Tillamook Passage. Brian MD Ratty
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?