Chapter Ten

 

Captain Bainbridge collapsed the two barrel long glass, richly appointed with black leather and lacquered brass, with a distinct snap. He either did not hear or did not notice that Trove, at that very moment descending from aloft, made the small leap from the mizzen shear pole of the shrouds to the quarterdeck very near to James Lee. As gun captain, James stood by his station to leeward and whispered to his gun crew his best guess of what only the Captain saw with the benefit of enhanced optics. Trove strained to hear James and carefully motioned for him to repeat his observation, so as not to disturb the ongoing conference of officers standing nearby at the wheel.

Before James could repeat, Captain Bainbridge observed to Mr. George Parker, First Lieutenant of U.S.S. Constitution, Frigate, 44 guns: “One of the two ships standing some ten leagues off to the west and between Constitution and the Brazilian coast appears to be a frigate, Mr. Parker. French built from her lines and the cut of her sails. A man-of-war, to be sure; the question, of what nation?”

Trove looked to James, his expression confessing some confusion. James whispered, by way of explanation, “The French would not likely have a single ship in these waters, not at this stage of the conflict and so long after Trafalgar.” Trove nodded, feigning somewhat his understanding of the international political situation.

Parker wisely asked, “And the second vessel, Sir?”

Captain Bainbridge offered Parker his glass and speculated, “Perhaps a merchantman, maybe a prize, but not so fine a sailor. I could not make out if she was armed.”

Parker extended the barrel, steadied, slid the barrel inward slightly to focus, hesitated but then offered, “The frigate, Sir, seems to be standing out on an intercepting course. The consort veering off, perhaps.”

Captain Bainbridge smiled, “As I hoped and suspected.” He glanced to windward up to the set of the sails, and confirmed, “We shall draw her out well away from shore and separate them so that one cannot support t’other.” He then nearly whispered, his voice cold, ordered, “Set the royals, Mr. Parker. Let’s show her our heels.”

Mr. Parker called out to the Sailing Master, “We shall have the Royals.”

The subsequent calls were made and Trove, a topman, joined his division and scurried aloft once again. James, while not yet being ordered to quarters, glanced round his gun and went through his mental checklist.

Captain Bainbridge’s next words were nearly lost in the Sailing Master’s calls for “Cast off clewlines and buntlines,” “Let fall,” and “Sheet home.” The bosun’s distinct whistle directed each task.

“Mr. Parker,” Bainbridge near whispered. “Come up on the wind, ten degrees to starboard. Let’s see if she can sail!”

The wheel spun, braces were hauled round and sheets brought in. Constitution heeled, surged ahead and the log was made. Midshipman Reynolds, all of thirteen years old, called excitedly to the Sailing Master, “Eleven!”

The Second Lieutenant, who had the deck, made one of the last entries in the log for 29 December 1812 as the morning wore on, “Four bells in the forenoon watch, observed possible enemy, changed course to NE, set royals, speed 11 knots.” The Sailing Master went below to attend to the chart.

The strange sail was well handled and showed a good turn of speed. Captain Bainbridge was impressed though not particularly concerned. Indeed, this informal chase confirmed his impression of her French pedigree. French ships were fast. French ships were pretty. Years of British blockades, however, much like that now suffered by American ports, simply rendered their handlers rusty and often fatally inferior. This ship’s crew, however, revealed no rust, no deficiency in set, trim or maneuver. The question remained whether she was, in fact, sailed by the French.

Captain Bainbridge shrugged as he considered. If a contest ensued, it would be one ship against t’other. A frigate captain could ask for no more.

The men at the wheel remained attentive to their duty. The sand slipped through the glass, first one turn, then another, and the bell, with each additional toll, piqued the anticipation through the entire ship’s company. Theories among the lower deck were as numerous as among the topmen and rumors at the scuttlebutt became more outlandish with each gathering among the hayseeds, purposefully stoked by the shellbacks.

At six bells, Captain Bainbridge came up from below, met Mr. Parker in the waist and after just seconds of observation and conference, the order was passed, the calls sung out and Constitution tacked and stood now to just north of west, on a converging course for the stranger.

James nodded to Trove. Although at his ease, James was much too excited to go below; nor did he stray far from his gun. Constitution had drawn its prey far from shore. The consort was now irrelevant and the only thing tugging at his stomach, causing a tinge of doubt, was the obvious impression that their present situation appeared to suit the stranger as well, skillfully maintaining the weather gauge.

While the stranger was as yet some miles off, quiet, subtle preparations were already underway among the more experienced of the crew. As Parker called “Clear for action,” nearly all were close to their stations and rarely had the numerous tasks proceed with such speed and efficiency. The men were rested, in good health and were in recent days just beginning to shift restlessly, feeling as their victory of October last, over Guerriere, was now so distant as to require, as is often the case with reputation, more recent validation. Morale was high.

Constitution tacked again and once around, struck her royals and clewed up her main course. She slowed and allowed the stranger to close. Captain Bainbridge wanted no confusion or mistake. The national ensign would fly high and proud and this stranger would have no excuse for not being able to observe the private signal established for the day. At seven bells, Captain Bainbridge took his eye from his glass, swung around to his left and nodded to Midshipman Reynolds, standing at the taffrail, halyard in hand, the private signal affixed and ready for the anticipated hoist. Excitedly, while trying to hide his nervousness caused by such a simple task, the young gentleman sent up the private signal. It broke free from the leach of the spanker and snapped full and fair, a solid, bold colored rectangle begging for the only possible reply that would cause Constitution, a man-o-war, to stand down.

The stranger ignored the signal. Some minutes passed. It was not so much that Captain Bainbridge was surprised. Nor did he believe the stranger needed more time to sort out the only proper response. Rather, he did not so much mind, at that moment, allowing the contestants to close, to get the scent of each other. A full glass passed since the tack, a bit less since the signal. The stranger stood on, fast and from the position of strategic advantage. The crew stood near motionless, no preparatory tasks remained undone, no doubt remained with even the least experienced that this stranger was of a nation unfamiliar with the established reply.

Finally, just as it seemed Captain Bainbridge had no other plan or maneuver in mind, he wheeled and ordered the helm up on to the wind yet again and quietly requested of Mr. Parker, who with an excited call somewhat louder than proper decorum required, repeated to the Sailing Master, “Set the royals and main course!”

Captain Bainbridge brought up his watch from his waist coat pocket, checked the time and commented to Mr. Parker, “We shall draw him out still further from the coast.”

Mr. Parker nodded, swallowed and wondered how long it would be until the stranger, holding the weather gauge and apparently determined to fight, would wait before sending hot iron hurling amidst them, against the hull, splitting planks and rails, cutting rigging, creating mayhem, spilling blood and bringing death. The sooner the better, he thought, for so to end this cruel dance upon his nerves.

Mr. Parker called again to the Sailing Master, not for a change in set or trim, but for a routine task, calming in nature because it reminded all that perhaps this day was no different or special in so many respects, “Mr. Barlow, prepare to make noon.”

“Aye, Sir.” In just minutes, midshipmen and junior officers congregated on the quarterdeck, where visibility of the sun, this particular day, was greatest on this point of sail. Fine instruments, dusted and polished, appeared from protective boxes. The Sailing Master would most often instruct, while sometimes admonish, with respect to how to shoot the sun. James warmed to the ritual. Some weeks before, Captain Bainbridge noticed James’ keen interest and asked, “Fascinated with navigation, son?”

James started, his thoughts so deep and afar that he stammered, “No Sir… well, I have some training, but I also very much like the part where they always declare a new day.”

Captain Bainbridge nodded and smiled, “Yes, so do I. Just as in Genesis, on the first page of my Bible, we gather each day in poor imitation of that which God accomplished; separation of light from dark. ‘Thereupon, from the formless mass of the earth, there was day’.”

James never forgot the exchange and rushed to inform Trove of his profound respect for his Captain, who so easily acknowledged a power greater than himself, while assuming the role of God among them. In that sense, Captain Bainbridge reminded James of another captain under whom he had sailed, who with the highest skills, practiced profound humility grounded in duty and responsibility; his father. The thought was welcome, though now quite rare, ever since James called into question Captain Lee’s courage in the face of an enemy.

Still, he was fascinated with the upcoming ritual, because unlike Genesis as he recalled his lessons from his Aunt Margaret, aboard Constitution and all ocean going ships, day was not born from darkness, but rather from light, unto light, at high noon. He asked Mr. Barlow why each day at sea began at noon and the answer, typically as with matters involving ships and the sea, was not in any manner theologically profound, but rather grounded upon common sense and necessity.

“Why Lee, come now, how would we ever set out to determine the zenith of the sun at midnight, or so easily as with the sun at noon, than with any night body?” Mr. Barlow walked off, shaking his head at what he considered a silly question. James knew Barlow regarded him but a sweet water sailor, where navigation so often depended much less upon the art and science of fine instruments brought to bear upon celestial bodies, aided by man’s discovery of the universal truth of mathematics, as crude piloting requiring only reasonably good vision, simple arithmetic and a stout anchor cable in case of doubt. Still, James was proud of his abilities on the Lakes, where reefs and shoals and islands added some risk not often encountered in the South Atlantic. He then recalled, oddly, he thought, some minutes before going into battle, that all of that was taught him by his father.

Still, there they were, enemy approaching, gathering in high ritual for the declaration of a new day. Soon enough, the high priests and devout came to nod, write a note or two, retire their instruments, protecting them from the corrosive salt air and Mr. Barlow strode to the binnacle to make the note in the log as the third lieutenant, who now had the deck, struck eight bells. It was noon, the beginning of a new day.

Barlow, taking no notice of James, wrote in Constitution’s Log, “Wednesday, 30^th December, 1812, Commences with Clear weather and moderate breezes from E.N.E. Hoisted our ensign and pendant.”

Suddenly, Captain Bainbridge called while staring intently with his glass, “Mr. Barlow, remain and add in the log, ‘At 15 minutes past meridian, The ship hoisted her colours—an English Ensign—having a signal flying from her main Red Yellow Red.’ Mr. Parker, if you please, take my glass and confirm.”

Captain Bainbridge walked to the taffrail and soon Mr. Parker followed. They conferred in whispers, adjourned and began to walk the deck in perfect calm as though enjoying a fine day sail and without a care in the world. James knew this was an important part of their responsibility, to calm, assure and give confidence, all while instilling trust.

Trove inquired as to what was going on, with an enemy so close and with so little apparent response. James tried to explain but Trove only commented, “Such nonsense, let’s give them a taste of metal, now and for as long as they are in sight.” James just smiled, knowing well that while the oncoming ship certainly did look to be very close, even closer somehow now with her colours hoisted, he knew they were not as yet in range.

Captain Henry Lambert was as impatient as Trove, but far more experienced. He had just ordered the hoisting of the colours aboard

H.M.S. Java, formerly the French frigate, Renommee. His consort was safe, far inshore. His frigate, officially 38 guns but sporting this day 49, was nearly new, having been recently launched and captured off Madagascar in 1811. Her crew was as well trained as his ship was well found. On board were notable persons within the English empire, all of whom looked to him to avenge the outrage suffered upon their national reputation with the surrender and sinking of Guerriere.

Lieutenant General Thomas Hislop, appointed to command and enroute to the East Indies and Captain John Marshall, Master and Commander, R.N., taking passage to his next command and officially a passenger, stood to his left, just behind his elbow as he stared at this curious American through his glass. Mr. Chads, his First Lieutenant, was just behind him, to his right. All quietly waited upon his word while he pondered just what to say.

Java sailed well and was perhaps in these conditions just slightly faster than her opponent, who, Captain Lambert had to concede, was well handled. While at first his unofficial ‘afterguard’ was convinced she was running, Lambert recognized and respected what he regarded as an obvious prudent move. The American frigate wanted a single ship action and was purposefully drawing Java out from shore, so to assure his consort would not in any manner interfere. The only question, Lambert considered as he pressed the advantage of the weather gauge, was for how long would the American insist upon still greater distance. While it appeared they both wanted a fight, he saw little need to sail halfway to Africa.

Captain Lambert shut his glass and inquired of Lieutenant Chads, “Is everything ready?”

“Aye, we are cleared for action in near record time our lads are so anxious. The marines are aloft. If only this American will allow us to close,” offered Lieutenant Chads.

Captain Lambert stepped back and observed so that all around him could hear, “I perceive we are faster in this wind, despite our somewhat lesser tonneage. Gentlemen, the day will be won with British seamanship and discipline.” The others nodded. Lt. General Hislop smiled and Captain Lambert knew that such a hollow prediction was beneath him, ordinarily, but his esteemed guests might appreciate a quote or two before the work grew warm.

Captain Lambert offered a courtesy to Captain Marshall, “Sir, while you have no official duties this day, I thank you for your earlier offer to assist in any manner. Pray, what are your thoughts?”

The gesture was appreciated and Captain Marshall, a gentleman of less experience, replied, “You do us proud, Sir. I perceive we are ready and with your skillful protection of the weather gauge, this American has few options.”

Captain Lambert appreciated the compliment in front of the Lieutenant General Hislop and suggested, “Perhaps Lieutenant Chads would appreciate your assistance with the gun crews?”

“Certainly, Sir,” Lieutenant Chads confirmed. “I shall take the foredeck guns if Captain Marshall would be so good as to lend his attention to the quarterdeck.”

As Captain Marshall made his appreciation, Captain Lambert interjected, “Let us reverse that, if you please. I suspect we will be maneuvering this day and, Lieutenant Chads, with your familiarity with our people, you will be more valuable to me on the quarterdeck.”

Both officers quickly assented and Captain Lambert advised, “General Hislop, Sir, you are too valuable a cargo to lose to a musket ball. I would be pleased were you to take precautions assuring your delivery in the Indies. I will not order you below, merely encourage it for the sake of our nation and intending no dishonor.”

The General understood, “Thank you, Captain, for allowing me discretion. I will use caution, but will assist your marines any way I can.”

Lieutenant Chads called out, interrupting, and indicated by gesture, “Sir, our American is tacking!”

Captain Lambert wryly commented, appreciated by his guests, “Gentlemen, it appears our American has come to conclude we now have sufficient room to greet one another appropriately.”

More than an hour after the stranger hoisted the Union Jack, Captain Bainbridge tacked to stand for his opponent and ordered the royals stuck and the courses clewed up; thus shortening sail for the impending fight. The reduction in sail slowed Constitution, but allowed for tighter maneuvering and raised much of the lowest sail cloth from close to the deck and the fire and sparks which would soon spew from her guns.

Convention suggested that Captain Lambert would soon follow suit. Captain Bainbridge observed through his glass his opponent assuming the same configuration in sail plan, with the same skill and obvious seamanship displayed all through the morning.

Trove was aloft, on the windward, or larboard, mizzen topsail yard. The cross-trees were rather clumsily manned by a marine with whom he had to contend but he managed to climb over and around him without causing the marine to drop his musket upon the officers below. Trove had a fine view but wished he were at the arm of a longer yard. He was dismayed that his stomach felt queer, his knees a bit weak. Should he vomit, he preferred to be well out over the side of the ship.

James was at his gun, which he regretted was to starboard and thus was not on the side of Constitution that would first engage. Still, the sulfur waft of slow match reminded him for the first time in some months of U.S.S. Chesapeake and the horror of taking those broadsides from H.M.S. Leopard, now five years ago. One of his gun crew, Jesse Williams, an African, asked, “Mr. Lee, you alright?”

James was staring off at nothing in particular. He felt clammy and he noted his tanned arms and hands looked pale. He could only imagine his face. How he wished the fighting would begin. The waiting was near torture. He wondered if he had what it took to kill. He worried that he lacked what it took to die, here among so many brave comrades, with no dishonor.

He replied to his steady African, “Make no mistake, Jesse, we shall give it to them, fast and sure, you and I.” James smiled and so did the rest of the crew, reassured by his tone, if not his coloring.

Suddenly Mr. Parker was walking swiftly down the larboard side authorizing gun captains, “Fire on the uproll, lads.” Before he was at the main mast, as the stern rode up a quartering wave, the guns on the quarterdeck were firing and the broadside rolled down the deck from stern to bow, bringing the thunder, the smoke, the crash of recoil and calls for reloading to each of those, the many, whose stomachs and nerves needed fortification. The smoke drifted back across the deck, which together with the heel of the ship herself, obscured James’ attempt to assess the damage. Before the last gun was fired, on the foredeck, however, James observed the Captain’s scowl, as he stared across the water with his glass. He felt his disappointment.

Captain Bainbridge walked to the forward edge of the quarterdeck and met Mr. Parker. Parker was calling above the din of the clattering blocks of gun tackles, worming, sponging, calls for powder, shot, and admonishments from gun captains to quicken the pace, all while trying to calm the inexperienced. “Mr. Parker, that will not serve,” Bainbridge told him. “We did little damage!”

Mr. Parker observed respectfully, “The range was extreme, Captain.”

“After this next, switch to bar and chain to larboard. Inform the starboard guns to double shot.”

James, overhearing, nodded and waited for the word while carefully selecting another ball from the rack and readying it to add to the round shot already rammed home. His guns would be used at closer range and the Captain desired to send twice the normal weight of metal into their opponent. His larboard counterparts would switch to bars of iron connected with a length of chain which would spin through the air and sever any rigging it encountered.

Before James could set about with his crew to double shot his gun, he heard, then felt, their enemy’s wrath: the whooshing and scream of balls parting air just before striking targets, the horrendous noise of a simultaneous broadside, a huge shuddering of the ship at the smashing of spars and the crushing of bones accompanied by the screams of men. Splinters flew, one coming to pierce a gun crew in the adjacent station. James could not for some seconds take his eyes off bright red blood, now on the deck and darkening quickly in the heat.

Captain Bainbridge looked concerned as he swept the glass forward in a gradual arc, which James knew could only mean their opponent was preparing to rake them from the bow. The Captain called for Mr. Parker, “Set courses and royals,” then raising his tone, “quick as thought now. Helm hard over to starboard, Mr. Barlow, prepare to wear; bear off, on the instant!” The move was unusual, one that would lead to wearing the ship in close proximity to the enemy. Constitution needed more speed through the water and Captain Bainbridge was risking fire and ruination to get it. James glanced at Trove, as busy as he had ever seen him as he could not have been expecting to be setting sail in the midst of battle.

But all hands were to stations and Constitution turned smartly within seconds aided by the extra canvas hurriedly set. Captain Bainbridge, with his unorthodox maneuver, seemed to ward off disaster and forced a second exchange of broadsides instead of suffering one without reply.

Mr. Parker, this time, did not wait for orders but called for the starboard guns, “Aim for her spars, lads. Fire as you bear!” Again, Constitution opted for a staggered broadside, less impressive perhaps for its violence, but if well aimed, more effective and damaging to the enemy. James sighted down the barrel, took his time, waited until the relative angles of his gun aligned with the enemy’s mainmast and called “Fire!” The linstock and slow match lowered to the vent hole. The gun roared, belched and jumped back, nearly crushing his cheekbone much too close to the gun while attempting to follow the double shot home.

James saw the shot fly through the air, black upon blue in a predictable arc. He laughed, shouted, waved his arm, hat in hand and slapped Jesse on his bare back, “Two balls right in the foremast, boys! Two more and this fight is over!” He heard more exclamations down along the larboard guns before he was knocked from his feet.

James did not recall even hearing the English fire a second broadside.

But the balls hit hard, slamming into the bulwarks with splinters sent flying. The fact that James was instantly knocked to the deck might have saved his life, but it took him some seconds to realize where precisely the destruction occurred to have leveled him from the concussion alone.

James raised his head and was amazed to see the double wheel of Constitution shot clear away, recognizing various pieces shattered and scattered over the quarterdeck. One of the men at the wheel was severed and made a horrendous mess too near to him to for him to remain lying in place. As the flowing blood spread, James sat and saw Captain Bainbridge addressing him, but could not at first hear his words. Time seemed to slow, then his hearing returned and he understood he was being asked to descend below and assist in steering the ship. “Take a good man with you, lad, and report to Mr. Barlow. Not a moment to lose!”

Constitution, James could tell, was turning slowly, caused solely by the force of the wind on the sails which as yet had not have been set or trimmed to counteract the absence of any pressure upon the rudder. Mr. Parker was shouting commands to brace round the yards to straighten her course, but it would take some time with some of the rigging damaged, some of the hands injured, and soon the enemy would notice she was unmanageable. Like a drunken man staggering about in a street fight, despite all obvious strength, Constitution was vulnerable and all but beaten.

James climbed to his knees, nodding his understanding. Captain Bainbridge made to assist in reestablishing order upon the quarterdeck. James recalled he was told to take another good man. Even before taking his feet, while afraid his balance would fail him, he called, “Jesse, I need you! Come help me!”

The Bosun was at that moment sending men aloft, not allowing them to descend, but just as he went to admonish Jesse who had turned aside at James’ call, the Bosun caught Captain Bainbridge’s eye, also noticing the impassioned plea of James to a shipmate and nodded to the Bosun. The marine stepped aside and Jesse joined James. Together they made their way amid fire and smoke, splinters and cries, to the darkness below into chaos, where one might expect to find hell.

Calls were coming down directly from a hole in the deck where damage had enlarged that opening where the steering ropes led to the mechanical advantage used to turn the rudder. Hands were rigging triple blocks and reeving lines. Men, aided by mechanical advantage, were stationed to haul steering ropes wound between the wheels in the hopes of replacing what strain had been previously taken by the drum on deck. After a few clumsy attempts, the men got their bearings and essentially were told when to haul, starboard or larboard and by how many feet they must advance together. The action was reversed and for a moment seemed counterintuitive for those used to steering with a wheel, for below decks they were essentially now steering with a tiller. To turn to starboard they quickly realized the men stationed to larboard had to haul their line while the men to starboard eased.

Constitution narrowly avoided being raked yet a second time. Trove was aloft and when not trying to repair sliced rigging, was constantly taking in and setting more sail to adjust to the fact that their opponent was faster. He watched the battle when he could, which was not as often as his vantage point would suggest as possible. He did notice with considerable hope the loss of several spars from their enemy’s sail plan, mostly forward, thus effecting her maneuvering. First the jibboom, then the foremast dragged over the side causing the English frigate to lose way and maneuverability.

Constitution’s guns kept firing despite the damage she suffered. Her wounds were significant but not debilitating. Her main topmast snapped and broke away to larboard and Trove hung on tight for whatever standing rigging he hoped might survive the cascade of spars, yards, blocks, canvas and rigging. He heard the cry of one of his shipmates as he fell from the main topmast rigging collapsing underneath him and crashed to the deck.

The accuracy of Constitution’s gunnery, however, was beginning to tell. While the enemy still had the weather gauge, she appeared to be losing her ability to maneuver under sail. Trove descended from the mizzen shrouds, was ordered by the bosun into the main top to help repair the damage and on his way along the deck, was assured that his friend, James, was below. Trove misunderstood and took it to mean James was wounded, but then was told that James was steering the ship. Trove scrambled aloft in the main shrouds, proud of his friend but disappointed James was missing such a sight.

The work below, attended by James, was hot, frantic, hard and frightening. As the wounded were sent below, the screams rose from the surgeon’s table even over the noise of the heavy guns. The lower decks filled with acrid smoke and barefoot men began to slip on the scattered sand flung upon well worn deck planks, with occasional wet pools. As a matter of grotesque irony, the blood of the dying, mixed with the sand, assisted the footing and balance of the living.

Trove was laying out to starboard to reeve a sliced clewline in the topsail, A marine in the main top called out that the enemy Captain was down, wounded, on the deck. While the Marine did not claim credit, Trove noticed his musket barrel was still smoking from a recent shot.

Captain Bainbridge walked the quarter deck, Mr. Parker the waist. They supervised the larboard gunners, alternating between grape shot and chain and bar. The grape kept potential boarding parties at bay, the chain and bar wreaked havoc amid the rigging, essentially keeping the English frigate from maneuvering so close to Constitution so to board.

Trove could sense, even from aloft, that the battle was reaching a new height. The enemy frigate was close and the angle from which the marines were aiming at the enemy crew grew ever lower. Broadsides were indistinct, but firing was still fierce. Trove wondered if Constitution was actually firing faster and more frequently, or was that an illusion given his fevered hopes, if not inner fears? Trove slid out along the top of the main t’gallant yard, reeving another footrope between the eyelets in the stirrups, when suddenly the great guns stopped firing and even small arms faded to a sputter.

Trove finished his task as he was in much too precarious a position to break his concentration, then tested his work with his own weight and beheld the situation below. Constitution was sailing to windward, finally having won the weather gauge. The English frigate was dismasted, a floating hulk of wreckage; spars, canvas, rigging having cascaded over and off the deck in a tangled mess that would have made even moving about, let alone fighting effectively, a major effort.

James, below, also noticed the quiet, but was now receiving regular reports from the quarterdeck in the relative silence. The men were relieved, no, overjoyed and thankful to the point of prayer, that Constitution could spare the luxury to stand off, her opponent incapable of significant movement or aggression.

Captain Bainbridge studied his enemy as a wounded beast. At such a time, she may be the most desperate and, hence, the most dangerous. At first, he spied no colours and wondered if she had struck. Parker, blood dripping from a splinter wound above his left ear, joined him on the quarterdeck and pointed to the Union Jack now nailed, it appeared, from the stump of the mizzen mast.

“Very well,” Captain Bainbridge, resolved. “We shall take our time, make our repairs, aid the men and return to our foe upon our terms.” For the next glass and more, all came to the aid of their wounded ship and to each other. Water was distributed, wounds were wrapped, line and rigging repaired, guns cleaned, tended and systems made certain. Some of the men below deck at the steering ropes were rotated with others, less exhausted, and James and Jesse, having been there from the first, were allowed to return to their gun crew.

Jesse teased his gun crew, “My, my, lookee here! You manage a shot without us?”

A rammer from Baltimore replied, “Have no fear, our English cousins may not have had enough of us, even yet.”

“We did well,” boasted the youngest of the crew, just fifteen, “to make our gun captain proud!”

The oldest of them, on the other hand, conceded, “A little slower, granted, but we fired so true I am sure our work warrants a dram or more!”

“No doubt,” allowed James, nodding his head in affirmation. He was mightily relieved they were all as yet alive and only two of them were sporting bandages with little blood weeping through.

Captain Bainbridge called out loudly to the entire Ship’s Company, a rare occasion, but effective in marking a special moment, “Alright lads, let’s see if they have anything left! You have fought well. We shall return to the fight, proud and strong!”

A cheer went up from the waist, rolled to the foredeck and then came up from the hatchways and open gunports from below, where quite likely not one of the men even heard the Captain’s praise. The helm was put down and Constitution closed the short distance between the combatants, staying at such an angle as to assure that she could rake the English frigate and keep away from what English guns were yet serviceable.

Constitution made her slow turn, bringing her starboard guns to bear across the stricken bow of the English frigate. The enemy ship’s jibbom was shot away, stays sliced, spars fallen and rigging all ahew. Captain Bainbridge hesitated, looked to Mr. Parker. James saw in his eyes a plea for someone to tell him that which he much preferred to hear than that which must surely comprise his next predictable order.

Mr. Chads, now in command of H.M.S. Java in her most desperate moment and with few options remaining, looked over to Captain Marshall. It was an awkward moment. Both men knew as Constitution made her turn they could well be just moments from their deaths along with so many of the men over whom Mr. Chads, for no longer than a single glass had assumed complete responsibility.

The first Lieutenant looked for some confirmation in the eyes of Captain Marshall, albeit he was a Captain only by rank, lacking an appointment to command Java. If he struck, Chads wondered, would Captain Marshall forever condemn him? There was no time to confer. The expression worn by Captain Marshall, in so much as Chads could tell through the smoke and the blood and the grime of a hard fight, now some hours old, was one of shock, not criticism. Suddenly Chads knew precisely what Captain Lambert would do were he not lying below, perhaps at that very moment growing gradually more cold.

Chads turned to those men nearest the stump of the mizzen and ordered, “Cut it down. Get it down, now!” His words were filled with dismay and disgust, but he said them emphatically and with some urgency.

Mr. Parker half smiled, not with delight but with the thanks one offered when relieved, having been most assuredly delivered by grace. He cried to Captain Bainbridge, “Sir, their colors are cut down!”

Captain Bainbridge felt the same relief to be sure and would be forever grateful for the good sense and humanity of whomever now commanded the wreck of her former majesty’s ship. “Mr. Parker, go over in our boat and take command. We shall stand by for your signal. Make a damage assessment and bring over her senior officers.”

Mr. Parker nodded, blankly, like a man in a dream. Others began to relax just a bit, stand more at ease, look round to each other and Mr. Parker walked to Captain Bainbridge, smiled broadly, and offered, “Sir, my congratulations and gratitude! Well, done!”

A cheer rose among the Ship’s Company, “Huzza! Huzza!” Captain Bainbridge allowed this small celebration and smiled humbly. They deserve that and more, he thought, and while some may not know, none would sleep for at least several watches to come.

Trove found James and Jesse by their gun and together they took the deck from exhaustion, breathed deep and thanked God they were alive. Trove thought about how, as the year came to a close, he had gone from a frontier waterman on the run to a United States Navy topman, having vanquished the pride of the most powerful navy on earth. Jesse pondered, from the stories told him by James, the odd, but peaceful image of an inland sea filled with ‘sweetwater’. James struggled with why, if he had that day fought with honor, his father, just months before and facing far fewer of the same foe, had fled.

All men, American and British, worked more fervently through the evening, night and next day than perhaps at any time during the five hour battle. Pumps were constantly returning the invading sea water back to the South Atlantic, trying to keep the American prize afloat. Captain Bainbridge knew his nation could well use another frigate and he would have dearly loved to divide the prize money among his officers and throughout the crew. But it was not to be.

The following day, the eve of the new year, after prayers for the dead, attention to the wounded and while holes were plugged, rigging spliced, canvas rents patched and with hundreds of tasks yet before them, hope for Java was lost. She was fired and both American victors and British captives watched in fascination the sinking of a surrendered English frigate. Less than forty hours before Java had been well found and well armed, with a seasoned captain, a well trained crew, and represented the best the Royal Navy had to offer.

Before she was fired, however, Java’s perfectly intact ship’s wheel was removed, installed and made entirely serviceable on the quarterdeck of

U.S.S. Constitution.

Lieutenant Chads, having been extended every courtesy, wrote to the Admiralty, hardly knowing how to form the words from the quill.

Decr 31^st 1812

To John W. Croker, Esquire
Secretary
Admiralty

Sir, It is with deep regret that I write you for the information of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty that His Majesty’s ship Java is no more, after sustaining an action of the 29^th Inst for several hours with the American frigate Constitution which resulted in the capture and ultimate destruction of His Majesty’s ship. Captain Lambert being dangerously wounded in the height of the Action, the melancholy task of writing the detail devolves on me.

Mr. Chads continued his report for some time but then put down his quill. He wondered, together with more than 300 ‘guests’ now aboard Constitution and, eventually, with many others throughout the Royal Navy and across the English empire, what could possibly have caused the world to upend?