Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  * * *

  Bannister wharf appeared from the fog and revealed what was likely the only activity in town. It was early. Fishermen were loading gear into small boats. So grey was the dawn it was impossible to tell, in those few moments no longer dark but not quite day, as fisherman and sailors share, whether the sun would follow or if the mist and fog would refuse its entree and condemn all to at least another hour of gloom.

  James attracted little interest as he walked the wharf with the customary sway borne from a balance not yet acclimated. He noted that one of the fishermen seemed to recognize Benjamin, offering a surprised nod of the head. At the head of the wharf where it intersected Thames, Benjamin, with his bag, parted and headed north to the Perry home on Touro Street in Washington Square. James did not follow.

  He decided if Marie had moved on, he wanted to face the news without Benjamin on the hawse. He needed some moments to think. As he stood rather awkwardly, wondering if his utter lack of purpose and direction was as obvious as it felt, were any even looking. The scent of fresh bread wafted his way from the bakery before which he loitered. He noted a light. He thought of Marie and wondered if it could really be so easy.

  With time to spare, he had little to lose. It suddenly occurred to him he was famished. He entered and approached a counter. He was as disappointed by the baker as he was encouraged by the smell of fresh goods. A very old man stood in the back of the shop by the ovens. He was dusted generously with flour no whiter than his hair. The baker considered his new customer, but deferred offering assistance.

  James understood the hesitation as a figure now rose from her knees just behind the counter, having slid warm bread into a display case.

  It was Marie.

  She looked up and, for a second, no light of recognition formed in her eyes. James recalled their meeting in Venice, when she registered the same disappointment from no other reason than his own dim wit. But here, in Newport, Marie had a far better excuse.

  James offered a smile.

  An expression of surprise overcome by love filled Marie’s eyes. As part explanation, part question, she asked, “No uniform, Mr. Lee?”

  “No longer,” James assured. “And with me in this ill fitting suit, will you come to regret my loss of title, gold braid and yet change your mind?” he asked.

  She smiled. They both stepped to the side and around the counter between them and they held each other. His embrace lifted her from the ground and she promised, in a whisper, “No change of mind; not from a change in clothing.”

  James reciprocated by way of heartfelt promise, “No change of heart, either.”

  They nodded and stared a moment into each other’s eyes. Marie turned to the old man who stood observing their reunion with no pretense of accident. She took off her apron and placed it on the counter and she thanked him for his kindness. He nodded and scowled, having just lost a rare talent to his trade, and as so often happened in Newport, to the drop of an anchor in the harbor.

  Marie took James’ hand and they began to walk back to announce his arrival to their benefactress, Mrs. Perry, who would prepare, finally, for her husband’s homecoming.

  Portrait of Oliver Williams (Courtesy of Detroit Historical Society)

  Chapter Seven

  Four days later, James was once again in full naval uniform. Marie, however, not only tolerated but encouraged the gesture as fully appropriate. For that purpose and on that singular occasion, Marie was proud to accompany him as a Naval Officer to pay final respects to a man she never met but who had mentored the man she had come to love.

  Most in Newport were by that time aware that Captain Perry was coming home. With the only notice of U.S.S. Lexington’s arrival a vague expectation, once anchored in the harbor city fathers put into action plans that had been quietly discussed for weeks. Four days later, on a Saturday afternoon, Captain Perry’s family exited Trinity Church after the service and took their seat in a carriage parked at the foot of the village green. From there, they observed a parade of mourners as they poured forth from the pews and boxes. The considerable crowd numbered well beyond the capacity of the church and filled the green itself. The mourners formed the largest procession yet seen in a city which had been witness to more than its share of great men and historic events.

  Neither the city fathers, nor the ministers, had given any thought to the sounds made from so much humanity gathered together for a march of some distance to the Common Burial Ground. What impressed Mrs. Perry, James and Marie, Benjamin and even the children, was there was none. No sound at all. A prolonged and profound silence had extemporaneously shouted more loudly than any eulogy could proclaim.

  Mrs. Perry more than once looked to seaward, then aloft to the trees. Leaves now dead and dry gave way from branches and rolled and advanced along the green, like waves across the open sea upon which men like her husband found sustenance and peace, torment and danger. But there was no other sound. The mourners stepped softly on the cobble stones of the street. There were no greetings exchanged, minimal eye contact and the only acknowledgements of sorrow were offered with the tip of a hat or a sad nod of the head as near all in the community and many from afar gathered to make the walk from the church to the grave.

  James wondered whether it was the local custom, but the headlines of the event in the forthcoming edition of the newspaper confirmed that it was most uncommon, and the silence itself had become the news, the signature of a people saying goodbye to a hero.

  The newspaper did not report that which was deliberately planned and executed as private. The morning before the most recent edition hit the streets, James, as one of Perry’s men, paid a personal visit to the gravesite, alone, to reflect upon his memories of times shared.

  Those times and places were scattered through several years and about the globe, beginning in the Great Lakes, to where he was now bound, then on to the Mediterranean, back to the dueling fields of New Jersey and south to the Caribbean Sea. Most recently, such memories included observing United States sailors, witnessed by a Venezuelan honor guard, unearth a crude box as had been kept dark and moist in the tropical soil a fathom below a spectacular view of the sea.

  James stood at the new gravesite for some time as the sun rose and promised to advance against a cold night. James noticed, unlike the first time he saw soil thrown upon Captain Perry’s casket, the steam rose still from the interface of the cold night air and warm recently turned soil. Captain Perry seemed to speak to him one last time with that steam, ordering him to be on his way.

  James replied, simply, as was typical through their relationship, “Aye.”

  Mr. Cosgrove would hear of none of their arrangements by packet boat. Captain or no, he insisted James and Marie transit to New York aboard Lexington. James gratefully assented, hoping to say a heartfelt goodbye to navy colleagues most easily seen at the New York Naval Yard and more prolonged goodbyes to those crew of Lexington, formerly of John Adams, who were in a state of near disbelief at his decision to retire from the Navy in the prime of his career. While others might retire, certainly not captains with a command.

  James had time to shop with Marie, this time with her taking the lead to assure he was well fitted out for the life as they may encounter inland on a continent with which she was wholly unfamiliar.

  “Really, James, another pair of shoes, and boots as you mentioned, are a must,” she admonished. The clerk certainly made no objection. “And some introduction of color in your waistcoats is not a sign of frivolity.” The clerk nodded. James was about to object, but was given no chance.

  Marie quickly advised, “You must start thinking of yourself as a civilian of some accomplishment.”

  Finally, while relenting, James cautioned, “Marie, Newport is not Detroit. Let us arrive upon the Great Lakes and further assess what we shall need and how things may have changed.” His advice was sound and she agreed to leave the balance of outfitting to local providers on a frontier which she in some respects correctly imagined as less
refined.

  James smiled to himself. He did not like to shop. He sometimes thought that was the principal reason he remained in the navy, enjoying the benefits of a greatly simplified wardrobe. He found Marie’s assistance a godsend even as he wished the entire experience could be handled with a few simple measurements by his clerk within his great cabin. There, all such needs would soon simply appear by some unexplained means in which he held no interest.

  But he no longer had a clerk. And he claimed no rights to a great cabin.

  Three days after the funeral, a week after Lexington dropped anchor, final goodbyes were made with those left ashore: “Captain James” with Mrs. Perry, Benjamin with James, Marie with half the town who sincerely expressed their desires that she remain, seeming to resent James for his whisking away whom he not long ago abandoned to them in trust.

  Benjamin insisted in accompanying James and Marie in a boat from the wharf, loaded to the gun’ls with trunks and boxes. On their way, James took her hands across the seats and admitted, “I thank God you waited. I want you to know I worried constantly; taking no such good fortune for granted.”

  Marie confessed, “Your letter posted to me on the day you left from the New York Naval Yard secured my commitment.” Repressing his breach of her trust, Marie spoke of the positive, “Your preparations for my well being and your return were endearing.” Marie admitted, “Your having established with Mrs. Perry funds for my care the night you departed, and without my knowledge, was very creative. Thank you for the gesture.”

  “Yet it seems,” James observed, “you did very well in making your way and the town would prefer, I am sure, that this gig sink on the spot!”

  Marie smiled and assured, “I am used to adapting.” Marie admitted to herself, even while explaining to James, she was simply unwilling to trust to the benevolence of either Mrs. Perry, the funds left in her care, or a naval officer who for some weeks would be unable to assist in any manner whatsoever.

  James nodded. The call “Up oars,” announced their arrival alongside Lexington.

  As Marie stood to board, James took her hand to steady her step and offered, “Such traits will serve you well on the Great Lakes.” He opened his heart and confessed, “I have the highest hopes for the both of us.”

  Marie’s heart leapt, as she began another adventure, full of optimism. But her heart was guarded still as to whether she could ever trust another in such manner as James may have meant to suggest.

  As U.S.S. Lexington put into New York harbor, James found he was no longer distracted by the details of command. He focused instead upon what he was surprised to admit were quite a number of ships without spars, but powered by steam, harnessed by mechanical engines well below the decks. It appeared such engines had been placed in a variety of vessels, from coastal passenger ships to harbor work craft. He noted their varying smokestacks and means of propulsion, some equipped with paddle wheels attached to each side, some with a single paddle wheel off the stern. He had heard about them and seen them occasionally in Europe and last he was in New York. Their development dated back to before the late war. They made their appearance then as a mere curiosity; an alternative with few applications. But in times of peace, James supposed the needs of commerce ruled and he had well after the war heard others talk greedily of smaller crews and arrogantly of imposing their schedules and wills without regard for the weather. He scowled deeply but could not take his eyes from them.

  Marie finally asked, other small talk not so much as registering, “James, what are you looking at? You seem in a world of your own.”

  James started and brought his thoughts back to Marie. “Not a world of mine, I assure you.” He gestured and explained, “Steam vessels, which some say are our future. I have never been on one,” he confessed, “and know very little about them.” He wondered how a navy veteran with all of his experience in sail would be treated when searching for a merchant command.

  Marie was not impressed and observed, “I was on a steam ferry once off the south coast of France.”

  “You then, my dear,” James spoke emphatically, “have more experience with respect to our future than do I!”

  Marie panned the harbor front and was not particularly concerned.

  Amid the sea of masts, with far more sailing vessels underway than those belching black smoke, James asked, “Did you like it?”

  She shrugged, “For short trips, I suppose reliability is an advantage. But certain aspects of them are by far noisier and they smell of burnt wood and machinery oil.”

  James thought of the machinery and the knowledge of science for an entirely new class of skilled personnel, “engineers” as he had never had to compete with or encounter. He hoped Marie’s summation would leave the odd vessels but a narrow niche in his chosen profession. He turned away, with an impression that of vessels, steam were insects like centipedes and beetles, where sail were birds, frigate and albatross.

  While in New York, James sent a brief note to Bemose, assuring both he and Marie were on their way. Within a couple of days and with the colder weather and shorter days urging them onward, they considered their options for their westward journey.

  There were roads, generally leading west, some private and exacting a toll. Still, those roads became far more scarce west of Pittsburgh and he recalled little by way of option west of Presque Isle from his last experience in the region a dozen years before.

  “Marie,” he offered over dinner their first night in New York, “I have heard about a great canal, opened just last year, where we would ride in quiet comfort without the constant jostling of ruts and frustration from dust or mud. It leads from Albany, just north of New York, all the way to the Great Lakes.”

  She liked the sound of avoiding a long overland journey, having taken completely to the advantages of life on and transport by water.

  She raised her eyebrows and asked, “How propelled? I noted your scowl at steam.” She then smiled, he knew she was half teasing and appreciated that she was coming to read him very well.

  “No,” he admitted excitedly, “that is half the beauty! The passenger barges are not all that big and they are pulled, apparently, by horse or mule from an adjacent footpath.”

  “All the way to the Great Lakes?” she challenged.

  “Well, yes,” James insisted, then smiling, “although likely not by the same horse.”

  They laughed and Marie nodded, adding, “It sounds wonderful; still another adventure!” They raised their glasses in evidence of their commitment, celebration and excitement.

  The following day, buying tickets for the both for the first leg of the journey north up the Hudson River, James walked back to where they had staged their trunks and crates. James looked a bit apprehensive. Marie asked, “Was there room?”

  “Oh yes,” he brightened slightly, “upon Iroquois, departing at noon…” his expression then changed, revealing his concern, “powered by steam.” His first insect, he thought and as he handed Marie their ticket, he was not at all assured of their safety amid fire and pressure which if wrongly handled, would make the Battle of Lake Erie look like a skirmish.

  On this occasion, trusting to an engineer’s skill, Iroquois churned north up the Hudson River against the current without incident, Marie enjoyed the view of the steep cliffs, rolling hillsides, and farms and estates growing less frequent as the City of New York slipped astern. James enjoyed all of that while listening carefully to the noise emanating from beneath the decks, which vibrated occasionally as fire and metal, not wind, powered wood through water. Smoke belched from twin stacks, and Marie was correct, steam vessels smelled of burning wood and machinery oil. James missed the smell of tar and wax amid canvas and oiled wood. But he was impressed with the distance logged in little time which with a contrary north wind would have left he and Marie still wandering about the dock if on a ship with traditional canvas.

  After some hours James had to admit, if only to himself, that in harbors and rivers, spars and canvas may we
ll not be able to compete. His mind, like that of his father’s and uncle’s, mulled over the essential calculation of capital investment, expense of operations, including master and crew against the number of voyages and revenue earned from passengers and freight. He no longer thought of weight of metal thrown by broadside, handiness in maneuverability in a ship to ship action or tactics upon boarding. He was beginning the transition, he recognized in himself, from a wardrobe trimmed in gold to a waistcoat of some color setting off a suit of black and tall hat.

  Iroquois made her run to Albany, a historic city in relation to the contest of the continent earlier fought between the French and their native allies against the British, in just fifty two hours, with a couple of brief stops at landings along the way. James was enjoying his role as guide, as had Marie in Venice, Dubrovnik and Rome.

  James and Marie took a hotel in Albany and did some small shopping for comforts as was suggested by those familiar with the canal. Come morning, they transferred their luggage to a wagon for a short trip of just ten miles north to a landing across the Waterford Locks where the Mohawk River emptied into the Hudson, now carrying waters within its flow from the Great Lakes, a first in all of geologic time. James and Marie found themselves standing among their trunks and boxes at a landing where many were boarding canal boats. All seemed excited for the filling of the first of dozens of locks all lying to the westward.

  James and Marie had to wait for the third canal boat, the press of people were so great, even at noon, for passage to the west. Conversations overheard confirmed not all were transiting the entire length or intending to settle in the Great Lakes, but the number of persons relocating west was surprising. Marie now felt like a part of a movement, her accent hardly noticed among the Dutch and German which were much more common.

  James took careful note of the canal boats as he waited to board. He pointed out to Marie, “I would estimate about sixty feet in length, perhaps only seven in breadth.” He sounded surprised and a little wary of the length to breadth ratio, worrying for the vessel’s initial stability when loaded. James continued, “A rather flat bottom, certainly, but I would expect a long shallow keel if for no other reason than to track well and resist any lateral pressure from the tow line. I like the use of windows the entire length.”