Chapter Five

 

Sleet melted as it struck horse and rider, the cobbled street and slate shingles. A light steam rose from those quarters of the city which first warmed by the morning sun were now protected from the cold northeast wind. Boston had enjoyed a mild late October, which suddenly within hours seemed to turn into an early winter.

The sleet stung his ears, face and hands as the rider dismounted his horse and dashed for cover. The wind caught the tavern door as he opened it, slamming it back against the iron rail adorning the stoop, and he struggled to close it with such vigor the tavern patrons looked up in surprise. He shuddered to emphasize to them, warm and comfortable within, what he had suffered to earn what he hoped was a vacant chair by the fire. A familiar voice chuckled from deep within the shadow of a high backed chair, making light of his ordeal.

“I say, Perry,” the voice said, “I may have seen you look worse, but never upon the hard.”

Perry smiled at the observation, recognized the voice and retorted, “I only hope, Lawrence, this Nor’easter veers through the midnight watch. You well deserve a brutal sendoff. And don’t think I won’t have my glass upon you, watching for a hint of luff in the topsails.” Perry approached and as Lawrence stood, Perry shook his hand and both grasped the shoulder of the other in a warm greeting.

Lawrence caught the attention of the landlord, “A tall brandy, good man, for my friend, Lieutenant, no, Master Commandant Perry.”

Perry slipped off his soaking boat cloak and hung it upon a hook near the fire. He reminded, “On the account, of course, of Master Commandant Lawrence!”

The men smiled, looked each other over and Perry offered, “You look trimmed, rigged and ready! And of course, congratulations on your command; I was overjoyed!”

Lawrence nodded, dismissively and gestured for his friend to take a chair as he took up his own drink, “Thank you, Perry. Aye, good fortune, indeed!”

Combing back his thick, dark hair with his fingers, Perry insisted with graciousness, “Perhaps, but well earned, certainly.”

Lawrence looked to his friend and offered with quiet appreciation, “Thank you for coming; sorry for the weather.”

Perry warmed his hands by the fire and assured, “Now really, Lawrence, do you think I would have missed the squadron’s departure? While it is a joy seeing you, I would have made the trip from Newport even without having received your note.”

Lawrence smiled and asked, “And how is Elizabeth?”

“Very well…” and after hesitating slightly and looking at his friend directly, Perry added, “… indeed, I am happy to inform you we are expecting!”

Lawrence beamed and confirmed, “Well, there is never much point to wasting time! The honeymoon must have gone very well!”

Perry took the hard chair next to Lawrence. “We had a wonderful time and plenty of it. Why not?” And he added ruefully, “The navy seems not to require my services.”

Trying to make the best of the obvious, Lawrence observed, “Now, Perry, how many gunboats are actually under your command on the Narragansett? Five? Six? I set off tomorrow with a single brig and you have an entire fleet!”

Perry nodded, but recognized the comment as little more than consolation. After some moments, he sighed, unable to contain his frustration, and added, “They are numerous, but pitifully small. There is less chance of me making any difference with them than there is in the Royal Navy even noticing our presence!”

Perry continued in attempt to break the grim mood he had not wished to set, “But the Hornet!” he referred to Lawrence’s single brig. “Now there’s a proper command. And sailing in company with Constitution and Essex, why, the prospects for action and prize money are inestimable!”

“This conflict has just begun, Perry. No doubt you will see blue water and soon.” Lawrence stoked the fire, stirred some coals and Perry enjoyed the increase in heat and intensity.

Perry confessed to a good friend that which he could not as yet come to share with his bride, “I fear the demise of Revenge may have also served as the demise of my career.”

Lawrence disagreed vehemently, “No, Perry, you are wrong. You were acquitted and complimented at the inquiry and I suspect the reason for your present command is your earlier experience with gunboats.”

Perry recalled the events of late that Lawrence referred to as the two men settled into momentary silence, watching the fire and enjoying their brandy. In January, 1811, Perry was in command of the schooner Revenge, ordered to complete survey work along the New England Coast. The pilot, assuring Perry of his experience with Rhode Island Sound, put her on a reef opposite Block Island in a thick fog. The schooner was lost but Perry was complimented for his conduct in saving the crew and his impressive attempts to salvage all government property. It was a low point in his career, which had otherwise been progressing well.

Born in South Kingston, Rhode Island, the son of a naval captain, Perry was off to sea at age thirteen. He had sailed from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, accumulating experience and favorable reports as he advanced from Midshipman to Lieutenant, and now recently confirmed as Master Commandant.

Lawrence broke the silence, “If the gunboats were intended to signal a backwater, the navy would have never confirmed your rank, same as mine. That gesture, I am sure, was intended to assure you they see promise in your future.”

“Yes, well, nonetheless, the navy must have a much better view of it than do I.” Perry attempted to change the subject yet again from that duty he recently found so empty of any significance, “Who is your First? How do you rate him?”

As Lawrence made to answer, Perry abruptly stood, acknowledging a superior approaching, “Captain Bainbridge, Sir.”

The tall, broad shouldered man in full dress uniform was making his way from his table within the dining room and had detoured to the fire. “Captain Lawrence, Lieutenant Perry, good afternoon,” he acknowledgeed.

Both Perry and Lawrence glanced at each other as each registered the Bainbridge’s unintended slight. Perry, confirmed as Master Commandant, a Lieutenant entrusted with a command, was deserving of being addressed as ‘Captain’ as well as Lawrence. The fact that such was not generally recalled or acknowledged by officers in command of men-ofwar in regards to their brethren shepherding tiny gunboats on a well protected bay underscored Perry’s concerns only too clearly.

Lawrence said, “Sir, would you care to join us?”

“Thank you, no. I came over to extend my congratulations to you, Perry, upon your wedding. Where are you serving, just now?”

Perry replied, “Thank you, Sir.” Then as he began to answer the second question, Lawrence interjected, hoping, Perry was certain, of bringing favor upon his good friend, “Perry has been charged with the defense of Narragansett Bay and entrusted with several vessels.”

Perry looked over to Lawrence, hoping he would not oversell to an officer such as Bainbridge, whose experience would all too easily smoke such a ruse. Bainbridge was polite, nodded and then asked Lawrence, “All is ready, Captain?”

“Indeed, sir! I will be aboard tonight and await your signals in the early morn,” Lawrence assured. Perry noted Bainbridge had no comment with respect to Narragansett Bay.

“Very well,” replied Bainbridge, “Good to see you, Perry.” “Good luck to you, Sir!” Perry offered and Bainbridge headed for the door where several other officers had gathered to meet him. Perry looked to Lawrence and asked, “What time do you weigh?” “Dawn, or upon Constitution’s signal. We shall rig the nipper to the cable yet this evening.”

Perry’s heart ached for the adventure. “Lawrence, look, a table has opened. Let us take our dinner, exchange old tales and share all rumors we have heard! I shall take a room here tonight and see you stand out to sea at dawn.”

As Perry and Lawrence dined, so too did Captain William Lee with Lieutenant Maynard Holmes, dispatched by Captain Isaac Chauncey, of Sackets Harbor, to accompany him on his mission.

Captain Lee more than two weeks before had dashed off an urgent letter to his sister Mary and Be-Mo-Se, his native companion, in Detroit. It was just prior to his leaving Black Rock with his son, James, and Trove. The three men determined to travel east together to a point where the Oswego River split northward from the Mohawk in central New York. They paddled hard, traveled light and moved fast, hunting occasionally and fishing more often from Trove’s birchbark canoe, Sarah. Trove mused the night before Captain Lee headed north, “I never would have wagered that when I helped myself to an abandoned native canoe in the Illinois Territory, I would yet be in command in central New York!”

Captain Lee smiled as James drifted off to sleep near the fire, “Trove, surely that has be a record. I suspect Sarah is just the first for you of many commands!”

The next morning, Sarah was less crowded and Trove and James continued eastward in all haste with the orders delivered them by Lieutenant Elliott at Black Rock and a document for Captain William Bainbridge. Neither lad knew him or the letter’s contents. William continued on northward alone, bearing as river, stream and trail permitted, paying local watermen to assist in transporting him in his quest to seek out Captain Isaac Chauncy at Sackets Harbor.

At Oswego, Captain Lee prevailed upon a government sloop bound for Sackets Harbor to save him days of overland trouble and toil. Upon landfall, late the following day at the eastern end of Lake Ontario, he was frustrated to learn he would have to wait until the following day to speak with Chauncey.

William toured the shipyard that evening and was impressed with the activity and preparations underway. He then reminded himself he was just forty miles from Kingston, a major maritime center for the Royal Navy, Provincial Marine and a strategic linchpin for the defense of Canada. William’s observations confirmed Chauncey’s reputation: he was an excellent administrator and organizer, mobilizing supplies and talent to an impressive degree rare on the Great Lakes.

William slept little that night and in the morning made his greeting as a supplicant before one whose deeds, as evidenced by the shipyard, commanded William’s sincere respect, “Good morning, Captain. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course, Captain,” Chauncey was as yet completing his signature and waited another moment for his quill to flow again before continuing. “You have come far and fast. Tell, me, how are things at Black Rock?”

“Very well, Sir. Have you heard, as yet, of Elliott’s cutting out?”

Captain Lee had Chauncey’s full attention, “My word, not as yet!”

The quill would remain inert on the desk for some time as Captain Lee offered the official line and a truncated account. Still, William made certain Chauncey knew he was in command of one of the Durham boats and briefly, the venerable President Adams for her last of many voyages. Chauncey was delighted and impressed. William hoped his ability to come bearing good news would soon serve him well. “Sir, I bring you a

note from Lieutenant Elliott. I have been appointed by him to serve as agent for our government, should you approve.” Chauncey unrolled the parchment, hurriedly penned by Elliott while newspaper reporters were waiting.

9 October 1812
at Black Rock Naval Yard

To Captain Isaac Chauncey, Commander, United States Naval forces on the Great Lakes at Sackets Harbor

Sir,

I have the pleasure to inform you of a favorable action this day in cutting out and capturing the Brig Caledonia and Snow President Adams, from under the guns of Fort Erie.

Caledonia is well found and ready to serve. Adams, regrettably, after a prolonged fight during which we accounted well for ourselves, was burned by our forces after running aground so to deprive her to the enemy.

Casualties were light. Eleven prisoners were taken. I recommend to you Merchant Master William Lee, as our agent in negotiating any possible exchange for our soldiers and sailors who may be held at Kingston.

Your Servant,
Lieutenant Jesse Duncan Elliott, U.S.N.”

Captain Chauncey was giddy with glee. The summer campaigns on land had been a disaster and the war had opened with nothing but bad news from the Northwest. For the time being, Elliott had balanced the naval assets on Lake Erie such that England could not, with the United States in possession of Caledonia, totally dominate those waters. Charged with taking the Upper Lakes, he knew that Lake Erie was critical and as the season drew to a close, the heroics at Black Rock would make his difficult job somewhat easier come spring.

“I must say, Captain Lee, you are a most welcome interruption,” Chauncey beamed.

“Sir, I would be pleased to leave for Kingston immediately,” and presuming the best, William stood to make his exit.

“My heavens, please be seated, Sir.” Chauncey shifted his focus from good news to an unusual request involving delicate matters, “Elliott’s request is most unconventional; appointing a civilian as our agent. Tell me, what is he about?”

William made to reassure as he reluctantly took his seat and prepared for the worst, “Sir, while it is true I am a civilian, I am experienced upon these waters and know well of our needs in terms of assessing which prisoners will be most useful to the cause. Lieutenant Elliott knows that I intend to return with ten badly needed hands and join our inland Navy. My status, at present, or lack thereof, in no manner reflects my intent.”

Chauncey considered once again the note before him on his desk and William’s verbal report. He looked up and asked, “So you say, Captain Lee, that Elliott placed you in command of Adams?”

“Aye, Sir, and a Durham boat of more than thirty men landing at her chains.” William’s kept his voice calm and soft and his gaze intent, as only one confident in his ability to meet challenges could ever summon.

Chauncey then challenged with one more question, “You mentioned you had planned to bring back ten. Yet you hold eleven prisoners?”

William thought instantly of his good friend and brother-in-law, Oliver, in two distinct contexts. First, Oliver would never have so slipped. He was by far the coolest under the pressure of presenting a proposal or handling a negotiation. How merchantmen kept their cool, chose their words so carefully and worked their words, gestures, expressions and inflection so to bring about a desired result William deemed both beauty and art, when not directed at him. He missed Oliver’s capable handling of such matters of business in securing and confirming such arrangements. William felt, suddenly, very out of his element and in obvious need to return to sea and resume his station on deck, if only he had a command. Second, he thought of Oliver as the obvious reason for his referring to the return to service of only ten seamen. Oliver was not a seaman.

“Sir,” William assured, dismissing his indiscretion, “it was a manner of expression. Why, whatever the number, certainly nearly a full crew for a sloop or schooner upon these Lakes; why just think of the advantage!”

William hoped the mere thought of such a favorable prospect might just shift Chauncey’s focus.

Chauncey stared out the window to the activity in the yard and the brisk northeast wind now whipping up whitecaps even in the harbor despite its lee shore advantage in such weather. He closed his eyes and considered the projects additional men could accomplish before snow accompanied those northeast winds.

“Very well, Captain Lee.” Chauncey startled William with his decisive tone as he wheeled around so to take his seat as though boarding the enemy, “I will ask that you travel to Kingston, however, with and subordinate to my adjunct. You may depart tomorrow, as Lieutenant Bray has duties to attend this day.”

Captain Chauncey picked up his quill and made it so.

More than one week later, after only two days of travel, Captain Lee and Lieutenant Bray dined after another weary day of examining lists, far more lengthy and with little detail, than what small counterpart they as Americans offered in exchange to their British cousins. Having some days before crossed the border and approached British sentries under a flag of truce, they had been treated most generously since.

William determined that matters of diplomacy were far too dull and fraught with far more process than any practical man could easily endure. Bray was holding up rather better, for he had some experience with such discussions in the naval war with France at the turn of the century. He actually went so far as to be encouraging, hoping to bolster William’s sagging confidence.

“Now hear me, Lee,” he said, shaking a fork full of mutton. “This list of soldiers they will present us tomorrow is touted by our enemy as the solution to these negotiations precisely because they know that seamen will best serve our cause. Certainly they will entice us with a greater number of landsmen in exchange precisely because they fear our fitting out our ships far more than they fear us filling out our ranks.”

As Bray wiped his fingers upon his napkin tucked into his stock, William considered that Bray did not entirely understand his purpose. “But Lieutenant, the British are willing to exchange as many as thirty, with a full third of those innocent civilians. How do we not take advantage of those numbers?”

Bray took a drink of wine, “Aye, it is tempting, but Chauncey was clear. He needs seamen and will not have the time to train civilians at the pinrail.” Bray’s point was telling and William knew, having given it his best now for more than a day, that he must change tacks or soon run aground.

They broke more bread, looked over their meager list once again and William decided upon a different approach, “What say ye to sticking to seamen, but allowing them to offhand a civilian or two?”

Bray looked confused and could not fathom the rationale behind such an odd combination. William continued as he backed his chair from the table at the only public house they were allowed to frequent under the terms of their visit, “The British will never agree to eleven seamen. Yet, if seamen we need, then we take less than our maximum. We balance that which they fear most with that which they fear least—civilians. Further, the British know the civilians deliver them little leverage in future discussions. They likely regret taking them and they constitute nothing but an expense to them, at this point.”

Bray looked around the tavern where nearly every third person wore the King’s coat. Making certain William’s strategy was not overheard, he leaned inward and raised his brow, “I say, Lee, I had never considered that approach. How many civilians do you think they may require we take?”

William tested the water and braced him for the worst, “Perhaps half.”

William waited until Bray’s protests passed, like a squall rolling up from the quarter. William then added to calm the waters, “But of course that will be much too many. I think we would do well for Chauncey by taking only three.”

Bray played with his wine, swirling it in his glass as he etched ovals in the tablecloth with the base of the glass. “Well, that might do if we got some competent fellows who knew their way around deck.”

William tried to hide his sigh of relief. “Have another glass, Bray. I sense we may wrap this up tomorrow.” Now it was Captain Lee cheering the adjunct. He stayed long enough to refill Bray’s glass at least twice more.

Captain Lee needed Bray to sleep well while he himself would sleep little. He could feel his excitement building, as often occurred as conditions warranted his presence on deck through successive night watches. He needed Bray to need him on the morrow and more wine would cause Bray to appreciate his well prepared merchant master companion – with unusual familiarity with one civilian in particular.

William rose early, dressed in the best of what little he carried and slipped his papers from both Chauncey and the Royal Navy Port Captain of Kingston into his coat pocket. As Bray snored in the adjacent room, William quietly slipped out the door and proceeded down the tree lined lane, now thinning of leaves and with most underfoot. He reported to the British garrison his purpose that morning.

As cook stoves began to send smoke trails from chimneys all over town and through the encampments, William, now with an armed guard, was led to a small wood framed house on a back lane from one of the major streets. Old but well maintained, the house boasted two framed windows with glass, showed signs of recently being whitewashed, and firewood was carefully stacked outside a small door to the side of the stone fireplace. There was no sign of activity, no smoke portending of breakfast. William frowned. He was hungry, having poured over lists through much of the night.

With a nod from the guard, anxious, no doubt, to return and take his own breakfast, William knocked. There was no response. Again, he knocked, with a will. After some seconds, floorboards creaked and he could discern the sound of the latch lifting on the inside of the door. The door opened and before any greeting, William admonished, “I travel the length and breadth of these inland seas and there is not so much as even breakfast waiting?”

Oliver cried out, “William, what joy!” He embraced his visitor and laughed aloud. Oliver’s face revealed the love and familiarity of best friends as well as brothers-in-law, parted much too long. Oliver’s surprise concealed, for the moment, the loneliness of the past months. His joy was mixed with confusion, a confusion that did not as yet justify hope. Did this welcome surprise signal his deliverance and return to some semblance of his former life, or had William himself in some manner become prisoner?

William looked to the guard, who nodded approvingly, and William entered. The guard took up his station outside the door. Oliver stood in his nightshirt and demanded news of Mary, his children and Be-Mo-Se. William assured him of the well being of all but then cautioned, “I have less than an hour, perhaps, so let me begin with what you need to know and understand.”

Oliver nodded and as he shifted into more suitable clothing, William built a fire, informed him of the status of matters along Lake Erie, Black Rock and at Sackets Harbor. Oliver was surprised at Trove’s return, delighted with James and Trove making their way to Boston. William then turned the discussion to his negotiations with the British as might soon unfold. As the hearth heated, William placed some bacon and eggs in a pan yet too cold. He cautioned and rehearsed Oliver in regards to an interview he may face later that day.

With no more than a few minutes remaining, William realized he had asked little about how his friend was getting along and holding up as a prisoner of war. Oliver was somber, but strong, “I am treated well. They afford me the honor of a gentleman, pay the stipend to the owner of this home in a timely fashion, I am informed, and of course I am permitted some limited freedom and the ability to walk about; always watched from some distance. I fear our soldiers and sailors may not have it so comfortable, but there are so many, I suspect it is difficult to extend to all such courtesies.”

William noticed Oliver had lost weight yet appeared fit. Oliver confirmed, “Yes, both you and Mary would approve, I am sure. I suspect I have lost some pounds. To stay fit, I offer to garden, repair fences and assist with odd jobs.” Oliver quickly added, “Nothing to assist with their war efforts, of course.”

William nodded and assured softly, “Oliver, what you did to assist my son James in escaping from the Schooner Salina will forever place you among the ranks of patriots.”

Oliver was touched. “I would of course do it yet again and once more if needed.” While sailing down bound from Mackinaw upon Salina, with Friends Good Will already captured, Oliver caused a diversion among the small squadron that allowed James to swim to the shore of the St. Clair River. Those that were Royal Navy amid the squadron did not take it with any sense of humor; within a minute from confusion erupting on deck, Oliver found himself under arrest. The offense was minor and he would have likely been exchanged as a civilian some time before but for the lack of British prisoners available to the Americans so to fuel such discussions. That lack of prisoners told Oliver all he needed to know about how the first full summer of conflict had unfolded for the United States.

William looked into Oliver’s eyes and told him, “I shall be back, I suspect, by the end of the day, but if you are summoned by others, remember my caution.”

William rushed back to his quarters. He gathered Bray, a bit duller than on most mornings, and called upon the British Lieutenant at Navy Hall as had been their routine for some days. William assured Bray as they entered the building, “Lieutenant, I prepared a list last evening after searching for the best seaman and most valuable citizens. Trust me.”

Just before dinner, Oliver was informed by armed guards to gather his belongings. Within minutes he was in Navy Hall. Ushered quickly into the Port Captain’s office, he joined another whom he regarded as a civilian, like himself, also with a small bundle of clothes. The Port Captain addressed Oliver from behind a large, unkempt desk, “Sir, your name?”

“Oliver Williams.” The gravity of the conversation caused him to settle his voice and expression as his business instincts dictated.

The Port Captain read from a list compiled, Oliver noted, in William’s hand, “You are from Detroit?

“Yes, Sir. My wife and family reside there with me.” The more harmless he appeared, the better.

“And your occupation?” The Port Captain’s initial impression was that Oliver was a bit on the older side to be a serious combatant.

Oliver replied, “I own a dry goods store, Sir. Or rather, I did, before the war.” Oliver’s concern was evident from his tone. With the capture of Friends Good Will, he lost a tremendous investment and he assumed his creditors would not be pleased, nor patient.

The Port Captain looked into his eyes and asked the question of which Oliver had been forewarned, “But, Sir, is it not true you built a ship and sailed upon her frequently?”

A man of honor, Oliver was bound to the truth. In fact, the British were well aware of the essential facts in any case. Well prepared, however, Oliver offered the truth with an emphasis favorable to that which his best friend had informed him was his captor’s chief concern, “Sir, I certainly did not build a ship. I paid another to build it for me. I have no such skills. I have sailed upon what was my vessel, before it was taken from me, but always with a professional captain and paid crew. Business is my business. My ship, at times, served as convenient transport.”

The Port Captain considered. Oliver’s answers made sense. But what led the Port Captain to his decision was not Oliver’s explanation, but rather, his diction. True sailors would never refer to a ship, especially their ship, as ‘it’.

“Mr. Williams,” the Port Captain announced, “you are exchanged. Your parole, as concerns your neutrality, extends to our border, you understand. Good luck to you and your family.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Oliver and the other citizen standing beside him gathered their bundles and exited Navy Hall to find Lieutenant Bray, Captain William Lee and nine other seamen, former prisoners, anxious to depart.

William approached, took his bundle and assisted Oliver into a wagon, procured by Lieutenant Bray from a local farmer in exchange for hard currency of the United States. Oliver joked as he took his humble seat, using his bundle for a cushion, “What, William, no dinner?”

William observed wryly, “I serve up one breakfast and listen to you. My good man, you may soon come to miss this soft life to which I fear you’ve grown accustomed!”

William had given James and Trove money to purchase horses before he left them and departed north for Oswego, so that once the waterways would carry them east no longer, their good progress would continue upon roads and through villages that improved and became more frequent with each mile. For three days, the lads continued eastward on the Mohawk, then turned south on the mighty Hudson and soon made Albany. Finally, they abandoned Sarah with some small ceremony by setting her adrift from the eastern bank. Both wondered as they made their way across the Berkshires if the humble birch bark canoe might eventually run the British blockade off New York and slip free into the great waters of the Atlantic.

Now on their newly acquired horses, they rode hard given their limited horsemanship abilities through the afternoon sleet. The Nor’easter took on a more violent character as they approached the coast. The lads figured that if the sleet was going to sting anyway, they may as well feel the pain of it while moving fast. At dusk they stopped to rest their horses at the Village Green, a public house along the same in Lexington, Massachusetts

James mentioned to Trove as they walked into the public house, “My Uncle Oliver’s father, Charles Williams, was here that morning, now thirty seven years ago. I calculated that as we rode through the storm,” James boasted.

Trove answered, “What morning?”

James was exasperated. Trove was a good friend, but like all, constant company did not always equate to constant fellowship. “The revolution, Trove; it began just there, on yonder green!”

Trove was clearly out of his element. Until just more than two weeks before, he had never been out of the Great Lakes basin, still very much the northwest frontier. He knew little of the east or much of the factual backdrop behind the creation of his own nation. As they took a seat at a table and James pulled out a cloth in which was wrapped the remaining coins held between them, Trove inquired, “What was he doing hiding in here?”

James looked at Trove, dumbfounded, for some seconds. Trove looked back, completely mystified. James finally admonished, “Not in here, I meant on the green, facing redcoats and blazing away with his fellow patriots!”

“Oh, I thought you meant he was in this tavern,” Trove responded, innocently enough.

“No,” James replied, then explained, “the Williams family is from Roxbury, just nearby.” And as he took a drink of ale, he murmured, “It seems hiding comes natural only to Lees; my family!”

Now Trove took an attitude, “Oh, you are not going to start that whine again, are you? Certainly, your father never was a coward and proved it upon Adams.”

James retorted, “I saw what I saw on Mackinaw Island and the fight did not begin on Adams until Lieutenant Elliott rowed over and took command, do you recall? Besides, why did father not accompany us to join the Navy and offer his services to Captain Bainbridge? No, instead he went to run some errand; in a city held by the enemy, no less!”

Trove insisted, “Do not tell me what happened on Adams! We have been over this on the Mohawk and—”

The Landlord interrupted as he set warm bread before the lads, all they could afford, “Did you lads mention Captain Bainbridge?”

James replied, cringing at the use of the term ‘lads’, “Why, yes, I have orders to find him. Do you know him?”

“Yes, certainly; a favorite son, of sorts, as he married a local lass,” the Landlord offered. “He is departing at dawn from Boston harbor. His wife was visiting her family in town just yesterday.”

James’ eyes grew wide, his voice urgent, “Trove, let us hurry! We may miss him if we do not press!” As the Landlord turned, James queried, “What ship, Sir, for Captain Bainbridge?”

The Landlord replied, rather surprised and implying in a tone suggesting that James and Trove were obviously strangers, or even worse, landsmen, “Why, the frigate, Constitution! Certainly you have heard of Old Ironsides?”

James did not answer but challenged, “Of course I have heard of her and seen her too. Her sides are not iron.”

“While that may be, when she took Guerriere in August, that British round shot bounced off her sides as though they were! Captain Hull earned a leave, so the Navy gave her to Captain Bainbridge.”

James just smiled with a hope for good luck that was beyond reasonable expectations.

Within minutes, their stomachs half full, their glasses completely empty and the remainder of the bread split evenly between their pockets, the boys mounted their horses and began a long night ride.

James and Trove rode through Boston, buttoned up for the night. James made straight for Long Warf while Trove marveled at such a large city. Just as they slowed to dismount, they encountered two naval officers, one walking away from the other, having just exchanged their goodbyes. Just as one made to step into a waiting gig, James approached the other, “Excuse me, Sir,” knuckling his forehead, making his obedience in the naval way that was, after just eighteen months, coming back to him so quickly, “I have orders from Lieutenant Elliott at Black Rock to deliver a document to Captain Bainbridge. Might you be he?”

The officer just smiled, amused at the thought and envious of the notion, “No lad, I am Master Commandant Perry. But if you run and catch Captain Lawrence, just setting off in that gig, he can take you out to Captain Bainbridge on Constitution.”

“Thank you, Sir!” replied James, his legs moving before the officer could even reply, “Godspeed!”

The following morning, the wind having veered, still strong from the south, Master Commandant Perry steadied his glass and focused upon Constitution’s foretopsail luff, well illuminated by the sun just breaking over the horizon. Constitution, the last of the squadron, began to make way. Perry was proud to have already witnessed a pretty operation aboard the brig, Hornet, speaking well of his good friend, Lawrence. Perry smiled as the image of two young lads, coiling and making off the topsail grommets while balancing on the footropes, leaned casually over the yard and appearing to enjoy the excitement and adventure of a picture perfect departure. The scene brought to mind his encounter with two lads the previous evening.

Perry swallowed hard and then frowned, even as he gazed. He wondered whether he would ever again have the opportunity to serve in such manner.