As darkness fell, the sloop, her black topsides and sails only a slightly darker smudge on the deeply shadowed shoreline, coasted to a stop and gently lowered an anchor into the shallow waters short of Point Patience and on the other side of the river. Both cannons and both swivel guns were loaded and slow matches were lit and resting in sand buckets. The cannon both had firing locks, but Isaac and Jack had seen too many failures of the sometimes balky locks and felt more secure with the old reliable slow match. At least a body could see that would work.
Jake and Jack Clements took four men – all but Jake and Clive Billings from Jack’s crew – and rowed ashore. They took a nightglass Isaac had borrowed from the commodore and, as Isaac watched, straining his eyes to see them in the darkness, they disappeared into the undergrowth. The man they left behind pulled the boat into the overhanging branches where it was all but invisible from the sloop. And, Isaac hoped, from any passing vessel.
Shoulda gone with ‘em. This waitin’s harder than what they’re doin’, I’d warrant. Isaac paced the full length of his sloop, followed at each turn by Carronade. The dog periodically stood with his forepaws on the shoreside bulwark, his ears pricked up listening for any sign of his master – or anything else. Isaac was glad of the big dog’s company.
As a quarter moon rose into the eastern sky, Isaac stopped his pacing long enough to look around and decide that his sloop was still unlikely to be seen from the river and, hopefully, there was no one ashore to notice.
“Reckon we’ll be all right here for a while, Carronade. Don’t expect they’s no one ashore what cares about us. Probably think we’re just British sailors come in for water or something anyway. An’ from out yonder,” Isaac threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the middle of the river, “I’d warrant even you’d have a hard time seein’ us.” The dog cocked his head quizzically at Isaac’s words and sat down. His long tongue lolled from the side of his mouth as he panted in the unrelieved heat of the day.
The young New Englander leaned on the bulwark at the quarterdeck, his chin in his hands, and watched the moon as it made its slow ascent across the night sky. Without warning, Sarah Thomas’s face popped into his mind; he smiled silently into the darkness, recalling for the hundredth time their stroll to the dock after supper with her father and how she had taken his hand as they walked. And then kissed him. Oh yes, a chaste kiss to be sure, but a kiss all the same. He wished he had had the courage to kiss her back; next time, by the Almighty, he would, and no mistake there. Actually, he decided, it wasn’t that he lacked the courage, but more that she had caught him unawares and then danced off into the darkness before he could recover his senses. Aye, that was most surely it. He heard again her every word in her sweet voice and saw her eyes flashing at him when she was vexed over something. And saw her eyes looking right into the center of his soul. Mercy! Even thinking about it addled his brain!
So he didn’t hear the boat bearing Jack, Jake, and the others until Carronade woofed quietly.
“What’s the matter, boy? You hear something?” He looked at the dog and saw him at the bulwark again peering intently at the water. “Oh, Jack, it’s you. I didn’t even hear you comin’ out. What did you discover?”
“Better you be gettin’ ready to sail, Isaac. We’re gonna have visitors any time now. Seen ‘em comin’ up river just about to pass the point yonder. Don’t reckon they’ve seen us yet, but soon’s they turn the point…”
Boom! Boom! By the second shot, Isaac caught the muzzle flash from the British row-barge as it turned into the little cove where the sloop was anchored. Boom! Another shot and the splash not a biscuit toss away.
“Slip the anchor! Leave the boat! Get that stays’l up. Main halyard, haul! Jack, give Jake a hand with that larboard side gun. Here…a couple of you lads lend hand with it.” Orders flew and Isaac’s well trained crew moved silently and efficiently to get the sloop underway and into the main part of the river. The scant breeze was fair, but Isaac realized he would be fighting the ebbing tide. Well, so by God were the British!
Boom! The barge fired again and Isaac saw the water turn white almost exactly where they had been anchored. The moonlight highlighted starkly the splash from the shot, making it whiter than it likely was.
“I’d reckon they’s firin’ a twelve-pounder, by God, Isaac. Bear off a trifle so’s I can get this beauty to bear and we’ll give ‘em a taste of American iron.” Even in dire straights, the cheerfulness was there in Jack’s voice. Isaac could picture him grinning as he sighted down the barrel of their own little six-pounder and he knew it put the crew at ease.
Crash! Now the sloop answered. The sharp report of the aft swivel gun immediately echoed the deeper voice of the six-pounder and sent a double handful of musket shot, bits of iron, and scraps of chain skimming across the water.
“Got her loaded with canister, now, Isaac. Bring the barky back down again so’s I can bear.” Jack still had the grin in his voice, but now there was also a sense of urgency.
Crash! The six-pounder spoke again and this time the Americans were rewarded with the sound of splintering wood and shouts from the barge.
“Jack! Change sides. I’m bringin’ her about. Hands to sail handling stations. Stand by to tack.” Isaac pushed the long tiller down, and the sloop responded swiftly and passed her bow smoothly through the eye of the wind and onto the other tack. They were making forward progress, but losing ground to leeward as the tide worked at cross purposes to their need.
Boom! The English gun thundered again, and Isaac could see from the muzzle flash that the Royal Navy barge wasn’t any closer than it had been. But their aim was getting better; a hole appeared in the aft edge of the mains’l.
That ain’t gonna help none, Isaac thought, as he heard the passage of the twelve-pounder’s ball, and saw the perfectly round silvery gap where the moonlight shone through the rent in the black sail. “Jack, you gotta do better. Them coves is got the range pretty close…”
Another British shot cut off his words and the thud and screech of rending wood added credence to his estimation of the enemy’s accuracy. Splinters flew from the bulwark and the mast.
“Somebody get a look at the mast. Make sure it’ll hold up. We’re dead if’n it don’t, so step…”
His words disappeared again in the crash of their own gun, now double shotted; Clements had laid his barrel on the muzzle flash, and this time, he was right on the mark! An explosion from the barge rewarded the American crew, then screams and splashes.
“Musta got the powder, Jack. Nice shootin’! And not a moment too soon, I’d warrant. I ain’t so sure we coulda took another one of them balls aboard.” Biggs pulled out the nightglass and studied the barge, some three hundred yards distant and dropping behind. She was low in the water and flames flickered low on the deck. “Looks like they lost they’s taste for the game, lads. A good night’s work, by all that’s holy.” He looked forward again. “What’s the report on the mast, there? How much did we lose on it?”
“Looks like it ain’t too bad, Isaac; took a piece size o’ my fist outta the front side. Have it braced up quick as…hello…what’s this? Jack! It don’t look like your dog done too good. Better get up here and have a look.” The unseen voice from forward sounded concerned; Jack flew from the gun followed by Jake.
“Oh, my God, Carronade. What happened to you boy? Here, lay down. Somebody get me some cloth. Get a lantern up here. Move, damn it.” Even from the quarterdeck. Isaac could hear the hurt in Jack’s voice, and sensed rather than saw, the hands moving to do his bidding.
The sloop was out of danger for the present; the breeze had not gained strength to speak of, but Isaac thought the tide might be getting ready to go slack then turn fair. Probably just before dawn, he thought. For now, they were making progress, slowly, but in the right direction, and an occasional look astern through the nightglass showed an empty river. He became aware of another form on the quarterdeck and peered into the dark.
“Oh, Jake. Didn’t
smoke you right off. Everything quiet for’ard?”
“Aye. I can take her for a while, Isaac, you want to get some rest. Reckon that Sam and his crew got the mast patched up good enough to get us home and the bulwark ain’t no problem. Ain’t pretty, but won’t hurt us none. Looks like the only casualty was Jack’s dog.”
Isaac gratefully relinquished the tiller. “Glad none of the men got ‘emsleves hurt none. Where’s Jack? I oughtta see what’s actin’ with him.”
Leaving the one-armed seaman with the tiller, Isaac made his way forward to where Jake had told him Jack was sitting with Carronade.
“How’s he doin’, Jack? Carronade seems like too tough a dog to get laid low by anything them British bastards could manage.” He sat down on the hatch next to where his friend was gently stroking the big gray animal.
“I ‘spect he’ll be fine in time, Isaac. I think I got all the splinter outta his hide. Took a fair sized piece of the bulwark there into his stern end. Looks like he’s lost some blood, but I think I got that mostly stopped. Never wrapped a bandage ‘round a dog afore. Some different from a man. But I think he’ll be comin’ round just fine. Kinda wish ol’ Doc Plumm was still around so’s he coulda had a look-see. Maybe give him some laudanum for the pain.”
“Jack, he wouldn’ta got close enough to him to see anything. He was scared to death of Carronade. Reckon that ol’ dog was quicker to pick up Plumm’s British side than we were. Remember how he sat there growling at him when first he come aboard up to Benedict?”
“Aye. That I surely do.” The smile was back in Jack’s voice. Isaac saw him move his hand to Carronade’s head. “You’re gonna be all right, my friend, and we’ll get you a chance to even the score, by God!”
Jack’s words were greeted by a weak thump of the animal’s tail on the sloop’s deck. And the one-eared former bosun smiled unseen into the dark night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Seven frigates and a pair of seventy-fours, you say? That’s surely a fair-sized squadron they’s a-building – but hardly surprising. But no transports. That’s odd. If they was gonna march to Washington – or anywhere else over land – I reckon they’d need all the soldiers they could muster. Them frigates and seventy-fours got Marines, but not enough by half to manage a full scale assault.” Barney received the report from Biggs and Clements with little comment. Then he curtly dismissed the two from the gunboat.
“He sure was in an all-fired rush to get us out of there, Isaac. What do you s’pose is on is mind?” The pair were headed back to their respective sloops for some much needed sleep after their all night sail back to rejoin the flotilla. Fortunately, they had had only to sail as far as Benedict, as Barney had moved the entire group down from Nottingham only that day. As Isaac’s sloop had rounded the bend in the river downstream of Benedict, Jake saw that the river was choked with gunboats and barges, and the commodore’s gunboat, his blue pendant waving listlessly from the mast truck, was secured to the pier.
Isaac rounded his vessel into the wind, finding a comfortable anchorage with room to swing, and dropped his spare anchor. He made a mental note to see about getting a replacement for the one they had left down river. Apparently, the commodore had noted their return as a hoist had been run up on his gunboat even before their sails were furled. The flags hung limply in the barely moving air, but Isaac could read his sloop’s number and “Captain repair aboard,” which he did, accompanied by Jack.
Carronade, still hurting from his splinter wound, remained aboard the sloop resting comfortably on the fo’c’sle under a small awning Jack, with Jake’s help, had rigged from an old stays’l. Isaac’s crew, augmented by a handful of Clements’ men, quickly put the sloop to rights and those that weren’t needed for the repairs to the battle damage found places to lay up out of the intense sun and went immediately to sleep.
While the two captains were rowed back to the sloop, Isaac considered Jack’s question. Finally he spoke. “I reckon he’s likely firing off another letter to Secretary Jones and any other what’ll listen telling ‘em what we found. He’s right sure they’re gonna come up here, then march to Washington.”
“I’d be inclined to agree with that, my own self; why would they be layin’ up down here if they was gonna go after Annapolis? With these light breezes, that’s a day’s sail from here. And close-hauled on top of it. But they gotta be waitin’ on something down there. With the seven frigates they got an’ the smaller vessels they surely got enough weight of metal to take anything ashore – leastways up this far, they do.”
“Aye, reckon you’re right, Jack. But that’s for the commodore to figger out. As for me, I’m gonna get me into a cot quick as ever you please and sleep. Feel like I ain’t slept in a week, by all that’s holy. You’re welcome to the boat, you want to get back to your vessel – or you can stay right here. And Carronade’s welcome long as he wants.” With that, Isaac swung over the bulwark, and disappeared down the scuttle.
Jack walked forward, picking his way over and around sleeping sailors, and sat beside his dog. He got a lethargic thump of the long tail in response to his patting Carronade’s big head. The bandage on the dog’s hindquarters showed no fresh blood; Clements smiled and leaned back against the bulwark. He was instantly asleep.
Isaac had been right on the mark with his comment about the commodore; a messenger had immediately been dispatched on horseback with the report Isaac had brought and try as he might, Barney could come up with no other likely plan of the British attack. Regardless of Winder, Monroe, and all those other Washington politicians, Annapolis just didn’t answer; the attack had to be against the capital. Perhaps this additional intelligence would aid Secretary Jones in his effort to convince his colleagues that Barney and he were most likely right about Washington.
The flotilla remained in Benedict for over a week, to Isaac’s delight. He managed to visit Sarah frequently, providing Clements and Tate with further proof of their convictions. By the time they returned to Nottingham in mid-August, even Isaac knew he was in love. But there were now more important considerations occupying all their minds.
On August eighteenth, Barney received a report from Thomas Swann, a trusted friend who had been assigned to watch the Bay from Point Lookout at the mouth of the Potomac, that “they was comin’, and it looked like the whole Royal Navy was in the Bay.” Indeed, the hastily-written report indicated that a further seven frigates, seven transports, one sixty-four gun ship and three brigs were headed for the mouth of the Patuxent. They were accompanied by sloops, bomb-ships, fire-ketches, a few schooners, dispatch boats, and covered an area extending over two miles in length. A total of forty-six sail had been counted. An exceedingly impressive display of the might of the Royal Navy.
This information was immediately forwarded to Washington with all dispatch, but before it had even reached the Capital, more reports were arriving in Nottingham that the fleet was underway from Point Patience, and heading up river. Then on August twentieth, Barney was visited by Sarah Thomas.
“It is truly delightful to see you again, Miss Thomas,” he greeted the pretty young woman as she stepped aboard his flagship. “I expect you ain’t come all this way from Benedict to visit an aging commodore. I will send for Captain Biggs at once. Please make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you most kindly, sir. However, I did indeed come to see you and to inform you that the British are even now anchored off Benedict and are landing marines, soldiers, and sailors. A General Ross commands the Army though Admiral Cockburn, I am told, is personally in charge of the invasion and has been heard to boast that he would be ‘dining in Washington on Sunday!’.” Her wide-eyed sincerity told Barney all he needed to know about the veracity of her report. And he sent a messenger for Isaac and another to Washington with the news in a sharply worded dispatch.
Isaac, when he came ashore in response to the commodore’s summons, was surprised and pleased to see Sarah, but horrified at the thought of her alone in Benedict. “Sarah, you cain�
�t go back there. You’ll be in too much danger with all them Royal Marines runnin’ around. Why don’t you just stay here in Nottingham ‘til they’s gone on their way. Commodore Barney thinks they’s gonna be marchin’ right quick into Washington.” They walked toward an inn where he hoped she would remain and where she had left the borrowed horse she rode to warn them.
“Isaac, I can not remain here; I have promised Father that I would help with the wounded should there be a battle in Benedict. I shall be taking a room in my godfather’s home – the one I am sure you recollect where you met Father for the first time. In any case, I doubt that the British would harm a woman; there have been no reports of such action since they arrived in our river. Do not worry, dear, I shall be quite safe. Besides, if indeed they are truly marching to Washington, they can ill-afford to remain long in Benedict.”
As they reached the inn, Sarah took up the reins of her horse which, Isaac noted, was rigged with one of those saddles women favored which kept both their legs on the same side of the animal. She stepped onto a mounting block and, leaning over to kiss Isaac, slipped. He caught her, and held her in his arms for a moment longer than necessary. And she, he noticed, seemed reluctant to remove her arms from around his neck.
Setting her aright and back on the block, he took her hand as she planted herself gracefully on the horse and arranged her skirts over the horns of the saddle. Her smile lit her whole face and she looked at the young man with her irresistible eyes; her confident words only temporarily stilled his worries. She became serious again.
“Now let go of my hand, Isaac, so that I may return. And do not worry about me; worry instead that you will safely escape with the flotilla and return to me when this…disagreeable business is finished.” She flashed her smile and those eyes at him and, helpless to do otherwise, he reluctantly relinquished her hand. She dug a spur into the horse’s flank and waved to him as though she had not a care in the world as she galloped down the dirt street.
The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Page 16
