Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  The full charge exploded, the tension aboard evaporated along with the smoke that dissipated across the canal and Venetian waterfront. A salute was made. In the hearts of the entire Ship’s Company, save her Captain, a nation’s honor through their professional behavior was upheld.

  Captain Lee’s attention swung back to Marie as he turned to escort her to dinner, not caring so much as to look at what effect, if any, his slight delay had upon the Captain of their new neighbor in the anchorage.

  Dinner was simply elegant. Adorned by fine china and tableware, candlelight softly supplemented the gathering dusk with numerous Venetian church spires backlit by purple and orange pouring through stern gallery windows.

  The conversation was serious but sincere, personal and revealing. Captain Lee sensed he had left his dinner guest with many questions, given his rather severe reaction to the British frigate. Rather than have Marie inquire, he offered easily enough: “As you may have guessed, the late war in North America taught me to be very wary of the Royal Navy.”

  Marie appreciated a past with which she was all too unfamiliar; she certainly had hers of which he knew little. Still, she challenged mildly, “With hostilities over a decade ago, were we in any danger?”

  His eyes flashed, he looked down at the table then out to the remnants of the sunset, “I will suffer no slight from an enemy.”

  “Enemy? Still, even now?” she asked.

  Captain Lee poured another glass of wine, offered to top her glass and she nodded in the affirmative. He began, “It is sometimes difficult to tell with an adversary if they are ever a friend or rather just waiting to surprise with treachery. A sloop my father commanded, owned by my uncle, was tricked by the British into putting into a port and was seized, all with the British flying false colours, assuring us our landing was safe with the island held by the United States. A lack of honor in the very character of a person cannot be assumed to be remedied by a mere treaty…” Then realizing certainly the Captain of the British frigate was most likely not present a dozen years before on a remote station in the North American Northwest, he added, “… person or nation.”

  Marie thought for some moments, took a sip to buy time and considered he, like she and millions of others, had very good reason to carry scars and grudges from a world at war through most of their youth. But she felt his argument explaining his conduct was but a justification for deep hatred. The question for her was whether James wanted to forgive, or was capable of forgiving, or at a minimum, now years later, capable of leaving the past in his wake. She sought to have him confirm what she already knew, “So you had no indication that British ship was a hostile.”

  James saw her point and only with Marie, for some reason, felt the sudden need to confess, not defend, “No. I just do not trust that the Royal Navy, even today, respects our sovereignty. Great Britain may still, somewhere, challenge the growth and well being of our nation.” He shrugged, “Perhaps in the American West.”

  Marie could understand his doubts. She offered, sincerely, “Let us hope that never happens.”

  He looked into her eyes and nodded, then took another sip of wine.

  Unexpectedly, she asked, “When this sloop was seized, were you imprisoned?”

  “Only briefly,” he assured, “but I soon escaped, assisted by my uncle who was then imprisoned for having helped me.” He was touched by her concern.

  He then added, more by interesting coincidence than to change the subject, “The sloop, Friends Good Will, was then recaptured by Captain Perry the following season in a great naval battle. My father thereafter commanded her once again, while serving in the Navy.”

  She inquired, “Are these events what caused you to join the service?”

  “Aye, as soon as I escaped. Thus it was that I was present a year later with Perry aboard his flagship during the battle.”

  James then sighed, gestured in apology with a rueful smile, “I do not know what caused me to delve into such trials and unhappy times… forgive me?” Then in answer to his own question and hoping to simultaneously offer an excuse to his dinner guest, he admitted, “… Except the letters in the satchel have these past days brought it all to the forefront.”

  Marie feared the letters may be offering James little reason to forget. She wondered if she would not have done him a greater favor if she had remained in Genoa.

  A welcome knock came on the door and James said wryly, giving her a humorous look, “Ah, an excuse to drop the subject!” He invited, “Come.”

  The marines allowed a man to enter, dressed formally in black, who appeared surprised to find Captain Lee entertaining a woman. The man, whom Marie guessed a civilian, both asked and gestured plaintively for Captain Lee to step out for a moment, of which, with a look of apology to her, he complied. Marie overheard near whispers discussing the need to get underway and depart Venice. After quick agreement, Captain Lee rejoined and explained, “Mr. Wallace, our diplomat to which I earlier today referred, is of the opinion that in light of the arrival of British emissaries our duty here is concluded, and we have business in Dubrovnik. It would be best if we got underway tomorrow.” His words were simply an imparting of information, but she caught the quick flicker of what appeared regret on his features.

  James interrupted her thoughts, saying abruptly, “Come, let us stroll the deck.”

  The night air was welcome and cleared her head from what may have been a bit too much wine. James asked, “Did you know Father LaPointe?”

  “No, he was much older than my father and I was the youngest, born late in my father’s life. My uncle was in North America before I was

  born.”

  “Have you any family left?”

  “No.” She fought to mask the pain in her voice and the slightest welling up of tears which she feared would be evident in the rising moonlight. She attempted to change the subject, “Are you aware of Bemose and her connection to my family?”

  James smiled, “Oh, yes, it was explained to me just before the war broke out that Father LaPointe was her father, and more so than just the religious designation. I myself wondered whether you knew.” James offered, “I know not what was made of the fact in France, but in North America, such circumstances are often met with a great deal of tolerance.”

  Maria was impressed with not only his understanding, but his sensitivity in assuring her that which might, in some circles, be considered a scandal and cause for shame. It seemed to him irrelevant.

  James turned the discussion to Bemose, a native Mattawan of Upper Canada and Marie’s cousin, with whom she apparently had been corresponding for some years but had never met. He offered, “I never knew my mother and was sixteen when I met Bemose. While I was not looking for her to be my mother, I have always felt that she and my father were perfectly suited. She brought him much peace, which he deserved.”

  Marie acknowledged, “She impresses me as a remarkable woman in her writings.”

  James returned to the real topic that interested him in light of their conversation over dinner, “I sense that you must have suffered greatly during the wars.”

  Marie only nodded and signaled she would not set that sail, not that night, “So you depart tomorrow?”

  He replied, “Noon.”

  Marie nodded.

  James then made his decision. It was not difficult.

  They took a few more steps. He was unsure how to raise the topic and not sound like a madman. “Marie, we will be sailing from Dubrovnik, after just touching, to the port of Rome.”

  She took another step alongside the starboard cathead and looked at him, wondering why his itinerary was seeming to him so urgent.

  James explained, “It is but a short sail to Genoa from there. Let me deliver you to Genoa, your errand apparently in Venice now completed.” He began explaining more quickly, fearful and hopeful, before she could refuse, “It is certainly safer and will likely take not much longer to travel aboard a United States naval ship then to travel alone, overland.”
r />   Then, from his heart, he seemed to plead, “I would very much enjoy your company.”

  * * *

  Each click of the pawl, as the men turned the capstan, emphasized for Captain Lee the passage of time. Noon was near; departure imminent.

  John Adams was already close to short scope. The canal was crowded, the holding good and it would not take long to break free, let fall the topsails and make way.

  Mr. Cosgrove coordinated the maneuver, the bosun piped the men at various stations, the nipper peeled off the anchor cable slowly at first, but as the ship gained momentum, the cable was coming aboard all too quickly. Captain Lee stood at the starboard rail, searching the piazza San Marco.

  Captain Lee was not surprised at Marie’s lack of appearance but had to admit he had been hopeful. Perhaps it had been the wine, but he found he could speak to Marie easily. He sensed she had so much more to say, if he could ever draw her out. But he had pressed too hard and the thought of her trusting in him to deliver her to Genoa was rather a common sense, American idea and he was in Europe. While he did not really know what difference that made, he had been told, and shown, before such differences as he did not understand. No doubt were at play now, however.

  Marie sat in the park just to the west of San Marco, within sight of the table she shared with James when he bungled his introduction. She smiled at the thought. She then looked over the Mole and detected the slow movement of the frigate upon which she dined the night before. She glanced at the clock tower. It was not quite noon.

  Marie thought of James whose company she enjoyed, whose talents were obvious, whose looks she admired and whose mind and heart were troubled. She considered her past and the only manner in which, she was convinced and as her faith decreed, she had overcome the pain and injustice of war. She thought of his cold steel gaze at the mere sight of a Union Jack and the war he was still fighting.

  Marie considered that she had known James only a few days. She then scolded herself. James was not proposing marriage, merely offering her transport at no charge in return for a favor. She trusted him and felt safe in his charge. Why should his heart and mind, beyond that which she just considered, cause her to pass on what was an eminently practical, typically American idea? Her small bag was packed and she clutched its handle. She had been sitting in the park for well more than an hour, trying to decide whether to step out of the shade of the trees and stand on the edge of the seawall, easily seen with just a slight twist of the inner brass barrel of a long glass.

  Captain Lee heard the Second Officer call to set the outer headsails in anticipation of using their leverage to break the anchor free. The Third Officer called to Mr. Cosgrove, “Up and down!” indicating the anchor was directly below the stem and a final measure of the men at the capstan and the sheeting of headsails already set would break the hook from the mud beneath.

  Captain Lee turned and watched it all unfold, professionally and with such precision as would make any captain proud. So why did he feel such regret at the smooth efficiency of their efforts?

  Mr. Jensen, Cox’n, stood nearby and having affixed a long glass at the seawall, reported only, softly, “Captain…”

  Within thirty seconds and with a frigate nearly underway, Mr. Jensen was calling the stroke in the Captain’s gig and calling it fast as they pulled toward the seawall on the shore.

  Captain Lee thought, “Pull hard, lads.” He had a satchel full of letters to read and as Marie had delivered them, he would need her aboard this voyage, for certain, as he read them.

  Chapter Two

  The moderate west wind swelled the canvas set aboard U.S.S. John Adams, all that could possibly hang from the yards, gaffs and fore and aft stays, save stuns’ls. Captain Lee’s spirits soared higher than the topmen climbed as the low lying islands sank from view. John Adams sailed swiftly from the Veneto to the brilliant azure open waters of the Adriatic.

  Marie made herself comfortable in Captain Lee’s great cabin, which took but a few minutes as her belongings were minimal. Captain Lee’s clerk assisted her, moving the Captain’s personal belongings into First Lieutenant Cosgrove’s quarters, who would bunk with the other officers in the wardroom for some few days. Almost as an afterthought, in addition to shifting important records, various logs, papers and their official orders, the clerk grabbed the satchel of letters from the desk.

  The rearrangements were quickly concluded, all in good humor and amid willing spirits. The crew began to whisper that the Captain had found himself ‘a lady’. In addition to the obviously premature conclusion, the assessment was also somewhat an exaggeration as to her wealth and status.

  Just as the midshipman called to the Sailing Master from the taffrail, still winding the spool of line from the log, “A bit more than nine!,” Marie appeared in the waist and glanced aloft, an expression of wonder still apparent as she turned aft and saw James at the binnacle.

  Captain Lee was looking at her, seeming very pleased. He glanced aloft and called loudly enough to carry over the wind, “On days such as these, I question the order of Captains and Kings!”

  They smiled and both nodded, as did Mr. Cosgrove. He appeared fully satisfied with their departure and recent efforts, setting and trimming thousands of square feet of canvas over so many sails. The Sailing Master approved of her speed and the young gentleman, while only a midshipman, was delighted to depart what he considered an all too old and decrepit city, however grand its history and scenery.

  Marie had the good judgment to remain well forward the helm. Those on the quarterdeck exchanged approving glances at the respect she showed them as officers; commissioned or no. Soon Captain Lee realized she would not approach and, pretending to have been aware for as long as everyone surrounding him had already figured, strolled rather casually to the weather rail, considered for a moment and called back to Mr. Cosgrove, “Set the regular watch, Mr. Cosgrove. Let us establish our normal routine.”

  “Aye, Sir,” he acknowledged and repeated the order to the Bosun who with a few shrill calls from his whistle, much of the crew stood down, scattered to their leisure. Some went to take a somewhat belated noon meal, others assumed postures of relaxed duty. With the course and the sails now set, those still on watch stood by for what they hoped would be few orders and an enjoyable trick.

  James walked forward and met Marie at the lee rail. The Bosun moved on to afford them some privacy. She commented, “So many crew!”

  James nodded, “We are 298 departing Venice, three shy from our arrival.” He nodded disapprovingly, “Desertions have not been a large problem, but our quick departure left little time to search. Still, we could have used them. Our compliment is well down from what she would carry when at war.” He shook his head and added. “Peacetime service is difficult…”

  Marie thought the comment very odd. “I should think it would be so much easier.”

  James nodded, acknowledging, “I know it sounds queer, but in peacetime, recruits are much more difficult to find; reenlistments far fewer. There is less pressing need to serve and the sacrifices seem, I suppose, to make far less sense for the common sailor.”

  Marie nodded and understood the paradox. “And for Captains?” she inquired.

  James nearly froze. My, he thought, how she could cut to the heart of it. He wondered for a moment if she knew, but dismissed the thought as impossible. So he ducked the matter, as he had so often of late and replied instead with the facts and one version of the truth, “With far fewer ships in commission, commands are much harder to come by. Advancement, it seems, is but a dim hope.” Even as he spoke the truth, he thought of an old toast, exchanged among friends in the service, “Here’s to a long war, or an unhealthy peace.” Career officers all knew one of the few sure paths to promotion was by the death of one’s seniors, but the sentiment was rarely but half felt and most often insincere. He elected to spare Marie the morbid thought.

  Marie considered another obvious truth, far from his point, “You must be very good at what you do
to hold such a command more than ten years since the last real conflict.” She then added, “You are not so old to be very senior.”

  James smiled, appreciating the compliment but felt uneasy discussing his skill or professional reputation, which, among his crew, his peers and those at the Navy department thousands of miles to the west, was, indeed, considerable. Instead, he confessed, as he seemed to do so easily with Marie, “I am thirty years old.” James would have guessed Marie about four years younger, but did not ask. He continued, “I am fortunate to have John Adams. She is not as large and powerful as frigates like Constitution, and she is certainly not new, but she handles well and I am pleased with her officers and crew. One could do much worse than sailing to fascinating ports in the Mediterranean.” Recalling her point, he admitted, “Captain Perry was but twenty-six when placed in charge of an entire squadron!”

  “True,” she reminded, “but that was in war. In peace, he too commanded John Adams, just as you do now.” She resolved to learn more about this man whose name arose so frequently among these Americans.

  Throughout the conversation, Marie was aware of the rolling deck, the graceful motion of the ship, her easy speed and the beautiful surrounding sea. Shortly, however, Marie felt a bit queasy, not having acclimated as yet to her new environment. She excused herself, admitted she would lie down and Captain Lee directed his aide to attend to her should her discomfort grow more serious. For his part, he walked the deck in her absence and continued to regard his situation, his career in the peacetime Navy and his nagging doubts bordering on depression. He was frustrated with himself for not sharing his concerns and resolved to do so when the next opportunity presented. He could not, he knew, waste these days.

  Dinner was designed to offer bland food, easy on the digestion, all without Marie’s knowledge. Captain Lee, assured her that what she felt was quite normal for one unused to sea travel. Indeed, he concluded she was perhaps somewhat a natural on the water as her symptoms seemed to be quickly dissipating. Still, he did not wish to overtax her if she were not feeling well. “Marie,” he began tentatively, “I do not mean to press you with my company. Please, if you would like more privacy and fewer engagements, I will understand.”