Sworn for Mackinaw Read online

  Eckert knew it would come to that, but would not permit the question to be put to him too early in the process, as though it was his duty to educate Oliver as to ships and the sea. He must have hoped some portions would take and the ship, over the years, would somehow benefit from the knowledge he imparted to its owner. Perhaps he was entirely right to do so, Oliver now acknowledged.

  Eckert pulled at his beard, looked out over the river as though he imagined the new sloop passing, regarded his boots and began. “I am not as yet convinced of the cause or the remedy for this early decay. The theory seems to make some sense, I suppose, but I have seen plenty of craft swim long and well from simple cleanliness, keeping the bilges dry and properly laying up and covering the deck in the winter.” Looking at Oliver directly, Eckert continued, “Oh, I suspect shoveling in some salt may not hurt, but it adds weight and I am just not ready to say it is necessary.”

  Oliver nodded, considered Eckert’s reputation. He could not fathom the builder advising him in a way as would detract in any manner from his own creation. He concluded he could trust his judgment. Besides, as replied Oliver, “Weight indeed and cost as well!”

  Spoken like a businessman, which both of them were. Eckert raised his eyebrows, nodded his head and the issue, like so many others, was thus put behind them.

  Through it all, Oliver recalled as he strode up the steps of the Pontiac House to take his dinner, he had settled upon ten years of expected service from the ship. If Friends Good Will carried cargo near six months a year, at three quarters capacity, adjusted for passengers (as were even more lucrative and expected to grow in numbers), he should break even in just over three years. Better yet, he could carry his own cargo for free and thus reduce the expense he was presently incurring in transporting inventory overland from the east. Settlers were arriving in steady trickles, but the trend was increasing and would continue. They would require materials to build and to set up housekeeping, or supplies to carry them further inland. Oliver’s heart was light, his purse heavy and his spirits soared these days. With William as Captain, that portion of theatre in respects to his competency in designing, outfitting and sailing ships was one aspect of business he could forever delegate to one far more capable and whom he trusted implicitly.

  That evening, just as William had predicted, the wind diminished and veered to the southeast. A neighbor called to inform Oliver that Contractor was sailing upriver, presumably for the dock outside the main gate. Oliver called to Mary, who in turn called to Bemose. Together with the children, they walked quickly to the banks of the river in time to see Contractor make her final approach, with many of the village already assembled.

  She had sailed a bit beyond perpendicular to the dock, turned to larboard, downwind, and loosely brailed the main within seconds. Both headsails were still drawing, set wing and wing in a diminishing breeze, and the current began to take effect on her beam. As Contractor sailed for the dock, she slid sideways slowly to the current. At first Oliver thought Contractor would dock larboard to the dock, or upriver with the current pushing her onto the dock. Soon, however, Oliver noted the current would carry Contractor downriver to where she could no longer make what he thought was her intended landing and he feared William had misjudged.

  Then Oliver realized that William had all along planned steering for the downriver side of the dock and was even now correcting for the current as Contractor drew near. Just as the bowsprit approached the end of the dock, the current and careful steering allowed her to slip, within that last length, precisely in to where, given her position and speed, both headsails slid down the stays. Instantly, a crewmember stepped from the starboard cathead to the dock with two lines, one leading outside the shrouds to the stern, and both were slipped over pilings with an elegance that caused onlookers to nod and smile in approval. Oliver had never seen a ship dock with such grace and he glanced at Mary and noted her pride.

  Oliver strode down the dock, extended his greeting to William who was yet at the helm. Oliver called to Eckert who was also on the dock, “Sir, I return your loan to me, last evening, of your boat.”

  Eckert glanced to the stern and noted Contractor was indeed towing his small boat as well as its own. He nodded to Oliver. “Mr. Williams, you have found an excellent Captain for my new ship.” Oliver looked to William on the quarterdeck but found William’s gaze fixed intently upon Bemose, standing next to Mary on shore. Bemose appeared pleased, not with the docking, for she had seen many such while sailing with William, but just in seeing him again after enduring an entire day of separation.

  The next four weeks were as busy for all involved with Friends Good Will as they were happy. Mary and Bemose, whenever time from the children and duties at home allowed, worked outside the walls. They helped villagers of varying origins, French, English, German, elsewhere in Europe or native to the Great Lakes, begin in making Detroit more than just a walled compound. Oliver concentrated on the commencement of his first season of commercial shipping. He consulted William near daily on budgets, provisions, the duration of passages and the commercial potential of other ports and villages. Oliver soon generated a large bundle of correspondence spread among all outgoing ships that called upon the villages and some canoes traveling long distances. He conferred with the United States Customs Agent, inquiring of laws, regulations and forms. He consulted his lawyer, Mr. Walbridge, and they developed contracts and manifests that William would use as Captain and lawful agent of the owner when in distant ports.

  The weeks were most intense for William. He spent long days at the shipyard, assisting Eckert with all decisions and some of the actual labor. He worked with riggers detailing stroppings, mousings, splicings and whippings. He decided upon systems for brailing and furling, diagrammed pin placements at the rails and marked the position of cleats as was possible before sea trials. He approved the design and purchase of sails, tar, resins and pitch, together with oakum and anchors and blocks. He was tough, discriminating, though fair and mindful that relationships are, over the long term, as valuable as the initial timely delivery of stores.

  William’s arrival in Detroit, together with Oliver’s backing and credit, increased activity among vendors throughout the region. A new ship was more than a major endeavor in its own right; it was a powerful statement in a community’s collective confidence in the future. The statement was bold and infectious.

  Still, there was time for William to come to know and form relationships within and outside the walls. Dinners, when he was not invited to Oliver and Mary’s, were frequently taken at the Pontiac House, where Oliver often stopped by to find him sitting with Samuel. Oliver was surprised, as Samuel worked intensely and rarely visited with customers. At first Oliver thought it natural, given their common interest in the sea and Samuel’s history with William’s father. Soon, however, he noticed William with others including, from time to time, riggers from the yard, drivers from overland haulers, the local gunsmith, and a new resident who claimed to be a carriage maker, but who as yet seemed to turn out little work. William made the obligatory introductions but Oliver soon noticed he had not as yet been invited to join.

  One evening in particular, in midMay, Oliver purposefully stood by the table just a moment longer than was customary in exchanging greetings. William, he surmised, remembered his manners, invited him to join and Oliver ordered a new round from one of Samuel’s daughters who was then conveniently passing. Oliver slid into a chair. William’s invitation to Oliver seemed to suggest approval to them all to continue their discussion.

  The carriage maker, Jacob McGinn, began, “As I was saying, Samuel, it is inevitable. We simply cannot much longer suffer such affronts. Why, the status quo has ruined the economy. Mr. Jefferson did nothing more than spite ourselves.”

  William remained silent but the gunsmith, John Wainright, took the bait. “As I have said to all who will listen,” and he took a long drink from his pewter mug, “if it must come, better now than later. Boney’s still causing grief, even a
fter Trafalgar, and if we are going to stand up to an empire, better to do it when the ‘Emperor’ is distracted.”

  Samuel nodded and looked to William. Oliver’s heart sank. Before his brother-in-law could join, as Oliver was fearful of what he would say, or more to the point what he had already said, he ventured a businessman’s perspective. “I will be the first to attest that business conditions along these Great Lakes were far better just a few years ago, and expansion and settlement were difficult with a prohibition on trade with our Canadian neighbors…” Oliver sensed his premise was too soft and kind for this crowd, so they would likely not like his conclusion, “… but if, as I suspect, you are speaking of bringing our issues to a crisis level with England, know please that it will destroy the Northwest and we,” and he gestured at each and all of them around the table, “will all be the losers.”

  With respect and some deference, Jacob said, “Perhaps some would lose more than others,” he concurred, but then countered, “were any of us indeed to lose at all.”

  Oliver smoked the veiled reference. “A fair point, Mr. McGinn. Perhaps my business interests are larger as I have been here some years. But make no mistake: hard work will yield you the same growth in as many years, if not fewer. Growth is the best medicine for our woes, not arms; and growth, by God, we shall see.”

  William noted Oliver’s comment about his years in the Territory was clever and telling. McGinn was a newcomer and was fervent, perhaps too much so among new acquaintances, to stand against Oliver’s reputation and credibility.

  Mr. Wainright, a resident of Detroit far longer than any of them, came to McGinn’s rescue with his typically blunt style.

  “Crisis level? Hell, I don’t even know what that means. We were speaking of what you, sir, prefer not to even pronounce: War!”

  Oliver felt his blood pressure rising even as Wainright turned red. The gunsmith continued, “Economics is just one consideration and, in my view, subordinate in all respects to principle and honor. While your purse may cause you to forget the Leopard affair, I assure you, sir, I cannot.”

  Mr. Wainright was referencing the incident of 1807 in which the H.M.S. Leopard, a 52 gun ship, detained the U.S.S. Chesapeake on the high seas, demanded to board, poured a broadside into her and ultimately removed several American sailors, proclaiming them lifelong subjects of the King by birth, which they disputed. Four years later, the incident still generated angry reactions from all Americans, whether they agreed on the course in consequence or not.

  Oliver’s glare caused Mr. Wainright to hesitate in lighting his pipe, thinking perhaps his comment had gone too far. All other’s noticed the hesitation as well and his distraction spoiled somewhat his hoped for casual gesture punctuating his insult. Oliver was not prone to violence and had no such precedence established for himself in the community, but Mr. Wainright had rarely seen such an expression of rage in a man that did not lead to a challenge.

  An awkward silence settled over the table. Samuel felt particularly uncomfortable witnessing a political discussion gone awry among his good customers. The fire crackled nearby, the conversations of other patrons, until then faint and mere background, now seemed deafening as those at the table were silent in order to hear Oliver’s reaction, as was his prerogative.

  Oliver cooled, at least in comparison to the fire, and a calm discipline settled over him as he often brought to bear in tense business negotiations. He began in a low, icy voice, though in no manner suggesting excitement or temper, “First, Mr. Wainright, you may not know, and I will therefore forgive you your ignorance, that my nephew serves aboard Chesapeake. At the time that you reference, he was in harm’s way in service of our nation, as opposed to your level of risk here in your shop, more than a thousand miles from the conflict. I am sure you did not mean to suggest I would ever forget such an affront made upon William’s son, James. Further, if war comes to the Northwest, as you seem to welcome, perhaps I was mistaken in my assessment that all present would lose. Indeed, it just struck me; none would deny that gunsmiths would be regarded winners, after all—along with undertakers.”

  Mr. Wainright turned even deeper shades of red, though this time from embarrassment rather than anger. He dropped his gaze to the table. His comment had been unfair and like it or not, Oliver spoke with such respect and credibility in the community that even if his rebuttal had lacked merit, which his own speechlessness seemed to suggest was not the case, Oliver’s standing combined with some valid points left Mr. Wainright no choice but to withdraw. “Oliver, I am sorry. My comments went too far. I did not recall your nephew’s service and all I can ask is that you believe my opinions are not entirely found upon any potential for gain, I assure you.”

  Oliver nodded, assenting to the apology, to everyone’s relief, and he offered, “I will leave you gentlemen to sort out our national problems.” He glanced reproachfully at William, stood and started for the door. William waited but a moment before swinging his feet down from a chair he had positioned to the side of the table near the fire and was two strides behind and moving faster than Oliver, catching him at the door.

  “I will take some air with you, Oliver.” William closed the door behind and they walked a few paces.

  Oliver offered, “Wainright has always been too blunt by half; still I thought it best not to call out a gunsmith.” A wry smile eased the tension.

  William counseled, “I actually have known craftsmen utterly inept in using the objects of their efforts. Still, for my sister’s sake, I appreciate now more than ever before your calm and wit. Well done.”

  Oliver nodded his thanks and offered, “William, it gives me joy to see you becoming a part of our community, truly.” He hesitated, then jumped in with both feet. “But really, I suspect that mix is ardent in their radical views.”

  Oliver was as yet shaking his head as William kindly reminded, “We are friends and relation but are not, I regret, of one mind on politics.” Oliver turned, beginning to object or lecture, but William stopped him, gesturing for restraint. “Now, recall, I did not speak of a desire for war. Still, I believe we are wronged and the status quo cannot continue. No matter how we feel, is it not prudent to read the horizon and prepare for storms? Would you want less in your captain? And no businessman I have yet heard believes the Embargo injured any interests but our own.”

  President Jefferson, in 1807, had in response to deteriorating relations with England put in place restrictions on trade with England. The measure was difficult enough for those on the east coast, as England was by far the United State’s dominant trading partner, but devastating on the Great Lakes, with Canada the only other nation adjacent to its navigable waters. The embargo strangled legitimate trade, hurting the United States’ merchants far more than the English, and instantly encouraged smuggling by creating a significant market for what was always needed but was now contraband. Shipping on the Great Lakes adapted quickly to the new environment. A sad circumstance with as many United States’ resources being devoted to enforcing the embargo against its own citizens as were devoted to defending against her enemies.

  Oliver sighed, acknowledging once again William’s pragmatism. “You may well be right, though I pray not. Still, must you fall in thickly with those hot-heads?”

  “We were taking dinner, not making up charges! And truly, while you may not agree, you will appreciate the foresight of others should events foreshadow your business plans and cause you to be taken by surprise.”

  Oliver changed the subject. “Still, thank you for your invite. I trust I did not cause you any grief.”

  William assured, “While I respect their views, the better of which unfortunately you did not hear this evening, Wainright crossed the line with that remark about you forgetting the Chesapeake. Surely, if you had not broadsided him, believe me, I’d have boarded him.”

  Again they smiled and William departed to return to his table and Oliver to his home. Oliver was as yet uncomfortable with William’s closing remark. Clearly, such t
opics seemed frequent among them and Oliver had rarely known William to be among any group of men and not naturally rise as among the leaders.

  In the next week, William rarely visited and Oliver explained to Mary that Friends Good Will was in her final preparations. Her interior, though not fully finished and smelling strongly of oils and whitewash, allowed more convenient and sufficient quarters. Understandably, Mary saw less of Bemose as well. The rigging projects had progressed to where the jibboom and spritsail yard was run out and set in place, the topmast was sent up and the yards were hoisted and swayed. Headsails were lashed on with wooden hanks, the main laced to the gaff, the parral beads strung and hundreds of details, from gaskets to ballast were made up, adjusted, trimmed and finished. Thoughts turned to spare timber, extra supplies and tackles to sway aboard that first cargo. From dawn to well past dusk, William was everywhere aboard, well aloft it seemed much of the time. Oliver found him in this latter spot one evening.

  Oliver brought with him many of the form cargo contracts and logbooks, hoping to meet with William, and was disappointed though fascinated that William was yet aloft, seemingly having moved little from where he was last observed by Oliver about midday. The night included a beautiful full moon and Eckert was yet at the dock. Oliver nodded aloft and asked, “Will he never come down?”

  Eckert replied, “We are struggling a bit with the main yard and the forestay. It gets a bit tight up there, but I suspect we will work it out yet tonight, at least temporarily.” Eckert must have sensed Oliver’s discomfort with that choice of words, for he continued, “Any new ship goes through a period of trial and tweaking. Each one is different and this rig is, in particular, rather loose and we shall play with it, I am certain, for well more than her first season. Soon enough, we all settle in to what works best.”

  Oliver had not really understood the particulars but appreciated Eckert’s confident tone. He asked, “Who is that assisting?”