Читать книгу Tillamook Passage - Brian MD Ratty - Страница 7

OF ALL THE SEASONS, MY MOTHER LOVED spring the best. She called it a time of new life and of hope for new prospects. As winter faded and the flowers of spring started to bloom, I had to agree with her. It was an exciting time of both colors and smells. Now I prayed for those new prospects, as well.

Unfortunately, no new opportunities were apt to come from where I worked, as I hated my position. The job was monotonous and offered little chance for promotion. The merchant Joseph Barrel was a major importer and exporter in Boston, and I was one of five clerks that worked for him. Our task was to keep detailed accountings of each shipment in and out of port. Working with the ship manifests, we wrote out long columns of items, and then placed a value on each entry. From that total, detailed expenses were deducted so that a shipment value could be determined. I had wanted to resign many times, but Father would not hear of it, as the little money I brought home was gravely needed. So I was marooned at Barrel’s under the watchful eye of the head clerk, Mr. Crumwell.

All of the clerks worked in a cramped nook of the main offices on Commercial Street, just across from the piers. Here we had three high windows that provided light during the day; at night, we used oil lamps. Even my young eyes found the light insufficient for the detailed entries we were required to make. Many a night, I would walk home with a roaring headache from eyestrain. Further, the drab offices were part of an old brick warehouse that was cold in the winter and stifling in the summer.

Despite all of my silent complaints, there were two aspects of my position that I enjoyed. The first was reading all the ports of calls from the ships’ manifests. The places they traveled sounded exotic, and I daydreamed for hours about those ports. Someday, I hoped to travel the same sea lanes and experience the unknown.

The second aspect was more personal; her name was Becky. She was the daughter of Mr. Barrel, and came to visit him quite often. I could only catch a few glimpses when she came, as she always went directly into her father’s office. Miss Becky had long blonde hair that touched her creamy shoulders, and a delicate face. I guessed her age to be close to mine but, from my across-the-room view, I couldn’t be sure. Her visits always brightened my day, for she was as beautiful as a swan.

She had no idea of my watchful gaze, or even that I existed. But why should she? Other than my bright red hair, I was just a common John without prospects.

In the forenoon, one April day, I looked up from my columns to find Miss Becky talking to a gentleman in front of her father’s office door. The man’s back was to me, but that really didn’t matter, as my attention was focused solely on her pretty face. Just then, Mr. Barrel joined them, and the gentleman turned my way.

The unexpected sight of my mysterious captain nearly made me fall off my stool. There he stood, black patch and all, dressed in a blue naval coat with sleeves adorned with gold braid. He looked bigger and more dashing than I remembered. Who was this man and why was he here?

Getting up from my desk, I quietly approached Mr. Crumwell and cleared my throat. He was a sour faced hunchback who didn’t like being disturbed, as I well knew, but there was a question that I simply had to ask.

Finally, he raised his bony face from his work. “Yes, Joseph?”

“Sorry, sir, but I was wondering if you know the man speaking with Mr. Barrel.”

He twisted his head in their direction, reached for his monocle and placed it over his right eye. Then, turning back to me, he answered, “That would be Captain Robert Gray.”

“Do you know why he’s here, sir?”

Crumwell looked startled by my question, but replied, “I believe Captain Gray is commanding a new undertaking that Mr. Barrel has organized.”

“Do you know the nature of the venture, sir?”

His pale eyes turned angry. “Alas, they don’t pay me to speculate, nor you to talk. All I know is that it has something to do with sea otter pelts. Now get back to work.”

By the time I returned to my desk, the three had departed. Shuffling through a stack of ship’s manifests, I thought, I’ve never seen a single sea otter pelt come in or go out of this office... so what goes on here?

All that afternoon, I daydreamed about the new venture and how I could make myself a part of it. Certainly the undertaking had to do with ships or they wouldn’t need the services of Captain Gray… and that was a problem, for I had never been to sea. There must be something they needed that I could provide… but how would they know, if I didn’t ask?

I had walked past the Morrison House many times since that February night, thinking about the mysterious captain. Now I wondered if I could muster the courage to stop and talk to him again. I found myself riddled with doubts. Was he still residing there? Would he even remember me? As I approached the house, something deep inside told me to just keep walking. But, a block down, I turned back, remembering what mother had once told me of life: Hesitation is failure; action is success.

With my heart in my throat, I knocked on the small front door. Soon, the old proprietor opened it and peered out at me.

“Good evening, sir. Do you remember me? I helped Captain Gray here, a few months back, after he was waylaid and set upon. I was wondering whether he still lives here and, if so, whether I might see him.”

Grinning while nodding his head, he answered, “Yes, I remember you, boy. And yes, the Captain is still here. Come in. I’ll ask if he’ll see you.”

Directed to the parlor, I waited for the Captain by a bright fire. The interval was nerve-racking, as my mind was still full of doubts.

When he finally entered the room, wearing the same uniform I had seen earlier that day, I bowed. “Thank you, Captain Gray, for seeing me.”

When I straightened, he stared sternly at me and answered, “You have the advantage, sir.”

Puzzled, I replied, “I beg your pardon?”

“You know my name, while I do not yet know yours.”

“Oh, I see, sir,” I said, smiling. “My name is Joseph Blackwell.”

He stood there a moment, looking me up and down, and then asked, “Well, Joseph Blackwell, what can I do for you?”

“Do you remember me, sir, from that February night? How are your ribs?”

“Aye, how could I forget that red hair? My innards are still sore but much better, thanks to you. You saved my purse and perhaps my life. I did pay you something for your trouble, did I not?”

Mustering my courage, I answered, “Yes, sir…but I saw you today at Mr. Barrel’s offices and heard that you are leading a new venture for him. I was wondering if you might need my services.”

Walking farther into the room, he stopped in front a chair next to the fire and gestured to another across from it.

“Have a seat, young Joe. How do you know Mr. Barrel?”

Taking the opposite seat, I answered, “I clerk for him, sir.”

He stared at me for a good long moment and then said, “So, you want to sign on. Well, lad, before you leap into those waters, you should know what’s swimming. It’s an undertaking not for the faint of heart or for those seeking comforts. While our voyage will be historic and hopefully profitable, it will also be long, hard and dangerous. Shall I explain? ”

And that’s what he did for the next half-hour. I sat, enthralled, watching his weathered face and listening to his powerful voice as he gave an exciting and detailed account of what was expected of the expedition. Two ships were to leave Boston Harbor, laden with trading supplies. They would sail around Cape Horn, passing from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, and then travel up the west coast of South America to the Pacific Northwest of North America. There, they would trade with the local Indians for sea otter pelts. Once the hulls were filled, the ships would carry their cargo to China via the Sandwich Islands. In Canton, they would sell the valuable animal skins and buy tea for the return trip to Boston via the Cape of Good Hope. If they accomplished this three-year voyage, they would be the first American ships to circumnavigate the globe, and the company would surely make large profits from selling the China tea.

The Captain ended his explanation with a stern warning. “Along the sea lanes, we will have many potential enemies – Spanish authorities, local natives, diseases, mishaps … and, worst of all, loneliness. This expedition is only for those who are stout in heart and mind. So, what say you now, Joe Blackwell?”

Unhesitatingly, with visions of high adventure swirling in my head, I stammered, “I…I want to jump in, sir.”

The Captain’s expression turned serious, and his one good eye seemed to search my soul. “Well then, what skills would you bring to such an undertaking? Are you a seaman?”

Shaking my head, I answered honestly, “No, sir. I’ve never been to sea. But I’m an excellent clerk and a good artist. I could help with map making. Also, I can play a lively flute for the entertainment of the crew, sir.”

“The mate usually clerks my ships, and I have no berths for artists or musicians. No, Joe, other than being a courageous alley fighter, it seems you have no skills that we need. This endeavor demands that our ships be crewed by experienced seaman.”

His words saddened my heart, but I knew that what he said was true. Nevertheless, I heard myself say, “Please, sir… this prospect is for me.”

Shaking his head slowly, he looked into the fire. Then, turning back to me, he asked, “What does your father do, lad?”

“He’s a blacksmith, sir.”

“Have you worked with him?”

“Yes, sir. I was his apprentice for two years.”

“Were you good at the trade?”

“Yes, sir, but my family needed the wages that I could earn from Mr. Barrel.”

Getting up from his chair, the Captain moved to the sideboard, where he poured himself a tankard of rum. Returning to the fireplace, he looked down at me. “Joe, I’m still in your debt from the alley fight. You saved me a great deal of money, that night. So here’s what I’m going to offer – but it must be approved by Mr. Barrel. I’ll sign you on as my cabin boy and pay your wages out of my pocket. Then, if you prove yourself during the voyage, I’ll promote you to seaman and you can share in the ship’s profits. Your duties will include taking care of my personal needs and serving as the ship’s blacksmith and clerk. What say you to that, Joe Blackwell?”

Jumping to my feet, I extended my hand eagerly. “I say yes, sir! And I won’t let you down.”

Shaking my hand, the Captain grinned. “Very well, lad. We’ll see what Mr. Barrel has to say about the matter.”

As I was leaving, I stopped at the door and turned back to Captain Gray. “What would my wages be, sir?”

Looking up from his mug, he shrugged and answered, “A bit late in asking, don’t you think?” He grinned, then asked, “What are you paid now?”

“Four dollars a month, sir.”

Thinking a moment, he cocked his head and replied, “I’ll pay you five. It’s the most I’ve ever paid for a cabin boy, but you will have other duties, as well. Good night, Mr. Blackwell.”

Blimey. “Yes, sir.”

That evening, I explained the expedition to Frederic and Father, and told them of Captain Gray’s offer and my acceptance. Father’s only concerns were about the wages, so I assured him that I would make arrangements to have four of my five dollars paid directly to him. This seemed to appease him, as he made no further comment other than, “Where you are going, there are no maps. You should have demanded more pay.”

My brother, on the other hand, was quite excited, for he realized that it was my prospect for freedom. Over a book I owned that described Captain Cook’s chronicles, we spent hours speculating about Captain Gray’s mission. That evening, before falling asleep, I had only two concerns: Mr. Barrel’s reaction and what my duties as a cabin boy might be.

But I did not see or hear from the captain for weeks, and Mr. Barrel never glanced my way. My excitement over the voyage soon turned to apprehension, then sank into disappointment. Had I only dreamt of the offer from Captain Gray? But no, it was real. It had to be!

Finally, in the second week of May, Mr. Crumwell approached my desk and announced that Mr. Barrel wanted to see me in his office. Putting on my coat and straightening my blouse, I slowly crossed the large room. Along the way, I could feel the eyes of my startled coworkers. The only other time I had been in Mr. Barrel’s office was when I was first hired, and the others seemed to assume that being summoned now could only be a bad omen.

I knocked softly on the door and heard from the other side, “Enter.”

As I swung the door open, my heart was pounding like a rainstorm. The inner room looked smaller than I remembered but was still filled with books and nautical whatnots. Mr. Barrel’s hand carved teak desk was enormous. Just behind it, a large window looked out over the wharves.

Mr. Barrel himself was seated behind his desk, chewing on a cigar while he read a piece of paper. And across from him sat Captain Gray.

I stared at him in surprise, realizing that he must have slipped in while I was out running an errand for Mr. Crumwell. Coming to a stop in front of the desk, I stood there for a long moment while Mr. Barrel continued to read. My employer was a big man, dressed in a black coat with a frilled silk blouse. His face was round, and he had a full head of dark brown hair. But it was his long, dark mustache that everyone’s gaze was drawn to. He always reminded me of a drawing of a walrus that I had once seen.

Putting the paper down, Mr. Barrel looked up at me. “Captain Gray tells me that you want to sign on for our expedition.”

“Yes, sir,” was my quick reply.

“Well, there have been a few changes to our venture. Captain Gray will be commanding the sloop Lady Washington and will be second in command on the expedition. Captain John Kendrick will be the Commodore, commanding the ship Columbia. Because of these changes, and other circumstances, I am going to look favorably on his request. Beginning on the first of September, you will be placed in his employ on the sloop. Until that time, you will remain in your current position as my clerk. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Blackwell?”

With gusto, I answered, “Yes, sir!”

Mr. Barrel seemed surprised by my loud answer, and a tight smile crossed his lips.

Captain Gray inserted, “I told you he was earnest.”

Shaking his head, Mr. Barrel continued, “You will not be required to sign the ship’s articles, because you will be working directly for Captain Gray. If he promotes you to a seaman during the voyage, you can sign the articles then.”

Later, I learned that Mr. Barrel had formed a company by selling fourteen shares at $3,500 each. Mr. Barrel had subscribed to four shares, while five other Boston businessmen had purchased two shares apiece. That capital, a total of $49,000, was being used to purchase, refit, and supply the two ships for the expedition. It had been those other partners who convinced Mr. Barrel to hire Captain Kendrick as Commodore, because they felt he was more experienced. At the time, they had no notion of the folly of that decision.

Standing, Mr. Barrel extended his hand to me across the desk. “I wish you fair winds and a following sea. May this venture be profitable for all.”

Shaking his firm grip, I answered, “Aye, aye, sir.” Then, turning to Captain Gray, who had also stood, I offered him the same handclasp.

Just then, I heard the office door open. When I turned that way, I saw Miss Becky gliding through the doorway. She was wearing a pale green dress with a white lace collar and a dark-green feathered bonnet. Her beauty took my breath away and turned my tongue to stone.

In a sweet, soft tone, she said, “Hello, Father. Hello, Captain Gray. So nice seeing you again.”

Then she glanced my way, and I heard Mr. Barrel say, “This is Mr. Joseph Blackwell. After clerking for us for a number of years, he has just signed on with Captain Gray for our expedition. Mr. Blackwell, this is my daughter, Becky.”

She extended her small hand to me. “How nice to finally meet you, Mr. Blackwell. I’ve noticed your red hair many times…and now you’re going to sail away.”

Shaking her soft, gloved hand, I was afraid she would notice the cold sweat on my brow as I meekly answered, “Thank you, Miss Becky. Nice to meet you.”

“That will be all, Mr. Blackwell,” I heard Mr. Barrel say.

Backing out of the room, I bowed and thanked everyone. By the time I closed the door behind myself, I was about ready to explode. Miss. Becky had noticed my hair and had talked to me. I could not believe the pounding of my heart!