THE COST
WOODEN SHIPS, IRON MEN, AND STEEL MAGNOLIAS
The Cost
The sea battle went on for another thirty minutes until the other ship’s guns once more fell silent. Rodgers kept up his fire for another five minutes, making certain there would be nothing further coming from the enemy’s guns. The distance between them had contracted considerably. Temporary night blindness from the firefight prevented Rodgers from identifying the ship.
“Cease fire!”
The silence was instantaneous. But it took some time for the smoke to clear away enough to reveal the stars and the moon. He picked up a hailing trumpet. “What ship is that?!”
“His Majesty’s ship!” called a voice across the way.
Rodgers waited for the ship’s name to be given, but none came. He re-raised the trumpet. “We are the President! Frigate of the United States Navy! I say again! What ship is that?!”
“Arrogant bastards.” Swift frowned. “Beneath them to identify their ship.”
“Aye, Tom.” Rodgers’ tone shifted from commanding to contemplative. “We don’t yet know how much damage we have done to her or how involved they are in repairs.” The Commodore took another long look at the shattered vessel. “We won’t be able to confirm anything until morning. So, we’ll just stay with her and be ready to render assistance if requested.”
“Aye, Commodore. Going down to check on Pyle, sir?”
Rodgers nodded, tucked his hat under his arm, and headed down the ladders to the medical cockpit on the orlop deck. It didn’t take long to find the surgeon, along with several others, standing next to the medical bunk. He caught the eye of one of them, who nudged the others to give way. Rodgers saw the lad lying there. His left leg was in a heavy splint and propped up by a sack of cornmeal. Still, the Commodore managed a smile. “How goes it, Jack?”
“My knee feels like it has rocks in it. But I’ll be okay, sir,” Jack replied in a husky but raspy voice. He nodded toward the surgeon. “Doc gave me something to take the edge off the pain and to make me sleep. He said I need it. Was anyone else hurt? Did we give them what for, sir?”
Rodgers couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Aye, lad, we did just that, and there were no other casualties.” His smile quickly faded as the surgeon touched his elbow and motioned him away from the bunk.
The surgeon looked Rodgers dead in the eye. “He woke up right as we laid him in the bunk. He’ll recover. But.” He looked at the deck, then at the Commodore.
“Go on, Doc.”
“Aye, sir. Sir, something busted inside his knee. He will heal. But it will take a long time, and it won’t be complete.” The surgeon whispered. “He’ll live, sir. He’ll live a happy, healthy, and long life. But. Jack might not serve on a ship again. He won’t be able to climb ladders without difficulty or the rigging at all for quite some time.”
“Have you told him?”
“No, Sir. I gave him some whiskey to ease the pain and to help him sleep.”
“Very well. When he is awake and you think he is ready, let me know and I will be the one to tell him. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.” With effort, Jack pushed his elbow into the bunk and propped himself up. “Sir? No matter what, I will do my job, sir.”
The Commodore nodded grimly, then forced a smile and returned to Jack. “Get some rest, Mister Pyle. That’s an order.”
“Aye, sir!” Jack laid his head back down. Dear Lord, please let me stay. This is the only family I have now. I’m so tired. The whiskey did its job, and he dozed right off to sleep.
Rodgers made his way back up on deck. He gave a look to Swift and shook his head sadly. “He’ll live. But unless I can figure out something, his career might be over.”
The Commodore sighed, clasped his hands behind his back, turned toward the rail, and bowed his head. “Lord, grant me some wisdom.” He raised his head, gazing up at the stars. “I am trying to build a navy. It needs young men like Jack at its core. We cannot afford to lose a single one. In His name. Amen.” He lowered his eyes and stared out at the sea.
The Lieutenant grimaced and nodded, then walked over to the gunnery officer. “Let the gun crews get some sleep. Half down for two hours and then switch off. Full crews on station before dawn.” He turned to the Bosun. “Same for the deck.”
“Aye, sir,” came the simultaneous response. Silent but wary, the Commodore and Lieutenant remained on deck with their eyes on His Majesty’s Ship for the rest of the night and listened to the groans of the British wounded drifting over the calm sea.
###
Daybreak came soon enough, and it brought with it the harsh reality of seaborne combat. While his own ship had suffered damage, Rodgers realized he had inflicted a great deal more on what turned out to be a much smaller vessel. He shook his head sadly. “Why?”
Swift gazed over at the mess of broken spars, splintered masts, and fouled rigging. “No idea, Commodore, but I think the British lack of respect for us has been obvious well before this action.”
“A man with common sense would certainly have good reason to believe that they did not learn that lesson from the Revolution.” Rodgers shrugged. “But that is a topic for discussion on another day. Right now, Tom, I need you to take a boat over there. Determine what the hell happened and offer any help they may need.”
“Aye, sir.”
Swift gathered a small crew. “Let’s get this over with. Launch the gig.” The crew set the boat in the water and rowed toward the battered vessel and moaning wounded.
The Commodore searched the faces of his young officers until his gaze fell upon one junior lieutenant with ginger hair. “Mister O’Keefe! You have the Conn while Swift is off the ship. Just keep our course and speed matched.”
“Aye, Commodore!” The young man took a position near the helm and kept a telescope ready in his hand.
A sideways glance from the Bosun caught the Commodore’s attention. “Relax, Bosun. He just needs a little seasoning, is all.”
The grizzled Bosun grimaced. “Aye, sir. But I’d just as soon throw some saltwater on him and call it a day.”
Rodgers turned his head, trying to hide his smirk. “I know full well that you take great pride in teaching these fine young gentlemen the ropes. Hell, I think you have fun doing it.”
“I’ll forget you said that, sir.”
Rodgers’ face burst into a wide grin as the Bosun went to tend to the young officer. The Commodore returned his attention to the British vessel, and his smile immediately faded. Swift boarded and received the courtesy and decorum as expected of a professional navy. Still, Rodgers stayed vigilant, watching as Swift re-boarded his boat to return. A slight shift in wind direction brought with it the heavy smell of death. Rodgers’ jaw locked. Damn. Diplomacy is much more difficult now.
After disembarking the gig, First Lieutenant Swift bit down hard on his lip and strode purposely toward the Commodore and saluted. “Utterly incomprehensible, sir.”
Rodgers returned the salute. “Go on, Mister Swift. Your lip is bleeding.”
Swift grimaced and dabbed away the blood with his knuckle. “First thing I noticed when I boarded her was the blood pools all over the deck. The vessel is HMS Little Belt, sir. Not much more than a schooner, really. The captain’s name is Bingham.”
“Did you offer assistance?”
“Aye, sir. Both medical and repair help. He declined both.” The First Lieutenant took a breath. “Captain Bingham reported he had twenty to thirty dead and wounded, sir.”
“Damn him! None of this was necessary!”
“Bingham claims we fired first, sir.”
“What?! Incredulous!” Rodgers cursed under his breath. He leaned against the binnacle, tucked his hat under his arm, and tried to tame his wild curls, but to no avail. “Absurd! There is no doubt! I gave him every opportunity to avoid all of this.”
“Aye, sir.” Swift nodded in agreement. “We’re all witnesses to that. But Bingham’s officers claim the exact opposite.”
Rodgers ground his teeth and stared at the offending wreck. But he lifted his gaze upwards and allowed professionalism to win out over emotion. “Very well.”
He pressed his fists into his hips. “He’s going to get her back to the Royal Navy station up in Halifax. No doubt he’ll report this action to his favor. War is coming. But it may come sooner now.”
“Orders, sir?”
“Aye, Tom. Make ready to set sail for Norfolk. Stephen Decatur is there with United States. He is to be our relief. I’ll give him my report and make repairs. He’ll need to know about this sooner rather than later. This is going to go straight to President Madison’s desk. So, it is best to have two senior officers’ signatures. Then we’ll sail up to Annapolis and Baltimore.”
Rodgers bit his lip, then looked back up at Swift. “Jack’s going to need to go ashore. Doc says his knee is all busted up inside.”
Swift grimaced. “Poor lad. He was going to be a good one too.”
“He may still be.” Rodgers tucked his hat under his arm and attempted to smooth his hair again. “I’ll write up a letter so he can find good medical attention.”
Rodgers stopped mid-turn. “And another for the Secretary of the Navy.”
“Sir?”
“I have an idea, Tom.”
Swift arched a brow. “Oh?”
The Commodore flashed a smile. “Wait and see.”
###
Kitchen aromas followed them into the streets, blending with the nosegay of flowers and soft tang of a humid Annapolis summer. Penny bit her lip. Heavens! These two are relentless matchmakers. Penny! What did you get yourself into this time? “If you’re going to Vogel’s, I need to stop by the tavern and pick up dinner for them.”
Minerva closed the door behind them. “Dinner?”
“Bonita, our best cook, has a younger brother who is apprenticing there. Mister Vogel and Ezra concentrate so hard that they lose track of time and forget to eat.”
Susan stopped in her tracks. “The watchmaker loses track of time?”
“Something about time being relative.” Penny shrugged. “I’ll let him explain it.”
Meanwhile, enlarged by a magnifying glass hovering over them, small brown fingers nimbly pieced together tiny parts of a disassembled argand lamp while the lad himself sang something resembling a sea shanty.
“Wick to the center, snug and round,
Oil in the belly where heat is found.
Turn the screw ‘til the burner’s tight,
Chimney goes high for the drawin’ light!”
The master tradesman patted the lad’s shoulder. “Very nice, Ezra. Music in your fingers, yes? Clever hand and clever head!”
Ezra smiled his brightest smile and continued his work.
“Brass don’t lie, and glass won’t bend,”
“Set it wrong and you’ll start again.”
“Steady hands and even flame,”
“Make Mister Vogel call your name!”
Laughing, Matthias Vogel put his hands on his hips and surveyed his shop. A slight man with wavy and white-streaked gray hair and a Quaker’s taste, or lack thereof, for fashion turned toward a scratching sound behind a storage cabinet. “Pascal! Come! Hunt mice, yes?”
A black and white tuxedo cat hopped out of a nearby barrel, yawned, and stretched.
Matthias picked up a long, polished wooden dowel, then tapped the cabinet. “Pascal. Hunt mice. Earn your keep. Yes?”
The tiny bell above the shop door dinged, catching the tradesman’s attention, and sent Pascal back into the barrel. “Pascal! Ach! Trickster!”
“Maybe he’s rebelling because you haven’t fed him, or yourself, yet?”
Matthias blew a loud “thpppt” through his lips and at the cat, then turned toward the door, his round spectacles sliding down his nose. “Welcome, Miss Rollings! Mrs. Decatur. Mrs. Rodgers. You honor my little shop.”
Ezra sprang up from his chair, a bright, wide smile spread across his face. He greeted Penny with a rich voice in his joyful sea shanty cadence. “Hey-ho, Miss Penny, bright as the day! What’d ye bring us, what’d ye say?” Then ran to her and gripped her in a vise-like hug.
Penny handed her basket to a wide-eyed Minerva and clasped the boy. In Ezra’s cadence, she sang, “Hug one. Hug two. Hug three. That’s enough love to set us free!”
Minerva shot a look at Susan, took the basket over to the workbench Matthias just cleared. Both ladies happily set the table, served the soup, plated the sandwiches, and poured the drinks. Matthias stood patiently at one end and Ezra stood at the other, leaning his head against Penny’s arm.
Penny stroked his head and took her seat next to him. “Mister Vogel, you are in luck. Bonita sent over some of her wonderful crab soup and Ezra’s favorite, chicken and bread, folded into delightful pieces. And there’s plenty for all of us and Pascal too.”
Matthias put both hands over his heart. “Thank you, friends.”
Minerva served Matthias his soup and chicken piece. “John wanted me to place an order with you for nautical weather instruments.”
“You honor me again, Mrs. Rodgers. I will fill the order with pride.” Again, he held his hands over his heart. “Thank you.”
Susan served the soup to a beaming Ezra, then cut a folded chicken piece in half and set the plate next to his soup. She took a step backwards when she saw the flicker in Ezra’s eyes and his fingers drumming the table.
Ezra’s face transformed into horror and pushed himself away from the table so hard he fell backward onto the floor. Still recoiling, he cried out. “No! Broke! Can’t fix!”
Susan and Minerva both froze in place, mouths agape.
Penny calmly stood up and held her hand out to Ezra. “I’m sorry Ezra. She meant that one for me. I’ll get yours for you.”
Ezra’s eyes and body immediately softened. He took her hand, stood up, and re-seated himself. Penny caressed his shoulders and smiled at Susan as she pulled a folded, but uncut, chicken piece from the basket and sat it before him. Still unsure, he looked up at both older women. And they both looked at Penny.
Penny smiled at them, tilted her head toward Ezra, then nodded. Susan and Minerva looked at each other and then smiled warmly at the boy. With a sigh of relief, Ezra happily bit into it and, still chewing, smiled back.
Matthias cleared his throat. “I hesitate to raise suspicion without cause, but I have observed a certain man, blond-haired, overdressed and the sort who wears scent in the morning, watching Ezra.”
