The Sea and the Sand

by Christopher Nicole

  On most occasions Stephen would accompany them, as Toby was determined to make the boy as at home on water as on dry land as soon as possible, but Felicity liked it best when they were alone, and on calm days would drop the sail and let the new catboat drift, while they stripped off their clothes and sat or lay in the bottom of the boat, and just played with each other. She supposed they were utterly shameless, her Moorish experiences having demolished the strictures of her upbringing, and his rumbustious Irish lust for life performing a similar cauterisation on any New England Puritanism he might have acquired in the Navy.

  Of course he was as happy as she, she told herself, and allowed herself no doubts even when friends like Decatur or Hull came to call, as they did at least once in a year, carrying news of the Navy, of the new ships being built, of voyages around the world, of storms, and ships and men and fish, and ports … all of which brought a gleam to Toby’s eye, and left him thoughtful for days afterwards.

  From these he invariably recovered. But his visitors also brought news of a more serious nature. For as Decatur had prophesied, the failure of Congress to force the British to compensate for their quite unwarrantable act of aggression in firing on an American warship in time of peace had encouraged the Royal Navy to treat the minuscule American Navy with contempt. While the American merchant fleet was entirely at the mercy of the whims of the British sea captains, who since the victory of Trafalgar ruled the oceans with a total dominance.

  ‘I do not see how much longer it can last,’ Isaac Hull remarked on a visit in 1810. ‘The depredations against our people are far worse than any committed by the Barbary pirates.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Isaac,’ Felicity protested, anxious to defend her countrymen, however much she might have turned her back on them. ‘There is no looting, or …’ she met his gaze, ‘raping.’

  ‘Granted,’ Hull agreed. ‘The British are the most perfect gentlemen to anyone wearing a skirt, and they have the highest regard for another man’s property, at least where they do not suspect it may be intended for use by an enemy. But the man himself … why, there is talk of ships losing two-thirds of their men because a frigate captain was short-handed.’

  ‘Congress must act,’ Harry McGann declared.

  ‘And decree what?’ his wife demanded.

  ‘That our ships should open fire on the rascals,’ Harry growled. ‘I am sure not all of our captains are as pusillanimous as James Barron.’ He looked at Hull.

  He flushed. ‘I assure you we are not, sir.’

  ‘Yet would you be blown out of the water by the Royal Navy,’ Elizabeth pointed out.

  ‘That would be better than being made the laughing stock of the world,’ Harry insisted.

  ‘I doubt all of our ships would be blown out of the water, Mrs McGann,’ Hull said. ‘The French found that not to be so easy in 1799, eh Toby?’

  ‘The French,’ Elizabeth said scornfully.

  ‘Those were great days,’ Toby said, gazing at the trees. ‘But Mother is right, you know, Isaac. The British … they have seafaring and seafighting in their blood.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks,’ Harry said. ‘Is it not in our blood as well? I had to remind Washington himself of that, once, and it reassured him most powerfully. I tell you, sir, American seamen are every bit as good as their British counterparts, could they be as well equipped and led. They have lacked only the opportunity to prove it.’

  Toby and Hull remained on the porch after the rest of the family had gone to bed. ‘Will it truly come to war, do you suppose, Isaac?’ Toby asked.

  ‘There is a powerful lobby in favour of it in Washington,’ Hull told him. ‘They call themselves the War Hawks, as opposed to the Peace Doves, and they talk of invading and capturing Canada while Britain is engaged in this endless war with France. They say President Madison himself is inclined their way. Now, to my mind that is a distasteful business, like seeking to stab a man in the back while he is fighting front to front with a superior foe. On the other hand, the Limeys do seem to wish to provoke us, Toby. Do you know that some six thousand American seamen have been impressed from our ships during the past ten years? That is coming close to two in every day. And even where impressment is not involved, the Royal Navy arrogates itself the right to stop and search any of our ships and, where there is the least doubt as to the composition or destination of the cargo, to escort the vessel to a British port, where some of them lie idle for months, awaiting clearance. Of course the British claim that they are engaged in a life and death struggle with Napoleon. But does that give them the right to disrupt the trade of the rest of the world? Mark my words, it will come to blows, sooner or later.’

  ‘And then?’ Toby asked.

  Hull grinned. ‘I am not so foolish as to suppose we can place our fourteen frigates in a line of battle against the Royal Navy; at the last reckoning they disposed of more than a thousand warships. But I also reckon your father is right, and ship to ship and man for man we are as good as any Britisher … save where we are commanded by men like James Barron.’

  ‘If it came to blows,’ Toby said slowly. ‘I am only just thirty years of age. And I spend as much time afloat as anyone.’

  ‘And I would be more than happy to have you on my ship, Toby.’ His smile faded. ‘But I have not the power to restore your commission.’

  Toby nodded. ‘I understand that. Just promise me a berth.’

  Hull frowned at him, then waved his hand to encompass the farm. ‘You’d abandon all of this, this prosperity and comfort, that magnificent woman who is your wife, three splendid children, to sail before the mast?’

  ‘If I can do no better,’ Toby said. ‘I once swore an oath of allegiance to the United States and to the Navy, Isaac, and I do not consider myself relieved of that oath because the Navy Board felt I had exceeded my jurisdiction. But promise me this conversation will go no further …’ he glanced at the door into the house, ‘and that you will have a berth for me.’

  Hull nodded. ‘I am to take command of Constitution when she returns from her present duty.’

  ‘Constitution! By God, that has to be the finest ship afloat.’

  ‘I think she is. And I am to make her finer yet. She is to undergo a complete refit in Baltimore, and will probably be there until next summer. If war breaks out, Toby, and you have not changed your mind, come to Baltimore, and you’ll have your berth. There’s my word.’

  If war breaks out, Toby thought. It was not something he dared discuss with Felicity: he could not imagine her reactions. And not only to his returning to the Navy. He would be fighting against her own countrymen. He could even find himself fighting against her own brother. And as a common seaman. Harry McGann had begun life as a common seaman, but he had very rapidly advanced, and had never looked back. By thirty he had already achieved his reputation and his immortality. His son could only be regarded as a total failure.

  As a career officer in the Navy. Not, he was still sure, as a man. Indeed, as Hull had suggested would be the case, the hardest thought of all to contemplate was that of leaving the farm, and Felicity, and the children, however compelling the reason. They were the solid rocks on which he had built his life … and Felicity was much more than that. From being a burden, however desirable and beautiful a burden, she had become his friend and constant companion and support, while remaining more beautiful and desirable than ever. While their mutual passion for each other continued to grow. They pursued each other’s bodies with an unrelenting hunger, and if there was any truth in the old saying that a woman should be a hostess in the drawing room, a cook in the kitchen, a mother in the nursery, and a whore in bed, then Felicity was perfection itself.

  How could he ever turn his back upon such bliss?

  Yet he knew he could not remain snugly buried in Long Island while his old comrades were fighting for their fives. He took to devouring every item of news which came up from New York, and to making more visits than usual to the metropolis. He was there at the end of May, 1811, when news arrived
of the action between the USS President, captained by John Rodgers himself, and the British sloop HMS Little Belt. The British ship had apparently taken some seamen from an American vessel, when the President came on the scene, gave chase, and opened fire with devastating results, killing more than thirty men and reducing the sloop to a wreck. New York was in a state of wild excitement, feelings extending from acclamation of the incident as a just retaliation for the Leopard — Chesapeake affair of four years earlier, and fears that the British would promptly mete out the most terrible reprisals.

  In the event, the British, still locked in their life and death struggle with the Napoleonic Empire, and concentrating all their efforts on maintaining an army in Spain and Portugal, did no more than protest. But Congress, elated by such an example of American prowess, daily became more bellicose. Toby was walking behind his plough on a June day the following year when Felicity came running across the newly cleared field, having left the trap on the path. Little Stephen ran behind her as best he was able, and it was Stephen Toby heard first.

  ‘War!’ the five-year-old was screaming. ‘War!’

  Toby pulled the horses to a halt, drew his sleeve across his forehead to wipe the sweat away, and gazed at his wife, who stopped at some distance — even so he could see how agitated she was.

  ‘Is that true?’ he asked, as he swung the boy from the ground into his arms.

  She nodded.

  ‘With England?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Whose declaration?’

  ‘Congress,’ she said. ‘They claim it is to protect the freedom of the seas, but already there is talk of an invasion of Canada.’

  ‘Well … no war was ever won by sitting on the defensive.’ He placed Stephen on the back of one of the horses, then turned the plough itself back towards the houses. ‘Hillditch can complete these furrows tomorrow.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, her voice breathless, as if she could not see what he was going to do: the act of ceasing to plough was symbolic of abandoning the farm.

  ‘I have business in Baltimore,’ he said.

  *

  Felicity did not argue; she had known for too long that this day must come. Neither did Elizabeth, although the two women wept together, and joined together in reminding him to come back safe and sound.

  Stephen gazed at him in rapt wonder as he prepared to leave, unable to understand why his father was leaving his uniform and sword behind, only dimly aware that this was a terribly important moment in all their lives. The two girls, fortunately, were too young to understand anything. But Boru hung his head in misery; he had seen his master depart before.

  Toby felt just as miserable, but Harry was even more upset. For all his warlike utterances he had not truly expected to lose his son again: over the seven years since Toby’s return from the sea, the older McGann had grown accustomed to relying on that strong right arm. ‘But you’ll give them best, boy,’ he growled. ‘You’ll give them best.’

  ‘On board Constitution?’ Toby grinned at him. ‘How could I fail?’

  Only Felicity seemed to equal Stephen in noticing that he was leaving his uniform behind. ‘Well, sweetheart,’ he explained, ‘it hardly fits me now. Besides, I shall be a volunteer. I shall have to wait and see what rank is offered me.’

  She seemed content with that, and if, like the rest of the family, she assumed he would immediately be recommissioned, so much the better. But as he knew that was impossible, he was conscious of a considerable nervousness as he made his way down to New York, and thence, by various ferries and post-chaises, to Philadelphia and into Maryland. He had never stepped on board any ship in his life, save as at least a midshipman, with the certainty of authority and command in front of him. Now he had nothing to rely on save his experience and ability.

  Yet his heartbeat quickened as he stood on the dock and gazed at the USS Constitution, two hundred and four feet long, and more than forty-three feet in the beam, drawing more than twenty-two feet of water, and carrying three masts, the highest of which, the main, towered some two hundred and twenty feet above the deck. He looked at the double row of cannon, the twenty thirty-two pounder carronades on the upper deck, and the thirty-two twenty-four pounders on the gun deck; there were also two twenty-four pounder bow chasers. This was the largest and most powerful vessel the United States Navy possessed. That she had never had the opportunity to carve her place in history, even when commanded by such a man as Preble, had to be sheer bad luck, which might be about to change: she was certainly far larger and more powerful than any British frigate.

  There was a cluster of men at the foot of the gangplank, access to which was guarded by two blue-coated marines, bayonets fixed to their muskets. In front of them an officer sat at a desk, signing men on. But from the large group of sailors gathered farther down the dock, muttering amongst each other in obvious disappointment, he gathered that even more men were being turned away as not being up to the required standard of ability or experience. Toby caught his breath as he fell into the waiting line, less out of apprehension that he also might be rejected than because he recognised the first lieutenant.

  ‘Name?’ The officer did not look up.

  ‘Tobias McGann, sir.’

  ‘Experience … ?’ Tom McDonough raised his head in amazement. ‘Toby McGann? By God! You’d sail with us?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Toby said, looking into his eyes.

  McDonough almost stood up, and his hand was already leaving his side, to grasp the fingers of his old friend. Then he recollected his position and sat down again. ‘And right happy we are to have you, Toby,’ he said softly.

  ‘My experience consists of nine years’ service with the Navy, sir,’ Toby said. ‘Seven of them at war, with France and then Tripoli.’

  ‘Aye,’ McDonough agreed. ‘Aye.’ He gazed at his sheet. ‘What can I do with you, commensurate with your talents? Coxswain. That’s it. I must sign you on as an able seaman, but you’ll assume coxswain’s duties immediately, McGann.’

  ‘Aye-aye, sir!’ Toby said in delight. He shouldered his sea bag and went up the plank and through the gangway, saluting the quarterdeck. Isaac Hull stood there, together with Mr Clements, his second lieutenant, and returned the salute. Hull could give no personal sign of welcome without risking his dignity as captain, but the two men gazed at each other for a moment before Toby turned and went forward of the mainmast, thence down the companionway to the crew’s quarters, two decks below. Here standing room was limited for even ordinary men; Toby had to bend almost double.

  ‘Christ almighty,’ remarked the quartermaster in charge of equipping the new hands. ‘What have we here? Gog, or Magog? Or the pair thrown together? We’ve nothing aboard to fit the likes of you, buster.’

  ‘Avast there,’ growled the boatswain, hurrying forward. ‘Mr McGann.’ He held out his hand. ‘Welcome aboard, sir.’

  ‘John Barclay,’ Toby cried with pleasure, and shook hands. ‘But I am a common seaman now, bo’sun.’

  ‘There’s nothing common about you, sir, and there never will be. I am right pleased to have you sailing with us.’ He looked at the other men who had gathered around. ‘McGann here is worth any four of you,’ he told them. ‘And don’t you forget it. But the ship, sir, what do you think of the ship?’

  ‘She’s the best, bo’sun,’ Toby agreed. ‘The very best.’

  *

  USS Constitution was by far the largest ship on which Toby had ever served. With her two thousand five hundred tons displacement, her fifty-four guns, and her crew of more than five hundred men and boys, she was very nearly twice the size and strength of the Constellation or the Essex, and was indeed even larger and more powerful than La Vengeance. Officially classified as a frigate, she was very near to being a small ship of the line.

  But she was also perhaps the most beautiful ship on which he had served, and more than in just appearance. Built at Edmond Hart’s shipyard in Boston, her timbers consisted of live oak, which had come
from the coast of Georgia and was found only in the southeastern United States, together with red cedar, white oak and pitch pine, and every knee, every joint was a work of art. Paul Revere himself had provided the copper sheathing for her hull. Her crew were at once experienced and eager, many having sailed with Hull before, and they had unbounded confidence both in themselves and their commander. As did Toby; he knew Hull’s mettle better than anyone.

  Almost he felt tears come to his eyes as he stood with his comrades in the waist to be addressed by the captain, when every berth had been filled. Hull reminded them that the honour and glory of their country and its flag were in their keeping. If Toby’s uniform, white blouse and pants, tar-stiffened flat black hat, heavy shoes, was unfamiliar and tight, it seemed the more to express that sense of comradeship which was the greatest gift of the Navy, and if it was strange to sleep in a hammock instead of a bunk, to have to share his bag with two other men instead of having a cabin, with desk and wardrobe and washbasin to himself, and to listen to the sounds of merriment coming from the wardroom, which was at the after end of the same deck on which the crew messed, it was compensated by the friendship extended to him by his messmates, even if the rumour had already spread that he was a cashiered officer. Constitution was a happy ship, like all of those on which Toby had previously served, excepting only the Essex under James Barron, and the punishment roster was invariably brief. Everyone on board, like himself, was eager only to come to grips with their oldest enemy.

  The ship was also a treat to handle, as he discovered the first time he grasped the helm, looking up at the great spars above him, the billowing canvas, responding to McDonough’s commands as the first lieutenant mounted the horse blocks to con them down the sweep of the Chesapeake, past Washington itself, and thence out to sea. If his hands were more calloused than ever on the farm from handling the tarred warps and sheets, and his nails were snapped off from the holystoning and cleaning of brightwork which was the lot of every able seaman, and if he already dreamed of the fresh meat and vegetables served at his own table, he yet felt curiously happy and carefree. What difference did rank make, or wealth, or comfort, he thought, when you can have the feel of a great ship beneath your hands, with the limitless ocean in front of you?