Lone Star Rising: T.S. Wasp and the Heart of Texas

by Jason Vail

  It took some time for the boats to reach us against the wind, but long before they got to Wasp I was able to discern Crockett’s handsome face among the throng. They looked exhausted. The boats drew near and dropped their sails, maneuvering close under oars.

  “What news?” Austin called, beating me to the question.

  “Sunk to her main yards!” Crockett shouted, and a great cheer shook the whole ship.

  Until I heard those words, I had not been certain that the scheme would actually work. It is almost impossible to sink a wooden warship. I have seen them battered to splinters, all masts down, their sides holed like a cheese, yet still afloat, though only useful as lumber. The only time I have ever seen a vessel sunk by enemy action was as a midshipman when the magazines on a French double-decker blew, leaving nothing behind but driftwood. So, it was still hard to imagine we had sunk the Spaniard.

  “Well done, Mister Crockett,” I called to him. “I imagine you could use breakfast and a rest.”

  “We could, that,” he replied as the pinnacle in which he sat drew up to the ladder below the main mast. He grinned up at me. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  “Permission granted.” As if such permission needed really to be given. “Mister Halevy,” I ordered, “recover the boats. And tend to the dead and wounded.” For I could see at least two pathetic huddles that had to be dead men among the living.

  I left the ship in Halevy’s hands to weigh anchor and get underway, while Willie, Austin and I went below to my great cabin with Crockett to hear his report.

  Crockett settled into a chair at the table while the steward puttered in with a tray of steaming coffee, ham, eggs, and toast with marmalade, which the cook had optimistically kept warm in the galley against the men’s safe return.

  “Shut the doors when you go,” I asked the steward, since the noise on the gun deck just forward of the great cabin was so intense that we could hardly make ourselves heard, as the entire crew had gathered there to hear the story from the other raiders as they took breakfast. The steward grinned and went out, although he had to shove aside a few of those at the back of the crowd who had gathered about our doors to hear the story from Crockett himself, as they were so far from the galley in the bow that all they’d get of that version was something passed down mouth to mouth. The steward, however, shut the doors, to the would-be eavesdropper’s dismay, leaving behind just enough quite that we could begin.

  Now that we were sealed in and the disturbance put at some distance, I looked expectantly at Crockett, but he had his mouth stuffed with ham and eggs.

  “It is amazing how a night of danger makes a man hungry,” Willie murmured. “You’d think we never fed the poor fellow.”

  “I’ve had better in a Tennessee slophouse, but it will do,” Crockett said, or I think that’s what he said. “At least it’s warm. Eggs are a little dry, though”

  “You’re late for breakfast,” I said. “What did you expect?”

  “Well, we are conquering heroes, after all. The least you’d expect is a decent egg.”

  “Some things must be sacrificed in war.”

  “Yes,” he said soberly. He swallowed so that he could speak clearly. “We lost two killed and have six wounded.”

  “That few?” Willie looked surprised. It was an incredibly small price to pay to sink a frigate.

  “We were lucky,” Crockett said. “I didn’t think it would work, you know. I thought you were mad.”

  I laughed. “I wasn’t sure it would work either.”

  “And you sent them anyway?” Austin asked in a scandalized tone. “It could have been a suicide mission!”

  “What choice did we have?”

  “None, I suppose. Still, sneaking around in the night with a boatload of powder . . .” he said to Crockett, who had resumed stuffing his face in the interval and had nearly finished the plate of ham and eggs. “Were many killed?”

  “Who?” Crockett asked, consigning the last of the ham and eggs to history and starting on the coffee, which was so hot that he could not toss it back as he had the eggs.

  “The Spaniards, of course.”

  “Let him tell the whole story from start to finish,” Willie said.

  Austin glanced sharply at Willie, as if he did not appreciate the interruption.

  “Go on,” I chided. “Let’s have it before you fall asleep and we hear only the lies the men are telling each other.”

  “Well,” Willie said with a grin, “Crockett does exaggerate now and then.”

  “Only for artistic effect,” Crockett said as if he had been insulted. “But most in this room are immune to art.”

  “We call it a cabin, not a room,” Willie said.

  “Well, this is a moving house, so I’ll call it a room if I want to,” Crockett said as Willie filled his now empty coffee cup. “Let’s see, where to start.”

  “You got into the rowboat,” Willie said helpfully.

  Crockett grinned, swirling the coffee in his cup, “We got into the rowboat . . .”

  The tale went quickly up to the moment that Crockett secured the powder boat against the side of the frigate, and he grew animated as he described the effect of Spanish shot, which according to him fell about him like hail, requiring considerable and fancy dancing to avoid, which he attempted to reenact in his chair, to comic effect that had both me and Willie roaring with laughter. Austin, however, watched with crossed arms and a scowl, as he no doubt thought that such antics were undignified for a naval officer, nor in keeping with a proper regard for the heroics involved.

  “The Spaniards could have pissed out that fuse,” Crockett said, “but I expect they thought we were trying to board. So eventually, after I had guarded the fuse from the threat of Spanish piss for as long as prudence dictated, I found it wise to abandon my task. Eh, could I have a bit more coffee, Mister Harper, my good lad? Thank you so much. Unfortunately, my good companions in the pinnacle had withdrawn for some distance and I had to swim.” He shuddered. “Did you know that the Mississippi is cold this time of year? Quite chilly in fact. Most uncomfortable. And then, as I drew close, the boys did not even want to wait for me. They had already begun to row off as fast as they could and I had to chase them, for what must have been at least half a mile. But they couldn’t row faster than I could swim and I caught up eventually, but they would not pause to let me board despite my cries for aid. However, one lad tossed me the tow rope and I was able to rest as they pulled the boat out of range.”

  “Range of what?” Austin said. “You said you’d already gone half a mile.”

  “Well, I can’t be certain it was half a mile, but it seemed like it. Anyway, the boys were afraid of being blown up by our own bomb and wanted to get as far away as they could before it went off, which it did, both of them did in fact, with huge bangs, one after the other.”

  Crockett examined the interior of the coffee pot and to his disappointment found it empty. “Can we get the steward to refill this?”

  “After you’ve finished,” I said.

  “You are punishing me.”

  “It will be your reward, probably the only one you’ll get for this adventure.”

  Crockett nodded. “True. Old Hickory hasn’t commissioned any medals for valor yet, or at least I haven’t heard of any. Have you?” he asked Austin. “We have been out of touch, you know, these last few months, sailing around the Caribbean and such, plundering Spanish treasure.”

  “Not that I have heard,” Austin said, understanding that he was being made fun of. I suspect he was jealous, for he had been confined to New Orleans where he had been the Texas counsel and head of what passed for the Texas intelligence service in the region, mundane, unglamorous work.

  “Where was I?” Crockett said with false muse. “Oh yes, exploding frigates. She was a great ship close up. It was a sad thing, really, to see her treated like that.”

  “She was the enemy,” Austin said.

  “Yes, she was, and beautiful just the same.�
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  “I had no idea you could be so sentimental,” I said.

  “You, sir, are the sentimental one. Don’t think I haven’t heard you trying to talk to Wasp while we weren’t supposed to be listening.”

  He had me there, for we often spoke together, Wasp and I. “The conversation is about exploding frigates, Mister Crockett. Get on with it. There was a bang, you said.”

  “Well, not exactly bangs, really, more like huge roars, twin thunderclaps as if lightning had struck just beside the boat, loud enough to break the ears and part the hair. They split the frigate like a carving knife does a cake, bow and stern.”

  “Tell it straight here, Mister Crockett,” I said.

  He looked at me soberly. “They were big explosions. Both tore holes in her side, at least ours did, and I assume the other did as well. The force of it almost knocked over the boat, and we were close enough to see the damage. As I was in the water being towed I was spared the worst of it, except for a mighty pulse that felt like a punch in the stomach.

  “She settled straight down, like a lady descending to a chair. Not leaning one way or another like the San Fernando. You remember.” Both Willie and I nodded. The San Fernando had been the Spanish treasure ship that we seized in a cutting out expedition last summer and spirited away from her escort fleet, only to lose her when she struck a reef during our escape. Crockett continued, “It took no more than five minutes for her to sink up to the main yards. It is hard to imagine such a great ship disappearing that quickly.” He shook his head at the memory, all attempts at humor gone. “The water was filled with struggling men. A lot of those boys couldn’t swim, you know, and we just watched from a safe distance as they thrashed and called for help. Finally the night grew silent as they went under one after another and the bodies drifted by us almost thick enough to walk upon, while we held steady against the current, keeping our bloody watch. Only a few made it to the bank, that I saw.”

  He traced a pattern in some spilled coffee on the table. “Not much to tell about the rest of it. We found the yawl by the rising moon and then we put into shore around the bend to rest. Nobody felt like doing much, so we waited for dawn, and sailed back.”

  “Well done, Mister Crockett,” I said. “I think you’ve earned your coffee.”

  “What I really need is my cot,” he said.

  “You can have that too.”

  Wasp rounded the English Turn in steady air from the northwest under topsails, fore head sails and spanker. I stood in the forecastle so that I could be first to see what remained of our enemy. Her masts were not visible now above the tree tops and I did not see them until we passed round the bend, well out into the river. There she was, just three masts poking above brown water, the river’s swift current throwing up a writhing wake around them. Several dozen men still clung to her yards and rigging apparently unwilling to risk the short swim to the bank, where the figures of other survivors could be seen against the backdrop of the Louisiana jungle. It was shocking what harm two-hundred pounds of gunpowder could do to such a great ship as she had been.

  “Mister Hammond,” I shouted sternward to our white-haired quartermaster and his mate at Wasp’s wheel, “prepare to wear about! Mister Halevy, bring her about below the hulk and drop anchor! Lively now!”

  “What are we doing?” Willie asked when he came forward for his own look. “Stopping to gloat?”

  “I do like to admire our work, but no.” I regarded that huddle of survivors, clustered like a strange fruit on a barren tree. That hulk and those masts remained there for many years, a curiosity and a hazard to navigation, until she finally disintegrated. There is a monument on shore now marking the spot, although it is two hundred yards downriver from the actual place. But my mind was not on the future. I said, “Prepare to put out our boats.”

  “All two of them?”

  “Aye, we’ve done enough harm, not that we will earn mercy for any kindness we do now.”

  Our boats ferried the survivors in the rigging to shore, a task that took longer than I had expected because there were so many, we had only two boats, and the current made things difficult. The boatswain reported that we got no thanks for our efforts, only sullen looks and, from those who had swum to shore, a few curses in several different languages. I daresay, though, it was more than they would have done for us had the roles been reversed.

  It was ten after noon by the time we had the boats back aboard, and with anchors weighed and a jib unfurled to pull Wasp’s head around, we let the current and wind carry us toward the Head of Passes and the freedom of the open sea. For Wasp was not born for rivers; they were not her natural home. She was meant for the wide sea and the surge and hiss of its waves and wind. We both longed for the sea. We had been cooped up too long in town, healing the wounds from our last terrible battle. We could not reach the sea soon enough for either of us.

  Chapter 6

  Head of Passes, the Mississippi

  September 1820

  The Head of Passes is the place where the Mississippi ceases to be one river. There it becomes many: its numerous branches snaking off to find their own way to the sea. You can take any of them you like if you are a fishing boat, but if you are a coastal schooner or a ship, only certain passes will do, and your passage is not certain, for the channels are often treacherous, filled with silt that grounds or sinks the unwary and unfamiliar. You need a guide, and this is where you find them.

  They live in a village of gray, unpainted wood covered with moss and bird shit that rises on stilts above the muck. The village, its houses jammed together and its roofs rising crookedly, looks as if a good shove could topple it, though the people who live there swear that hurricanes have left it standing. I’ve never believed them, but the monstrosity was still there the last time I steamed to New Orleans a few years ago, and I suppose it lies there still.

  The Head is a desolate spot enveloped by sky, a vast prairie of featureless sawgrass, and the brown relentless river; by an ooze of fetid water and rot; and often by a preternatural quiet punctuated only by the wind and the cries of the sea birds which thrive on the garbage thrown away by the village’s inhabitants. It is so quiet sometimes that you can almost hear the blood pulsing in your veins. Although it is almost the same quiet you can find at sea, to me there is something sinister in it, unlike the peace I find upon the waves.

  We reached this place shortly before sundown. Since the guides will not run the passes at night, Wasp dropped anchor. We were not alone. There were half a dozen other large vessels clustered along the shore within a short row of the village, brigs and schooners mostly as I remember it, and a profusion of small fishing boats. There was boat traffic back and forth between the merchants and the village.

  At the moment, the air was not so quiet, however. A clamor of voices floated to us across the water, laughing, talking, the sort of thing you’d hear outside any tavern in the evening. For, unbelievably, the place did hold a tavern, and it made more money than guide work did, since all who tied up here waiting for daylight paid a visit, and an exorbitant one it was. A drink and a meal cost twice what they did in New Orleans, and nothing is cheap in that city, particularly the sin.

  The crew lined the rail gazing with longing at the village and its hidden treats. I have seen that look before, and I called out, “Mister Halevy! Get the men below and kick the cook in the ass! It’s supper time and the boys are hungry.”

  “Captain!” one of the boys called back. “How’s about a little shore leave?”

  “You call that a shore?” I answered him. “Not on your life. It’s a swamp for lives and fortunes. They’ll skin you of all you have in half an hour. Now get below.”

  As they went with some grumbling, the Baron de Crequy came to my side. He had been taking the air on the quarterdeck, although he did not seem to enjoy it much, for he had a handkerchief over his mouth. I doubt it did anything for the stench of dead fish and God knows what else. He asked, “Captain, is all that noise what I think it is?”<
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  “What, sir, do you think it is?”

  “A house of amusement, perhaps.”

  “You can find amusement there, but the price you’ll find is very high.”

  “And they have the usual sorts — drink, cards, and dice?”

  “Oh, yes. All of that, and even whores, I’m given to understand.”

  “I should like to pay a visit.”

  I waved a hand at the village. “Go ahead.”

  “How am I to get there? Swim?”

  “You won’t be the first, but I warn you, the current is treacherous. And I hear there are crocodiles in the river. Though I confess, I’ve never seen one.”

  “You must give me a boat.”

  “I must?”

  “I insist.”

  I did not answer and he said, “I said, I insist. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I am trying to think of a polite way to say no. But since you insist so urgently, No.”

  He looked as though he had been slapped. England and the plantation regions of British America are full of men like him. All their lives people give them what they want and they are not used to refusal. He said, “I paid for this ship.”

  “You paid for passage to France. What I do with the ship is my business.”

  “I shall pay,” he said finally.

  “For what?”

  Crequy waved at the stilt village. “To get over there.”

  I thought about that. The men would likely have little chance to profit from this voyage as they had from our last one, apart from their wages. I could use the money to buy them a keg of whiskey to go with their beer. They would appreciate that as long as it lasted.