Hawk's Feather (Perry County Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  "I seek men of experience. Men who get things done. Men who are disciplined and as true as British steel. Men who will be loyal through any difficulties that might appear."

  Wingate wondered what on earth Hawk's plans could do with him?

  "Aboard your ship is such a man. He is a bosun. His name is Woolever. Do you know him?"

  Of course Wingate knew him. He nodded through his astonishment. A bosun? What was a bosun to him? He was more interested in how Hawk planned to spread his doubloons.

  "It is my understanding that, with his Captain's permission, a seaman can buy out the remainder of his service." It was not a question, so Wingate did not answer.

  Hawk came directly to the important points.

  "I will offer HMS Hurricane ten gold doubloons for Woolever's release."

  Wingate's guts churned. Ten doubloons? He would have leaped at five. Two for the records and three for himself would have been gratifying. Ten doubloons? For an American, he decided, Hawk possessed a certain flair.

  The Crown's man saw Wingate's acceptance and relaxed with an audible sigh. How many doubloons would he receive during his many dealings with the obviously wealthy Mr. Hawk? Wingate envied but Hawk was not finished.

  "Of course, Captain, a taut ship, brilliantly commanded, as your Hurricane is, must not suffer through the loss of a fine bosun.

  "Therefore, I add another few coins in hope that you, Captain, will not only excel in honorable battle, but will always look kindly on any ventures of our Feather Company that you might encounter."

  Hawk slid a few of the heavy coins toward the overwhelmed Wingate. Only Hawk noticed the Crown Commissioner's cynical lip curl as the Captain sold his soul to Jonas Hawk for gold pieces.

  Late Bosun Andrew Woolever stood in absolute bewilderment, seabag grounded beside his left foot, Nassau's shabby sprawl his only view.

  A bell earlier he had been summoned aft, informed that his service had been bought out, and that he would be immediately put ashore. The former bosun was presented with a few crowns—well above what was due—and almost marched to the Captain's gig for ferrying ashore.

  Hurricane's senior midshipman had whispered in Woolever's ear. "You will be met, Bosun." Then Woolever was ashore, without ship for the first time since boyhood, wondering what in Neptune's name was happening.

  A well-dressed man, a bit younger than he, but with the same powerful build and sailor's swagger strode down the quay. To Woolever's surprise he stuck out a hand in the informal American way and said, "Welcome, Bosun. You'd be Andrew Woolever, of course."

  Woolever took the strong grip, still wondering and the stranger's teeth shown in a broad grin before he settled to a bollard and waved the bosun to another.

  "My name is Finday, once a King's gunner, more lately mate of the schooner, Feather." He waved toward a low free-boarded double-ender tied up nearby. Woolever still hadn't spoken but Finday went on.

  "A mutual friend, a very rich friend I might add, has bought you free of the Crown. Our friend has need of strong men to form a trading company. We seek men who have proven themselves to be spar straight and unfailingly loyal.

  "You are such a man, Bosun, and we wish you to join us."

  "I've been a Crown man, Finday. I've had no wish to change. Who is this friend? If I ever knew a wealthy man, he kept it a secret."

  "Soon, Bosun. First our proposition. To your mother in Brighton, a decent pension for life."

  Woolever's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know of her?"

  "You spoke of her and our friend remembered.

  "To you, many duties. First you will gather men. Men to sail, men to build, and men to keep ledgers. You will find the right men or those who know the right ones. Later, you will manage here in Nassau, where our company's ships will converge. Then, you will live close to your work for your responsibilities will be great.

  "But, you will share in our company, and we believe your rewards will be more than you might dream."

  Woolever puzzled, "Why me, Finday? I've never aimed high nor risen above bosun. I can move a crew with the best but I've held no commands nor served behind the mast."

  "Our friend has seen your strengths, Bosun. He would not waste effort on a questionable man."

  Finday hesitated, "And also because our friend repays. Many times you befriended him. Now it is his turn."

  Andrew Woolever saw no reason to resist. If the astonishing proposition was true, his world was about to blossom beyond his imagining. If it were only a hoax—well, he had his few crowns and the next naval vessel to drop anchor would snatch at the services of Bosun Andrew Woolever.

  He hoisted his seabag and Finday had to hurry to catch up. Woolever only said, "If all you say is correct, I am your man. Now, let us discover who our wealthy friend can be."

  Hawk savored the moment. He saw the bosun's jaw sag in astonishment. Then the craggy features twisted in undisguised pleasure. The huge hands reached out to grasp Jonas' shoulders and shake him half loose before reeling him close in a backslapping bear hug that about cut off his breathing.

  "Jonas! Jonas boy!" Woolever held him at arm's length. "How I've wondered."

  "Welcome, Bosun." Jonas thrilled at his friend's pleasure. This was a moment of dreams, a time when he could lift a man he cared about. And, the sensations were even finer than he had hoped. To experience Andrew Woolever's surprise, his satisfaction, his awareness of great things pending—it was . . . Jonas lacked the words.

  "So, Andrew, ten of Feather's crew are already at sea. Van Doon is building in his family's yard. One chose to go his own way, but he will be favored by our company and we by him.

  "We have arrangements with the Cummens' of Philadelphia that will be reciprocally profitable. Until our facilities here are completed, the Cummens' will assist us."

  Jonas leaned closer. "Britain and America pick at one another, Andrew. Who can tell what may happen? In Nassau we will plant a foot in England. Through Philadelphia we will keep the other within the United States. It will be profitable and perhaps help bind together our countries."

  Andrew Woolever was struggling for adjustment. The young seaman who had called himself Cummens emerged full-grown as Jonas Hawk. Hawk was rich and he trampled across the world of business as though it were his own quarterdeck. Hawk had ships, warehouses, and power. In only a pair of years Hawk had done these many things.

  Andrew Woolever got himself together. He had his hair trimmed and bought proper clothing. He had soft cotton to cover his tattoos and softer leather to comfort his feet. A stylish hat topped his rigging. When he was finished, Woolever knew he looked exactly like a ship's bosun in good clothes. So be it. He had not been hired to perform as a dandy. Woolever figured he knew good men from weaklings and the true from the artificial. That was why he was being employed. He moved into quarters near the warehouse construction and began to take charge.

  +++

  Chapter 17 - Gloucester, Massachusetts, May 1806

  May in the Bay State could be miserable with biting wind, even snow on occasion, but this day was glorious with puffy clouds against a sky of almost tropical blue. It was a day fit to launch a ship. Especially a vessel such as this one.

  Mathew Covert stood among the Gloucester dignitaries who assembled for such ceremonies. His position among the notables was a trifle obscure. As owner and captain of a small trading sloop, his presence would have been an intrusion. As far as was known, Mathew still labored in that capacity—except for the schooner now balanced on the ways, of course. It was the schooner that confused things.

  Since the loss of his beloved Ruth Covert, Mathew had not been overly successful. Common business debts and repayment to investors had depleted Covert's resources. To recover, he had purchased a swift sloop out of Friendship, Maine and gone to offering fast passage for man or material anywhere under any conditions. The rewards were small and Covert feared his beard would be knee length before he could again own a vessel of Ruth Covert's capabilities.

  Then a
man had sought him out—a huge and hard man—one who had British Navy weathered into his hide, mind, and probably his soul. But Andrew Woolever had a proposition that challenged and thrilled Mathew Covert so that goose bumps swept in waves from scalp to toe.

  A Bahamas company desired a schooner. Not just any schooner but one so perfect, to the smallest detail, that none could fault her. She must be beautiful, she must be the strongest. Once commissioned, she must be able to earn her way. Cost what she would, she must be the best. He, Mathew Covert, had been chosen to select her design and oversee her construction.

  Why he, rather than the noted designers and famed shipwrights, Covert asked?

  Woolever had barely smiled and added only that the head of the company desired it so. Woolever detailed Covert's payment and it was generous enough to allow the Captain to believe he might again have his own ship, after all.

  Woolever had placed letters of credit with bankers. Their sums had turned the money handlers obsequious. That Mathew Covert had free access bemused them. They too wondered at his selection. But money had its own voice. Doors that had closed with Mathew's difficulties sought to reopen. Former friends suddenly remembered—so did Covert. If he had favors to grant, the favors would go to those who had stood by him.

  For Captain Covert the days were rich with activity. Although he had his own certainties, he sought the guidance of those most expert. At night he dreamt of the ship he would build. Each plank and each strapping could be the finest. A schooner to last a lifetime. He wondered if he might be considered for the position of Captain. To sail such a vessel he would gladly delay ownership of a second Ruth Covert.

  He chose a Baltimore hull, a bit wetter, but shallower draft and swift as a dolphin. He chose a Gloucester shipyard because he knew the Yankee insistence on exacting work to the highest standards. The best of shipwrights, blacksmiths, riggers, and cabinetmakers were hired and Boston's most famous drew the ship's lines and prepared the lofting.

  To build a serviceable schooner, good for twenty years on the banks, was routine. To build the finest, involved powerful opinion and serious dispute. Mathew Covert listened until he could be content with his choice. Following his decision, no further discussion ensued. Those who could not adjust to the system were thanked for their service, packed, and shipped out.

  There was teak, mahogany, yellow pine, oak, ash, and there were hackmatack knees cut green and allowed to harden in place. A popular tale claimed that a man used a board with a knot in it on Mathew Covert's schooner and was dismissed on the spot.

  Iron fittings were wrought through repeated firings and poundings with the iron rolled in on itself until its grain was butter smooth and without flaw.

  Salem's finest ropewalk wove to Covert's standards and sometimes wove again because they did not succeed. It was a proud tune for all involved. For once, craftsmen could do their finest and hang the expense. Covert found his gigantic keel bolts had handsomely engraved heads. He smiled and moved on. Men came with ideas they had long wished to try, a new mortise or special reinforcing. Covert listened and sought other opinion. Fine little touches, some buried within the carpentry, were included.

  Before winter cold, the hull was closed and the ship's innards were lovingly added. Craftsmanship became competitive. The result was properly Yankee spartan in wood glow that brought townsfolk to admire and comment.

  The guns arrived during the winter. Five to a side, plus fore and aft rakers. They were light weapons, fit for resisting the kind of picaroons that had taken the Ruth C. Mathew Covert oversaw their installation with more than usual interest. A friend remarked, "I've seen Letters of Marque that were weaker gunned, Mathew."

  The Captain said only, "If I had been armed as this schooner is, my ship would still be afloat."

  They had finished her completely. No bare hull this, to be splashed in and later fitted out. On the ways she sat tall, her ballast in place, her sails rigged.

  Andrew Woolever had arrived days before. Amid great secrecy painters had applied the chosen name. To remain covered until launching, the naming too aroused interest. Mathew Covert hoped the Feather Company had been imaginative. Such a ship demanded a special name.

  The great man arrived. He left his carriage close to the christening platform. Protected by a broad, tropical hat and almost disguised by an ankle length cloak, he was further hidden by the imposing body of Andrew Woolever.

  The Feather Company's head did not wait on ceremony. He moved past the assemblage of dignitaries and stepped forward to conduct the christening. Where were the long-winded exhortations so beloved of the landbound? Was there to be no clergy's effusive eloquence to encourage the new ship to serve well her masters? Apparently not, Covert observed.

  Instead, the company's leader faced the workers gathered at the ways, anxious to see their ship afloat. His back was to Mathew Covert, almost as though so intended. For a moment there seemed to the Captain a familiarity of movement, as if they might have met before.

  Then the man spoke. His voice was young. His words were sharp. They snatched at Mathew Covert's mind and left him stunned, breathless, and thrilled beyond any known measure.

  "You who have labored with mind, body, and spirit have created a vessel unmatched by any now afloat. Long will she serve to exemplify the skills of the men who designed and built her.

  "This vessel, soon to be named, is, as of this moment, the sole property of her Captain, Mathew Covert, of this seaport."

  Above a murmur of astonished exclamations, gone unnoticed by the suddenly numbed mind of Mathew Covert, the speaker continued.

  "I, Jonas Hawk, in the presence of this company, christen this proud ship, Ruth Covert II. May she honor the name as she brings pride and profit to those who sail her."

  The coverings fell away revealing the schooner's name in heavy gold leaf. Mauls struck wedges, and as though hungry to meet the sea, Ruth Covert II slipped swiftly and silently down her greased ways. As if poised for flight, she floated at her empty marks. Heavily raked masts and dramatic sheer shrieked of whippet speed, and with gleaming guns offsetting the bright of new varnish, Ruth Covert II brought sighs from even the most phlegmatic onlooker.

  Jonas Hawk turned in his own contentment to greet his old and completely dismasted Captain. For Hawk it was a finale, a glorious all-rewarding culmination to the adventures that began off the Floridas more than four years past.

  In these acts he had indulged his every whim. He, on whom fortune had smiled, could give without stint to the few he cherished. Their surprise, their pleasure, and their successes he would treasure as much as he had treasured Gaspar's gold. As his Feather Companies prospered, so would his people.

  In all ways but one, Jonas Hawk was content.

  +++

  Chapter 18 - 1810

  Landisburg, Cumberland County, Pennsylvania

  In late fall, winds from the west could be sharp. They could sweep the length of Sherman's Valley and were known to produce small tornados. Only a year earlier a large shed had been lifted from a Landisburg farm by such a wind and deposited unharmed two miles away, at just the right spot for another farmer's use. The building's legal and moral ownership still roused controversy.

  A fine carriage had deposited two travelers at William West's stone hotel on Water Street. The coachman and a helper had sought more economical shelter at Jacob Bigler's, Landisburg's third tavern. The regulars who gathered at Bigler's popular drinking and dining establishment speculated on who the travelers might be. Business was slow in Landisburg, slow in all of the north valleys for that matter, and men of substance might bear good tidings.

  At William West's hotel, fireplaces crackled brightly. Rooms were warm and only at the windows could drafts be felt. Finday peered through a small-paned upper casement, looking across a few rooftops toward the dark forests that loomed above Landisburg's cozy hollow.

  Finday shuddered a little and, resting comfortably on a goose downed bed. Hawk had to chuckle.

  "Can't imagi
ne why civilized people live in a place like this, Jonas. A man can't see far enough to shoot. Woods are all around, mud to your knees, place stinks of sheep, hogs, and things I can't name. Colder than an Arab's dagger and—it gets dark too soon and light too late."

  "Light is the same as any other place, Finday. The hills just cut it off earlier."

  Unmollified, Finday went on. "Don't matter why it's the way it is, Jonas, I'll bet these people've never seen a sun touch a horizon or smelled a clean sea air without the million stinks they live in the middle of."

  Jonas grinned, "Well, Finday, I'm glad you're not a biased man who only sees one side of a question." It was Finday's turn to grin and Jonas went on.

  "You'll just have to take it from me that a strong home, with a barn full of cows, horses, maybe some sheep, and always a good pig or two can be mighty comforting.

  "A man holds his wife close and hears their children clattering and shrieking around. Same man looks out his window at his grain fields, his orchard, his own wood lot, and off—just about far enough—his neighbor's roof.

  "If there's trouble, help comes on the run. On Sunday they pray and maybe visit together; the Sabbath's a time for catching up and sharing lives a little. If it's dehorning calves, there are neighbors. For butchering, whole families go at it. Harvesting needs cooperation, and folks pitch in.

  "It's not necessarily an easy life but there are rewards. Tell you another thing, Finday. Some of the hunters hereabout would make fine topmen. They shoot turkeys in the head and bark squirrels just to make the gunning interesting."

  Jonas enjoyed defending his home place and he knew just how to end it.

  "Of course you're right about the sea, Finday. Wind right off the ice packs, howling too hard to measure, sails blown into rags, ship bucking till the bowsprit's up where a mast should be—can't get enough of it.