by James Spurr
Mary was not even sure Bemose understood what she had just admitted as a possibility, but which she was not about to highlight to Bemose as a reasonable risk. Shining Water could well resent and regard James, an all white Naval officer, the very symbol of the Ojibwa nation’s demise as a strong and free people.
Oliver meanwhile, went out to work with Ephrium in the woodshop. As they turned the table leg, the foot pump and Ephrium’s boundless energy powering a simple lathe, the metal bit scraped and peeled thin shavings of oak from what had once been a stout branch. Oliver thought about James. He peeled the accumulated thin layers of time passing back from some of his best memories.
They had stood watch together through night and weather. James had been crucial, in more ways than he as a youth likely knew at the time, in shaping Oliver’s views as a patriot, supportive of the war despite its costs to his business interests and to the economy throughout the Great Lakes.
Later, after dark fell sooner than all may have liked, Oliver and Mary talked on the porch. Mary confided in Oliver Bemose’s concerns.
Oliver stared at the half moon yet rising and offered, “When James was taken prisoner at Mackinaw, it was likely much worse for him than I think I realized at the time.”
Mary regarded that as an odd change of subject, but the intense thought and soft tone obvious from her husband caused her to ask, rather than admonish, “What causes you to think about that, after what now… fourteen years?”
Oliver explained, still staring at the moon, “Without William, with me kept in another building, the young lad must have been terrified. I regret I never spoke of it with him.”
Mary asked, “It was just for a couple of days, was it not?”
“Yes,” nodded Oliver, and perhaps bolstering his own lack of confidence in the uncertainties of the past, ever more numerous as Oliver aged, “and we were well treated while I awaited trial. I always regarded it as so obvious they would look to James as an innocent youth. Perhaps it was not so obvious to him.”
Mary reached for his hand and asked, sensing as with Bemose that James’ letter had unsettled some sentiment laying on the bottom of her husband’s soul, “What is troubling you, my dear?”
Oliver sighed, “Nothing we can do anything about. It just strikes me that James and I had very different experiences during the war.”
Mary nodded and hoped Oliver would continue.
“I was imprisoned for months, far from my family, unable to assist them when they needed me greatly and, even then, I suffered much less than most. Finally, when freed from Kingston, although seeing some action, I was not there that day with James and William, fighting ‘longside Perry.”
Mary understood and agreed, “Your perspectives would also be very different; a mature man attaining the rank of Major, as opposed to a mere youth, not yet leading men to their deaths with the luxury of serving a national hero.”
Oliver nodded and remembered the massacre as the siege of Fort Meigs was lifted. Oliver witnessed that which if James had seen, may have left him demanding revenge for a lifetime. But strangely, Oliver admitted to himself, he himself yearned for none.
Oliver offered to Mary, “What I experienced led me to embrace peace and work for its endurance. James, well, was… young and viewed the sacrifices of many, such as what I endured and which was forced upon my family by my absence. So much less direct and obvious, having no family of his own.”
Mary wondered what conclusion could be drawn from such memories and her very expression and posture, they knew each other so well, signaled to Oliver to make his point.
Oliver summarized for himself, perhaps for the first time in all those years, not really having worked it out until that moment, on a late summer night on a farm far from the sea, with Mary on the porch, so different than a deck, “We are expecting, before the snow flies, a United States Naval Frigate Captain who has cooled, if not parted, with his uncle and former shipmate because he appeared to him, after the conflict, as all too forgiving.”
Oliver thought for a moment and asked, “Was I?”
“I doubt that was your motivation,” Mary encouraged.
“No,” confirmed Oliver. “I did not think of my work on behalf of Mr. Rush, or cooperation with Mr. Bagot, as acts of forgiveness.” After some moments, Oliver confirmed to himself, “I suppose it was my feeble attempt to assure it does not happen again. For me, that is enough. Forgiveness may follow, or not.”
Mary thought to ask if it had followed in Oliver’s heart, but was not sure she wanted to know, perhaps afraid of his answer, given his rare mood.
“And James?” asked Mary, confused as to how else one might regard peace.
“If I had to guess, perhaps he saw me, with his father having just died, as dishonoring the sacrifice of both… rendering it less dear if so easily put astern.”
Mary regarded the phrase. Oliver was a farmer. Yet his seasons at sea with her late brother William and his son James had marked him so deeply as so even now, miles from the open waters, old memories could so quickly return him to the deck of Friends Good Will.
Oliver stood and explained he would check on Ephrium, still working in the woodshop by lantern light. As he walked to the barn, Oliver considered that James did not share the same experiences in the war as they had before those tumultuous days shared the stars overhead and soft glow of the binnacle on a beautiful reach, the topsail drawing and pulling from them deep conversation as shipmates come to prize.
So it now seemed more understandable, to Oliver, that after the war he and James regarded peace from far different perspectives.
Upon reaching the barn, the lathe slowed and stopped. Oliver admired the shape, symmetrical and pleasing, like a chapter in one’s life with its curves and bends well understood and peacefully relegated to a fond memory. Oliver looked at Ephrium, remembering years before holding him high above his head with joy as he wondered and worried whether war was approaching and would engulf them all.
“Look, father,” Ephrium proudly displayed his work as a man, “you have taught me well.”
Oliver nodded, taking joy in his son’s accomplishment. Oliver wondered whether he had, in William’s absence, since his passing and even before as given the opportunity, taught his nephew James as well.
* * *
The same night, more than a thousand miles distant, Captain Lee stood at the windward rail, adjacent to the wheel of Lexington. She had since departing Trinidad and with a pine box in her otherwise near empty hold, sailed northeast among and between the island chain comprising the Caribbean Sea, playing the wind shifts as she searched for the powerful beginnings of the Gulf Stream.
A dim light arose up from the froth of the sloop of war slipping north. The phosphorescence glowed green, as Mount Stromboli’s crater rim glowed red months before. James thought of Marie. He held a letter in his hand.
James had already read the letter once. It caused him to take the deck, needing some air. By way of excuse for the Captain to take the deck so late, Lexington sailing in that mode where whispers were barely tolerated over a professional silence, so prized, he flipped through the
log book, spoke to the Second Officer, acknowledged the helmsman on a
beautiful, easy night and clutched the letter with a grasp suggesting
such violence as was unholy. It was a letter from his Uncle Oliver to his father, then Captain
William Lee.
September 2, 1816
Captain William Lee
Sault de St. Marie
Dear William,
I hope your trip north went well for Bemose and Shining Water. I posted this to a schooner bound for Mackinaw within a week after you departed, but I expect you will have settled in for some time before it arrives at the Sault.
My work with Secretary Rush and Mr. Bagot continues to be of interest and shows such promise. Our correspondence has become more frequent and I trust that both have gained a better understanding of our Great Lakes. While for a time I was afr
aid Mr. Rush may have need of me in Washington, it is with great relief to learn now that President Monroe may instead visit Detroit sometime next year.
In my work with Mr. Bagot, I have come to learn of strife between two of the Crown’s most powerful creations. The rivalry between the North West Company and Hudson Bay Company intensifies and I fear there will be considerable violence, if it has not already begun west of Fort William, in the Red River colony. Perhaps you are aware of the strife, from your vantage so far north at the Sault.
I only pray such will not bring violence yet again to our Great Lakes. Apparently the Crown is in desperate need of experienced seamen who know the Lakes. I mention the former in case you are in need of a situation; there is some casual gossip bantering about Amherstberg of ships being sent to reinforce or retake Fort William and, of course, I thought of you should you have any interest.
Considering what we have already invested and endured, it is difficult to believe violence would erupt yet again so soon after Ghent upon these waters.
I trust both of us would do our utmost to prevent that from spreading, should Lord Selkirk have already taken such brash action as has been rumored. Imagine taking a King’s establishment and sending its ministers and representatives packing for Montreal.
You are wise, my friend, to winter anywhere but Detroit. As you witnessed this summer, we have precious little commerce, trade or stockpiles to comfortably make it through the winter.
I trust you and Bemose will enjoy a quiet and secure winter with Shining Water among the people. I have heard nothing from James but thank you for advising as to his concerns for my involvement with Mr. Bagot.
I hope someday for the opportunity to explain.
Sincerely Yours,
Oliver
James struggled to control his emotions. His breathing was fast, his heart pounded. He flushed with a combination of anger and embarrassment. The anger was the result of Oliver’s involvement in what unfolded as tragic; embarrassment at only now realizing his uncle knew for some years of his disapproval.
James knew his father had taken a voyage with the North West Company. In those days and in those regions, the North West Company and its fierce rival, the Hudson Bay Company, often represented the full power and wealth of the Britannic Empire. On the extreme upper lakes, where the Royal Navy was scant, such established monopolies were licensed by the Crown to carry arms and provide its own enforcement of law and insure the security of English subjects. And when the Hudson Bay Company and North West Company came within the slightest scent of each other, despite the vast unpopulated wilderness in which both operated, no good ever resulted.
True, those times were not easy, as his Uncle Oliver remarked in the letter. Less than eighteen months after Ghent, the Great Lakes economy had not yet recovered from the tumult of distrust, the loss of reserves, the shattered infrastructure and scarcity of currency that is always, it seems, the inevitable consequences of war.
As James gripped the rail and considered the implications of his Uncle’s letter, he shook his head in disbelief. James always assumed his father had stumbled upon his voyage aboard Invincible by chance, simply trying to provide for his new family in tough times. He now knew better.
It was his own Uncle Oliver, while consorting with English diplomats, who encouraged his father to set sail yet again, despite all they had endured during the war, the guns barely cool, under the Union Jack.
James wondered if the satchel contained a letter from his father, to either Bemose or his Uncle, offering words as may have been his last put to writing, shedding light on what may have happened; that of which Bemose quite likely knew little.
Benjamin spoke softly from over his shoulder, breaking his thoughts of a cold November gale as so often quickly arose on Lake Superior, “Sir?”
“Aye,” answered Captain Lee, with a start.
“Is there something I could bring you?” Benjamin offered.
“No need, Mr. Fleming,” Captain Lee assured. “I am just taking some air.” He then asked, “Have you noticed it is appreciably cooler?”
“Such a blessing!” affirmed Benjamin, then asked his Captain, as his position as clerk seemed to allow him, assuming the cause for unrest, “It is not easy, Sir, sailing with the bones, even of the Commodore.”
Captain Lee assured, “Do not give it a thought, Mr. Fleming. That is not what keeps me awake this night.”
Benjamin waited and then admitted, “I tell myself, what better turn could we offer the Commodore than a homecoming. How could his soul ever disturb us, that being our mission and purpose?”
Captain Lee smiled and assured, “Quite right, Mr. Fleming. Good night.”
Benjamin knew a dismissal when he heard it, even at an hour when most on board heard nothing. He turned and made his way to his small cabin, wondering how it was his Captain was not worried ‘bout sailing with bones aboard.
But Captain Lee was not the least bit troubled about the contents of the pine box aboard Lexington. He was instead deeply disturbed about remains likely lying amid the wreck of another ship, the North West Company Schooner Invincible; a ship flying the Union Jack that well may have become the grave of his father, a circumstance encouraged and arranged by his Uncle.
Nine days later, still ever pushing the last bit of speed from a new ship, driven hard, Captain Lee considered his progress along his chart. Lexington was equidistant, by coincidence, from New York as Newport. His orders allowed him to fulfill his mission by putting into either. The Navy asked him only to bring Perry home, not to necessarily bury him in the family plot.
Benjamin brought some coffee into the great cabin after dinner. Captain Lee considered what course to give the helmsman, and how each might well determine his future. He then wondered about what course Benjamin would pursue once his special commission was fulfilled. As Captain Lee was not at all certain that Marie would be waiting, he wondered whether he ought not just allow Benjamin to decide Lexington’s destination. He asked, “What say you, Mr. Fleming, back to Mrs. Perry and the children?”
Benjamin looked out the larboard gallery windows to the sunset, well to the southwest in the late September sky. “Well, Captain, those children are growing fast. I’s not at all convinced they or Mrs. Perry would really miss Benjamin.”
Captain Lee smiled softly and offered, “I am sure you are like a member of the family, Mr. Fleming, being with them for as long as they can remember.”
“Thankee, Sir. That is very kind.” But then Benjamin hesitated and began to reflect, “After we bury the Commodore, well… you may recall I grew up and learned to fish on the Delaware Bay as a boy?”
Lee nodded, “Yes, I recall.”
“Old Tiffany, now, he was from Presque Isle and I have often thought there was something about that little town on Lake Erie. I may just make my way to the Great Lakes. I liked it there. As a free man, I think I could fish for a living on the sweetwater seas, just as I was
taught as a boy.” Captain Lee smiled and assured, “Yes, as much as Mrs. Perry would miss you, I am sure you could do just that.”
Benjamin had surprised him with his desire to return to an inland sea he had not seen in years. Yet Captain Lee certainly knew how the region could take hold like a half hitch and only tighten the harder one tried to pull from its hold. If Benjamin could be suspicious ‘bout the bones,’ so too could he glean from Benjamin’s answer an omen of good fortune. Perhaps Marie was waiting and plans for the Great Lakes held promise. Newport it was.
Captain Lee took the deck, walked to the binnacle and softly advised the Second Lieutenant, officer of the deck, “Bring us four points east of north.”
They would be in Newport by morning.
Just before dousing the lamp, aware that the next several days would be filled with social obligation, companionship and, dare he hope, the possibility of love, he glanced at the satchel and drew out another letter at random. It was from his father, to Oliver:
13 November 1816
&
nbsp; Oliver and Mary Williams
Proprietors
The Pontiac Hotel
Detroit, Michigan Territory
Dear Sister and Oliver,
I received your letter just a week ago. As a packet departs downbound from the Sault within the hour, perhaps the last of the season, I take this opportunity to assure all of you of our well being. Wasebitong is a joy; Bemose the perfect mother. The people are thrilled with our new addition.
The North West Company, Oliver, as you predicted, will act to retake Fort Williams, feeling Lord Selkirk’s aggression against its interests and the Metis of the west leave no choice if there be any obligation among civilized men for the sake of law and justice.
Few here have real experience as mariners upon the largest of the Lakes and with the season quite late, I have agreed to assist; not to become embroiled in any civil strife involving Red River, but only so to assure the sea does not take them all.
Of all the coincidences, the Master of the schooner Invincible, upon which I depart tomorrow as Sailing Master, is none other than Owen Dunlap, former First Officer of Hope, Captain of Caledonia and lately of His Majesty’s Naval Establishment at Drummond Island.
You may recall Dunlap; last we were together, with you, when Fleet met his end and with no mourners among us. I will offer Dunlap your regards.
I hope conditions improve in Detroit. The people all fear what changes will come from American administration. I encourage patience and hope for Wasebitong’s sake they are wrong.
Take care of each other.
Sincerely,
William
James fell, finally, into a fitful sleep, having read his father’s last written words. They appeared to strongly suggest a confession. Yet James was not surprised. No one could doubt his father had cause, no less than any man would require. James reasonably surmised that with Dunlap and Fleet wearing the King’s coat and with his father more the man for action than his Uncle, it was likely his father, as between them, who had settled a score that began with his birth and continued for no less than a generation.