Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812

With the gray of morning came a new wind from the westward, and with it the Constitution slipped out of port, the two vessels that had menaced her all night long not making a movement to prevent her going. Once well out in the channel, the feeling of suspense was succeeded by one of relief and joy. The fugitive, soaked with bilge water, shivering and hungry, emerged from his hiding-place as he felt the movement of the vessel's sailing.

"How is that man McGovern doing?" asked Captain Hull of Lieutenant Morris, who was dining with him in the cabin. "He ought to be of some use after the trouble and worry he has caused us."

"I'm sorry to say he isn't," responded Morris, shrugging his shoulders. "He isn't worth powder. Why, even the forecastle boys cuff him about and bully him! He not only lacks spirit, but he is one of those men, I think, who are somehow born cowards. But he has been a sailor at some time or other, I take it, although he told me that he was only cook's helper in the galley on board the Poictiers. That's his billet now on board of us, by the way."

It was true: McGovern not only bore the name of a coward, but he looked it, every inch of him. His shifty eyes would lift up for an instant, and then slide away. His elbow was always raised as if to ward off a blow. He acted as if he expected to have things thrown at him. He invited ill treatment by his every look, and he received many blows, and many things were thrown at him. And the unthinking made fun of all this, and used him for their dirty work, and he did not resent it. He took orders from the powder-monkeys, and cringed to the steerage steward. As to the officers and midshipmen, he trembled when they approached him, and after they had passed he would spring forward and hide somewhere, panting, as if he had escaped some danger. The sight of the boatswain deprived him of the power of speech. He acted like a cur that had been whipped, and in fact he lived a dog's life. And yet for this man, those who despised him would have gone to the bottom. Aye, and cheerfully, for behind him lay the question soon to be cause enough for the shedding of much blood.

When the Constitution reached New York, McGovern disappeared.

It was early in the month of June, 1812. There was evidence of a feeling of great uneasiness that prevailed throughout the length and breadth of the country. In the coffee-houses and taverns, at the corners of the streets, in the gatherings in drawing-room or kitchen, there was but one subject talked about – the approaching war with England. It was inevitable, naught could prevent it, was the opinion of some; while others, more cautious, saw nothing in the approaching strife but the dimming of the American star of commerce which had arisen, and death to progress in arts and manufactures. Their flag would be swept from off the sea; the little navy of a handful of ships would have to be dragged up into the shallows, and there dismantled and perhaps never be set afloat again. Little did they know of the glorious epoch awaiting. The makers of it were the sailormen in whose cause the country was soon to rise.

Jack Lange was hurrying along Front Street; he had been transferred from the Constitution to the Wasp. It was but a moment before that he had landed. He had the tall water-roll in his gait. He was very jaunty in appearance, with his clean, white breeches very much belled at the bottom, his short blue jacket and glazed cap, and from the smile on his face one could see that he was very well pleased with himself. The half-fathom of ribbon that hung over his left ear would occasionally trail out behind like a homing pennant. He was bound for Brownjohn's wharf, where he knew he might fall in with some of his old messmates and gather up the news. As he luffed sharp about a corner he passed some one hurrying in the opposite direction. It was a man of about thirty years of age. His arms were held stiff at his side, and his face was twitching nervously. His eyes were rolling in excitement. Jack Lange turned, and lifting one hand to the side of his mouth, he shouted: "Ship ahoy, there!" The other man whirled quickly, and the two stood looking at one another for an instant before either spoke. Then the big sailor advanced.

"What's the hurry, messmate?" he said. "This is McGovern, isn't it? Don't you remember me?"

"Sure I remember you," returned the other in a voice with a touch of a rich brogue. "Have you heard the news?" he added suddenly, his hand trembling as he touched Lange on the arm.

"What is it – about war?" asked Jack, eagerly.

"Aye, the war, d'ye mind that? There'll be great doings before long!"

"I suppose they'll lay the navy up in ordinary, and we poor fellows will join the sorefoots with a musket over our shoulders."

"Not a bit of it; they're going to outfit and sail to meet 'em," responded McGovern. "I'm off to tell my folks."

The news was all about the town. People were running hither and thither, clapping on their hats, women called to one another from the windows of the houses, crowds commenced to gather. Suddenly Jack hesitated. Surely it was a cheer, a rousing, sailors' cheer, off to the left down the alley! He listened again, and giving a hitch to his breeches, he started in a lumbering, clumsy gait, swinging his cap about his head. "Hurray!" he bellowed at top lung as he saw in a crowd gathered before one of the little taverns the uniforms of some of the Constitution's men, and recognized also Bill Roberts, and his old messmate Grattan.

When the Wasp sailed again, she carried between her decks as fine a crew as ever hauled a rope or manned a yard. Some of the men who had served on board the Constitution now swung their hammocks in the crowded forecastle of the little sloop.

Grattan and Roberts were in the same watch, the port, which was in charge of young Lieutenant James Biddle. Jack Lange was in the other watch, and with him were two of the Constitution's men, – the little, black-eyed gunner, and a heavy, thickset man, who at first glance appeared to be too fat and clumsy ever to be a topman; yet he was, and one of the best.

Lange was stowing away his hammock but a few hours after the Wasp had gotten under way, when the short, thickset man approached him.

"D'ye see who is on board with us?" he asked. He pointed forward.

There, sitting with his back against the bulwarks was the Coward, his eyes staring straight before him, and his fingers and toes – for he was bare-footed – working nervously. Soon there came an order to shorten sail. There was a scramble to the shrouds, and among the first to reach them was McGovern. Close beside him was the fat topman.

"Out of the way, you swab!" he cursed, striking out with his elbow. "This is man's work," he added. "Out of the way, can't you!"

The hot blood rushed to McGovern's face. He hesitated. At that moment some one pushed him from behind, and before he knew it he had been hustled off the bulwarks to the deck. Without a glance behind him he slunk down the hatchway. And so he went back to rinsing the dishes in the galley.

Inside of three months the Wasp was back in port again. Once more McGovern disappeared. No one missed him, and no one thought about it.

On the 13th of October Captain Jacob Jones set sail again in his trim vessel, but just before the Wasp had left her moorings a boat rowed with quick, nervous strokes put out from shore. The man at the oars was doing his best to catch the sloop of war before she should gain headway. In the stern sheets sat an old woman. Now and then she would encourage the man pulling at the oars. There was a short, choppy sea, and both figures in the little boat were soaked with spray.

Suddenly the topsails filled, the headsails blew out with a vicious snap, and just as the sloop lurched forward, the little boat was abreast the forechains. The man dropped the oars, and, springing outboard, managed to catch the lower shroud; with agility he hauled himself up arm's length and sprawled over the bulwarks, down on deck. It was McGovern, and his strange coming on board had been observed by many. He arose quickly and gaining the shrouds once more, he waved his hand. "Good-by, mither!" he cried, and then he turned back to greet a burst of laughter. But all hands were too busy with the getting under way to pay much attention to him, and he disappeared below.

The next morning it blew a heavy gale, and for four days the wind lasted, and even after the danger had passed the day broke with a heavy swell on the sea and the weather yet boisterous. The Wasp's previous cruise had been uneventful. She had failed to fall in with the enemy, and now this continued stress of weather made the sailors, ever prone to find reasons in their superstitions, to think that they must have aboard with them a Jonah; some one who brought ill luck, and why they should have settled upon poor McGovern it would be hard to tell. Perhaps he was ignorant of the reason for the new meaning of the looks of dislike and suspicion that were cast at him, or perhaps he failed to notice them. At any rate he made no comment.

Surely it was not his fault if the second day out, during the height of the storm, the jibboom had carried away, and two of the starboard watch went with it and were lost.

There was a great deal of excitement attending this particular daybreak, the morning of the 18th, for the night before, after the clouds had cleared away and the stars had shone brightly forth, several large sails had been reported to the eastward. Captain Jones had laid his course to get to windward of them, so as to have the weather-gage when day came. The vessels had disappeared as the weather had thickened a little, and now all hands had gathered on deck, and the sloop was romping along through the slight drizzle, almost dipping her yard arms at times in the heavy seas that raced past.

"There they are. – Sails off the lee bow, two points away!" shouted a lookout from the forecastle. It had cleared a trifle, and there they were, sure enough, seven vessels, and nearer to, was a trim man-of-war brig. She was edging up slowly, taking in sail as she did so, and the Wasp swung off to meet her.

"English, begad!" exclaimed Captain Jones. "Have the drummer beat to quarters, Mr. Biddle, as soon as you get down the topgallant yard and shorten sail."

"Very good, sir. – Hello, she shows the Spanish flag."

"Never mind that; she's English, I'll bet a thousand."

Biddle bawled out the orders, and the usual helter-skelter rush, from which emerges such careful work and such wonderful precision, followed. But the first man to gain the weather shrouds this time was McGovern. Since the news that the enemy had been sighted had been passed below, he had been very much in evidence. Instead of his greasy scullion's rags, he wore a clean suit of canvas. His white shirt was trimmed with blue silk, and his long hair, that usually straggled down his cheeks, was twisted into a neat queue down his back. He paid no attention to the questions addressed to him, took no heed of the merriment (for men will jest on strange occasions); but kept his eyes shifting from the group of officers on the quarter-deck, to the oncoming vessel that was plunging heavily in the great seas. When he had seen the Spanish flag, his face had fallen; but Bill Roberts was standing close beside him.

"Never mind that, my lads!" he roared to those about him. "No one but a John Bull or a Yankee would bring his ship along like that; take my word for it, my hearties!" and then had come the order to shorten sail.

McGovern was across the deck like a shot, at least three feet in advance of the next man, who, as luck would have it, was the short, fat topman before referred to. Whatever he may have thought was McGovern's proper sphere and natural instincts, it required but a glance to show that he knew what he was about as he started clearing away the parel lashings and then unreeving the running-gear. It requires but two men at the masthead to make fast the downhauls and look out for the lifts, and on this occasion there were two pairs of skilful hands at work. The older seamen looked into McGovern's face wonderingly; but the latter was going silently about his work, occasionally looking out across the rolling white of the sea at the little brig that would soon be within gunshot. He could plainly make out the red coats of the marines grouped along the rail. "Sway away!" and the topgallant yards came safely down to the deck. The men were at quarters now, and the matches were lighted.

"Well done, McGovern!" exclaimed the fat sailor, with a shamefaced smile. "Well done, McGovern!" called one of the midshipmen, grasping him by the arm. "Here, take No. 2 at this twelve-pounder. Do you know the orders, lad?"

"Yes, sir, yes," answered the Coward, excitedly. "I was captain of a gun once, o' truth I was."

But a pistol shot's distance now separated the two vessels. Captain Jones hailed through his trumpet. Down came the Spanish flag, and there was the red cross of England! The brig let go a broadside; but just before she did so, the sound of a cheer had come down on the wind.

There is no time to describe the details of the action. But few of the Wasp's crew had been in actual combat before. Soon there were deep red spots on the deck; there were groans and curses, and much sulphur smoke. Occasionally the muzzles of the guns would dip deep into the water as the Wasp hove down into the hollow of the surge. A sharp crack aloft, and down came the main topmast, and with it fell the topsail yard. It tangled in the braces, and rendered the headsails useless. The Englishman was playing havoc with the rigging, braces, and running-gear of the Wasp. Grape and round shot were mangling everything aloft.

There had been a few men in the foretop when the action had commenced. One of them was Roberts. Suddenly glancing up from his gun, McGovern saw a sight that made him start and cry out, pointing. There was Bill trying weakly to haul himself over the edge of the top. Blood was running from a wound in his forehead, and his left arm hung useless; his leg was hurt also. But he was still alive and dimly conscious. At a sudden lurch of the vessel, he almost pitched forward down to the deck. Then as McGovern watched him, he appeared to give up hope, and, twisting his hand into the bight of a rope, he lay there without moving. But no man could live there long! Splinters were flying from the masts; blocks were swinging free and dashing to and fro; new holes were being torn every second in the roaring, flapping sails. It may have been that no one else had time to think about it; but McGovern did not hesitate. He threw down the sponge and jumped into the slackened shrouds.

"Come out of that, you fool!" somebody shouted at him from below; but he did not pause. A round shot whizzed by his elbow. A musket-ball carried away a ratline above his head, just as he reached forward. He felt as if a hot flame had licked across his shoulder, and in an instant more his white shirt was white no longer, and was clinging to his back. But it was nothing but a graze, and, undaunted, he kept on ascending. He hauled himself into the top. There lay a dead marine, shot through the temple. Now he bent over the prostrate sailor. Yes, he was alive! Roberts was breathing faintly. Despite the interest and excitement of the action men were watching him from below. But he must work fast if he was to save a life – a bullet at any time might complete the work already begun. He tried to lift the heavy figure on to his shoulders, but found he could not. But good fortune! One of the halliards had been shot away aloft, and hung dangling across the yard. McGovern saw the opportunity. Passing the bitter end of it around Roberts' body, close underneath the arms, he made it fast. Then passing the rest of it through the shrouds he gave first a heave that swung the prostrate figure clear of the blood-stained top, and then carefully he lowered away until at last the body reached the deck.

Somehow the musket-balls had stopped their humming through the upper rigging, and even the firing of the Wasp had slackened, as McGovern, reaching for one of the stays, rode down it safely and reached the deck. And now occurred a thing that has been unchronicled, and yet has had its parallel in many instances of history. A cheer arose, a strong, manly cheer, – it came from across the water; it preceded by an instant the roaring of the hoarse voices close about him. But McGovern's ear had caught it.

"Hark!" he cried, pushing his way forward to reach his station. "Hark, they're cheerin'! They must have thought we've struck. We'll show 'em!" He picked up his sponge again.

Now the firing became incessant. Steadily as the blows of a hammer were delivered the telling shots from the Wasp's port divisions. The flames of powder scorched the enemy's bows. All at once there came a crash. The jibboom of the Englishman swept across the deck, tearing away the shrouds and braces, and then with a heave and a lurch the vessels came together, grinding and crunching with a sound of splintering and tearing of timbers as they rolled in the heavy sea.

There was not a man on board the Wasp that did not expect to see the English sailors come swarming over the bow of their vessel, and drop down to fight in the old-fashioned way, hand to hand and eye to eye. But there must have been some delay. For an instant there was a silence except for the ripping of the Englishman's bow against the Wasp's quarter. But the red-crossed flag was still flying.

Captain Jones saw his opportunity. The enemy lay in so fair a position to be raked that some of the Wasp's guns extended through her bow ports. The men, who, without waiting for orders had caught up cutlasses and boarding-pikes, were ordered back to their stations, and at such close quarters the broadside that followed shattered the enemy's topsides as might an explosion on her 'tween decks. Two guns of the after division, loaded with round and grape, swept her full length.

But some of the more impetuous of the crew had not heard, or perhaps had not heeded the order to return to their stations. Jack Lange had made a great leap of it, and had caught the edge of the Englishman's netting. As an acrobat twists himself to circle his trapeze, he swung himself by sheer strength on to the bowsprit, and gaining his feet, he stood there an instant, then he jumped over the bulwarks on to the enemy's deck and disappeared. The handful of men who had sought to follow his leadership had all failed their object, for a slant of the wind had hove the two vessels so far apart that they were almost clear of the tangle of shrouds and top-hamper that had made them fast. But one man had made a spring of it and had caught the bight of one of the downhauls that was hanging free. Hand over hand he hauled himself up to the nettings, and after considerable difficulty – for he was all but exhausted – he succeeded in getting his body half-way across the bulwarks, and then with a lurch he disappeared. During all this, not a shot had been fired. Every one had watched with anxiety the strange boarding party of two. What would be the outcome of it? Suddenly, as the sails that had been tearing and flapping, filled, and the noise subsided, a strange sound came down from the direction of the other vessel. It was like a great chorused groan – the mingling of many voices in a note of agony! Then with a crash they met again, the English ship fouling hard and fast in the Wasp's mizzen rigging. Lieutenant Biddle, followed by a score of armed boarders, jumped upon the bulwarks and endeavored to reach the other vessel and be the first on board. In this he would have succeeded had not little Midshipman Baker caught his officers coat-tails and endeavored to emulate his eagerness. But at last the Lieutenant and his followers gained the deck, there to be witness of a wonderful sight.

There was a wounded man limply leaning against the wheel. Three officers were huddled near the taffrail – but one was able to stand upon his feet; the other two were badly wounded. Jack Lange and McGovern the Coward had possession of the ship. But somehow, overcome by the sight, they had not left the forecastle, and it was Lieutenant Biddle's own hand that lowered away the flag.

His Majesty's sloop of war Frolic was a prize. Frightful had been the carnage! But twenty of the English crew were fit for duty. She was a charnel ship. The Wasp had lost but five men killed, and but five men wounded. Among the latter was Bill Roberts. Although he was shot three times, the surgeon declared that he would live.

To and fro the boats plied busily. The Frolic's masts fell shortly after she had been boarded, and now every effort was made to repair damages and take care of the many wounded and the dying.

Every one talked about McGovern, he who had been the Coward; he who had cringed to the loblolly boys, and who had taken orders from the ward-room steward; who had washed dishes and dodged blows; he was the hero of the day. And how did he take all this new glory, the admiring glances and the remarks of his messmates? Not as a vainglorious seeker of reputation, not as a careless daredevil who had risked recklessly his life for the mere excitement; but as a cool-headed, brave-hearted man, who while there was yet work to do found no time to think of what had been done. He was reincarnate, as if during the fire and smoke, when the hand of death was everywhere, the spirit to do, and dare, had been born within him. Forgotten had been the red scars of the disgracing cat that seared his back. Here was his chance to show what was in him; to even up matters with the power that had almost crushed his soul. Every shot from the Wasp's side made his heart beat with joy. The born fighter had been awakened. He craved for more, and animated by this feeling he went about his work with a half-delirious strength that made him accomplish the task of two men. All eyes were on him. His officers had marked him.

"Sail ho!" called down one of the men who was clearing away the wreckage aloft. "Sail ho! off the starboard bow."

Driven by the strong breeze that had blown throughout the morning a great sail was bearing down, looming larger and larger every minute. The Wasp cleared for action. The Frolic, aided by the little jury masts that had been hastily rigged, was ordered to bear away to the southward before the wind. The Wasp, wounded and bedraggled as she was, bore up to meet the oncomer.

Slowly the great shape rose out of the water, sail by sail. A tier of guns! another! and a third! – a seventy-four! With two ridges of white foam playing out from her broad bow, she bowled along and passed so close that her great yard arms almost overshadowed the little wounded sloop. There came the sound of a single gun, and at this imperious order the Wasp's flag fluttered to the deck. It had not needed this sight of the red cross curling and uncurling across the white expanse of new sail to mark her as one of the great guard ships of old England. English she was from truck to keelson, and long before she fired that disdainful shot the gunners of the Wasp had put out their smoking matches.

And McGovern had watched her come with an ever-changing expression in his eyes. His face, flushed with excitement and victory, had paled. Once he had started as if to run below and hide. There was something familiar in those towering masts and that gleaming white figurehead, and as she sailed on to retake the little Frolic, McGovern was compelled to hold fast to the bitts to prevent himself from falling. The ports were crowded with jeering faces. The quarter-deck rail was lined with laughing officers, in cocked hats and white knee-breeches. Under her stern gallery he read the word Poictiers! From that he glanced up at the main yard arm. Men had swung there at the end of a rope – yes, he had once seen a convulsive, struggling figure black against the sky. Men would swing there again! The maxim that 'a deserter has no defence' recurred to him. He glanced about. Close by was a chain-shot, two nine-pound solid shot connected by a foot of heavy links. Like one afraid of being seen, he skulked across the deck as he had skulked in the days before. He reached the side where part of the bulwarks had been torn away, and crouching there he passed the end of his heavy belt through a link of the chain, and without a sound lurched forward, all huddled up, and struck sideways in the water.