Sworn for Mackinaw Page 4

  Oliver’s gay mood went instantly grim. He thought of young Mary—now his wife. He thought of William, her brother, and the rest of the children going without a father for so long, only to have him return a broken man after years of abuse. He of course knew of his wife’s pain, but he had never before spoken to William about his experience and feelings. He took for granted the reason, apparent to him for so long, as to why William so deeply resented the English. He also knew it was not the only reason.

  Samuel once again apologized for his interruption, even as he was interrupted with a call from his wife in the kitchen, and concluded his revelation, “Captain Lee, your father cared for me well, as conditions permitted, bucked me up regular, he did.” He shook his head as though recalling just the previous day, “and you can well understand, therefore, why your breakfast this day is on the Landlord of the Pontiac House. If I can do anything for you while in Detroit, please seek me out.”

  “Thank you, Samuel. Your comment touches me deeply and I appreciate your gesture and your offer.”

  As Samuel walked away to bring each the best drink and meal in the house, Oliver called, “You have never mentioned this to Mary?”

  “Why, no, Mr. Williams, why would I do so?”

  “I thought perhaps you knew. William and Mary are siblings.”

  “No sir,” Samuel retreated. “Well, imagine that…”

  Oliver turned to William, still thinking, he was sure, of his father and recalled, “Mary has actually heard similar sentiment from other veterans, did you know?”

  “Yes, and I as well, occasionally, although less frequently of course as the years pass. Between my father and Rachel, I sometimes wonder, Oliver, what I ever did to the English monarchs to deserve their wrath.” He grasped a mug of rum, just delivered by one of Samuel’s daughters with a loaf of fresh, warm bread.

  Oliver was not shy and tore a large piece from the loaf instantly, indicating by gesture for William to begin as well. Before taking his first bite, Oliver reflected on William’s mention of Rachel. Rachel was William’s wife. The circumstances of her death, in 1796, caused William to blame all things English and only very gradually, over many years, did reason and objectivity prevail over the bitterness and hatred. Now, he offered quietly, “Indeed, you have cause, far more than most, and yet I am pleased to see you doing so well, as I always knew you would.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, kind words and optimism, Oliver. You are correct, of course, in your implication despite your polite silence. After so many years, it is best not to dwell on the loss of loved ones.”

  Oliver changed the subject, drawing his friend from the edge of hopeless recollections, “How is James?”

  Oliver observed William as he took a moment to recover from his first hot mouthful of thick stew, barely set upon the table before the tempting smell caused him to take a large spoonful. He opened his mouth in an effort to cool the burning sensation, exhaled a couple of times and determined to answer the inopportune question, “I received a letter just around Christmas,” William recalled, smiling. “He is yet serving aboard Chesapeake. He was rated a topman last year and reports to be learning much. The Mediterranean agrees with him, I think. Of course the excitement is largely over concerning those Moorish pirates; thank God he missed that!”

  “If I know your son, I suspect he’d disagree.”

  William smiled. “Aye, full of fire, he is. I can tell from his letters. Still, he’s maturing, that much is obvious as well.” Then, with pain in William’s eyes, “It is hard to imagine him a young man of 15.” Another gulp from his mug. “We have missed so much.”

  Oliver consoled him, “You had no choice, William. With Rachel gone, your career in the Northwest, you did best by leaving him with Margaret. And look how proud you are of him!” Oliver instantly turned his attention to a large chunk of meat, or potato, which had fallen on his lap, hoping not to further diminish his rather ragged appearance.

  William smiled at Oliver’s concern for his coat. “While all that might be true, still, to have had it otherwise… I admit sister Margaret was a godsend. And James drew so close to his cousins. Raised properly in Philadelphia, he was. That was needed, I think.”

  “Certainly. And his enlistment, William, when does that run?”

  “I am not certain and he himself may not be. It could be as early as this fall.”

  “Really! Will you see him then, do you think?”

  “I do hope as much, near above all things.” The stew and fresh warm bread slowed the conversation. Samuel and his daughters tended to others as St. Anne’s service ended and business increased. The crackling warmth of the fire seemed to warm both men’s spirits. Soon they were laughing and recalling their times together in Philadelphia, four years ago when Oliver last saw James and first saw Mary.

  In one such pause, speaking of William’s positions with various merchant ships on the Lakes, Oliver, fully aware of shoaling waters, ventured forth, “William, tell me, at last, of Hope.”

  William shot him a glance leaving little room for encouragement; still, Oliver pressed, “You spoke about her only once, briefly, in Philadelphia and then well past drunk. I let it pass. Too soon, I thought, but here we are, four years later, 1811 and its time to share the tale. Whatever happened?”

  William stared at the fire for a moment. “It is hard to…” He stopped, looked beyond Oliver, imagining those days, some six years ago. He grew grim and said softly, “Have you ever seen men frightened, not of the wind, not the sea, not the infirmities of their ship and certainly not of themselves, or even the enemy, for that matter, but rather, of their leader, the Captain? The one man invested with authority over them more directly manifesting itself than God, and indeed, like God, the one they should turn to in trust for their safety, secure in his benevolence, when in fact, this Captain, with near unlimited power over them, lacked all skill, judgment and concern? Imagine your world with a vengeful, foolish, incompetent divine influence hawking over every detail of your life! That was life on Hope. For me, just a week. For some of the men, years, with little chance for transfer. And with each day was doubt and uncertainty as to when that power, corrupted in so many ways, would take aim at any one of them for reasons so trivial and bazaar as to be perfectly random, so it would seem.”

  Oliver listened silently as William vented. His opening comments imparted few facts and William still owed an answer to the question put to him as to whatever happened.

  William drew another breath. “Incapacitated by drink, his judgment and memory clouded, his fears exaggerated and enlarged ego much too frail, he took no liking to me from the start. Later, in the northern reaches of Lake Huron, along the southern shore of those islands as we approached DeTour passage, I rested for a time just after midday and was awakened to find the watch had held their course far too long. And badly at that: making shameful leeway and pinning us against a rocky lee shore in a rising wind and sea. Within minutes, we struck and sank. I heard years later one man died, Sullivan. I last saw him shaken from his grasp on the boom, sent plunging headlong into an oncoming breaker.”

  “William,” Oliver responded quietly, “life aboard a small ship in those circumstances sounds horrid, indeed, and know, of course, that I am entirely sympathetic. But certainly the wreck of Hope was neither your fault nor your responsibility. I have sensed, frankly, you are running from the incident. From your description, whatever for?”

  William finished his stew and continued, “Some minutes before the wreck, I sought out the Captain, Lieutenant Fleet, Royal Navy.” With disdain in his voice, he added, “I found him, in his cabin, attempting the rape of a female passenger, oblivious to our peril and in a violent drunk. Just as we struck, I… well… I suppose any courts martial could fairly conclude I raised my hand to the Captain and then some,” he half smiled. “We struggled. I did not kill him, although I should have. After the survivors reached shore, the last I saw of and heard from him he was swearing he’d preside over my hanging. Obvious
ly, I had to… shall I say, depart the Ship’s Company and with no proper papers. I am sure that somewhere in Kingston, Montreal or Whitehall for that matter, I am listed as a traitorous deserter.”

  The last words hit home. William had these years been dodging a trial for a capital offense, punishable by death, throughout an all too near neighboring empire in circumstances where interaction was all too frequent, especially on the Lakes.

  “Yes, I know, Oliver. You wonder why I remain here, along the border and so near to those whom I may someday unavoidably encounter at a windless anchorage or a shoreside tavern. Well, it has been some years, who knows how those who knew me then as a Sailing Master have scattered? You may also recall I did attempt to distance myself for a time, in Philadelphia, although you knew not why. Anyway, that did not work out, and with tensions as they are on the high seas and with impressement and all, I fear I would be in more danger as Master of a Coastal trader.”

  Fair point. Oliver nodded, looked him in the eye, held his gaze and assured, “It matters not a stitch to me, William. Thank you for telling me and know that by doing so you have one more guardian upon whom you may count, at anytime, for anything.” William nodded his thanks and they clinked their mugs in a gesture of solidarity. Oliver then started, “My Goodness, let’s us get home. Mary and the children will be delighted. I hope you can feign hunger; brace yourself for another breakfast.”

  “As I recall Mary’s cooking, obviously having a positive effect upon you, I assure you there will be no feigning an appetite.”

  As there was no account to settle, both Oliver and William caught Samuel’s eye, nodded their thanks and surrendered their table. The fresh air, warmer now with a breeze building, hurried them along the side streets and alleys as they tacked their way to the northeast side of the walled village, closer to the Detroit River. Along the way, Oliver took William’s arm and said warmly, “My dear William, my sister’s brother, I have a proposition for you and I must be quick about it. In another few steps you shall be in my home and I’ll ne’er get another word in, I am certain.”

  William looked over, caught his eye and his glance inferred that Oliver continue. “You see, William, my business plan is sound, as is my vessel, but for the fact that I am at an utter loss as to how, or who, rather, will take it to the next level. Now with my sloop swimming high, I find myself in very deep waters. Please, would you consider, as a favor to me, bringing your considerable skill as Captain to bear exclusively for my sloop?”

  William stopped in the middle of the street, causing a horse and rider to detour abruptly and startling Oliver. He looked away for a moment to the River, considered briefly, and replied, “Why Oliver, that is an excellent idea! Surely, I am comfortable with Contractor and her owners, but really, I would be most excited at the thought of a new speedy sloop. Seeing you, Mary and the family is even more encouraging. Thank you, truly.”

  “I want you to know I will take no advantage of our relation, William, and I will improve your situation, I assure you, as compared to that you enjoy with Contractor, no matter what it is. I will give you complete autonomy over all matters nautical. All I must reserve are the destinations and cargo, you understand.”

  “Well, that is reassuring, and I’ll have you know I will take advantage of our relation at every opportunity!” William strode off having fired the last shot, as usual, and causing Oliver to consider for a moment if he was joking. It was just long enough for him to fall behind and he was forced to catch up. William liked to lead and Oliver had never grown used to following.

  Half a block later, after slapping each other on their backs and congratulating each other on their new common cause, Oliver steered a course to a two story federal. It was white-washed and black shuttered with a painted two-pillared porch and side and rear curtilage and carriage house. “A very handsome home, Oliver. Your stores must be doing well.”

  “Thank you, William. With the growth in the Northwest, the most difficult part is keeping the shelves stocked!” As Oliver swung open the door, he was sure William caught the import of his next phrase, “Hence, my need for the sloop…”

  Then Oliver stood laughing as he watched William’s world instantly change with the opening of that door. Mary, loaded and primed for a broadside ranging from demanding explanations of her husband’s whereabouts to his missing service, stood down instantly at the surprise of seeing her brother William. Her face suddenly joyful, she cried out, ran from the rear kitchen and flung her arms around him. Oliver called to the children, “Ephriam, Anne, Daniel! Your uncle William has arrived early. Come and bid welcome!” Family appeared, it seemed, from every room. The rear door slammed, running feet pounded on bare wood floors, occasionally muffled by rugs, and soon William was overcome by gleeful children all talking at once.

  Gradually, the din subsided, questions were answered, assurances extended amid some teasing, and compliments were exchanged all around. The confusion gave way to some structure once again, with the best of manners and intent. William was rushed to a chair and all gathered around a large dining table. Adding to the crowd of family, there was a negro cook and a native boy with his mother, who hung near and attended to the children, all three as curious of his arrival as was Mary.

  The food was plentiful and excellent. William enthralled them with stories of his many voyages and ships since Philadelphia, adding more detail to the accounts barely touched upon in letters, and soon the family took the time to explore important topics in depth: politics and the tensions with England. William and Mary spoke in a bold and rash manner, finding disapproval from Oliver. Mary spoke of their sister Margaret and other relations in Philadelphia, and other news from the east. She filled William in also on the work she had begun in improving relations with and the conditions for the local natives. Oliver announced, with great fanfare, the excellent news that “Captain Lee, formerly Master of Contractor, was now employed exclusively for the growth and good fortunes of Oliver Williams and Company.” The cheers were enthusiastic and warmed William’s heart.

  As Mary excused herself to refill drinks from the kitchen, William stole the moment to make arrangements with Oliver. “I should like to return within days. I will quit Contractor in Detroit.”

  “Would that be sufficient notice to her owners? Do not fear; I understand if you feel obligated for some time.”

  “That will really not be necessary. The Mate is most capable and we have been looking to do him a good turn. This opening in Contractor will work out for all and save the owner some wage in the bargain.” William explained. “Besides, we have at least five to six weeks, I garner, ahead of us in rigging and fitting us out. Let us not squander our first season!”

  “Oh, that she could carry cargo so soon! I have much to do as well, now that I can concentrate on matters beyond the shipyard. Why there are agents to engage, advertisements to post…”

  “I should like to warn, though, Oliver, that I will not be returning alone.” He looked into Oliver’s eyes, which instantly warmed at the implied suggestion.

  “I should hope not, my friend. It has been too long.”

  “Well, thank you, but perhaps not as long as you might think. She is a native woman, a Matawan. I have known her some years now,” William confided, somewhat guardedly.

  “William, I assure you, there is no need for hesitation in this house. I am glad to hear of this and I am certain Mary will be as well.”

  Just three hours after those first joyful greetings, in a rare pause, William checked his watch and despite Mary’s visible pain and Oliver’s regret, announced he must return to Frenchtown before the first favorable wind. As he called from the porch to the children, bid a polite good bye to the others assisting the family, both he and Oliver exclaimed together, “The horse!” They had forgotten it at the shipyard. Mary chided it was just like a sea captain to lose his horse and William assured all it was just a quick walk and for none to follow him on his embarrassing errand of retrieval. Mary, with one arm around Oliver, h
ugged William with the other as the men shook hands one last time. William leapt from the porch as from a caprail, in the finest of spirits.

  Several strides down the street, with Oliver and Mary still tracking his swift departure from the porch, William whirled around and inquired, “Oliver, what’s her name?”

  Mary was puzzled, but Oliver understood instantly.

  He smiled and called back, grandly, for half the town to hear, “Friends Good Will.”

  William glanced aside for a moment, considered as though surprised, broke into a broad grin and confirmed, “An excellent name. Indeed, she will be!”

  Chapter 3

  An evening of rain, though washing the streets, left the cobbles slick. The horses slowed and the driver instinctively leaned into the tight turn, the wheels of the coach sliding slightly before catching within the seams between each stone. The driver drew in on the reins as the narrow lanes turned into trash littered and crowded alleys. The din of coach wheels scraping, hooves clattering and the driver exhorting his team subsided. The coach stopped just before the front door of a well-worn clapboard building. Her Majesty’s Arms was carved above the three dimensioned figure of a well endowed maid with a welcoming smile in a sheer blouse; arms extended offering pints of ale.

  The locals scattered. The coach was exquisite, with deep rich maroon paint, a gold-leafed coat of arms and warm, naturally finished trim. Even wet and mud-splattered, it shouted authority. Young boys picking pockets, old sailors barely conscious from a full year’s pay spent on a few day’s leave, women plying the trade, bouncers, pressmen, gamblers and thieves; they slunk into shadows, behind barrels, or inside nearby doors, if not the Arms. Overhead, the topmasts and jibbooms of ships laying quayside bore testament of the only life offered in these quarters: years at sea with comparatively few hours wasted, all within the shadows of England’s wooden walls.

  The driver dismounted with a crack of his boot heels on cobbles and then a whisper at the window of the coach before wheeling and striding inside the Arms. Those yet game enough to observe, peeked out, murmured to each other, and those too drunk or desperate to see for themselves, when assured they were not sought out, carried on unimpressed.