by James Haley
Sam considered this with a twinkle in his eyes. “They could do worse, would you not agree?”
* * *
* * *
The ship’s surgeon, when he came aboard, was a soft-spoken German named Haffner, who, if he had ever been exposed to sun and salt air, it must have been several years prior, for he appeared as soft and pale as a changeling. He did assure Bliven that the tincture of cantharides sent out in Dr. Sickles’s chest was prescribed only as a diuretic, and even then greatly diluted, for it is lethally poisonous. In his own practice, he had found its reputation for sparking sexual arousal to be nothing more than sailors’ lore, stemming perhaps from its unsavory but exotic origin as dried and crushed blister beetles.
Haffner’s volunteering of such a complete account of the drug, and his quick facility with the other mysteries of the medical chests, won Bliven’s confidence. Sam canvassed every arriving ship from the West for news of Texas; all were consistent in the intelligence that, although a violent clash must come, it had not yet arrived. They also learned that the many factions in Texas were now contending for power within the rebellion and causing Texas’s first steps toward self-government to falter. One evening at anchor they were visited by a Mr. Thomas McKinney, who Bliven learned was an immensely wealthy investor in all things Texian. He had advanced their leaders everything from powder and lead to shoes—it was he who in fact stood behind Mr. Toby and the Texas factors—and if the revolution succeeded, his wealth would become truly vast. After his visit, the Gonzales’s hold swelled with slops for the men, supplies, and an assistant for Caldwell the carpenter—along with a suite of signal flags, for McKinney was himself a ship owner—until the vessel plumped and rounded out to her former pride.
The new year of 1836 was two weeks gone when Sam came aboard with news from a Matamoros packet of Mexican troop movements south of the border. There would be not one invasion but two, with Santa Anna to strike across the Rio Grande at San Antonio while the country’s most able general, José de Urrea, would land at Cópano and cover his southern flank. Their intention was, together, to sweep all American settlement from the country.
All morning on January 15, the Gonzales lay, self-contained, independent of the shore and the city, waiting only the tide and a pilot to return to her wonted element, and Bliven felt nearly beside himself in anticipation. It had been too, too long. His keenness only increased when Sam joined him on the quarterdeck, a cup of coffee steaming in hand and a large piece of royal blue cotton folded over his arm. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Mr. Bandy, good morning.” He and Sam had never been captain and first lieutenant, yet it felt comfortable and familiar, like a fond old memory relived. “It must have been late when you came back aboard; I did not hear you.”
“It was. I was waiting upon Mrs. Ferraro, who sends you this with her best compliments.” He partially shook open their ensign, part of the single golden star visible upon its field of blue. “She also had this left from dressmaking.” From his coat pocket he extracted a tightly wound swatch of emerald-green silk, six inches broad and almost weightless. “It is twenty feet long and tapers. I accepted it, not knowing if we had a pennant to gauge the wind.”
“Excellent.”
“The tide will turn before long, and the pilot will come out anytime now.”
André Hoover came up the ladder before them bearing a pot and a plain white porcelain cup. “Captain, I know that your steward has already taken you breakfast, but Mr. Bandy informed me of your fondness for coffee.”
Bliven accepted the cup with gratitude. “Mr. Bandy informed you correctly, thank you.” He took a sip. “Sam, I am suddenly curious about something. Have you ever noticed our figurehead?”
“Well, yes, actually, I thought it was a queer-looking thing, like a pagan idol of some kind. What is the story?”
“Ha! Walk with me.” Bliven strode forward down the starboard gangway, stepping through the gate down to the head with its three bare openings for the crewmen to sit on. At the very prow he leaned out and could almost reach up and touch their Hawaiian trophy, just beneath and seeming to support the bowsprit. “Hello there, old fellow! I have not had a look at him since I came aboard.” They walked more slowly back to the quarterdeck. “The original figurehead was of Mary Washington, George Washington’s mother, who lived on the Rappahannock. She was shot away by pirates in Malaya. Then when we were in the Sandwich Islands, my marines had to clean out a nest of heathen native priests who were holding American hostages. That fellow on the bow was one of their gods that they sacrificed people to. I had my carpenter splice him onto the plinth.”
“My God, you really have had a whole life of adventure, haven’t you? After I left the Navy I just became a country mouse, I guess.”
“Oh, I don’t know. This whole Texas revolution business of yours sounds like it could be enough adventure for any three or four men.” They watched as the ship came to life; men who had come aboard in twos and fives and dozens now filed up from below to store their hammocks in the netting between the inner and outer railings, listening as Lieutenant White helped them organize into watches.
“I tell you what,” said Sam, “I am almighty glad that we are sailing with an American crew. Texas volunteers don’t much cotton to being told what to do. They elect their own officers; they fight like hell when their blood is up but expect to pick up and go home when it suits them. I just don’t know what kind of navy they will make. Look, the pilot boat is leaving the dock.”
Yeakel met him at the head of the boarding ladder and escorted him down the gangway to the quarterdeck. He made his respects to Bliven and then Sam. “Good morning, gentlemen. Andrew McKay, pilot, to take you out when you are ready.” He must have been seventy, with the thin, puffy skin of the elderly, very white, with prominent crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes. He bore a mass of very curly iron-gray hair that blended to white in a great square beard. His accent was Scottish to the point of ferocity.
McKay looked up into the rigging, not in a smooth scan but in little jerks, as though he were assessing a rote list of separate conditions before he could get them underway. “Mr. Yeakel,” he barked in that distinctive burr. “Where is the rest of your for’d rigging, man? You are not set for a flying jib nor fore t’gallant.”
“They were lost in a storm off the Bahamas two years ago,” said Yeakel.
“And the Navy could no’ be bothered to repair her? Pssh!”
“They spared the expense, for she was soon to be stricken from the list. We have learned to sail around the deficiency.”
“Aye,” he muttered. “How much water does she draw?”
“Twenty feet at the deepest.”
“God almighty! There won’t be many ports on this coast where you can call!” He turned his face into the slight breeze, almost smelling it. “Captain, are ye prepared to get underway?”
“You may take us out, Mr. McKay.”
“Mr. Yeakel, have you made m’boat fast to a stern cleat?”
“We have. We are ready when you are.”
“Very well.” He looked up again. “Your wind is southerly, and light. Set your stays’ls and weigh your anchor; that will take us into the channel. The current will bring her about, then set your tops’ls on the port tack.”
In seconds Yeakel had men aloft, and the Gonzales’s five triangular staysails fell into place as polished pine bars were inserted into the capstan, and five men on each bar began to slowly turn it around.
When a free moment arose, Yeakel stood close to Bliven. “This man knows what he is doing, Captain. And, well, I could surely use a bosun’s mate.”
They joined McKay at the tall double wheel. “She moves easy, Captain. How long have you been her master?”
“I just came aboard,” said Bliven, “but also I commanded her at the time of her commissioning. In fact, we have been around the world together.”
/> “And now you are going out as Texians, to fight the Mexicans?”
“We are, indeed, Mr. McKay. She was stricken from the American list and acquired by the new government of Texas. And sort of like the dog under the porch, I guess I came with the place.”
McKay gave a laugh, full-throated and loud. “Then, sir, I wish you every success.”
“Do I gather you have an opinion on that subject, Mr. McKay?”
“Pah! When I was a young man I fought the dons under St. Vincent. We were outnumbered twenty-seven sail of the line to fifteen, and we made mincemeat of ’em. Worthless beings they are; I wouldn’t pee on one to show mercy if he was on fire.”
“Oh, my, St. Vincent. Do you not miss those days?”
“Aye, St. Vincent . . . Nelson was just a captain in those days; he went on to do some things, you know. But I have my memories, Captain. They keep me company.”
“How high did you rise in the Royal Navy?”
“Rise? Shoot! In that service, sir, almost never does one rise to command. One is born into the right family, and they purchase and politic your way to command. Except ye be English and to the manor born, the ceiling for the rest of us is low and of hard timber.”
“Our bosun has remarked upon your skills. Were you a sailing master?”
“That I was, sir, my very title.”
“How do you come to be in New Orleans?”
“Hoot, man, I got old! A man has to sustain himself until he drops; that’s the way of the world.”
“Are you not married?”
“No! To share what? What do I have to offer?”
“I see. Well then, what if you were offered one last adventure?”
McKay snapped his head around and shot Bliven a look with eyes like bright blue glass. “What? To join you in this madcap sortie of yours?”
“Yes.”
McKay broke his gaze to assess the banks and the channel again. “For what pay?”
“A few thousand acres of land in the new country, when it is won,” interjected Sam.
“Forgive me, sir, but you mean if it is won. Mexico is a formidable power.”
“You mean those people you wouldn’t pee on for mercy?”
McKay leaned back and laughed again. “You mean you want I should just disappear without saying good-bye to anyone, with my pilot boat tied on astern?”
“That’s right.”
McKay stared at them hard for several more seconds. “Daft!”
“Well, I do feel badly about taking the boat,” said Bliven. “What if I sent someone back with it?”
“You know, McKay,” said Sam, “once the country is ours, every river will need ferries, every port will need a pilot. You will have work in addition to your land.”
McKay’s eyes took on a distinct twinkle. “Oh, you two are a wicked mean press-gang, you are.”
“Well, what do you say?”
He held out a few seconds more. “Oh, hell. I don’t even have clothes with me.”
“We will manage,” said Bliven as he fished a coin out of his pocket purse. “Lieutenant, please go below, find one of the men having second thoughts.” He handed him the coin. “Give him ten dollars to take the pilot boat back to New Orleans and tell them that Mr. McKay will not be returning, and then he is to forget that he ever knew us. And send Mr. Ross up to me with his ledger. Tell him that we have a new bosun’s mate to record.”
McKay grunted and his crow’s-feet deepened, his brilliant eyes unmistakably amused.
“How long until we find open water?” asked Bliven.
“I would like to make it as far as Fort St. Philip at the Plaquemines Bend by nightfall. We will anchor there tonight, and the last thirty miles should see us into the Gulf by tomorrow afternoon.”
“God, after waiting so long, that seems like forever.”
* * *
* * *
Underway again the next morning, the Mississippi widened until the bordering marshes seemed to disappear by degrees. They knew they were nearing open water because its muddy color altered to pale gray-green and then jade. They encountered an easy swell coming into their port bow, less than three feet, but enough to lift the ship in a slow rhythm, and it felt wonderfully familiar. By degrees the water darkened from turquoise to a deep green-blue. “Are we free, Mr. McKay?” asked Bliven.
“Aye, sir.” He pointed ahead. “Now, we should maintain a southerly heading until evening to get clear of any coastal banks. That will take you a bit south of the usual coastal shipping, but with your draft you could run aground where others may safely pass. Then you can make your turn safely to the west.”
“That is how we will have it, then. Mr. White will relieve you next watch. Mr. Bandy, Mr. White, if you will join me in my cabin?” Near the foremast he spied the bosun. “Mr. Yeakel, you are wanted!” And they made their way down the ladder.
In the sea cabin Bliven poured them glasses of Madeira and bade them be seated. They sat at the mahogany table, spread now with charts of the Gulf coast, the gift of Mr. McKinney, as was the excellent wine. “Well now, gentlemen, we find ourselves in a curious position. We are in the service of a revolutionary government that is not recognized by anyone else but aided in secret by the United States. My orders are no more specific than to place myself at the disposal of this revolutionary government, whose instructions will be relayed by”—he opened his hand toward Sam—“Mr. Bandy. So, then, Mr. Bandy, I am in all conscience bound to inquire of you whether you are lawfully commissioned to exercise this authority.”
“I am, but it is in the nature of revolutions that not every order is committed to paper. Your own orders from your own Navy Department are sufficient warrant to ease your mind in regard to your participation.”
“Very well. And what exactly are we to do?”
“First, we must land at the port of Velasco, at the mouth of the Brazos. Odds are, that will give us the shortest distance to find General Houston and learn his latest instructions. Happily, I also live near there and can make whatever arrangements we need. After seeing Houston, we will enforce an embargo on all trade to and from Mexico and engage, and capture or destroy, any Mexican cruisers that you find along the Texas coast.”
“What ships do we know that Mexico has in the Gulf?”
“We don’t know. Mexico has probably been preparing for trouble since last summer. We know they have money; they have surely bought and converted some merchantmen into warships and signed up privateers as fast as they can. Officially, at last report they had but two armed schooners patrolling the Texas coast, the Moctezuma and the Correo de México, maybe two guns each, but there is surely a more formidable presence by now.”
“Two guns each?”
“Twelve-pounders, maybe.”
It was with distinct satisfaction that Bliven could look beyond the spindled wooden partition between his cabin and the twin files of twenty-fours down the sweep of the gun deck. “Well, I guess we can assume that we are the most powerful ship in the area.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bliven took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, let us accept this assumption. But if we do, I believe it would be prudent to make some additional assumptions. Mexico’s ships may well all be smaller and more lightly armed, but we should also assume that they are faster and more maneuverable, some perhaps even embracing the use of steam power. If their captains are competent, they can use that to offset somewhat our superior armament. We must be able to engage them on something like equal terms without having to bring our broadside to bear. Therefore, I wish you to take two of our long twenty-fours, the two forwardmost from the sick bay, and remount them as bow chasers. Mr. Caldwell will need to cut away sections of railing, and embed eyebolts for their lanyards. Mr. Yeakel, you can instruct him in the particulars.”
“Yes, sir,” said Yeakel, “and I will direct operating the block an
d tackle to hoist the guns up to the weather deck.”
Sam raised a hand. “Captain, if I may?”
“Mr. Bandy?”
“Would you not desire stern chasers as well?”
“I would, but I don’t want to make us top-heavy.”
“If a steam-powered vessel were to get astern of us, even twelve-pounders could do terrible damage if she were able to rake us.”
“True, but with our greater range, we should be able to dispatch them before they get into such a position.”
“I see.” Sam nodded. “Well, speaking to that point, the whole reason for chasers is to be effective at the extremity of their range.”
“That is correct.”
“I wonder if you would consider having Mr. Caldwell mount those chasers on some shallow ramps to raise their elevation just a few degrees. We can set blocks behind the wheels to keep them in place, and I’ll bet I could design an opposing ramp to arrest their recoil. I would bet you we can increase their range by a couple of hundred yards.”
Bliven nodded. “And what is the thinking that motivates this?”
“Sir, a lot of the coastal trading takes place in schooners that are bound to be faster than we are, and they can run for shallow water. I should think we want to extend our reach as far as we can.”
“Mr. Bandy, you have not been to sea for many years, but you have lost none of your capacity for good thinking. Work with Mr. Yeakel and your carpenter and see what you can do to rig up with the bow chasers. We will test their range when we exercise the guns and see how easy it is to reposition them after firing. Mr. White, do you think you can conduct a gunnery drill in the morning?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Sir,” said Yeakel, “perhaps we should take care of this this evening so we can be ready to test them in the morning. It shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half or so, and Caldwell can saw up a couple blocks to stop the wheels rolling backwards. I would bet the lanyards would be strong enough to hold the guns in place until they are fired.”
