In Pursuit of Glory

by William H. White

  “Yes, sir. I did. And I was.”

  “Were you given specific orders by Master Commandant Gordon to the effect that no British deserters were to be signed?” He raised his voice slightly, causing me to start.

  “We all were given those orders, sir. ‘No British deserters.’ And as far as we know, we followed them. Sir.”

  Now it’s my fault we had those British runners aboard Chesapeake. And how was I to know that any among the crew were deserters, British or otherwise, should they choose to Lie about it? Which apparently several did. But I didn’t recall having signed the four captured by the officers in Leopard.

  “Hmmm. It would appear not, Mister Baldwin. Unless of course, those four sailors slipped aboard the frigate unnoticed and on their own!”

  I simply looked at him, deciding it could not possibly go well for me were I to argue with him.

  “Mister Taylor. May I remind you, sir, that Midshipman Baldwin is not the one on trial here. He is only a midshipman, and, with Lieutenant Allen, considered one of the few, the very few, who performed honorably.” Captain Decatur’s tone was some harsh and my inquisitor recoiled visibly in the face of it. And Taylor then turned, and waddled back to his table and sat down next to the commodore. A whispered comment passed between them, their heads close.

  After being shown my written testimony, which I was required to approve by signing it, I was excused and told that, should I wish, I could take a seat in the back and listen to the proceedings, which I did, grateful for both Captain Decatur’s help and the conclusion of my questioning.

  Tazewell’s next witness was Lieutenant Allen and, while the Marine fetched him along to the Cabin, we were able to move about a bit, stretching and limbering stiff joints. Henry appeared quickly, curtailing our respite, and after being sworn, he was seated in the same chair I had just vacated. Without incident.

  The remainder of the day centered on Henry’s story, which agreed in every detail with my own. As it should have. With my role now that of spectator, I was able to indulge myself in the luxury of watching the participants, gauging their reactions to the words my colleague spoke; I had foregone this activity for obvious reasons during my own time in the witness chair.

  Barron spent about the whole time alternatively shuffling his papers and scowling myopically at Allen. From time to time, he would shift in his chair, seeking a more comfortable position for his sizeable bulk. Each time he did so, the chair protested loudly, causing the members of the court martial to glance his way. I noticed that when Decatur, Rodgers, and Lawrence did so, their gaze was not kindly. Nor was Barron’s when he studied Lieutenant Allen. I was coming to believe the long-standing rumor that the commodore viewed with contempt all of his junior officers and thought them less than capable.

  Henry held nothing back when he described his two visits to the British ship. The judge advocate questioned him closely on his being sent back a second time to insist that Captain Humphreys accept our surrender and take Chesapeake as a prize. The lieutenant became as agitated as he had been on that June evening though he managed to control himself more readily this time; his neck and ears grew scarlet and I could see his fists, clenched tight as ever could be, rigid on the arms of his chair. His whole manner had changed; his words were clipped and quiet and his gaze, as far as I could determine, was fixed on the commodore. While I could not, from my seat behind him, observe the cast of Henry’s eyes, I was sure they were hard as flint. He left little doubt in any mind that he had had no desire to have become a player in our shameful disgrace.

  When Henry finished his recounting of the day, minimizing his heroic role in firing the single shot Chesapeake managed to fire, Captain Rodgers offered the commodore’s counsel the chance to question him, and again, Mister Taylor pushed himself erect and strolled the few steps to face his witness. The two studied each other for some moments until Barron’s lawyer cleared his throat and, scowling through his spectacles still sitting precariously on his ample nose, consulted one of several sheets of paper he held.

  “Lieutenant: during the time immediately prior to the ship getting underweigh from Norfolk, did the commodore visit the gundeck?”

  “Sir, I have no idea of whether or not he did. I was not there all the time. He might have. I would expect he likely did, but I did not see him.” Henry answered thoughtfully.

  “What you might, or might not, expect, Lieutenant, is of little interest to me; let us just remain with the events of that day and leave the speculation to others, hmmm?” Taylor’s voice sounded more like a growl.

  He shot a blistering glance at his witness and continued in a more amiable tone. “Was Captain Gordon aware of the lumbered stated of the gundeck before Chesapeake sailed, or had he not visited your province either?”

  “Aye, the captain knew well that the deck was lumbered and the guns blocked.”

  “And this, then, or the lack of powder horns and matches was the cause of your inability to fire in a timely manner?” Taylor pressed.

  “Both, sir. We managed to secure powder horns and something with which we could touch off a gun, but we could not change the lumbered condition of my division quickly enough to respond to the British fire. There simply was not time.”

  “Did you hold the usual drills in dumb show at the great guns prior to your departure, Mister Allen?”

  “No sir. There were no drills at all.”

  “And whose responsibility would that have been, Lieutenant?”

  “Well, the captain would have ordered them, but the first lieutenant would have seen to their execution.”

  “Do you know why these drills were not done”

  “We couldn’t have carried them out even had they been ordered, sir. The guns were not all mounted on their carriages nor were the men assigned to their stations for quarters. In fact, we were still receiving men from the rendezvous and mounting guns right up to the time we sailed.”

  “Hmmm. Who had the task of ensuring that powder horns, matches, and the other implements of firing were available on the gundeck, Mister Allen?”

  “That would have been Gunner Hook, sir. He was in charge of the magazine and responsible for filling the horns whether or not the new firing locks were installed.” Henry had become quite calm during the course of his examination and answered each question in a neutral voice.

  “We have heard from Mister Baldwin of the condition of the frigate after receiving the broadsides from Leopard. We also learned from him, a midshipman, I might mention, that, in his … valued … opinion, the ship was quite capable of fighting in spite of the wounds she had sustained. Would you agree with his assessment, sir?”

  I bristled at Taylor’s slur to my earlier response, feeling the heat rise up my neck. The officer next to me, a lieutenant I did not know, sensed my discomfort and lightly touched my arm. He smiled and nodded in a conciliatory way, neither of which helped me calm my agitation.

  Henry set his gaze on his inquisitor. “Absolutely! Without question, she could have fought, were the decks cleared, powder, shot, and match available, and the men directed to fight. Her condition was not such that surrendering was the only option.” Henry was no longer as calm as he had been. Neither was I, still bristling from Taylor’s comment about me.“Thank you, Mister Allen. That will suffice for today, I think. You may return to your duties. It is possible I will have a few more questions for you at a later date.” Taylor’s ingratiating tone left little doubt that “a later date” would be coming rather sooner than later. With a nod to the panel, the civilian lawyer returned to his seat next to the commodore.

  “Gentlemen: I apologize for the lateness of the hour. This seems like an appropriate time to adjourn for the day; we will recommence this court at two bells in the forenoon watch on the morrow. As a final note, I would personally like to commend Mister Allen on his aetions and courage.” Rodgers smiled and from my position behind Henry, I could see his ears again turn a bright scarlet as the words of praise were uttered. Words that were surely true,
but, in Henry’s mind, quite unnecessary.

  Rodgers continued, addressing the pompous judge advocate, who apparently had recovered some during the day from his ill-feelings of the morning. “Mister Tazewell, please ensure that Master Commandant Gordon and Captain Hall will be present and able to give their testimony at that time along with any others you may wish to call.” Rodgers shifted his gaze to me (causing me to blanche a trifle) and then to Henry. “Midshipman Baldwin and you, too, Lieutenant Allen: you will be in attendance on the morrow as well, if you please. In the event any further testimony should be required.” And he banged his gavel down on the table.

  The room emptied and Henry caught my arm as I made for the ladder to the spar deck.

  “I understand you most likely gave them enough to cashier Barron just by yourself, Oliver. My testimony only confirmed what you had already told them. A colleague, who enjoyed your performance from the gallery, mentioned only just now that he had kept an eye on the commodore while you were telling the story, especially the part about surrendering the ship. The old boy barely blinked throughout the whole tale! Seemed some contemptuous I hear. I would not expect an invitation to dine with him in the near future!” Allen’s eyes fairly danced with glee, whether at my discomfort at being the source of Barron’s undoing or just out of the joy of seeing his earlier prediction bear fruit.

  “There’s much more testimony they’11 likely want to hear, Henry. I just told the story the way it happened … as did you. Besides, I would expect the commodore’ll have a few things to add his own self. He will be allowed to tell his side of it, won’t he?” I didn’t want to think about me being the one to “put the nail in his coffin;” as I said to my friend, I had only stated the events of the day as I had been instructed. And I was sure that all of the other officers and midshipmen would be called upon to answer questions about the condition of the ship and the action itself. The more I considered it, the more I became convinced that this trial was a long way from over. Little did I know then!

  We stepped out of the hatch onto the spar deck. The weather had worsened as the evening approached; heavy clouds hung low in the sky and the chill dampness cut through our clothes even though the wind had all but quit. Intermittent rain fell, laced with sleet which made a curious ticking sound as it bounced through our rigging and clattered as it hit the deck. I could make out, through the gloom of the quickly darkening sky, patches of ice that clung to our rigging and spars; icicles had formed along the fighting tops, wet stalactites that glistened dully as the daylight finally gave up it’s struggle and surrendered to the darkness. After the closeness of the Cabin, the cold was momentarily refreshing, but I knew neither of us would stand about on the deck for very long.

  “Oh, there’s no doubt about that! I am sure that Decatur and Rodgers would not want to miss the chance to question him face to face.” Henry responded to my concern. “But I will be interested in what Cap’n Gordon has to say; Commodore Barron was, in reality, only a passenger on the ship, but he usurped the captains authority as soon as we were clear of the harbor here. I reckon Cap’n Gordon might have something to say about that!” He hugged his arms around him and shifted from side to side, occasionally stamping a foot to warm it.

  “Mercy, but it’s cold out here! What say you to a bite of dinner, Oliver? And, since it is as late as it is, perhaps a glass or two? I have told Joe Ripley I would join him for the meal, but I suspect he will have already dined, given the lateness of the hour.”

  “Ashore, Henry? That would be fine. I was some surprised to note the time when Cap’n Rodgers ended the session; I had no idea how long we had run. I guess I must have taken too long to say what I said.”

  “Go and find Lieutenant Rowe and get his permission for us to take our leave, Oliver, while I just check the gunroom for Ripley.” Henry turned and stepped off for the hatch and ladder that would take him two decks down to the officers’ quarters.

  I went in search of the new first lieutenant who had arrived in Chesapeake only a few weeks back, just before Christmastide, it was, to replace Lieutenant Ben Smith. Our former first lieutenant had passed over from an illness in October. I recalled, as I made my way forward, that we had all made grim observations then that he had died from shame, a result of our June meeting with Leopard.

  I was waiting at the gangway, having secured the blessings of the first lieutenant, when Henry appeared, trailed by Lieutenant Joseph Ripley. The two were still buttoning their heavy blue great coats, standing up the collars in an effort to keep the snow from their neck. And they both wore broad smiles, apparently having shared something amusing as they made their way up from the gun room. I soon found out what.

  “Well! Mister Baldwin: the midshipman who will be the undoing of a commodore!” Ripley clapped me on the shoulder and spoke in a robust tone causing several hands who had been idling in the waist to look up from their own conversations. For my own part, I could feel the heat rise up my neck, face, and indeed, right to the top of my head!

  “Wha … what do you mean, sir. I have done nothing of the sort.” I stammered. Ripley had not been aboard during our ill-fated meeting with Leopard, having joined the ship in September while she was still under-going repairs.

  “Oh, I have heard … in point of fact, it’s already well known in the ship, that your testimony was some damning of the good commodore! You made him quite clearly the villain of the piece!” Ripley, already known for his penchant for being a bit theatrical, was grinning broadly, enjoying my discomfort. The white cloud of our exhalations hung in the still dampness, as if holding our words suspended between us.

  “Oh, sir! I did nothing of the kind. Tell him, Henry. Tell him I only described what happened on the gun deck … about the crates and hogsheads … and that anchor cable … we had to move and getting the powder horns from the gunner. And about you firing the gun.” I appealed to my friend for help, but a glance at his own huge smile told me to expect no succor there.

  “Perhaps Oliver would like to invite his friend, Commodore Barron, to join us, Henry? Do you think he would accept your invitation, Oliver?” Ripley was now enjoying his sport while I struggled to find a suitable retort that would be respectful enough of his position, but would put an end to his game. Several came to mind, but none I dared to utter. I remained mute, discomfited by his teasing and my own frustration at being too junior to respond suitably.

  By the time we had reached a tavern and eating establishment, Ripley had tired of his repartee and the conversation turned to more mundane topics including where the ship would be sent once the trial had ended.

  “Perhaps to the Mediterranean as originally planned. Though I wonder if they would make Decatur take over the Med squadron as they had intended for Barron. Besides, is he not still in command of the navy yard here as well as Chesapeakei” Ripley offered.

  “Aye. I don’t believe any has relieved him of that chore. But considering command of a ship well secured to the pier ain’t too taxing, shouldn’t be more than a man like Decatur could manage. Leastways until this court martial began. But I am sure they will find someone to assume command of one or the other before it’s time to unmoor and head out.” Henry shot a glance at me, then continued. “And of course, should the Secretary send us to that theater, it would likely be to the delight of young Oliver, here. Right, Baldwin?” Henry smiled at me, but gave me no chance to comment. “He spent his first cruise there, fighting the Bashaw’s corsairs with Decatur, Lawrence, and the late Dickie Somers. One of “Preble’s Boys” he was. And from what I have heard, did himself proud. Killed a few of those rascals in hand to hand fighting, I am given to believe.”

  “Is that a fact, Oliver! I had no idea. I knew you had been out before, but had thought it just here in our own waters.” Ripley’s voice seemed to hold a level of respect I had not before noticed. “Tell us about your adventures over there. A good yarn will go a long way to livening up our dinner. Were you one of Decatur’s group of cutthroats who burned the Philadelphia fr
igate, or had you not arrived in time for that bit of excitement?”

  “I was there, yes. And I was one of the “cutthroats” as you put it. My brother had been assigned in her with Bainbridge and was being held in the Bashaw’s dungeon along with the rest of the crew. I guess Cap’n Decatur figured I’d want to go on account of that fact alone.” I didn’t mention that I had volunteered, several times, in fact, for the undertaking.

  “There were seventy of us, crammed into a little ketch Commodore Preble had named Intrepid. Through a clever ruse, which I believe Cap’n Decatur dreamed up, we made it right alongside the frigate in the dark hours and boarded her quick as ever you please.” A shudder passed through me as I recalled my first taste of war, of men killing each other in close combat.

  I collected myself and went on with my story. “Overwhelmed the Tripolitan cutthroats—they really were the cutthroats, not us—and set explosives throughout the hull. We made it back into our ketch just before the fuses burned down and the ship blew up with great gusto. Quite spectacular, it was. Even cooked off some of her long guns causing them to discharge, some toward the water, but several toward the Bashaw’s castle and fortress. We thought it fitting the old girl fired the final broad-side in her own defense.” I finished my short recitation with a smile, more to cover my own discomfort at again having to tell the story.

  I did not mention, however, that never before or since have I been so terrified! I could still close my eyes and see that huge black-bearded pirate swinging his great curved scimitar at my head.

  The two lieutenants talked knowingly to each other about the events of the Tripoli War even though neither had been involved, leaving me to leaf through my own memories of that horror. I sat quite mute while those fearful months, augmented by my concern for my brother, raced through my mind like a stream turned torrent; their conversation swirled around me, meaningless, mere back-eddies in the flood. Occasionally I heard bits and snatches of their wild ruminations but offered neither corrections nor additional details of my own involvement. By the meal’s end, I had again slain the dragons of my memory and had refocused my thoughts on the events of the day, wondering what more I might be called upon to offer to Barron’s court martial.