Sworn for Mackinaw Read online

  The cause for the sharp pain in his side was as yet a mystery, but the more constant, dull ache in his head was well understood. He lay there and marveled at the tiny shards of ice that encircled each blade of marsh grass just at or above water level. The browns were small particles of floating debris: organic material of dead grass, decaying leaves, split branches from twigs that were mud caked and soil encrusted to the extent the river had been unable to wash them clean.

  Before finding the strength to move, knowing well that motion would likely make his head ache far more than the receding pain seemed at present to be inflicting upon him, he focused upon a more symmetrical brown. It was of intelligent geometry, not the random and chaotic design of nature, but of man. The design was linear, though in more than one line, in varying distance from his perspective, soft, though assembled it seemed tight and intertwined. Gradually, greater acuity and increasing alertness provided the answer: hemp line. Rope; although he was beginning to understand the inherent folly in employing that term in certain circles. His focus widened to encompass lanyards drawing oiled deadeyes together, taut and strong, several in line with each other, some artfully served. The pain in his side was no longer tolerable. He shifted slowly, yes, that was better, and beheld something altogether new as he now looked skyward.

  An incredible sight presented itself. A ship’s hull: broad, sweeping, graceful with gradual arcs and curves. It was painted black and dark green with linear varnished strakes from which arose, majestically, a towering, oiled, bright lower mast. Accentuated near the top of the mast was a spindle of perpendicular, black cross members, and he puzzled as to its precise purpose. He had learned so much these past few months, and as yet was still a neophyte. More line, seeming to emerge from all points surrounding the hull, converging at several points, all with an algebraic or geometric relationship well above his abilities to explain, but all within his ability to appreciate as beauty and art. The mast rose more than 60 feet above him forming a cathedral of rigging. The rigging was a mix of tarred black line and the softer browns of hemp line, beautiful against the bright oiled mast set in a backdrop of bright cloudless blue. As impressive and beautiful as it was, it was as yet still obviously a work in progress. He knew for certain the best was yet to come. He lay there looking up, inspired and yet humbled.

  It was difficult for him to fathom. Despite the fact he was even now not fully alert, at least he comprehended his surroundings, and he knew this beautiful ship was his.

  “My heavens, Oliver, whatever are you doing in that tender?”

  The pain in his head seemed to approach near fatal as the unexpected voice, combined with his start, caused all his muscles to tighten. He wrenched his neck around to view the cause for this most rude interruption, instantly resolving never to make that motion again.

  “Good God, man, look at you. Your clothes all askew, your sleeve soaked in river water, unshaven, and pray tell, where is your right shoe?”

  Tender. That was it. Now he remembered. And the sharp pain in his side was the thwart at the bow, against which he had been sleeping for some hours as he lay on the floorboards. The ache in his head he also realized was caused by something altogether unrelated to ships, boats, line or gear nautical in nature. “Captain William Lee, I expected you much later. Indeed, your timing is most inopportune.”

  “Yes, terribly sorry, but having received a rather urgent note from you, my brother-in-law, suggesting you were, without any particular knowledge or background with ships and the sea, inviting me to help you sort out this new scheme of yours, let us just say my love for my sister required I travel in all haste.

  “Now that I mention it… my sister is, shall I presume, better cared for than it appears you have attended to yourself?”

  Oliver Williams took the abuse, knowing he deserved it and tried not to grin; his brother-in-law, William, was obviously enjoying himself and in need of no encouragement.

  “William, no gentleman would press his advantage in these circumstances. Pray, could you find the compassion to pick up that rope in that tall grass and pull me to shore?”

  “I have no compassion for any ship owner referring to a painter, a particular line for making fast or retrieving small craft, as ‘rope’. Still, I have come far, arrived early and if my efforts are not to be wasted we had best talk without the natural barrier of the River Rouge between us.” Captain William Lee located the painter, pulled Oliver Williams to shore, no more than a few feet, in the tender.

  “And yes of course, Mary is very well, as are your nieces and nephews.” Suddenly alarmed, Oliver quickly added, “You have not seen her as yet? Does she know where you found me?”

  “Relax, my friend. If you mean does she know of your circumstances,” he chuckled, “no, but why don’t you tell me your tale and I will determine if she deserves to be informed.”

  William extended his hand, pulled Oliver from the tender to the shore, his right shoe just located under the stern thwart. Oliver knew William was teasing and could be trusted, as they had trusted each other for years. While still grasping his helpful hand, Oliver turned, faced him and turned it instantly into a warm handshake. “It is very good to see you again, William. Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course, likewise,” smiled William. “Now let’s make you more presentable, before you attempt to make this all sound respectable.”

  Soon they were walking the dock, and William, at Oliver’s fervent request, was speaking softly as he beheld the ship while detailing his journey to Detroit.

  “Having intercepted your letter in Erie while it was on its way to Buffalo, and I to Frenchtown… Tell me, what is the thickness of the planks?”

  Oliver frowned. “I assure you, I have no idea, although it certainly took some time to steam and bend, and, oh, to be sure the expense of the saw pit, good heavens it seemed to take forever!”

  William stepped over from the dock to the rail, just aft of the larboard shrouds. “In any case, it saved time in finding me before Buffalo and with Contractor already heading west, well, you can imagine how many days that saved…”

  “How is Contractor rigged, William, and tell me about her owner. Is he finding cargoes?”

  Looking aloft, William confirmed, “She is a sloop as well, although it appears with less overall sparred length and less rake perhaps. Does Eckert know his business, as far as design, Oliver, or is this rake your idea?”

  Refusing entirely the invitation to bend his neck, for any reason whatsoever, Oliver admonished, “William, really, do you honestly think me capable or pigheaded so as to tell Eckert his business? Now, tell me about my business!”

  “Yes, sorry, of course business is brisk, many cargoes. Now, a jibboom as well as bowsprit! I must say, very impressive. You must consider a spritsail yard, mark me. Anyway, we made Frenchtown at dusk last evening and the crew will be engaged this day offloading cargo and taking on wine and what not, so I… What is your thinking of these double cargo hatches, Oliver? Your idea?”

  “Actually, I did have some input. While I know they may seem inconvenient in port, I like the options they may provide while underway and I perceive their division must strengthen the entire structure, so…”

  Taking his arm, William offered, “Oliver, I must say, you are learning and speaking with some conviction. I agree with you entirely!”

  “Really?” Oliver asked. “Well, high praise, William. I say, thank you…”

  Glancing over to the bulwarks, William confessed, “I rather think you made a hash of the pinrails, though. Clearly insufficient.”

  “Truly, William, I had little input there, although I am told what is it… bollards will provide…”

  “Bollards?” William asked, incredulous.

  “Well, perhaps not…” Oliver indicated to where a dockline was made fast.

  “Oh, you mean cleats, Oliver. Yes, you will need many and I suppose if employed with some forethought…” William’s voice dropped yet again, he stared aloft, squinted, seemed to be c
alculating and added, “Anyway, I took a horse through much of the night to arrive to find you in a most curious state.”

  Oliver confessed, “Eckert and his crew seemed to suggest yesterday was very significant and desired, no… really quite insisted, that I remain to celebrate the event.”

  “Really?” somewhat guardedly. “And pray tell, Oliver, what occurred to warrant such debauchery?”

  Oliver shook his head and pointed his finger, recalled, “My dear man, you lose all credibility with that word. I last saw you in the drawing rooms of Philadelphia and while that may have been four years ago, I still recall your attempted seduction of the Lady…”

  William fended him off with a gesture of surrender. “Yes, yes, my, that was an evening, but please, focus, Oliver, on my survey of your vessel. What exactly led Eckert to celebrate?”

  “Why, he, what did he call it, step… anyway, he stuck the mast in the keel, I—”

  “He stepped the mast! Oh, I would have loved to assist. Tell me, how did it proceed?” Oliver noticed the excited look in William’s eyes, like he had missed the main event and needed a detailed replay. Sadly, he knew he was not up to the task, but liked that look of excitement. Indeed, it bode well.

  “Eckert was pleased, taking it all in stride. Of course, at his age, most things, I think, are routine. Many in town are surprised, really, he took on the project.”

  “Well, it has been some years since Adams was launched and his reputation continues to climb each season the old snow is laid up yet again. But details, Oliver, how many tackle and how rigged?”

  As both descended carefully down the companionway, as the ladder was not yet finished, Oliver admitted, “Alas, you are well beyond me now, Captain Lee, although I missed the overall picture, standing in the hold as I was…”

  William looked around the unfinished interior, stepping casually from frame to frame between sections where the floorboards had not as yet been installed, “Did you assist in guiding her in her step?”

  “I cannot really say I was of much assistance, but all present seemed very pleased I was able to come up with a coin at the last minute…” Oliver followed, with more hesitation however, and less sure footing.

  William laughed heartily and the echo reverberated through the empty hold. “Of course, Oliver. Your tribute to Scylla and Charybdis, your prepayment for the journey to the other side.” He chided, “With your background, I trust you were generous!”

  “William, really, I had no idea what was going on, but I found a rather shiny penny—”

  “Penny!” William roared. “Oh, that will never get you over the river Styx!” He slapped him on the shoulder.

  “It was rather new, William,” Oliver offered defensively as they climbed back up to the deck. “Quite shiny for 1810; why think, just last year and already having made its way to the frontier! Imagine, William, what that signifies for growing businesses and commerce…”

  William seemed not to hear. He was gazing aloft once again and Oliver remembered his manners. “Honestly, William, forgive me. Here you are, fresh in Detroit, having rode all night. You must be famished. Let us take some breakfast! We can return to the ship after you stop home and visit with Mary and the children. Of course, now, tell me, how long do you have?” He tugged at his arm. William’s fixed gaze aloft was vicariously hurting Oliver’s head. He certainly hoped no further question would necessitate him bending his still aching head and neck.

  William acceded at the suggestion of food. “Yes, surely. That will brace us up. Unfortunately, no more than a few hours. Contractor departs with the first favorable wind, after we are trimmed.”

  At that moment, a church bell tolled and Oliver recalled, “Oh, of course, St. Anne’s. Sunday morning. Mary and the children are called to Service. Well, we have at least an hour.”

  “Is there a public house open at this hour?”

  They stepped from the caprail to the dock and turned toward the town. “Captain Lee,” Oliver said, “let me introduce you to the Pontiac House. Excellent fare, as is my credit. Some fresh warm bread will help set me right, I am sure.”

  The shipyard, adjacent to the south east wooden walls of the growing village of Detroit, now in 1811 under its third flag, was entirely deserted after last evening’s prolonged celebration. The two men slipped inside the village walls and strode casually down earthen streets and the occasional wood boardwalk. Oliver took a shortcut down a path between two houses, along their rear fence line containing chickens and a pig and came upon a small, but well cared for, clapboard sided, cedar-shaked two story log cabin. It had been improved with a front porch, siding and glass windows. William noted it must do a good business to boast such improvements. He had frequented much more basic establishments.

  A carved sign with red painted letters hung from the porch: The Pontiac House. A crude but well intentioned likeness of that famous native leader was set in relief with accents of deep reds, browns and black feathers. The sign required Oliver to stoop under so to gain the heavy planked front door, nearly too narrow for his significant girth. Captain William Lee had no such difficulty with his shorter, leaner frame.

  As Oliver depressed the latch and swung the door inward with a subtle touch that revealed his familiarity, smoke accented with the aroma of bread and bacon grease spilled forth overhead from the large open cook fire in the rear of the structure. William realized he was indeed ravenous. He last took a meal aboard Contractor the noon before making Frenchtown, and he reminded himself he must begin to consider food as something best taken regularly; a practice landsmen seemed to have mastered and ship captains regarded, like sleep, as luxury.

  “Samuel, come, greet these poor sinners,” called out Oliver cheerily, “but thank God that we grace your establishment rather than Sunday service, for if not for us, your business would be all too slow this morning.”

  The proprietor, who William assumed was a casual acquaintance of his brother in law, was, despite his surprise, already intercepting their progress toward a table next to the small fire in the front parlor, as though he knew the course Oliver would set. “Mr. Williams, so good to see you at this early hour. Pray, how did yesterday’s ceremonies close?” He looked quickly but closely at Oliver, scanning him aloft and alow. “Satisfactorily, I assume?”

  William liked Samuel instantly. This man, old but lean, who moved slowly yet with intelligent efficiency and a strength well beyond his age and size, was subtle. He was taking stock, poking fun, noticing Oliver’s clothing had not shifted, he would guess, from the day before, while at least pretending to flatter his customer with care, concern and respect. No, William decided; the care and concern were sincere. The respect; most often.

  “Yes, Samuel. I must thank you for the hog’s head last evening. I fear we would have faced a most awkward interruption but for your troubles,” Oliver told him.

  “No trouble, and I gave you my best price, being a special occasion and all. The sloop looks most handy, Sir, with the raked mast and jibboom. We are all excited for you.”

  As they took their chairs, Oliver gestured to his guest, “Thank you, Samuel, and may I present my brother-in-law, William Lee.”

  “Welcome, Captain Lee”, Samuel replied with some emphasis and with a slight bow. He took out his knife, trimmed the wick of the table lantern and then slid the unusual blade and served handle into its leather sheath on his belt, hidden by his apron. That was all William needed to see. He tensed instantly, focusing intently on Samuel’s eyes, searching his recollection while buying for time until his hand came to rest upon the handle of his own blade.

  “A bosun’s knife, Samuel, and a wick trimmed as neat as a cut splice. I do not recall the face, however. You seem to have the advantage.”

  “Well, Captain, we have never met and I haven’t served since the Revolution, on Lake Champlain, upon a gondola, or small sloop. She was christened Lee, in fact, as coincidence would have it. Named for a relation, perhaps? I am familiar with Contractor, however, and have admi
red her trim from shore these past seasons with you in command. The occasional seaman stops in for a dram from time to time and I try to keep current, as a hobby.”

  Oliver seemed to be enjoying the unanticipated turn in the introduction. William eased just a bit. “I have heard of the vessel Lee, captured as I recall, let me think…”

  “Yes sir, at Valcour Bay. Regrettably, with me yet aboard, knocked on me ‘noggin by a falling block and I awoke in irons: 13 October, 1776. That alone is of little interest to you, perhaps, Captain, but permitting my interference just a moment longer,” he glanced at Oliver who nodded for him to continue, “I resolved long ago as I witnessed your sloop glide by that if our wakes ever crossed, I would tell you just this.”

  William sat erect, at full attention, awaiting a broadside or a favor, he had no clue, though his hand was no longer near his blade.

  “Your father was one of the finest men I ever knew.”

  Samuel’s comment struck hard, and the pregnant pause Samuel deliberately employed did not increase in the least the already dramatic effect of those words, however delivered. While William was still recovering, Oliver interjected, “You knew William’s father? Pray tell, how?”

  Samuel’s next revelation, made as he gave each a spoon, Oliver’s with a bent handle, surprised Oliver more than William, who by now foresaw the possible connection. “Aboard the Jersey.”

  William supplied, knowing the explanation was well beyond Oliver, without taking his eyes from Samuel, who met his gaze: “Jersey was an English prison hulk, moored across the river from New York.” Samuel nodded solemnly. William continued, “A barely floating hell, from which few survived and fewer still recovered… my father among the latter. With no heat and little food, poorly dressed men succumbed to disease, or lack of hope…” William’s voice trailed off, or perhaps choked a bit.