Reflections in the Wake

by James Spurr

  Bemose surprised everyone by asking Dunlap, “And the end?”

  He sat on the sand near her, sighed and gathered his thoughts. All remained silent.

  “When we entered the Bay, the wind was yet out of the northeast and William had hopes of reaching under little sail back to our morning anchorage. He was clearly concerned for how she was handling, with a very slow roll signaling her instability and too much weight aloft. Then, it came on to blow even harder, out of the east, with gusts just a point south of east. We tacked a couple of times, first north but as the seas grew out of the sheltering influence of the point, we were forced to tack south, losing distance to windward each time.”

  Trove and James knew the rest of the story.

  “Within another hour,” Dunlap estimated and shrugged his shoulders, “with, by then, no way to even round the point and attain open water, our fate, as it grew darker, was apparent to all. I consulted with William and together we took the helm and steered for the beach.”

  James asked, “And the Mate?”

  Dunlap was ashamed to admit, “He and the Sheriff were well past drunk.”

  The silence was appropriate, however prolonged. It was respectful as each of them but one thought about what it must have been like. Dunlap did not need to imagine and was forced to suffer his recall.

  Some minutes passed.

  All the while, James considered whether to ask Dunlap his only remaining question. He wondered if it would be better done privately, so Bemose need not consider its implications and hear the answer. He opted to wait, largely because he considered the account offered by Dunlap wholly inadequate and incomplete. Not one of Dunlap’s many words addressed the only fact with which James was, beginning in Venice, continuing to Trinidad, across the length of the Great Western Canal and now onto his third Great Lake since his return, prompted by letters, by now nearly obsessed. The letters, between the lines, put a simple question: Why among so many, was there only one fatality… his father?

  But there would be time yet to ask that question and the afternoon was slipping away. Ever the captain, James set out to accomplish with three canoes and a wrecked schooner what he had done, when necessary, aboard John Adams. There was a sailor to commit to the deep.

  James looked at Bemose and asked, “Is it time to go aboard?”

  She nodded, sadly, but firmly.

  James asked Dunlap, “Have you a Bible?”

  He nodded, then corrected, “Or rather, a Book of Common Prayer.”

  Dunlap referred to the book of ceremonies, sacraments and prayers sanctioned by the Church of England. James asked, “If you please, could you bring it with you?”

  James then addressed all, “Let us go out to the final resting place of William Lee, husband, father, friend, shipmate and,” swallowing hard and looking at Dunlap, “comrade in peace.”

  They launched two canoes. Trove thought the last leg of the voyage rather silly and simply walked out to the stem of Invincible, less than knee deep and began to climb aboard.

  James called over to him, “Be exceedingly careful, my friend. Each timber could let go at any moment from the slightest weight.”

  Trove acknowledged with a wave, but was soon straddling the larboard bulwark and with no deck underneath, half crawling aft to meet them where the curve of the sheer would make the climb from a canoe a small effort. One by one, they came aboard, slowly and carefully, assuring the treenails and spikes, posts, beams and frames appeared not as yet, too far gone.

  Of those arriving by canoe, James climbed aboard first and with Trove, helped the others. Invinicble, while largely intact, upon close inspection revealed every exposed timber as weathered and cracked, split and splintered, with much of the iron fastenings exposed and rusted. Many of the splinters were fragile and sharp and every hand and foothold presented some risk of injury. Naturally, James held out a hand for Marie, offering to assist her in climbing from the canoe, an unstable craft, to the ship, a dangerous platform. “Use care, my dear; here now, take my hand…”

  She offered hers. He grasped it tightly, as with anything of great value and his strength pulled her up from her tentative foothold as her other foot took the deck. Not once did she attempt to grab hold of the timbers and his heart warmed. He instantly thought of Dubrovnik, her climb along the wall and he looked into her eyes and found the trust he deserved; the trust she also craved and he celebrated their growth together.

  Trove commented to Dunlap, assisting him in the climb, “The bow seems to have taken the brunt. Still, much of the structure seems intact.”

  Dunlap offered, “Yes, you know, the North West Company, before the war, had more ships than either Navy on the Lakes. The war took a terrible toll on its fleet.”

  James recalled, “Caledonia, one of the largest?”

  “Yes,” Dunlap confirmed, “which I helped float down the rapids so to transport our forces to Mackinaw.” He began to walk up the slope of the deck, inspecting the collapse of the mainmast.

  “Leading to the capture of Friends Good Will,” noted Oliver, with irony and no animosity. Oliver helped Bemose toward the companionway, but they did not attempt as yet to go below.

  Dunlap continued the irony, “Which Caledonia James than took from us, from under the guns of Fort Erie and later used against us at Put-in-Bay.”

  Trove recalled his exploits the night of the cutting out and interjected, “Captain Lee set that plan in motion!” and then laughed. He stopped short, concerned for Wasebitong who was glancing down the open cargo hatch. Trove was uncertain for the safety of the deck near its edge.

  Bemose gasped, “Wasebitong, come away, over here to me.”

  James smiled at the look of universal frustration, tempered by respect, from a boy of his age given over to his mother.

  Dunlap continued, “Perseverance was burned by your American forces, trying to go down the rapids,” looking to Oliver, “upon the raid of the Sault in ’14.”

  Oliver asked, “Where were they built? The Company must have had a yard.”

  Dunlap replied, inspecting the tiller, or what was left of it, still in place, “Yes, many of the fleet were built at Pointe aux Pins, although many of the structural members and frames were formed on the lower lakes and shipped north for assembly and fitting out. Much of Invincible came north from the Sandusky Islands and worked at Amherstberg. Some of the older vessels were built in Detroit, before it was transferred to the United States after your revolution.”

  James asked, “When was Invincible launched?” He was somewhat distracted, assessing whether the entire party should go below. So far, there was no sign of the man they sought.

  “She was launched at Pointe aux Pins, in 1801. A fifteen year record of service in turbulent times and waters was a good run, don’t you think?”

  James nodded and asked, “Did she remain on Lake Superior during the war?” He descended two steps down the companionway ladder, gingerly trying his weight.

  Dunlap nodded, “Aye.” We were very concerned Perry’s fleet would come into Lake Superior in the spring of ’14. If they had, they could have easily destroyed her, taken Fort William and ruined Canada’s fur trade.” He turned a small swivel gun, rusted in her mounts, from the pivot pin sunk into the rail just forward of the helm.

  James addressed all, “Alright, let us go below. It appears the companionway ladder may yet hold.”

  The tension again began to build once again for the search for William as each descended the stairs, one at a time. James was already scanning the deeply shadowed interior, lit only from the open hatch and collapsed deck, forward. He stepped away from the ladder to make room for the others, after assuring no evidence of remains were present in the wardroom or officers bunks. He stepped down, tentatively, testing the floorboards and into the hold. He recognized a barrel of a swivel gun, protruding out from the sand which had filled and left the interior partially dry and above the waterline on calm days.

  He scanned across the debris of what held supplies
and provisions, such as barrels and crates. A lamp hung from the deck beams, as though no time had passed and James expected its oil would yet light the wick.

  But there was light enough. Just to leeward of the cargo hatch, just aft of the foremast yet in its step, he saw his father. Captain William Lee lay face down, his coat gathering within it his skeletal remains. His hat, which James remembered, had separated from and lay alongside his skull. The bones of his hands and fingers protruded from coat sleeves, although most of his legs were covered with sand. His left foot, his shoe hanging upon his leg bone was raised; propped up against the side of the hull in an orientation that could not have been possible, but from a very bad break.

  James sighed and again moist eyes blurred his vision. He walked closer, carefully, without mention to others, testing whether he viewed a sight as might be appropriate for Wasebiting and Bemose. He noted a deep crack in his father’s forehead, a strong indication of a crushed skull. He stood between the others and his father and performed one more act of love. He took his hat, a tri-corn of the old style, and placed it over his injury, covering nearly his entire face. He said a silent goodbye.

  Turning to the others, James looked at Bemose and Wasebitong and offered, by way of gesture with his open hand and introduction, “Behold, let us pay our respects to father.” He stepped aside and revealed the man who had alone kept the watch aboard Invincible for the last near eleven years.

  Marie approached James and took his hand, placing her arm around his shoulder. She felt his chest offer small convulsions as he looked away and tried to restrain his weeping. Bemose walked slowly to stand on the other side of James with Wasebitong to her other side. She spoke quietly to her younger son several words in his native tongue, to which he replied in kind, making a ritual gesture.

  James turned to see Oliver and Trove standing nearby, hats off, deep in thought and concerned for others in the party. James looked at Bemose and, clearing his throat, offered, “In the Naval tradition, Owen,” using his first name for the first time, “may I have your Prayer Book?”

  James read from the Book of Common Prayer, by way of introduction, Psalm 107, verses 23 and 24:

  “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; These see the works of the Lord, And his wonders in the deep.”

  James explained, “I open with this verse as a blessing to all mariners on the Lakes, a gesture father, Captain William Lee, would have liked very much.”

  James then turned to the “Order for the Burial of the Dead” and continued,

  “We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we carry nothing out.”

  He concluded from the rite, some minutes later, with:

  “Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with thine ears consider my calling, Hold not thy peace at my tears.”

  Lastly, or so James thought, he offered, “Two of Perry’s men say goodbye to a third. You, Captain Lee, one of his best, have crossed ‘t other side. We shall see you there, to relieve your watch, soon enough.”

  But while James was in command of the party and having taken the lead in the small ceremony, culminating in what he assumed would be a burial at sea, others had gestures to offer.

  Bemose motioned for some room, and as those gathered round her stepped back, she knelt, lowered her head and offered a chant or native song in Ojibwa, throughout which her expression of grief was as apparent and fresh as if she had just then witnessed her husband’ death. It was a song, James presumed, which she had been denied for eleven years. As she finished, Wasebitong helped her take her feet and she wiped her eyes.

  Dunlap emerged from the shadows and offered softly, “With the Mate drunk, I relied upon your father’s leadership and experience as we took the hard. Several were injured from falling spars, blocks and rigging, although some have fallen still over the years, such as the main-topmast and yards.”

  Looking at each of them and with a dramatic pause, he continued, “Where you saw the ship’s boat earlier today, that was the waterline the night of the storm. We did not pull it further up on shore. It was at that point useless to us and we left it in the surf.”

  The simple fact of the location of the ship’s boat, literally at the tree line, caused all to imagine the horrendous conditions amid fierce wind, a ship and her rigging caked in ice, with night descending amid horizontal snow.

  Dunlap continued and as he spoke, all others imagined.

  * * *

  Whitefish Point 16 November 1816

  With each wave smashing into the stern, the ship shuddered as the sea rolled forward along the rail. Four men gathered in a huddle and pulled an ice caked single line upon which their lives depended with frozen hands, each minute losing dexterity and strength. The ship’s boat, with two men manning oars, slowly made its way back to them from shore, pulled along by those on deck so to assist in its return.

  Sailing Master William Lee shouted, “You two men, into the boat!” He would remain with one other with a crushed forearm. He shoved them off for yet another dangerous run to shore.

  With the seas filling the ship’s boat, the man not rowing bailed with a bucket and a hat. But the ship’s boat made the shore once again and by the grace of God for once without capsizing. In all earlier attempts, it had flipped over in the surf, although fortunately in water shoal enough for the men spilled from her to crawl their way to the tree line, assisted, even as assaulted, by the breaking seas.

  As Dunlap helped two of the men out of the boat, the surf yet smashing well over his knees, the stem gave way. It was likely leaking for some time, but the stress of the painter and the service they required of her that night was simply beyond its design strength. Dunlap tied the line to the base of a tree and hoped William would soon realize the ship’s boat would not be returning to Invincible.

  After some time, a lone figure ascended the starboard mainmast shrouds, having taken the extreme painter aloft with a large block. Dunlap recognized William’s coat with his distinctive tri-corn hat tied in place with a rag around his ears and chin. Dunlap watched as William rove the block through the end of the painter and tied a small line through its grommet to the stacking of the mainmast forward shrouds. He tied the painter around the mast, just above the cross trees. William then descended and, minutes later, assisted the injured crewman into the rigging, having fashioned for him a rope harness. Up they climbed in the storm, sharing the ratlines, with William aft and his shipmate forward along the same shrouds and just above.

  It seemed to take forever. With most of the crew taking shelter from the storm amid the trees, Dunlap stayed at the base of the tree, exposed but lucky as compared to his shipmates aloft. Dunlap was certain the Sailing Master and lone crew were exhausted; their hands and fingers near useless. But eventually, the injured man was as close to the block as geometry would allow; his harness secured to the hook hanging from the block.

  Dunlap watched, as did the injured crew in the harness, as William reached over him and grasped for the small line holding the block in place. A sea slammed into the transom and the ship shuddered, just as William’s foot slipped from the ice laden ratboard. A gust propelled him for an instant, allowing him to grasp the small line, pull and free the block for its descent down the line, even as he fell to his death.

  The crew member, propelled by wind and gravity, rode the block along an icy line to the beach, landing just seconds later in the surf and assisted by Dunlap to the relative shelter of the forest.

  But both men were aghast at what they witnessed. Dunlap demanded, “Did you see him fall?”

  The man nodded.

  “Is he alive? Where did he land?”

  The man shook his head, sickened by the thought, “Sir, with the angle of the ship as she lay on her side and from where he fell from the shrouds, I saw him push off from the mast and he fell through the hatch opening. He was falling head first and landed in the hold.”

  Dunlap recalled he had ordered the hatch cover removed after Invincible struck so t
o assist in loading supplies as would now, barely, keep the men alive on their tortured trek overland back to the Sault.

  ***

  So James had his answer, finally offered and without his asking. His father was the only fatality, although Dunlap noted several suffered frostbite and one man had his foot amputated.

  His father died doing what all men that evening were striving to accomplish in the most horrendous conditions served up by an angry sea surrounded by a hard land; struggling to survive.

  And James looked down at the tri-corn hat and the rag, he now noticed, as was tied that night around his father’s hat. He blamed no one for the harsh reality forcing him to conclude, as had all others, that any rescue attempt was impossible.

  For Captain William Lee was a hard man and would have been the first to conclude the same with respect to the impossibility of further futile attempts, but for a crushing blow to his skull. His father had made hard choices before, such as what action was necessary and yet possible in saving Oliver and killing Fleet in the shadowed hold of Friends Good Will.

  But Dunlap was not finished. He came forward, out of the shadows and into the light descending from the hatch and revealed, “As we say our final farewells to this man, first my shipmate, later my adversary and finally, my friend, I cannot let you take away a false understanding of him. For he belongs far more to those of you than he ever did to me. William did not kill Lieutenant Fleet. I did.”

  Everyone’s jaw dropped at the confession, evoking surprise among all of them but one. Oliver stepped over some debris and stood next to Dunlap, grasped his upper arm in support and said softly, “Thank you for admitting that, Owen, here, today.”

  Dunlap explained, “That is why I joined, when I received your letter. You see, I could not let Fleet, even while we both wore the King’s coat, murder two so honorable combatants as you and William. I would never be able to live with myself if you had burned in the hold of Friends Good Will. I knew William to be the better man and knowing Fleet as I did, I presumed, Oliver, you two were the more worthy of saving. Your work with me, later for peace and the Rush-Bagot treaty proved my instincts correct and justified my crime. While William had a pistol in the hold and loaded, mine was already drawn. When Fleet turned to argue with me, the flash from the pan was from my weapon and no one else’s.”