Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  “Aye, he does,” assured the Gunner, “given him some years back and he values them greatly. Fine dueling pistols; a matched pair, made by Lewis Graven, of New York.”

  The reference was lost on Marie, but she detected his tone of admiration for quality and reputation. The Gunner continued, his shipmates nodding, “Dueling pistols such as they be, why, even the Captain selects from my stores, when we drill for action.” He explained, “Very pretty, but much too dainty for a real melee.”

  Dueling. Her heart sank. Marie abhorred the practice, having lost a brother to a silly dispute which cost both participants their lives. As John Adams heeled dramatically to a large gust, the now building seas rising above the bulwarks causing the work party to reach to the deck and catch the weapons from cascading into the larboard scuppers or slip over the side, she asked, half fearing the answer, “Has the Captain ever found himself needing them… for, er, defending his honor?”

  The bosun called to stow the gear. The weather had canceled the work party. A shrill whistle called men aloft to shorten sail with some urgency. But the Gunner stood fast, thought a moment, looked to windward at the quickly approaching black wall of clouds and offered, “Not that I am aware, Miss. Although Captain Perry, he was not shy and had no trouble finding a second in our Captain. Of course the practice is illegal and was even then, come to think ‘bout it, but when gentlemen are insulted or called out…”

  The Gunner did not finish his sentence but wrapped the oiled weapons in the tarpaulin and sent them below to finish later. The others scattered to various pins at the rails. Marie was left with her fears and disappointment.

  Later that day as evening set in early with the angry skies, rising wind and John Adams awash in a stinging rain while preparing for a storm, Marie sought out another friend. She found the surgeon, Mr. George, well below the crack and flashes of lightning in the orlop, where the deep roll of thunder was somewhat muffled.

  He set aside his book for a welcome visit at sight of her. She offered small talk about the storm. He answered readily enough, but she suspected he did not really believe she was seeking his counsel on the weather. She walked aimlessly about, finally stopping before his surgical instruments and while staring at clamps used to remove lead shot from torn flesh, asked, “Does the Captain endorse dueling as a means of resolving disputes?”

  Mr. George answered truthfully, “I do not know, Marie. Many men who find themselves on the field do not ‘endorse’ it, but rather, for whatever reasons, see no other choice.” He then offered, more directly, “I have never heard that Captain Lee offered a challenge or has been called out.”

  His attempt at mitigation counted little; his answer was not much help. Mr. George sensed her dissatisfaction and suggested, “Why not ask him?”

  She nodded, “And Captain Perry?”

  Mr. George nodded slowly, stared off and thought back, “Once of which I am aware, when we served together aboard the new frigate, Java, although there had been an earlier acceptance of a challenge, the contest never scheduled, if I recall.”

  Marie’s questions had lost all tone and feeling, “And did Captain Lee serve as his second?”

  Mr. George confirmed, “Yes, although that was a long time ago.” He further offered, “Captain Lee was our Second Lieutenant aboard Java and may have felt some obligation…”

  Marie interrupted, “Come Mr. George, I know Captain Lee well enough to judge he is not easily manipulated and would likely have done anything for Perry, his regard and esteem for him were of that magnitude, am I right?”

  Mr. George admitted, nodding, “Yes, I suspect. So too would have many of us.”

  Marie wondered what it was about these men that rendered them seemingly blind, so to pledge their loyalty to those who can so obviously and grievously err. She replied, sincerely, “Thank you, Mr. George.” Then more lightly, “Stay dry in the storm.”

  He smiled and observed, “The only advantage for a navy surgeon.”

  Leaving the orlop, she half turned with an afterthought, “And with whom was Perry dueling?”

  Mr. George replied, with seemingly no significance, “Mr. Heath, our then Marine Officer.”

  The answer prompted one more question, “Did Perry survive the duel?”

  “Yes,” Mr. George confirmed, reaching for his book.

  Marie climbed the ladder to the gun deck, nearly shaking with dread. Could Captain Lee, a man with whom she considered her future, really admire and have assisted a man who had evidently killed one of his own officers in a duel?

  The storm rose with a fury that was of some concern among the professionals with whom Marie was surrounded. Officers and crew became serious, careful in their gear and movement and speaking in hushed tones. The night seemed to never end and sleeping patterns were shattered for all aboard. The sounds of the storm were near deafening, the motion of the ship belied none of the grace of which Captain Lee first boasted.

  Rather late, James called upon Marie in her cabin to assure her and take some relief in her company. He stood just inside her door; she having arose from her bunk and taking the only chair. He was in a dripping cloak, cold and tired, but seemed cheered just looking upon her. She was also cold, but whereas his was a physical sensation, hers occurred in her tone and demeanor. He seemed to quickly regret his interruption of her rest and only nodded, finally, after scant conversation and excused himself once again to the deck.

  Not ten minutes later, resolved to confront James on the matter, Marie borrowed Mr. Cosgrove’s coat and tarred wrap and proceeded tentatively, receiving cautions from those crew she passed, to step out on deck.

  The wind moaned, lightning flashed and solid water wave crests swept over the bulwarks. John Adams appeared to be not so much sailing upon the sea but rather had become a part of the sea which seemed to claim her with a terrible and violent lust. At the same time, the heavens above descended and closed down upon her, vying with the sea; a contender for the ship and all souls aboard her as a prize.

  As between the sea and the sky, it was as yet unclear in the struggle which, if either, would prevail as her undoing. With the sea tearing against hatch covers, beating her down with tons of water over every length sailed, pounding against aged planks and uncertain seams, the wind and lightning assaulted the spars and the few sails set, thrice reefed for those not yet torn. John Adams was pressed in a vice of nature’s violence and anger directed at what was just that afternoon an intricate machine of beauty and majesty. Now humbled, John Adams found herself in a fight once again, after so many, for her life.

  Marie was not so much frightened by the scene as mesmerized by the power and the dark beauty found in the struggle of life against awesome forces of nature unleashed. She was surprised to see that so much of the top hamper had been sent down in what must have been a Herculean effort in such conditions. The deck was now obstructed and appeared most dangerous, with numerous spars lashed and presenting new obstacles around which the crew must dance as they clung to man ropes zigzagging in a geometric grid across the deck at chest high to the common tar, offering some security as handholds from the rushing water sweeping nearly knee deep at times against all on deck.

  She glanced to her left at a figure approaching from the binnacle. Captain Lee called from just forward the ladder to leeward and larboard, spray flying across him from the starboard beam, water choked in the scuppers to his knees, “Mr. Pinto, ease away, slowly now!.” Then even louder, shouting to starboard, “Those men on the brace, haul away!” He turned back to the three men assigned the wheel, then saw her. Despite her cloak, her long hair, well known to him, blew in the wind and betrayed her gender. He hesitated, but then quickly completed his sequence of commands so to combat the forces she witnessed and turn a ship fighting to survive, “Bear off a point to larboard!”

  Steadying himself at the bulwark for a moment, timing his move from the rail amid such forces as had assembled to undo him, he never took his eyes from her. He joined her at the stairs, forward
of the binnacle, grabbed her firmly by the arm and said gently, given the volume needed to communicate, “I am sorry, Marie, only those with more experience on deck this night.” He called, slightly more loudly, “Mr. Stewart!” The cabin door opened, wavered in the resistance of the wind. A marine forced himself through the opening and up the stairs and Captain Lee delivered him his mission and his charge.

  At that moment, a terrible crack was heard from above and behind them. A yard, or at least half of what had been the mizzen topsail yard, swung down, scraping against the deck. Various rigging such as sheets, lifts and clewlines still holding it prevented it from crashing to the deck. A portion of the sail was in tatters and the wet heavy canvas whipped before them, still threatening.

  Captain Lee ordered Mr. Stewart, “Make certain Miss LaPointe stays below.” The few seconds comprising her time on deck gave her no opportunity to confront James with her concerns for his morality, much less react to what she witnessed or in what manner she had just been managed. Captain Lee reached out over his right shoulder, grabbed hold of the handrail for the ladder, swung himself more over than around it and was bounding back to the binnacle, calling as he disappeared from sight and Marie was pulled back through the door by the Marine, “Bosun!”

  Just inside, Marie gestured for the Marine to allow her a moment and he unloosed his grip. She was drenched, though she had never been fully exposed as were the men working to save John Adams. She was out of breath, although had not really much exerted herself. The scene itself was nearly debilitating for her, and she a mere witness! But what impressed her most was the contradiction she could not deny, nor yet understand.

  The man she sought to confront was strong. He was not so weak as to lose focus and be laid low by letters found in a leather satchel. He was decisive. He was not prone to be led where he thought he ought not go by a man he admired or no. If such a man was unforgiving, it was not because he was incapable, but rather because he saw little need and chose not to. If such a man could casually kill, or allow for others to do so, it was because he had so defined his world as to establish such as the rules with which he was comfortable.

  Women such as she did not change men such as that.

  By mid morning, Captain Lee’s clerk confirmed for Marie he had waken and was at his desk and table, updating the log, considering the chart, preparing to soon tour the deck. He had already entertained some brief visits, his officers updating them on their present condition after his less than two hours of sleep. The storm was subsiding.

  She knocked tentatively. The door swung open instantly and the carpenter, already in the process of departing, nodded seriously and exited. Captain Lee stood at the table, smiled and welcomed her with, “Come, Marie.”

  She noted out the stern gallery windows that the horizon behind them promised sunlight, though a distinct line of clouds under which they currently sailed extended yet some miles to the east. James conveyed no hint of tension for their situation. He looked tired; she was certain she looked a fright, but she began to suspect such was life at sea in a storm.

  James asked, “Did you sleep?” Before Marie could answer, James called out to his clerk, “Could we have some toast, if you please, for Miss LaPointe?” She noted he apparently had already eaten. Marie nodded to his question and James then observed, “You look concerned, as you did last night when I called upon you. Let me assure you, that was some blow, to be sure, but John Adams and all of her people did well and with a good deal of effort yet to be extended, she will appear no worse for the wear in just a couple of days.” James sounded jubilant. He was deserving of both his pride and optimism, she knew, having defeated the combined forces of sea and sky. John Adams had slipped like a grape seed pressed between thumb and forefinger from their grip.

  She had not yet said a word and was not quite certain where to begin.

  “James, I have been concerned. But not about the storm, really. Your crew mentioned, in casual conversation, a set of dueling pistols and your having served as Perry’s second.” She looked down at the floor, shook her head, tried to speak but at first could not. Trying again, she gestured by way of explanation, but all that came out was, “I do not know…” She averted her eyes to his yet again.

  His only indication that he understood was the sudden flush that came to his cheeks. The accompanying tightening of his jaw seemed to indicate anger. She was having second thoughts. She doubted his very goodness as a man. And he was hurt.

  He corrected, “Captain Perry.”

  She looked at him, quizzically. James repeated, “It is Captain Perry.”

  She then understood and nodded. James was requiring her to respect a man he knew and she did not. She ceded the point. If she wanted to know why so many aboard felt as did James about their former Captain, she had best afford him the benefit of some respect.

  James then looked at Marie for a time and he waited until her eyes rose up from the floor to meet his. He began, “Yes, I keep a set of dueling pistols.” Then he admitted, “I keep them for a purpose; a singular occasion, and a singular occasion only.” Abruptly, he stood and muttered, “I must check the well with the carpenter. Men have been pumping all through the night.”

  Surprised at his attempt to depart, all Marie could manage by way of objection, was, “James…”

  He stopped at the door, sighed and turned. He said, “Marie, you have already come to judgment. Indeed, it appears you had last evening when I came to call. If you want to understand, ask me before you judge me.”

  “No,” she objected, “I have come to talk, please… it was only the storm that put off this conversation.”

  James could not dispute the reminder of her coming on deck during the storm. Marie could see the struggle on his face, showing uncertainty as to how to respond. She was asking him to do something entirely foreign to his experience. He was not at all comfortable in ‘talking out’ an issue. In his world of men, all others on board looked to him only to decide, with him never having to explain. But Marie was not a shipmate. He knew so to shed his loneliness, he could not stay in the world of men. And his knowledge that she was there by his invitation also clearly weighed on him, prompting explanation. He sat beside her, took a deep breath and began.

  “Ten years ago, Captain Perry commanded Java. I was Second Lieutenant. While anchored off Naples, he slapped our marine officer during a regrettable quarrel. Both were court-martialed, but the incident was trivial and they received only minor reprimands.”

  James searched his memory, remaining silent for a short time and then continued, “I recall it was maybe two years later when this Marine called him out. Captain Perry discussed with me this man’s intention, how he insisted he proceed. I agreed to act as his second.”

  Marie fought her growing concern, the sickening feeling of disappointment.

  James continued, “The duel was arranged and took place across the Hudson River from New York, upon the same field upon which Aaron Burr killed Alexander Hamilton.” Marie was familiar with only the latter, but gathered both were famous Americans.

  Then James looked at her with cold intensity. She near froze in anxiety, thinking she would not like what she heard.

  “Back to back, each marched off four paces.” James paused, purposefully, to let her comprehend. “You understand, Marie, only four paces each. They were very close and the Marine was a professional with firearms.”

  Marie was confused. She knew James was making a point, but could not yet grasp it.

  James continued, “Mr. Heath, the Marine, fired first.” Marie’s expression revealed her surprise, then confusion.

  “That is right, Marie. He missed. Think about it, how could a Marine officer miss from only eight paces?” James looked from one side of his cabin to another. While called the great cabin, on a 28 gun frigate, the term was rather a misnomer. His glance gave Marie some idea of scale.

  Marie asked, disgusted, “Captain Perry killed him?”

  But James shook his head and corrected, �
��No, Marie. Captain Perry refused to pull the trigger.”

  Her surprise was complete. She asked, “Both men survived?”

  James nodded, “That is right. Honor was fulfilled for both. Perry’s restraint in the face of what would have been easy and understandable revenge is yet another example of why he is so revered.”

  He paused, perhaps letting her ponder and come to her own conclusions. Then he walked her through the points.

  “Did Mr. Heath purposefully miss?” Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “We shall never know. Sometimes, men do fire so to purposefully miss, aiming obviously to the side of their opponent so to reveal their intent. Heath’s shot was close, however.” Leaning forward for emphasis, “But Captain Perry told me when he asked me to serve that he had no intention of firing. He could not kill a fellow officer. Captain Perry took the field that morning ready to sacrifice himself. That is why I agreed to serve as his second. We both expected him to be killed, or at least wounded. Captain Perry wanted me there as I was beside him on the Lawrence and Niagara. How could I refuse him when both of us thought it would be a time for him of dire need? I could not.”

  Marie did not recognize the names of the ships James referenced, but reached out and grasped his hands, so relieved was she that neither James nor his mentor were endorsing an illegal, immoral, prideful manner with often tragic consequences as a means of resolving conflict. She did not understand this concept of honor as would cause someone to accept a challenge only so to then not rise to it, but that was not James, but rather his mentor. For her, the flood of relief came from their obvious value for life.

  But then she recalled his earlier answer. Somewhat confused, she asked “Then why the pistols, ‘with a purpose for a singular occasion’?”

  James glanced over at the chart and answered, “That you will come to understand in just a few days, when we arrive in Newport.”

  The carpenter knocked on the cabin door. “I shall be right along,” confirmed Captain Lee.