Isaac paused in the telling of his story to ask for more stew, and his father took the opportunity to ask “Did they make you fight, Isaac? I guess it woulda been the French, then, since we wasn’t at war with ‘em yet.”
“Aye. I was assigned to the maintop and helped out at a gun when I wasn’t need aloft. We had more ‘n a few battles with the French, an’ in one of ‘em, we took a whole fleet of merchantmen as prizes. Beat a couple of their frigates in the bargain, we did. Lost a brig to ‘em, but I reckon we made ‘em pay for that. Cap’n Winston, for all his usin’ the cat regular, was a fine sailor, an’ if’n I hadn’t got off that ship, I’da had some prize money from the French ships we took.”
“Mister Biggs, we’ll have the forecourse now, and you can shake the reef out of the main tops’l. Might as well take advantage of this weather while we can.” The voice of Captain Rogers interrupted his reverie and brought him sharply back to the present.
“Aye, sir. I’ll see to it right away.” He moved forward to where a small knot of men was sheltering from the cold and, sending them aloft, began the process of getting more sail on the General Washington. The reef was shaken out of the main tops’l, and with Biggs giving the orders, the tops’l yard was hauled up and two-blocked. The “heavers” on deck strained against the filled sail, fighting successfully the effects of the diminishing gale, as they manhandled the yard to its proper position. Next came setting the forecourse, and the men who had most recently been aloft on the mainmast clambered up the ratlines to the cap of the lower foremast, and thence most carefully out the footropes to the foreyard. When they were all in position, Ben Stone, in his capacity as captain of the foretop, gave the order and the brails were removed. The men on deck clapped onto the sheet and braces, horsing the yard around and trimming the sail to where it filled with a mighty whoomp. The men, finished with their task, made their way cautiously into the mastcap, and then stepped into the ratlines one at a time, returning to deck and the relative safety thereof. Only one came down the fore backstay; Ben Stone was not about to let some ice intimidate him in front of his men, and he made the dangerous descent without incident.
The ship responded immediately to the increased sail; she heeled and charged ahead, knocking the waves asunder and throwing sheets of ice-laden spray over the windward bow. Biggs returned to the quarterdeck, surprised to see Tompkins waiting for him.
“Time for you to get you some vittles, Isaac me boy. An’ I’ll be seein’ you right back here after the second dog.” Isaac nodded his assent and headed for the warmth of the lower deck and his supper, noting that it was just about full dark now, and the next watch would be even colder.
* * * * * *
“Ice…we got ice dead ahead. Deck there…ice ahead.” The lookout in Constellation’s foretop was paying attention, and could be seen pointing at a rough patch of ice extending several hundred yards side to side, only a hundred yards or so away, and directly in their path. The few men on the quarterdeck gazed aloft at the lookout. The midshipman on the quarterdeck ran up the mizzen rigging to see for himself and from the cro’jack yard could see a large area of rough salt water ice, layered upon itself and undulating slightly with the motion of the water beneath it. He hailed the watch officer confirming the report, and added, “If we bear off about two points, sir, we’ll likely clear it.”
When Constellation had left the confines of the Patapsco River and had carefully turned south around Bodkin Point only a few hours previously, the first lieutenant had smiled and said to the watch officer, “I reckon we won’t have to concern ourselves about ice now. We’re likely past any worry there.” He had then ordered full sail and now the frigate was sailing full and by down the middle of the Bay. The hands had been fed their noon meal, and most of the officers were dining in the wardroom. The ship’s work was mostly done, save for the stowing of a few final crates of stores. This was the time that Captain Stewart would be about ready to send the men to quarters and give them some much needed gunnery practice; today would be an exception since they had just got underway and in the confines of this part of the Bay, he didn’t want to risk an errant ball going ashore in Maryland. And it was likely there would be errant balls.
The bosun and first lieutenant, momentarily at peace with one another, were just aft of the mainmast watching carefully the running and standing rigging, ensuring that the tensions had properly been set by the riggers and the bosun’s men in the yard. At the lookout’s hail, each cast their eyes forward, moving to the rail to get a better look. They did not hear the casual response to the report from the watch officer, the ship’s third lieutenant. He had glowered in the direction of the midshipman, now descending the ratlines, and offered a terse “carry on” to the two quartermasters at the big double wheel.
When the midshipman returned to deck, his unspoken question was all the third lieutenant needed to educate the boy to the ways of the navy. After all, a midshipman barely old enough to shave was ill-advised, indeed, to question the decision of his superior.
“Mister Olson, when you have had some time at sea, you will learn, I should hope for your own benefit, not to question the wisdom of those who have experience, and significantly more knowledge than a fledgling . This vessel was just refit. I reckon that new copper sheathin’ll go right through a little ice.”
Both Mr. Clements and Lieutenant Lyon heard this exchange and quickly separated, the bosun heading forward, and the first lieutenant moving toward the quarterdeck. Neither were prepared for the shudder and screech, as the forefoot of USS Constellation rode up on the ice, then broke through it. And neither man had yet reached his destination.
Lieutenant Lyon reached the quarterdeck and the surprised lieutenant of the watch immediately after the screech of rending metal and ice was heard fore and aft. He lunged for the helm, and snatching it from the two quartermasters, gave it a vicious spin, at the same time, bellowing, “Topmen aloft! Clew up the fores’l. Braces ease; cast off the bowlines and trim your sheets on the main and foretops’l. Sheet in the spanker. Sailing master, get those men moving.”
A dozen and more sailors jumped to grab sheets and braces; some, in the panic of the moment, grabbed lines unassociated with the commands given, further adding to the confusion. Many of the heavers and foc’s’le hands were landsmen and this was their first venture out of the security of the harbor at Baltimore. The sailing master, in an effort to straighten out the confusion caused by the first lieutenant’s bellowed orders, was grabbing some and shoving others, pointing at the appropriate lines as he did so. Only the topmen, experienced seamen all, including Robert Coleman late of the Royal Navy, knew what to do and leapt into the rigging to gather in the huge forward sail and secure it to the spar, as the deck hands hauled on the clew lines. This first maneuver did not go well, and some of the more skeptical among the hands felt it boded ill for the rest of the commission.
Bosun Clements, hanging over the bulwark at the bow, peered down at the cutwater. Unable to see as much as he wanted, he climbed out on the bowsprit, and continued on to the jib boom, turning around when he got to his vantage point to face the ship.
“What about it, Mister Clements? What damage?” Captain Stewart was right there, standing at the bulwark, and alternating his gaze between his bosun and the forefoot of his ship.
“She’s not wounded bad, Cap’n. I kin see a bit o’ copper bent back and off some, but don’t look like they’s no holes in her. Probably should get a man down there and finish off that sheet o’ copper – have to do her afore the seas take it and maybe more, anyway.” He looked squarely at the Captain when he spoke. “Send a man down there to pry her off, I’m thinkin’,” he reiterated.
“Aye, Bosun, we’ll do just that – as soon as I make sure we’re clear.” The Captain watched carefully as Constellation moved easily through the edge of the ice, on a course that would carry her away from the thickest part. Then he headed aft, presumably to the quarterdeck.
“Ah kin git that done for ya, Bosun
. Rig me up a sling right off’n the cathead yonder, and drop me down. Have it fixed up quicker ‘an you kin say it.” The bosun looked up as he stepped back on the foc’s’le, and came face to face with the speaker, a tall rangy young man with light colored hair sticking out from under the front of his hat, and a grin splitting his face. He looked at him for a moment, trying to place him; he’d seen him on the ship before they got underway, but from his lack of uniform and casual attitude, assumed him to be a shipyard worker.
“And you are…?” Clements needed someone with some experience down there, and had been contemplating doing the job himself.
“Tate, sir. Jake Tate. Foretopman an’ rigger. Come aboard ‘bout a week afore we sailed.” The young man continued to grin, and Clements looked him over more carefully. He saw a comfortable looking cove, early twenties, he’d guess, tall and wearing clothes that were obviously from Purser’s slops; his wrists hung out of the sleeves of his tarred canvas jacket, and his blue regulation pants were substantially too short. He wore a dirty regulation hat which had been old before the war started, and his neckerchief could be seen at the open neck of the jacket, wrapped around his throat instead of as custom and regulation required. His light colored hair hung down his back, tied with a short piece of leather into a queue. Tate continued to smile at the bosun.
“From Maryland, sir, and sailed merchants since I bin weaned.” Tate responded to Clements’ unasked question and stood comfortably in front of him as the bosun took his measure.
“Reckon you’ll do, Tate. Get you a length of line and let’s get it rigged.” Clements looked around the foc’s’le, picking a few men he knew to be reliable. “You lads, there, stand by to handle a line here – soon’s the Cap’n gives the word. You there – go find the carpenter and get me sum’pin’ what’ll cut the sheathin’. You’ll likely find him in the for’ard hold, checkin’ to see if we’re makin’ water. Lively now.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Deck there…deck…light to leeward…’pears ‘bout three, mebbe four leagues…for’ard o’ the beam ‘bout two points.” With the easing of the gale to a moderate breeze, and the resultant steadiness of the ship, the lookout in the foretop had been re-established, and the sharp eyes of the seaman stationed there had paid off. Even though he knew there was nothing to be seen from the deck, Third Mate Biggs, on watch for another hour until midnight when Tompkins would again relieve him, looked instinctively to where he expected the light to be. The fact that he saw nothing but the blackness of the night which even the limited starlight failed to diminish, caused him no concern. He lifted his head toward the topmast forward and shouted back.
“Can you make out anything else? Another light, a sail? Look sharp, man!”
“No sir, nothing. In fact the light I saw seems to come and go. Must be a smaller vessel gettin’ down in the troughs. There…there it is again. Can’t make a course or nothin’ else from it. Just the one light.”
“Good eyes, sailor. Keep watchin’ and let us know if’n anything changes with it.” Turning, Biggs said to a seaman loitering near the small quarterdeck, “Go wake Cap’n Rogers, and tell him we got a light to leeward ‘bout ten miles off.”
It seemed like the seaman had been back on the deck only a minute, when the tall form of Captain Rogers materialized beside his third mate and announced his presence by saying quietly, “Hold your course steady, Mister Biggs, until we can know more about our friend to leeward. Let us see what he does, or if in fact, he has seen us. I assume you have extinguished any lights topside?” The question drew a nod from the watch officer, and the captain continued. “I want to stay well to the weather of him until daylight, and we can see what in fact we have. Mercifully, we have ample sea-room and needn’t worry about puttin’ her on the hard whilst we keep an eye on him. Make any corrections in course you think are necessary to keep him in view, but do not close with him.”
Biggs nodded and acknowledged his Captain’s orders. He had learned from his service in the Royal Navy that maintaining the weather gage was critical if one wanted to be in control of a situation, and General Washington was positioned exactly right for determining what action, if any would come with the dawn. He had only to maintain this position and then, when the sun was up, they could close with the unknown and, should an action be necessary to take her as a prize, begin it at their behest rather than at the whim of the other captain.
Rogers stood at the rail for a moment watching his ship work in the easing weather. The worst of the storm was past now and he fully expected the morrow to bring a clear day and a fair wind, perfect for the taking of their first prize of the cruise, should the light to leeward prove to be British or an American sailing under British license. He hated to take American ships as prizes, being an American ship owner himself and knowing what the loss would mean to the owner, but even more, he hated the thought of Americans selling their services to the British to transport cargo which ultimately could be used against other Americans. He hoped the vessel would prove to be British, and a worthy prize for the General Washington.
Throughout the middle and the morning watches, the two ships continued to sail on a generally northeasterly course, Rogers’ ship maintaining its distance and, as far as their quarry was concerned, ignorant of the presence of another vessel anywhere in the same ocean. As dawn’s fingers of early light turned the lingering clouds first pink, then orange, Rogers again came onto the quarterdeck and surveyed the situation. The lookout in the foretop reported that their quarry was now visible, “Tops’ls only, sir”, and then “Three masts I can see, sir.” Tompkins had again relieved Isaac Biggs on the quarterdeck watch and looked questioningly at his captain, waiting patiently while Rogers decided his next course of action.
After some minutes of study, Captain Rogers spoke. “We’ll ease her off a trifle, Mister Tompkins. Start your sheets and let us close somewhat with him. When her top hamper is visible from deck, we will clear for action and see about taking us a prize. Show no colors as yet. We’ll let him make the first move there, but have your lookouts keep a weather eye out for another, or any sign of a ruse. It wouldn’t do to get caught all aback, as it were, sailing blindly into what could turn into an ugly situation if we’re not prepared. For now, how so ever, I shall take my breakfast in the cabin. Call me should anything change.”
With a nod and a tacit salute accompanied by an “Aye, sir,” Tompkins watched the captain’s tall frame disappear into the aft scuttle as he headed below. He turned back to the men at the wheel. “Bring her off a point, lads, easy now.” Raising his voice after turning forward again, he fairly bellowed at the men in the waist. “Ease your sheets, there. We’re coming off some. Braces haul…tops’l sheets…ease off. Mind the sheets on the jibs, you lubbers. Look alive there…that’s better. She’s drawin’ now.” He issued orders to the two men coming aft to tend the spanker, and saw the brig pick up speed as the new course and trim took effect. Even in the now moderate breeze, General Washington made a fine turn of speed, showing her true colors as a fast swimmer which could outsail almost any vessel she might encounter. Tompkins bellowed to the man standing lookout at the foretop. “Aloft there. Look sharp now. Let me know quick as ever you can when you see her hull up, and keep an eye out for any other ships.” He looked at one of the men standing at the foot of the mainmast. “You there, scamper up to the maintop and keep a weather eye skinned. Look smart there, now.”
Having satisfied the captain’s orders, he moved over to the windward rail and watched as the water rushed by, casting an occasional glance forward and to leeward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange vessel, even though he knew it would be most unlikely to sight her anytime soon.
The day continued to brighten as the forenoon watch saw General Washington on a more easterly course, gradually closing the three-master under their lee. The shadows of the sails under the thin morning light were perfectly white with their coating of frost; the sun was not yet high enough or hot enough to penetrate to all areas o
f the brig’s deck and melt the last remnants of the ice. The ship’s work was nearly done and the day had warmed somewhat, allowing the men to repair the damage from the gale of the preceding night. A new foretops’l yard was raised and rigged on the fore topmast, and a new topsail bent on. And while the ice had, for the most part, melted anywhere the sun had hit, the lower rigging and some of upper works retained their slick coatings and the work of sending up the replacement yard and bending on the sail continued to be difficult in the extreme.
A Fine Tops'l Breeze: Volume Two in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 4
