War 1812 (10 page)

“Our friend,” General Harrison said to the commodore, “is much more at home astride a horse than trying to dodge beams aboard ship.”

“Ahem… well, you have until the morrow to decide, Mr. Lee,” the commodore stated.

At that time Lieutenant Jones returned. “The weather is deteriorating, sir, and the savages… ah, the Indians appear ready to leave the ship.”

General Harrison went on deck and talked with Chief Tarhe again while Commodore Perry had a crew for the boats rousted out to row the Wyandots back to shore.

Once they had departed, General Harrison spoke to Jonah, “Do you feel the chief is a man of his word?”

Jonah hesitated a moment to collect his thoughts, then replied, “I do as long as you understand his word is just that… his word. If several of his braves decide not to follow it, they just split off and go their own way.”

“As I thought,” the general replied. “For whatever its worth, Chief Tarhe was mighty impressed with the ship’s big guns. He has promised his tribe will not support the redcoats.”

“Did he say they’d support us?” Jonah asked.

“No, he didn’t go that far. While he’s not for us, at least he’s not against us.”

“Aye, that’s better than nothing.” This was from the commodore who’d returned without the others hearing him. He then informed the two men, “My steward has informed me dinner is ready if we are.”

Suddenly Jonah was starving. The mention of food reminded him he’d not eaten since early that morning. The aroma of beef had been in the air for a while, but it hadn’t dawned on him what it was he’d smelled.
But how could it,
he thought to himself,
after being knocked senseless, it was a wonder I can do anything at all. Well, I’ll sample the shipboard fare and if it beat camp cooking I’ll spend a few days with the Navy.

Chapter Eleven

T
he following morning brought
a clear sky but enough wind to cause the waters to have a significant chop to them. Jonah awoke but lay still in his cot trying to clear his mind from a fog. His unfamiliar surroundings didn’t help. There was a rocking motion to his cot. He’d never slept in a cot suspended from deck beams by four ropes. It didn’t seem right a man’s bed should move like a baby’s cradle. Ah… the taste in his mouth and his aching head. Was the pounding in his head from butting the deck beam or the effects of last evening’s gathering?

It took a few more seconds for him to realize the sound in his head was not from butting his head nor the abundance of after dinner brandy along with cigar and pipe smoke. They didn’t help, but after a few minutes he was able to recognize the constant thud was from the lap of the choppy water against the hull of the ship. As he rose, he looked over the small cabin… cubical was a better description. Looking for his clothes, he spotted them and was at the point of putting his boots on when a small knock was heard. A man wearing an apron stuck his head in the door.

“I see you’re almost dressed,” the man said. “There’s a small pitcher of water and a basin in the corner. Once you’ve freshened yourself, the commodore and general are expecting you in the commodore’s quarters.”

Rushing to freshen up, Jonah made his way to the commodore’s quarters. One look at Jonah and the commodore was quick to order a cup of coffee for him. Greeting the commodore and general, Jonah seated himself in the offered chair and took a timid sip of the hot, steamy black liquid.

“The navy likes their coffee so strong you can stand a spoon in the middle of the cup,” General Harrison volunteered.

“I see, sir,” Jonah acknowledged, tasting the scalding brew.

The coffee was strong, but after a couple of sips it started to bring him back to life. Maybe he would survive the day. Cordial conversation ensued until a breakfast of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, oatmeal and hot bread with grape preserves was served. Jonah noticed during the meal the commodore’s steward never let the coffee cups get half empty before they were refilled. He did notice while a dish of sugar was on the table, it had not been offered, and except for the oatmeal it had been left untouched. In the past, Jonah had been offered cream and sugar for his coffee.
I guess the navy likes it black and strong,
he thought, realizing it didn’t take much to acquire a taste for the brew. No cream had been offered to mix with the oatmeal either.
Maybe they don’t have any,
Jonah thought.

The commodore had mixed butter in his oatmeal along with the sugar. Jonah tried this and found it tasty. Still, a little milk would have added to the taste. Once breakfast was finished and the dishes cleared away… all but the coffee, General Harrison cleared his throat.

“Tell me, Jonah, do you think a few of the Kentucky riflemen would mind serving aboard the commodore’s ships?”

Thinking again to Clay Gesslin’s men’s comments about fighting on boats compared to horses, he replied, “I’m not sure about the foot soldiers, but I don’t think the mounted riflemen would take to it. May I ask why you ask, sir?”

Shaking his head in the affirmative, the general responded, “The Navy has enough vessels to take on the British. We also have more firepower, it is believed. What they don’t have are the men to fight the ships. The commodore has asked for volunteers.”

“How many?” Jonah asked.

“Two or three dozen,” the commodore answered.

Taking it all in Jonah thought for a few moments, then replied, “If put to the men just right, you could get your men I expect.”

“How do you mean ‘put to them just right’?” the general asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“You could just order them to serve,” Jonah responded. “But remember these are volunteers. I would put it to them that the Navy needed their help. They’d have three square meals a day, and there’d be no slogging through the woods or boggy, muddy roads. The ships would carry them to the fight, and a glorious fight it will be. In fact, they’d be going in style. But you can only take three dozen, so the men would have to make a quick decision before someone else volunteered, as it would be first come, first serve.”

The commodore reared back and clapped his hands. “You silver tongued devil. I like it. Sir, you could be a politician.”

Smirking, General Harrison replied, “He works for one.” Then the general smiled and pounded Jonah on the back. “No offense, Jonah. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

The following morning three dozen Kentucky riflemen showed up. Having accepted the challenge or the lark, Jonah wasn’t sure which; they climbed aboard the
Lawrence
and seemed as excited as Chief Tarhe’s Wyandots had been. The commodore let them have the run of the deck for an hour then called them all forward. A lieutenant mustered them into ranks and instructed them in the ways of naval discipline and explained to them the etiquette of life aboard a ship at sea.

“I thought this here’s a lake we’s on,” one of the men said.

The officer then explained that it was the same, the Great Lakes or the ocean, made no difference.

That evening Jonah dined alone with the commodore. “It will be soon,” the commodore stated in a matter of fact voice, once the meal was served. He seemed in a different mood tonight. One like Jonah had not observed before. It was like he had an appointment with death and was resolved to it.

“Do you realize,” the commodore spoke after a period of silence, “that the fate of this war… this country looms on our battle with the British? A battle where the loss of one vessel could mean the difference between victory or defeat.”

The commodore then smiled. “Have you thought what it would be like to answer to the king again rather than have a president?”

“No sir,” Jonah answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever given it much thought.”

“I have and it doesn’t sit well,” the commodore replied.

Jonah went to bed in his swinging cot that evening. For some reason, Moses came to his thoughts and he was glad he was ashore. Moses could take the word back to his family if he fell. The next morning, Jonah awoke at four a.m. As he made his way on deck, he met one of the ship’s officers he’d come to be friendly with.

“Have you heard?” the officer whispered.

“What?” Jonah asked.

“The commodore… he’s down with the fever. The surgeons are with him now.”

Damn,
Jonah thought. Maybe that’s why he was in such a mood last evening. What bad timing. “Damn it all,” he cursed again. What chance would they have without the commodore?

Jonah continued on deck where he met up with a sergeant from the Kentucky riflemen. He had a detail of men carrying buckets of water down to the galley.

“What are you doing?” Jonah asked.

“The surgeon’s orders, sir. He thinks it’s the lake’s water what has caused the fever and dysentery. He’s ordered all water used to drink or cook with be boiled beforehand.”

“From what I ‘ears not only is the commodore sick but so is his brother, most of the ossifers two of the surgeons and several men from the crew,” the sergeant whispered.

“You appear well,” Jonah said.

“We all is,” the sergeant replied, speaking of the riflemen. “Course we drink our own drink.”

By that Jonah knew the men drank either vinegar and water or corn whiskey and water, the water being the lesser ingredient. Jonah had learned riding with Clay Gesslin the only plain water the men drank was when it came from a well or fast moving stream.
I’ve not been sick either,
Jonah thought. But other than the coffee which had been boiled, he’d not drunk more than a swallow or two of ship’s water in days. He’d been given a fresh canteen by Moses each time he’d gone ashore. Well, he’d go ashore today and get a couple more canteens of clean water… and maybe one of corn whiskey. He had little doubt Moses could round up one from the mounted riflemen.

It was five a.m., September tenth. Three days after the fever had spread among the officers and crew of the
Lawrence
. Jonah had been awake since four a.m., as had been happening of late. Unlike the card games and campfire gatherings he was used to with the army, the navy had set watches and when not on watch, the men rested. They gathered about on deck and in their messes below deck, but when lights out was called the ship became very quiet.

Jonah missed the whinny of the horses, the giggle of some wench the men had snuck into camp and hid in their tent, the crackle of the campfire and the fresh air. The smell aboard ship was insulting to the nostrils. Not that he didn’t understand it; from all the unwashed bodies to the stale water in the bilges, there was no way a ship could be without odor. But it was a special place, and while Jonah would never be a sailor, he was glad for the experience.

“Sail ho, sails on the horizon.” The cry from the mainmast of the
Lawrence
caused an immediate rush of activity aboard the ship. The commodore was on deck talking with the first officer. After giving the orders for the ships to weigh anchor and set sail, the commodore strode over to Jonah.
He still looks pale and weak,
Jonah thought. But there was fire in the commodore’s eyes.

“We will meet the British today, Mr. Lee. I don’t know if I told you but our foe, Commander Robert Barclay, is a most capable and experienced Royal Navy officer who fought with Lord Nelson at Trafalgar in 1805. I hear he lost an arm fighting the French a few years later. A most capable man, an honorable opponent,” the commodore repeated.