long blonde hair that touched her creamy shoulders, and a delicate face. I guessed her age to be close to mine but, from my across-the-room view, I couldn’t be sure. Her visits always brightened my day, for she was as beautiful as a swan.
She had no idea of my watchful gaze, or even that I existed. But why should she? Other than my bright red hair, I was just a common John without prospects.
In the forenoon, one April day, I looked up from my columns to find Miss Becky talking to a gentleman in front of her father’s office door. The man’s back was to me, but that really didn’t matter, as my attention was focused solely on her pretty face. Just then, Mr. Barrel joined them, and the gentleman turned my way.
The unexpected sight of my mysterious captain nearly made me fall off my stool. There he stood, black patch and all, dressed in a blue naval coat with sleeves adorned with gold braid. He looked bigger and more dashing than I remembered. Who was this man and why was he here?
Getting up from my desk, I quietly approached Mr. Crumwell and cleared my throat. He was a sour faced hunchback who didn’t like being disturbed, as I well knew, but there was a question that I simply had to ask.
Finally, he raised his bony face from his work. “Yes, Joseph?”
“Sorry, sir, but I was wondering if you know the man speaking with Mr. Barrel.”
He twisted his head in their direction, reached for his monocle and placed it over his right eye. Then, turning back to me, he answered, “That would be Captain Robert Gray.”
“Do you know why he’s here, sir?”
Crumwell looked startled by my question, but replied, “I believe Captain Gray is commanding a new undertaking that Mr. Barrel has organized.”
“Do you know the nature of the venture, sir?”
His pale eyes turned angry. “Alas, they don’t pay me to speculate, nor you to talk. All I know is that it has something to do with sea otter pelts. Now get back to work.”
By the time I returned to my desk, the three had departed. Shuffling through a stack of ship’s manifests, I thought, I’ve never seen a single sea otter pelt come in or go out of this office... so what goes on here?
All that afternoon, I daydreamed about the new venture and how I could make myself a part of it. Certainly the undertaking had to do with ships or they wouldn’t need the services of Captain Gray… and that was a problem, for I had never been to sea. There must be something they needed that I could provide… but how would they know, if I didn’t ask?
I had walked past the Morrison House many times since that February night, thinking about the mysterious captain. Now I wondered if I could muster the courage to stop and talk to him again. I found myself riddled with doubts. Was he still residing there? Would he even remember me? As I approached the house, something deep inside told me to just keep walking. But, a block down, I turned back, remembering what mother had once told me of life: Hesitation is failure; action is success.
With my heart in my throat, I knocked on the small front door. Soon, the old proprietor opened it and peered out at me.
“Good evening, sir. Do you remember me? I helped Captain Gray here, a few months back, after he was waylaid and set upon. I was wondering whether he still lives here and, if so, whether I might see him.”
Grinning while nodding his head, he answered, “Yes, I remember you, boy. And yes, the Captain is still here. Come in. I’ll ask if he’ll see you.”
Directed to the parlor, I waited for the Captain by a bright fire. The interval was nerve-racking, as my mind was still full of doubts.
When he finally entered the room, wearing the same uniform I had seen earlier that day, I bowed. “Thank you, Captain Gray, for seeing me.”
When I straightened, he stared sternly at me and answered, “You have the advantage, sir.”
Puzzled, I replied, “I beg your pardon?”
“You know my name, while I do not yet know yours.”
“Oh, I see, sir,” I said, smiling. “My name is Joseph Blackwell.”
He stood there a moment, looking me up and down, and then asked, “Well, Joseph Blackwell, what can I do for you?”
“Do you remember me, sir, from that February night? How are your ribs?”
“Aye, how could I forget that red hair? My innards are still sore but much better, thanks to you. You saved my purse and perhaps my life. I did pay you something for your trouble, did I not?”
Mustering my courage, I answered, “Yes, sir…but I saw you today at Mr. Barrel’s offices and heard that you are leading a new venture for him. I was wondering if you might need my services.”
Walking farther into the room, he stopped in front a chair next to the fire and gestured to another across from it.
“Have a seat, young Joe. How do you know Mr. Barrel?”
Taking the opposite seat, I answered, “I clerk for him, sir.”
He stared at me for a good long moment and then said, “So, you want to sign on. Well, lad, before you leap into those waters, you should know what’s swimming. It’s an undertaking not for the faint of heart or for those seeking comforts. While our voyage will be historic and hopefully profitable, it will also be long, hard and dangerous. Shall I explain? ”
And that’s what he did for the next half-hour. I sat, enthralled, watching his weathered face and listening to his powerful voice as he gave an exciting and detailed account of what was expected of the expedition. Two ships were to leave Boston Harbor, laden with trading supplies. They would sail around Cape Horn, passing from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, and then travel up the west coast of South America to the Pacific Northwest of North America. There, they would trade with the local Indians for sea otter pelts. Once the hulls were filled, the ships would carry their cargo to China via the Sandwich Islands. In Canton, they would sell the valuable animal skins and buy tea for the return trip to Boston via the Cape of Good Hope. If they accomplished this three-year voyage, they would be the first American ships to circumnavigate the globe, and the company would surely make large profits from selling the China tea.
The Captain ended his explanation with a stern warning. “Along the sea lanes, we will have many potential enemies – Spanish authorities, local natives, diseases, mishaps … and, worst of all, loneliness. This expedition is only for those who are stout in heart and mind. So, what say you now, Joe Blackwell?”
Unhesitatingly, with visions of high adventure swirling in my head, I stammered, “I…I want to jump in, sir.”
The Captain’s expression turned serious, and his one good eye seemed to search my soul. “Well then, what skills would you bring to such an undertaking? Are you a seaman?”
Shaking my head, I answered honestly, “No, sir. I’ve never been to sea. But I’m an excellent clerk and a good artist. I could help with map making. Also, I can play a lively flute for the entertainment of the crew, sir.”
“The mate usually clerks my ships, and I have no berths for artists or musicians. No, Joe, other than being a
