Chesapeake Bay, The United States of America, July 1814

Jonathan stared over the saltwater bay that stretched out before him like an infinite lake. He thought of a lake because the water’s surface was placid and so unlike the wild ocean beyond. He stood at the estuary’s widest point, close to where the Potomac River disgorged its sweet watery bounty carried across thousands of miles from the inland. From where he stood, there was no chance of seeing the tongue of land that protruded from the American mainland on the other side of the inlet. It was beyond his field of vision, leaving only the slovenly lapping water before him.

In the distance, the first gentle hues of morning appeared on the verge of the horizon, stealing upon the darkness until it would gradually disappear. The advent of the day was so pure, so fine, and so ethereal – almost like a whisper. To Jonathan, it seemed as if Heaven were opening to the view. The dark mists of the twilight were seen to roll off to the west, as the tints of light grew stronger, deepening the obscurity of that part of the hemisphere, and quickly involving the topographies of the countryside below.

Meanwhile, in the east, the hues became more intense, dashing a quivering gleam far and around, till a ruddy glow, which ignited all that part of the Heavens, announced the arrival of the rising sun.

“The English are out there somewhere planning their next move,” said Jake, following his friend’s gaze.

“Aye, that they are and there is nothing we can do about it.” Jonathan hacked out a laugh. “It sort of reminds me of another situation.”

“We will be with them again,” said Jake, patting him on the back. Like his friend, he let himself be captured by the beautiful happenings of nature taking place before them. It was as if God was offering them a glimpse of his favorite production – a play of sorts, and a work in progress because each new day brought something new and yet unseen with it.

“The dawn sure is gorgeous,” said Jake.

“Yes, I can only imagine only one other thing that is more lovely,” said Jonathan, thinking of Amelia. He could picture her perfectly. He almost felt that he could reach out and touch her and run his hands through her thick dark hair. Their last kiss stuck to his mind like a branding; the memory cradled him to sleep every night and induced him out of bed in the morning. He needed to go to England and reclaim her no matter the cost.

With those thoughts, a small line of inconceivable splendour emerged on the horizon, which quickly expanded, until the sun appeared in all its glory on the horizon. It happened so slowly at first, but soon, the introduction of the protagonist in God’s little theatre became more forceful, unveiling the whole face of nature, vivifying every color of the landscape, and sprinkling the dewy earth with glittering light.

These happenings answered Jonathan’s internal ruminations – God was in agreement – he was to travel to England and soon. The two men remained silent. They continued to watch in awe of nature’s majesty. There was no need to speak for the low and gentle responses of birds, awakened by the morning rays, now broke the silence of the hour; their soft warbling rising by degrees till they amalgamated and swelled into a chorus of universal gladness. The two men’s hearts swelled too with gratitude and a sense of purpose, but more importantly, hope that they would be with Amelia and Anna again.

“Ye see, Brother! God is with us on this one; with such a beginning to the day, only good things can happen,” said Jake. “After all of the shite we have been through these past months, we deserve a bit of luck.”

Jonathan turned to look his friend in the eye. He looked tired. The events of the past months had been trying on them both. “The flotilla can do nothing against the British fleet…”

“That Rear Admiral Cockburn under the command of that Admiral Cochrane is quite the seaman,” interjected Jake. “They have the advantage over us, but that does not mean we are finished no matter where our fleet is trapped.”

“More so he is a warrior. He will fight to the end, no prisoners taken. They already have us where they want us,” said Jonathan with conviction.

“Well, lucky they made ye the commodore of the flotilla of gumboots then. Wait until the British face ye out there on the Chesapeake again, eh. I am sure ye have some plan up yer sleeve that ye haven’t told me about.” Jake emitted one of his customary throaty rumbles when he chuckled.

“I am grateful for your confidence, Jake. But ever since William Jones, Secretary of the Navy, put me in command of the flotilla at the end of April, we have been able to achieve very little against the British…and I very much doubt we will be doing anything else for the remainder of the war – we are all bottled up, my friend,” said Jonathan, sighing.

He let his gaze rest on a group of seagulls floating languidly on the zephyr. At that moment, he wished that he had the ability of flight for then he would fly to England and to Amelia. He saw visions of her every night. They made sleep elusive until exhaustion finally claimed him. It had been a hard time since their parting a few months ago. Only his patriotism and promotion to his present command had kept him sane. Now, it seemed even that was taken from him.

His sense of duty forced the image of Amelia that was threatening to fill out his vision from his mind. “That Cockburn is as elusive as an eel. He harries our coastline, sends incursions into Maryland without resistance and we cannot resist him.”

“They are a dynamic duo that Cochrane and Cockburn, you got to give ‘em that. Capturing Tangiers Island and using it as a base was genius. We can’t get to them because of their larger ships and they…”

“Can’t get to us because we withdrew up the Patuxent River in our shallow-draft-barges. And now, I have to move around on horse because the British blockade the mouth of the river. What a commander of a fleet of ships I am that I am reduced to transport on a horse, eh?” Jonathan chuckled, but his mirth never reached his eyes, which remained still and as steely blue as the sea beyond. “Already, they have laid waste to the towns of Calverton, Huntingtown, Prince Frederick, Benedict, and Lower Marlboro. And what did we do to oppose them – nothing.”

“Look on the bright side; at least ye have irritated the life out of those two British admirals when we escaped from that creek further south they had us bottled up in. The blighters outnumbered us seven to one and we still got up the Patuxent in time to get away from them,” said Jake, grinning. “The buggers must be fuming not to have caught ye.”

“It was daring to say the least,” said Jonathan. He thought a moment how he had led his ships out of the trap and out to sea. They avoided the British but not without losses. Two of his ships had to be scuttled during the attempt. However, they still made it to the safety of the River Patuxent and out of reach of the enemy.

And again, they were bottled up without a chance of escape. Also, the British had used the opportunity of the undefended creek to burn the towns there. Currently, they blockaded the mouth of the river, leaving Jonathan no opportunity but to lead his ships farther away from the sea.

“Aye, true Black Joe style that was. Reminded me of the days on the Triton. How I wish we could be sailing the open sea again, facing the English like we used to.” Jake exhaled deeply in memory.

“Yes, those were the days. But we have more trying matters to attend to, Jake…” Jonathan pressed his lips together until they formed an almost straight line. “How are we going to get our women back? I have been thinking about it a lot as of late.

“Ye have to be patient. It is said that the British reinforcements from Europe will be here shortly – I am certain of that. Now that they have defeated Napoleon, they are free to send troops out here,” said Jake.

“And these men will be battle hardened veterans. Already, the British regulars in Canada were bad enough, but these soldiers, tried and tested against the very best French soldiers, will strike the fear of hell into our militia.” A shadow of worry for his country crossed Jonathan’s face.

“Aye, but we will prevail as we always do. Ye said the other night that our country will commence negotiations with the British in Ghent, Belgium.”

“Yes, that is correct. But I do not know what will become of them. Currently, the war is at a stalemate. Of course, President Madison will be eager for the war to end. It has already cost a fortune, and we cannot go on for much longer,” said Jonathan.

“But the British must be in the same situation. They have been at war for more than a decade against the French. Surely, they have had enough as well.” Jake began to pace up and down on the grassy surface.

Jonathan stroked the muzzle of his horse as he thought. “One thing I am certain of is that the reasons for this war no longer apply.”

“Oh?” Jake stopped in his tracks.

“Yes. There is no further need for a European continental trade blockade, and also impressment of former British subjects into the Royal Navy is forfeit with the ending of the war with the French. Soon, the British will not need to maintain a fully commissioned fleet. The navy’s duties will revert back to policing the oceans and safeguarding their overseas possessions,” said Jonathan.

Jake arched his eyebrows. “That’s marvellous then. Ye have a good relationship with those politicians in Washington. Why don’t ye get yerself a position on the negotiating table in Belgium? Even I know that Ghent is a lot closer to Anna and Amelia than the flaming United States of America.”

The look on Jonathan’s face was incredulous. He was not doubtful, just dazed that his old friend had come up with the best idea since they had known each other. He slapped his hand on his thigh. “By Jove, Jake. You are a genius! Of course, that is the best way to get to Europe…” Jonathan’s mind started working hard in an attempt to find the best way forward. He would need to get in touch with his acquaintances in the highest echelons of government, but the plan just might work.

“It would be plain sailing to Europe. Even the British would never attack an American ship carrying diplomats,” said Jake, feeling proud that his idea engendered such a response from his friend.

The sound of galloping hooves soon brought Jonathan out of his brooding state. He looked up. A group of horsemen approached. “Are you Commodore Jonathan Mitchell, commander of the Chesapeake flotilla?” asked a young officer in the army as he approached.

Jonathan nodded. “I am he – what can I do for you, lieutenant?”

“I carry a dispatch from the Secretary of the Navy, sir,” said the young man, handing over a neatly packed pouch containing the document.

“Thank you,” said Jonathan. He took it and opened it, removing the contents. He perused the pages for a few moments before he looked up at Jake. “It appears we are to move the flotilla as far up the Patuxent to the seaport of Queen Anne and scuttle it.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “And then what?”

“After that, we are to join General Winder at his camp near Washington with the men,” said Jonathan.

“Oh, blimey, the British aim to attack the capital,” said Jake, immediately realizing what was afoot.