It was a beautiful autumn evening in Charleston. The new Governor was having a reception and,
as one of our towns most prominent citizens, I and my dear wife of 40 years
were invited. I’ve never been much of a dancer, nor have I the skill of idle
chatter. My wife was on the other side of the room with her friends and I found
myself discussing ships with the Governor, a man who had spent considerable
time at sea in his youth. When he offered to show me the collection of
curiosities he had acquired on his voyages, I accepted with pleasure. The first
few items were the usual clutter that the locals in far flung places will sell
to gullible white men, but I made a credible show of being interested. He had,
he assured me, saved the best for last. He led me to a cabinet about the height
of my chest and the width of my outstretched arms. He opened the doors, I saw
it and the years fell away. The breath was taken from my body and my heart was
frozen with fear. It was a primitive ritual display of bones and feathers of
sacrificed small animals interspersed with clay fire pots against a backdrop of magic symbols painted
on a tanned human skin. The centerpiece was a human skull also
painted with ritual symbols. I had seen one exactly like it during my first
voyage as Master, when I landed on Turtle Island in the Caribbean. When I regained consciousness the guests were
gathered around me and my wife was holding my hand.
As our carriage made its way through the empty streets toward
home my thoughts drifted back to the circumstances of my childhood. I was born William Fletcher. My parents were
indentured to one of the great plantations upriver of Charleston. My memories
of that time are mostly of working alongside of them in the fields. The year
that I turned 10 a coughing sickness swept through the area and took both my
parents. I stayed long enough to see their Christian burial by the plantation
folk and then set off for the city, having no desire to serve out the rest of
their contract.
My first impression of Charleston was of a place of
unimagined wonder. I was amazed by the size of the place, and so many people,
and most of all the ships. I’d never seen a ship and as I wandered along the
docks looking at one after another my heart stirred and the sadness I felt for
the loss of my parents was in some way lessened. The little food I had brought
with me was gone and, as I walked along the docks I tried to think on what I
might do to get by. There were men carrying burdens up a gangplank onto one of
the great ships and I wondered if I might help out and thereby earn a meal. A
young man in a fine brown coat stood to one side eating an apple and watching
their progress. He looked like he was in charge so I approached him but was
taken by shyness and couldn’t find words. The man looked down at me, smiled and
said “Good day to you, shipmate!” His face was so kind and his voice so warm
that everything that had happened in the last few days overwhelmed me and I
started to cry. He soon had my story out of me and in no time I was eating a
fine meal in a window seat of one of the taverns that lined the docks. In response to his questions I revealed my
circumstances. I had no kin, no place to go and I feared that I would be caught
and forced to serve out the remainder of my parents’ indenture contract on the
plantation. The man, John, was Master of the ship that was loading, and the son
of the house that owned several such ships. He was sailing that evening and
expected to be gone for about a month. He offered me a berth as cabin boy and I
accepted joyfully.
I took to the sea naturally and could never learn enough.
My duties were light and the crew thought I was lucky and adopted me as a sort
of mascot. I spent the free time working alongside various crewmen and learning what I could of their duties. By
the end of my first voyage I was a proper shipmate indeed. When we returned to
Charleston John brought me to the family home and introduced me to his parents.
His father was impressed by the overly generous account of my seagoing exploits
and his mother embraced me almost as a son from the outset. Over the next ten
years I was at sea more than on land. My responsibilities increased with my
growing skill and experience, and my adopted family even hired a tutor to teach
me reading, writing and mathematics whenever I was home. On my twentieth
birthday my father, for so I regarded him, made me Master of a small trading
sloop bound for the Dutch colony of Saint Martins in the Caribbean. So began
the strange voyage that I will tell you of tomorrow. Such things are better
told sitting by the fire with plenty of brandy after a good dinner. For now, I’ll
just say that I lived happily with my adopted family. When John was lost at sea
the tragedy brought me and my parents
closer in our grief. My mother passed away a few years later and my father did
his best to keep me running the business on dry land. It was too much for him
then and I think he feared losing me too. When that great and good man went to
his reward I was surprised to find that there was no other family and that all
had been left to me. From that time to this I have continued his honest
business practices and the company has prospered greatly.
No comments:
Post a Comment