Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  Dunlap was appalled. Was Fleet expecting him to leave while Fleet set still another fire at the companionway and leave their captives no escape? “Fleet, come, bring them with us,” he urged. Then Dunlap added with contempt as Fleet hesitated, “There is no honor in murder.”

  Fleet was enraged and turned to argue with his comrade. He shouted, swinging the pistol around, whether purposefully by threat or inadvertently from distraction, Dunlap could not tell.

  But there was no doubt of a threat cut short, “Leave us or join—”

  A shot rang out. Before the flash of the pan subsided, Fleet dropped the torch and it rolled to leeward. He fell to his knees, blood staining his waistcoat from his upper chest. The pistol slumped in his hand and discharged; the ball lodging in the mast, having whistled within inches of William’s left ear.

  * * *

  Dunlap looked at Oliver and asked, “Is that the way you recall it, my friend?”

  Oliver was quiet for some moments, then nodded, “Friends Good Will went up in flames. The British soldiers and sailors had already left, confident the fire was well set and Owen, as I recall, found himself suddenly outnumbered for at least some moments.”

  The camp fire was nearly spent and the hour was late. But not one of the party showed any sign of slumber. Oliver finished, well past the climax, “We were beaten badly that day. Black Rock was in flames; so too Buffalo. But to watch my sloop go up in flames, even as William and I ran for the woods and just in time… that was very difficult and a memory that haunts me still.”

  James added coldly, “At least, Uncle, your sloop served as fitting pyre for the man who, with no honor and under false colours, took it from you.”

  James stood and walked slowly to his tent. He slipped under several blankets even before Marie joined. He felt surprisingly empty. Having had more questions answered that day then for months before, he took no joy from Fleet’s demise, nor pride or satisfaction from a death, even of Fleet, at his father’s hand.

  Bayfields Chart of Whitefish Point

  Showing the Location of the

  Wreck of Invincible

  (Courtesy of Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society)

  Chapter Fourteen

  Few of the party slept well. Most were up early, one blaming the other. But all knew none would rest, each for their own reasons, until the unfamiliar shore revealed the wreck of Invincible.

  The sky revealed just the faintest light to seaward, just enough to stretch the definition of dawn.

  The party took to the canoes, packed by firelight for what they all hoped would be a short haul through calm waters. They kept to their regular pairings, although James was careful to remain close to Bemose, with Wasebitong pulling hard for the lead.

  Rarely through the voyage had they traveled amid such profound silence. Soon, the stars faded to larboard. There was not a whisper of wind come the full dawn, without a cloud in the sky. The water was like glass, with little overhead but pink light to reflect upon Whitefish Bay. The perfect symmetry of three wakes was interrupted only by that which created the only sound; the dip of paddles and the few drips which followed.

  The party slipped swiftly northward with uncommon grace. The scene was benign and predictable, engaging yet numbing. The repetition of dawn’s light playing off of shiny blade of those paddles to starboard was fascinating, while their shadows to larboard encouraged reflection of the deep, not just of water, but of soul.

  There was no call for a morning break. The party pressed on, past creeks, along sand and small stone beaches, with pines occasionally growing close enough to the narrow beach so that fallen timber would dip their tops in the shoal water. The water was pure and hard, with its content of ore and tannin from the river outflows lending a dark and tawny hue, as though viewed through tinted glass.

  The party was toughened by the constant chill whenever not warmed by the hard work. Their muscles were as firm as their callouses thick. Their minds were sharp, their discipline honed and their patience stretched.

  By mid morning, the angle of t

  he sun worked its way forward even as it rose much higher in the brilliant blue sky. The shore dictated their course, now well east of north. Whitefish Point drew near. Those in the stern of each canoe began to lean to one side or the other for no other reason than to look well ahead. All wondered if they even knew what to look for, after eleven years of exposure to the elements, continuously at work in a hard land, upon the work of man. But still those in the bows stared, squinted, imagined and dismissed.

  Amid the evergreens, the hardwoods were not yet leafed. The weathered timbers of a ship would blend easily into the driftwood and thick wooded backdrop of a northern latitude forest in April.

  At some point, James saw what others had likely already gleaned. No one had declared, or even dared ask. Several thought they had seen something miles back, only to realize that wishful thinking could play tricks upon willing, hopeful eyes. But there was no denying that which James detected.

  All of them saw. All of them knew. There was nothing anyone could think to say that seemed appropriate for what they may soon find within.

  The dark brown hulk rose from the shoal water. She was not yet bleached, as James had expected, although there was no hint of paint or other vain gesture as might be expected given her name.

  Finally, James said just loudly enough for all to hear, “She lies exactly where Bayfield marked her.”

  Dunlap said, more softly, as might hold professional interest to only James and Oliver, “Aye, it must have been the longitude line in error. Clearly they accurately saw and marked what they found along the shore.”

  James steered alongside Bemose and Marie turned back, as he offered, “How would you like us to approach?”

  Bemose nodded, closed her eyes for a second, bit her lower lip then said, faintly, “Let us take the beach some respectable distance to the left.”

  James nodded, steered northwest, indicating to all by his arm and assured her, Marie nodding, “We will take it slow.”

  Bemose asked James in the canoe beside and Wasebitong on the thwart ahead, “You boys help me here, now. I need to hear from you, just as I drew strength and comfort from your father.”

  James nodded and his eyes welled up with moisture enough so to blur his landing point. He could not deny he might well soon, once again, meet his father, after so many years of absence, which had been his experience as a youth. As the bow of his canoe slid and stopped in the soaked sand, he knew this meeting would not be anything like the former happy reunions. It would be, rather, their final farewell until both rejoined in eternity; “on ‘t other side,” as sailors so often remarked.

  The party pulled up the canoes, quite high, expecting to stay some time. They instinctively gathered together, some to discuss, some hoping to be offered a plan, which none had thought to develop in the hundreds of miles and many years they had thought about the instant possibilities.

  James assessed the wreck. She was a schooner, no doubt, although only the lower mainmast remained standing, canted to an angle of nearly forty degrees, yet still perfectly perpendicular to the deck. The foremast was broken off, about six feet from the deck. The remaining section of lower mainmast was still leaning against the smashed starboard rail and its upper section lie buried in the bottom of Whitefish Bay. The deck was a tangle of spars and James would have guessed one was the upper topmast, another the main yard.

  James suggested, looking at Bemose for any objection, “Let’s walk a bit closer.” The party followed willingly.

  As they walked a cable length toward the point, they viewed the wreck from different angles. She lay surrounded by water, maybe just two lengths off shore. The water, as indicated by small ripples created by a recent slight breeze, appeared no more than a foot or two deep at the bow, with sand having swirled about the hull, entering every crevice and packing tightly in the moisture so to support the hull. She was oriented with the bow toward the shore, although it appeared t
he stern had slewed around to starboard. James knew that likely was caused by the sheer violence of unholy waves, crashing onto the beach the day his father died.

  Oliver pointed out, quietly, “The fore section of the deck has collapsed.”

  Dunlap added, “Only two deck beams and their cross members yet support the stump of the foremast.”

  The bowsprit and jibbom were missing entirely, although James supposed they might lie along the bottom, nearby.

  Trove added, “Not a hint of any rigging, not so much as a seizing or mainstay.” James looked and confirmed the deadeyes, some still in position along the chains, their holes empty, the greased lanyards long since dried and dissolved. Little detail survived the onslaught of the elements over so many years. In that respect, the wreck looked like the carcass of rabbit left long ago by its prey; picked clean.

  Marie offered, as James passed close, “We cannot see the stern or her nameboard. Perhaps she is not Invincible.” Her voice clearly indicated she hoped it was not.

  James thought about her statement. In one sense, they beholding her wreck, clearly she was not invincible and damn forever the arrogance of her British builders, the North West Company in naming her, intimating otherwise. But Marie’s point was sound. Perhaps Bayfield made an assumption based upon tales told. Such instances of misidentification were common enough with so many vessels claimed by the inland seas.

  He nodded and replied, “We could launch a canoe and investigate more closely.” Bemose looked at him and he nodded to her as well. Such an action would inevitably lead to someone going aboard.

  The party stood on the beach and stared. Bemose and Marie had less interest in the ship itself. Marie had an arm around Bemose, resting her hand on her opposite shoulder in comfort and support. Some began to seek out their own angles, with James, Oliver and Wasebitong trying to imagine, reconstruct and understand what had happened. Oddly, they seemed to forget and had not yet asked the one of their number who was the only eye witness to the tragedy among them.

  Dunlap stood the furthest from the wreck, at the tree line of the forest. He was kicking around in some tall grass, just beginning to awake from the winter. While he looked disinterested, he was intensely focused. Finally, against a backdrop of some lingering snow, kept cool by cross angles as assured near constant shade, he found some planks and other timbered remains. He called to all, “Here, just as I recall!”

  The others were startled, not only at the cry of a discovery, Bemose hoping it was not of William, but because all had forgotten he survived the wreck and had been at their precise location once before.

  They approached, gathered near him and he indicated with his arm and open hand, “The ship’s boat.”

  James looked to Marie whose eyes confirmed her instant understanding. There was no need any longer to seek out a nameboard. A witness had come forth, bearing evidence by way of objects and recall.

  They beheld the symmetrical remains of a boat having literally fallen apart, the planks falling to the ground as oriented the moment she was abandoned by a crew in extremis. The stem had melted into the landscape and much might have been buried by sand or foliage. But some planks of both starboard and larboard, some with a slight curve, together with a couple of frames, sections of transom and maybe a seat for rowing were easily identified in what little lie before them.

  Dunlap swallowed hard, breathed deep, looked out to his former command and began the tale.

  “We departed the Sault,” he offered softly, “with a strong breeze from the northeast and heavy rain.”

  Wasebitong moved closer, not wanting to miss a word. James, from what he read of the letters and saw of the wreck, supposed not a word Dunlap could speak would come to him as a surprise. Underestimating the inland seas and especially Superior was a very old and well known story to those noting the inability of mariners to learn.

  “Yes, it was late in the season,” Dunlap looked at Bemose, his tone nearly apologetic, “But we had strong encouragement from the Company. It wanted very much to protect its interests at Fort William, seized by that madman, Selkirk. It was, after all, its main depot at the time. One of its shareholders, de Rocheblave even assured that Deputy Sheriff Smith was aboard, all the way from York, to arrest Selkirk when we arrived at Fort William. And I knew in setting out I had in your man, William, what I knew to be one of the best in a Sailing Master.”

  Bemose nodded in appreciation. James noticed that Dunlap dare not look at him.

  But Dunlap admitted, “One of the men warned it was dangerous leaving so late in the season, but the Mate, Mr. M’cargo, assured him all would be fine. I confess to having my doubts, but the thought of those innocent people spending a winter under Selkirk’s rule caused me, personally, to undertake what I knew to be a risk.”

  Oliver interjected, “Owen, continue as we make our way back to the canoes and take lunch.”

  As they walked, Dunlap explained to James, “Your father could have easily have been in command or served as Mate, but refused to enter the employ of the Company. He said he would only contract for a wage, for just the trip to Fort William. He said he had his personal reasons and I assumed he would never consider wintering apart from Bemose and Wasebitong. We intended to winter there so to provide some stability in its governance. He planned to canoe back as soon as we deposed Selkirk. He was confident he would be able to join a party of natives.”

  James nodded and Dunlap looked again to Bemose, “Your reputation among the people is powerful currency and William used it, from time to time, when needed.”

  She added instantly, “The Ojibwa have our own reasons for respecting William, dating back to the wreck of Hope.”

  Having heard the story was still told, Dunlap immediately acknowledged the truth, “Of course, I had forgotten. The first night, having made good progress against the current, we anchored opposite L’isle de la Pointe aux Pins. The second day, the morning mild and the wind moderate, we weighed early, set all sail and crossed Whitefish Bay south of Parisen Island. The wind increased steadily so that by early afternoon, under reefed foresail and headsails, the main and topsails by that time struck and lashed tightly, we rounded ‘la pointe aux poissons Blanc’.” He gestured back over his shoulder, where not far the land came to an end and translated what had been written on his chart, “Whitefish Point.”

  As the party unpacked some food and gear, they rested, ate and Dunlap remained quiet. James thought, as others exchanged observations of their locale, that Dunlap was likely unaware of what motivated William to take the voyage in the first place, as he put into a brief note to Bemose the day he took the deck of Invincible. Those were likely the personal reasons to which his father referred and they would remain so, among his three surviving immediate family.

  With some bread, cheese, salt pork and smoked fish between them, washed down with credible wine, Dunlap continued, “By late afternoon, the wind quickly backed from the north to southwest. Within a glass, we went from sweaters and clouds to freezing rain, heavy snow and all the clothes we could don. The temperature dropped more quickly and more deeply than I have ever witnessed. The wind increased so that we could no longer make way to windward. The seas were very steep and I determined to sail back, duck behind the point and lay to anchor in its lee.”

  James was looking for any mistake, in attitude, judgment or leadership. But he found none and begrudgingly admitted to himself, as he listened, that he would have done the same, as would any competent captain.

  “In just more than an hour,” Dunlap recalled, “we were no more than a mile west of the point, sailing southeast. We were heavily laden with ice and some snow even gathered on deck, along the lee bulwarks despite the strong wind.”

  Trove was growing impatient and confused, “So what could have possibly happened in little more than two miles of sailing?” Oliver nodded, noting how close Invincible came aground to the point.

  Dunlap stood and further explained, looking out over the waters on this near calm April d
ay, very different from a Superior gale in mid November. “Your father,” he began, looking at Wasebitong, “noted the change. He shouted to me, ‘Look, we are a starboard reach!’

  James and Trove understood. Trove asked, “And when you turned back, an hour before, in a northwest gale, you were running ‘fore the wind?”

  Dunlap confirmed, “Literally, for our lives.”

  James thought through, out loud, the track of the storm, “If a fast moving storm, centered to the northwest of Whitefish Bay, quickly tracked south, you would soon find yourself in southwest winds, veering to southeast.”

  Dunlap nodded, “I have thought of that track nearly every day since. And I tell you, it was moving faster than I had ever experienced, which explains the sudden sleet and snow.”

  Oliver, not having for years, as a farmer, observed the weather fronts and winds upon the lakes as he had done years before as a ship owner, asked, “So, what happened?”

  Dunlap looked to Bemose, who looked visibly pained, “We no sooner entered Whitefish Bay and we found ourselves on a lee shore. With lines and blocks frozen, ice and snow covering everything and with a large crew aboard and the extra weight of full provisions, Invincible was barely manageable and certainly not in her finest trim for clawing to windward.”

  Trove stood and cast a stone in the near waters, whether for exercise or from frustration was at the moment not clear, “So had you continued on your way and not turned back…”

  Dunlap nodded and completed his thought, “The wind would have eased and blown fair for our course, from the northeast, then east.”

  James explained for Marie’s benefit, with no condemnation in his voice, “So you sailed back into the worst of it and put her purposefully close to shore.”

  Dunlap nodded and agreed, “This same shore, thought by us to serve as our refuge, served up our destruction.”