Tillamook Passage. Brian MD Ratty
Moments later, a skinny sailor with a bald head appeared from the aft stair hatch and stepped lively to the ship end of the gangway.
“Would you be the deck watch?” I called.
He glared at me before answering in a high pitched voice, “Aye… and you would be Mr. Blackwell. Ya look too old to be a cabin boy… and you’re early, lad. I was having my morning tea. But come aboard.”
Stepping along the plank, I asked, “How do you know my name?”
“Captain asked me to keep an eye out. I’m to give ya a tour and show ya yer duties.”
Extending my hand, I said, “I’m Joe Blackwell.”
Shaking it, he answered, “I’m Hayes, but everybody calls me Sandy.” Pointing to his bald head he continued, “Use to have a full head of sandy hair. Now all I got is a head full of skin.” Smiling, he let out a chuckle. “Oh well. Indians won’t get anything from me. Welcome aboard the Orphan.”
“Why do you call her an orphan?”
“Let’s go to the bow and I’ll show you.”
As we walked forward, I noticed his red knickers, which were cut off at the knees, showing his bowed bird-like legs. He was thin and short, and I doubted that he weighed a hundred pounds dripping wet.
At the bowsprit, we turned to look astern. In his squeaky voice, he said, “Take a good look at her, lad. This deck will be yer home for the next three years. She’s sixty-four feet long and twenty feet wide and can carry ninety tons. That makes the Lady Washington the biggest sloop every built. She’s one of a kind, an orphan of the sea. Hell, boy, she’s so big that she should have been built a brigantine.”
With the morning light on his face, Sandy’s eyes twinkled as he spoke proudly of his ship. And speak he did, for the next few hours, non-stop. The pitch of his voice nearly drove me overboard, but the information it spilled was fascinating. The Orphan was big, so big that she required lots of canvas. She had a large mainsail with a square topsail and three headsails. Sandy guessed, in good conditions, that she would do twelve knots.
After walking the deck, he took me below and showed me the layout. Astern was the captain’s cabin, with one window looking aft. The compartment was compact and well designed, with a small berth, eating table, and desk. Next to it was the mate’s cabin, half the size of the captain’s, also with a single window looking aft. Forward of the companionway, on the port side, was the galley, with its large iron cook stove and mess table. On the starboard side were lockers for foul-weather gear, firearms, and ship supplies.
In this area, Sandy opened a door to a cubbyhole. “And this be the cabin boy’s berth.”
It was a small, dark, dingy nook with a narrow, wooden berth, but I said nothing.
Amidships were two holds – a smaller one for foodstuffs, firewood, water, and other sailing needs, and the main hold, where we would carry our trading supplies and all else. Forward of the holds were the crew’s quarters and sail lockers. On her deck, she was armed with one six pound canon and four swivel guns. The Orphan would have a crew of thirteen: the Captain, the Mate, ten seamen, and me. Sandy didn’t like me being the thirteenth member of the crew, as he felt the number was unlucky. By then, however, he had already told me about half a dozen other superstitions he held. He was a queer little man, but I took to him easily, and he was a fountain of information. By the time we completed the tour, my only thought was that his nickname should have been Gabby, as he talked so much.
Later that morning, the Mate, Davis Coolidge, came aboard, and Sandy introduced me. Mr. Coolidge was tall and looked to be in his late twenties. He had a dark, ruddy face and broad, square shoulders. But his personality was as cold as the rain. He told us that two other crew members would soon come aboard, and that the four of us would begin to load the supplies. Preparing the Orphan to go to sea would be our task over the next few weeks. He stressed that we would load the ship backwards, putting the things we wouldn’t need for a good while into the holds first, and the things we would need frequently on top. He also added that the heaviest cargo items should be loaded first and deepest.
Turning to me, he concluded, “Mr. Blackwell, the Captain wants you to maintain a complete accounting of the supplies we’ve received and where you place them. I have other business in town, so you’re in charge.”
Then, while my mouth was still open in disbelief, he turned and walked off the ship.
As he disappeared into the sunshine, I said to Sandy, “What the thunder do I know about loading a ship? Why would he leave me in charge?”
Shaking his head, he answered, “It’s all about the numbers, boy. Most of the crew knows nothing about ciphering and such things. We know how to load the ship, but we need you to keep the accounts. And, Joe…” He hesitated. “Give Mr. Coolidge a wide berth. I’ve heard he’s mean-spirited.”
That afternoon, seamen Owens and Taylor came aboard, and we began the task of loading the ship. Working on the dock, I used shipping receipts to inspect and count all of the supplies already received. On the sloop, the three sailors set up a block-and-tackle rigging to lift the containers into the holds. As each item was hoisted, I marked it with chalk, giving it a number. Then I wrote the number and where it was placed on each receipt. It was a dirty, sweaty job, as both the dock and the ship baked in the hot September sun. But, ever so slowly, we made progress.
The items we hoisted were all different in size, shape and weight. Our trading goods included cloth, beads, blankets, axes, knives, saws and hundreds of iron chisels. We even loaded raw iron and brass for making more implements. Then there was firewood for the cook stove, and barrels of rum, wine, and brandy. Next came barrels of cheese, oil, flower, sugar, molasses, and animal feed. The endless list of dry goods and sailing provisions had been carefully crafted by Captain Gray, and I marveled at his foresight and attention to detail.
Each morning, the Captain or Mr. Coolidge would come aboard and check the work from the day before. Then they would give us instructions for the day ahead. I found Captain Gray to be friendly and direct, while Mr. Coolidge was cool and aloof. The crew was always pleased when the Mate left the ship for what he called “other business in town.”
Most redheaded people have fair skin that doesn’t take to the sun, but for some reason my skin took to it and I would easily color. I had thought about this before, because my father had olive skin and black hair while my mother had creamy skin with light auburn hair. Why did I have red hair and medium skin? With my mother dead, it was a question with no answer, so I shoved it from my mind.
That first week, I worked on the docks without my shirt, and my body soon browned. Late Friday morning, I looked up from counting blankets to find Miss Becky approaching the sloop. She held a parasol above her head, shading her face, and wore a light blue summer dress. At first, she didn’t notice me watching from my perch atop the bale. Then she did and turned my way. As she approached, I froze in place, my mouth dry and my heart racing.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell,” she said, peering up at my bare-skinned torso.
Her strange look sank to my toes. Jumping off the bale, I quickly reached for my shirt and put it on. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or proud. Mumbling, I answered, “Good morning, Miss Becky. Can I help you?”
“Is Captain Gray aboard? Father wants me to deliver some papers to him.”
“No, Miss. He’s ashore. But you could leave the papers in his stateroom, and I’ll tell him you came by.”
Standing face to face with me, she smiled and her green eyes twinkled. “Could you show me the way?”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
After leaving the papers in the Captain’s compartment, Becky asked if I would give her a tour of the ship, which I was delighted to do. We walked from stern to stem, and I told her all I knew of the Orphan. With the crew watching our every step,