by James Spurr
Captain Lee did not hesitate, “Of course, but why?”
Marie replied, “Tomorrow is Sunday and I should like to attend early Mass.”
James had not remembered. Somewhat embarrassed, he mumbled something about scheduling a service aboard John Adams.
Unknown to each other, they both thought, as they climbed aboard the frigate, they had known each other but one week.
* * *
John Adams was underway by noon the following day, sailing south along the coast. James could not tell whether the warmer weather was the result of the advancing season or the lower latitude. But the two, perhaps together, served up wonderfully warm offshore winds. The following day, a light breeze filled in from the northwest, cooler but still fair and the crew sounded the bottom most of the day in close proximity to Greek islands, such as Corfu, where they had two months before put in for wood and water. Captain Lee pressed on, showing Marie the ancient fort from his long glass but anxious to put out into the more exposed waters and bear west so to round the Italian peninsula and leave the Adriatic astern.
Three days out of Dubrovnik with an empty horizon surrounding John Adams but for a smudge of land off the starboard beam to the north, the Sailing Master pointed out an interesting anomaly off the larboard quarter. “Look, Marie,” called James, motioning her to the binnacle and handing her the long glass. He pointed to a water spout, snaking its way across the sea, undulating as if to music toward the ship. “Look quickly, they often dissipate in but moments.”
Marie grinned and remarked, “So graceful… yet menacing!”
James assured, “While we will try to keep our distance, they are often not as fearsome as they look.”
Marie pulled her gaze from the long glass for but a moment, her eyes gleaming, and chided, “Much like frigate captains!”
James shot back, all in good nature, “Yes, but we frigate captains are not nearly so fickle!”
Just as the waterspout seemed to blow outward from its base in a blast of fine mist and water droplets, the tail evaporated into the cumulus cloud as if hauled smartly to the heavens by eager hands at the clewline. Marie seemed disappointed, but grateful to have witnessed a small event in what had thus far been a day of profound solitude upon the open sea.
Captain Lee had been attending duties since departing Dubrovnik, keeping the crew busy at various projects and personally supervising some painting of the bulwarks. Now the two of them took the occasion at the rail to visit. James was acutely aware their position on the chart indicated John Adams was already halfway to Genoa.
Marie returned to his reference to frigate captains being anything but fickle. “True, I cannot imagine a more firm bond than that of a Captain to his ship.” She asked, “You will be here for her always, am I right?”
James, uncomfortable, looked around to see if anyone had overheard. He returned the long glass to the binnacle, motioned with his eyes that they walk the deck. He pretended to once again inspect the paint crew at the bulwarks.
Tentatively, not knowing quite how to form the words for that which he never thought he would speak, he began, “Actually, Marie… I have been thinking, for some months now, really… there may be other courses available to me… ones that I might find most enjoyable, which are…are not within the service.” His voice trailed off, nearly a whisper at the last phrase. He looked nervously around, hoping no one but Marie had heard.
“Really, James,” she encouraged, “that is very interesting!” Smiling, she built upon his metaphor, “I am sure you would succeed no matter what ‘course’ you set.”
“Thank you,” he nodded gratefully, “Of course, your discretion is required.”
Marie nodded at the caution as a given, “You know you can trust me,” and indeed he did. She probed, “What have you in mind?”
James teased, “I could learn to bake… I know an excellent teacher and it is comforting to know one would rarely have to worry about going hungry!” They laughed, breaking what little tension was evident as he considered his future and trusted such thoughts to another. He continued, “I am, I suspect, far too deeply bred to the sea. But the merchant service, on the other hand, with shorter hauls, more time ashore, more flexibility in my schedule…” His tone begged for understanding from the only person he had for some time considered a confidant. His explanation was more of a prayer than a plan; his eyes conveyed more of a plea than enthusiasm.
Marie seriously encouraged, “James, I think you would enjoy this new lifestyle, as you describe. It is likely not found in any Navy of which I am aware, but still available to men bred to the sea.”
He nodded and looked down, almost shamefully, as he confessed, “I feel as though I am being disloyal… about to embark upon some betrayal.”
“Of whom; of what?” Marie demanded.
James gestured vaguely around him, to whether his ship or her crew, he left uncertain. Perhaps in his mind there was no difference. He explained, “We stand watch, not just literally, through the blazing sun and frigid nights, pledged to each other not by words, but in deed, watch after watch, representing our nation for which we fought, for which so many better than we died…” His voice trailed off and he stared to windward so to not look at her and reveal his deep emotion.
At her silence, he glanced at her, and was surprised to see her eyes welled with tears. At his gaze, she waved a self-conscious hand of apology. “Forgive me, my emotion surprises even myself,” she said. Then, summarizing as best she could so that he could understand, continued, “Gratitude,” she said weakly. “that there are such men, men such as you…” She trailed off, then managed, “Your service cannot be questioned, only appreciated. You have been ‘standing watch’ since a boy.”
“So did he,” James whispered, just audible over the bow wave as they stood before the bowsprit.
Marie was at first confused, thinking perhaps his reference was to his father, or his uncle. But then she realized, “Do you mean this Perry?”
James nodded and she asked, “Is he still in the Navy?”
Shaking his head, James explained, “Captain Perry died some years ago. But he did not quit the service.”
Marie quickly did the arithmetic, from what little she knew, and offered, “He died a young man. He may well have quit the service had he lived.” She offered that not with disrespect, but with the simple wisdom that all healthy people grow and change.
James looked at her, his expression of sincere surprise revealing a truth about heroes, forever young. They never grow old and admirers assume their lives would have forever continued as brought them such acclaim.
Marie offered, “Live your life. Surely, he would have lived his.”
James was amazed as a feeling of relief and gratitude ran through him at the depth of her understanding. Her words and her eyes told him that no matter what he pursued for a living, she would recognize that which was essential with respect to the very core of his being. James could never leave the sea, for his very soul craved it. But he had begun to hope he could find that fulfillment without a uniform, from another vessel, perhaps, than from a 28 gun man o’ war.
They walked nearly a full glass, as the ship’s bell reminded. Marie offered, “Perhaps on these ‘Great Lakes’ of which you speak?”
James shot her a glance filled with wonder, softly admitted, “Yes, I do miss the sweetwater seas.”
Marie looked at him quizzically and he explained the reference, describing the many differences from the Mediterranean. They continued to walk in comfortable silence, for all intents alone despite the entire starboard watch turned to on deck for fair weather projects.
Captain Lee considered what he just that moment had come to recognize as the fatal flaw in his life’s plan, never confessed before this day even fully to himself.
The sweetwater seas were a world away from Marie’s world currently slipping astern in their wake, her life lived amid civilizations so old, in contrast to their relationship; so young.
The fol
lowing day, John Adams, having made her westing, turned north. A light southerly wind filled at dawn and allowed stuns’ls to be rigged and hoisted. Clouds of canvas competed by way of volume and beauty with those well above, stretching across an early morning horizon seemingly blocked by the Italian mainland and the island of Sicily. The Straits of Messina were very gradually revealed as the land grew close, and by the noon sight, John Adams swam in the Tyrennian Sea.
In the evening, James freed himself of duties and invited Marie to dinner. He did not object when she displaced the cook and presented an excellent mutton. When the wine was nearly gone, he having saved just one more glass in the bottle for each, both were drawn to the deck, James ostensibly by the cool air and the gradually rising wind.
James guided Marie forward along the bulwarks, near the starboard entry port which allowed Marie to more easily see over the bulkhead. Just as he had timed it from carefully observing their progress along the chart, he gestured seaward, up high and offered, “I present you, Marie LaPointe,” with feigned formality, “the show of a lifetime!”
Marie looked out at the blackness, bewildered as to what James was referring. She saw only utter dark, which was her first clue. Elsewhere, throughout the arc of the horizon, stars were easily visible – except for dead on the beam. She then looked up, suspecting that somehow nearby land was blocking the stars, which she would have found surprising given their distance offshore. Her jaw dropped as a red glow, from a deep fire, rose from an unseen ridge, much higher than the cross trees of the ship.
She turned to James, who was smiling from all the questions in her eyes and the surprise on her face. “A live volcano, its fire glow seen above its crater’s rim. It is known as Mount Stromboli, erupting every once in a while since Roman times but always offering a consistent low fire.”
The sheer magnitude of the mountain, rising steeply from the sea where no land was expected, and the deep, ancient fire glowing in the night was one of the most magnificent sights Marie had ever seen. She smiled excitedly and asked questions, so few of which James could answer but all of which he enjoyed.
But then James took her hands in one of his, his other softly cupping and turning her chin, he said, “I will confess this night, Marie, I would rather look into your eyes than at any natural wonder.” Before she could so much as gasp, he offered, gesturing to the adjacent mountain “My heart is afire, generating more heat than this low glow.”
Her heart welcomed his words; her head pulled her hands from his. She shook her head and stepped back, not with conviction but as a plea, “James, no, we are so close to Genoa. Why torture ourselves?”
He answered, having anticipated her objection, “Precisely because we are so close to Genoa. And what is Genoa to you? It is not your country, not your home.”
Marie was distracted by his reasoning, while soothed by his voice. He continued, “Marie, you left France before you even met me. You had no immediate plans to return.”
She looked at him quizzically, unsure as to what course he was steering.
James pressed on, “If you need not live in France, for reasons of family or other ties, why live in an ancient Italian city offering few prospects but years of cultural decline and feigned benevolence?”
His words were purposefully vague. She was about to challenge and thus regain her emotional balance, when he admitted, “I refer not to the politics of nations, but to the persons and relationships you will likely encounter and forge, in Genoa… or in all of Europe, for that matter.”
As an almost feeble attempt to resist, Marie asked, “What would you have me—”
Interrupting, he took her hands once again, “To do?”
She did not step back but let him draw her close as he urged, “Follow your uncle’s footsteps. Come to the ‘New World.’ Come to the Great Lakes, the Michigan Territory, where land is abundant, the water clean, the food plentiful, and the people accepting of anyone willing to contend with adventure.”
But while Marie was still startled, he admitted, “Come with me, for all those reasons if you must. But do not refuse me, for just this reason, if you may: I need you with me and with just a bit more time, I sense we could find our future in each other’s arms.”
As a frigate captain, James had played it well. His timing was impeccable, the surrounding conditions favorable. The maneuvers were subtle and effective, the broadsides disarming and at point blank. But there comes a point in any engagement when with all weapons discharged, there is little to do but asses their toll.
Marie was taken by surprise, but hardly disabled. “James, I am very fond— No,” she admitted, “… of a similar heart. But you still wear a uniform and must sail where your superiors order, and… why, you don’t even know where you will be after ‘touching’ at Rome.”
James nodded, smiling slightly at her using the slang heard from many on board. “Fair point, Marie, of course. But Mr. Wallace confirmed for me today that he will remain in Rome. My orders are to attend to his diplomatic requirements, which as of tomorrow, will be entirely fulfilled. After taking on wood and water, we will sail for Newport on the northeastern seaboard… of the United States.” He looked around at his ship then down to his uniform, “John Adams is in need of a major overhaul and will not need another Captain for some time. I will take off this uniform.”
There was some pause, as they both sought out assurance in each other’s eyes. Marie said softly, “James, you have my head swimming, sorting through new found feelings with major life decisions. We both know it is too early to speak of a covenant between us, yet…”
James thought her word for marriage provincial, but understood her point and so to prove it sought to finish her thought, “… we have no choice, if we be true to ourselves, but to afford us the time.” They both nodded.
Smiling, Marie teased, “I will think about it… and likely not sleep a wink.”
James drew her close. For the first time in months he felt joy, brought by the promise of Marie as his partner, even if temporary. The euphoria for both was genuine, even if uncharacteristic for a woman so guarded in permitting any suggestion of vulnerability.
As they parted for the night, hands clasped until the last second, palms parting first as intertwined fingers slipped slowly apart, Marie sighed and near whispered, “Well, James, you certainly know how to extend a woman interesting, last minute invitations!”
The next morning, Captain Lee called upon his old quarters, the great cabin. Marie answered the door, having just finished breakfast.
His heart sank. Her belongings were all packed and on his bunk.
“James,” she said, casually, “Call your clerk. If I am about to cross an ocean, I will not do so with my ship’s captain sleeping in a veritable closet. Gather your belongings. We are switching cabins!”
Chapter Three
The excitement of their venture passed, as did the waves under the keel. The taffrail log recorded their speed, the sextant their miles, ever chasing the setting sun. The magnitude of Marie having shifted continents as casually as she shifted cabins, pressed upon James his responsibility, amid all his other duties, for her happiness.
But while occasional anxiety caused them to sometimes grow tense, nothing could displace their sincere affection. And when John Adams seemed small, as a vast ocean reveals so well, Marie fell back on having made fast friends with many of the officers and crew. As the days and weeks were recorded by charcoal points on a paper chart, measured off with brass dividers, she sought out their company for not only a means to pass time, but to satisfy a deep curiosity.
James would occasionally read a letter and sometimes share with Marie its contents and even read a few of the lighter passages. But then, sometimes not. She was aware that he took the deck at odd hours and that was not at all unusual for Captains and mariners. But James at times seemed haunted, spells brought on by his typically late night, although only occasional reading.
Taking his hand one morning at breakfast, his cabin appear
ing uncharacteristically disheveled, he having not as yet so much as had himself shaved, Marie looked deep into his tired eyes, glanced over at the open letter next to the satchel on his desk and cautioned, “I fear I have delivered a plague upon your contentment.”
James sighed, “Truly, with some of these letter, I wonder why Bemose would want me to know such details about persons… many of whom I witnessed in my youth.”
Marie suggested, “You do not have to read them.”
James considered, remaining silent. Bemose, whom he trusted, must have for some reason thought there was a purpose, he just had yet to discover it.
Marie used the time to learn more of Perry. Several men aboard knew of and served with him, although James had been the only one among all who had served with him upon the Great Lakes.
In the second week beyond Gibralter, under gray, scudding clouds and the gusty wind of an approaching squall, Marie approached the Gunner who had just emerged from below. He carried a variety of small arms wrapped in a tarpaulin and spread them out on the deck. He was leading a small work party oiling the metal barrels, hammers, triggers and other working parts. Marie took a seat nearby, atop a hatch coaming, enjoying listening to their light banter and occasionally herself asking questions. Noting a couple of Navy issue pistols, rather crude instruments, but simple, reliable and heavy as a club should there come that time in a conflict when there presented no time to reload, she commented, “Those look like they have seen better days.”
The Gunner nodded and offered good naturedly, “Aye, Miss, they may not be pretty, but still effective. Were a Brit to leeward and we with a mind to board ‘er, many of the crew would prefer something as ugly. Much more reliable than the set the Captain keeps.”
“I did not know he had his own,” Marie mused, never having seen them in his cabin.
