Tillamook Passage. Brian MD Ratty
“Oil costs money, boy—money we don’t have, with the lousy wages you bring home.”
Taking a punk from the fire, I lit the candle on the mantel, and then used the candle to light the oil lamp next to a chair and the other lamp on the eating table. As I did so, I noticed a flagon in front of my father, half full of rum, with his dirty paws wrapped possessively around it.
With the light on his face, I realized just how old and pathetic he looked. He smelled of sweat, and his clothes were dirty and worn. His eyes were deep-set, with dark rings beneath them, and his black hair was matted, showing strands of gray. Not many years before, he had been regarded as a handsome and vigorous man, but now he was full of self pity. His quick downfall frightened me.
“What are you staring at?” he asked angrily.
“Father, you need to get washed up. You’re filthy.”
He took a swig from the mug. “Watch your tongue, boy. You don’t know anything. You’re not my equal.”
Just then, the bedroom door opened and my brother Frederic came into the room.
Moving towards the fire, he said, “Joseph! I’m pleased you’re home. I was getting worried. What kept you?”
In answer to his question, I told him the tale of the alley fight and the reward that I had received. Finishing, I handed the coin to him, and he examined it in the firelight.
“Blimey!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a Continental Dollar before.”
At those words, Father surged out of his chair and snatched the dollar out of Frederic’s hand. He looked at the bright coin in the light, and then closed his large, filthy fingers around it.
When he turned to move back to the table, I blocked his path. “It’s my coin, Father, and I’ll have it back now.”
Without hesitation, Frederic joined me. “Yes, Father, it’s Joe’s money. Give it back to him.”
Father turned his head and looked at us in the flickering firelight. What he saw was my brother and me standing shoulder to shoulder, staring back at him, blink for blink. After a moment, a strange expression crossed his face; it wasn’t his usual look of anger, but one of nervous uncertainty. For the first time, I think he realized that standing before him, making this demand, were two men, not two boys.
Opening his hand, he gazed at the coin again and then flipped it to me. “Foolish pay for a foolish deed. Helping strangers is not your business. Just remember, boy – if you get hurt, I ain’t caring for ya.”
Grabbing the coin, I grinned at Frederic, thanking him silently for his support. He nodded back and returned to the bedroom.
I kept my face straight as I ate warmed up stew, while my father sat at the table in complete silence, consuming his spirits. Eventually, without another word, he got up and staggered to his bedroom.
Moving to the fire, I stoked the remaining wood, then sat and watched the flames. It had been an eventful evening. It wasn’t just the scuffle in the alley, although my quick reactions and powerful fist had surprised even me. And it wasn’t just that the mysterious captain had rewarded me so well. No, the most important thing had been how Frederic had stood up to father. This was the first time that I had seen such courage from him. Maybe – just maybe – there might yet be a future for us both.
PROSPECTS
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