by Lance Morcan
Outside, it was already dark as Jack joined a steady stream of workers and others – most of whom were making their way home. The streets were teeming with people. A mixed bunch, they included merchants, laborers, stonemasons, professional men, beggars, pickpockets and drunks.
Jack decided against going straight home. Instead, he lingered outside a working men’s bar directly opposite the foundry. Unsure exactly what he was planning to do, he waited.
#
A short time later, Jack pulled back out of view when the foundry lights went out and Sullivan emerged from the front door. The proprietor locked the door and walked off into the night.
Jack hurried across the street and ran to the rear of the vacated foundry. He’d had time to think and now had a definite plan. If Sullivan ain’t gonna pay me, I’ll help me self. Checking no-one was around, he expertly picked the back door’s lock, opened the door and disappeared inside.
A short distance away, Sullivan suddenly stopped walking and checked his coat pockets. “Damn!” he cursed. Realizing he’d left his favorite pipe behind, he turned and strode back toward the foundry.
By now Jack had entered the foundry’s front office and was rifling through desk drawers looking for valuables. In his haste, he knocked over a heavy bookend. It landed on the wooden floor with a loud thud. He wasn’t to know that his employer was just outside the foundry’s front door at that very moment.
Jack’s search proved unsuccessful. He was about to leave when, at the bottom of a cupboard, a large quantity of hemp caught his eye. He grabbed the precious commodity, stuffed it in his pockets and retraced his steps to the back door. As he opened the door, he was shocked to see Sullivan waiting for him, pistol in hand.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Sullivan asked. “Doing some overtime, are we?” He waved his pistol threateningly under Jack's nose.
The young smithy slammed the door in his employer's face, locked it from the inside then ran through the foundry. There goes me raise! Behind him, he could hear Sullivan shouting. Jack flung open a front window, scrambled through the narrow opening and landed heavily on the cobbled street outside.
Sullivan's shouting had attracted the attention of patrons in the bar opposite. They were filing out onto the footpath to investigate, and were greeted by the sight of Sullivan aiming his pistol at Jack who was sprinting down the street as if his life depended on it, which it did. The big man fired a hurried shot that missed its target.
Turning to the bar patrons, Sullivan shouted, “Two shillings to the man who catches that thieving bastard!”
Among the patrons, two burly men immediately joined Sullivan and chased after Jack who by now had disappeared down a dark, side-alley that led to a residential section of the dockside suburb.
Half-way down the alley, Jack hid in a doorway of someone’s home to take stock of his situation. Peeping around the corner of the doorway, he tensed when he saw one of the burly bar patrons enter the alley. The young Cockney held his breath as the shadowy figure ran toward him. When the man reached his hiding place, Jack stuck out his foot and tripped him, sending him sprawling. The Cockney was onto him in a flash, knocking him out cold with one punch. Like most smithies, he could usually end a fight with one punch if it landed flush as this one had. He looked behind him just as the other bar patron entered the alley.
Jack ran off, but pulled up when Sullivan appeared at the far end of the same alley. Sullivan raised his pistol toward him. Trapped, Jack looked around desperately. With no time to think, he barged through the front door of the nearest house and found himself in a modest dining room where members of a typical working class family had just sat down for their evening meal.
The young couple and their four children looked astonished as Jack strode through the room. Jack touched his curly forelock and smiled disarmingly. “Sorry to trouble you.”
The man of the house started to get to his feet. A steelworker who looked as hard as nails, he prepared to defend his family. “What in God’s name do you think you…”
Jack motioned to him to remain seated and hurried toward the rear of the house.
“Hey!” the man of the house shouted after him.
Jack opened a door, hoping it would lead outside. He discovered it was a bedroom, and it was currently occupied by lodgers – a middle-aged couple – who were making love on a single bed. The woman was naked except for a pair of dress shoes which, at that moment, were pointing toward the ceiling; her portly male lover’s fleshy buttocks were pumping away like pistons and the woman was whimpering like a distressed seal.
Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. Holy mackerel! He momentarily forgot about the danger he was in. So engrossed were the pair that neither noticed Jack until he was half-way out the near window. A second later, he was gone.
The couple looked at each other and wondered if they’d imagined that a stranger had just passed through.
“Who was that?” the woman asked breathlessly. Her partner shrugged and they resumed their lovemaking.
Back in the dining room, before the family members had recovered from their surprise at Jack’s sudden intrusion, Sullivan and his burly companion burst in. At the sight of the pistol in Sullivan’s hand, the lady of the house screamed.
“Be quiet, madam!” Sullivan snapped. Addressing the man of the house, he asked, “Which way did he go?”
Dumbfounded, the man pointed toward the rear of the house. The uninvited pair hurried after Jack, leaving the startled family members looking at each other in disbelief.
Grumbling to himself, the man of the house complained, “This place is getting like a circus!” He then consoled his wife and children who by now were all crying.
The two intruders entered the same room Jack had passed through moments earlier. They arrived just as the portly, middle-aged man was climaxing. The man had the presence of mind to point toward the open window before finishing his business and collapsing into a sweaty heap beside his equally sweaty lover.
Sullivan exited the bedroom to find a rear door while his burly companion climbed out the open window.
“And who in Christ’s name were they?” the woman asked her partner as soon as the latest intruders had left. Again, her lover just shrugged. He was spent and beyond caring.
Outside, Jack was sprinting down a lane leading away from the house. As he rounded the corner of a neighboring house, he pulled up when he found he was confronted by a high wall. It was a dead-end. Cursing, he turned back just as Sullivan and the burly man appeared.
Finding they had Jack trapped, Sullivan smiled sadistically. He turned to his burly companion. “I think you should teach Master Halliday the error of his ways.”
The burly man, who looked older but no less intimidating than the patron Jack had knocked out earlier, cracked his knuckles expectantly.
Sullivan added, “There’s an extra two shillings in it for you.”
With that, the man advanced on Jack, keen to earn the extra cash. Jack raised his fists and went forward to meet him. The two went toe to toe. Jack copped a couple of blows to the face and was forced to back-peddle. Another blow to the side of his head dropped him to his knees. Okay Jack. Time to get serious. As the man shaped up to kick him, Jack suddenly exploded. He brought his fist up hard into the burly man’s testicles. Gasping in pain, the man fell to the ground.
Remembering Sullivan, Jack turned around too late to avoid a swinging blow. The steel butt of his employer’s pistol caught him above the eye, knocking him senseless.
4
Makah Nation, West Coast, North America, 1838
Nathan was brimming with excitement as he prepared to board Intrepid’s longboat with other members of the twenty-strong trading party. While his companions were armed to the teeth with muskets, pistols and cutlasses, he was unarmed. That was the way his uncle wanted it. The captain had decreed Nathan would not carry arms until his seventeenth birthday.
Captain Dawson was not going ashore on this occasion. He was still down
with the flu, and Doc Masters, the ship’s surgeon, had ordered him to remain in his cabin until the illness had passed.
As Nathan was about to climb down the rope ladder into the longboat, Doc Masters appeared from below deck. “Master Johnson!” he called.
Nathan’s heart sank. He was afraid the surgeon had come to tell him his uncle had changed his mind about allowing him ashore.
“The captain has asked to see you,” the surgeon advised.
“Thanks, doc.” Nathan hurried below deck to the captain’s quarters. There, he found his sniffling, runny-nosed uncle half-buried beneath blankets on his bunk. “Uncle…ah, sir. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” Dawson smiled. “Close the door.”
Nathan closed the cabin door and approached the bunk. Dawson had another coughing fit. He was clearly under the weather. Nathan waited until the coughing subsided.
“I’ve ordered Mister Bates to keep an eye on you while ashore,” Dawson rasped. “And I want you to stay by his side at all times.”
Relieved, Nathan grinned. His uncle wasn’t going to stop him going ashore. “Yes Uncle. I’ll stay close to him.”
“Good man.” Dawson sneezed then blew his nose. “I’d come with you, but Doc insists I rest up and regain my strength for the journey ahead.”
“I understand, sir. Will that be all?”
“Yes.”
Nathan went to open the door.
“Nathan.”
The young man turned back to face his uncle.
Dawson smiled. “Never mind. I’ll talk to you later.”
Nathan flashed a quick grin and departed.
Dawson watched as his nephew closed the door behind him. He’d been about to tell Nathan how proud he was of him, but decided that could wait.
Back on deck, Nathan found the first mate, Bates, waiting for him at the ship’s rail. He hurried to the rail and clambered down the ladder into the waiting longboat. Bates followed close behind.
“Let’s go!” Bates ordered as soon as he was on board.
The oarsmen pushed away from the side of Intrepid and began rowing for shore. It was still semi-dark. Even so, it was evident to all it was going to be a rare fine day in Neah Bay.
Although the sun’s rays had yet to pierce the eastern sky, already there was a reception party awaiting the visitors on the sandy beach in front of the Makah village.
As the longboat closed with the shore, Nathan looked behind to see they were being followed by a smaller rowing boat which was tethered to the longboat’s stern. The unmanned craft was low in the water, weighed down by the weight of three coffin-sized caskets. Nathan knew the caskets contained muskets for the forthcoming trade.
Nearing the shore, the young Philadelphian identified Elswa among the braves assembled on the beach. The chief made an imposing figure standing at the water’s edge with arms folded and legs astride. Tatoosh, his oldest son, was at his side.
“Remember captain’s orders,” Bates reminded his men. “Be vigilant at all times and don’t trust these savages.”
Those who weren’t rowing grasped their weapons tight. Stories of the savagery of the Northwest natives were fresh in the minds of each even though few had experienced, or even witnessed, that savagery firsthand.
Several Makah braves waded out to greet the longboat and pull it up onto the sand. Others waded out to retrieve the smaller rowing boat, but were warned off by the crewmen. Intrepid’s men were under orders to guard the muskets with their lives.
As soon as the rowing boat was up on the sand, crewmen lifted the caskets out and began carrying them up into the village. They were escorted by Elswa and his braves to a longhouse, which served as the tribe’s meeting house.
Following close behind Bates, Nathan took in his surroundings. He was impressed by the level of activity within the village at such an early hour. Women were already attending to their chores, collecting firewood and tending cooking fires, and men were readying nets in preparation for a day’s fishing. Beyond the village, a ten-strong hunting party was setting off on foot into the interior. Nathan watched the fleet-footed hunters until they disappeared into the forest.
In the Makahs’ longhouse, Nathan looked on as slaves served up whale blubber, raw fish and other so-called local delicacies to the visitors. The Intrepid crewmen ate sitting cross-legged in front of the now-open caskets of muskets they’d brought with them.
Facing them were Chief Elswa and thirty or so Makah elders, braves and headmen. They looked on, amused, as their white guests chewed unenthusiastically on the blubber and other food offerings.
Women came and went, attending to their menfolk’s every need. It seemed to Nathan the men had it pretty good in this part of the world. Behind the Makah, sea otter furs lay piled up on the floor.
Communication was left to Elswa who appeared to be the only one among the Makah who spoke English. The chief's hawk-like eyes took in everything while his five wives fussed around him, ensuring he wanted for nothing. Elswa’s gaze kept straying to the muskets. He looked at them longingly.
Tatoosh sat to his father’s right. He seemed intrigued by Nathan and kept staring at him.
As soon as everyone had eaten their fill, Elswa motioned for a peace pipe to be lit. The chief puffed it first then handed it to the headman on his left.
Nathan studied his hosts while the pipe was being shared around. Strong and noble-looking, they carried themselves with pride. One off-putting thing about them, he decided, was they smelled like the whale blubber they were eating. Nathan’s companions noticed it, too, and it took all their self-control not to rush outside and gulp in some fresh air. Only later would Nathan learn that, as well as eating blubber, the Makah regularly rubbed it and whale oil over their bodies as insulation against the cold.
Finally, Elswa indicated trading should begin. The visitors and their hosts immediately stood and began bartering.
In the negotiating that followed, the traders eventually agreed on the exchange of ninety sea otter furs for thirty muskets. It was Nathan’s assessment that Elswa had driven a hard bargain.
As trading concluded, a Makah headman objected to the way one of the visitors was ogling his wife. The visitor concerned was Marty Williams, a rigger who misguidedly fancied himself as a ladies’ man. Williams and the aggrieved headman began pushing each other.
“That’s enough, Mister Williams!” Bates ordered.
Ignoring the order, Williams drew his pistol and pointed it between the headman’s eyes. The offended headman drew his tomahawk and raised it threateningly above his head. The two stood toe-to-toe, staring at each other, each daring the other to make the first move.
Watching the action unfold, Nathan noticed for the first time that Williams was drunk. The captain’s gonna have your guts for garters, Williams. The rigger’s eyes were glazed and he was unsteady on his feet. The young Philadelphian looked at Elswa and noted he was watching Williams impassively. Nathan wondered what was going on behind the chief’s inscrutable gaze.
Finally, to everyone’s relief, Williams lowered his pistol. The headman, in turn, lowered his tomahawk. Then, for no apparent reason, Williams lashed out and struck the headman, knocking him to the floor.
Pandemonium broke out. Women screamed and ran for cover while the Makah braves drew their weapons. One angry brave threw his tomahawk at Williams, splitting his skull in two and killing him instantly.
Quick-thinking Bates drew his pistol and lunged at Elswa, grabbing the shocked chief in a headlock. Holding his pistol to Elswa’s head, the first mate said, “Tell your braves to hold off!”
“He-ho!” Elswa shouted.
As one, the Makah braves looked at their chief. Elswa didn’t need to say more. It was clear his life was in the balance at that moment.
Bates knew his future, and his men’s, depended on what he did next. Determined to keep what slender advantage he’d gained, he glanced at his men. “Form a circle around me!” he barked.
The crewmen jumped to a
nd formed a tight ring around Bates and Elswa, their weapons pointing outwards to keep the incensed braves at bay. Bates held the chief tight to him as if his life depended on it, which it did of course.
Without a weapon, Nathan was feeling naked and very vulnerable. How he wished he was holding a musket or even a pistol at that moment.
Looking at the Makah, Nathan and his crewmates were in no doubt their lives hung by a thread. Although the traders were the ones holding firearms primed and ready to fire, they were hugely outnumbered. Inside the longhouse they were outnumbered almost two to one while outside some fifteen hundred villagers awaited them.
In the middle of the human ring, Elswa squirmed in the headlock Bates had him in. The first mate began dragging the chief toward the near door. “Back to the boat now!” he shouted. “And slowly does it.”
Nathan and the others needed no encouragement to leave. Keeping their tight formation around the first mate and his hostage, they began shuffling out of the longhouse, all the while keeping their weapons raised and ready. The Makah braves followed, weapons raised and howling for blood.
Outside, they were greeted by the villagers who had been drawn to the longhouse by the sounds of conflict. The menfolk and some of the women brandished weapons, and appeared ready to use them. War cries rang out.
Recognizing the danger, Tatoosh warned the villagers off, pointing out their chief was being held hostage and explaining that any retaliation would result in his death.
For Nathan and the others, the journey from the longhouse to the longboat that awaited them on the beach seemed to take forever. The Makah braves followed them every inch of the way, baying like crazed animals, frustrated that the whites had their chief and they could do nothing about it despite their superior numbers.
Once in the longboat, the strongest crewmen manned the oars and began rowing themselves and their precious human cargo toward their waiting ship. As they rowed, villagers waded out into the bay, waving their weapons and hurling abuse until the water reached their chests and they could go no further. One or two threw spears, which landed harmlessly short. Others raced along the beach to launch the canoes that rested there.
