have something for you, Joseph.”
Reaching into her handbag, she retrieved a gold locket and placed it in my hand.
“My grandmother gave this to my grandfather when he went off to the Indian Wars. Later, he told me that it brought him luck during his time away. When he died, Grandmother gave it to me. Inside, I have replaced her likeness with mine, and on the back there is an engraving.”
The locket was oblong, with a hinged front cover of gold that featured a black porcelain emblem of a woman in silhouette. Clicking it open, I found an inked picture of Becky. It was a beautiful likeness.
Flipping the locket over, I held it to the sunlight to read the small, scrolling letters. It simply asked, Why Is the Eagle Feared?
Looking up at her, I said, “A riddle. Did your grandfather find the answer?”
“Yes.”
“And what was it?”
“That’s for you to find out.”
Snapping the locket closed, I curled my palm around it. “I will keep your likeness close to me for all my days… and I will protect this locket with my life.”
She stood there a moment, staring at me with her deep-green eyes. “I will be here when you return, Joe Blackwell. And when you do… you will have many prospects.” Delicate color stained her cheeks. “I’d give you a kiss now… but there are too many prying eyes. We had best join the party before we are missed.”
Becky returned to the flagship first, while I followed a few minutes later. For the rest of the evening, we kept a respectful distance from each other, although our eyes met several times. At one point, she placed her hand over her necklace and flashed me a look that spoke volumes.
A few hours later, with the sun setting and a chill in the air, the Barrel family departed. I watched from the ship’s rail as they boarded their luxurious carriage and rode off into the night. While Becky’s departure saddened me, I relished the thought of our future together.
Soon, many other guests were leaving. At eight, my father and Fredric started their walk home, but not before one last embrace and an exchange of encouraging words. What remained after nine o’clock were only the hard drinkers, so I walked back to the sloop to spend my first night aboard.
Lying in my cramped berth, listening to the distant merriment and the groans of the Orphan, I held Becky’s locket in one hand and my mother’s letter in the other. It had been an emotional evening and I was ready to sail, if only so that I could begin counting down the days until my return. My last thought of the night was: Why is the eagle feared?
At sunrise the next morning, I served my first morning meal to the Captain. He was quiet and withdrawn as he ate his food, not saying a word about the party or Becky. His attention was fixed on the charts of Boston Harbor, which he had spread out on his desk. After he finished his breakfast, he climbed the steps to the helm and prepared to get the Orphan underway.
A few hours later, I staggered up the listing stairs and poked my head above the deck. The waters of the harbor were calm, and I spotted Deer Island on the port and Boston astern. Looking up into the crisp sunlight, I saw that the sails were filled with a fresh breeze, and that crew members were aloft in the rigging, answering the orders from the helm. It was exciting to be underway, and I could have watched for hours, but Sandy called me below to finish my duties.
Just before noon, we tied up at the piers of Nantasket Roads. This peninsula was the last easterly land connecting the countryside to the sea. Here, farmers and ranchers sold their produce and livestock to ships leaving Boston Harbor. When we arrived, the docks were stacked with provisions, and they kept coming, all afternoon. First the holds were filled, then the lockers, and finally the decks. Straw was place on the planks, then packed with livestock. There were crates of chickens, pigs, sheep, and goats, all producing their own robust noises and smells. By early evening, everything was aboard and secured for sea. Now all we had to do was wait for the tide.
Late in the afternoon, carriages arrived from town with many of the partners. Even Mr. Barrel came out for one last meeting with the captains, but without his family. Soon we could hear more cheerfulness coming from the deck of the flagship, as the partners enjoyed more spirits and food. With the work complete on both ships, many of the crew passed the time by wandering the docks and the few public houses. Waiting can be difficult for sailors on land when they know that the next tide will bear them out to sea.
After finishing up a few last accounts, I strolled to the bowsprit and gazed out to a rising new moon. While the sea lamps were being lit, I took out my flute and began playing softly. My mind and music were soon filled with thoughts of my unknown future.
From behind me, Captain Gray interrupted. “Your notes sound sad. Are you worried about the voyage, lad?”
In the fading light, I turned to him and answered, “No, sir. Just thinking about three years from now and the long sail home.”
He smiled. “I’m pleased you have someone to come home to. She’s a beautiful young lady. I’ll get you home, lad. But it’s getting late, and we sail at dawn.”
Chapter Two: The Fur Trade
CHINA HAD BEEN TRADING FOR FUR PELTS for centuries, first with Russia and then with Spain. While the Celestial Kingdom loathed trading with western nations, there were certain commodities that the mandarins demanded, chief among them medicinal herbs, ginseng, and the soft, durable pelts of sea otters.
The Russians sent the pelts overland in trading caverns by way of Manchuria, while the Spanish church shipped the New World furs by way of Macao. Russia and Spain managed to keep this fur trading with China secret until Captain James Cook’s expedition returned to England after its third voyage in 1780. Among the crew of Captain Cook’s flagship, Resolution was an American, John Ledyard, who was a corporal in the Royal Marines. During the expedition, the ship traded with northwest natives for sea otter pelts. Then, on the homeward journey (after the death of Captain Cook in the Sandwich Islands), the ship called at Macao. There Mr. Ledyard watched as Chinese fur traders purchased the sea otter skins for over a hundred dollars per pelt. That high purchase price astounded all who witnessed it.
In 1782, after being promoted to the rank of sergeant, Mr. Ledyard was attached to a British frigate that sailed for America. Once the frigate had anchored in a bay off Long Island, Ledyard deserted and returned to his home in Connecticut. There he wrote a journal of Captain Cook’s last voyage, which was published in 1783. It was this account that fired the imaginations of the merchant Joseph Barrel and of Captain Gray.
With sails filling, the Boston ships weighed anchor at daybreak on October 1, 1787, beginning the first American expedition to the Pacific and northwest coast of the continent.
OUTWARD BOUND
BANG!
