“I think that’s fine, George. Reckon the Brits got enough decency in ‘em to let you pass through their ships. But what is it you want me to do?” Rogers was mystified as to why he had been called here to learn of the plan and it came through in his voice.
“I was just comin’ to that, exactly. The Henry brig ain’t going to be crewed like a privateer, Asa; I got together a dozen and more masters from hereabouts and down to Marblehead and they’re going to crew the vessel. Reckon it’s a proper tribute to Cap’n Jim and oughta be mighty impressive to the Brits to see the regard we hold him in. I’m askin’ you to join us.” Crowninshield looked hard at the man across the table and waited for his answer. Again, his fingers steepled in his folded hands, forming the familiar long gun aimed at his guest.
Rogers looked back him and raised his eyebrows. “What about the ones what’s still alive up yonder – the other officers…and the sailors? We gonna get them as well?”
Young George responded. “Likely the officers’ll be traded back to us for some Brits we’re holding here, Cap’n. And the men…well, nobody seems to know what’s afoot there. Asides, gettin’ ‘em back is rightly the Navy’s responsibility. And that damned jinx ship is still in the harbor, I’m told. Likely…” He was beginning to get thoroughly exercised when his father interrupted.
“Now George, don’t start with that ‘jinx ship’ bilge again. You know ‘s’well as anyone, ain’t no jinx on the Chesapeake. Though I’ll admit she’s had more’n her share of bad luck. From her launching when she stuck on the ways to that terrible incident with the Brits back in ought seven to right up when she come in from her last cruise afore Lawrence took her out. An’ the fact he lost out that day was on account o’ the Brits usin’ some kinda explodin’ device – like a granado. I got that on good authority. But jinx? No, some bad captains combined with some bad plannin’, and some ungentlemanly tactics, you ask me. As to the men, Asa, I collect they’re held in a prison on some island – can’t rightly recall the name just now – in what they call the Northwest Arm. ’Pears to be a narrow cut up the back side o’ the city. I might even have an old chart of it somewhere. But that’s not my aim; as young George just said, that’s the Navy’s problem. Mine, and ours if you’ll sign on, is just gettin’ Lawrence and Ludlow and bringin’ ‘em back here for a proper burial, as I said. What say you, Asa? Are you comin’?”
“Just the one vessel, George? You’re puttin’ a powerful lot of faith in a piece o’ paper, you ask me. The Brits don’t care ‘bout Madison signing a ‘truce’ document, less’n it’s for the whole shebang. They could board you and take you in as a prize yourself. And all them masters you got signed. You oughta consider goin’ up there in more’n one ship and armed well, should there be some trouble. I might bring the General to help you should something unforeseen occur. Can’t think it would hurt none.” Rogers smiled across the table, somewhat disarmingly.
Both father and son frowned. They didn’t expect to have the very essence of their plan questioned. But Asa Rogers was a successful businessman and privateersman. Maybe there was merit to what he said. The two Crowninshields looked at each other.
Asa leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. He noticed the exquisite molding around the ceiling and the dentalling under it. The oil sconces and the chandelier were obviously costly and probably came from England well before the current hostilities; maybe even before the previous war. Likely made of crystal, he deduced from the way they caught the window light and bounced it around the room in miniature rainbows. More stern-countenanced men stared down at him, further testimony to the longevity of the company, and from the unsmiling, hard eyes on each, evidence that these men were responsible for the early successes of the shipping firm; Asa could imagine that these coves would brook no nonsense and each had probably seen his share of difficulties. Likely to have been privateers during the War of Independence ‘s’well, he thought, just like the current owners and their captains. His mind went from the portraits of the iron handed – and willed – forebears of the Crowninshields to the men who likely were languishing in some pest-infested and foul hole in Halifax. He looked back at George.
“You propose to take this risk – the risk of one of your best vessels and the lives of a dozen and more ship captains – just to bring back a couple of bodies what’re already buried? Doesn’t sound smart to me, George. If you was goin’ after the men, I’d be more inclined to join you; after all, they’re alive, I reckon.” As he spoke, the two Georges’ frowns deepened, and the senior Crowninshield furrowed his brow in consternation, his jaw muscles clenching to give his cheeks an unnatural, hollow look.
“Asa, Jim Lawrence was a hero and he fell in battle defending our country. It just ain’t right that his remains should spend all eternity in some God-forsaken place like Halifax. The folks here need to be reminded of what a hero he was and I aim to do that with a monument markin’ his grave – right here in Salem. If’n you don’t want to tell me you’re with us right now, you can think on it for a while, but I’m goin’ whether you come or no – and within a week from right now.”
“George, I think what you’re doin’ is admirable by any man’s measure. I surely do. But I got no need to risk my life for a couple o’ bodies. You can put up any number o’ monuments without puttin’ a body under ‘em. And I’d think that if it was so all-fired important, the Navy would be takin’ care o’ this, not leavin’ it to the local citizenry. I’m thinkin’ more on what’s goin’ to happen to the sailors from that ship – the live ones? They just gonna be left to rot in some prison in – what’d you call it? the Northwest Arm, aye, that’s it – or is somebody goin’ after them?”
“Lookee here, Asa.” The senior Crowninshield’s frustration was beginning to get the better of him and he had difficulty understanding Rogers’ reticence to participate in what he considered a grand gesture. “The Navy can’t go get anyone, alive or dead; they can’t even get their ships to sea. The damn blockade got ‘em bottled up all the way to the Virginia Capes. Decatur’s on the United States with a couple of others – the old British Macedonian, the one Decatur sent in last year, and Hornet – all tied up in New London, likely grounded on their own beef bones by now, so long have they been blocked in. Constitution’s just finishin’ a refit down to Boston, but it ain’t lookin’ like Cap’n Stewart’s goin’ to get out anytime soon. They’s more in New York can’t get out past Sandy Hook and I reckon the Chesapeake Bay’s closed up tighter ‘an a Scotsman’s purse with whatever ships’re there. No sir; ain’t goin’ to be a Navy ship goin’ anywhere for a good while, I’d warrant. Which leaves it up to the privateer fleet, which seems to come and go as they will, and I ain’t got to wait to be told what to do here. As to gettin’ the sailormen, I reckon that’d take a damn army to accomplish; the Brits up there ain’t goin’ to let me or anyone just sail in there and gather up those men. They’re holdin’ ‘em in a prison, as prisoners of war, Asa. No, I don’t reckon gettin’ them out can be done – not with a piece o’ paper from President Madison, by all the stars. But gettin’ Lawrence and Ludlow, I reckon the Brits could understand that and not make a big fuss about it. We’re goin’. Now how about it; you joinin’ me – or no?” George glared at his friend, and feeling some spittle that had collected in the corners of his mouth, wiped it away with a well-manicured hand in a gesture that was both angry and impatient. Young George had not seen his father so exercised since he quit commanding ships in the fleet. He tentatively put a calming hand on his father’s sleeve. It was shaken rudely off.
“Well, George, I certainly do appreciate your offer to join you, I do. But I got to think on it for a bit afore I make any rash judgments. I thank you for your hospitality and, should I determine not to go with you, I wish you the best of successes. I’ll take my leave now, if you please.” With that, Asa Rogers calmly unfolded his lanky frame from the chair and rose. As he opened the door to leave, he heard young George comment under his breath, “You surely don’t need h
im, Father. I doubt he has the courage to sail into Halifax Harbor. I heard on the waterfront that he won’t engage even a merchant if they’s an escort anywhere under the horizon. I reckon…”
“Hold your tongue, George. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Asa Rogers is one o’ the best and boldest sailin’ out yonder; he’d be a worthy addition to the crew – that’s why I asked him.”
Rogers had tensed initially as heard the young man’s comment. Now he again relaxed and allowed himself a small smile, closing the door behind him. Nice to know at least one of the Crowninshields has some regard for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You may set t’gallants, now Mister Coffin, if you please, and have someone bring that Frenchman – what’s his name…Faitoute, I believe – to my cabin. And keep the lookouts sharp. Another close call with a Brit ain’t gonna do us any good; we can’t expect to have a convenient fog bank today. Now the wind’s changed, the weather’s too clear by half for that. It was only through the Grace of God that we didn’t get ourselves caught by that frigate. That and the inattentiveness of their lookouts.” Rogers smiled, recalling the sight of the Royal Navy frigate still hull down and to seaward, and oblivious of them. Had it not been for the fog lying just to leeward that he sailed into, the General would most likely have been smashed to matchwood or taken as a prize. This blockade was becoming a source of constant aggravation, not only to him but to all the privateers operating in the North Atlantic.
He listened as the watch was ordered to stations for handling sails and, hearing Third Mate Isaac Biggs send his topmen aloft to let fly the t’gallants for’ard, stepped into his cabin. Moments later the Frenchman, a former naval officer and captain, knocked at his door.
“Captain Faitoute, when we met in Salem last week, you outlined a plan you thought might get us into the Northwest Arm and more specifically, to Melville Island with little or no trouble. I am glad you were willing to join us and I apologize to you for not being more hospitable for the past two days since we got underway. You will understand, I think, the necessity of my being on deck which left little time for the niceties.” Rogers smiled at his guest; he had begun to like this Frenchman.
He recalled their earlier meeting in a coffee house in Salem, introduced by a privateer captain who happened to be in port that day. Faitoute, the skipper said, had been given his parole and transport to Massachusetts earlier in the year after being held by the British in Halifax for nearly twelve months. After chatting for a while, Rogers learned that while yes, the former French officer had given his promise not to take up arms against England, advising an American privateersman would not, in his own mind, constitute a breech of that promise.
And so had begun a relationship. Captain Rogers wanted to know if it was possible to get into the Northwest Arm – essentially under the Royal nose – and out again without getting caught; Faitoute had an ax to grind, and was more than willing to help in any way he could. And he had knowledge of the area from first-hand observation that was unavailable elsewhere.
“Oui, Capitan. I ‘ave no difficulties wit’ your need to sail your sheep t’rough the blockade. I am mos’ ‘appy to ‘elp you and, as you Americans say, ‘wipe the eye’ of the British. The memory of HMS Orpheus pounding my beautiful little brig Toulon wit’ ‘is ‘eavy cannon an’ then doing not’ing to stop the fires except…well, thees ees no’ your problem, sir. But I will remember until my last breath the sight of my fine brig in flames and then exploding as the fires touched the magazine.” Faitoute shook his head, as if to dislodge the memory that had been his constant companion for a year and more.
He looked at the American captain and smiled ruefully. “As I said, Capitan, ‘thees ees no’ your problem’. I will again show you on the chart exactly how you might get to the prison, but I will have to draw for you the final part of the journey, as it will no’ be on the chart.” Faitoute stood and leaned over the desk where Rogers had laid out a chart – old to be sure, but the Brits weren’t making current ones readily available to Americans – that showed the coast of Nova Scotia and the entrance to Halifax harbor. Rogers joined him, a pair of brass dividers in hand, and the two began talking intently, devising a strategy to carry out Rogers’ self-assigned mission.
On deck, Isaac and Second Mate O’Mara, who had the watch, stood at the taffrail astern of the brig’s wheel and watched as the handy little Bermuda sloop kept pace with them, a cable to leeward and just off the General’s starboard quarter. The day before, both men recalled, the fleet sloop had been first to make the safety of the enshrouding fog bank.
“She swims right nice, eh, Isaac? For a little fellow, she’s keeping right up with us. Hardy’s doin’ right well, I’d warrant – for never havin’ sailed somethin’ like that. Must be on account o’ that ketch we’re draggin’ along behind us. Any idea what all this is about? Cap’n ain’t told none of us much, that I can figger. Even Starter Coffin ain’t been told nothin’.”
“Well Tom, first off, Hardy’s sailed ‘bout everything what’ll float and hold canvas; that’s why he’s a prize cap’n. Never know what he’s gonna have to sail or in what kinda shape. As for what’s gonna happen next, Cap’n don’t exactly confide in me neither. But I reckon he’ll be tellin’ us what were about soon’s he figgers we need to know. It’s that French cove I cain’t figger. I know I seen him somewhere afore. He an’ I crossed tacks sometime, but I surely cain’t recollect where. Well, mayhaps it’ll occur to me afore this cruise is done.” Isaac stared of into nothingness for a moment before he shook his head and continued.
“But I’ll warrant this ain’t gonna be no ordinary cruise. We ain’t never gone out – least since I been aboard – with a vessel in tow and a prize alongside. That don’t happen ‘til we’re headin’ in. And it ain’t normal for Cap’n Rogers to hang on to a prize. Heard ashore the other day he snatched it right out o’ the auctioneer’s hand, he did. Said he decided not to sell it, even after it’d been condemned as a prize. Strange doin’s, you ask me.” Biggs paused and looked at the ketch following obediently on her long tow line astern. “And Starter tol’ me just afore we claimed our anchor the other night that that ketch astern is full to th’ gun’ls with explosives and rockets. Can’t figger what for, for the life o’ me.”
The second mate watched the ketch on her towline with a renewed interest, armed now as he was with the knowledge that her cargo could, if handled carelessly, turn them all into scrap in the wink of an eye. No wonder Hardy was keeping his distance at a cable and more.
With their course generally northeasterly, O’Mara was guessing that they were heading toward Nova Scotia or the coast of northern Massachusetts, probably to teach those royalist bastards a thing or two about tradin’ with the enemy like they been doin’ since the war began. As he understood it, their continued trade wasn’t so much a statement against the war as it was a desire to increase their wealth. The war had severely hampered the loyal American traders who dealt only with neutrals or that long-term enemy of Great Britain, Napoleon Bonaparte. And even honest trading was becoming increasingly difficult in light of the ever-tightening blockade along the eastern seaboard of America. Their conversation was interrupted by Ben Stone, captain of the foretop, who sought the third mate.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mister Biggs. I’m wonderin’ if I might have a word with you?” Stone stood a respectful distance from the two mates so as not to be within easy earshot of their conversation. He had spoken during a lull in their words.
“Aye, Stone. What can I do for you?” Biggs turned, leaning his back on the rail behind him and smiled at his topman.
“It’s that cove we took aboard to replace Tight-Fisted Smith, sir, that I ain’t sure ‘bout. Had him aloft earlier while we loosed the t’gallant for’ard, an’ he froze up on me. Don’t act like he never been aloft afore, you ask me. Gonna kill hisself or someone else, there’s a problem.”
“Cathcart? Recall he said he’d been a topman in the Navy just last year
. Said his ship was paid off an’ here he was. Thought it mighta been a touch off the mark at the time, since I don’t think the Navy pays off when they come in. Too hard to find more crew – an’ train ‘em. Brits only do it when they put a vessel in ordinary – and then only when they’s in home waters. But he claimed to know his work. I ain’t much concerned ‘bout whether he’s a deserter from the Navy – or somethin’ else – but I surely ain’t happy to hear what you’re tellin’ me now. What’s your thought on what to do ‘bout him?”
“Sure wish ol’ Smith hadda pulled through. Butterfingers tol’ me ‘bout what the cap’n did – diggin’ that lump o’ wood outta Smith’s chest; thought when he done that, that he mighta had a chance. I know we had our fallin’ outs from time to time, but I couldn’t ask for a better topman. Aye, he was one to have next to you when the weather was up.”
“Aye, I reckon he’ll be missed, Stone, but the medico ashore couldn’t get all the putrefaction outta him – even bled him two, three times after we brought him in. Said they was more’n likely pieces of cloth and an’ dirt in the wound aside the splinter an’ even if Cap’n Rogers hadda took the splinter out right off, they’da still putrefied in there. A loss to be sure. But that don’t answer my question; what do you aim to do about Cathcart?”
“He freezes again up there, I’m gonna throw his no-good arse over the side. He ain’t no use to me. How ‘bout we put him on hauley-pulley and see if they’s one of the waisters what wants to go aloft?”
A Fine Tops'l Breeze: Volume Two in the War of 1812 Trilogy Page 25
