Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  “He was,” admitted Oliver, taking a seat by the woodworking bench, “as was an English King. But that is not why your father chose the name for you.”

  Wasebitong stopped working the leather. Oliver had his attention. Bemose wondered as to his point.

  Oliver changed tacks, “What does Wasebitong mean?”

  Wasebitong replied, somewhat mystified as to the change in subject, “Shining Water.” He knew that Oliver was well aware of the meaning.

  Oliver nodded and smiled, “That is right. If you could have known your father, you would know that he named you for one of his most favorite sights in the entire world, as I am sure you were at once the equal of ‘shining water’ in his heart.”

  Wasebitong looked down and softened his expression, thinking once again of how he would have loved to be able to come to know his father.

  Oliver next asked, “The people often name children after that which pleases them in nature, or after places of significance to the child or family, am I not correct?”

  “Yes, that is right,” affirmed Wasebitong.

  Oliver explained, “Your father did the same with your Christian name.”

  Wasebitong was awaiting an explanation. Bemose stood nearby, stroking the mane of a horse while now smiling and nodding, acknowledging the truth in Oliver’s point.

  “Your Christian name, ‘George’ was a reference to the island upon which you were born,” Oliver explained. He continued, “It is now known as Sugar Island. Perhaps you know it from this past summer.”

  Wasebitong was intrigued. He looked to Bemose and she nodded in confirmation. He then replied to Oliver, “Yes, I know it well.”

  Oliver continued, “Then you know it is a beautiful spot and, I am sure, given it is the place of your birth, it was instantly even more special to your father, as it is to this day, I am sure, to your mother.”

  Bemose nodded. “I was foolish to have not explained its meaning to you years before.” Her eyes welled up with tears.

  “You are of two worlds,” Oliver declared, “loved by many in both.”

  Wasebitong looked at Oliver, knowing full well by now that he was hearing well considered words of purpose, not a simple apology for what he was now coming to understand was in no manner intended as a racial slight.

  Oliver walked to a small window and looked over the land. Staring out over the barren landscape, he honed in on his main point, “Your mother and father gave you two names, one in each language, both entirely consistent with what sentiment and tradition are deemed acceptable in both cultures. Natives would approve of ‘George’ if they understood the reference and sentiment, just as whites, knowing your father, would approve of Wasebitong were they to know its significance to him and what he loved.” Oliver looked over to Wasebitong, making certain he understood. Bemose stood perfectly still, for fear of interrupting what was a remarkable moment.

  Wasebitong nodded, clearly appreciating what he had come to learn.

  But Oliver continued, giving him far more to consider, “The fact that you have two names defines who you are. You need not wonder. Most natives do not have a Christian name. Few whites have a native name. You have both. Accept who you are, just as you accept both of your names, each fitting and proper, in which you should take pride. Parts of each culture are deserving of pride, parts of each culture give cause for shame.”

  Wasebitong did not resist. He just nodded, unable to take issue with as much insight and wisdom offered from Oliver as he had ever heard from Shin-Gaa-Ba-Wossin.

  “Whatever you do,” Oliver asked, “you will make us proud if you use your talents, given you by God, to improve one culture or the other, if not both. Heaven knows, while there are some excellent values in each, there is plenty to improve in both.”

  Oliver ended with a lighter thought, counting upon Wasebitong’s sense of humor, “With you now responsible for both races, you have no excuse but to work twice as hard as me.”

  Wasebitong smiled. Oliver nodded and walked away. Bemose stayed to be with her son under the guise of admiring and helping fit the reins.

  She thought of how fortunate she was to have Oliver and Mary, especially with William gone. She suspected, however, Oliver underestimated the resistance Wasebitong would likely meet amid whites were he to try to contribute in proportion to his strengths and talents. She also knew Oliver was no fool. In all likelihood he fully recognized this weakness in his appeal even as he walked to the house.

  After some time working together, Bemose brushing the horses and Wasebitong caring for the tools from a project well finished, he confessed to his mother, “It is hard hearing about my father, knowing he has never been buried as the Anishinabeg or the Priests require.”

  Bemose nodded, having felt the same emptiness and grief for years, not just with respect to William’s death, but the denial to them of his body. She recalled years before Oliver telling her that others from Invincible had survived. Perhaps, she wondered, now faced with the realization of the feelings felt by Wasebitong, she could help ease his pain, if not hers.

  Wasebitong continued, “James went to great effort to bring back the great naval hero, Perry.” Bemose looked to her son. He purposefully avoided her gaze as he spoke of his brother. But his implication was clear.

  Bemose would go to Oliver and learn what she could. But she knew she would need more than the yearning of a boy; more than recall from a farmer. She would need the help of another real sailor, like her

  William. She would need, just as did Mrs. Perry, “Captain James.”

  Portrait of Shin-Gaa-Bo-Wossin

  (Courtesy of Clements Library, University of Michigan)

  Chapter Nine

  Oliver and Mary exchanged glances across the dinner table. They were surprised, yet sympathetic. Oliver paused, then thought aloud, having little time to gather his thoughts, “Bemose, it is already March.”

  “Yes; all the more reason,” she replied, “Wasebitong and I will leave tomorrow. The weather is clearing and with the latest storm just having passed, we are likely to have good weather for some days. Certainly the trip to Detroit will be easy.”

  Oliver considered. The roads were yet frozen. They had not received much fresh snow in the last two weeks. The roads would be as good as they could ever be expected given the season. Both Bemose and Wasebitong were capable, if not accomplished, on horseback. He nodded, but added, “James is working now and with spring approaching, I am not certain he will be able to just up and leave. It could cost him his situation.”

  Bemose did not disagree. She only looked at Wasebitong, then over at Mary and declared, “I have to try. I quite nearly asked him by letter on several occasions since the New Year, but given the purpose and what I am asking of him, I need to be there, with him.”

  The children remained unusually quiet around the dinner table, understanding an important decision was at hand. Ephrium, for once, recognized the serious implications that even his casual attitudes as a young, capable man could not diminish. Mary finally joined, “God speed. And assure Marie she will be staying with us, here at the farm.”

  Oliver nodded again and then asked, “How long do you think?”

  Wasebitong, to everyone’s surprise, offered with the confidence of much consideration, sounding much older than his years, “Upon the first steamer north, perhaps three months.”

  Bemose explained, “We know so very little and our search will cover many miles of shoreline.”

  Oliver regarded a search for traces of William’s fate, based on Bemose’s scant knowledge, to hold little hope. But the endeavor may take less time than they estimated. Bemose and Wasebitong, after all, did not know what Oliver knew. What only Oliver knew. It was time to tell everything he knew to both.

  “Bemose,” he ventured, “do you recall years back, when I informed you of William’s loss, my mentioning a letter from one of his shipmates?”

  She nodded. Oliver rose from the table, went over to his desk in the parlor and from the bott
om of a drawer containing records of his days as owner of a merchant sloop, Friends Good Will, withdrew a letter and returned to the table. It was rarely quieter around the family table as when he unfolded the letter and set his gaze on the top of the second page.

  “Just as I recall,” he affirmed. Looking at Wasebitong, then Bemose, he disclosed, “The North West Company Schooner Invincible was not long outbound from the Sault. She met her end upon a beach. Her remains are likely still visible.” He handed the letter to Bemose. Oliver regretted using the word ‘remains’ in regard to the ship. They were, after all, talking about the remains of a different nature all together.

  She looked at the signature and read aloud, “Lieutenant Dunlap.”

  Oliver knew she would recall the man.

  She thought a moment, “He can be trusted. He was First Officer on Hope, when I first met William.” After some reflection, she added, looking to Wasebitong, “It was kind of him to write.”

  William kept to himself the fact that Lieutenant Dunlap was also present at the Battle of Lake Erie, very possibly training naval guns upon William and James.

  Bemose made to return the letter, but Oliver gestured for her to keep it. He knew she would read it many times over in the days to come.

  Ephrium announced, surprising all, “I will join in the search.”

  Mary’s expression signaled alarm and she glanced at Oliver.

  Oliver looked at his son, too old to order, yet too young to release, “Thank you. I am sure you would be a big help. But I cannot spare you. We have an entire crop to get in and attend.”

  Ephrium began to object, but Oliver sobered all with an undisputed fact, “If James cannot go, no one will be going.”

  Bemose nodded her agreement. All of this planning was as yet speculation.

  Oliver reminded, “All we are talking about, today, is Bemose and Wasebitong making a brief trip to Detroit.” He rose from the table as he raised his voice, signaling both the family discussion and dinner was over, “So, let’s be about helping prepare!”

  Everyone started talking at once as they scattered, calling for food for the trip, bags and luggage, gifts for James and Marie, letters to deliver and warm clothing to gather as they planned for an early morning departure.

  Oliver went to his desk, seated himself, uncapped the ink well and removed from the top drawer a blank piece of paper.

  Mary left the cleanup from the meal to three of her children, having assured their good start. She walked into the parlor and approached Oliver from behind. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she offered, “Thank you for not sending Ephrium.”

  He nodded and disclosed, “He will be plenty busy as the man of the house and without my assistance.” He looked behind him and up at Mary, shifting in his chair.

  She showed no surprise and nodded, “I suppose you have no choice; nor do I, given your feelings for William and mine as his sister. I cannot imagine you not helping with what may, finally, offer Bemose and Wasebitong, indeed all of us, some peace.”

  She asked, “Writing a letter?’

  He confirmed, “For posting in Detroit. Bemose can see to it for me.”

  Mary was halfway back to the kitchen when she turned and asked, “Do you really think James will lead the effort?”

  Oliver hesitated for a moment, his expression confessing some doubt, “It has been a long time since we spent any time together. Our visits this past November and December were both brief and busy. I cannot say as I know him now as I did then.”

  But then Oliver looked at Mary and assured, “If he is the man now as he was the lad then, you can start packing my bags at the first sign of a thaw.”

  Oliver turned once again to the ink well, quill yet in hand and thought that now, as opposed to then, James had Marie to consider. Oliver, now a farmer, then a mariner, knew well and perhaps better than James, that women and wives could sometimes influence the decisions and deeds of men.

  Oliver dipped the quill, paused as it dripped and lightly dragged the tip over the lip of the well. He brought the quill to bear on the paper:

  March 8, 1827

  Lieutenant Owen Dunlap, R.N.

  His Majesty’s Naval Establishment at

  Penetanguishene, Upper Canada

  Oliver paused. He considered for some moments how to begin correspondence asking a favor from a British Naval officer. Lieutenant Dunlap was a King’s man, no doubt. Oliver recalled, however, this particular officer was also an acquaintance of Bemose, first a friend and next an enemy, later reconciled, to William and lastly, though now years ago, a partner with Oliver in peace through their joint efforts with the Rush-Bagot Treaty.

  Dear Owen,

  The words flowed from his quill. Oliver sealed the envelope and delivered it to Bemose with strict instructions. She understood.

  * * *

  James returned home late in the day, having completed his survey of the schooner St. Clair. Late in the winter, it was now typically still light for his greeting Marie in their few rooms above the old dry goods store which Oliver had owned and operated twenty years before. The apartment was spacious for two, considering rarely was one far from the other. James and Marie were enjoying their first months of what was proving to be a very happy marriage.

  “How was your day at the yard?” she greeted.

  “Very good,” James answered, offering a small kiss and hug as she took his coat. “The St. Clair is not lost and could be made sound enough come spring.” James was relieved, her having remained on the hard the previous summer after running aground and springing some planks, causing the near loss of the vessel and prompt discharge of her former Master.

  Marie asked, “Will she serve?”

  James caught her eye an admonished, “I have not yet been asked and you know I am junior to others in the company.”

  “Perhaps,” she allowed, “but the most qualified of all, including the owner, Mr. Figgins. He will ask, mark my words.”

  James appreciated her confidence and hoped she was right. In the event it might not be St. Clair, however, James was studying prints, tables, manuals and books on steam engines and related machinery, asking questions of his fellow workers at the yard and trying to learn so much of what was so foreign in very little time. He could not survey and advise as to the seaworthiness of other vessels forever. Soon the ice would break and flow downriver, as could be seen from their parlor windows to each side of the cast iron stove. Ships would launch and commission, up-rig and tune and the yard would be all too empty to keep him employed, unless he found himself at the helm of a company vessel.

  “And how was the bakery today?” James asked.

  Marie shook her head in frustration, “Gretta burned the bread yet again; second time this week.”

  James was not surprised, “Perhaps Otto should accept his daughter may just not…”

  A knock on the door surprised both. While they had made friends and acquaintances, winter weeknights were typically quiet.

  After their surprise passed at Bemose and Wasebitong standing at their threshold, and with dinner doubled and news exchanged, James retired to the parlor and removed from the stove a coal with a pair of tongs from which he lit a pipe.

  He coughed slightly and Bemose frowned. He had never smoked in her presence before. He admitted, “A new habit I am trying to acquire.”

  Bemose suggested, “A habit best abandoned early. Why the practice is so prevalent among the People is a mystery to me.”

  James coughed yet again and admitted, “Perhaps you are right. We shall see.”

  Marie and Wasebitong were laughing in the kitchen and James got the distinct impression Bemose wanted some time alone with him. He asked, “Wonderful to see you, of course, but what prompts your journey? Detroit is perhaps the last place, I expect, Wasebitong would prefer to spend time.”

  Bemose nodded and took a seat in a rocker next to a large wingback that she suspected was most often occupied by James. He sat and she stared for a moment at the glowi
ng fire showing through the grates in the stove.

  She began, “For many years, I have grieved for your father.”

  James admitted, “You loved him well and I am sorry you both could not have grown old together.”

  Bemose offered an appreciative glance and acknowledged, “I resolved to go on alone, of course, for Wasebitong, and would even have entertained marrying again, if half the man as William had ever approached.”

  Bemose was an acknowledged beauty and with no need for idle flattery, James noted, “I would guess you have had many offers.”

  Bemose reminded, “As I said, they would have had to be at least the half of your father.”

  She then smiled and offered sincerely, “You have grown to be so like him.”

  “Thank you,” James offered, still wondering as to her purpose.

  James noted the quiet in the kitchen. He turned to see Wasebitong standing between the half columns separating the dining area from the parlor. Leaning against the carved column, Wasebitong asked of Bemose, “Have you asked him?”

  Marie then came from the kitchen and gestured for Wasebitong to take a seat, with her taking the last in the parlor. Marie asked lightly, “What is the question?”

  With no apparent hesitation with a now larger group included in the conversation, Bemose explained, “We have come to ask you a favor, James. For just ten years now, I have wondered as to William’s resting place. We have few details, have never had a body and now, with Wasebitong a young man and you so capable in these affairs, would you see your way clear to lead us in a search for your father?”

  The room drew quiet. James looked to Marie, read her surprise and knew she would remain silent for now. He imagined the logistics from what little he knew. Finally, he examined his heart. Their guests gave him some time. Silence was to them more welcome, he supposed, than a refusal. As he stared for some moments at the pattern in the carpet rolled out and covering most of the pine floor, James thought of his voyage to Trinidad and his return of Captain Perry. He thought of the oncoming spring and the commission of St. Clair.