Tillamook Passage. Brian MD Ratty
towards the gangway, Mr. Coolidge came aboard.
Before I could present Miss Becky to him, he angrily asked, “What the hell goes on here, Mr. Blackwell? You’re not paid to lollygag.”
As I fumbled for a response, Becky quickly turned to Mr. Coolidge and said, “My father, Mr. Barrel, asked me to drop off some papers for Captain Gray, and I asked Mr. Blackwell for a tour. Is that a problem, sir?”
Mr. Coolidge had not previously met the owner’s daughter, and she had now put him in his place in front of the crew. He glared at me for a good long moment, then grunted, “No, ma’am,” and walked away, clasping his hands behind his back.
As we descended the gangway, Becky stopped and whispered, “Oh, Joseph, did I get you in trouble?”
“Not at all. It was my pleasure.”
“May I visit you again before you sail?”
She was smart and spirited, and I liked that. “Please do,” was my humbled response.
“But my visits will have to be our secret,” she continued, “as Father would not approve.”
“I understand. I’m currently a man with no fortune. But this voyage will change all of that.”
Twirling her parasol, she smiled and turned down the dock. With my heart in my mouth, I watched her leave. That’s when I realized that something special had just happened: our two lives were now intertwined.
A few days later, Miss Becky reappeared just before the noon meal. This time, she had used her influence to get the mate of the Columbia to give her a tour, and she wanted me to join them. I jumped at the chance to meet other crew members and see the Commodore’s flagship. We found Mr. Woodruff, the mate, aboard, and he walked us around. He seemed very friendly and full of information. At two hundred and twelve tons, the square rigged Columbia was much bigger than the Orphan. She had a deck eighty-three feet long, with a width of twenty-four feet and a depth of twelve feet. When I commented on her size, the Mate informed us that the Columbia was small for her class, as most similarly rigged ships ranged anywhere from three hundred to four hundred tons.
The ship was armed with four six pound cannons and four swivel guns, which made her firepower much greater than the Orphan’s. The total complement of her crew was forty, consisting of Captain Kendrick, five officers, an astronomer, a surgeon, a furrier, a clerk, and thirty seamen. The Captain had two of his sons sailing with him; one was the fifth mate, while the other was a seaman.
Finishing the tour, we thanked Mr. Woodruff and moved down the gangway. At the bottom, Miss Becky turned to me and asked, “Do you wish you were sailing on the Columbia?”
Looking up at the ship’s brownish color and square shape, I answered, “No… she’s too bleak and boxy. While the Orphan is as graceful and colorful as a mallard duck.”
A smile curled her soft lips as she replied, “Why, Joseph... you’re a romantic.”
I saw Miss Becky twice more. The following week, she came by with a basket of food, and we shared our first meal together in the shadows of the ships. For our final outing, I arranged shore time, and we walked the shops of the waterfront. With full knowledge that I would depart within the week, we enjoyed our time together, filling it with laughter and conversation. In one of the shops, Becky found a necklace with a small gold cross that she admired. Taking out the Continental Dollar I had received from Captain Gray, I bought it for her. She seemed overwhelmed by my gift, and allowed me to help her put it on. Then she turned and gave me a hug, whispering, “I shall cherish your gift, and will be wearing it when you return.”
It was an afternoon that I would relish forever.
The next day, Captain Kendrick called the ships’ crews to a meeting aboard the Columbia — the first and only time that all fifty-three sailors would assemble. The Commodore had been in the Continental Navy as a privateer and had distinguished himself many times. After the war, he had returned to whaling and coastal shipping. At forty-eight years old, he had experience commanding sailors and the sea. On paper, he had all of the right qualifications, and the assembled crew showed him great respect.
On the quarterdeck, the men gathered round him as, with Captain Gray at his side, he addressed the crew: “We shall sail with the tide on Saturday morning for Nantasket Roads. There, we will load fresh meat, produce, water, and livestock.” As he talked, he twitched his nose. “Nantasket will be the last place to say farewell to family and friends. We sail the following morning to begin our expedition, taking leave of American soil.” Removing his hat, he wiped his brow with a handkerchief and continued. “At four bells on Friday, the owners will host a farewell party on these decks. Your families and sweethearts are invited. But hear this – there will be ladies and gentleman aboard this ship, so I expect to see my crew dressed in clean denims and shirts. There will be no over-imbibing or profanities. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” was our loud response.
Tucking his head, he turned and mumbled, “Very well. Dismissed.”
My first impression of the Commodore was one of caution. He seemed like a strange little man with a strange manner. I could only hope his sea skills would prove to be better than his oratory.
On Friday, the whole crew set to work, polishing both the ships and themselves. Although the days had been warm, autumn was in the air. The crew was ready to depart, but only after the gleeful celebration.
That afternoon, our ship’s cook, a seaman named Gayle, was sent to the Columbia to help with the preparations, while most of the other crew went ashore. Earlier, I had brought aboard all of my personal belongings, and I was trying to stow them in my small, dingy cubbyhole when Sandy shouted down the hatch, “Joe, you have visitors.”
Rushing up the ladder, I found my father and Fredric waiting on the quarterdeck.
Pleasantly surprised – and pleased to see that my father appeared sober – I said, “You’re early. But I’m glad you came.”
My father smiled – something he rarely did – and answered, “Closed up the shop at three so we could see your ship. Will you give us a tour?”
My brother added, “Please, Joseph?”
Grinning at their enthusiasm, I agreed. We slowly walked the Orphan, with me spouting information as if I were an old salt. Below deck, I even introduced them to Captain Gray, who was in his compartment. He was cordial and shook their hands.
Once we were back on deck, Father and I strolled to the stern while Fredric wandered off towards the bow.
“I like your captain, Joe. I hope you’ll heed his orders and do a good job.”
Just then, the sound of fiddle music rolled over the transom from the Columbia.
“Well, I guess I had better get properly dressed,” I said to him. “It sounds like the soiree is getting underway.”
With a serious expression, my father answered, “Before you do, I have something for you.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a folded, wax-sealed envelope and handed it to me. On it, I saw the delicate handwriting of my mother. She had written: For my son, Joseph Blackwell: To be opened upon the death of my husband, Samuel Blackwell.
“Your mother gave this to me on her deathbed, and I promised to take care of it.”
The look on his face was so serious that it scared me.
“But, Father, you’re still alive.”
“Aye… but three years is a long time. Maybe I won’t be here when you come home. Or maybe you won’t come back. Keep it in your pouch. You can give it back to me if – or when – I see you next.” With music swirling in our ears, he extended his hand and concluded, “Do we have an agreement, Son?”
Taking his hand, I shook it, and he embraced me, with tears in his eyes.
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