FAYAL ROADS - A Tale of Naval Heroism in the War of 1812

Chapter One ----- Promises

It was a raw and unrestrained wind of winter that roared through Washington and blew out the already flickering fires of Julia's hopes. This late fall day in 1811, Julia Langston-Howe did not despise the wind, only recognized it for what it was . . . a promise of barren winter, and thus it mirrored the promise of her new home in Washington. Both were forlorn and bleak. She thought longingly of the few short weeks spent in New York on first arriving in this new country. Ah, New York . . . if the promise of Washington was raw winter, the promise of New York was pure spring. A growing, energizing city where anything and everything seemed possible. Life itself bloomed in New York. A man, even a woman, could blossom forth into an existence merely dreamt of in other places. But today, any small bloom, even a bud, would serve to answer young Julia's dreams. Neither appeared forthcoming.

At age 25, Julia Langston-Howe was beyond the season of blooming in Langston House, the London residence of her father, Admiral Jonathan Langston. If truth be told, and perhaps she herself would agree, Julia Langston-Howe, the eldest daughter, she of the full mane of gleaming black hair, the most beautiful of the four daughters of Admiral Langston, should have been titled by now. Several times over. But Julia had been saddled with a spirit that rightfully belonged to the son Admiral Langston never had. Forever attempting to fill that void, Julia learned to outride, outshoot, and outwit most men. Each display of skill, of intelligence, only further saddened her father who dreamt of the could-have-beens, would-have-beens, had she only been born the son he felt he deserved.

At first, from the time she approached her noticeable womanhood, an unending stream of suitors had paraded through the parlor of Langston House in Belgravia, each in turn more entranced by the beauty of the young woman, and each in his turn found wanting by the admiral's haughty daughter. It was not that Julia was uninterested in suitors, in fact, quite the opposite. Men fascinated her, but her intimidating strength and caustic wit soon chased off all but the most foolhardy, and those few tended to bore her.

Julia knew all too well that her strength was also her glaring weakness. London
society during King George's reign could not, would not, approve of a woman making her own decisions, particularly a woman merely in her teens. Without a mother since the birth of her youngest sister, and doted on by her father, Julia could blissfully ignore the wagging tongues of her London peers. As the years passed, all three of her sisters married well, if not by their own measure, then by that of their father. But not Julia.

By the time she was 23, Julia no longer had need of the caustic wit she had used so effectively to deflate egos and chase off the boring, the inane, and the foppish suitors calling at Langston House. There were none calling. Perhaps it was her resignation, or simply the natural deterioration of expectations grown old that allowed Reston Howe, the well dressed American, an opportunity to interest her. From an acceptable, if minor English family, Howe had left for America to find his fortune and now had returned to London seeking a suitable wife. Julia had met him the first time by accident.

It had been at Riverbend, the family's country estate. Julia had been out riding on her favorite roan, a horse she had named "Devilwind." The morning had started out overcast but when the skies suddenly opened and a heavy rain shower drenched her and Devilwind, they were forced to return to the stables. Reining in the big roan, she turned and they carefully made their way back to the manor house along the muddy road instead of overland through the fields. Overland, they would have been obliged to jump several hedgerows to return to the stables and although she herself would have delighted in the exhilaration of the jumps, she had far more concern for Devilwind. Slippery and treacherous as the turf had been made by the sudden downpour, Julia would take no chance on injuring her favorite riding horse.

Loping slowly along the road, she happened to glance behind her only to be shocked to see a carriage and four rapidly bearing down on her. Heedless of the condition of the road, the driver whipped the horses to fly through the mud. She and Devilwind quickly got off the one-lane road to make way for the carriage. As it roared by, the wheels threw up a sheet of mud and water, painting Julia and her horse completely.

Irate at the carelessness of this carriage on her father's own manor house road, she resisted the urge to hurry Devilwind, knowing any carriage this far from the city would not be leaving Riverbend before she returned. She would have words with the master of this carriage. Julia knew that no driver would risk such behavior unless he were under direct orders from the carriage's master, so she held no animosity towards the driver. But the master was another matter. She would severely chastise him or her for endangering not only his own horses, but also anyone else on the road . . . herself, for one.

Wet minutes later, riding directly up behind the offending carriage and dismounting, she handed the reins to a groom and stormed into the house, soaking wet and covered in mud. She sloshed her way directly to her father's study, ignoring the attempts by several of the housemaids to clean and dry her. Julia would brook no delay, and shaking off the towels thrust at her by the maids, thought this reckless road behavior worse as the moments went by, firming in her own mind the comeuppance she was preparing to deliver. She went straight towards the library where she knew her father always greeted guests.

Bursting unannounced into her father's library, as she often did, treating it as though it were her own, she easily knocked to the floor a man standing just behind the door. Thinking it strange that a mere seven stone woman could do damage upon a grown man who appeared fourteen stone or better, she looked more closely at her father's supine visitor. Moderately good looking, she thought, but obviously soft of flesh.

Standing directly over the man, she pointed her finger at him and said, "A thousand pardons, sir, but now you must know the danger of such careless speed on a slippery and muddy road. Think of the damage to your horses and your carriage if such an unpleasantness as has just happened to you, were to happen to them!"

Lying flat on his back with this sodden and muddy charwoman standing over him, Reston Howe was about to fly into a rage when Admiral Langston quickly came over to the two of them and said, "Mr. Reston Howe, may I present my eldest daughter, Julia. Though the look of a charwoman at the moment, she has upon occasion cleaned to comely if she but put her mind to it."

Howe immediately caught his about-to-erupt temper and looked up at the woman standing over him. God, but she was ugly! Stringy hair and caked with mud from head to foot. THIS was the eligible daughter of the wealthy admiral? The daughter one and all had proclaimed a beauty? This was going to be more painful than he had anticipated.

"Julia, could you for once act the gracious hostess and help Mr. Reston Howe up off the floor and apologize? I'm sure there is an interesting account of this outburst that will be forthcoming. Is there not, DEAR JULIA?" her father said in his threatening voice.

Julia took no notice of her father's tone simply because she knew it was bluff. He might terrify all those under his command, but Julia had never been terrified of the stern admiral. This trait had caused him much consternation, but it did not deter him from his continual, and it should be noted, fruitless attempts to intimidate his eldest daughter. She
had merely to look at him and smile and he was lost.

As servants helped Mr. Howe to his feet, with a mock curtsy Julia soothingly intoned, "Why Mr. Howe, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir. You are not injured I trust by my entrance?"

"Certainly not, Miss Langston, I was merely caught unawares. I am recovered,
though I must say, I remain surprised by your attire," Howe snickered, looking at her
muddy presence. Reston Howe did not easily forgive transgressions on his person.

"It comes as no great surprise to me that you are surprised, Mr. Howe, since you
obviously were not overly concerned when your carriage transformed my riding habit into this . . . this . . . pigsty."

"Now now, I'll hear no more between you two," her father boomed with a laugh.

Reston Howe, once again in control of his anger, vowed to himself he would remember this moment and deal with it in his own way later. After Julia Howe was his wife! He would not leave London until the admiral's daughter had agreed to marry him. He needed a wife, and though this woman had serious flaws, he would see her properly schooled once they were wed and away from her father. In the meantime, he would woo her with his best face forward.

For her part, Julia accepted the concentrated flood of attention from the American over the next few months and finally agreed to the marriage for several reasons. First, she liked the attentiveness of Reston, even though she felt no magical attraction to the man. He was handsome enough, and devoted enough, but she felt no tingle when he was near. Convinced by her sisters that such feelings were but fantasy and she would learn to appreciate if not love being a wife, she put this minor complaint aside.

Even more important, Reston Howe offered her a home in America! She was
enamored of the opportunity to make her own decisions, live her life an ocean away from
the restrictions of London society. Julia, although hesitant to leave her beloved Riverbend, recognized this brief window of opportunity would be open to her only if she married Howe. She could not, would not, deny herself even the smallest opportunity to be her own Julia. Her acceptance of Howe's hand in marriage was much to her father's pleasure, as he had made her aware on numerous occasions.

Now, more than a year and that broad ocean later, she gently turned over the lace material in her hand, coolly judged its face, texture, and hand, and found it less than she would have hoped for, and so just as gently replaced it on the sparsely stocked shelf. Certainly in New York the shops would have had far superior merchandise and much more of it. Julia was forever careful to not make comparisons with shops she had known in her earlier life in London, for she did not wish to give rise to regrets about leaving England. The opportunity to escape the confines of her predictable womanhood in London society far outweighed a little displeasure at the quality of cloth she might find in Washington. Besides, she had reveled in the energy and fresh outlook of these Americans, so conspicuously on display wherever one met them.

It mattered not that her hurried marriage to Howe had proven a sham. His professed love was a fraud. Reston Howe was himself a fraud, loving only her father's money. And worse, the hoped-for fruits of womanhood eluded her, because Howe was not at all interested in their bed sharing. Why had she expected more? Her sisters all told her of having to learn to love the men selected by the admiral to provide their home, hearth, and children. Julia's nature, however, had demanded more. Expected more. Julia ached longingly for that spark of desire the ancients wrote of, the bliss of shared ecstasy. She would not believe it was mere fantasy.

"May I wrap that for you Ma'am?" The insistent young voice interrupted her reverie. "It's a lovely bolt straight from my cousin in Philadelphia."

"No Miss, I think I may look elsewhe . . . " Suddenly stopping in mid-sentence, Julia paused for a moment, looked the young shop girl in the eye and replied, "Actually, yes, you may. I will take it. It is a small price my husband will have to pay for the time he spends with those horrid friends of his at those damnable taverns!" Although somewhat shocked to hear such a word from a lady of obvious breeding, the young woman was not to be quieted.

"Oh, you know, Ma'am, they're all like that. If e's not off to sea, my own is always at the taverns, too. It's the city, 'a course, bein' the capitol and all. A town full of talk it is. And those constitution men the worst with all their constant talk of war. One would think we were at sixes and nines already!"

Julia was well acquainted with the subject of war, but found discussing it with an uninformed shop girl less than enlightening. "Certainly we won't be at war, Miss . . .
Miss . . . "

"Just Jenny, Ma'am. It's just plain Jenny," the young girl interrupted.

"As I was saying, war is out of the question certainly, for the cost would be far too high to pay, Jenny," she offered in an attempt to end the exchange.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but no price would be too high. Not for that John
Bull, ma'am, he needs to know his place now we're our own country and all," was the girl's spirited reply as she handed over the package.

With a slight annoyance at the young girl's ignorance, Julia took her package in hand and, with all of her control, smiled pleasantly at the girl, thanking her as she rushed out, inwardly sorry for the young girl's naivete. Looking neither right nor left coming out the doorway, she promptly ran hard and fast into a red and blue wall masquerading as a man.

"Oh, I beg your indulgence good sir, it was all my fault . . . " she murmured as she quickly recovered, looking up at her impediment.

"Madam, certainly and without a doubt, the full fault was mine, but I fear I cannot
say I am sorry for the sudden attentions, however violent, of such a beautiful woman," replied a man with an angry red scar across the whole of his left cheek and dressed in the officer's uniform of a British marine. Behind him several more men in uniform stood by
self-consciously. A British marine uniform in all its manifestations Julia knew all too well from the many seen on callers at Langston House in London.

"Sir, I am a married woman. Furthermore, I assure you, ahh," pausing momentarily while she sought his rank, "ahh, Captain, if indeed, so rude a man could be entrusted with that rank, I assure you, sir, those attentions you find so appealing were not intended to be so, nor will they re-occur, and thus I would thank you to hold your tongue, sir, and rein in your foul imagination!"

"Captain Jeffery Searles, His Majesty's Royal Marines, of the brig Plantagenet, Madam, at your service . . . and much in appreciation of your obvious charms. Surely you would not berate a gentleman for stating simple facts?"

"Sir, a gentleman would not have offered such facts. Furthermore, surely a man of captain's rank would have a more refined manner!"

"But Madam, I can only say in my defense that manners have been overwhelmed by the power of your beauty."

"What is more, Captain, I find this conversation low and insulting and would report you to your superiors. And at the least shall inform my husband of your forward speech! To which ship you say it is you are assigned?" Julia spouted bravely, while averting her eyes from his own. It had been some time since she had jousted verbally with a man. A handsome man. And the captain certainly appeared both attractive and manly.

"Again, my apologies, Madam, but you may certainly direct your comments to my commanding officer, Captain Robert Lloyd of His Majesty's 74, Plantagenet, currently at anchor in the Potomac roads, Madam," was his smiling reply.

As Julia quickly strode off, she made careful note of the impudent officer's remarks so she might faithfully repeat them to her husband. That is, whenever Reston might choose to return from his nightly carousing. Yes, she would see to it that Reston would make a formal complaint to this man's superior. Although, upon reflection, she did think it quick of the handsome officer with the angry wound on his left cheek to bandy such words with her. She was forced to admit to herself some small pleasure at his blatant flattery.

Sadly, she thought, it was more attention than she had received in a span of too many months from her own husband. She would make the effort to remember the marine captain's words exactly. Remembering his face would be easy, imprinted on her as it was by that red slash. He might even be more handsome once it healed, again allowing herself to be momentarily carried away. Then, angry with herself for such thoughts, and more angry with Reston Howe for giving her reason to think them, she again put to memory the marine officer's exact words.

However, there were further words from the marine that Julia could not hear. Those words, spoken quietly by Captain Searles as he watched Julia stride forcefully away, were to the most junior of his officers.

"Mr. Baines, I want you to follow that woman, find out where she lives, and her name. And make sure she doesn't make you out, Baines. I do like the fire in that one. A doxie like that could make this dreary backwater far more interesting! Off with you now, Mr. Baines, before you lose her!"

"Aye, sir, my best." muttered the pimple-faced junior officer, hurrying off, not overly enthused at his new assignment.

Meanwhile, Julia, oblivious to the young man following her well aback, thought again of her annoyance with the young shop girl. Jenny's nonchalance regarding a war between America and England was simply her youth. A war was unthinkable, Julia knew full well, though Reston and his friends all talked of it. Julia had seen what war meant at close view. Her father's business was war and even in England's victorious episodes, Langston House saw first hand the broken bodies and shattered lives of seaman and soldiers shipped home from battle. Any war, whether won or lost, meant many lives uprooted and destroyed. And far fewer merchant ships calling at the ports, far fewer goods available in the shops, and food shortages for even the wealthy. A little slip of a shop girl had no idea how vulnerable this new America was without a navy to protect her shores! How often had she heard her father and his friends scoff over their claret and cigars at the pretentiousness of this upstart American constitution?

Although Julia had come to respect the fierce independence of these Americans, she thought of the thousands of men, just like that Captain Searles, commanded by her father and his friends. Dedicated and hard men, whose entire life was only for the roar of cannon and blast of muskets. No, another war with England was not to be hoped for, Julia thought, and certainly not to be sought out. Then, in a lighter mood she mused, "But a war with Reston? Now that was a different matter. Yes, a small war with Reston might even be declared this very night!" A war to put John Bull in his place was surely a tall order for her fledgling adopted country, but not so, Reston and that man Searles! Indeed, putting that impudent Captain Searles in his place would be a personal goal she felt to be well within her own
capabilities. She smiled inwardly at the thought.

#

As Mr. Baines rapidly disappeared around the corner, the remaining group of four British marines continued their leisurely pace, stopping at every tavern and coffeehouse they came across. Seemingly haphazard, they were, in fact, acutely aware of the location of each visited establishment. It was a planned reconnaissance carefully laid out by Searles prior to setting ashore. In each place, they would order ale or coffee, and then carefully take note of the patrons, separating them into transients and regulars as best they could. Aware of the sudden quietness settling about the room over their arrival, the four men nevertheless appeared jovial and uninterested in their surroundings. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The number of patrons, the ages, physical characteristics, and dress were all carefully secreted away in the mind of Captain Searles. Mindful of the heavy silences and glaring looks of the local patrons, the marines were not outwardly reviled, but by now, their fifth stop today, they recognized that British marines would not be welcomed anywhere in this city.

Searles, although too young to have been a participant, was quite aware it had been a mere thirty-odd years since the Americans had fought so underhandedly in their revolt against King George. A few of these older patrons no doubt still vividly remembered the uniform Searles wore and held no love for any man who displayed it. Their silent hatred did not bother him, nor did it frighten him. He was a British officer, and as such was accustomed to others fearing him, not vice versa. "As they might well have reason to do," he thought to himself, gently running a finger over his cheek where the most recent evidence of his prowess was displayed. "Was it a fortnight already that I had easily disposed of that tiresome man concerned about his wife's dalliance with me? Had I not been so busy with my breeches he would never have been so lucky as to strike even this single blow. And then to have the doxie herself turn on me . . . damn these Yankees." He only prayed they would start another war! Then they'd quickly come to learn that their infernal luck of '81 had long run out the course. But enough wishful thinking. To matters at hand . . . and sport.

He drained the last of his ale, and turning around to face the seated group of eight or ten men, he bellowed in his best challenging tone, "And which of you fine seamen is brave enough to earn shiny English gold? His Majesty's ship of the line Plantagenet, a well found brig of 74 guns, has need of strong men who fear nothing and no one! Come, come, gentlemen, don't be shy, step up and be men."

The reaction was as he expected and the same as every other stop they had made. At first the down-turned faces, then the muttered insults into their ale and finally a few braver souls who openly spat on the floor in their direction. While his men watched his back, Searles strode confidently among the locals evaluating each in turn. With his experience, it was easy to sort the lot. Not much to choose from in this pigsty, he knew. The short dark man at the far table was a hothead and could easily be goaded into a fight. He would fight with passion, but his recklessness would defeat him. Now, the big one next to him with the eye patch could be trouble. He looked a mean fellow and competent. But he was carrying neither sword nor waist knife. Searles also noticed that the man's one good eye was not focused. The ale had made a lesser man of him, Searles knew, but he was a stout specimen nevertheless. The rest were worthless, but Captain Searles continued his taunting from table to table.

"What? Not a man jack of you worth English gold? Come, think of it . . .
adventure, danger . . . and the fresh ocean breeze across your backs. . . ."

"Aye, AND the bo'sun's cat, I wager. If 'n we ships out again it'll be on a free ship, not a slaver like yourn" spat the short dark man seated next to the one-eyed hulk.

"Aye, tis so, Tom. It's to New York fer us and our own Navy methinks. No popinjay King's man tellin' us, eh Tom? Sides, there's a war comin' on, I 'spect," said the hulk of a man sitting with his back to Searles.

The marine captain was quick to note that the hulk was not as drunk as he appeared. No matter, Searles had learned enough. He would remember where he found these two. The only two in the group worth his effort.

"Ahh, come my lads," Searles addressed his subordinates, "I fear there are no real men in this establishment. Off we are to our ship then. But first let us leave a small reminder for our American friends . . . at least friends for the moment," and with that he swiftly drew his short sword and with practiced movements, slashed a bloody track through the shirt and across the back of the large man with the eye patch. In his well lubricated state, the man roared more in surprise than in pain. But by the time he had risen and turned, Searles was already at the entrance and looking back with a sneer, "Sir, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance. Remember our ship sir, the Plantagenet. That is a "P" I have placed on your back, sir, to assist your memory. Plantagenet. I say good day to you gentlemen!"

As the door slammed, the one-eyed man roared again and leapt up to chase. A chair was slid in front of him to slow him a bit and then several of his friends tackled him at once, for one or two would not have been able to bring the big man down. Once he was on the floor, they sat upon him as a group, looking as though they were lounging on a public bench, thus preventing him from getting up. Again, it was the short dark man called Tom, who whispered in his ear, "No no, Bob, me boy, you'll do no good chasin' after that 'un tonight. He'll either have yer dragged 'board his ship in irons or he'll leave ya like Campers with a slice outer yer middle. At's the one was doin' Camper's missus metinks. No, Bob it's New York fer us and tonight too, since we're without a brass button. We'll not forget that'un . . . nor his ship, mind you! No, we will not! But better we be off, Boyo!" The large one-eyed man's terse reply was a loud snore. Meanwhile, his bloodied back oozed a mottled "P" into the wood plank floor, indelibly marking passage of the British man of war.

Outside on the cobblestones, as the marines walked swiftly towards the river, another junior officer spoke to Searles.

"Sir, shouldn't we keep a sharp watch for them coming at us?"

"Mr. Jamison, you have much to learn. They'll not come after us. Have they ever come after us before?"

"No sir, but then tonight you cut one of them…"

"Of course I did . . . and did you notice I selected the largest one? The one that looked a right ruffian? Always take out the dangerous ones first, Mr. Jamison. Makes the others all ponder well before they make to jump. Besides, all these Yankees are cowards. No stomach for a true fight. Won't come at you without a tree to stand behind, I venture," he bellowed with laughter, and was joined by his junior officers, even if haltingly. Their senior officer was once again displaying his disdain for the Americans. But it was true that he had not been mistaken these past three days of reconnoitering, and not one man had come after them.

"A good night's work gentlemen, now truly, let us back to the Plantagenet. We've preparations to make," Searles ordered, as the four men were seamlessly enveloped by the fog bank rolling ashore off the Potomac basin.

End Chapter One