Sworn for Mackinaw Read online

  William was working with someone aloft, but with his back to them and both crunched in so close amid the cross tree’s stays and main yard, it indeed would have been difficult to make out identities even in daylight. Eckert’s tone changed, becoming somewhat defensive. “I truly do not know. Not one of my men. William has had him working the past several days. Calls himself ’Trove‘.” Eckert’s tone suggested this was not his real name. Oliver was puzzled and Eckert seemed reluctant to say more, as though he had already said too much. Eckert liked William a great deal, Oliver knew, and he could tell Eckert was now anxious that maybe he had let his frustration get the best of him.

  Concerned but playing it calmly, Oliver casually asked, “Do you know his real name?”

  “No, sir,” replied Eckert, “but I suspect and have heard he is one of the Morris family, from the swamps at the delta of the St. Clair River. Captain Lee only said that as Trove will be one of the crew, he needs him to learn the rig, and assured me his wages were not on my accounts.”

  Oliver flushed with anger, but the night, even with the moonlight, hid it well. “Morris?” he asked.

  Eckert shrugged, “Well, perhaps not, sir.”

  Oliver strode across the gangway and deck, swung his large frame down the companionway and, despite the near total blackness, found the small captain’s table in the wardroom and deposited the papers and books. He was off the ship in an instant, bid Eckert a polite goodnight, and strode off quickly through the gates in the general direction of the Pontiac House. He tried disguising his upset and wondered along his brisk walk, charged with frustration and concern, whether he had succeeded.

  Oliver took a pint and some quiet contemplation at his favorite table by the fire. The dark mood evident on his face warned others to give him a wide berth. Settling upon grim resolve, Oliver walked home, strode up the front porch, swung open his front door and instantly sought out Mary. It was time for a talk.

  He found her in the parlor, surprisingly with William and Bemose. So be it, he thought. Better now than later. The greetings were cordial and he could tell Mary was enjoying the visit. If William had been warned by Eckert of Oliver’s concern or reaction, William gave no clue.

  Oliver began, “William, tell me of the crew I understand from Eckert you have found.”

  Only Mary, at this point, detected the edge to his voice. William replied, “Aye, a first class waterman from the lowlands and marshes on the north shore of Lake St. Clair. Seems to know his business about the rig and understands commerce as well.”

  Oliver thought the last recommendation just too ironic to allow for a measured approach. “Commerce!” he laughed. “He certainly should. Indeed the only thing with which he may be more familiar is the territorial gaols throughout the Northwest. As for the commerce—were only it legal!”

  Most telling, only Mary and Bemose appeared surprised by Oliver’s tone and sudden shift in the conversation. William betrayed nothing. Oliver continued, “He is a Morris, is he not? The Morris family of that region are renown smugglers and radicals. They have been troublesome and lawless since Pontiac’s rebellion; am I not correct?”

  William sighed and admitted, “Some would swear to it.” He reminded, calmly, “I did not engage the entire clan, just one; who, to my mind, knows his business.”

  Oliver could not let the opportunity pass. “It is precisely his knowledge of certain business that renders him entirely unsuitable.” He pleaded, “Certainly, William, we have our professional reputation to consider.” He looked to the women as to a jury. “There are other good sailors available, surely, are there not?”

  Mary showed concern. Oliver could not tell if her concern was centered on the long term best interests of Oliver Williams & Co. or on the fact that her brother and husband were exchanging strong words with even stronger implications.

  Oliver continued, “Tell me, William, did you know of his past or the reputation of his family? Is he of your political views?”

  William was well past being polite himself. “You assured me complete autonomy as regards matters involving the ship. What can be more in my domain than the choice of crew? As to a sailor’s past: truly, Oliver, do you regard them, as a bunch, wholly angelic?”

  Oliver let his suspicions get in front of his logic, a rare occurrence and likely a sign of his deep concern being expressed among loved ones he trusted. “Certainly the purposes to which a vessel are dedicated are reserved to the owner, are they not? William, tell me true, I pray. Are you bent on my ship affiliating, engaging or giving comfort to war hawks, radicals and smugglers?”

  Mary seemed aghast at Oliver’s suggestion. Bemose had approached William from across the room, whether in support or to calm and intervene it was not at that moment clear. Only William, curiously, appeared to understand the perceptive nature of the probing question and was evidently having some difficulty fielding the challenge.

  As he began to make his reply, the front door swung open as if blown by a storm. A young man, straight, firm, and charged with personality to equal his deep tan and long blonde hair, which was drawn back in a que, threw down his sea bag in the entrance hall. He proceeded through the columned entrance to the parlor, smiling, arms extended and proclaimed, “Uncle William, Aunt Mary, come…,” and then seeing William, his smile grew even broader, if possible. “Oh, give us joy! Father! It was too much to hope you would be here as well! It is wonderful to see all of you!”

  In unison, they rushed the lad, hugging and calling out their surprise. “James!” After excited greetings and the thrill of the surprise, James confirmed his recent discharge from the Navy and his departure from U.S.S. Chesapeake. He continued with the saga of his travels to Detroit, exclaimed when told his letters had not arrived first so to announce and reveal his plans.

  Before any expressed thought as to the future, William turned to Oliver and announced gladly to all (who received his words with joy, relieved that the preceeding storm was now well past, and mixed with some astonishment on the part of James), “My dear man, I believe Friends Good Will could never find a better topman and Mate!”

  Chapter 5

  Trove set his stance against the bracing on the quarterdeck, pushed the tiller to windward with his hips as the crest of the wave passed under the keel. The jibboom swung back half a point, filled the headsails and powered Friends Good Will through the trough of the most recent wave.

  A silhouette emerged from the companionway hatch, rang the bell in three groups of two and then a final lone peel. Seven bells; only one more entry before the page in the logbook was turned to 8 June, 1811. The figure took a moment to take a wrap around his boatcloak with his waist belt, leaving the rough woven wool above the belt free to easily move his shoulders and arms. He blew into his hands to warm them, grabbed his mug of hot tea and strode up to the binnacle.

  In the faint light emerging from the compass, his night vision by now acute, Trove welcomed the company and made his greeting, “James, you are early. Could not sleep?”

  James nodded, scanned the moonlit horizon, checked the set of the wind and replied, “A beautiful night and she is moving well.” Then, as he focused aloft and checked the trim of all sails observable from the quarterdeck, confessed, “I fear from the haze round the moon it will be black as tar before my trick is over.”

  Captain Lee, hearing the muffled tones of conversation scattered to the breeze, turned from the starboard quarter rail and approached the binnacle in just two strides. “Good evening, James. Did you sleep at all?”

  As he shrugged, studying the compass card, James admitted, “Not much, really, but I napped this afternoon and will easily make it through this night.” Trove, distracted by the unexpected conversation, eased the pressure brought to bear against the helm, letting her climb up just a bit in correction, back to the given course.

  Captain Lee studied his son, a fine young man, and wondered how he could spend so little time with him yet know him so well and love him so much. He knew the truth of his restl
ess sleep instantly. “Your mind, I fear, is still racing from our discussion at dinner.”

  James met his eyes, unable to disguise his surprise even in the moonlight, and nodded, “Yes, I suppose that is so, father. Have you thought of much else?”

  Captain Lee acknowledged the point with a gesture, but then smiled. “Only of this finely balanced, powerful vessel charging headlong into this beautiful night! Good God, but she flies!”

  The other two men joined him in his smile, nodding in the dark and silently offering thanks for their situation, here on the quarterdeck of a beautiful ship on a moonlit night on a fresh water sea leagues from what seemed to be imminent hostilities.

  Captain Lee asked James, “Is Oliver still asleep?”

  James confirmed and each of them, huddled round the tiller as Trove made his delicate correction, exchanged glances. The impatience of youth won over and James waded in first, “Uncle Oliver seemed most upset; with the news or our reaction to it, I am not sure.”

  Captain Lee explained the obvious, “He has risked much on a period of peaceful development. He may well be correct that cool heads and greater trade will smooth over tensions. Perhaps this trouble will pass.”

  James nodded, but Trove dove in, “Right or wrong, he, like any of us, controls none of it, and we best be ready when fate takes a turn.”

  Joining, James looked around, gestured to the horizon, “I doubt it will be warm nights and fresh breezes much longer.”

  Captain Lee, as restrained as his position required even before his own son, acknowledged, “While we seem to agree on the likely course our nation must take and the weather in which we all sail, we have a duty to our owner and we will do nothing to upset neither his mind nor his plans.” He strode back to the taffrail and took another turn off of the mainsheet cleat. The wind was beginning to veer.

  “Of course,” agreed James as Trove nodded. “But the moment I ripped the Bill from the piling, I sensed our world had changed. We need to talk and consider and plan. It may not be long now.”

  Captain Lee assured, “We will and already have. Let us do so together, calmly and with Oliver’s interests foremost in our minds.”

  Trove and James sensed Captain Lee would not be dissuaded from a calm and deliberate course, faithful to his foremost duty to the owner, his ship and its crew. The fate of empires and continents was but second in importance to their insular world, as represented on the quarterdeck, in which they so much depended upon each other. James was an experienced enough seaman by now to respect his father for his prudence and caution, although he suspected his father was as poised and ready for action as he and Trove.

  A short period of quiet followed as they focused upon and enjoyed (as all on night watch do) the rush of the bow wave spilling, now more swiftly and with less fuss from the counter, the creak of a block aloft, the groan of a floorboard from below and the occasional slap of a sheet block on a luffing headsail. Soon enough, as broken clouds appeared widely scattered near a rising moon, a fourth figure arose from the companionway, called his greeting back to them all and announced the change of the day, and of the watch, with four groupings of two bells. As Oliver strode up to the quarterdeck where they had gathered, James announced with some formality, but all good spirits, “Captain Lee, the Watch is relieved.”

  Oliver approached Trove, asked for the course and was told “Southwest by West.” Oliver repeated the course, wished them a goodnight and William and Trove quickly disappeared below. James went below a moment later to update their position on the Chart with a fresh plot. Oliver, settling into the motion of his new powerful sloop under full sail in a fresh breeze, close reaching at well over 5 knots on her maiden voyage, gazed the heavens, some 40 miles southwest of the village of Buffalo.

  James tried to focus on speed, time and distance, but before completing the calculation, could not help but pull from the pocket of his wool cloak the handbill he had ripped from a piling on the docks of Black Rock just that afternoon: U.S.S. President Mauls British Man of War. A secondary headline from the Buffalonian elaborated, Demonstrations in Support of War! He could think of little but his former shipmates, his longing to rejoin and come to their assistance. He wondered where Chesapeake lay and if she were at that moment perhaps taking dramatic action in support.

  He read the handbill again, was late in making his plot, and rejoined his Uncle Oliver on deck some twenty minutes later. He took a turn around the deck, checking the trim, the coiled lines, the halyards and the sheets, all as an excuse to mull over in his mind the discussion that evening over dinner.

  All were mindful of the passengers, now sleeping in their bunks. Oliver had, unnecessarily, whispered as they watched their new shipmates board that afternoon for William to calm them by word and example to the extent possible.

  The family had booked passage from Black Rock, just north of Buffalo on the Niagara River, to Detroit. With them were all their possessions to begin a new life. They asked whether the Bill could be the equivalent of the presage to a declaration of war. Truthfully, Captain Lee assured them they had no such information. Oliver added that an isolated, mistaken incident, however unfortunate, rarely led to war so quickly, though clearly his argument was based entirely upon the assumption of one far from Washington and even further from London. The wife seemed calm enough, the husband a bit nervous. The daughter, no more than ten, seemed all too knowing and matter-of-fact when it came to international relations. Oliver wondered of the serious discussions she must have for some time witnessed and without the distractions of siblings.

  They were intending to disembark in Detroit and mentioned some land in the interior, to the north along the St. Clair River of which neither Oliver nor William were as yet aware. Privately, Oliver and William wondered if speculation had led to misrepresentation or fraud. The Michigan Territory was growing rapidly and so many new faces required blind trust as reputations were yet to be established.

  Friends Good Will had been loaded and trimmed that afternoon and departed Black Rock for Presque Isle at 1700 hours. Oliver’s agent in Black Rock appeared pleased, his commission well earned, his advertisements proven reliable, and the positive reaction from onlookers inspecting the vessel dockside for the first time greatly enhanced the reputation of himself as well as Oliver Williams & Co. He seemed confident additional cargoes would follow easily. Indeed, while they were in port for less than 24 hours, all went as well as could have been imagined.

  Then James had come running from one of the docks, a handbill in hand, pulled from a piling where it had been affixed for no more than minutes.

  After casting off dock lines and setting the mainsail, inner headsails and topsail, using the outer jib to coax the ship from the pierhead, the crew passed around the handbill, reading it and trying to shield their resulting shock and concern. At 1800 hours, with the river cleared, Buffalo to larboard and Fort Erie on the western shore proudly flying the Union Jack, the watch was posted. Lake Erie stretched itself out off the bow and a light breeze filled from the northwest. Trove was at the helm and James cleared the cook stove and galley after their passengers’ meal. James, Oliver and William shared the generous portions that remained on the wardroom table.

  “Father, perhaps I should rejoin my shipmates at my first opportunity,” James began, referring to Chesapeake.

  Oliver reacted with distress, reminding them both, “Please, I certainly hope that we consider calmly not only that which was reported but that which is so obviously lacking.”

  William and James each gave him questioning looks. He continued, “We know only that two captains at sea, amid confusion and perhaps some error, took action which, for all we know, they both now regret.”

  James put his fork down with impatience. He curled his hand into a fist before his face in attempt to stem the rapid rise of his blood pressure. Oliver gestured for restraint. “There was no reaction reported from either our government or Britain,” he reminded with calm concern. “This is but the first report, perhaps
sensationalized, of what may be the grist for diplomats over a period of months.”

  The point struck home, instantly for William who saw the wisdom of Oliver’s perspective, within moments for James, who nodded when he realized the point was incapable of dispute. William observed, “It appears, to me at least, that a ship such as our frigate President should not without great cause or provocation fire upon a mere sloop of war, of what, James, 20 guns? To have done so will fuel calls for revenge from the largest and most professional Navy in the world. God help us if we cannot establish the facts!”

  The facts were at that moment found in no great abundance. The Bill reported only that on May 16, 1811, the United States Frigate President, having asked for and been refused the courtesy of an identification of an unknown man of war nearby, and in deepening darkness, responded to a shot from one of its guns. A general exchange of deadly fire then ensued on both sides. Apparently, as early reports confirmed, the stranger was the British Sloop of War, Little Belt. Damage was extensive and casualties were numerous.

  William understood the code upon the high seas of honor and pride between men of war of nearly all civilized nations. He added now, “President boasts in excess of 50 guns, to my recollection, and there will be many cries of dishonor and calls for revenge.”

  James waited his turn, giving his elders their due, then said, “I know all too well how this will play amid both fleets.” Both Oliver and William turned with respect, knowing at least on this point, James spoke with unquestioned credibility. “Our lads will cry ‘High Time!’, recalling and reminding all of the Leopard affair of ’07. Leopard was also a larger ship than Chesapeake, and none could really explain the overkill of her firing full broadsides, as she did. My mates will welcome the news, and our counterparts in the Royal Navy will be greatly insulted and be bruising for retaliation. They are good, no doubt, and are proud with reason. While we are no less, I suspect. Still, their wounded pride in light of the difference in size and the appearance of an unfair contest will make retaliation all too welcome.”