Captain Putnam for the Republic of Texas

by James Haley

  “Oh! Well, it is good not to exalt oneself too highly. Come with me, gentlemen, I wish to have a look about.” He returned forward to the single pair of ladders in the ship’s waist. Down on the gun deck he scanned fore and aft down the file of twenty-fours, their lanyards neatly coiled, their gear hung in hooks from the knees that supported the weather deck. “Good,” he said, barely pausing. He continued down to the berth deck and on into the hold, which was deep enough almost to embrace an orlop deck. “Good Lord, look at all of this!” He stepped forward into the warren of shelves and nooks and odd spaces. He placed his hands flat against two chests of biscuit and surveyed the mass of them, packed among barrels of salt beef and pork, and sacks of rice and beans and peas.

  “Yes”—Sam patted the top of a chest of ship’s biscuit—“I believe your government loaded her to the gunwales with food and supplies before she left Boston. The crew ate somewhat into the victuals, so I replenished them after she dropped anchor here.”

  “Mr. Austin sold his bonds only yesterday. How in the world did you pay for it?”

  “Well, I advanced them my own money.” Sam greeted Bliven’s stare with a grin. “I am no longer a ruined man, Bliv. My fifteen years in Texas have been good ones. I have in my berth the receipts for what I spent, and I shall go see Mr. Toby again when I collect our ensign from Mrs. Ferraro. I want to be first in line and make sure I get paid back, now and in coin.”

  “Probably wise.” Bliven took a second look at the stores. “Wait. No, this will not do. Mr. White, will you run up and fetch Mr. Yeakel, please?”

  “Yes, sir, right away.”

  Bliven waited impatiently until he heard their steps clatter one after the other down the eleven ladder steps into the hold. “Mr. Yeakel?”

  “Captain?”

  “You have been made aware that our coming cruise is one of great secrecy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you noted that of these chests of biscuit, some are stenciled with the supplier in Boston, and those lately acquired have the mark of the local supplier here in New Orleans?”

  “I see that they are, sir, but I did not attach any significance to it.”

  “In the unlikely event that the ship is taken, these chests could link her to the United States. You must have someone grind off these Boston stencils. I am not certain how best to do it.”

  “Well, sir, we do have holystones for’d in the sail room for scrubbing the decks. They should do, with the application of a little muscle.”

  “Good, do so. Then duplicate the markings of this local supplier as though all the biscuit came from New Orleans. You must go through the remaining stores and remove any marking that can identify us as an American vessel. You may exempt labeling on any such supplies as could easily be found in New Orleans.”

  “Yes, sir, it will be done before we sail.”

  “Excellent.” Bliven stepped out onto the planking over the keelson and made his way forward. Just abaft the footing of the foremast he lifted up a grate, reached down into the space, and withdrew an oblong river cobble weighing perhaps three pounds. “Mr. Yeakel, the kentledge seems to have been replaced.”

  The bosun caught up with him. “Yes, sir. The Navy determined that they had a use for the iron scrap that could be melted for other purposes, and while she was lying up they replaced the ballast with river rocks to about the same amount. I believe they learned rather a lesson from the Constitution.”

  “Yes, I should hope so.” It had caused much excitement in the service when the mighty frigate’s scantling had been removed a decade and a half before and replaced with water tanks, leaving her midships too buoyant, and she quickly hogged some sixteen inches, almost enough to break her back. It took a major refitting to right the damage, and the Navy had been more careful about maintaining proper ballast in its vessels ever since.

  Bliven sat on the decking and removed more large river cobbles from lower down, turning the last one over carefully in the light of the battle lantern, satisfied that it was barely damp. “This all seems very well.” He replaced the rocks and the grate back into its frame.

  He got onto his knees, and when he looked, Sam was there with a hand to help him to his feet. “Why in the world did you dig into the ballast?” Sam asked.

  “We sprung a leak many years ago off Cuba. I just wanted to see that all was well.”

  Sam laughed. “Captain, all ships have bilgewater. They can’t help it!”

  Bliven looked at him evenly. “I prefer the seawater to remain outside my ship. Call me eccentric.” He eased himself down to the ribs and backed out to the curve of the hull, looking far forward and aft. “Yes, this all looks very well.” He led them forward all the way to the sail room, where they ascended three steps, which was a special hardship for Second Lieutenant White, for he was very tall, and in the confines of the bow there was only five feet of clearance. The shelving Bliven beheld was packed tight with surely all the canvas they could need. “Mr. Yeakel, I want you to store extra lanterns in this compartment. There is sufficient space for a surgeon’s cockpit should we see action, and if so I want him to have plenty of light.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He led them again far aft, to the powder handling room, the construction of whose cautious partition from the magazine itself he had overseen himself before she ever went to sea. He noted the flap-covered scuttle hole into the magazine and pointed to it. “Do we have a carpenter?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sam, “a good man, he came to New Orleans with me. You will meet him presently.”

  “Well, I think I would like not to take any boys out with us. Have the carpenter enlarge the access to the magazine enough for a small man to enter and work.” None of the others were aware of the specter that still haunted him, of young Turner, the powder monkey on the Tempest who was cut in half by a ball from the Java. “Or midshipmen. This cruise has but one purpose, and I want only men who know what they are getting into.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sam. “I am certain that we most heartily agree. Now, shall we work our way back up? I have papers waiting for you in your cabin.”

  They paused on the berth deck. “Mr. Yeakel, when will the crew be released for good?”

  “Upon your order, Captain.”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The great mahogany table in the sea cabin was just as it ever was, and Bliven, Sam, and White spaced themselves around it. Yeakel excused himself long enough to find the ship’s carpenter and return with him, a frighteningly muscled specimen named Caldwell with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. “I came with Mr. Bandy, Captain,” he said. “We are neighbors; I helped build his house.”

  “I see,” said Bliven. “You are enlisted in the Texas cause, then?”

  “Up to my arse, Captain, begging your pardon.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Have you ever been to sea before?”

  “No, sir. Sitting here in the river is the closest I have come. I came to Louisiana riding in a wagon, though, and I think the motion cannot be too different.”

  “Ha! Well said. Welcome among us, then. Mr. Yeakel will set you to some tasks that you can probably complete by the time we weigh anchor. If you two will honor us with your company for a few moments . . .” He indicated two of the empty mates’ chairs, which they took. “Now then, gentlemen, Mr. Bandy has informed me that Texians are less formal in their dealings than an Easterner like myself is accustomed to, so let me tell you first that you are at liberty to speak freely. I want to think first about a crew. Mr. Yeakel, how many did you come to New Orleans with?”

  “Eighty, sir.”

  “Enough to handle the ship but not man the guns, was that it?”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  “So we must find approximately another one hundred seventy men, of whom we may presume nothing in
the way of skills or experience.”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “But the eighty we have are experienced Navy men, except they have mustered out?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Is there a way they may be induced to stay?”

  “I should say there is, sir!” Sam interjected. Seeing expectant eyes upon him, he continued, “Let me speak to them. Every soldier in the Army enlisted for the bounty of Texas land in payment. If most of these men came west to start over and see how fortune might treat them . . . Is that not so, Mr. Yeakel?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, then, you let me tell them about the land. I will wager that more will stay with us than go their own way.”

  “When are they coming back aboard, Mr. Yeakel?” asked Bliven.

  “All of them are due back tonight, sir.”

  “Very well, Mr. Bandy shall have his chance to see how persuasive he can be. Now, what shall we do for a chaplain?”

  Sam’s stomach bounced in a noiseless laugh. “Captain, of all the men I have known in Texas in fifteen years, I have known but one or two who would ever go to church, if there were one to go to. I do believe we can dispense with finding a chaplain.”

  Bliven drummed his fingers on the table a few times and held up his hand. “Wait. I thought that freedom of religion was a central point of your revolution.”

  “Well . . .” Sam smiled and shrugged. “It would be true to say that they would like to have the freedom to go to church . . . if they want to.”

  Bliven’s gaze became more penetrating, and Sam realized the need for more clarity.

  “And if our pleading the cause of religious liberty in the United States awakens the innate anti-Catholic sentiments among the people there, so much the better for the Texas cause.”

  “So you Texans have raised religious freedom more as an issue of political principle than it has been any oppression of your consciences that you have actually suffered.”

  “That would be more or less correct, Captain.”

  Bliven drew a long breath in and slowly let it out, for he had accepted what he had been told of the reasons for the Texas revolution. Sam had now just proven that false. One day he must decide how he felt about that, but for now his own opinion was irrelevant because he was under orders and he had his duty to perform. “Very well, we can do without a chaplain, but we must sail with a physician on board. That is absolutely necessary. How do we go about that?”

  Sam welcomed the chance to redeem himself. “I can be more useful there, sir. There is a physician I know on Canal Street, a Dr. Sickles. In addition to his own practice, he also wholesales drugs and instruments to just about every doctor in the city. He is certain to know some physician who is game to join us.”

  “That would be helpful. Mr. Yeakel, when Dr. Berend left the ship in Boston, did he leave anything useful in the sick bay?”

  “No, sir, he quite properly took his instruments with him, and the medicines were taken to the hospital in the Navy Yard. We have nothing on board.”

  “Mr. Bandy, you say your Dr. Sickles is a wholesaler?”

  “Yes, sir. I am happy to say he can outfit us completely. In truth, I know of just such a requisition that he recently filled. He stocked a large trading vessel with drugs and instruments, including”—Sam traced little circles on the side of his head—“a trepanning apparatus. The total cost was about a hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

  “And can you draw on your Mr. Toby for that sum?”

  “Most surely.”

  “Very well, then, Mr. Bandy has the responsibility of finding us a doctor and supplying the sick bay, and also addressing the crew when they return to exhort as many as he can into volunteering. Mr. Bandy, it does not surprise me that you are already becoming indispensable.”

  “That would please me greatly, Captain. Hopefully, the men will return just drunk enough to want to sign up, but not so drunk as to say they have been taken advantage of.”

  “Yes. With your particular history, I would not think you’d want to become known for pressing men into service.”

  Both the color and the amiability drained from Sam’s face in an instant as he muttered, “No.”

  Bliven knew in a heartbeat that he should not have ventured such a witticism. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry. Mr. White,” he said, “at the beginning of the War of 1812, Mr. Bandy was kidnapped from his own merchant ship and impressed into British service, where he suffered very cruel treatment until he was rescued.”

  “Most unfortunate,” said White. “I was just a small boy at the time of that conflict and I barely remember it.”

  There was something vaguely belittling, not in the way he said it, but in the fact that the younger generation no longer appreciated the desperation of that war or the sacrifices made in it. Perhaps enduring such an inane remark was just part of getting old. “A bit later we both served on the Constitution,” he said more pointedly. “I presume you have heard of her, at least?”

  “Oh, my God, sir, of course I have. I am envious. May I ask, Captain, under whom did you serve?”

  “Commodore Preble,” said Bliven. “Then Hull, then Bainbridge.”

  “Oh! Captain Putnam, those are legendary names.”

  “They are now. I knew Bainbridge when he wrecked the Philadelphia. I did not think him a legend then, I assure you.” Bliven felt safe in saying so now, for Bainbridge had died in Philadelphia two and a half years before, bitter and carrying his grudges to the last. Had he ever learned that Bliven had said such a thing, it would likely have ended in a duel.

  “Where are you from, Mr. White?”

  “Mobile, Captain, originally.”

  “In what ships have you seen service?”

  “The North Carolina, almost my entire period in the service.”

  “Heavens!” That massive ship of the line, rated a seventy-four but pierced for more than a hundred guns, including forty-twos on her lower deck, was the most powerful vessel in the Navy. “Our Rappahannock must seem like a very small potato to you.”

  “On the contrary, sir, I have enjoyed sailing in a ship on which I am unlikely to get lost.”

  “The other men came because their enlistments were up. Have you given up your commission as well?”

  “I have, yes, sir. I still wear a uniform because I have as yet few civilian clothes.”

  “What were your duties?”

  “As assigned, sir, but mainly I had command of a section of twenty-fours.”

  “Really?” Bliven and Sam exchanged knowing looks. “It might be very lucky for us if you could be induced to stay on.”

  “Thank you, sir. In fact I was listening to Mr. Bandy’s exposition very attentively about the grants of free land.”

  “Take care, Mr. White,” said Sam. “Once you say yes, it is unlikely I will give you a chance to change your mind.”

  “No, sir. I have been thinking as you spoke. If there is free land for it, I’m in.”

  “Not free, Mr. White. You may have to fight for it.”

  “Let it come.”

  “Well, then,” said Bliven, “let’s have it done. Wait, we have no—” He cast his glance about. “Mr. Ross! Are you about?”

  The door to his berth opened, with a glimpse of the port quarter gallery beyond, and Ross appeared in his shirtsleeves. “I was arranging your chest, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Bring my writing kit for Mr. Bandy, will you?”

  “Yes, sir,” he chuckled. “I just heard Mr. White volunteer into the Texian Navy.”

  He returned and set the slant-topped portable desk in front of Sam, who opened it and extracted a sheet of watermarked paper. Carefully he picked up the goose quill with a steel nib inserted into its base. He held it up, turned it over, and regarded it. “Quaint,” he said. “Don’t see these so often anymore.”<
br />
  Quite familiar enough with the wording of an officer’s commission, Sam dipped the nib into the inkwell and began writing, making the effort for his hand to look Spencerian enough for the dignity of the document.

  Bliven watched him with fascination. “Are you quite empowered to issue a naval commission, Lieutenant?”

  “We are in a revolution, Captain. I am quite empowered to do what is necessary. How about you, Mr. Ross? The ship will need a clerk and a purser. There is land in it for you, if you are game.”

  “Me, sir?” Alan Ross flushed. “Oh, no, thank you very much. From New England I came, to New England I return. You may have your revolution and your Mexicans and your scalping Indians and I wish you luck with them. But none for me, I thank you.”

  Bliven laughed loudly for an instant before he stifled it. “Now, there is an answer you do not hear often, I’ll warrant.”

  Sam continued writing. “It is not for everyone. If everybody volunteered, New York and Boston would be depopulated, and then where would your country be?”

  Your country, thought Bliven. How strange to hear that from Sam. “Mr. White,” he said, “you can stage an exercise of the great guns?”

  “I should say I can, Captain, and have done so many times. I have the latest edition of the manual in my bag.”

  “Well, you will be starting from scratch. Probably most of the new men, the ones apart from those that Mr. Bandy can hector into staying, are going to be more accustomed to pitchforks than ramrods.”

  “Review your manual well, Mr. White,” said Sam. “Our captain is rather an expert on the use of ramrods in battle.” In danger of laughing, he bit into the sides of his tongue.

  Bliven eyed him coldly. “That will do, Lieutenant, thank you.”

  “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  5

  Texas Warship Gonzales

  That evening the crew began to return, in various stages of drink, some in the lighter, some individually in canoes or pirogues that were paddled instead of poled. As the darkness gathered and the glint of lights on the waterfront became more pronounced, it was soon apparent that some half dozen of them had already commenced their new lives ashore and would not bother to return for their meager belongings. Yeakel set those who came back to cleaning the spaces around their hammocks, which they did in a halfhearted manner, feeling themselves beyond the reach of compulsion. Yeakel warned them not to turn in, that they would be wanted to assemble on the weather deck shortly.