Of all the seasons, my mother loved spring the best. She called it a time of new life and of hope for new prospects. As winter faded and the flowers of spring started to bloom, I had to agree with her. It was an exciting time of both colors and smells. Now I prayed for those new prospects, as well.
Unfortunately, no new opportunities were apt to come from where I worked, as I hated my position. The job was monotonous and offered little chance for promotion. The merchant Joseph Barrel was a major importer and exporter in Boston, and I was one of five clerks that worked for him. Our task was to keep detailed accountings of each shipment in and out of port. Working with the ship manifests, we wrote out long columns of items, and then placed a value on each entry. From that total, detailed expenses were deducted so that a shipment value could be determined. I had wanted to resign many times, but Father would not hear of it, as the little money I brought home was gravely needed. So I was marooned at Barrel’s under the watchful eye of the head clerk, Mr. Crumwell.
All of the clerks worked in a cramped nook of the main offices on Commercial Street, just across from the piers. Here we had three high windows that provided light during the day; at night, we used oil lamps. Even my young eyes found the light insufficient for the detailed entries we were required to make. Many a night, I would walk home with a roaring headache from eyestrain. Further, the drab offices were part of an old brick warehouse that was cold in the winter and stifling in the summer.
Despite all of my silent complaints, there were two aspects of my position that I enjoyed. The first was reading all the ports of calls from the ships’ manifests. The places they traveled sounded exotic, and I daydreamed for hours about those ports. Someday, I hoped to travel the same sea lanes and experience the unknown.
The second aspect was more personal; her name was Becky. She was the daughter of Mr. Barrel, and came to visit him quite often. I could only catch a few glimpses when she came, as she always went directly into her father’s office. Miss Becky had 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.”
