Jeff Thomas
Well-known member
I first wrote this on the old Naval Fiction board. I have some things going on (while locked in the house) and thought I'd put up here as well. Part 2 will be coming soon.
SAN JUAN ISLAND
WASHINGTON TERRITORY (DISPUTED)
JUNE 15, 1859
Lyman Cutlar awoke to the sound of laughter. Outside the cabin someone was finding something funny, the deep guffaws continued as he climbed out of bed. His Indian wife stirred slightly as he got up and went to the open window. He looked out to see Jacob, a colored servant from the Hudson Bay Company’s farm, astride a horse, pointing and laughing at something in his garden. Then he saw the pig. The big tusker was in his potato patch, rooting out tubers to its heart’s content.
“Damnit, “ he yelled at the black man, “I’ve told you people to keep that beast out of my garden!”
Jacob turned to look at him, then turned back to laugh at the pig.
Cutlar wasn’t going to stand for anymore damage to his property. The pig had been destroying his crops for days. He’d written the company, then gone to Belle Vue farm, the company’s outpost on the Island to confront Griffin, the manager.
They nearly came to blows.
The two men were a distinct contrast in dress and styles. Cutlar was a tall thin, unkempt Yankee with a wild beard. He’d been on the Island only a few months, he’d tried his hand at mining, and was hoping to hear about another strike. San Juan Island looked like a good place to wait until he heard of something better. Griffin, a short dapper Englishman, wore a business suit, in contrast to the American’s overalls. He had been here for years, working the Hudson Bay Company farm, and turning it into a respectable enterprise.
“That boar is eating me out of house and home, it's your obligation to keep your pig out of my potatoes.”
Griffin had responded with “It's your obligation to keep your potatoes out of my pig! And if you can’t do that stop squatting on company land.”
“That is not company land, it's mine under the Homestead Act.”
“Your Homestead Act doesn’t apply because you’re on British soil, you ignorant Yank!”
At that point two workers walked up.
“Need some help Mr. Griffin?”
“Show this lout back to his shack.”
“Don’t bother,” Cutlar growled, “I know the way.”
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And here was the pig, eating his ‘taters again.
He picked up his long Kentucky rifle, and stepped out the door. Lining the pig up in the sights, he pulled the trigger.
With a sharp BANG and cloud of powder smoke the gun spat lead. The pig fell with a thud. Startled and frightened Jacob took off at a gallop toward the company farm.
The next day, Cutlar was lounging in front of his cabin, although in later reports the British would refer to it as a shack. He saw Griffin, with several of his men coming up the sloping path toward him.
“You killed my pig!”
“Yes I did and I’m glad of it.”
“That was a prize Berkshire boar. It belonged to the company, you need to pay for it!”
Cutler thought for a moment. Perhaps, to avoid a fight he should offer to compensate Griffin for his loss.
“I can give you a dollar.”
Griffin looked as if his head would explode, he turned red, and huffed in anger. “I said that was my prize boar, how dare you shoot it and insult me on top of damage me?”
“I’d just as soon shoot you as that pig!” Cutlar was now also turning red.
“I demand one hundred dollars now!” Griffin shot back.
Cutlar laughed and spat at Griffin’s feet.
“There’s your hundred dollars.”
Griffin pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Lyman Cutlar, this is a warrant for your arrest, for trespassing on company land, and killing a pig, which was company property. Come with us.”
“You can’t arrest me! I’m an American.”
“And you’re on British soil. Come along, no need to make this difficult.”
Cutlar, surrounded by men with guns, gave in to the inevitable.
FORT BELLINGHAM
WASHINGTON TERRITORY
JUNE 19
Major George Pickett, 9th Infantry put the letter down. It was a petition signed by all twenty-five Americans on San Juan Island. They reported the arrest
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of an American citizen on trumped up charges. They took him to Victoria to stand trial. A British warship had landed troops on the island. The Americans were demanding protection. He sighed, tossing the letter to his desk.
The British refused to concede the island was American territory. The Treaty of Oregon specified the boundary was “The middle of the channel that separates the continent from Vancouver’s Island.” The larger and obvious channel was Haro straight, to the west of the Island. The British insisted it the smaller Rosario straight to the east of the Island marked the boundary. Now the dispute demanded a response.
“Who else has seen this?”
“No one, Sir.” Said Lt. James Forsyth, his aid. “But there are lots of rumors. And the mail packet has already gone south. “
“Well we have to be ready to act.” He looked again at the naval officer, “If we have to land troops, what do the British have to oppose us? Give me a run down.”
“Yes sir. They have two steam frigates the Tribune and Plyadies, each with thirty-one guns. The corvette Satellite, twenty-one guns, and the gunboat Plumper, twelve guns. Last is an old third-rate ship of the line, HMS Ganges. She mounts either seventy-two, seventy-four or eighty-four guns. Total of about two thousand men, although only about four hundred are marines able to fight on land. “
“What can we match them with?”
“USS Massachusetts is the only warship in Puget Sound.”
“Um twelve guns?”
“Thirteen, we’ve added a pivot gun forward.”
“James, what can we oppose the marines with?”
“Companies D and H of the ninth. About two hundred men.”
“Long odds, but as they say no glory in fighting when you have the enemy outnumbered. Prepare to send a relief expedition out to San Juan. Can’t have them arresting citizens on our own land can we.”
The two men jumped up, saluted and left with a chorus of “Yes sirs”
The dapper Virginian began composing a letter to General Harney in Fort Steilacoom, forwarding the letter from San Juan Island and outlining his intent to move his troops. He also sought reinforcements, both land and
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navy. He smiled as he wrote. For an ambitious officer sitting in a Godforsaken fort at the end of world was torture. The chance for action excited him.
FORT STELIACOOM
WASHINGTON TERRITORY
General William Selby Harney looked up from Pickett’s letter. It was several days old, the rumors arrived well before it. According to rumor, British authorities arrested a dozen Americans and burned their homes. At least some rumors seemed true.
“Pleasonton!” He bellowed. “Get your ass in here!”
Captain Alfred Pleasonton, Harney’s aid rushed in a saluted. Stood stiffly at attention, and wondered what abuse waited for him.
“Sir.”
Harney was a big man, over six feet tall, with blue eyes, red complexion, red hair (although starting to gray) and a temper to match. He had a full, unruly beard. Pleasonton, in contrast was small, and fair. Like many who knew him he hated and feared the General.
“I’m going to be calling for reinforcements to deal with this situation up on San Juan. I need to know what I’m up against. “
“Sir.”
Pleasonton stood at attention, trying to figure out what his superior wanted him to do.
“It says here that this ship Ganges has seventy-two or maybe seventy-four or maybe eight-four guns.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, which is it?”
“I’m not sure, I’m not a navy man, sir.”
“I’m asking the navy to send up ships from Astoria, I have to tell them what I need. Go find out how big this ship is now!”
“Sir.”
Pleasonton turned and marched out, “I’ll write the British admiral and have him clarify that for you,” he thought as he left the room.
Harney went to work. He wasn’t going to let those damned British push him around for one more second. He wrote out an order confirming the transfer of Pickett to San Juan, then set about marshaling reinforcements.
ABOARD SS JULIA
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The little mail ship chugged through the narrow passages of the San Juan Islands at four knots, its stern wheel thrashing the water into white foam. Astern the Massachusetts plodded along in their wake. Ahead, the little revenue cutter Jefferson Davis led the way, maneuvering around the rocky hazards. It was late afternoon and they were nearing San Juan Island itself and the planned landing beach. The land behind the shore consisted of windswept prairie, dotted by stands of timber.
Sergeants moved among the men, insuring completed preparations. Pickett nodded in satisfaction. His men were ready. He had nearly two hundred men on three ships, four cannon to take ashore, plus ammunition, food, tents, and the hundreds of other items needed to establish a post. The ships rounded a bend and he could see the shores of San Juan Island ahead.
Ashore Griffin watched from a safe distance as the ships stopped offshore. Longboats dropped to the water and supplies loaded. He watched teams of men, push the cannon onto the beach. Clearly the Americans planned to stay. He turned and scurried home, where he dashed off a note to Governor Douglas.
VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA
TWO DAYS LATER
AMERICANS INVADE SAN JUAN
Victoria Threatened!
Governor James Douglas set the newspaper down. And picked up his cup of tea. On the other side of his desk sat a dour man in the uniform of a Rear Admiral.
“Admiral Baynes, we must act immediately to protect British interests in the San Juan Islands.”
“Yes sir.”
“You are hereby ordered to proceed to San Juan Island and land your marine force. I believe a threat alone will convince the Americans to withdraw. They don’t have the stomach for a fight.
“Yes sir. I shall proceed immediately. May I have a free hand to prevent the Americans from reinforcing the island?”
“Certainly, I would not presume to tell you how to do your job.”
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“Thank you sir.”
“I would like to see your plans before you set out.”
“Yes sir.”
Baynes sighed as he left the Governors office. He knew that he was going to have a landlubber telling him what to do, no matter the promise.”
Douglas leaned back in his chair. It was time end the American claim to San Juan Island. A few years earlier, an American mob to San Juan Island in the middle of the night and rounded up a flock of sheep. They’d claimed they were seizing them to settle a tax debt owed to Whatcom county.
Before they’d set off on this expedition they’d fortified themselves with a good dose of whiskey. When they arrived at the island they were to drunk to collect the sheep. Their “tax collection” effort turned into yelling drunks wandering the island. Eventually, law officers from Victoria and Whatcom County managed to restore order.
But the diplomats had still reached a long-term decision. Well, he’d do it for them.
FORT STELIACOOM
Harney’s plans were now complete. The twenty-four gun steam frigates Susquehanna and Mississippi were on their way north from Astoria. USS Massachusetts after landing Pickett’s troops was sailing south transport more troops. All reports indicated the British were preparing a countermove, to put troops of their own on the island. He needed to be ready.
Pleasonton knocked and entered the room.
“Have you arranged more transport, and what we sending?”
“Yes sir, I have transport, the Constitution…”
“Good God! What is she doing here?” Harney interrupted.
“Not THAT Constitution, sir. It's a steamer. We have another steamer, the Northerner available. Julia, Jefferson Davis, and Massachusetts are on their way here. We are sending up companies A, C and I of the 4th Infantry and the 3rd Artillery. Five hundred men when they all arrive.”
“Very good, you shall accompany the men when they go up. I will need to stay here to coordinate command.”
“Sir.”
After a moment of silence, Pleasonton spoke.
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“Sir, if I may be so bold to speak, shouldn’t we wait for orders before rushing in all these troops?”
“Bah! General Scott won’t get my report for a month, it will take that much time for his reply to reach us. We can’t wait two months.”
“Yes sir.”
“See to the preparations. I want Pickett reinforced immediately.”
Pleasonton saluted and left.
VICTORIA
Douglas looked over Baynes’ plans. Baynes planned to land the men and build an encampment on the island’s northwest side. The Americans now occupied a camp on San Juan Island’s southwest shore. The Americans could not reach Baynes’ proposed camp in time to stop the landing. With luck, they might have time to dig in before the Yanks saw them.
Baynes planned to guard the Admiralty Inlet with the Plumper, to stop any ships coming up out of Puget Sound. The Tribune, Plyadies and Satellite would patrol the eastern end of the Straight of Juan de Fuca, to block the American ships that were undoubtedly coming up from Oregon or California.
“I don’t see the Ganges on this plan.
Baynes sighed, here it comes.
“Governor Douglas she’s unsuitable for work in confined waters. We’re better off without her.”
“Nonsense man, she’s the biggest ship in your fleet. Put her off that American camp. They get a good look at all those cannon and perhaps they might think twice.”
“Sir I…”
“That’s an order.”
“Yes sir.”
Baynes turned to his aid, “See to it.”
“Aye Aye, Sir.”
The aid saluted and left.
ABOARD USS MASSACHUSETTS
STRAIGHT OF JUAN DE FUCA
The little steam sloop chugged through the glassy water, making its way toward Puget Sound. Washington Territory had a reputation for rain and fog, but its inhabitants knew summer days were often beautiful. This
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was such a day. The sky was a clear blue, reflected on the water. Off the Port beam, the snowcapped peak of Mt. Baker rose into the air. Off the Starboard bow a pod of killer whales undulated gracefully through the sea.
A lookout called from the mast. “Ship approaching, Starboard.”
Captain Jacobson looked in the indicated direction and saw a small side-wheel steamer. But he could see guns sticking out a row of ports, and the Union Jack stood out sharply.
Signal flags fluttered up a line on her mast.
“Sir they are ordering us to heave to.”
“I see that. Maintain course and speed.”
“Aye Aye.
A few minutes later he heard a call across the water.
“Ahoy, Heave to.”
Nearby crewmen looked at Jacobson, who did nothing.
“Ahoy, heave to. You are in British waters.”
Jacobson called back, “I am in American waters, your order is illegal.”
Jacobson watched as flame and smoke erupted from a gun. A scream tore the air, followed by a large splash off the port bow. The killer whales flicked their tails and dove out of sight.
Forward, the crew of the pivot gun mounted in the bow had already manhandled it around to bear on the British ship. Jacobson walked forward, to stand near the gun captain.
“Shall I return fire sir?”
“Yes, put one across his bow.”
A moment later, the gun captain pulled the lanyard. A loud boom echoed across the water smoke enveloped the ship a minute before blowing away.
The crew watched the shell splash into water by the ship’s bow. The British ship quickly fired again, this time nearly hitting the Massachusetts. The British cabin repeated the order to heave.
“Are all the guns loaded?” Jacobson asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Let’s see what they do.”
He made no reply to the British command, but again ordered steady course and speed. The Brits reloaded.
A moment later they fired again, a single shot. This time the hull of the Massachusetts resounded with the heavy THUD of a solid hit. Breaking wood crackled.
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“FIRE!” Jacobson yelled.
The ship shook as the full six gun broadside let go, joined by the big pivot gun. Jacobson watched as at least two hits crashed through the side of the British man of war.
“Well, “ he said to no one in particular, “we seem to be at war.”
ABOARD HMS PLUMPER
Lt. Edmonds watched in horror as the American let go a full broadside. HMS Plumper was no bigger than the American, he was in no mood for an all-out fight, no matter what Governor Douglas wanted.
A few days earlier he had stood in the Governor’s office with Admiral Baynes, Captain Hornby and several other officers while the Governor had given them their orders. Douglas had wanted the Americans driven from the sea. Edmonds orders said to patrol near San Juan Island and run off any American that showed his face while the other ships prepared for action. Ganges, in particular, had needed her fouled hull cleaned.
But as they left, Baynes had put his hand on Edmonds’ shoulder and whispered. “Stay out of trouble. I’d like to settle this without violence, if we can.”
Now, here he was trying to act under conflicting orders as best he could.
“Helm,” he shouted, “bring us about. Make for Victoria. We’ll make a report and see what’s next”
“Aye Aye, sir.” The helmsman responded.
“Sir, our orders didn’t mention making reports.” Said his second in command.
“My orders, number two, are to make sure the Americans leave British waters. This one is leaving British water now.”
He nodded toward the American who was pulling away to the South.
“See, there he goes now.”
Aboard the Massachusetts Jacobson heaved a sigh of relief. The British outnumbered him and he wanted leave before another warship showed up.
VICTORIA
THE NEXT DAY
“You did what?”
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Governor Douglas had spent the last quarter hour yelling the same question at the hapless Lt. Edmonds. Baynes was doing what he could to intervene, to little effect.
“Sir, the American was leaving British territorial waters, I didn’t think it was necessary to risk the lives of my crew or damage to my ship, to do anything other than see him move on. It seemed the best thing to do.”
“Bah, you ran away. You let an American ship get away. Dismissed, I’ve no further use for you.”
After they left the Governor’s house, Baynes put a caring hand on the young Lieutenant’s shoulder.
“You do know you did the right thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, these politicians are getting us into hot water fast.”
“Yes sir.”
FORT STELIACOOM
THE FOLLOWING DAY
“You did what?” General Harney bellowed at Lt. Jacobson. “You let a British warship get away?”
“I wouldn’t describe it as that, sir. I didn’t feel that I should risk my ship and crew to fight a ship that wasn’t pressing for a battle.”
Harney waved, a gesture that took in both Jacobson and his immediate superior, Captain Allen, chief of staff for the North Pacific Squadron.
“Gentlemen, your job is to rid us of these British. I will not for one more minute tolerate their presence on American territory. Get out of here both of you.”
The two saluted and left.
As they walked away Allen looked over at Jacobson.
“You did the right thing. That man is trouble.”
“Yes sir.”
AMERICAN CAMP
SAN JUAN ISLAND
Dawn, a glorious time on San Juan Island. The air was clean, with a good salt smell, the sky clear. The early morning sun reflected off the water. In most directions mountains sprung from the horizon, to varying heights.
The Americans camped on a gentle slope above the island’s west shore. They enjoyed a good view to the
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west, stands of timber provided fuel and shade. It soldiers considered it “good ground.”
George Pickett was a happy man. His men set up a good camp. Roberts, the engineer built earthworks, and a great redoubt to protect it. The cannon and two mortars covered the beach. Soon, the camp would be a fort. His aide, Forsyth walked up to him and saluted, casually.
“Morning major.”
“Good morning Lieutenant.”
“Would the Major fancy an egg or two for breakfast?”
Forsyth had somehow found some hens and a couple of roosters. He had penned them, over the hill away from the water. He enjoyed gathering their eggs every morning. Mostly he gave them to the men a reward for had work. Pickett approved of the practice, it was good for morale.
“And to what would I owe this favor? Trying to get on the bosses good side? If so, it may work.”
Forsyth laughed.
“Well I now know what I need to do to get on your good side, Sir.”
“A man’s stomach is always a good start.”
“On a more serious note, Major, when may we expect reinforcement? The British marines are expanding their camp. They nearly equal us in number now. If they add to their numbers we shall have a problem on our hands.”
“Indeed.”
The British camped ten miles away, on the North side of the Island. So far, the two commands kept to their sides of the island.
“We should have help soon. Keep me posted.”
“Yes sir.”
“And James”
“Sir?”
“Over easy would be fine.”
“Sir!”
GRAYS HARBOR
WASHINGTON TERRITORY
Commodore Garibaldi paced the deck of his flagship, USS Susquehanna restlessly. He was tall, with a dark complexion. A mustache added to his dashing looks. He had found it necessary to pull into this nearly deserted bay for a few days to do more repairs on his two ships. He also expected to rendezvous with his chief of staff
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here, before proceeding North. Then he hoped he would have some solid information about the events.
He had arrived in Astoria only a week earlier, to learn a shooting war had started, catching the North Pacific Squadron unprepared. Such matters as maintenance, discipline, morale, and training did not interest his predecessor. Marine growth fouled the ships’ bottoms, no one had bothered to clean the bilges. The men were sick. He must prepare to fight in the little time available.
He had not liked his previous assignment, professor of tactics at the Naval Academy, and had asked repeatedly to return to sea. At the same time he’d also made a pest of himself around Washington, lobbying more money for the Navy from a reluctant Congress. His reputation as a ladies man sometimes added to his problems. Eventually they decided to send him to this backwater. This command brought him as far from Congress as he could go and still be in the United States.
Captain John Winslow, the ship’s captain approached him cautiously. The Commodore didn’t like the reputation he’d developed, he was not normally a taskmaster, but he’d had to drive everyone hard in his efforts to get ready.
“Come on over John, you look like you have something on your mind.”
“An idea, that might give us an edge if we must fight.”
“Go ahead, I’m open to anything that will help.”
“The harbormaster here has a large store of unused chain. They use it to link logs to tow them to the mill.”
“Yes,” Commodore Garibaldi responded, puzzled. Where was this going?
“We could hang lengths of chain over the sides of the ships, over the engine spaces. It might help keep out the British shot.”
“Won’t that make the ships a bit tender? Seems like added weight topside would make us unstable.”
“We can compensate with ballast, and this time of year the seas here are generally calm. I think we can handle it.”
Garibaldi nodded.
“I like it. Proceed.”
Winslow saluted and left to organize a work party.
VICTORIA
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Admiral Baynes stood on the dock and watching the his sailors load the ships. They carted all manner of stores aboard; shot, shell, powder, rifles, pots, pans, food, and the grog ration. The men of course thought the last two the most important. The Governor stood next to him, hands clasped behind his back.
“Should be a jolly good show, eh, Admiral?”
As Baynes expected Douglas gave orders in detail, most of which made no sense. Even though he expected it, still felt galled him to take orders from this man. Douglas concocted a silly plan displaying a total lack of knowledge of naval tactics.
The Governor wanted to put Ganges off the American camp to supply artillery support for an attack by the Marines. The smallest ships, Plumper and Satellite would patrol Admiralty Inlet, to prevent an American move out of Puget Sound. Tribune and Plyadies would patrol the straight of Juan de Fuca, to prevent American reinforcements from moving into the vicinity. They would also protect Victoria from counterattack.
Baynes didn’t like it a bit. Ganges was next to useless. She should sail near Victoria harbor, to guard the town, the rest of the ships should stay together. Splitting them up invited defeat in detail. But the Governor thought he was a military genius and overrode any attempt at a sensible plan. He had also ordered Baynes to go with him on Ganges. He believed they would destroy the Americans quickly and wanted to be on hand to watch.
“Governor, many men here may be killed or hurt, I would not call that ‘a jolly good show.’”
Stung, the governor walked away silently.
GRAYS HARBOR
Captain Allen’s courier boat arrived at Gray’s Harbor in the afternoon. The bar at the harbor’s mouth caused enormous waves. Allen knew of the problem and braced himself. He was furious with the British. HMS Satellite had stopped them as they left Puget Sound, even though they were in American territorial water. He suspected the British to intercept him, so had not worn his uniform. After inspecting his ship they let him proceed, but it was an affront to his national pride.
As his boat bumped up against the side of Susquehanna he gave a curious glance to the men hanging
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chain over the sides of the ship. He could see Winslow on the deck above him peering down at him.
“Permission to come aboard Captain?”
Winslow grinned, “NO!”
“Fine, stand by to repel boarders!” Allen yelled as he began climbing the ladder.
A moment ladder he was on deck. Shaking Winslow’s hand.
“Good to see you TJ, this is Commodore Garibaldi, our new commander.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
“Pleased to meet you sir.”
The two men sized each other up. Commodore Garibaldi found himself looking at man of medium height and build, a beard shot with gray and a face weathered from years at sea.
“Well let’s get down to business,” said the Commodore, “what can you tell me about British dispositions and intentions? Let’s go to my cabin and discuss the situation.”
As they walked aft, trailed by Captain Winslow and a couple of junior officers Garibaldi asked, “Is this Harney character a complete idiot? My orders are to destroy the British fleet. He thinks beating the British will be like squashing a bug.”
“I’ll bet a week’s pay it is!” Piped up a younger officers.
Allen looked back over his shoulder, “I’ll take that, if you promise to pay me in pounds sterling.
“Sir?”
“Well that will our currency if we stir up the British Navy.”
“I agree,” said Garibaldi, “if we lined up both fleets and had a fired away they wouldn’t have to reload.”
They arrived at the Commodores cabin where a thick, heavily polished table held an open map.
Allen pulled out a thin knife, and used it for a pointer.
“They stopped me and searched my ship at Admiralty Inlet, just as we came out of Puget Sound. I had no identification as Navy, so they let us go on. Irritated me. We were in American Territory, but they don’t want anything heading going to San Juan to help Pickett.”
He pointed toward Victoria with his knife.
“The town is a beehive of activity, I’m certain they will make a move soon.”
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“What do you expect they’ll do.”
“If I were the British Commander I’d anchor Ganges off Victoria harbor as protection there. She’s useless for other duty. By the way Harney chewed out his aide for not knowing how many guns she has.”
“Which is?” Garibaldi asked.
“Seventy-two. She’s an old third-rate. No engines, hard to maneuver in tight water, that’s why I’d put her there.”
“I see.”
“I’d keep the other ships together. Their force of four ships would have our three badly outgunned. But they have Satellite guarding Admiralty Inlet, that leaves the other three to support operations on San Juan.”
“What do you think our response should be?”
Allen rubbed his beard thoughtfully, he was starting to like this Commodore.
“Well since you’re asking…”
For several minutes he spoke, gesturing at the map as he did so, discussing they lay of the land, currents, other factors.
When he finished there Garibaldi silently contemplated the map. Finally he spoke.
“You can do that?”
“I’m sure of it sir.”
“You’ve done it before?”
“Oh, no sir. I don’t think anybody has.”
“Well, it's your life. Get back there immediately and prepare for action. I will bring this fleet up in, say four days.”
“Very good sir.”
Allen saluted and left.
SAN JUAN ISLAND
WASHINGTON TERRITORY (DISPUTED)
JUNE 15, 1859
Lyman Cutlar awoke to the sound of laughter. Outside the cabin someone was finding something funny, the deep guffaws continued as he climbed out of bed. His Indian wife stirred slightly as he got up and went to the open window. He looked out to see Jacob, a colored servant from the Hudson Bay Company’s farm, astride a horse, pointing and laughing at something in his garden. Then he saw the pig. The big tusker was in his potato patch, rooting out tubers to its heart’s content.
“Damnit, “ he yelled at the black man, “I’ve told you people to keep that beast out of my garden!”
Jacob turned to look at him, then turned back to laugh at the pig.
Cutlar wasn’t going to stand for anymore damage to his property. The pig had been destroying his crops for days. He’d written the company, then gone to Belle Vue farm, the company’s outpost on the Island to confront Griffin, the manager.
They nearly came to blows.
The two men were a distinct contrast in dress and styles. Cutlar was a tall thin, unkempt Yankee with a wild beard. He’d been on the Island only a few months, he’d tried his hand at mining, and was hoping to hear about another strike. San Juan Island looked like a good place to wait until he heard of something better. Griffin, a short dapper Englishman, wore a business suit, in contrast to the American’s overalls. He had been here for years, working the Hudson Bay Company farm, and turning it into a respectable enterprise.
“That boar is eating me out of house and home, it's your obligation to keep your pig out of my potatoes.”
Griffin had responded with “It's your obligation to keep your potatoes out of my pig! And if you can’t do that stop squatting on company land.”
“That is not company land, it's mine under the Homestead Act.”
“Your Homestead Act doesn’t apply because you’re on British soil, you ignorant Yank!”
At that point two workers walked up.
“Need some help Mr. Griffin?”
“Show this lout back to his shack.”
“Don’t bother,” Cutlar growled, “I know the way.”
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And here was the pig, eating his ‘taters again.
He picked up his long Kentucky rifle, and stepped out the door. Lining the pig up in the sights, he pulled the trigger.
With a sharp BANG and cloud of powder smoke the gun spat lead. The pig fell with a thud. Startled and frightened Jacob took off at a gallop toward the company farm.
The next day, Cutlar was lounging in front of his cabin, although in later reports the British would refer to it as a shack. He saw Griffin, with several of his men coming up the sloping path toward him.
“You killed my pig!”
“Yes I did and I’m glad of it.”
“That was a prize Berkshire boar. It belonged to the company, you need to pay for it!”
Cutler thought for a moment. Perhaps, to avoid a fight he should offer to compensate Griffin for his loss.
“I can give you a dollar.”
Griffin looked as if his head would explode, he turned red, and huffed in anger. “I said that was my prize boar, how dare you shoot it and insult me on top of damage me?”
“I’d just as soon shoot you as that pig!” Cutlar was now also turning red.
“I demand one hundred dollars now!” Griffin shot back.
Cutlar laughed and spat at Griffin’s feet.
“There’s your hundred dollars.”
Griffin pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Lyman Cutlar, this is a warrant for your arrest, for trespassing on company land, and killing a pig, which was company property. Come with us.”
“You can’t arrest me! I’m an American.”
“And you’re on British soil. Come along, no need to make this difficult.”
Cutlar, surrounded by men with guns, gave in to the inevitable.
FORT BELLINGHAM
WASHINGTON TERRITORY
JUNE 19
Major George Pickett, 9th Infantry put the letter down. It was a petition signed by all twenty-five Americans on San Juan Island. They reported the arrest
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of an American citizen on trumped up charges. They took him to Victoria to stand trial. A British warship had landed troops on the island. The Americans were demanding protection. He sighed, tossing the letter to his desk.
The British refused to concede the island was American territory. The Treaty of Oregon specified the boundary was “The middle of the channel that separates the continent from Vancouver’s Island.” The larger and obvious channel was Haro straight, to the west of the Island. The British insisted it the smaller Rosario straight to the east of the Island marked the boundary. Now the dispute demanded a response.
“Who else has seen this?”
“No one, Sir.” Said Lt. James Forsyth, his aid. “But there are lots of rumors. And the mail packet has already gone south. “
“Well we have to be ready to act.” He looked again at the naval officer, “If we have to land troops, what do the British have to oppose us? Give me a run down.”
“Yes sir. They have two steam frigates the Tribune and Plyadies, each with thirty-one guns. The corvette Satellite, twenty-one guns, and the gunboat Plumper, twelve guns. Last is an old third-rate ship of the line, HMS Ganges. She mounts either seventy-two, seventy-four or eighty-four guns. Total of about two thousand men, although only about four hundred are marines able to fight on land. “
“What can we match them with?”
“USS Massachusetts is the only warship in Puget Sound.”
“Um twelve guns?”
“Thirteen, we’ve added a pivot gun forward.”
“James, what can we oppose the marines with?”
“Companies D and H of the ninth. About two hundred men.”
“Long odds, but as they say no glory in fighting when you have the enemy outnumbered. Prepare to send a relief expedition out to San Juan. Can’t have them arresting citizens on our own land can we.”
The two men jumped up, saluted and left with a chorus of “Yes sirs”
The dapper Virginian began composing a letter to General Harney in Fort Steilacoom, forwarding the letter from San Juan Island and outlining his intent to move his troops. He also sought reinforcements, both land and
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navy. He smiled as he wrote. For an ambitious officer sitting in a Godforsaken fort at the end of world was torture. The chance for action excited him.
FORT STELIACOOM
WASHINGTON TERRITORY
General William Selby Harney looked up from Pickett’s letter. It was several days old, the rumors arrived well before it. According to rumor, British authorities arrested a dozen Americans and burned their homes. At least some rumors seemed true.
“Pleasonton!” He bellowed. “Get your ass in here!”
Captain Alfred Pleasonton, Harney’s aid rushed in a saluted. Stood stiffly at attention, and wondered what abuse waited for him.
“Sir.”
Harney was a big man, over six feet tall, with blue eyes, red complexion, red hair (although starting to gray) and a temper to match. He had a full, unruly beard. Pleasonton, in contrast was small, and fair. Like many who knew him he hated and feared the General.
“I’m going to be calling for reinforcements to deal with this situation up on San Juan. I need to know what I’m up against. “
“Sir.”
Pleasonton stood at attention, trying to figure out what his superior wanted him to do.
“It says here that this ship Ganges has seventy-two or maybe seventy-four or maybe eight-four guns.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, which is it?”
“I’m not sure, I’m not a navy man, sir.”
“I’m asking the navy to send up ships from Astoria, I have to tell them what I need. Go find out how big this ship is now!”
“Sir.”
Pleasonton turned and marched out, “I’ll write the British admiral and have him clarify that for you,” he thought as he left the room.
Harney went to work. He wasn’t going to let those damned British push him around for one more second. He wrote out an order confirming the transfer of Pickett to San Juan, then set about marshaling reinforcements.
ABOARD SS JULIA
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The little mail ship chugged through the narrow passages of the San Juan Islands at four knots, its stern wheel thrashing the water into white foam. Astern the Massachusetts plodded along in their wake. Ahead, the little revenue cutter Jefferson Davis led the way, maneuvering around the rocky hazards. It was late afternoon and they were nearing San Juan Island itself and the planned landing beach. The land behind the shore consisted of windswept prairie, dotted by stands of timber.
Sergeants moved among the men, insuring completed preparations. Pickett nodded in satisfaction. His men were ready. He had nearly two hundred men on three ships, four cannon to take ashore, plus ammunition, food, tents, and the hundreds of other items needed to establish a post. The ships rounded a bend and he could see the shores of San Juan Island ahead.
Ashore Griffin watched from a safe distance as the ships stopped offshore. Longboats dropped to the water and supplies loaded. He watched teams of men, push the cannon onto the beach. Clearly the Americans planned to stay. He turned and scurried home, where he dashed off a note to Governor Douglas.
VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA
TWO DAYS LATER
AMERICANS INVADE SAN JUAN
Victoria Threatened!
Governor James Douglas set the newspaper down. And picked up his cup of tea. On the other side of his desk sat a dour man in the uniform of a Rear Admiral.
“Admiral Baynes, we must act immediately to protect British interests in the San Juan Islands.”
“Yes sir.”
“You are hereby ordered to proceed to San Juan Island and land your marine force. I believe a threat alone will convince the Americans to withdraw. They don’t have the stomach for a fight.
“Yes sir. I shall proceed immediately. May I have a free hand to prevent the Americans from reinforcing the island?”
“Certainly, I would not presume to tell you how to do your job.”
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“Thank you sir.”
“I would like to see your plans before you set out.”
“Yes sir.”
Baynes sighed as he left the Governors office. He knew that he was going to have a landlubber telling him what to do, no matter the promise.”
Douglas leaned back in his chair. It was time end the American claim to San Juan Island. A few years earlier, an American mob to San Juan Island in the middle of the night and rounded up a flock of sheep. They’d claimed they were seizing them to settle a tax debt owed to Whatcom county.
Before they’d set off on this expedition they’d fortified themselves with a good dose of whiskey. When they arrived at the island they were to drunk to collect the sheep. Their “tax collection” effort turned into yelling drunks wandering the island. Eventually, law officers from Victoria and Whatcom County managed to restore order.
But the diplomats had still reached a long-term decision. Well, he’d do it for them.
FORT STELIACOOM
Harney’s plans were now complete. The twenty-four gun steam frigates Susquehanna and Mississippi were on their way north from Astoria. USS Massachusetts after landing Pickett’s troops was sailing south transport more troops. All reports indicated the British were preparing a countermove, to put troops of their own on the island. He needed to be ready.
Pleasonton knocked and entered the room.
“Have you arranged more transport, and what we sending?”
“Yes sir, I have transport, the Constitution…”
“Good God! What is she doing here?” Harney interrupted.
“Not THAT Constitution, sir. It's a steamer. We have another steamer, the Northerner available. Julia, Jefferson Davis, and Massachusetts are on their way here. We are sending up companies A, C and I of the 4th Infantry and the 3rd Artillery. Five hundred men when they all arrive.”
“Very good, you shall accompany the men when they go up. I will need to stay here to coordinate command.”
“Sir.”
After a moment of silence, Pleasonton spoke.
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“Sir, if I may be so bold to speak, shouldn’t we wait for orders before rushing in all these troops?”
“Bah! General Scott won’t get my report for a month, it will take that much time for his reply to reach us. We can’t wait two months.”
“Yes sir.”
“See to the preparations. I want Pickett reinforced immediately.”
Pleasonton saluted and left.
VICTORIA
Douglas looked over Baynes’ plans. Baynes planned to land the men and build an encampment on the island’s northwest side. The Americans now occupied a camp on San Juan Island’s southwest shore. The Americans could not reach Baynes’ proposed camp in time to stop the landing. With luck, they might have time to dig in before the Yanks saw them.
Baynes planned to guard the Admiralty Inlet with the Plumper, to stop any ships coming up out of Puget Sound. The Tribune, Plyadies and Satellite would patrol the eastern end of the Straight of Juan de Fuca, to block the American ships that were undoubtedly coming up from Oregon or California.
“I don’t see the Ganges on this plan.
Baynes sighed, here it comes.
“Governor Douglas she’s unsuitable for work in confined waters. We’re better off without her.”
“Nonsense man, she’s the biggest ship in your fleet. Put her off that American camp. They get a good look at all those cannon and perhaps they might think twice.”
“Sir I…”
“That’s an order.”
“Yes sir.”
Baynes turned to his aid, “See to it.”
“Aye Aye, Sir.”
The aid saluted and left.
ABOARD USS MASSACHUSETTS
STRAIGHT OF JUAN DE FUCA
The little steam sloop chugged through the glassy water, making its way toward Puget Sound. Washington Territory had a reputation for rain and fog, but its inhabitants knew summer days were often beautiful. This
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was such a day. The sky was a clear blue, reflected on the water. Off the Port beam, the snowcapped peak of Mt. Baker rose into the air. Off the Starboard bow a pod of killer whales undulated gracefully through the sea.
A lookout called from the mast. “Ship approaching, Starboard.”
Captain Jacobson looked in the indicated direction and saw a small side-wheel steamer. But he could see guns sticking out a row of ports, and the Union Jack stood out sharply.
Signal flags fluttered up a line on her mast.
“Sir they are ordering us to heave to.”
“I see that. Maintain course and speed.”
“Aye Aye.
A few minutes later he heard a call across the water.
“Ahoy, Heave to.”
Nearby crewmen looked at Jacobson, who did nothing.
“Ahoy, heave to. You are in British waters.”
Jacobson called back, “I am in American waters, your order is illegal.”
Jacobson watched as flame and smoke erupted from a gun. A scream tore the air, followed by a large splash off the port bow. The killer whales flicked their tails and dove out of sight.
Forward, the crew of the pivot gun mounted in the bow had already manhandled it around to bear on the British ship. Jacobson walked forward, to stand near the gun captain.
“Shall I return fire sir?”
“Yes, put one across his bow.”
A moment later, the gun captain pulled the lanyard. A loud boom echoed across the water smoke enveloped the ship a minute before blowing away.
The crew watched the shell splash into water by the ship’s bow. The British ship quickly fired again, this time nearly hitting the Massachusetts. The British cabin repeated the order to heave.
“Are all the guns loaded?” Jacobson asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Let’s see what they do.”
He made no reply to the British command, but again ordered steady course and speed. The Brits reloaded.
A moment later they fired again, a single shot. This time the hull of the Massachusetts resounded with the heavy THUD of a solid hit. Breaking wood crackled.
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“FIRE!” Jacobson yelled.
The ship shook as the full six gun broadside let go, joined by the big pivot gun. Jacobson watched as at least two hits crashed through the side of the British man of war.
“Well, “ he said to no one in particular, “we seem to be at war.”
ABOARD HMS PLUMPER
Lt. Edmonds watched in horror as the American let go a full broadside. HMS Plumper was no bigger than the American, he was in no mood for an all-out fight, no matter what Governor Douglas wanted.
A few days earlier he had stood in the Governor’s office with Admiral Baynes, Captain Hornby and several other officers while the Governor had given them their orders. Douglas had wanted the Americans driven from the sea. Edmonds orders said to patrol near San Juan Island and run off any American that showed his face while the other ships prepared for action. Ganges, in particular, had needed her fouled hull cleaned.
But as they left, Baynes had put his hand on Edmonds’ shoulder and whispered. “Stay out of trouble. I’d like to settle this without violence, if we can.”
Now, here he was trying to act under conflicting orders as best he could.
“Helm,” he shouted, “bring us about. Make for Victoria. We’ll make a report and see what’s next”
“Aye Aye, sir.” The helmsman responded.
“Sir, our orders didn’t mention making reports.” Said his second in command.
“My orders, number two, are to make sure the Americans leave British waters. This one is leaving British water now.”
He nodded toward the American who was pulling away to the South.
“See, there he goes now.”
Aboard the Massachusetts Jacobson heaved a sigh of relief. The British outnumbered him and he wanted leave before another warship showed up.
VICTORIA
THE NEXT DAY
“You did what?”
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Governor Douglas had spent the last quarter hour yelling the same question at the hapless Lt. Edmonds. Baynes was doing what he could to intervene, to little effect.
“Sir, the American was leaving British territorial waters, I didn’t think it was necessary to risk the lives of my crew or damage to my ship, to do anything other than see him move on. It seemed the best thing to do.”
“Bah, you ran away. You let an American ship get away. Dismissed, I’ve no further use for you.”
After they left the Governor’s house, Baynes put a caring hand on the young Lieutenant’s shoulder.
“You do know you did the right thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, these politicians are getting us into hot water fast.”
“Yes sir.”
FORT STELIACOOM
THE FOLLOWING DAY
“You did what?” General Harney bellowed at Lt. Jacobson. “You let a British warship get away?”
“I wouldn’t describe it as that, sir. I didn’t feel that I should risk my ship and crew to fight a ship that wasn’t pressing for a battle.”
Harney waved, a gesture that took in both Jacobson and his immediate superior, Captain Allen, chief of staff for the North Pacific Squadron.
“Gentlemen, your job is to rid us of these British. I will not for one more minute tolerate their presence on American territory. Get out of here both of you.”
The two saluted and left.
As they walked away Allen looked over at Jacobson.
“You did the right thing. That man is trouble.”
“Yes sir.”
AMERICAN CAMP
SAN JUAN ISLAND
Dawn, a glorious time on San Juan Island. The air was clean, with a good salt smell, the sky clear. The early morning sun reflected off the water. In most directions mountains sprung from the horizon, to varying heights.
The Americans camped on a gentle slope above the island’s west shore. They enjoyed a good view to the
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west, stands of timber provided fuel and shade. It soldiers considered it “good ground.”
George Pickett was a happy man. His men set up a good camp. Roberts, the engineer built earthworks, and a great redoubt to protect it. The cannon and two mortars covered the beach. Soon, the camp would be a fort. His aide, Forsyth walked up to him and saluted, casually.
“Morning major.”
“Good morning Lieutenant.”
“Would the Major fancy an egg or two for breakfast?”
Forsyth had somehow found some hens and a couple of roosters. He had penned them, over the hill away from the water. He enjoyed gathering their eggs every morning. Mostly he gave them to the men a reward for had work. Pickett approved of the practice, it was good for morale.
“And to what would I owe this favor? Trying to get on the bosses good side? If so, it may work.”
Forsyth laughed.
“Well I now know what I need to do to get on your good side, Sir.”
“A man’s stomach is always a good start.”
“On a more serious note, Major, when may we expect reinforcement? The British marines are expanding their camp. They nearly equal us in number now. If they add to their numbers we shall have a problem on our hands.”
“Indeed.”
The British camped ten miles away, on the North side of the Island. So far, the two commands kept to their sides of the island.
“We should have help soon. Keep me posted.”
“Yes sir.”
“And James”
“Sir?”
“Over easy would be fine.”
“Sir!”
GRAYS HARBOR
WASHINGTON TERRITORY
Commodore Garibaldi paced the deck of his flagship, USS Susquehanna restlessly. He was tall, with a dark complexion. A mustache added to his dashing looks. He had found it necessary to pull into this nearly deserted bay for a few days to do more repairs on his two ships. He also expected to rendezvous with his chief of staff
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here, before proceeding North. Then he hoped he would have some solid information about the events.
He had arrived in Astoria only a week earlier, to learn a shooting war had started, catching the North Pacific Squadron unprepared. Such matters as maintenance, discipline, morale, and training did not interest his predecessor. Marine growth fouled the ships’ bottoms, no one had bothered to clean the bilges. The men were sick. He must prepare to fight in the little time available.
He had not liked his previous assignment, professor of tactics at the Naval Academy, and had asked repeatedly to return to sea. At the same time he’d also made a pest of himself around Washington, lobbying more money for the Navy from a reluctant Congress. His reputation as a ladies man sometimes added to his problems. Eventually they decided to send him to this backwater. This command brought him as far from Congress as he could go and still be in the United States.
Captain John Winslow, the ship’s captain approached him cautiously. The Commodore didn’t like the reputation he’d developed, he was not normally a taskmaster, but he’d had to drive everyone hard in his efforts to get ready.
“Come on over John, you look like you have something on your mind.”
“An idea, that might give us an edge if we must fight.”
“Go ahead, I’m open to anything that will help.”
“The harbormaster here has a large store of unused chain. They use it to link logs to tow them to the mill.”
“Yes,” Commodore Garibaldi responded, puzzled. Where was this going?
“We could hang lengths of chain over the sides of the ships, over the engine spaces. It might help keep out the British shot.”
“Won’t that make the ships a bit tender? Seems like added weight topside would make us unstable.”
“We can compensate with ballast, and this time of year the seas here are generally calm. I think we can handle it.”
Garibaldi nodded.
“I like it. Proceed.”
Winslow saluted and left to organize a work party.
VICTORIA
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Admiral Baynes stood on the dock and watching the his sailors load the ships. They carted all manner of stores aboard; shot, shell, powder, rifles, pots, pans, food, and the grog ration. The men of course thought the last two the most important. The Governor stood next to him, hands clasped behind his back.
“Should be a jolly good show, eh, Admiral?”
As Baynes expected Douglas gave orders in detail, most of which made no sense. Even though he expected it, still felt galled him to take orders from this man. Douglas concocted a silly plan displaying a total lack of knowledge of naval tactics.
The Governor wanted to put Ganges off the American camp to supply artillery support for an attack by the Marines. The smallest ships, Plumper and Satellite would patrol Admiralty Inlet, to prevent an American move out of Puget Sound. Tribune and Plyadies would patrol the straight of Juan de Fuca, to prevent American reinforcements from moving into the vicinity. They would also protect Victoria from counterattack.
Baynes didn’t like it a bit. Ganges was next to useless. She should sail near Victoria harbor, to guard the town, the rest of the ships should stay together. Splitting them up invited defeat in detail. But the Governor thought he was a military genius and overrode any attempt at a sensible plan. He had also ordered Baynes to go with him on Ganges. He believed they would destroy the Americans quickly and wanted to be on hand to watch.
“Governor, many men here may be killed or hurt, I would not call that ‘a jolly good show.’”
Stung, the governor walked away silently.
GRAYS HARBOR
Captain Allen’s courier boat arrived at Gray’s Harbor in the afternoon. The bar at the harbor’s mouth caused enormous waves. Allen knew of the problem and braced himself. He was furious with the British. HMS Satellite had stopped them as they left Puget Sound, even though they were in American territorial water. He suspected the British to intercept him, so had not worn his uniform. After inspecting his ship they let him proceed, but it was an affront to his national pride.
As his boat bumped up against the side of Susquehanna he gave a curious glance to the men hanging
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chain over the sides of the ship. He could see Winslow on the deck above him peering down at him.
“Permission to come aboard Captain?”
Winslow grinned, “NO!”
“Fine, stand by to repel boarders!” Allen yelled as he began climbing the ladder.
A moment ladder he was on deck. Shaking Winslow’s hand.
“Good to see you TJ, this is Commodore Garibaldi, our new commander.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
“Pleased to meet you sir.”
The two men sized each other up. Commodore Garibaldi found himself looking at man of medium height and build, a beard shot with gray and a face weathered from years at sea.
“Well let’s get down to business,” said the Commodore, “what can you tell me about British dispositions and intentions? Let’s go to my cabin and discuss the situation.”
As they walked aft, trailed by Captain Winslow and a couple of junior officers Garibaldi asked, “Is this Harney character a complete idiot? My orders are to destroy the British fleet. He thinks beating the British will be like squashing a bug.”
“I’ll bet a week’s pay it is!” Piped up a younger officers.
Allen looked back over his shoulder, “I’ll take that, if you promise to pay me in pounds sterling.
“Sir?”
“Well that will our currency if we stir up the British Navy.”
“I agree,” said Garibaldi, “if we lined up both fleets and had a fired away they wouldn’t have to reload.”
They arrived at the Commodores cabin where a thick, heavily polished table held an open map.
Allen pulled out a thin knife, and used it for a pointer.
“They stopped me and searched my ship at Admiralty Inlet, just as we came out of Puget Sound. I had no identification as Navy, so they let us go on. Irritated me. We were in American Territory, but they don’t want anything heading going to San Juan to help Pickett.”
He pointed toward Victoria with his knife.
“The town is a beehive of activity, I’m certain they will make a move soon.”
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“What do you expect they’ll do.”
“If I were the British Commander I’d anchor Ganges off Victoria harbor as protection there. She’s useless for other duty. By the way Harney chewed out his aide for not knowing how many guns she has.”
“Which is?” Garibaldi asked.
“Seventy-two. She’s an old third-rate. No engines, hard to maneuver in tight water, that’s why I’d put her there.”
“I see.”
“I’d keep the other ships together. Their force of four ships would have our three badly outgunned. But they have Satellite guarding Admiralty Inlet, that leaves the other three to support operations on San Juan.”
“What do you think our response should be?”
Allen rubbed his beard thoughtfully, he was starting to like this Commodore.
“Well since you’re asking…”
For several minutes he spoke, gesturing at the map as he did so, discussing they lay of the land, currents, other factors.
When he finished there Garibaldi silently contemplated the map. Finally he spoke.
“You can do that?”
“I’m sure of it sir.”
“You’ve done it before?”
“Oh, no sir. I don’t think anybody has.”
“Well, it's your life. Get back there immediately and prepare for action. I will bring this fleet up in, say four days.”
“Very good sir.”
Allen saluted and left.
