what the commodore had intended.
We continued the action for what seemed only a short time, but when Lawrence called for us to cease firing and hauled his wind to bring Enterprise around on a course back to the north, I was surprised to see my watch said half after four. For over two hours, we had maintained a barrage of fire which surely told on the enemy. As the rising wind blew away the smoke, huge gaps appeared in the walls of the fort, the castle, and the wall around the town itself, much to the delight of all of us. Seeing that we had damaged the enemy to such an extent made the wounds to our own ships seem insignificant. While all the schooners and both of the brigs had sustained damage, it was mostly of a superficial nature to our rigs and sails. I am sure I was as grime-smeared as I had been when Bradford was inspired to offer the compliment, but hot, tired, and mostly deaf, I neither sought nor expected it to be repeated.
Weary cheers issued from each vessel and from each of the gunboats as we passed them towlines to haul them out. Constitution, visibly damaged from her foray off the castle, sailed by with one of the bombs in tow as well as four of the gunboats. 1 assumed they were mostly intact and included Decatur’s as well as Hobbs’ commands, as the gunboat astern of Enterprise carried no familiar faces. In the dimming light of the day, I counted and discovered that one of the bomb vessels and the brig Scourge had gone missing; they were neither with us nor were they with the flagship and the other gunboats. What had happened?
The fleet sailed in the rising breeze, a breeze which was shifting more and more northerly, to the same position we had occupied for days, well to the west of the fortifications and the town. We set our anchors while we knotted and spliced, hammered and nailed, and repaired our damage. The injuries to our vessels seemed more significant now than when we were still engaged with our enemy. Bosun Anderson and the sailing master were supervising a clutch of men aloft repairing falls and lifts and replacing blocks, deadeyes, and other parts of the rig. Our sailmaker had already pulled down the outer jib and the fores’l, which had both received a number of shot holes, the fores’l the worse by half. 1 knew that new or repaired sails would be bent on before the golden fingers of dawn overspread the eastern sky.
As I watched a gang of haulers on the main deck respond to Anderson’s orders, heaving around on various halyards and braces as necessary, 1 wondered about Thomas and Judd and how they had fared. I knew several of the gunboats had taken hits to more than just their rigging. While neither was aboard, I recalled that one of the bombs was still missing, and Captain Decatur had yet to return to the schooner.
Perhaps they were in the group picked up by Constitution and are still secured astern of the flagship awaiting a tow to us. I truly hope . . . .why do you care what might have happened to Wheatley? He took your rightful place with the captain and has most likely done some telling battle. You should be angry.
But I was not; I was concerned about both my shipmates and offered a silent but fervent prayer that they might have escaped without damage. Supper in the cockpit, for just me, did not appeal, and I lingered topside, watching the other ships tend to their own wounds.
“Mister Baldwin, since it appears to be just the three of us this evening, would you care to join Morris and me in the gunroom for supper? 1 submit it will be more pleasant than dining alone in the cockpit.” Lieutenant Lawrence stood behind me, a bemused expression suggesting his sincerity.
“Oh, sir. Yes, sir. That would be grand. I shall tell Goodbody that I’ll not be dining in the cockpit. At what time should I arrive, sir?”
“About half an hour from now would be convenient. That will give you time to clean up some.” Lawrence’s voice seemed muted to my still-suffering ears, but the irony of his tone came through in spite of my own shortcomings.
I had touched neither water nor soap since we finished the engagement in Tripoli and was still, I am sure, a sight to behold. I remembered how I had looked after my last term as a gun captain and could feel my face flush, the spreading redness hopefully covered by the coating of dirt and grime that extended from my hairline to my collar and beyond.
“Yes, sir. I shall attend to that at once, sir. And thank you again, sir.” I turned and headed for a bowl of hot water and soap along with a clean uniform. I repaired my considerably disheveled appearance within the allotted half hour and presented myself at the gunroom punctually.
“Mister Lawrence, sir. A boat from Constitution is headed this way. When we hailed it, the cox’n responded with “Enterprise,” so it must be Cap’n Decatur returning.” The messenger stood stiffly at attention in the gunroom door while the officers studied him, chewing thoughtfully.
“I will be up directly. Ensure that Mister Anderson has called out sideboys, if you please.” Lawrence stood and said to us, “Gentlemen, excuse me if you will. It would appear the captain is back.” He strode purposefully out of the room, pulling his napkin from his neck and throwing it on the table as he passed.
Morris stood and announced he would join the first lieutenant. I took one more bite of the supper and, chewing it slowly, followed him, unable to decide whether my desire to greet the captain, and perhaps, my colleagues, was overshadowed by my unwillingness to be left alone in the officers mess.
“Welcome back, sir. It would appear you and the others of the gunboats accomplished a great success. I would expect the Bashaw would be more ready than ever to treat with us. And with more reason, perhaps. I think we taught him a lesson this time!” Lawrence greeted Decatur effusively, seemingly seeking credit for the efforts of the schooners and brigs.
“It was Constitution taught him a thing or two, Mister Lawrence. And no mistake. The gunboats and bombs certainly added their voice to the lesson, but the eleven full broadsides offered by Captain Chauncey, who again commanded the flagship, will be the telling stroke, no doubt. And it very nearly cost us one of the bomb ships; Robinson’s vessel took enough shot into her to put her on the bottom of the harbor. It was only through fine seamanship seasoned with a good bit of luck that Scourge got to her in time to save the crew and pull the wreck clear. Lost not a soul on any vessel! A fine stroke of luck, indeed.” Decatur had stopped and had caught up all of us on deck in his story and comment on the parts of the battle we had not seen. Lawrence asked him a question which I could not catch as I was distracted by a hand from behind me laid upon my shoulder.
“Some fun that was, eh, Oliver? You missed out on some right fine shooting. And who ever said those rascals don’t shoot back? They most certainly did today!” Without t
urning, I instantly recognized Thomas Wheatley’s gloat, even though he spoke barely above a whisper, and only loud enough for me to hear.
“I know they shoot back, I’ve been here all along, Thomas. Remember? And we took some shot aboard on Enterprise as well. So did the other schooners and the brigs.” I turned around to see his grinning face. He had apparently washed, but in so doing, had missed some of the dirt and grime from the firing and smears of it streaked one side of his face and his neck. I smiled at him, amused at his appearance; he thought I was sharing his bon hommie and threw an arm across my shoulders, leading me away from the others as he began to offer the details of their fight.
“Mister Baldwin, before you run off to share tales of gallantry with your colleague, a moment, if you please.” Decatur’s voice stopped me in my tracks, and I threw off Wheatley’s arm to turn back.
“Sir? Yes, sir?”
“I think you might have an interest in this, Baldwin.” Decatur held up something pale, scarcely larger than his hand. I could not make it out in the dim light of the quarterdeck lantern and stepped toward him.
“Yes, sir. What is that, sir?”
“Oh, just a letter from an old friend of mine you might enjoy reading.” The smile in his voice was echoed by his countenance; he extended his hand with the letter, and I rushed to take it.
Edward! It’s a letter from Edward! Where did it come from? Surely there were no messengers that came out during the battle!
“It came out with some other papers and letters the other day on that Spaniard. Been sitting on the flagship until Commodore Preble gave it to me just this evening. I hope all is well. I know Bainbridge is recovering nicely and, aside from a few cases of scurvy, I believe the rest are doing nicely, considering their captivity,” Decatur told me as he presented to me Edward’s letter; I could now see his fine handwriting in the dim light, and, as I took it from the captain, I could barely contain myself. I studied the outside as if I might divine the contents.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you. I had hoped for . . .” Decatur’s laugh cut me off and he sent me along with a reminder to let him know of anything important Edward might have included.
The cockpit and my colleagues would have to wait; I had a letter from my brother and would read it now! As Judd and Thomas headed below after learning why I had been detained, I grabbed a lantern and made my way forward to sit again on the carriage of number one as I read my brother’s words.
My dear brother,
It is my fervent hope you continue to do well in your employment, enjoying your profession and remaining unharmed in its pursuit. We have seen not only the evidence of you and your colleagues’ visits, but from time to time, seen your ships and witnessed the splendid accuracy of your gunnery. From your past letters which never failed to mention your growing prowess with your battery, I trust some of the shot we recently received came from your own hand!
I stopped reading and searched for a date on the letter. What did he mean by ‘recent’? Had shots we fired done damage to the prisoners or their quarters? How dreadful it would be to have actually fired into the captives’ quarters! I found a date at the end, only a few days ago; it would have been written after our long night of firing during which we received no return fire, as well as the following attack.
Your attack of the 3rd inst. was stunning! While I and my colleagues could see little of it, we were fully aware of the firing on both sides. Some of your shots told brilliantly in the fortress and castle and, we have learned from our warders, inspired the Bashaw to a fury previously unseen. It might also have been the loss of quite a number of his boats—we have heard variously numbers from two to twenty and surmise the fact is somewhere between the two.
Your commodore and his captains, particularly my old and special friend SD, are deserving of great merit. One of the guards here mentioned, perhaps unintentionally, that several of the Bashaw’s gunboats were taken by boarding! If that is so, it is, according to the same source, the first time that any corsair has been successfully boarded and carried. It appeared to us, from his limited command of our language or any other civilized tongue, that these heathens have developed a new respect for American sailors. Bravo! And well done, Brother! You and your colleagues have taught them a valuable lesson and, we are sure, you will reap the benefit of it soon.
I smiled in spite of myself. Little did he know how right his prophesy was; already we had benefited from their newly acquired fear of being boarded by American seamen.
We applaud and cheer your splendid attacks and the success you are enjoying! They have, how so ever, taken their toll on the ones held in this God-forsaken prison. After the first attack extracted such a price and devastation on the surrounds, the Bashaw ordered the townspeople to assist on the fortress batteries as well as those on the mole. We understand that most refused, being more afraid of the American gunnery than the wrath of the Bashaw. You may have noticed that your next attack received little in the way of counter fire; there were simply too few men available to carry shot and powder to the guns. When we heard the third attack commence, we again rejoiced and celebrated. Until the guards took us all, men and officer alike, and marched us at sword point to the magazines to carry twenty-four-pound shot and powder to the guns on the walls.
Any flagging or shirking, which we all attempted with varying measures of success, was met with several strokes of the cat. Even against the officers. However, even with the prospect of a flogging staring us in the face, we all moved as slowly and clumsily as possible, dropping round shot and splitting open powder bags as often as we dared. Our delaying actions must have had the desired effect as at the next attack, they took only the sailors—the very same ones who had been pressed into building the fort from which they fired at you. And we have heard that they continued to move as slowly as possible.
In a strange irony, it might have been the better for us had we handled their cursed shot and powder! We received several American balls in our quarters during the firing!
I looked up, stunned at this revelation! Oh, no! Exactly what I had feared. We have been firing into the very building where the Philadelphias are held. I must tell the captain so he can ensure we don’t repeat that! I went back to the letter, fearing the worst.
One twenty-four-pound ball, in fact, came through the wall in the small cell owned by the captain and covered the poor man with rock and cinders. It took us more than a little time to dig the unfortunate out, but we were overjoyed to find him nearly unharmed. A few cuts and bruises and a badly wrenched leg were his only complaints! Fortunately there were no serious injuries, else we would have feared for his life knowing the level of medical services we, any of us, are likely to receive.
The warders gloat that your forces have taken a great number of casualties in the various actions, but knowing how those same heathens try regularly to undermine our spirit and morale, many of us have decided that their estimate of the effectiveness of their guns, and the vessels those guns have done in, is some extravagant and mostly exaggerated. Pray tell me in your next letter how our brave sailors have fared!
Be certain to give my warmest greetings to your cap’t., my great good friend from Philadelphia, SD. I have shared many of my memories of our youth with my colleagues here; there is little else with which we might pass the time. You were, I think, too youthful, or off at the academy, to share in the special times Stephen, his little brother James, and I spent chasing about in our fair city along with Dickie Somers and a few who chose to remain ashore. Of course, during the summers of the yellow fever, we saw little enough of one another as our families went in different directions to escape that dreadful disease. Though you were but a lad of 9 years, I am certain you recall the outbreak during the summer and fall of 1798. I was just starting out as a midshipman then and visiting our parents on a short leave from the Navy as I remember, and we, all of us, up and left in July for New Jersey. I left from there, as I recollect, to rejoin my ship; you all did not go back to Held Street until
well into October. That was the summer the Mayor and both Mister Bache and Mister Fenno succumbed along with 3000 others. Dreadful, it was. Does that horrible disease still run rampant?
Enough of my ranting for now, you will think I have gotten a touch of the fever myself, the way I am going on. David Porter has asked my help with the young gentlemen as they continue to read their professional studies, and I must stop now to attend to that. Keep up your splendid efforts and with luck, the wearing down of the Bashaw, and the Grace of God, I shall join you sooner than later.
With the greatest of affection . . .
“Oliver! Where have you been? I been looking for you for the past half a glass and more! I must . . .” Thomas stopped as I looked up from Edward’s letter, suddenly realizing he was intruding. Then he went on, barely a heartbeat later. “I must tell you my great good news! I am to go with Captain Somers on Intrepid when she is rigged as a fire ship! What do you think of that? I reckon De . . . Cap’n Decatur approved it on account of I ain’t been out here as long as the rest of you and he thought I deserved it. There’s going to be some glory there, when we blow the mole and his gunboats clear to hell!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
He stood there, breathless in his excitement, grinning hugely as he waited for my response. For my part, I could only stare at him. Part of my head was in the prison with Edward and another part of it heard Wheatley’s announcement.
“I . . . think that’s . . . I can’t understand why the captain would assign that to you. Judd or I should do that. We’ve been here; we know the ropes.” I was becoming less and less happy with his return; why couldn’t he have stayed locked up in Syracuse?
The Greater the Honor Page 39
