by James Spurr
Reflections in the Wake
Book 3 Great Lakes Great Guns Historical Series
James Spurr
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A
Selection
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Double Edge Press
Ebook edition ISBN 9781938002359
Reflections in the Wake
Copyright © 2009 James Spurr
Cover Artwork: Original Paintings by artist Peter Rindlisbacher, all rights, title and interest owned by Michigan Maritime Museum. Used with permission.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Double Edge Press, 72 Ellview Road, Scenery Hill, PA 15360
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
For Lynn
Whose Love and Encouragement
Fuel Dreams
Other Titles by James Spurr:
Great Lakes, Great Guns Historical Series:
Book 1 Sworn for Mackinaw
Book 2 One Sloop and Slow Match
Acknowledgements
Information found throughout was initially found within:
Howard Chapelle’s The History of American Sailing Ships
Bucko Teeple’s Kitchigamig Anishinabeg
David Skaggs and Gerard Altoff’s Signal Victory
Alec Gilpin’s The War of 1812 in the Old Northwest
Brian Dunningan’s A Picturesque Situation
Bernie Arbic’s City of the Rapids
And
The Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society’s
Proprietary research files on the wreck of Invincible
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The Michigan Maritime Museum’s
Generous Use of Peter Rindlisbacher’s 2005 Paintings
Is also Greatly Appreciated for the
Front and Back Cover Designs, Respectively
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The good work, faith and patience of
Rebecca Melvin of Double Edge Press
is also much appreciated.
Special Thanks to those that provided Images used throughout this text (printed edition):
The Detroit Historical Society - Portrait of Oliver Williams
Page 115
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Clements Library, University of Michigan -
Portrait of Shin-Gaa-Bo-Wossin
Page 152
&
French Map of Entry to Lake Superior from Lake Huron
Page 194
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The Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society
for image of the historical
Bayfield’s Chart of Whitefish Point, Michigan,
Page 252
&
The Koelpin painting The Wreck of Invincible
Page 273
Sail the Winds of History
For those who come to this book with an appreciation for
History and for the Inland Seas
Or for those who in reading this book are inspired to learn
first hand
Of what has so captivated mankind since the beginning of
recorded motivation
Friends Good Will
Sails Today
With Volunteer Crew and Participating Passengers
Owned and Operated by the Michigan Maritime Museum
South Haven, Michigan
www.michiganmaritimemuseum.org
Leave Ashore All But Your Sense of Adventure
Reflections in the Wake
Book 3 Great Lakes Great Guns Historical Series
James Spurr
Chapter One
Venezia, 1826
Captain Lee shifted in his chair so to more comfortably shift his view. He was alone at a table for two. His glass of wine was nearly empty and having watched the local population for some time without purpose, he turned once again, as always, to seaward.
The early June morning warmed as it neared noon. He rested his legs after a long walk, taken with no particular destination. His crew remained in the yawl boat, in sight at a mere cable length, taking their ease. Some dozed alongside or against their oars, maybe wondering when their captain would return to their ship. No time soon, he thought.
The crowd in the Piazza San Marco had thinned temporarily as Sunday Mass, cathedral bells tolling, called the faithful to worship. The captain marked the event with a glass of delightful rose. Soon the service would end and the near empty tables would fill once again. The prospect of the increasing crowd caused him to relocate to the Mole along the seawall so to avoid the peddlers and merchants. He turned from the five domes of the Basilica, the shaded arches of the Doge’s palace and the twin columns. He ordered a cabernet, considered which cheese would best serve with dinner and for quite some time observed his ship, her perfectly squared yards and the United States flag flying from the peak of the gaff, anchored in the Canal Della Giudecca.
The U.S.S. John Adams, Frigate, 28, was the dominant vessel among the feluccas, fishing craft, and merchantmen from a variety of nations that gathered to the left of the custom house, at the tip of the peninsula marking the entrance to the Grand Canal. The famed custom house was just to larboard of his anchored frigate. Its tower was adorned by twin statues of Atlas supporting a bronze globe, atop which the goddess Fortuna acted as a wind vane. The late morning sun shone off the spars of the ships at anchor and the metal shield of Fortuna. It was yet another beautiful sight in Venice, which the Captain had marked as containing fascinating history, stunning architecture, excellent food, seducing wines and a despairing loneliness.
“Captain Lee?”
He turned with a start. Certainly the maid waiting his table did not know his name. The soft female voice and her accent suggested not Italian, however, but French. He looked up into the sun, squinting sharply to reduce the glare and found a woman and her female companion. He determined to stand, as good manners would require should the unlikely prospect that he were about to address a lady actually unfold.
He could not tell at first. As he answered, “Aye, or rather, I am Captain Lee,” he noted she looked far more critically at him. He recalled that he was dressed in his everyday uniform, his shirt far from fresh and his stock loosened most casually. He noted she was not tall although she stood formally and quite erect. She positioned herself close to his table, such that as he stood to the side of his chair, he was far closer to her than etiquette, despite his attempt at good manners, would suggest appropriate. He made to distance himself some inches, glancing inadvertently at her slight bosom in the process. His leg bumped the chair behind him. It skidded across the flag stones, causing an annoying scraping sound, which would hardly mask his clumsy introduction nor improve upon it.
She had the grace to feign fault. “I am sorry for disturbing you, sir. I saw the flag on that small boat and with you nearby, in uniform…” Her companion scowled. She held out her hand and announced, “I am Marie LaPointe.”
The name meant nothing to him. His face must have betrayed his ignorance. He noted her clothing, well tailored and maintained, though, like Venice, faded, having seen fresher days. He took her hand, lifted slightly, nodded his acknowledgement and admitting his curiosity, asked, “How might I help you, madam?”
Her disappointment was apparent and she tried once again, “Marie LaPointe, from Nantes.”
Still, nothing registered but her thick dark hair, piercing eyes and slender frame, which betra
yed more activity, tone and muscle than wealth would allow. She placed her hat, which she had held in her hands behind her, upon his table and turned to her right, gesturing toward a satchel carried by her companion. Captain Lee noted her fluid movements held an elegance rare as an innate gift and most often learned as a social grace. Everything about her suggested a lady, but her faded dress, tanned face and slender, well toned arms, would logically allow no such station.
Her look of disappointment was unsettling. He would have preferred to consider her sharp cheekbones, small and shapely mouth, long fingers and tiny wrists just another fraction of a second. But she obviously thought her name should mean something to him. Why?
Before he could consider further, she rushed him, offering an explanation, “My uncle was Father Armand LaPointe, a Jesuit priest serving in what you may know as Upper Canada.” She spoke of such regions with hesitation, as areas foreign to so many in Europe. Indeed, such places seemed less than real now, even to Captain Lee.
At last, recognition came to him. Within an instant, recognition turned to surprise, followed by confusion. They were half a world away from Upper Canada and their meeting was obviously no coincidence; the explanation yet a mystery.
Instinctively, Captain Lee regained his mental balance and with a command presence honed from the deck of a man o’ war, postponed questions which would only confirm to her his ignorance and instead challenged, “What is this satchel?”
Marie smiled, more from admiration than pleasure, he felt, at his quick poise after his obvious surprise. She turned to the satchel, denying him her eyes, but answered, “Letters.”
Captain Lee asked with some degree of doubt, “Addressed to me?” His letters received over years at sea, whether salt water or sweet, would not so much as fill his coat pockets, let alone a rather large leather satchel.
Marie apologized. She did not mean to be cryptic. She continued, gesturing for her older companion to lift the flap of the satchel, revealing its contents, “Bemose shipped a trunk to my home by way of gift. The trunk contained some items she wished me to have, and also these letters. An accompanying letter requested I try to deliver the letters to you. She and I have been corresponding for some years,” she explained, “but she did not know how to reach you or where your ship may next call. She asked that I watch, and if the opportunity presented, deliver these to you.”
Captain Lee nodded. The satchel contained some decorative native designs by way of leather stitching in contrasting colors. It could well be Bemose’s. Marie’s companion lifted the leather shoulder strap over her head, preparing to at last, deliver the satchel.
Captain Lee turned his eyes to Marie’s, if for no other reason than he enjoyed looking into them. With perhaps more drama than the moment deserved, but thus justifying his gaze and his rather bold use of her Christian name for the sole reason that he wanted to speak it, he said, “It appears, Marie, we should sit and talk. You have obviously come far for my benefit.” Gesturing to the other chairs aside his outdoor table, he invited, “Let me offer rest and refreshment.”
Marie graciously accepted. She explained, as she took the other seat at the table and waited until he had taken his, “I did not just arrive. I am visiting friends at the Austrian embassy, the Lissidi Palace, just blocks east of San Marco’s. May I send the servant back to the embassy?”
Captain Lee had nearly forgotten Marie’s companion, but quickly assured the older woman, “I will see your mistress back to the embassy.” He thought it strange that he was assuring his new acquaintance’s safety; stranger still that she was trusting in it when they had known each other for but a minute.
Marie’s companion left and the two remaining at the table exchanged glances. Revealing her own thoughts on the exchange that had just taken place, Marie offered, “After all, we are practically family.”
Captain Lee immediately countered, “No, we are not.” It surprised him that he had already thought that through.
The maid came and he ordered wine for his guest. Then Captain Lee could wait no longer, “Pray tell, Marie LaPointe, how is it a satchel full of letters from the Great Lakes reaches a Naval Officer aside a canal on the Adriatic?”
She smiled and lowered her eyes in thought before beginning a recitation of facts. “A French Naval ship witnessed yours putting into Dubrovnik in April. The French ship was sailing outbound for Genoa. I was already on my way overland to Genoa, hoping perhaps to leave the satchel with another United States vessel, trusting, I suppose, that once with the United States Navy they would eventually sort it out.”
Captain Lee interjected, “That is a logical assumption,” but then added wryly, “But of course the French have had far more years to hone the efficiency of mail within the service as have we had in the States!”
He then explained, doubting she could appreciate his wry humor, “I am most appreciative of your added effort.”
She nodded. Captain Lee added, “I recall the French ship, a corvette; a most handsome vessel. Her Captain and I caught each other’s glance in our long glass.”
She appeared to relax some with his animation when talking of ships as persons and offered, looking over to the anchorage, “Which ship is yours?”
He drew close to assist her in following his gaze, and gestured, “There, larboard side to, or just left of the custom house.” He noted she smelled natural, not at all heavily perfumed like so many ladies of the day.
“Tell me more,” she implored, not so much caring about the ship as intrigued as to what manner he would describe her. He complied, not at all eager to move away from her.
He turned his eyes from Marie, a woman, to consider his ship, a lady, “She is the John Adams, named for one of our Presidents.”
Marie nodded, knowingly. Captain Lee continued, “She was built in Charleston, South Carolina, an old and famous city on our southeastern seaboard… Have you ever been to America?”
She shook her head to the negative.
“John Adams is a frigate, very fast and she moves kindly and with confidence when the sea is in the grandest of moods. I love her graceful motion, even when stressed.” He smiled and glanced at her a little selfconsciously, realizing he was describing his ship as though she were alive. More soberly, he explained, “I am honored to command her. She has a fine history of service. Built in 1799, she has been to the Med before, fighting the Barbary pirates.” Then, thinking he had talked to excess, closed only with, “If only I could come close to equaling the deeds of her former Captain.”
Marie asked, “Who was he?”
Captain Lee noted their glasses were near empty and he made just the slightest gesture. Two sailors appeared nearly instantly from the yawl boat along the sea wall. He heard Marie give a little gasp of astonishment at their sudden appearance, but he only gestured to the satchel, softly asking, “Mr. Jensen, if you would please, and wait here a moment.”
He arose from the table to pay the fare, but before he could leave, Marie asked, “Are all of your crew so devoted?”
He gave a self-conscious wince. He clarified, “I prefer to think they are professional.”
His crew cast him an appreciative glance, but neither Captain nor crew fooled Marie. She knew devotion, even if not readily admitted, and in this case, the feeling between Captain and crew with respect to each other and their ship was intertwined and inseparable.
As Captain Lee left the table, his Cox’n, Mr. Jensen and his shipmate remained in her presence. Mr. Jensen handed the satchel to his shipmate, who clutched it like it was an advance in pay combined with leave. Marie smiled and Mr. Jensen, nearer, having heard the exchange, took the liberty to explain, “Captain Lee, you see, m’lady, is one of Perry’s men,” in a tone which was obviously meant to suggest something very special. She was about to confess the reference was lost on her.
Captain Lee returned before she could speak and instructed his men, “Return to the yawl boat and take care with the satchel. I will be back shortly and we shall return to the ship
.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Jensen, whose uniform and hat, Marie noticeed, was just a bit smarter than the rest.
Captain Lee turned and asked, “Marie Lapointe, will you show me to the Lissidi Palace?”
She cautioned, “It is not as grand as it sounds, but I am very fortunate for friends allowing me such refuge.” Captain Lee thought it an odd choice of words, but did not press. Rather, he returned to her last question, asked before he paid the fare, and as they began to walk through the Piazza San Marco, he explained, “Her former Captain was Commodore Perry, a venerable United States Naval hero.”
Marie nodded, sensing some lengthy story or deep connection, but as they approached the corner of the basilica, about to leave the campi, or square, for the adjacent neighborhood, she could not resist what she thought he would appreciate. She gestured upward to the face of a building over a gated arch., “Do you see that clock?”
Captain Lee was intrigued. She explained, “The most beautiful clock in Venice, with the signs of the Zodiac and several planets, all which rotate with a sequence significant to navigators!”
The field of azure and gold lettering made for a rich contrast and Captain Lee noted, “I have never seen such a clock, with twenty four hours on the face instead of just twelve.” He smiled, enjoying the sight and its relevance to his profession.
“It is very special to sailors,” she advised, smiling.
