Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  He lowered his glass and let the note to Mr. Horn slip from his grasp, fluttering down to momentarily float upon, quickly absorb and then sink beneath the waters upon which all of their hope seemed to be lost.

  With his father already dead, Lee now had lost the only man who had played the role of a much admired older brother. A brother such that James had never had, a role such that another could never fill.

  * * *

  Benjamin reminded Captain Lee, with damp in his eyes after yet seven years, “He died just hours from Port of Spain; sapped of all strength, jaundiced, having not spoken for the last day, and then calling out to pull up the ship’s boat from Lawrence. His last words were, ’It’s time to cross’. He died on his birthday. He was only thirty four.”

  Captain Lee nodded, sharing the loss with the only man aboard Lexington who knew of the other events that unfolded that day seven years prior: unknown even to him until Nonsuch swung alongside so to offload the barely cold corpse of their Commodore. Captain Lee confessed to Benjamin, “Our needs that day caused me not to give another thought to the officers of the fourth rate. But I even now often wonder. Did I handle the situation as would have he? Did his death and my learning of it rescue me from a tragic mistake of judgment? Or did it rather cause me to postpone what I must someday regain; my pride among a former enemy who so grievously wronged our people?”

  Benjamin sat for a moment, staring at the deck, lost in thought with such questions as Captains rarely put to their aids. He then looked up and counseled, “Don’t you, Captain James, waste no time on such thoughts. There is only one man more proud of you than the one we will dig up soon enough and return him home for a proper eternal rest… and that is Captain William. Both, I is sure, would not have you throw your life away for some haughty British bastard.”

  And with that expletive, two Navy men, both Perry’s men, one with gold trim, one without, both with a history dating back to a battle on another continent more than a decade before which fury might well have been heard from where they sat, determined they had laid some questions to rest.

  For Captain Lee, a rest lasting at least until he delved, once again, into the satchel in his cabin for yet another letter.

  Chapter Six

  Oliver Williams slipped down from his horse after a full day’s ride. The hot morning sun and humidity near the Detroit River gave way to cooler, drier air over Oakland County north of the city. By early evening, the northwest breeze increased and Oliver could sense that early autumn was just a week or more distant.

  He was pleased to be home. His occasional visits to Detroit, requiring three days away from home for a single day in the city, allowed him to attend to what few business interests he retained in the city and simultaneously gather supplies for the farm. His dry goods store, what little was viable after the war, had withered from lack of capital, his ship was lost and his tavern was sold years before. The visits were not, therefore, as social as they used to be. Nearly all of his associates from the early days, when Detroit was a growing village, before and after the British occupation in the late war, had scattered to other pursuits.

  Ephrium, Oliver’s eldest son, one of six children, stood on the porch and smiled a welcome, waiting to work with him in the woodshop established in the corner of the barn. The corn was near harvest for market, the silage would remain in the field for some time, the wheat was between cuttings, and the beans were doing well. These precious days of high summer with a touch of cool in the evenings were reserved for completing projects improving the farm.

  Oliver marveled that his thoughts and rhythms as a human being were so comfortably interwoven with the length of each day as allowed by the seasons which, together with the rain, wind and warmth, nurtured his small patch of earth. A federal grant from the late war allowed him a fresh start after the ruinous loss of his ship, Friends Good Will. He purchased some 80 acres to which he had staked his future and that of his family.

  His new vocation, although tied to the land, was similar to when he had spent time on the Lakes as a merchant owner with his brother-inlaw and dear friend, William Lee, the Master of Friends Good Will. In those days, some fifteen years before, his fortunes were also dependent upon the wind, rain and the vagaries of weather. Now, with the largest body of water near his farm but a small inland lake, his fortunes seemed as yet equally uncertain and for the same reasons. Oliver smiled to himself as he began to walk his horse to the barn. He called out his greeting to his wife, Mary, sitting on the side porch outside the kitchen and just behind the parlor. Sitting next to her was Bemose, who often lived with them when she was in lower Michigan.

  As the other children ran out to greet him and gathered around, all talking at once, he gave his horse to James and answered Mary, “All is well in Detroit. It is growing by leaps and bounds. But more importantly, I have a surprise.”

  Oliver slipped his hand into his saddlebag as a younger son led his horse to the barn. He brought up a letter and jumped all three steps of the side porch, emphasizing the excitement of mail from the outside world.

  The news broke the routine. The women stood from their tasks of darning and knitting and Oliver handed the letter to Bemose. She at first assumed it was from her friend in Europe, Marie LaPointe. But Oliver could not wait and announced to Mary, “Word from James, I assume. It is posted from the New York naval yard!”

  Both women looked to each other, excitedly considering the prospect that Mary’s nephew, Bemose’s step son and Oliver’s former shipmate, had returned from the Mediterranean, the last station for John Adams of which they had word.

  Ephrium joined them on the porch, having walked through the house and missing the news. He asked, “Father, come, let us finish turning the last leg for that table before the light fades.”

  Oliver nodded assuredly, but sought to wait some moments, so to give Bemose time to read the letter and hopefully assure all that James was well. Mary explained, “Your father will be along, Ephrium, but we have word from your cousin James!”

  Ephrium nodded, exclaiming, “Really? Why, it has been since last year!”

  Bemose showed just the slightest pain in her eyes. Oliver understood. While James was not her son, with William gone now some years, she wished James would, at a minimum, write more often.

  Bemose tore open the envelope and recognized the hand, “Yes, it is from James!” She smoothed the folded page, sat down and began to read aloud, as her father, Jesuit Priest Armand LaPointe, had so well taught her as a small girl at the Sault, more than thirty years before.

  22 July, 1826

  Bemose

  Care of Mary Williams

  Lakes District, Oakland County

  Michigan Territory

  Dear Bemose,

  I am pleased to inform that I am well, just days back from the Med, with John Adams about to undergo a major refit for some months at the New York yard.

  I had hoped my years abroad had earned me some ease, but alas, I have been given the command of U.S.S. Lexington and will be departing within hours upon a short voyage of just some months.

  I suspect this most recent mission may be of some interest

  to Uncle Oliver. Please offer my regards. Your letters shipped to Marie LaPointe reached me in Venice. Upon my return, I hope to pay you all a visit and may at

  tempt the trip by way of the great western canal of which I have heard so much here in New York. Extend my love to Aunt Mary and the children. Look for me, hopefully before the snow flies.

  Sincerely,

  James

  P.S. There is a possibility that Miss LaPointe will accompany me to the Great Lakes.

  Bemose lowered the letter to her lap for a moment and stared at the decking of the farmhouse porch, considering the tone, the language, the order in which James raised topics and the rather surprising news of his visit and the possibility of a female companion.

  She looked up to Mary, handed her the letter for her perusal and impressions.

  Ephrium offe
red first, “Well, wonderful news. I look forward to seeing cousin James.” Then, looking at his father, he offered, “I wonder what type of ship is this Lexington.” Without waiting for a response, Eprium sauntered off to the woodshop.

  Mary looked up and smiled, “It will be so nice to see James. It has been much too long.” Looking at Bemose, “He sounds very well, don’t you think?”

  Bemose nodded, smiled and offered, “Just think, a visit with James and the chance to meet one of my father’s family.” At the same time, she wondered about the letters mailed to James and what part, if any, they played in his having written and in planning a return to the Great Lakes.

  Mary asked, “So, Bemose, you know Marie best from your letters over years. Do you think James and Marie…?” The implication was obvious and Oliver began to shake his head.

  Bemose only offered, taking up once again the shawl upon which she had been working, “I do not know. Not having ever met one and not having seen the other in so long…” She then added, “But I must remain nearby this winter, rather than going north to the Sault.” Lastly, thinking out loud as the implications of the news became clear, “Perhaps Wasebitong will come south from the Sault and winter with us to come to know his half brother. Wouldn’t that also be nice?”

  Mary then turned to Oliver, “Dear, you have been very quiet.”

  Oliver smiled, raised his eyebrows as he leaned back on the porch rail. He removed his hat and offered quietly, “Nothing would please me more than a long visit with James. I have such strong memories. We have such deep ties.”

  But then he confessed, sadly, “I wish he felt differently about my activities after the war.”

  Mary at first objected, “Oliver, you make them sound subversive. Yours were more than ‘activities’. They were accomplishments.”

  Oliver appreciated Mary’s loyalty and affirmation, but then, ever the optimist, Mary offered, “Oliver, James did make a point to mention you. I am sure that is all behind him by now.”

  Bemose looked up from her shawl, thinking of whether there was any hint of hope to offer Oliver. She was not sure.

  Oliver quoted from the letter, “Regards,” he repeated formally, “is not exactly the warmth we once shared.”

  Mary challenged, “Truly, Oliver, it may be your imagination.”

  Oliver shook his head, offering, “I do hope you are right, but you may recall, we exchanged some letters a few years ago, after William passed. It has not been the same since I offered my assistance to Mr. Rush and Mr. Bagot.”

  Bemose nodded, acknowledging the truth. Mary offered a silent prayer and determined to focus more time upon James and Oliver in her daily meditations.

  Oliver only hoped his nephew, and more importantly former shipmate, could come to consider with tolerance their differing views with respect to the politics and price of peace.

  Bemose put aside her shawl and walked toward the orchard, as she regularly enjoyed in the early evening. Halfway across the drive, she called back to Mary, “Care to join?” Mary glanced at Oliver and he nodded encouragingly. He would welcome the time alone to consider the letter and would then join Ephrium in the barn. Bemose would welcome Mary’s company regarding the same.

  Between the few rows of peach, pear and apple trees, Bemose reached toward a small broken branch and as she walked, began to strip the leaves to keep her hands busy, her mind already fully engaged. She offered to Mary, “James has met Wasebitong only once, at the war’s end if I recall, while he was still an infant.” She smiled at the memory, “James laughed at the translation, ‘Shining Water,’ thinking it the result of his father’s influence. James teased his father until we both admitted that he was very perceptive.”

  Mary observed, “And now, just think, a strapping young man of thirteen!”

  Bemose admitted, “I wish he had stayed with me this summer.”

  Mary nodded and allowed, “You miss him, certainly.” With much more experience afforded her from her larger family, Mary understood and explained, “No mother welcomes her children growing to a state of independence, even as she is so proud to watch it unfold; especially with an only child.”

  Bemose nodded, “True, of course. While James is not mine, he was William’s. I have come to love him as his. When I first met him in the Spring of ‘11, he was well beyond any need for me as a mother. Remember the night he burst through your front door, surprising us with his first discharge from the Navy and how excited we all were to have his experience available for Friends Good Will? He was just sixteen, not much older than Wasebitong.”

  Mary nodded as Bemose smiled at the memory of that greeting. “But it is not just my son’s absence,” she confessed, “that concerns me. Allowing him to camp this summer in the Sault, with the Kitchigamig Anishinebeg will only cement his bonds as an Ojibwa.”

  Mary knew the phrase Ojibwa for “the people of the Great Lakes,” and nodded.

  Bemose then summarized Wasebitong’s racial heritage like it was a compelling cause for justice, “He is after all, half white and a quarter French.”

  Her summary was both accurate and offered with infallible logic. Yet it was as impotent as a wish, irrelevant in the cultural reality of frontier Michigan and the Great Lakes. Both women knew ‘half white,’ when the quarter French only reinforced the dark features of the Ojibwa, most often resulted in the social equivalent of full native. As proud of her native blood as any, Bemose was desirous of raising Wasebitong as one of few exceptions.

  “If I want him to carve a place for himself in both cultures, perhaps I should have kept him with me this summer.” Bemose was afraid of losing her son to a native culture on the decline, with fewer opportunities for a free and prosperous life even as contrasted with the situation just a dozen years before.

  The last war reduced those options dramatically. Bemose was having second thoughts about decisions she had made as a mother, alone and without William, her life partner and Wasebitong’s father.

  She and William conceived their son in Boston, far from native cultures, after fleeing, separately, from an occupied Detroit. Bemose and William rejoined with Oliver and Mary the winter of ’13 at Oliver’s family’s home. The summer of the Erie campaign, with William serving in the navy on the Great Lakes, Bemose, then with child, insisted in making her way from one native village to another across upper Canada to the Sault; there to wait for her time among the Bahwehting, ‘the people of the rapids’. Wasebitong was born the same day as the climactic naval battle of that autumn in which both William and James served with distinction.

  And while both were of service to Perry that day, William forever regretted he was not instead of some small service to Bemose and his son, Shining Water. William took a leave several weeks later and rejoined Bemose in a liberated but devastated Detroit. Bemose, with her infant son, by the grace of those victories comprising the Erie campaign, returned from the Sault hoping to rejoin William, a new, although not young father, who had somehow survived the carnage so to meet his second son.

  Mary offered to Bemose, now years after that joyful reunion, “You cannot keep Shining Water a child. Soon he will be a young adult, seeking his own identity at his own pace. Shining Water needed to live among the people this summer. It was time for him to come to grips with what you learned as a young girl. And look,” Mary encouraged, “you have walked in both worlds.”

  Mary played purposefully off of the very meaning of Bemose; “always walking.” And she had. Well armed with a talent for languages, Bemose had her entire life moved among varying cultures, regarded as a skillful translator.

  “It is easier for a woman,” Bemose reminded. “In the white world, a native woman does not compete for status as a leader and provider, having to work among the other white men, as would Wasebitong.” Mary knew Bemose was right. They had both witnessed the same for too many years to pretend.

  Bemose then confessed a deeper concern. Turning to Mary with fear in her eyes as only a mother wears when concerned for two of he
r children, each struggling and hoping the troubles were not one with the other, “What if James does not accept Wasebitong?”

  Mary had not thought of that, never having seen James reject Bemose in any respect. She was surprised and had nothing by way of quick answer.

  Bemose continued, “Wasebitong is his half brother. But James does not know him and so many years have passed.”

  Mary changed the subject, or purposefully tested whether in fact the subject was the same after all, “What were the letters to which James referred, having found him in Venice?”

  Bemose shrugged, but before dismissing, thought, walked some distance, and then offered tentatively, as if she had not fully ever considered her action, “I sensed James was so far from his roots,” she gestured, “his region… the Great Lakes. I suppose I sent him letters between William and I and some of yours and Oliver’s just to remind him of us, his roots, and what he may not have ever understood as a youth with him so far from us, and we never having an opportunity to explain as he matured.” Bemose was near tears.

  Mary wondered at the reason for her anxieties, “And your concern?”

  Bemose’s voice broke as she admitted for the first time that which she had not considered when shipping the trunk including the satchel of letters to Marie Lapointe now nearly two years before, “That if James were ever to return, even for a visit, he would come to reject his history and identity as one of us and leave again forever for the much larger world. His skills upon the salt seas would make it so easy.”

  Mary comforted, “Perhaps he will decide to stay.”

  Bemose nodded at the prospect, “And with me foolishly thinking these years have not changed him, how could I bear that William’s two children would regard each other as cultural rivals, competitors for this land and a good life and possibly as enemies?”