by James Spurr
Marie observed, “It looks like they can handle a lot of cargo.” Despite the advancing season and often cold, windy weather, she added, “I am happy we can go atop of the cabin and take some air.”
“Yes,” James agreed as to her point about the cargo, “I would estimate perhaps thirty tons.” James thought the cargo was about the equivalent of what Friends Good Will carried, when by comparison only a trickle of settlers set off west down the length of Lake Erie. He then added, “Multiply that by the number of boats and you have a lot of goods moving west with a large number of people.”
Marie asked, “How deep is the canal?”
James was about to guess, but a Lockman standing nearby interjected with pride, “Madam, just four feet! Clinton’s ditch,” referring to the New York Governor who began the project, “was quite a feat, taking more than ten years!”
James asked, as the Lockman began to close the gate, “Is it considered a success?”
He nodded, spit, wiped the remnants of some tobacco from his beard and assured, “Each boat can handle a thousand bushels of wheat. That will open a lot of markets to our farmers. They are already talking about widening it for larger boats, but that will likely not happen for some years. Business has been strong!”
Soon thereafter, having witnessed their belongings loaded, James and Marie took their seats in the canal boat. As the lock gates opened after the gradual filling and rise of some feet, the tow line drew taut. Calls sang out between the workers, the boy, or “Hogee”, on the horse and the man at the helm. There was no other crew aboard. Marie squeezed James’ arm in recognition of still another chapter in their travels.
While the excitement of their departure soon wore off, interest remained high as they witnessed the slowly passing countryside, so close beyond the adjacent tow path. The Hogee rode one horse, which towed the canal boat, while trailing two horses which rested. Every so often without stopping, the Hogee would pull up a fresh horse, rotate so to give rest to the one he was riding and switch the tow line as he crossed over to the fresh animal. Small villages grew from or were fed by the constant traffic. The locks were well engineered and seeming to operate with a simplicity that is often the calling card of genius. While locks were not new, James conceded, the engineering of the gradual rise in elevation so to keep the intermittent waters slowly flowing with a minimal current through man carved ditches and over stone aqueducts crossing depressions and ravines was very impressive. Best of all, as they hoped, the ride was quiet, the water smooth, and the enclosed cabin afforded protection from the cold wind as had by that time of the season stripped most of the trees of their brilliant color. The time was spent in easy conversation, without a care; very rare in travels over land and a genuine cause for enjoyment among what were considered modern pilgrims.
As they traversed the state of New York, Marie returned to the topic of that struggle between France and England. “I would expect more of a French influence, James,” she admitted.
“It is very strong further north, in upstate New York and the other side of the St. Lawrence River. Many communities in Canada speak French as a first language.”
“When was the war of which you spoke on the Hudson?” she asked.
James noted, “It was raging in the 1750’s, just seventy years ago.” With both James and Marie in their thirties, even if barely, that was regarded as recent history. James added, “Amazing, when you think of two European powers struggling for the control of a continent including the Great Lakes and within a single lifetime after the violence, another nation entirely is created, of which I am a lifelong citizen, poised to inherit at least the mid latitudes. That reflects a great deal of change in very little time.”
Marie thought of her uncle, Father Armand LaPointe, as she looked out over the rolling hills, low, soft mountains, dramatic rock outcroppings and numerous streams and rivers. She commented, “I can well understand how my uncle was so captivated with this land.”
James nodded, “This of course is all very civilized compared to that which he encountered. The Jesuits showed great courage and conviction, penetrating the wilderness first, encountering largely hostile natives a century or more before there was much in the way of European settlements.”
Marie was proud of that aspect of her heritage. She noted, “I would also have expected to see more natives.”
James struggled for a moment, not sure what to say. He decided to tell her the truth, without apology, “Many of the native peoples have been removed or decided to move west beyond our settlements.” He continued, “In just sixty years, a single lifetime, native tribes backed France and lost, backed the English during our revolution and lost, and again, backed the English in the late war, emerging from that conflict the only nations to have lost, with no one else, it seems, having won.”
The tragedy was not lost on Marie. “Are you saying they are gone?” she asked with some alarm.
The call went out for the approach of a low bridge. James and Marie, sitting inside and sheltered from the cold stiff wind and occasional rain, were able to ignore the caution as those above them heeded it. They continued their discussion.
“Not at all,” James assured, “at least not yet and we will no doubt see many in the Great Lakes region, but they are far less numerous in New York and Ohio, being pushed out by the settlers. Many in Congress are discussing a policy of forcibly moving various tribes.”
Marie asked, “Forcibly moving an entire people? Where?”
James admitted, “Yes. Generally further west, which of course causes dislocation, strife in their new lands with the existing occupants, a significant loss of sovereignty if interred on reserved land and cultural shock. Some of the Indians openly debate whether it is better to remain in small bands and adapt our ways than to resist all of the changes and move.”
“What do you think about that?” Marie asked. She was thinking that of all of the cultural shock seen in Europe during the reign of Napoleon, to her knowledge he never attempted to move entire populations. She then realized, as she stared out at so much little touched landscape, Europe’s population and geography afforded no such options as was presented by the entire North American continent. She was beginning to grasp the scope of the “New World” so often referenced in Europe.
James wished she had not asked. It is always easier, he thought, discussing such topics on an objective, non-personal plane. Perhaps he did not know quite what he felt, but he told the truth. As the shade enveloped them from the bridge and it grew momentarily quiet, without the rain beating upon the cabin top, James lowered his voice, as though not wanting to be heard, “I am more familiar than many with native cultures, because of Bemose and having sailed extensively on the Great Lakes. I also have a half brother by Bemose, although I have met him only once as a young infant. I did not even recall his name,” he admitted, “although he is mentioned in some of the letters within the satchel.”
Marie was aware of this from her correspondence with Bemose, but did not know how to pronounce the name and remained quiet, hoping James would continue.
He returned to the question, feeling as though his ramblings may have signaled his discomfort, “I suppose I am…” he was going to say ‘respectful’, but hesitated as the word was too strong. Instead he thought and added, “sympathetic… to their culture and heritage. They were here first and for a very long time. Some of their values are good, but…”
Marie looked at him as his voice grew stronger. She sensed James spoke more loudly not only because of the rain, the canal boat no longer sheltered by the bridge, but with conviction as he made to articulate the popular belief, “I fear their destruction as individual nations is inevitable.”
“Why?’ she asked simply.
Again, calls between the Hogee and helmsman announced a village, which they would make their terminus for the night. They would soon need to disembark and find lodging at what promised, by the view from the windows, would be a rather rustic public house.
Jame
s answered, “This migration,” gesturing to their fellow passengers in the canal boat, “of which we are a part, has been underway for many decades.” James waited for a moment for Marie to consider the magnitude of Americans moving west. He continued, “When our ways clash with native ways, it seems that living in close quarters is near impossible. With the technology we employ, our notions of ownership and organization, our differing uses of land, our methods of farming, our manufacture and sale of goods does not well allow for coexistence. Our basic lifestyle and view of family seems to guarantee conflict. It has to be one system or the other that prevails so to keep the peace.”
The boat bumped up along the wall of the canal. Amid calls for docklines and instructions to passengers, local workers began to offload luggage. Most onboard stood to form a line at the cabin port. Merchants and agents of goods and services were pressing along the gangway, calling out their offerings, hoping to catch the attention of all.
Marie thought the topic of native relations deserved far more time, but understood the interruption was unavoidable having made their destination. While James was seemingly relieved, she resolved to discuss the history of the continent, its ancient peoples, its modern encroachers and the seeming unlimited future for much of the next hundreds of miles.
Marie detected no racism in James’ comments, as she heard so casually from so many. As she followed him to a public house, however, she was acutely aware of her European heritage. Her uncle had indeed brought his values as a Frenchman, a Christian, a member of her family of the French noble class, to North American natives so to convert them not just to her religion, but inevitably to her customs and values. While recognizing her own lack of objectivity and role by association in what unfolded half a world away, still causing consequences, she also wondered if James, closer to the clash of cultures, could exhibit sympathy and tolerance for what she saw as human tragedy.
As daylight waned over a dense landscape, so unusual by way of backdrop given the genesis of their relationship, neither James nor Marie on that first night westward to the inland seas was at all certain of how they felt, what they would encounter or how they would be tested and react as they approached the frontier. The rolling hills, meadows and villages of New York, while beautiful, were docile. James and Marie were bound hundreds of miles further west, where sail vied with steam as technology changed their lives, where memories of violence spanning generations struggled with a new, fragile peace, and where native peoples clung to their culture against the onslaught of invaders rendering irrelevant their ancient ways, racists threatening their usefulness as human beings.
Several days later, James felt the excitement rise in his spirit. He and Marie stood upon the docks at a shipping office in Black Rock, the western terminus of the great canal. They had transited eighty three locks, rising in elevation 568 feet. But James’ excitement was born from a memory. They stood on the same docks he had as a lad when serving as Mate under the command of his father of Friends Good Will. James also recalled, just downriver, a year later, his adventures one evening off of Fort Erie, still flying the Union Jack, as the brig he had just “cut out” slipped out of range of the fort, constituting one of the few, early victories of the war.
Marie was not quite so enthused. While she was informed they had reached the Great Lakes, James explained they were really upon the banks of the Niagara River. While impressive, especially the speed of its current, the helmsman of the canal boat, try as he might, could not impart to her the majesty of the falls just downriver. Even James had not yet been able to convince her why these lakes to which he felt such a connection were in any manner unique, let alone “great.” For the latter, she would have to wait.
James searched among the masts, trying to ignore the few smokestacks confirming his fear that steam vessels were also finding use on the inland seas. “There!” he called to Marie, “A schooner with an old trysail mast rigged aft of its foresail. That is her, Louise.”
Marie looked to where James gestured, but his description of her was no help to her. James slipped a boy some coins and asked that he assist in loading their trunks and boxes. Marie took one, James two and soon they were aboard. James made the acquaintance of her master, Mr. Phelps, who although had never met his father, or heard of Friends Good Will, knew of Daniel Dobbins, a well known Captain upon Lake Erie and an acquaintance from the late war and earlier days of merchant shipping. The Captain confirmed, loudly for the few other passengers on deck, “You may wish to get squared away with your cabins. I am not sure there is time to lunch ashore. If you try, be quick. We slip our lines at noon!”
James and Marie had already eaten and while the November morning was cool, the sun was warming them quickly. James expected a moderate wind, rare for the season. He could well understand given the gales so often seen in November the Captain’s desire for a quick departure. They walked all 65 feet of the deck and James explained to Marie the schooner rig and its advantages in sailing to windward on the Lakes. He noted only one yard set aloft on the foremast with a course furled in a manner as would have given the Bosun of John Adams reason to start any crew the least bit involved. He observed along the starboard bulwark a topsail yard, already sent down for the season, and the jibboom stowed along the larboard rail had also been taken in, reducing the headrig and sails to just a jib. Louise was partially downrigged for winter service so long as the oncoming ice would allow her sailing.
Captain Phelps called out to two boys, one of which James realized had assisted with their luggage for tips, and the headsail and foresail were set smartly, allowing Louise the power she needed in the northeast wind for progress against the current. Just south of the village of Buffalo, which James noted had grown considerably, across from Fort Erie which James pointed out so to impress Marie with the very near border with Canada, Mr. Phelps pinched into the wind as the crew raised the mainsail, set with a reef for caution given the season.
Louise fell off the wind and for the first time, Marie beheld the sea and horizon as opposed to the activity surrounding them aboard. Her mouth opened in wonder, her eyes gleamed at the beauty of the horizon and the sparkling, fresh purity of a vast inland sea, James assured her she beheld but a modest example of the Upper Lakes. She understood, as must have her uncle, the utterly unblemished opportunity God had bestowed to all those who needed but to make their way west.
The following day, Louise put into Cleveland to offload both cargo and the only other passengers aboard. Few passengers, it seemed, had an appetite for November voyages. Marie was impressed with the size of the city and began to correct her impression of what she expected of Detroit. The following day, they departed at dawn and James was hopeful of making Detroit that evening. The wind continued to veer and blew lightly out of the southeast, increasing out of the south by afternoon. With James and Marie the only other passengers then aboard and with plenty of time yet ahead and underway, both came to make conversation with Captain Phelps.
James noted the gunports cut into the bulwarks along the entire length of the deck. Considering them unusual, he asked while standing to leeward across from the helm, “Captain Phelps, what year was Louise constructed?”
Just after the war, in ’15. It was thought she would play a military role, but was not needed,” the Master admitted.
“So I would have guessed, with the gunports and the trysail mast,” James nodded.
“You know ships, sir! How so?” the Captain asked. The discovery of a connection between them was welcome and would make the miles slip past all the faster.
Marie interjected, proudly, “Mr. Lee, Captain, is recently retired Navy and sailed these Lakes for some years!”
Captain Phelps, much older than James, was now very interested.
He explained, “I did not come west until after the war. Indeed, I bought Louise after the Rush-Bagot treaty. The navy held Louise in ordinary in Erie and sold her as surplus. Hence, the gun ports.”
James could not resist, “Our government, in it
s infinite wisdom, considers a thousand miles of shoreline serving as the border with a nation with which we have made war twice in a lifetime and with the largest navy in the world as not worthy of a concern, let alone defense!”
Captain Phelps took a moment considering whether to discuss politics with a passenger, but waded in given his particular passenger had served as career navy, “I must admit, it is unusual.” He thought the comment fairly neutral and may serve to draw out Mr. Lee, a man of obvious experience. He then offered, “By all means, sir, take the helm. You may enjoy a small schooner for a change!”
James took the wheel, a new contrivance on a ship of this size since James last sailed the Great Lakes. Louise tracked well and was easy on the helm. James smiled at the Master and Marie and offered to the former, “Thank you. This brings back memories!”
Captain Phelps, still curious, asked, “What rank, sir, did you achieve?”
Again, Marie took the opportunity to interject, “Captain of a frigate and one of Perry’s men!”
James shot her a glance, not wishing to boast to strangers, but understood it was her way of adding to the conversation. The Master caught his small admonishment and began to understand the comment about the recent treaty. Captain Phelps pointed, just off the starboard bow, and suggested, “You will recognize then, South Bass Island, just ahead.”
“Aye. It was here,” confirmed James.
Marie then asked, sensing the answer, “What, James?”
Captain Phelps added, taking the wheel as James gestured and stepped to the rail to improve his view, “The Battle of Lake Erie. It was fought in the waters just ahead.”
James seemed to withdraw and grow quiet. Some time and distance passed and he emerged from the self imposed exile even more agitated, proclaiming to Marie, “How my uncle Oliver could possibly have joined with Britain and suggested we pretend all of this,” he gestured over the waters in which they sailed, “never happened and that we need not forever remain prepared is unforgivable.”