The below is an excerpt from the Novel, "Then...A Patriot I'll Be". It recounts a tense situation in a local tavern during a conflict between supporters of King George III, and a man that holds intense hatred for the king....
....There was one sailor in particular that arrived at the inn one afternoon in want of refreshment. He was a middle sized man with a gray beard of a short length. The crevasses on his face were the proof of the raw and rugged life he lived. This lifestyle, I believe also gave him the appearance of looking much older, than he probably was. His hair was long and messy, and he did not wear a hat, though he carried it in his hand. The clothes he wore, surely were clean and refreshing at one time, though this was no longer the case. What was once a white linen shirt was now black from continual ware and was evident of the hard work of a man at sea. His britches, I could not gather their original state. He did not wear stockings (which was the custom of most sailors), and his shoes were decently worn. He did not seem a scary man, but one that was no stranger to hard living.
There were two long tables and two small round tables in grandfather’s tavern. At one of the small tables, there sat a group of four well dressed “gentlemen”. They were the sort that grandfather favored to have at his inn. They were (as best I can recall), business owners from the northern part of town. Punch was served to these men, and they were merrily toasting to each others’ health, and talking of their business.
The strange sailor made his way to the far end of the tavern, and sat quietly alone at the end of one of the long tables. I believe he had cider and beer served to him. Obligingly, he placed his hat (that he had been carrying) on the table, and drank on his own with no toasts, only a grumble to himself every now and then.
After not a long time had passed, and the punch bowl was empty, the gentlemen at the round table had ordered plenty of Madeira , and libations and toasting once again began. One man yelled, “A good cheer for my stores, and shipments. May they arrive safely to harbor and not meet an unfortunate fate at sea”. At that time, the other men expressed their cheer, and began to drink to it. Next, another of this party arose up out of his seat, and lifted his glass for another follow up toast. “Have no fear for the safety of your stores, kind sir. His Majesty’s navy is in the waters, and will see to it that your ships are protected”! The other men stood up and another of them cried “Here… Here, to his Majesty’s navy! God save King George!” The men followed with their approval to the notion, and drank down their glasses of spirits.
“God save King George”, bellowed the stranger at the end of the long table, as if in jest. “God save King George, indeed! I will never drink to such nonsense” he grumbled. “A pox upon King George, I say, and a pox upon his royal navy”, the old sailor exclaimed! He then lifted his drink, took it down in one gulp, and slammed the empty glass on the table.
Across the room, the gentlemen at the round table were speechless. They could not believe what they had just heard. Looking around at each other to see who would dare challenge this disheveled man’s words, one of them turned to look at the stranger, and with a little tremble in his voice asked. “Why do you say such words”? His companions looked between the stranger, and their “brave” friend. He then followed up, this time more assertive. “This, sir, is a British colony, and we all live under the protection and rule of England
Slightly annoyed, and not too pleased, the old looking, ruffian rose from the bench behind the long table, picked up both his glass, and hat, and came around the table, all the while, his grey squinted eyes fixed on the gentlemen whom he had been “engaging” in conversation. He walked up to their table and paused for a moment. “Do you mind”? He asked as he grabbed the decanter off the table (not waiting a reply), and proceeded to pour himself a robust glass of the gentlemen’s Madeira. “God save the king and his fleet of ships, huh”? Mumbled the man, as he pulled a chair from another table, and set it backwards among the group of men. Sitting down to the table facing forward in his backward chair, he took a hardy gulp of the wine from his glass, and flopped his dirty hat on the table, much to the “delight” of the well groomed, shocked, and now nervous gentlemen. “Let me tell you about our merciful king, and his navy led by “gentlemen officers”. I recall everyone in the tavern, including grandfather and myself suddenly fell as silent as the grave. Most were unsure of the man’s intentions, and were more or less on guard. As for me, I wasn’t worried about violence. I wanted desperately to hear what the stranger was going to say. For some reason, this was the first time grandfather had not ushered me away from spying on the conversations of the patrons. Perhaps he was so fixed on the stranger’s next move that he had not thought of chasing me away.
“My brother and I were amongst the enlisted crew of an English man-of-war, not seven years ago”, was the man’s first comment. “It was my first tour, and his second. The French were reported out to sea, leaving Brest (on the east coast of France) with a good sized fleet, and they had been spotted three weeks prior to the east of the (English) channel. Our vessel was sent out ahead of our fleet along with a small tender to find the location of the French ships. We departed from Portsmouth, and made a heading of south by south west through the broad channel, while employing a zigzag pattern in search of the enemy”. The man paused to take another gulp of his wine and scratch his head, as if trying to remember particulars that had escaped him at the moment. “Ah, ordinary seamen, we were”, he continued. “We held no rank, but worked as hard as any man on that ship. Assigned to a gun crew, I spent most of my days below deck in drills, and preparing the guns for when we would meet our foe. Admittedly, the navy was not my true calling. Months out to sea with neither sight, sound, nor smell of land was not where my heart wished to be. I preferred the comfortable quilted feather bed of home to the cramped swinging hammock aboard ship, among other things at this time I won’t mention. My brother, Jack was more experienced a sailor then I and he found it agreeable to be out on the open sea. His hope was for a long, profitable career in the Royal Navy. I thought of his decision as foolish. He hadn’t the money to purchase a commission, and had no political attachments to further his ambitions. But still, it was the life he chose, and truly loved”.
“We were out to sea about a week”, the stranger went on with his story. “Around this time, we met with a fierce gale that pounded us severely. During the storm, we lost contact with the smaller tender that was part of our party, and we were made aware some time later, that the small ship had succumbed to the waves. Down to the bottom with fifty two honest men she went. A few of them had been acquaintances of mine for some time before.
Having rode out the storm, and made the necessary repairs to the ship, we finally made it to the mouth of the channel, and we encountered some agreeable weather for a few days”. As the old sailor spoke, I hung onto every word that came pouring out of his mouth. I’m sure this man has lived through some most amazing adventures. Far more than the repetitive daily “adventures” we were so accustomed to in Boston, minding the tavern. After another gulp of Madeira, he promptly continued where he left off. “About one week passed, and on the horizon, the lookout spotted a sail. Not sure who the ship belonged to, or of what business they were involved with, the lieutenant of the watch ordered all men to battle stations. We were to stay that way until the ship’s colors could be seen and further until the ship could be hailed to enquire of its activities”.
Now, just for sake of knowledge, I will attempt to detail what was involved when the signal was given for battle stations, or “beat to quarters”. My father, being a sailor in the merchant service, had many acquaintances that had served aboard a warship. He relayed down to me some stories he had heard, so I acquired some knowledge of ship to ship battle. When the officer of the watch gave the command to “beat to quarters” a drummer would beat to a tune familiar to all on board. This tune meant, “Get to battle stations lads, there is to be a fight ahead”. With that, the crew of the vessel would clamber about the ship to pre-determined positions, such as their place in the gun crew below decks, as the marines climbed the masts to get to the fighting tops. Officers would take their place amongst their men, to shout out commands over the thundering fire of the cannon, and the sailors assigned their task would ascend to the cross trees, and yards in order to bring up, or unfurl the sails as their orders came to them. A scene that surely looked to be chaos, but in reality it was a well choreographed dance, where everyone knew their part. The ship itself would have to be prepared for the fight as well. Bulkheads below decks would be removed to make way for the powder monkeys running to and fro with their precious charges for the guns. The decks above and below would be covered with sand as to allow the men proper footing when running through the blood of their wounded comrades. Sand was also made to cover the floor of the surgeon’s cockpit. This was also meant to sop up the blood that poured on the floor as he was performing his amputations, and other treatments for the injured. The surgeon and his mates would prepare a bucket for the disposal of amputated limbs. The “instruments” were laid out on the makeshift operating table, that not hours before was used by the crew to eat dinner on, and will be used for the same purpose hours later. Being made of wood, the ship was prone to fire. For that measure, the powder magazine’s canvas curtains were wet down to prevent any unwanted sparks (for obvious reasons). The stove fire was put out, and leather “fire buckets” were filled with water or sand, and placed about the ship to douse any fires that may arise. On a ship, the quarters were cramped with not only men, but also livestock and stores of furniture, and supplies. The livestock and such stores were usually put into the ship’s boats, lowered, and towed behind the ship by a rope, or simply set adrift with intentions on bringing them back on board after the fighting had ceased. While this was all going on, selected members of the crew would see to it that all hammocks were placed on the upper deck, and into the netting constructed above the sides of the ship’s walls and rails. This was for the design of a barrier to protect the crew against musket fire, and splintered pieces of the ship that may flail about during battle.
The gentlemen at the table, still in disbelief that this strange scraggly rascal had just sat down with them uninvited, had stopped their drinking for some time now. One of them, being a more courageous fellow than the rest interrupted their “guest”, and carefully asked of the stranger, “pardon me sir, but you’ve been in our company for some time now, and have not yet made your point. I beg of you to please go from whence you came, and leave us to our conversation”. “I’ll leave soon enough”, the old man groaned back to the outspoken gentleman. “For, I’ve not yet completed my story, and I wish not to leave it unfinished”. He took another hearty gulp of wine, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, much to the chagrin of the mortified gentlemen.
“Still at our battle stations, the unknown vessel ventured closer and closer into our sights”, the man continued with his story. “Not long after, we were almost side by side with it. She appeared to by flying the same colors as us, so we initially thought her to be a friend. Finally, as we positioned ourselves alongside the vessel, our captain hailed the friendly ship and asked of her purpose. Just then, a mighty broadside rang out of her, and smashed us well! That is when she rang up her true colors, and we realized that indeed she was French. She must have been out on the same business as ours, to scout for our fleet. We exchanged broadsides for some time, and the ships of both countries were in bad resort. Many a good sailor was dispatched during this period. We were finally able to heave to, and found ourselves in the most agreeable position at the stern of the Frenchman. From this view, her name was clear, Le Reine Mere (The Queen Mother). “I’ll never forget that name as long as I am graced to live”, added the man. Recalling the name easily, as it was etched into his memory. “Pleased with our favorable position, the captain ordered a fierce bombardment with the guns on our starboard side. The command was given, and we fired at once, the cannons unleashed their deafening fury, raking our opponent stern to stem. The Frenchman was left devastated, and killed a good number of her men”.
“The captain ordered the ship to come up alongside her and prepare to board. The ships crashed together and grappling hooks were thrown, and used to lash the two wooden hulks together. The quartermaster saw to it that the boarding parties had weapons, and the command was given to board the ship. The two forces clashed, and swords flew as musket fire rang through both vessels”. The ragged man suddenly looked solemn, and seemed to stare off into the distance, as if he was watching this battle replay just outside the tavern walls. “My brother was part of the boarding party”, he said as a somewhat proud semi-smile crept onto his weathered face. “He was led by a midshipman, just recently promoted to lieutenant named Norris. Norris was a favorite of the captain, but not so much by the crew. He always seemed to be off on his own writing letters, or staring out to sea. Not much of a friendly man with his own crew, but found the company of other ships officers more agreeable while at port, or visited whilst at anchor. Many a rumbling was heard amongst the men of how he was thought to be an unsavory sort.
The lieutenant leapt over the railing onto the French vessel followed by his men. They fought with heart and vigor through the Frenchmen on the top deck, and made their way below. The lieutenant led them into a cabin only to be met by a line of French marines with their muskets drawn to protect their captain, who by this time was hiding behind them. Lieutenant Norris, faced with this sight, cowardly jumped behind his men as the French fired. His men, now abandoned with no leader, were left vulnerable, and one shot rang true enough, and entered my brother’s chest, killing him instantly”. The stranger paused, as it was apparent in his voice, his wound from losing his brother had not yet healed sufficiently. Clearing his throat, he resumed his story. “After the line had fired, the men that had withstood the blast, charged forward (though leaderless), cutting the musketeers to pieces along with the ship’s captain. Immediately after, the men took their own cowardly lieutenant, and placed him under arrest for the act he had just committed”.
Not too long after, the French man-of-war struck her colors and surrendered. Prisoners were taken on board, and our dead and wounded were brought back to our ship. Norris was presented to the captain, and his shameful actions were explained. The captain, friendly as ever toward his favorite subordinate, did not strip him of his rank, and allowed him to continue serving as before. It was decided however, that when we made port, he would be brought to a court martial to address the charges before him. The crew, not too pleased with the captains’ decision went about the business of consigning our fallen brethren (one of which was my dear brother) to the deep, as was the tradition in the navy. Though Lieutenant Norris had escaped punishment for now, the remainder of the trip he did look much over his shoulder, as he was aware of the crew’s disdain toward him”.
“Arriving back to England, as promised Norris’s court martial was approaching. The Norris family was a very influential name in the English aristocracy. They reportedly had close ties to the king himself, and this man was set to be on the rise in his naval career, thanks to not much talent in seamanship, but lots of money, and political leverage. The young lieutenant showed up to the event dressed in his most elegant naval uniform, surrounded by an entourage of servants, and “influential” companions. He had the appearance of attending a party or ball, more than a court martial. His accusers arrived looking less than opulent, but in great numbers. There had been quite a few men who witnessed his cowardice that day. Both sides presented their stand on the situation, and though overwhelmingly proven guilty, the verdict did not allow for it to be so. Apparently, his influences were not for naught, and the scoundrel was cleared of all charges. Smugly, he left the court with his entourage, ready to resume his navel career. It was later overheard from a credible source that His Majesty had known of this situation in advance, and saw to it that the verdict was decided well before court had even began. As mentioned before, the king was very friendly with the young officer’s family, and they did not want their beloved name tarnished as well as a blemish on what they were sure would otherwise be an exemplary career for the young lieutenant. The king agreed, and saw to it that the decision went as he had scripted it. To which it did”.
The stranger paused for a long minute. Silence was still throughout the tavern, as he lifted his head, and gazed back upon the still nervous gentlemen. “Good brave men, including my brother died that day”, the man said. “Due to the cowardice of a noble “gentlemen officer” of the king’s navy. He was never accountable for his actions thanks to that “glorious” king that you toast with expressions of joy. You say he and his men are heroes. I say he is a murderer, and his minions are all his tools to this employ.”
The man looked around the table, gazing at each of his table mates one by one. He grabbed his glass of wine, and stood up from the table and yelled. “God save King George, huh”. He then spat upon the floor. “I’ll never drink to the health of a man that stands accomplice to the murder of his own loyal subjects. I say, a pox upon the king, and a pox upon his gentlemen officers”! With that, the scraggly old man drank down the rest of his glass, and slammed it down on the gentlemen’s table. He looked at the men at the table, as if challenging them to say otherwise. After a moment of receiving no response, he picked up his hat off the table, placed it on his head, and walked out of the inn. The men at the table quietly finished their wine without offering any further toasts, politely rose from the table, and also departed the inn not too long after. Grandfather and I were left to remove the glasses, and clean up where the guests had been drinking. We worked fast, and didn’t speak a word to each other while employed with our task.
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| Rowdiness At A Tavern |
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