as I meekly answered, “Thank you, Miss Becky. Nice to meet you.”
“That will be all, Mr. Blackwell,” I heard Mr. Barrel say.
Backing out of the room, I bowed and thanked everyone. By the time I closed the door behind myself, I was about ready to explode. Miss. Becky had noticed my hair and had talked to me. I could not believe the pounding of my heart!
LADY WASHINGTON
IT WAS HARD, RETURNING TO MY CLERKING duties with the knowledge that in a few months I would be at sea. And those months seemed to drag on and on, with the only news of the venture coming from Mr. Crumwell. In late June, he told me that both the Columbia and the Lady Washington were receiving extensive repairs and reconditioning in a shipyard up the coast. He added that the work was proceeding on schedule and should be completed by the end of August. That bit of news lifted my spirits and filled my head with visions of what was to come.
On the third of July, I turned nineteen. I mention this for only one reason: it wasn’t our family’s tradition to celebrate birthdays. On this occasion, however, both my brother and father gave me a gift, and we had a gleeful time. My brother had stitched a leather pouch for me, complete with shoulder strap. The inside was for my drawing paper and charcoals, so that I could bring back sketches of where I went and what I saw. He had even added two small compartments that were for my flute halves, so that I might always have my music by my side. It was a heartfelt gift, one I deeply appreciated.
But my father’s gift was the most surprising. He had forged a steel and bronze sea-knife for me. The steel blade was nine inches long and razor sharp on one edge, while the other edge was deeply serrated, good for what he called “gutting fish or fowl.” The hilt of the steel was riveted between two pieces of bronze and flattened on the butt end for cracking or pounding. The grip was tightly wrapped with leather cord to insure a good grasp. He had even stitched a leather sheath, made from some scraps from the pouch, so that I could hang the knife on my hip. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship, and it caused me to ponder my opinion of father. While he didn’t count for much, maybe he cared for me, after all.
In the middle of August, the local newspapers ran stories about the upcoming venture and how the owners had petitioned the Continental Congress for a sea-letter that explained the peaceful nature of the voyage. Such a letter was granted, and days later a similar document was secured from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Then the owners had commemorative coins and medallions struck that would be carried by the Columbia for distribution at places we touched along our route. While only the owners were named in the stories, the undertaking had gained great public support, and I was proud to be a part of it. Even my father and brother seemed impressed.
With my pouch on my shoulder and the sea-knife on my hip, I reported, as instructed, to the deck watch of the sloop two hours after sunrise on September 1, 1787. Actually, in my excitement, I showed up an hour early. With the morning fog lifting, I saw both ships moored across Commercial Street from the offices of Mr. Barrel. The docks beside the ships were stacked with containers, bales, and barrels, which I navigated in my search for a good view. Through the moving mist, the Lady Washington was dwarfed by the Columbia in size and sails, but I found the sloop as sleek as a sea bird, with gentle lines and bright colors. Her single mast towered over her deck, and her timbers looked clean and freshly painted. She was big, as big as any sloop I had ever seen, and she pulled on her moorings and moaned loudly, seeming eager to sail. I stood on the dock a good long time, gazing at her lines and dreaming of adventure. Finally, I walked up the dock to her bow, and then paced slowly to her stern, noting every detail of her construction and rigging.
With my dock inspection complete, I walked to the gangway and shouted across to the deserted deck. “Is anybody here?”
Moments later, a skinny sailor with a bald head appeared from the aft stair hatch and stepped lively to the ship end of the gangway.
“Would you be the deck watch?” I called.
He glared at me before answering in a high pitched voice, “Aye… and you would be Mr. Blackwell. Ya look too old to be a cabin boy… and you’re early, lad. I was having my morning tea. But come aboard.”
Stepping along the plank, I asked, “How do you know my name?”
“Captain asked me to keep an eye out. I’m to give ya a tour and show ya yer duties.”
Extending my hand, I said, “I’m Joe Blackwell.”
Shaking it, he answered, “I’m Hayes, but everybody calls me Sandy.” Pointing to his bald head he continued, “Use to have a full head of sandy hair. Now all I got is a head full of skin.” Smiling, he let out a chuckle. “Oh well. Indians won’t get anything from me. Welcome aboard the Orphan.”
“Why do you call her an orphan?”
“Let’s go to the bow and I’ll show you.”
As we walked forward, I noticed his red knickers, which were cut off at the knees, showing his bowed bird-like legs. He was thin and short, and I doubted that he weighed a hundred pounds dripping wet.
At the bowsprit, we turned to look astern. In his squeaky voice, he said, “Take a good look at her, lad. This deck will be yer home for the next three years. She’s sixty-four feet long and twenty feet wide and can carry ninety tons. That makes the Lady Washington the biggest sloop every built. She’s one of a kind, an orphan of the sea. Hell, boy, she’s so big that she should have been built a brigantine.”
With the morning light on his face, Sandy’s eyes twinkled as he spoke proudly of his ship. And speak he did, for the next few hours, non-stop. The pitch of his voice nearly drove me overboard, but the information it spilled was fascinating. The Orphan was big, so big that she required lots of canvas. She had a large mainsail with a square topsail and three headsails. Sandy guessed, in good conditions, that she would do twelve knots.
After walking the deck, he took me below and showed me the layout. Astern was the captain’s cabin, with one window looking aft. The compartment was compact and well designed, with a small berth, eating table, and desk. Next to it was the mate’s cabin, half the size of the captain’s, also with a single window looking aft. Forward of the companionway, on the port side, was the galley, with its large iron cook stove and mess table. On the starboard side were lockers for foul-weather gear, firearms, and ship supplies.
In this area, Sandy opened a door to a cubbyhole. “And this be the cabin boy’s berth.”
It was a small, dark, dingy nook with a narrow, wooden berth, but I said nothing.
Amidships were two holds – a smaller one for foodstuffs, firewood, water, and other sailing needs, and the main hold, where we would carry our trading supplies and all else. Forward of the holds were the crew’s quarters and sail lockers. On her deck, she was armed with one six pound canon and four swivel guns. The Orphan would have a crew of thirteen: the Captain, the Mate, ten seamen, and me. Sandy didn’t like me being the thirteenth member of the crew, as he felt the number was unlucky. By then, however, he had already told me about half a dozen other superstitions he held. He was a queer little man, but I took to him easily, and he was a fountain of information. By the time we completed the tour, my only thought was that his nickname should have been Gabby, as he talked so much.
Later
