Sworn for Mackinaw

by James Spurr

  Soon, they all appeared again through the oak wood and dune grasses and quickly launched the boat. All aboard Friends Good Will breathed a sigh of relief and assisted in helping the party back aboard through the larboard entry port. Bemose had a basket of moss, lichen, soils, leaves and small twigs and seemed almost embarrassed at the fuss made for her return. Within minutes, the brails, only loosely gathered, were cast off, the clew drawn tight, the headsails set and Friends Good Will stood out for deeper water amid a brilliant evening and what promised a stunning sunset. With Bemose already below attending to Trove, the Corporal approached William, still looking at the river mouth through his long glass while standing at the taffrail.

  “Excuse me, Sir. I thought should you ever pass this way again my observations may be of some interest.”

  “Of course, Corporal, please. And my compliments on a task well managed. Very professional.”

  The young man seemed to blush once again, but continued, “The river bends slightly to the left just a couple of hundred of yards from the beach for perhaps just a fraction of a mile where it then bends hard to the left and, I would guess, proceeds to the north. We did not have much time, but the high banks seen from here along the south bank continue until the river turns north, then the land recedes once again to some wetlands on what would then be the east bank. Wild fruit on vines was plentiful. We saw no one. The only sign of life was the charred remains of an old campfire.”

  “Thank you, Corporal. An excellent report. A beautiful haven, to be sure.” William smiled, “I will mark it on the charts for my old age!”

  With all back aboard, a fair wind, and Trove attended in so far as any Captain could provide, Captain Lee seemed more relaxed than Oliver had observed in days. As Oliver held to the given course, “Full and by, for the moment,” Captain Lee studied the chart and debated whether to continue to follow the shoreline or strike out for open water in the hopes of finding Fort Dearborn as was indicated on the charts. One problem was that the charts did not agree. One located the settlement at the extreme south end of the lake, the other more in the southwest corner, the third predated 1803 and took no note of a settlement whatsoever in the likely vicinity.

  Captain Lee was not at all excited about following the shore. If a north wind blew hard, the seas built from hundreds of miles of fetch would, he feared, grow unholy and portend their destruction in shoal water and a lee shore. As would any mariner, he felt safer with deep water surrounding his command. He took some estimated bearings of where he thought the river they had just departed may be located in relation to the last natural feature included by his cartographer friend and former shipmate on the charts and directed Oliver, “If you please, Oliver, let’s steer through this night two points south of west.”

  The night was tranquil, the nor’west breeze gradually veered to the nor’east and Friends Good Will sailed almost lazily, without the topsail, at near four knots to the hour. Oliver, James and their soldier sailor covered the watch in the easy conditions, not keeping to a strict structure, and allowed William some badly needed sleep.

  At dawn Captain Lee was back on deck. He sent James aloft and Oliver determined to await the first report from the masthead, the shore just three miles off the jibboom, before taking his bunk. Friends Good Will had crossed Lake Michigan through the night.

  All spirits rose when Trove popped his head from out the companionway hatch. He offered his compliments to Oliver while pretending no cause for surprise, but was touched at the outbreak of joy and concern expressed by all. He was of course weak and pale, his leg throbbing from no longer lying horizontal. Bemose soon insisted he return to his bunk, bribing him with the best breakfast she could manage. The fever had broke, the swelling subsided and the wound was beginning to dry and heal.

  James, after taking his time and great care, called down at last, “Deck there. No sign of a settlement.”

  Captain Lee did not seem at all disappointed or particularly concerned. He must now, however, determine which way to turn, north or south along the shore, with Fort Dearborn nowhere in sight. “Return to the deck,” he called with all ease. He asked the soldier to prepare to wear ship and shift the head-sails. “Oliver, if you please, attend the main sheet.”

  Oliver knew Captain Lee would wait until James took the deck before initiating such a maneuver turning the ship south-’ard and took the few seconds remaining to ask, “How is it you know, William, that we should not be turning north?”

  William smiled at his old friend and decided to remove just a bit of mystery from his profession. “A common trick, really. I purposefully set a course last evening for a point of land further north than where the chart indicated we may find Fort Dearborn. It is unlikely, really, that the chart is dead-on accurate or that our steering through the night was any more so. I fully expect that we are north of our destination. All odds are with me that we need turn south.”

  Oliver smiled, nodded and felt as though he would learn this day as much as every other despite his exhaustion. As soon as the ship wore and the mainsail was trimmed he asked William as he descended the companionway hatch, “Call me when we approach, will you?”

  An hour later, well beyond the first sighting of a low flat plain that sank from the sand beach as far as the eye could see to both the south and east, suggesting conditions favorable for a river, a log stockade with two towers, a flag pole and a small crowd of people visible near its main gate, appeared ever more distinct off the starboard bow. All came on deck from below, Oliver assisting Trove and finding a comfortable lair for him atop a cargo hatch. The soldiers seemed most happy and William reminded himself that not all aboard were likely as enamored with life aboard a ship on the inland seas as was he.

  Ever the navigator, he checked his watch, calculated the distance run south along the shore, placed a small “x” where he thought Fort Dearborn should be located, all while offering a silent thanks for his friend who had done a remarkable job of recalling, years later, and after a few pints of ale at that, the whereabouts of a forlorn settlement along hundreds of miles of a wilderness shore.

  Bemose stood next to William as he corrected the chart and noted his curious look at the name given the river. “Chekagou,” he mumbled, stumbling on the pronunciation.

  Guessing William wondered at its meaning, she took his arm and offered quietly and thankfully though their journey was but half astern, “Wild Onion.”

  Chapter 16

  Eight days later the gray dawn seemed unwilling to give way to the cheerful brightness so often seen along the western shore of Lake Michigan. The sun appeared only briefly just above the eastern horizon and within moments yielded to low sheets of clouds. Despite the unusual warmth for early morning, persistent mist and signs of dirty weather, the breeze came from the southeast and Captain Lee recognized favorable conditions for their departure.

  Captain Lee and James enlisted the help of some soldiers and worked the full two hours since daylight towing Friends Good Will with the ship’s boat, nudging her with poles fashioned ashore against the near sand bottom, coaxing her with the occasional, intermittent use of one or more of the three head-sails which they raised and lowered quickly as the close conditions required, through the twists and turns of the river mouth. Soon she was extracted from the calm protected waters in the shadow of the fort to lie in the exposed waters just beyond the bar, the anchor at short scope.

  Oliver walked along the south shore of the river away from Fort Dearborn, expecting the ship’s boat to ferry him. He was the last remaining to board before setting off for home. He turned and waved to those gathered on the ramparts, in the tower and outside the gate. Natives watched. Some nodded and hailed their good wishes, others stood as sullen witness to the rare event—a large winged canoe, bringing arms, ammunitions and more of the white man’s soldiers.

  The calls grew faint and few and he boarded the boat, helped James shove it from the sand and recognized, finally, a good wish from a familiar voice, delivered with extra
ordinary enthusiasm from the tower. James broke the rhythm of his rowing, half stood, waved his arms and promised, “We shall ship together next season, Trove!”

  The shout caused James a wincing pain, his head already throbbing, and he sat back down on the thwart and attended to his course. James enjoyed but two hours of sleep the past night aboard Friends Good Will, as Captain Lee insisted of all. But the Captain had imposed no curfew so James extended his goodbyes through the night among many new found friends. He partook of Mr. Kinzie’s whiskey and in the company of one of his daughters, Trove with the other, he for some hours with the assistance of drink forgot about Anne biding time in Detroit.

  Oliver reflected on the call and its sad implications. Trove would remain at Fort Dearborn. It was not Trove’s only option. Bemose would have cared for him well and he was welcome to recover aboard the sloop. When he informed Oliver of his decision, just after informing Captain Lee, he confessed, Oliver believed, the true reason. Granted, Trove was obviously smitten with Sarah, Mr. Kinzie’s daughter, and was enjoying her attention as he grew accustomed to crutches and long talks resulting from his decreased mobility. They had not spent near an hour of daylight apart since he first laid eyes upon her on the parade ground of Fort Dearborn, as Captain Lee introduced his crew to all those gathered to extend greetings. No, something else was driving Trove to start anew.

  During those hours under the grip of the fever, Trove spoke of Becky, his sweetheart from the marshes of the St. Clair River and of her circumstance. When Oliver inquired as to his intentions, most apparent from his decision not to return, Trove confessed he had discussed Becky with the garrison surgeon at Mackinaw. “Mr. Williams,” Trove revealed in a manner suggesting that he was about to impart to Oliver that which was not common knowledge among men, “the surgeon assured me that no baby can be born where the parents had not lied together nine months before!” Oliver nodded, of course well aware of the fact and having already, indeed, done the arithmetic in his head. It appeared as Trove had grappled with the problem as well. “Don’t you see, Sir, I was sailing with Captain Lee and James far too late last season for me to be the baby’s father.” Again, Oliver nodded and acknowledged the truth of that fact.

  Oliver was surprised he actually felt sorry for the lad, so apparently alone in the world. Trove’s hurt was genuine and he was struggling with the realization of betrayal as proven by a fact of science now having a profound impact on his young life. Oliver had come to regard Trove with some affection, despite his family’s history and his own free spirit, too often translating into lawless habits. Trove, while far from innocent in deed was most often assuredly so in intent. He was, as Oliver came to observe among merchant seamen, as intelligent, instinctive, observant and disciplined at sea as he was as simple minded and unruly ashore, regularly exhibiting as few cares as apparent thoughts. Trove would be missed, both for his good nature and impressive skills. Oliver hoped he would see him again.

  As they reached the ship, Oliver hauled his large frame from the entry port and his muscles still ached from the hard labor of the preceding day helping Trove and James load the hold near full, save for their passengers, with skins and furs purchased from Mr. Kinzie. As merchants, they hit it off well and Oliver looked forward to more trade with a growing Chicago. While some years behind Detroit in terms of development, those needs in the near future were pure opportunity for Oliver Williams & Co. The furs were excellent quality. Oliver paid a high price, but was confident they would be in great demand and well received in Detroit and Buffalo.

  Oliver observed the crowded deck, no more so than it had been with soldiers, but this day there were no uniforms among them, no stand of arms or ammunition, and Captain Lee was short one crew. He glanced about, wondering who would serve to assist sailing the ship. As he made his way below to stow his gear in the owner’s cabin, not more than a tiny area with a bunk and a small table in which to sit and write at, or half stand while hunched over, head banging upon the quarterdeck beams, Captain Lee called down, “Oliver, if you please, could I have a word?”

  “Certainly, Captain.” Back on deck in an instant, he approached William on the quarterdeck at the tiller.

  “We shall get underway on the instant, and once sail is set, I would appreciate your thoughts as to our passengers.” Then, looking aloft at the masthead pendant fluttering steadily, called to James, “We shall have the topsail. Could you loose the gaskets?”

  James skipped aloft, nimbly hauling his frame up on to the crosstrees, then higher still onto the topmast shrouds. He lay out on the topsail yard footrope first to starboard and made his way outboard along the footrope.

  Captain Lee inquired, “Have any as yet indicated any experience or having any interest in lending a hand?”

  Oliver considered a moment while watching James. “Actually, Mr. Kinzie mentioned that Mr. Adams had arrived by ship last season. Perhaps he would be agreeable, although I did not ask when the three inquired about passage back to Detroit. Trove had not as yet made his announcement,” Oliver explained.

  Captain Lee nodded, stepped back to the taffrail out of earshot from those in the waist and acknowledged by gesture the call from aloft of, “Gaskets loose.”

  Captain Lee looked at Oliver and confirmed, “I shall inquire of Mr. Adams.”

  Oliver volunteered, “Offer him his passage at no charge if you need him round the clock and he will be standing watches with the rest.”

  Captain Lee considered briefly, “We shall see what the weather demands.” James jumped from the rail to the deck and William requested, “Let us set some sail and then return, if you will. I wish to talk further.”

  Before Oliver could respond, Captain Lee called in an authoritative voice Oliver knew was intended more to signal to the passengers his authority on board the ship than for any other purpose, “Hands to the windlass. Prepare to take up the anchor. Advise when up and down.”

  All of this was mysterious to the passengers except for Mr. Adams. The procedure was all too familiar and well understood by James and Oliver. Both proceeded to the foredeck, inserted the windlass bars, took some pawls and hauled in on the anchor rode, wound around the windlass drum until the rode was entirely vertical, or ‘up and down’ from the hawsehole to the anchor lying on the bottom.

  Captain Lee observed and when advised from the foredeck, “Up and down!”, he nodded to James, who was expecting the command.

  “Cast off brails, haul on the clewline.”

  James attended to the former, Oliver, with his greater strength, the latter. As the mainsail cascaded down and out from the raised gaff and mast and as the clew approached the end of the boom, Oliver stood to starboard, just a few feet aft of the boom jaws and hauled with a will, forcing the reluctant clew to meet the rising boom. Making it fast to a cleat, Oliver advised, “Clew made off.”

  Captain Lee studied the wind and the manner in which Friends Good Will naturally swung to her anchor, its hold now tenuous at best. He called, “Prepare to set the staysail.” As the ship swung slightly, just seconds before the wind would blow across the starboard foredeck, he directed, “Raise and back the staysail!”

  Expecting the call, Oliver hauled on the halyard, James the starboard staysail sheet. With the staysail backed, the bow began to pay off and Oliver and James took several more pawls on the windlass, breaking the anchor free even as Friends Good Will continued to turn. Captain Lee managed the tiller and mainsheet and kept Friends Good Will jogging along slowly on a beam reach until the anchor was secure.

  With James and Oliver available for additional tasks, Captain Lee turned the ship northward and eased the mainsheet while directing, “Prepare to set the topsail. Cast off clewlines and buntlines and let fall. Haul topsail sheets.”

  While Oliver was well winded by successive tasks involving heavy work and James was regretting his night of revelry, both knew their ordeal was nearing its end. Captain Lee took some seconds to confirm his course, the masthead pennant, and the progress of a rain s
quall some miles to the northeast, although seemingly moving off well beyond their intended track. With just seconds to catch his breath, Oliver moved to the topsail halyard upon the command and, together with James, sweated the yard ever yet skyward as Friends Good Will accelerated steadily northward, heeling slightly, her wake silent and streaming straight as a course line behind them to the mouth of the Chicago River. Fort Dearborn receded over the taffrail. After shifting the staysail, the outer jib was raised and billowed to larboard on the broad reach.

  Oliver joined Captain Lee on the quarterdeck. He caught his breath, William kindly postponed their discussion for some moments. Oliver looked back and wondered which of the now divided community was more at risk: the pioneers and armed garrison taking refuge in a log stockade, hundreds of miles from meaningful assistance, or the unarmed Ship’s Company of his much smaller sloop, also trusting to wooden walls as she sailed alone the length of a very large and mostly unknown inland sea.

  “Do you know much about our other two passengers?” asked Captain Lee.

  His thoughts interrupted, Oliver was brought back to the quarterdeck, “I am sorry. What was that?”

  Captain Lee repeated, “Our passengers. Other than young Mr. Adams, do you know much about the other two?”

  Oliver nodded, “Jacob Graversa by all accounts and indications is a surveyor. His equipment bears that out well enough and he is certainly protective of his journals. Apparently he has been to the south and west of the Chicago River. While I do not know, I thought I would ask him if he is familiar with St. Louis.”

  Captain Lee asked, “And Urastus Richards?”

  “I really do not know. The night we arrived, at dinner with Captain Heald, he remained rather quiet. I think he said he was a trader.”

  Captain Lee nodded, “He gives up little. He does not seem to me to dress as any trader you might expect to find in such a remote outpost.”