by James Spurr
He asked some questions before making a decision. Not because he cared as to the answers, but because he knew the answers would assist Marie. His first, “What do you know?”
Bemose replied, “As you know, if you read the letters in the satchel, your father was aboard a North West Company Schooner, Invincible.” Her tone reflected, as she pronounced the name, some cruel irony. She continued, “I did not know until very recently that the ship may have wrecked on a beach not too far from the Sault.”
James’ looked up and his eyes met hers. He asked, “Wrecked on a beach?”
She took his question as doubt and assured, “Yes, as did Hope. It can happen, I know.”
James corrected, “No doubt. Rather, I had always assumed Invincible sank deep, without a trace.” He thought for a moment. “If she wrecked on a beach, however,” he nodded, looking at Marie, “there may yet be quite a lot… of the scene… still visible.” James could not yet refer to his father’s remains, not wanting the image in his head.
James suspected everyone in the room caught his awkward reference.
Bemose turned to Marie and offered, “Oliver and Mary of course insist that you stay at the farm with them.”
Marie nodded, acknowledging the courtesy, but did not look at James.
While James was sure the invitation was well intentioned, it raised the issue of his absence from her, yet again, for a prolonged period. He addressed the issue immediately, “If I go, Marie will come with me.”
He glanced to her, their eyes meeting and he added, “… if she is up for the adventure.”
James suspected Bemose was not so surprised, knowing Marie from her letters over a period of years. James saw the shock, however, in Wasebitong’s expression and sensed he was struggling to remain quiet.
Marie just looked at James, half smiling and asked, “Where is the Sault?”
While the question revealed her ignorance with the Great Lakes and could have been taken as evidence of why she should remain behind, James answered casually, “About three hundred miles north, the entire length of Lake Huron and then some days, perhaps, upriver to a rapids.”
Marie nodded casually and offered, James suspected with some playfulness, “A short sail, then.” Her tone suggested no problems.
James next addressed his situation, “I am, as Uncle Oliver may have mentioned, working for Mr. Figgins in his yard, surveying ships and planning for their refit, commissioning and uprigging in just weeks. I may be offered a command.”
James did not pretend, surrounded by family, there might not be serious consequences to his career and their livelihood. But his real purpose in mentioning such facts was very different from that assumed by all others in the room.
Wasebitong could not contain what James sensed as frustration at a conversation unfolding much too slowly. James thought it uncharacteristic of the native ways he knew his brother admired so sincerely when he blurted out, “Will you go?”
James asked, “How long do you think we will seach?”
Bemose addressed a broader question, by way of answer “If we steam north in the first departure of the season, we may return in perhaps just two months.”
James looked to Marie and read her expression. There was no anxiety or hesitation; no tension or doubt. James suspected so long as Marie was included, she would support the purpose and at the same time, enjoy the adventure. James knew and suspected she knew well the small expedition would not be without significant dangers and hardships.
Finally, James announced, choosing his words carefully, “I will lead us north and search this area, which,” turning to Bemose, “your information describes.” He cautioned, “We will not have time nor does it make sense to search all beaches. Lake Superior dwarfs even Lake Huron.” His comment was intended to remind all that a thorough search was wholly unrealistic. Bemose and Wasebitong nodded.
James added, for emphasis, “We will have to rely upon skill with our voyage and luck upon our arrival.”
Suddenly, James realized he had assumed his command voice yet again. All in the room nodded in submission as he made eye contact with each.
“And one final point,” he announced. The other three looked up with some anxiety, “There will be no steamer. We will sail.”
Wasebitong objected, “It will be faster and safer, what with the varied winds of early spring and possibly yet some ice.”
James knew his brother was right. Wasebitong had taken the bait. James replied, sharply, “I am in command. We will do it my way.”
Wasebitong stiffened, revealing wounded pride at James having failed to even so much as address his point on the merits.
The two brothers stared at each other and James knew Wasebitong was weighing his options. Finally, he gave a reluctant, sullen nod.
James regarded the nod as his having achieved a victory critical to the success of the expedition. James waited, purposefully, silently, looking from one to the other for dramatic effect, challenging each to register an objection, with either his decision or his lack of a reason given. He heard none, so announced, “We leave on the first of April.”
James then exhaled, changed his tone and once again became the host. “Bemose and Wasebitong, you are of course welcome here with us, until we depart, but I do not know if you have brought all that you will need.”
Bemose replied, “Thank you both, no. We always intended to return to the farm no matter what your answer and now that we have three weeks to prepare, we shall return with a light heart and high hopes. If the weather remains clear, we may even leave in the morning.”
Late that night, Marie and James together in bed, the remainder of the evening having been filled with good conversation between family, Marie whispered, “Thank you, James, for insisting I could accompany you.”
He held her close and reminded, “Yes, well we tried it the other way already and I suspect you and I together will always be the better idea, don’t you think?”
She smiled, kissed him lightly and after some moments, observed, “James, I fear for your relationship with your brother.”
James assured, “Not to worry. I suspect Wasebitong is naturally not that talkative during parlor conversation.”
Marie clarified, “I was speaking of your reproach of him for his idea with the steamer.”
James sighed, “Yes, I thought perhaps you were.” He thought for a moment and explained, “First, I had to test whether he would challenge my authority. On board, he will not be my brother, he will be my crew. I need to know if he, this ‘warrior of Shin-Gaa-Bo-Wassin’, will obey.”
Marie lifted herself on her elbow and asked in surprise, “Obey? Do you expect to be in command… of the ship, I mean, not the expedition?”
James replied with as few words as possible, feigning exhaustion after what was a later night than that to which they were accustomed, “Possibly, yes…”
Yet, his mind was racing. There may yet be a way that the trip north would not cost him his situation or damage his career. He was committed to the expedition nonetheless and glad for it, but there was a chance the time spent on this all very personal errand could be minimized.
As he drifted to sleep, he admitted to himself still another purpose for his earlier decision which he had refused to explain. James was not about to begin the expedition north upon a steamer where he would not yet be able to portray an undisputed superiority by way of competence.
Such were the instincts of which James was aware, guiding him and honed by years of leadership experience. They were instincts necessary in the hard land in which they lived; harder still where they were bound. James dreamed that night of a hard land above the Sault. A land to which he had never traveled, a sea upon which he had never sailed, to both of which he and Marie, together, would soon be introduced.
The following morning, Bemose and Wasebitong departed back to the Williams farm. James immediately called upon Mr. Figgins, in his office above the yard.
Figgins was removing his coat, having
stirred the coals and added some fuel to the iron stove, when he glanced back and saw James through the half open door. “Come, Mr. Lee,” he allowed.
James stepped to the desk, squinting at the sun just then reflecting off the Detroit River through the window overlooking the yard below. The sun also reflected off Mr. Figgins’ bald head. James thought if only his employer would remain standing, his considerable height and impressive girth would block the sun altogether. James asked, “Sir, do we have orders for cargo delivered to Mackinaw as soon as the ice breaks?”
Figgins took his seat and raised his eyebrows. He noted, “An unusual question from my surveyor, Mr. Lee. I thought perhaps you were here to report on the condition of St. Clair and whether that fool of a former Master cost me the vessel as well as reputation.”
A chair remained vacant next to James. He was not invited to sit. James also noted Figgins still refused, even for the sake of courtesy, to acknowledge James as a Captain, even without a command.
James dodged his challenge, “I am aware of three passengers who need transport to Detroit as early in the season as skill will allow. What with their passage and some cargo, I thought perhaps a very early trip to Mackinaw might make for an opportunity for you.”
Figgins hesitated. James suspected he now understood they were speaking of a topic as might pay to have his surveyor absent from the yard, at least for a few minutes. Figgins gestured with his eyes for James to take the chair.
“I have goods stored, not quite a full hold,” Figgins cautioned, “promised for delivery to Mackinaw in early May. Can the passengers wait until then?”
James stated, with a calm assurance in his voice that did not so much as hint of an explanation, “No.”
Figgins whined, “So they want an early charter, do they? Well, for the right price, certainly I would charter any of my ships.”
James clarified, “They cannot afford a charter, Sir; which is why I asked if with cargo, would an early trip, including three passengers, create opportunity for you. Otherwise, they will depart even earlier by canoe.”
Figgins growled as he reached in a drawer and examined a list. James guessed it was a list of persons desiring cargo to be delivered to Mackinaw by early May. After a time, Figgins looked to James, “Perhaps some of these customers might pay a premium for a deliver my mid April.”
James took some hope; quickly dashed. Figgins continued, “But none of my vessels will be in commission so soon.” Figgins sighed and looked disappointed.
James then played the only card which held promise, he suspected, as would allow him to keep his situation and perhaps even improve it. He gestured out the window and asked, “What of St. Clair?”
Figgins took the bait, demanding, “You tell me, Lee, what of St.
Clair?”
James reported, “I completed the survey yesterday, sir and will file the report today. She is not lost and while the seams have opened through last summer, with some caulking and pitch, some planks and treenails, she can sail again easily enough and soon. Only one frame needs replacing and another can be sistered.”
Figgins nodded with some satisfaction, “Good news. Not unexpected,” assuring James he suspected as much, “but even still, there is but three weeks for the repairs and up-rigging to accommodate these impatient passengers. And then there is the lack of a Master. I have four other ships and right now, only three Masters returning. I myself may have to make some runs this spring.” Figgins shook his head and concluded, “Let us repair the vessel and sell her. I understand Mr. Story in Black Rock is looking for a schooner.”
James would never have pursued the matter, were it not for the search of his father. But given the circumstances, he softly suggested, “Sir, the surveys are nearly complete. I could repair St. Clair, up-rig and sail her to Mackinaw.”
Figgins stood, approached and looked out the window. The room grew nearly dark, his sheer mass eclipsing all sun entering the room. Figgins replied, “I had thought of offering you an opportunity, but would prefer to sail with you first. St. Clair is a perfect example of my hiring Masters too casually.”
James thought it rare for Figgins to admit to error. James reminded Figgins, “My father and I sailed these inland seas, their length and breadth for years, through both peace and conflict, before I crossed oceans in command of full rigged ships.”
Figgins turned and nodded, allowing the sunlight to flood the room. “Yes, I knew of your father and know of your salt water experience, but,” he hesitated, “are your skills honed for Great Lakes piloting?”
James assured, “I have been studying your best charts since arriving in Detroit.”
Figgins cautioned, “My yard crew will be plenty busy with my other vessels. I do not want you distracting them with St. Clair.”
James did not have a plan for that as yet, but assured, “The yard crew will be needed only occasionally, sir. I will do the lion’s share.
Figgins thought for a few moments, then relented, “Well, no harm in trying. Tell the passengers we will do all we can, begin on St. Clair and only if it appears you are making sufficient progress will I contact our customers and offer them an early delivery for a slight surcharge.”
James nodded but before reaching the door, asked, “Upon arriving in Mackinaw, sir, would it be possible to take some weeks before returning?”
Figgins exploded, “Absolutely not! I will have my agent on the island fill her hold as quickly as possible. Within days, St. Clair had better be downbound for Detroit or I will have a new Master aboard her, do you understand me? My heavens, Lee, you claim to know this business? If St. Clair sits like a duck at Mackinaw, we may as well leave Detroit later and with a full hold.”
James just looked at Figgins and nodded. From a business perspective, Figgins was as right as he was rude.
From a personal standpoint, James was fortunate to have been offered a command, even of a vessel requiring repair and significant effort. As he descended down the stairs and out into the damp cold of the yard, he saw his chances as unlikely that he could ever meet the return schedule demanded of St. Clair by her owner, upon now Captain Lee, a Merchant Master.
James began immediately. He knew he could caulk all seams, having done the same the spring of ‘12 upon Friends Good Will, as his father prepared for her launch. He would need an extra hand with the planks, however and in stepping the masts and up-rigging.
He kept very busy the next two days, taking inventory of spars and rigging, laying out much of the rigging, sequestering her sails and securing materials to assure their plentiful supply. As a warm front pushed the temperature unusually high for near mid March, he caulked the devil seams, lying ‘longside the garboard plank.
In those two days, James both planned the work in his head and the tasks grew so long he made a written list. But all such plans rested on the premise of some experienced help. Come Sunday, James remarked to Marie, as she prepared to attend Mass at St. Anne’s, “I will not make Mass today. Assure Father Renaurd of our necessity, if you will.”
Marie asked, “How do you know you will find this man?”
James shrugged, “The description of him and directions offered by those in the yard who think they may know him seems to make sense. I have to try. I will rent a horse from a livery and later a canoe if I need.”
Marie nodded and asked, somewhat concerned, “Will you return tonight?”
James shrugged again, “Perhaps late. I hope so but I do not know what to expect should I find him.”
Marie understood. James was pressed with a quickly approaching deadline. She prepared some food, wrapped it in waxed paper and gave him two extra blankets. Marie noticed James was rolling his naval uniform amid the blankets.
“You are taking your uniform?” Her tone belied her disbelief.
James could not blame her. He explained, almost sheepishly, “It may help.”
Marie shrugged, seeming none too certain about this man her husband sought, but said no more as they walked togeth
er to St. Anne’s.
Marie assured him, “I will pray for a quick and safe trip.”
James smiled, parted her company and walked to the Livery.
* * *
James led the horse northeast upon native and wildlife trails, through thickets and underbrush, across streams and amid marsh grass and frozen wetlands. He considered the irony of skirting the shoreline of Lake St. Clair so to find skilled help in commissioning his new command, a schooner named for the lake. Well past noon, he reached the marshy beginning of the delta of a river by the same name. The few cabins along the trail were owned and occupied by watermen and canoes seemed readily available. He simply had to judge when to abandon the horse and take to the water.
James made inquiry at one such cabin. His welcome was decidedly not, until he made clear he had coins to rent a canoe and would leave the horse as assurance he would not steal the well-worn craft. James did not ask the same assurance as to whether he would ever see the horse again. His question as to the whereabouts of the man he sought went purposefully unanswered.
James paddled half a mile up a stream, the current of which had kept some water open. While not yet at full flood, some thaw had begun and working the canoe upriver was difficult.
By mid-afternoon, James came across what appeared, by location and description, what had been generally described with much hesitation by those in Detroit who had come to like him.
James punched through some thin ice and pulled the canoe up onto the shore, a short walk from what he hoped would be his destination. He shifted into his uniform, the cold air drying the perspiration caused by his strenuous paddle upriver from his bare skin. The cold air cleared his head as he gathered his wits for what might be an interesting encounter.
James approached cautiously. Clearly the structure, not quite a cabin, was occupied. Smoke poured from a chimney, but strangely, the only door to what might loosely be considered the front of the structure was partly open. There was only one tiny window at an angle to him as would give no warning should the tattered blanket hung before it for any reason be cast aside. The roof contained some hand hewn shingles, interspersed between larger sheets of bark and stacked pine boughs.