by James Spurr
He noted the Corporal looking at him, likely thinking the same, caught his appreciative glance and ordered, “All soldiers, fire!”
Six muskets fired in near unison. The acrid smoke filled the air and only William, of those on board, noted the smoke which blew back across the deck just as he felt some pressure on the helm. The sparrows took flight with a start from all directions, instantly causing confusion both on the ship and among the canoes. The natives hesitated and looked to their leader for assurance, wondering if the unexpected flight of birds from a large ‘winged canoe’ portended disaster or was a bad omen. Two splashes were heard from the canoes together with at least one painful shriek even before the smoke cleared so to enable those on board to gauge the effect of their volley.
After the brief hesitation and with all four canoes still coming on, just half a ship length from the entry port, the Corporal called, “All Ship’s Crew, fire!”
Oliver and James fired first with pistols and a warrior slumped and dropped his paddle. The canoe veered off course, the stroke no longer coordinated. Trove fired while hanging on to the backstay just below the cross trees, dropped his pistol which he had cleverly tied around his neck on a lanyard. He eased the pressure against the stay brought to bear from his thighs and feet and, hand over hand, began to ease down the larboard backstay. William, yet impressed with Trove’s display of athletics, took one pistol from his leather belt across his shoulder, let go the tiller for a moment, walked calmly to the starboard rail and fired at point blank range into the chest of a warrior who at that moment was determining how to climb aboard. William tossed his other pistol to James standing at the entry port in the waist, who fired at a warrior standing in a canoe just as he let an arrow fly from his bow. The warrior fell back into the canoe, disrupted his comrade paddling at the stern, and those aboard Friends Good Will, amid what seemed heightened war cries and shrieking, first made to admire what appeared as pretty work.
Oliver thought the arrow was shot well high, but then he heard it strike with a dull thud, then a cry. He looked up to see Trove with an arrow sticking from his thigh nearly lose his grasp on the backstay and likely burning his hands as he slid nearly uncontrolled down the last several feet to the deck. Trove collapsed on the deck, blood gushing between his burned fingers as he clutched his wound. The Corporal ordered the soldiers to fire at will and stepped aft from the foredeck to care for Trove. Captain Lee, now with steerageway, turned Friends Good Will to the east, asking Oliver to ease the mainsheet. Turning the ship away from the attack presented a much smaller and more difficult to board target to the oncoming natives, a target which from the stern was easier to defend. The maneuver caused some momentary confusion among the natives and the Corporal instantly understood the benefits. While still caring for Trove, he ordered his soldiers to the transom. Five soldiers gathered at the taffrail, well protected by the higher bulwark. Oliver retreated back from the mainsheet so to allow room. Shrieks confirmed their adversaries were as yet too close. Arrows sailed now down the length of the deck, though with a necessary arc to clear the transom and were thus far less effective. The remaining arrows were seemingly aimed at nothing in particular, as the natives below the stern, even some lengths back, could no longer see anyone in the waist. The soldiers at the transom called out, “Present,” and “Fire!” William calmly removed the pistol from behind Bemose’s blanket, which he had asked her to conceal in case any natives had actually boarded, and asked her to attend to Trove. He stepped back still grasping the tiller with his left arm and discharged the pistol in his right hand from the taffrail along with the soldiers for good measure.
The natives responded with excitement to the ship’s unexpected turn to the east, falling in behind and narrowing the gaps between them as though to begin chase. The last volley seemed most effective as a result of their close proximity one from the other.
Within just three lengths and before the soldiers could reload William turned yet again, this time to starboard, and ordered, “Oliver, take in the mainsheet, quick as thought; James, the headsails, on the instant.” Oliver trimmed, rushed to the foredeck to assist James and, with Friends Good Will on a beam reach in seven knots of wind and increasing, she quickly out-paced the sole native canoe that yet followed.
It was all over in less than five minutes. The surface fog dissipated and all aboard watched as the canoes, now diminutive in the distance, made their way back to the larger of the two islands. The Corporal applied pressure to Trove’s wound, Bemose cleaned, wrapped and bandaged it and he was laid below, lowered on a makeshift stretcher through the cargo hatch and made as comfortable as possible. With Trove resting and the weapons cleaned and stowed, there appeared little immediate risk as visibility improved. Within an hour, perhaps more, Friends Good Will seemed to settle back into her typical routine, slipping silently south and further from land than she had been since dawn.
At the change of the noon watch with all aboard having had some time for reflection, Captain Lee requested the corporal to lay aft on the quarterdeck. “My compliments, young man, on your leadership and reactions.” With the youth seeming to blush, he continued, “Thank you for your efforts.”
The corporal remarked, “I was most impressed by the crew’s handling of the ship, Sir, and your maneuvers at critical moments seemed to, well, deliver our strategic advantage.”
Oliver overheard the debriefing and requested, “I would ask, Captain, when convenient, that the three of us consider and discuss what the attack might mean, if anything? Do any of us, for instance, have any indication it was anything other than the random violence seeming to plague the Northwest?”
William knew that which the Corporal only suspected: Oliver’s real concern, just below the surface of his question, was whether the native attack indicated the United States was at war with England.
William responded, “Certainly. Let us devote some time when you, Oliver, are not at the helm. We will soon be past that headland off of our larboard bow. Let us confirm what lies beyond, set a course and gather to discuss all aspects of the incident.”
The Corporal nodded and returned to the waist. Oliver looked to his course, made a minor adjustment. William stood fast at the binnacle and asked himself whether what he had noticed while watching the canoes retreat with the benefit of his long glass was as significant as it was strange. If it portended what he feared, what difference could it make in the discharge of his duties and the near future of his command?
A full day later, Friends Good Will bobbed about on a placid surface within sight of her plot marking the headland. The air was hot as a furnace, the haze so thick that the sky, fried white, seemed to meld into the metallic silver of the near liquid horizon to the west. The land, not really so distant, to the east was indistinct and the colors muted. The deck steamed in the morning, dried and cracked in the afternoon, and barely cooled at night. As uncomfortable as was the deck in the heat of the day with too many souls searching for too little shade, the heat below deck for Trove, fighting a fever and desperately in need of ventilation and fresh air, was appalling. The galley stove was extinguished and all on board subsisted on bread and dried fish. The only consolation was the clear, cool water surrounding them all and employed regularly for recreation and washing.
Bemose cared for Trove and attempted to cool him often, but the fever was persistent. He became weak, near to unconscious, and the wound would not close, dry or even begin to heal in such conditions. She discussed with William her need for natural mosses, soils and leaves found ashore along river banks, certainly further south than their present latitude and feared she no longer had the luxury of time. William was sympathetic, visiting Trove frequently, asking about him often as he from the deck and James from aloft searched for wind near every moment.
Oliver, when Trove was awake, sat and spoke with him, hoping to keep his conversation cogent and focused so as not to lose him to delirium. Unclear as to whether voluntarily or fever induced, Trove offered a confession and sha
red his concern for ‘Becky’—apparently a lass from the delta marshes of the St. Clair River who was with child when he departed Detroit and very near her time, and suggesting Trove was the father. She looked to him to quit the sea, return to her and farm and fowl with her family. Oliver was encouraging and related the merits of family life, but between Trove’s meandering conversation Oliver completed the math and doubted very much if Becky could have possibly conceived as late as Trove had returned to his home from Friends Good Will late last November.
That evening, as the deck was beginning to cool and the hold still a comparative oven, Oliver rose from the companionway, wiped the perspiration from his face, and witnessed all others gathered on the quarterdeck looking out over the starboard rail. “William, what is it?” he inquired in the fading light. “The sunset is so hazy, certainly we have seen far better.”
James responded as a soldier pointed. “Uncle Oliver, this sight is more beautiful than any of God’s colored creation—wind!”
Oliver looked closely and detected a line of cat’s paws, revealing a wall of wind as distinct as one would have expected if retained by an invisible curtain, slowly moving across the water for the sole purpose of teasing and tempting. The wall was moving slowly from the west, northwest, and they stood mesmerized, near silent for fear of somehow causing it to evaporate, change direction, or worse still, remain stationary, cruelly enticing while torturing with its close proximity. Within five minutes, the breeze reached the stranded ship enveloping all with instant hope, refreshing each with cool, constant whisps of welcome relief.
Captain Lee was prepared. The fore and aft sails filled within seconds, were trimmed soon thereafter and while he established the course from their aimless drifting, he called to James and William the basic synchronized protocol for setting the topsail. Oliver rigged the hatch covers and some spare canvas to deflect much of the cool air below to ventilate the hull and assist Trove in fighting his fever. He also hoped the fresh air would help dry his wound. James took the helm and after the hatches were rigged the regular watch consisting of he and Oliver was once again established at nightfall. A soldier with some experience with sailing as a youth substituted for Trove and would later stand watch with William.
Bemose soon approached William, understanding that not until there was wind could anything at all be done for Trove. “William, I fear for Trove. The fever is raging. The swelling is serious. If we do not make shore, I cannot say if he will make Fort Dearborn.”
William nodded, “If this breeze holds and builds just a bit we shall fly down the shoreline and seek an inlet, hopefully desolate, and you can collect what you need. We shall maintain a lookout for a favorable river mouth.”
Some minutes later, after consulting his chart which was becoming less detailed with every passing mile to the south, William called for Oliver and the Corporal to meet him in his quarters. With a lantern lit, the heat of the candle now tolerable in the cool fresh air circulating aft from the hatches through the aft cabin gallery windows, they began their discussion planned among them thirty-six hours before.
Captain Lee began. “Oliver, I know that you have the helm in less than a glass, but we have had ample time to consider, near stationary as we have remained these past watches. Pray, what are your thoughts?”
“I have heard the natives will largely ally themselves with England and I wonder if our soldiers, so few and isolated, made tempting targets.”
“I do not think so,” the Corporal added, though hesitating. “How could they possibly have known our position? Certainly, none of us detected them following.”
Oliver observed with some persuasion, “Yet they donned war paint and plenty of it. That was no hunting party, unless we were the hunted.”
They looked to Captain Lee, who offered, “I suspect Friends Good Will was the target, not our soldiers. The war party was Winnebago, known as most prevalent in the Green Bay region. The question is why was a war party on that island? Perhaps they were enroute elsewhere and stopped to wait out the fog. In any case, I do not think they were aware of our soldiers, nor would they have attacked had they known.”
“Well, if you are correct, perhaps that is some relief,” allowed Oliver.
“Some,” conceded Captain Lee. “Except for the fact a white man was in one of those canoes.”
Both Oliver and the Corporal were grave, their silence inviting further explanation. “I saw him clearly through my long glass as the canoes made back for the island. Long red hair and a beard, dressed as a trapper or voyageur, although most certainly not French.”
The Corporal thought for a moment, looking out the stern gallery window at the pitch black of their wake. “I am aware of only one white trader from Green Bay. A Scott, Robert Dickson. He has influence with the natives and is no friend to the Customs House on Mackinaw. I met him only once and witnessed him quarreling with Mr. Day, our Port Administrator.” He paused, hesitating, but grew more confident and continued, “Mr. Dickson has red hair and a beard.”
Oliver looked at Captain Lee, who nodded and said softly, “Most likely. What to make of it is another matter.”
Throughout the night, the wind rose. Friends Good Will reefed the topsail and main, struck the outer jib and quite nearly flew south, pressed hard, heeling more than Oliver, at least, had yet experienced. All aboard knew well that come daylight Captain Lee was hoping to find an inlet to the south at the urging of Bemose for the benefit of Trove. The main and topsail yards buckled in the gusts. The martingale and arm of the spritsail yard to larboard, even while braced closer to horizontal, plowed narrow dual furrows through the ever growing quartering sea as she rode down the face of wave crests and into the troughs. The ride was as rough and wild as exhilarating for those having developed the balance and stomach for the motion. Nearly all of the soldiers took to their bunks.
William pressed hard but never with any visible concern. Oliver wondered for the ship, but just for some moments, through the long night. Oliver recalled when Eckert framed, planked and drove treenails by the hundreds through the winter of ’11 that he spoke of what his ship would take if handled properly. There was no doubt in Oliver’s mind that William was indeed capable of precisely what Eckert knew as was possible.
When Friends Good Will rose on the larger of the waves, occasional flickers of shore side camp fires were visible from the deck confirming natives residing near the beach and warning against intrusion in troubled times, even for humanitarian missions. All through the next day, the river mouths and inlets revealed smoke and canoes on the shore. Some natives even attempted a closer look at the fast flying sloop, descending down the shoreline from the north with no warning or regard for vessels not so tall, sleek, powerful or fast.
By early afternoon as the wind abated, William observed the shore from the larboard chains and conceded to Oliver their unlikely odds, “Of course, that which we seek is precisely the most desirable of habitats for the natives. Rivers and streams have always invited life.”
Oliver, not certain if the resignation in William’s voice was a veiled suggestion, confirmed instantly, “So it seems we take some risk. We have soldiers, arms and numbers enough to make an impression. Though, it is my hope, only briefly.”
William sighed as though in relief and without taking his eye from the long glass, said only, “Thank you, Oliver. I would not take such a risk without your endorsement.”
The shoreline had for some hours gradually receded to the southeast from still another headland. Some miles north from its extreme indent, a large river presented itself as a potential landing. Upon their near approach and close inspection, however, the local population was simply too numerous, curious and active to expect their meager party to be at all intimidating once ashore. Friends Good Will continued to follow the shore, now gradually making back to the southwest. William suspected they had passed the widest part of this largely unexplored great lake, although his chart revealed no such indent or gradual curvature.
By l
ate afternoon, James detected a small river, or large creek, with no signs of life nearby. Friends Good Will approached, taking soundings. They launched and trailed the ships boat astern as they crept cautiously under just the jib in a gentle breeze and declining seas, ever closer to an obvious bar near the river mouth.
Captain Lee snapped the glass shut and nodded to the Corporal, “Very well, select three men and arm yourselves well. Make certain one of the three can row. Send him back for Bemose and the rest of your soldiers.” Then, looking him in the eye and speaking more as a man than a Captain, William implored, “If you please, hurry her along at every opportunity.”
The Corporal understood instantly and gravely answered, “Yes, Sir.” He saluted out of sheer nervous habit and was instantly embarrassed at the breach of protocol.
William did not know how to respond. Recognizing the sincerity of youth and the intended compliment, he only stammered to the effect, “… er, yes, merchant Masters do not salute.” The Corporal flushed, called out three names and the four began to board. Oliver smiled as both men pretended the clumsy exchange had not really happened.
Within half a glass, Bemose boarded the ship’s boat with the two remaining soldiers while the advance party, already on shore, proceeded to the crest of a low dune on the north side of the slow moving river where tall grasses and large oaks presented a most peaceful scene. The north side was higher and steeper and the dunes beyond the river bank much taller. Soon after Bemose made shore, all but the one soldier who rowed walked on along the north river bank and out of sight. William was relieved the one who rowed was left behind with the ship’s boat, frustrated that he had not given that instruction to the Corporal but impressed the young man showed such presence of mind and careful precaution.