In Pursuit of Glory

by William H. White

  As I watched, the captain leaped onto the bulwark just forward of where I stood, a speaking trumpet in hand.

  “You, sir, are as ignorant of the rules of navigation as you are arrogant! And a dull sailer as well.” Decatur’s voice carried easily across the water and I saw a jaunty wave offered in response.

  “Mister Rowe: you may stand down from quarters and set a normal at-sea watch. And maintain vigilance; should that … fool return, he may get a taste of my iron!” Decatur was angry, in a rare black humor, and I had little doubt that were the Brit to reappear, shots might well be exchanged.

  Henry appeared on deck when the ship secured from quarters. Even in the darkness, I could see the anger, frustration, and hate etched into his face. Lines around his mouth—his lips formed a thin straight line—told me he was clenching his teeth, perhaps to avoid saying what he thought.

  Do I still have the watch? What time is it?

  I fished my watch out of my pocket and, holding it in the glow of the binnacle, was surprised to see that barely an hour had passed since the lookout’s cry had galvanized the ship and crew into the frenzy just ended. I still had the watch, as did Henry.

  “Mister Rowe: I am here to relieve you, sir.” Allen spoke sharply, his tone provoking a look from the first lieutenant.

  “Very well, Mister Allen. You may resume our earlier course. The hands are still at sheets and braces, the tops manned. As you know, we are secured from quarters.” Rowe stated the facts and the condition of the ship in a flat, unemotional voice. He made no reference to the British frigate or our encounter.

  I relieved Lieutenant Stoll who took the opportunity to glare at Henry as he left the quarterdeck to return to his “slumber”; he had another hour before he would be back to take the watch over from Henry, Silas Taggart with him to relieve me.

  The ship quieted down after we tacked her back to our earlier course following the coastline of Long Island in a generally sou’westerly direction. The night was as clear and star-filled, the sea as gently rolling, and the breeze as pleasant as before our encounter; to the forces of nature, it was as though nothing had changed. But to the men, especially Henry Allen, much had changed.

  Memories of past meetings with ships of the Royal Navy, most notably HMS Leopard occupied our thoughts and, more than likely, the thoughts of every man still aboard who experienced that horrifying day in June of ought seven. This time we had escaped without exchanging iron; who knew what might happen when next we crossed tacks with one of His Majesty’s warships?

  “You know, that arrogant bastard was no different from the one what chased us in George Washington when I was with Bainbridge. Dragon it was. I recall it like it happened yesterday.” Henry’s cryptic remark broke into my own thoughts.

  “I don’t believe you’ve mentioned that before, Henry. You have told me of the pasha in Algiers commandeering George Washington to deliver his own tribute to the Turks, but I have not heard about a British ship chasing you.” I glanced aloft to ensure that our sails were all satisfactorily filled as I spoke.

  “We were about three weeks out from the Delaware Cape. A calm passage with fine weather and the rare contact. George Washington was a purchased vessel and a dull sailer; Bainbridge hated her for that reason. But we had enjoyed a reasonable cruise to that point. One morning the lookouts espied several ships, frigates and brigs, as I recall. None showed any colors.

  “As we drew nearer to the ships—they were well to our north—one of them hauled her wind and headed for us. Shortly, they fired a gun to leeward and showed their colors: Brit, as you might expect. We answered her gun with our own and hoisted our own colors. But Bainbridge was in a rage.

  “He stormed around the quarterdeck, smacking his fist into his hand. Kept up a steady stream of blasphemies, all aimed at the Brits, he did.

  “I remember the first lieutenant asked him if we should heave to as the signal requested; Bainbridge flew into a rage and ordered more sail set.” Henry stopped, his face contorted with the same anger I had witnessed earlier.

  “But if your ship was such a dull sailer, he couldn’t expect to outrun the Brit. Why not just heave to and find out what they wanted?” I asked in all innocence.

  And got a fierce look from my friend.

  “Oliver, they had no right then, nor did they in ought seven, to order a warship from another country, a friendly nation at that, to heave to. We were not at war with England then any more that we were when Leopard stopped this ship. But what happened next defies all understanding; they fired another gun, this time loaded. Of course, they were well out of range, but we clearly saw the shot land a half musket shot astern. I thought then that, had we been more heavily armed, Bainbridge would have rounded up and returned their fire. Instead, he crowded on as much sail as the old bucket would handle and bore off a trifle to increase our speed.

  “The Brits responded to that with another gun, also loaded, which again fell short. They were still well out of range. But they set more sail and came after us. We went to quarters, I reckon, expecting we would have to fight. I think every man-Jack aboard knew that should it come to that, we would suffer cruelly. But there were no shirkers.

  “For seven hours, Oliver, they chased us across the sea. Finally, even I knew they were within range of their bow-chaser and they fired another shot close on board of us. Bainbridge had no choice but to heave to as ordered; their firepower was simply overwhelming and we stood not a chance in a hundred of coming through an engagement, or even an exchange of iron, without being turned into matchwood.

  “The Brits came within hailing distance, identified themselves as HMS Dragon and bore off after wishing us a pleasant cruise. Never have I seen anyone, before or since, as angry as Bainbridge was that day. I am quite convinced that should we have had sufficient weight of iron, he would have engaged them, friendly relations to the devil!”

  He stopped and the sounds of the ship, the creaking of the hull, the gentle song of the wind through our rigging, and the music of the water against our sides, filled the night. Henry was lost in his own thoughts, no doubt recalling that day, our meeting with HMS Leopard, and our recent encounter with the unknown Royal Navy ship. The arrogance and degrading behavior of the Royal Navy toward us was clearly weighing heavily on him. His mouth was screwed tight shut, like he had bitten into something sour.

  No wonder he holds such animus toward the Royal Navy! I thought as I watched his face gradually relax and return to its normal expression.

  There was nothing to say further. I left Henry to his recollections of unpleasant encounters with the Royal Navy and I spent the remainder of our watch seeing to the needs of the ship and thinking about Ann Perry. Peter Stoll was, for a change, on time to relieve Henry, and Silas took over for me with barely a comment.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  November 20th 1809

  My dear Brother:

  It is with great joy that I announce my wonderful good news to you. I have passed for lieutenant! Just this morning I have been informed by Capt. Decatur that my examinations, both the oral part and the written navigation section were satisfactory and, as he is taking me with him and Henry Allen (I am sure you remember him from when you visited the ship in Norfolk) to his new command, USS United States, there is an immediate opening for me to serve in my new rank. I needn’t wait for a suitable position to occur here in Chesapeake, an unlikely event with our present officer complement.

  We set our anchor in the Bay nearly a month back, in from a long cruise that was mostly frustrating—training and more training in every aspect of our lives from sail handling to the firing of the great guns. We midshipmen were schooled constantly in navigation and mathematics, as well as gentlemanly behavior. Few port visits were allowed, but I must tell you about our visit to Newport, in Rhode Island.

  The officers and mids were invited to a ball at a grand house. At the start of it, I felt somewhat out of place. All these grand people cavorting about, dancing and visiting while we—the mids esp
ecially—simple stood by and watched. Then, quite without warning, I met a young woman who has, to put it most simply, stolen my heart. She is most beautiful, Edward, and seems equally smitten with me. We danced and I was invited to sup with her family. Her father, a capt. during the French war, was some brusque, but her mother seemed very pleasant. She has several brothers— I met one, a young man called Matthew, who aspires to the navy life. Another you may have encountered—Oliver Hazard Perry is his name—and he currently commands the schooner Revenge. He was at sea during my time in Newport so I did not meet him. Ann—that is her name—and I spent much of my off-duty time enjoying each other’s company, both in Newport and in South Kingstown, in her family’s home. Truly a wonderful time and sad—for both of us, I believe—when our frigate won her anchor from the mud of Newport and returned us Chesapeakes to our life at sea.

  A close encounter with a frigate of the Royal Navy during our passage to the Bay, designed to embarrass and humiliate a vessel of the United States Navy, was our only diversion during our run south. With the provocative attitude those people possess, I shouldn’t wonder if we will once again do battle with them.

  I trust your employment continues as you stated in your last letter. I share in your joy at being assigned in Constitution. She is reputed to be a fine vessel, well built, well gunned, and with competent management. And now, Brother, you are part of the management which would bear testimony to the fact that she is indeed well staffed! You may recall that while you were languishing in the Bashaw’s prison, Constitution was standing offshore and in the harbor, pounding the fortifications along with many other vessels of the Mediterranean Squadron. I am sure you remember she was Preble’s flagship while I sailed with Decatur in Enterprise. I look forward to hearing more of your adventures in that fine ship. Perhaps, once Capt. Decatur gets United States to sea, we might even sail in company some day. Would that not be splendid?

  “Oliver! Are you coming? Our boat is waiting.” Henry’s insistent shout down the companionway signaled the end of my correspondence with my brother and I hastily scribbled a closing.

  I must post this quickly as my time on Chesapeake has come to an end and I, along with Henry, am heading for the Washington Navy Yard this very afternoon. He is to be first lieutenant on the frigate—did I mention she is Constitution’s sister ship?—and I will be fourth lieutenant, or perhaps fifth depending on what other officers Decatur can gather. I suspect our work will be rigorous as we shall have to bring the frigate to life from her several years in ordinary. But we shall manage, and what a wonderful opportunity for yours truly.

  God speed to you, Edward. Please write when you can spare a line or two for your brother,

  Oliver Baldwin

  4th Lieutenant, United States frigate United States.

  Quickly, I sprinkled some sand over the wet ink, wiped my quill, and jammed it into the leather writing case which my parents had given me when I left their home on Held Street to sail with Decatur in Argus. Blowing the sand onto the deck, I folded the letter into an envelope and dashed up the ladder to find Henry pacing the deck by the break in the bulwark, a look of consternation on his face.

  “About time, Lieutenant! You may step into the boat, if you please.”

  The tone he used suggested nothing beyond a desire to get on with moving bag and baggage to Washington Navy Yard and our new responsibilities. Besides, hearing him refer to me as “lieutenant,” made me smile regardless of any tone he might have used.

  With our sea chests and belongings already in the boat, we both climbed in and set out for shore, propelled by the strong arms of four sailors on the oars. Once there, a waiting carriage would carry us to Washington and our new assignment. Despite the bleak November weather, I was ebullient with anticipation, whether because of my new status or the new assignment, continuing to serve with both Henry Allen and Captain Decatur in a wonderful heavy frigate, I knew, nor cared, not a whit. I was quite in thrall regardless!

  “It is too bad that Cap’n Decatur will not be aboard when we get there, Oliver. I could do with his guidance. Never have I brought a ship into commission before, save Chesapeake under Gordon. And that was surely not a teaching experience, except perhaps in what not to do!” Henry chuckled at his remark, but I suspected both the remark and his laugh covered a bout of nerves brought about by his, and my, new assignments. We continued to talk about what we might find, as we bounced along in the coach, and compared our conjecture to what we had experienced in Chesapeake.

  “At least United States isn’t burdened with the reputation of being a ‘bad-luck-ship’ as far as I have heard. Should make it easier to find some willing hands. I will, of course, want you to oversee that process, Oliver. Set up some rendezvous under whatever warrants or midshipmen we might have available and try to sign a crew.” Henry’s tone had qualities I would expect in the first lieutenant. Perhaps he was simply ‘trying it on for size.’

  “Aye, sir. Do you have information on any of our officers or mids, sir?” I wondered, at the same time acknowledging his role as second in command of the ship.

  “Only that we will have a clutch of midshipmen and another officer who calls himself Devon; I know not whether that is a Christian name or surname. According to what little intelligence I have gathered in my talks with the cap’n, this Devon fellow claims to have been involved in some of the scrap with the pirates in North Africa. And I believe Decatur mentioned he either knew him or had met him.” He shrugged and finished, “I reckon we’ll both find out when we get aboard.”

  Devon! Could that be Judd Devon? Senior midshipman in Argus and Enterprise? He participated in the ‘scrap’ with those pirates as surely as I did. And, of course, Captain Decatur would have known him. Perchance he even requested him! Wouldn’t that be a grand thing? And he would be a lieutenant by now also. Senior to me, of course. Oh! I hope it is Judd; it will be good to see him again. And won’t he be surprised to see me, especially with my new swab!

  “I knew a man called Devon—Judd Devon it was—and should it be the same man, he surely did fight the corsairs in Barbary. He was a midshipman then, but a good deal senior to me … as was everyone else in the cockpit, save one. A good man, Devon, and you would be lucky to have him in the Gunroom, should it turn out to be the self-same Judd Devon I knew some four or five years back. Sir.” I offered what intelligence I had more as conversation than real wisdom, and added the ‘sir’ because Lieutenant Allen seemed to have fit himself quite nicely into the role of first lieutenant already.

  “Well, we’ll have to wait and see who it might be. Perhaps you are right and it is your former shipmate. Perhaps not.

  “And you may continue to call me Henry when we are alone. We go back too far and have seen too much together to do otherwise.” He smiled warmly—the old Henry was back—and, putting his head back against the jouncing seat, closed his eyes, making it quite clear he was finished with our chatter.

  For a while, I watched out the window as the trees lining the road gradually gave way to a few shops, taverns, and inns and then, with equal reluctance, the buildings surrendered their claim to more trees. It was fast becoming full dark, so I followed Henry’s lead and closed my eyes as well.

  My beloved Ann, was leaning towards me, intent on kissing me yet again as we stood on a bluff overlooking the sea somewhere. The kisses were her way of congratulating me on my promotion to lieutenant. As her lips neared mine, I closed my eyes.

  She spoke. “Time to heave out and trice up, Lieutenant.” But her accent was not the wonderful, sweet tones I recalled; it was a man’s voice. Startled, both at her words and her tenor, I opened my eyes and looked straight into the eyes of my traveling companion and new first lieutenant, Henry Allen.

  He smiled, almost as if he was aware that he had, once again, spoiled a wonderful dream.

  I struggled up from the depths of my slumber, gradually acknowledging that my dear Ann was not about to kiss me.

  “Aye, sir. I’m awake. We are arrived, I col
lect?”

  “We are indeed, Lieutenant. And, as I am famished, I submit we see our gear aboard and find some supper. What say you to that?”

  As I heaved myself out of the coach, I realized that my belly growled in protest at not having been fed since well earlier in the day and smiled my agreement. Our chests and associated paraphernalia were mostly on the ground aside the coach, having been thrown down by the coachman to his associate. Henry was already heading for the ship, or what I took to be our ship.

  A more forlorn sight I could not imagine. Before me, tied to a decrepit pier, was a large frigate—or what I took to be a frigate, based mainly on Henry’s announcement that we had arrived. Three masts, lowers only, stood with slack shrouds, and poked through a wooden roof which had been constructed over the spardeck. Paint seemed to be falling off of everything I could see, from the masts to the bulwarks. Some of the gun-ports stood open and latched up; other were adrift, neither open nor closed, and still more seemed to be secured in their closed position. That is, until I looked more closely and discovered that what I had taken for gunports were, in fact, several boards simply nailed over the openings in both the spardeck and the gundeck.

  As I drew closer to the vessel, I could see garbage and other jetsam jamming the water between the hull and the pier. A gangway extended from the deck to the pier and, seeing that Henry had already stepped over it and onto the deck of the ship, I followed, casting my glance aloft. My brain reeled at the sorry sight of the mainmast, complete with a skewed fighting top and a passel of ropes hanging down. I moved my eyes forward and kept walking, astonished at the horror spread out before me. And stopped when I bumped squarely into my superior’s back.

  “Here, Baldwin. Mind your step.” Henry caught himself (fortunately I did not hit him hard enough to knock him over) by grabbing my outstretched arm. “Have you ever seen such a wreck? And they expect me to put this … this ship … into useable condition, let alone make her capable of sailing? Oh my goodness! What have I gotten myself into!”