A Call to Arms (32 page)

“With pleasure, Captain,” Jamie replied. Not normally one to imbibe at this hour of the day, to refuse such an offer from his commanding officer was unthinkable.

“Good, good.” Preble ambled over to the sideboard and opened its twin doors. From inside he withdrew a plain glass decanter half-filled with a clear golden liquid. “You and your fellow officers seriously depleted my stores the other night, but
this
excellent Madeira”—he triumphantly held up the decanter for Jamie to see—“I keep safely tucked away, locked up and out of reach.” He chuckled as he poured out two glasses. After handing one to Jamie, he sat down on a blue satin-covered settee across from Jamie's chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass.

“Cheers, Captain,” Jamie said, lifting his. He took a sip of the fortified Portuguese wine and felt its exquisite texture course down his throat into his stomach. Never had he tasted a wine so delectable. As if to keep temptation at bay, he placed the glass on a side table. “It
is
delicious, sir. I can appreciate why you have kept it well hidden.”

“It
is
frightfully expensive,” the captain returned with a smile. “‘Waste not, want not' is my motto, especially when it comes to an outstanding
Madeira.” After a pause, he said: “We've come a long way, haven't we, since that day you and your father visited me in Maine. On the one hand, it seems as though only a few months have passed. On the other, it seems an eternity. It's been, what, two years?”

“A bit more than that, sir,” Jamie replied distractedly. “It was back in April of '02.” He had not anticipated this sort of chitchat and was anxious to learn the real reason he had been invited to the captain's inner sanctuary.

“You have been a fine officer,” Preble said quite unexpectedly. “You have served me and this ship with distinction and with the highest level of competence. As you have often heard me say, a superior naval commander is distinguished by his ability to
lead,
his ability to
inspire,
and his ability to
anticipate.
From what I have observed, you possess all three qualities. I see something very special in you, James. I see a great future awaiting you in the Navy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jamie said quietly.

“Which is why,” Preble continued, “upon my return to Washington I intend to recommend to my superiors that you be promoted to the rank of lieutenant. A captaincy should not be far behind.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jamie repeated, nearly speechless from pride and flushed with embarrassment. Preble was not a man to suffer fools gladly; nor was he lavish with his praise. What lay behind this praise, Jamie was now convinced, was the reason for his summons today. “If I may be so bold, Captain,” he pressed on eagerly, “am I to understand that I have been selected to serve under Mr. Somers in
Intrepid
?”

“Is that your wish?”

“Indeed it is, sir.”

Preble smiled wistfully. “I admire your enthusiasm, Mr. Cutler. I had expected nothing less from you.” He shifted his position on the settee. “However, it would appear that your ability to
anticipate
has temporarily abandoned you.” He took a sip of Madeira. “Midshipman Wadsworth will be serving as second in command. Midshipman Israel,” referring to Joseph Israel, a midshipman from Annapolis serving in
Constitution
who was widely rumored to be a protégé of Navy Secretary Robert Smith, “will serve as third officer. To date, he has seen no action. It's his turn as well.”

Jamie slumped slightly in his chair. He immediately corrected himself. “I see,” he said. “Those are excellent choices, Captain.” He reached for his glass of Madeira. “I must offer a toast of congratulations to Mr.
Wadsworth and to Mr. Israel. And, of course, to Mr. Somers and to the success of the mission.” He raised his glass and drank.

“Oh come now, James,” Preble said, in the tones of a father admonishing a petulant son. However fleeting it may have been, he had read the disappointment on Jamie's face as though it were etched in stone. “You have had your chances at glory in this campaign, and you have taken full advantage of them. Mr. Wadsworth has not. Granted, the poor boy was in sickbay when
Philadelphia
burned, and he has himself to blame for that. Syphilis has a way of providing its own unique form of punishment. But he is on the mend and he is eager for his own shot at glory. Besides,” he added, eyeing Jamie's bandaged right arm, “your wound has not completely healed. Dr. Wells tells me that you are most fortunate to still have use of that arm.”

“Yes, sir,” Jamie had to agree. He looked hard at this captain. “Sir, if I may—and I ask this with the utmost respect—why was I summoned to your cabin this afternoon? I thought . . .”

“I know what you
thought,
Mr. Cutler,” Preble interrupted, sounding like an annoyed schoolmaster. “I summoned you here to inform you that you are being relieved as midshipman in
Constitution.
”

Jamie's jaw dropped. “
Relieved,
sir?”

“Yes. So you might serve aboard
Argus
under Master Commandant Hull.”

“But . . . but sir,
why
?”

Preble drained his Madeira and set the empty glass gently on the table. “For a very good reason, if you will just calm yourself and hear me out. As you are aware, Mr. Tobias Lear, our consul general in Algiers, is accompanying Commodore Barron aboard
President
on her cruise to the Mediterranean. Mr. Lear is authorized to conduct and conclude peace negotiations with Tripoli as soon as such negotiations become warranted. At the same time, Captain Eaton, our naval agent for the Barbary States, is sailing with the squadron aboard
Constellation,
your father's former ship. One of the dispatches I received from Secretary Smith contained a letter from Secretary of State Madison telling me that President Jefferson has approved in principle Captain Eaton's plan to cross the desert and attack Tripoli by land. But he is leaving it to the Navy to make final recommendations and arrangements.” He laughed shortly. “Yes, I can see you are as confused as I am. War or peace: which is it to be?

“There is more. Communications I have received from your father confirm that Hamet Karamanli is assembling a considerable force of
Arab cavalry to the west of Alexandria—Egyptian mercenaries who are being reinforced by a hodgepodge of Europeans procured, at considerable expense, I might add, by Mr. Richard Farquhar and his son George. I needn't explain to you who they are.

“As plans stand,
Argus
will convey Captain Eaton to Alexandria, where he will assume command of the expedition. Seven Marines will join him on the march. They are to be led by Lt. Presley O'Bannon, an officer I greatly admire, and two midshipmen. As perhaps you have
anticipated,
this force will require the services of an American naval officer to act as liaison between the army on land and our Navy at sea. Because I believe you to be the right officer for that position, I have recommended you to Captain Hull. I shall similarly recommend you to Commodore Barron and to Captain Eaton upon their arrival. And, of course, to your father, whose ship will play a key role with
Argus
in this expedition.”

Jamie's keen disappointment was tempered somewhat by the prospect of serving with his father. “Thank you, Commodore. I am honored by your trust. But sir, if I may, once
Intrepid
succeeds in her mission, will this expeditionary force even be necessary?”

“You raise a fair question, Mr. Cutler. Several weeks ago, a month ago, I would not have thought so. But today I do. Yusuf Karamanli is a tough and mean-spirited old bird, much like me. He may see his navy blown to bits, but I have reluctantly come to accept what Captain Eaton and Consul Beaussier have been saying all along: Whatever the circumstances at sea, Yusuf will never accept unconditional surrender without at least the threat of a land assault on his city, especially one led by his deposed brother.

“Captain Eaton and the others might be wrong, of course. It could be that the destruction of his navy will convince Yusuf that further resistance is futile. But I have been instructed by my superiors to continue preparations for the land assault, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”

T
HE MORNING AFTER
Commodore Preble had consumed a round of toasts with his officers, every carpenter in the squadron was put to work converting
Intrepid
into what Preble came to refer to as a “floating volcano.” Her magazine in the hold was planked up and stacked tight with five tons of powder in five hundred barrels. On the deck directly above the magazine, one hundred 13-inch shells and fifty 9-inch shells were carefully placed in a wooden bin specifically built for that purpose. Under the watchful eye of Preble and Somers and other squadron commanders, carpenters drilled two holes amidships into the bulkhead of the magazine.
Into these holes they inserted gun barrels stuffed with fuses that were connected to a main fuse at the end. These two main fuses were connected on the outside to a shallow trough of powder that ran the length of the ketch on the starboard side forward to a scuttle near her bow and aft to her companionway.

The trail of powder, Preble had explained, allowed the charge to be ignited from either the bow or the stern of the ketch. The length of the two main fuses was set to burn for eleven minutes before the main fuses set off the smaller fuses packed inside the gun barrels. The smaller fuses were timed to burn for four minutes before they detonated the powder in the magazine. Once the train of powder was lit, from either the bow or the stern, the thirteen Americans had fifteen minutes to get off
Intrepid
and into one of the two ship's boats that would be towed behind the ketch. Then they would row for their lives back out through the Western Passage to where
Nautilus,
escorted by
Vixen
and
Syren,
would be waiting to pick them up and convey them back to the flagship.

Richard Somers proposed one modification. Fill a small cabin aft with wood chips and splinters, he suggested, and set that heap ablaze as soon as
Intrepid
reached her target. This blaze would ensure that the fuses would eventually be lit even if the main charge failed. Further, it would discourage anyone from boarding the ketch after the Americans left.

Preble nodded his approval. “Make it so, Mr. Pryor,” he ordered
Constitution's
carpenter, the warrant officer in charge of the refit. Pryor enthusiastically set himself and his mates to the task.

S
EPTEMBER
3 broke warm and sunny with a lamb's-wool sky and a pleasant breeze from the northeast. During the previous three days, while Pryor and his mates pounded nails aboard
Intrepid
and Gunnery Officer Simmons collected powder and shells from the squadron's magazines, American gunboats had launched several forays against Tripolitan gunboats poking their bows out through the reefs. The raids accomplished nothing of consequence, but that did not concern Preble. They were diversionary tactics meant to lull the enemy into believing that nothing unusual was afoot and that perhaps the American squadron was winding down its operations against Tripoli. For the first time in weeks, American warships and gunboats had not ventured in close to enemy shore batteries.

Halfway through the first dogwatch on September 3, Jamie Cutler, Ralph Izard, and Henry Wadsworth sat together in the midshipmen's mess on the flagship's dank orlop deck. All of
Constitution's
other midshipmen not on watch duty were also there, making for cramped
quarters. The three of them sat off by themselves as best they could, and for the most part they were left alone.

“So, Henry,” Izard commented good-naturedly as he stabbed his fork into a slab of salt pork and sliced off a mouthful with his knife, “bound for glory tonight, are we?”

“I should think so,” Wadsworth replied. His own tin plate was piled with pork mixed with beans and rice, but he was only picking at his meal. “By tomorrow at this time I should finally have something of consequence to write home about. Perhaps even to write a book about.”

“Perhaps you should consider writing a book about how you got syphilis instead,” Jamie ribbed.

Wadsworth shook his head. “It's an oft-told tale of woe,” he sighed in mock dismay. “I doubt a book like that has much of an audience.”

“Depends on who writes it,” Izard quipped. “A man skilled with his pen can always find willing women—uh, readers.”

“Touché, Ralph.” Wadsworth's countenance brightened. He took a small bite of pork and washed it down with a swig from the one glass of wine he was permitted this evening. “As a skilled penman,” he added cheerfully, “I must agree.”

“So, Henry,” Jamie said in a more serious tone, “what do you think will happen tonight?”

Wadsworth contemplated his answer as he moved his fork aimlessly about his plate. “Have you heard,” he said quietly, avoiding eye contact, “that when Mr. Somers assembled his ship's company, explained his mission and the risks involved, and called for volunteers, every man-jack aboard
Nautilus
stepped forward? Including the cabin boy?”

Both Jamie Cutler and Ralph Izard nodded. They had indeed heard that. They had, in fact, seen something similar occur aboard
Constitution.
Forced to handpick a crew of ten from the hundred able seamen who volunteered, Preble and Somers were satisfied that the six sailors from
Constitution
and four from
Nautilus
they chose were among the elite of the squadron when it came to experience at sea and constancy aboard ship. All ten were American-born.