CHAPTER 4 - THE COST
“Lord, grant me some wisdom. 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." John Rodgers
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 immediate. 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 President! Frigate of the United States Navy! I say again! What ship is that?!”
“Arrogant bastards.” Swift said.
“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. We won’t be able to confirm anything until morning, anyway. 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 laying 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 anybody 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 be okay, eventually. 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.
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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 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 even after 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 in mid turn. “And another for the Secretary of the Navy.”
“Sir?”
“I have an idea, Tom.”