Pacific Sail

By Alan E. (Al) Strunk

Azalea, a sailing brig out of Maine, carries Charles Hagglund to adventure and first love's bite. On the opposite coast, a shanghaied Richard Taverner finds himself aboard a whaler bound for the Arctic. A refugee from Ireland's starving shore, Mary O'Connor sails to Australia as a contracted bride. Samuel Adams leads his shipmates in a bloody battle to rescue captives destined for the auction block.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan E. (Al) Strunk
• Release date: Mar 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215961605

Alan E. (Al) Strunk

Alan E. (Al) Strunk is the author of the sailing adventure novel Pacific Sail, Quarantine Quickies - Pandemic in Paradise, an informal history of Covid-19 on California's Central Coast and French Market Mayhem - An Early Times New Orleans Murder Mystery. After earning a MFA in Theater Directing and Dramatic Criticism from New Orleans' Tulane University, he served as Production Manager at the city's Saenger Performing Arts Center and the Le Petit Théâtre Du Vieux Carré, in the historic French Quarter. He, wife Myra, and Miss Odette the Cat live in active retirement on California's Central Coast.

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Pacific Sail

By Alan E. (Al) Strunk

Table of Contents

Notes on the Revisions

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

About the Author

Copyright 2016 Alan Everett Strunk

Published by Alan Everett Strunk at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Photograph: Standing Out Copyright 2014 by Alan E. Strunk

Song in Chapter Eighteen: Snarelyyow or The Dog Fiend by Captain Frederick Marryat, 1837 Public Domain

Song in Chapter Twenty—Four: What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor by Richard Runciman Terry, 1921 Public Domain

Contact the author at [e-mail]

Note on the Revisions

October 2022

When I independently published Pacific Sail in 2016 I couldn’t believe I actually got ‘er done. I wrote a book. A few years later I re-read my work. What I found were the warts of first publication. While the story holds up, the inconsistencies of tense and person and the inaccuracies in grammar and spelling plagued me at the cost of many a sleepless night.

So I fixed the problems. Or at least most of them.

The story hasn’t been touched, nor the characters tamed. Pacific Sail is still a romantic adventure of men and women at sea and ashore filled with wonder and lust for love and life during the second half of the nineteenth century.

Acknowledgements

My heartfelt thanks to those friends who have encouraged me to Hold Fast and dare to complete this novel. Special thanks to Sharon Gallagher for early proofreading and editorial suggestion, (any errors after her efforts are those of the author), Lou Zatt for his steadfast support over many a glass of fine Scotch, and Bill Triplett for his vast historical knowledge which, when it comes to my accuracy in storytelling, is most forgiving. Most importantly, thanks to my wife Myra, whose steady patience and gentle criticism aided me in the completion of this work.

Alan E. (Al) Strunk

Sea Oaks

Los Osos, Californi

Dedication

Pacific Sail is dedicated to all who have ever been, or ever will be, in peril, on the sea.

Chapter One

Charles Hagglund ends the first leg of the journey to his future as the lamplighter finishes his evening duties at the entrance to Eastport’s Water Street dock. His duffle resting on his shoulder, he pauses at the pier’s foot, his mouth agape as he takes in the gracefulness of the sailing ship before him. He’s seen nothing like her.

The brig Azalea stands port side to the timbered pier, her sanded masts and yards sporting a fresh coat of varnish. From a distance, Hagglund can spy the gleam of shining brightwork reflecting in the fresh paint adorning the mid-ship deckhouse. Filtered by a web of standing and running rigging, the fore and main masts reach skyward as the jib boom stretches forward a full quarter-length of the ship.

Long gangways connect deck to dock to accommodate the loading of cargo and ship’s stores. Footed by iron wheels, they roll back and forth across the dock in rhythm with the ebb and flow of the surging tides of the Bay of Fundy. Mooring hawsers, adjusted by a tide watch, hold her fast against pilings of stout local timber, her sides protected from scarring by a boatswain’s knotted fenders. The air offers a bouquet of mixed spice with clues of hemp, tar, and canvas punctuated by the sweetness of bee’s wax, wood smoke, and the fresh salt smell of the sea. It is fall, 1848, and there are rumors of gold in the Californias.

Hagglund has suffered enough of New England. He has seen little outside the bounds of the family farm on which he and his junior siblings, all seven of them, come into this world and from which the youngest, a sister unknown, leaves it. Seasons determine chores except for those year-round activities that grow unbearable with a repetition that blunts his developing imagination and curiosity. Bundling hay and digging spuds spur his physical development and following mule his stamina. It’s his mother’s love of books borrowed, traded, and secretly purchased that brings Hagglund literacy. Formal education comes at a price in both coin and effort, but his natural ability soon outpaces the local resources of chalk and slate. Nonplussed, Mrs. Hagglund finds solution by taxing the Reverend Seymour Heavenly, the Perry village clergyman, for additional tutoring. Thus, with the aid of God’s servant, Hagglund gains a considerable knowledge of history, a smattering of mathematics, and an abundance of biblical minutia.

Rebecca Heavenly, a force of nature and the oldest daughter of preacher Heavenly, sees in Hagglund the opportunity to escape from a life of piety and servitude. Opportunities arise and advantages taken as charms are displayed. Allowing Charles a glimpse of the mysteries of the slyer sex, Rebecca stops short of a full introduction. He learns about the earth from borrowed atlas and preacher’s globe. Gaining knowledge of the world’s softer mysteries will come at a cost more dear, though options in Perry he finds unpromising. However, it soon becomes clear to Hagglund that the price of deeper knowledge will outpace his resources.

Hagglund’s Uncle Richard, a neighboring farmer and a Taverner on his mother’s side, borrows the lad whenever the demands of the farm outstrip the man’s ability and ambition. A sailor home from the sea, he husbands his resources, buys shares in lumber and brick for export, and over time, accumulates a handsome sum. He remains unmarried and was never a whaler, two circumstances that become points of pride. An honorable sailor plying his trade amongst honest and hardy men, he leaves the sea with little regret and a sea chest full of memories.

Uncle Richard enjoys telling tales, tall but true. Time at sea and exploring foreign shores provide an archive of adventurous yarns that delights Hagglund as a youngster. Realizing his nephew has reached the age of deeper understanding, Uncle Richard replaces simplicity with a reality shaped by the awe of a poet. Hagglund finds chores on his uncle’s farm taxing due to neglected maintenance. The old sea captain’s concept of ship-shape does not extend to field and farm. But chores come with the promise of a tale and, on rare occasions, a sip of the devil’s rum, the evidence of which is concealed by chewing on a length of black licorice.

Wait ‘til you sail the Pacific, boy. Grand she is and a rolling wonder. She’s half the world wide and more so long. Kind and blue when happy and a roaring bitch when not. South of the Horse Latitudes lay islands studded with mysterious trees and pointy mountains prone to explosion. These isles the gods have peopled with beauties that bring tears to grown men. North of the Horses laying to the east are the Californias, with their hide colored ramparts guarding deserts as vast as Africa. Grassy lands graze multitudes of beasts and forests grow so thick and tall that they’d bring to Maine’s a blushing. Her mountain peaks hide themselves in the clouds and her shores wear necklaces strung from the pearls of breaking waves. I’ve climbed ashore there many a time, boy, in many a place. I’ve sailed into broad harbors and anchored off isles broken from the land herself. Along a shore guarded by rocks taller than the mainmast, I navigated up river through a hell gate of breaking bar to a native encampment where fish the size of plowshares were fire-smoked and eaten like store-bought sweets. Not like the Chinas, this coastland, plagued with the curses of civilization, be they public house or brothel. Not that either is necessarily villainous ‘ya understand, if experienced in moderation. You can find a native clutch or two along the shore and here and again a wart of earthen structures housing the Mexicans; all’s that violate the virginal purity of the land herself. Mesmerized, Hagglund takes geography and poetry to heart.

Uncle Richard departs Maine for his final voyage on Hagglund’s eighteenth birthday.

It is raining on the day they plant Uncle Richard in Maine’s soggy earth. Hagglund, his mother, father, brothers and sisters, stand unprotected as the Reverend Seymour Heavenly performs the customary rites. A tall man in black raiment stays back from the family, hat in hand, under a sodden tree of disappointing color. Hagglund wonders if he is a gravedigger, but when it comes time for the workers to lower uncle Richard into the ground, the man makes no move to assist.

Hot clam chowder with home-grown spuds simmer on the hearth as the family readies themselves for an after service meal when there comes the clopping of a horse and a knocking at the door. It is the tall man dressed in black and damper for the ride from cemetery to house.

Good evening, sir. I am lawyer Hanley from Perry. I have business with Mister Charles Hagglund. But I see I’m disturbing supper, so I’ll return at a more convenient time.

Nonsense, sir, says the senior Hagglund. Please step inside. I’ll have the boy tend to your horse. Hagglund’s younger brother hastens to the task. Charles is our oldest son.

No business, sir, ‘til we’ve supped, commands Mrs. Hagglund. ‘Tis cold outside and warm under roof so please join us. ‘Tis a simple meal, but hot and tolerable. I’ve set another bowl. They eat the meal in polite silence without ceremony save a simple Grace delivered by the youngest son. After, with the children abed, lawyer Hanley, Mr. and Mrs. Hagglund, and their first-born son gather at the fire.

Charles, I am bound to tell you that your uncle, Captain Richard Taverner, has bequeathed to you his estate, which includes his farm and all other assets.

Bequeathed?

That means he left it to you, Charles, in his last will and testament. You now own the farm and are heir to all of his possessions.

Under guidance, o’course? Mr. Hagglund asks.

When is your eighteenth birthday, Charles?

That would be today, sir. With uncle Richard’s burial and all, I let it go by.

There is no such provision, Mister Hagglund. Young Charles here has reached his majority and is due his inheritance.

What with funeral and all, seemed inappropriate to celebrate a birth whilst mourning a death, explains Mr. Hagglund. Surely there’s provision for parental counsel?

No sir, there is not. Majority is the requirement and majority he has reached.

Give such a sum to a boy? This is folly and by God sir, I will protest this will.

You shall not, sir! counters Mrs. Hagglund.

Standing, Mr. Hagglund presses his point. I cannot believe that a grown man would leave such a sum…

Sit down, sir!

Mr. Hagglund looks at his wife, then regains his seat.

Lawyer Hanley, what be the details of the inheritance? Hagglund’s mother asks.

The lawyer fixes his gaze on Charles. Upon proof of age, the estate is yours, Charles. After taxes, it amounts to a tidy sum besides the property. You can farm, marry a pretty girl and, with decent husbandry, be well off.

Hagglund shakes visions of Rebecca Heavenly from his head as swiftly as they appear. He now has other priorities.

* * *

It takes over two months to sell Uncle Richard’s farm. Not knowing what he intends or how to accomplish it, Charles seeks council from lawyer Hanley. He knows that spending his life on a farm in Maine is not among his choices of a future. While he loves his family, or at least his mother, his vision of Uncle Richard’s world of tall seas and high adventure trumps plow and field. Also, there is the problem of Rebecca Heavenly, who, upon hearing of the inheritance, advances her cause with an increasing display of her treasures whenever she corners him.

After making provisions with lawyer Hanley for the disposition of funds and letters of credit Hagglund packs what belongings he can into a canvas duffle, shakes his father’s hand, kisses his mother’s cheek, waves to his brothers and sisters and sets off on foot to Eastport where he books passage on the sailing brig Azalea bound for The Californias around Cape Horn, his future before him, Rebecca Heavenly in his wake.

His evening rounds completed, Eastport Township’s footsore lamplighter seeks the comfort of a nearby public house, leaving behind the golden glow of dockside for the amber warmth of the local ale.

The view of the brig Azalea inspires a feeling of freedom and promise of adventure Hagglund never imagined possible while his fingernails carried the stink of Maine’s mud.

I’ll by God sail that Pacific whether she’s smiling or a roaring bitch, Uncle Richard! Hagglund muses as he takes in dock, ship, and the dark waters of Eastport harbor.

Ahoy there matey ‘n would ‘yer move ‘yer skinny ‘arse out’a me uck’en passageway?

Hagglund turns and looks down at a stout figure dressed in an exaggerated style of a seafaring man. Topped by shaggy cap, wrapped in a boat-necked pullover, and shod in footwear hidden by bell bottomed breeches that had once been white, the bespectacled caricature balances an iron-wheeled barrow over-burdened with bundles of printed matter. Hagglund steps aside, but as the smaller man pushes forward, the barrow lists to starboard. Hagglund grabs the slab sided barrow, preventing a shifting of cargo. Without pause or comment, the fellow continues his journey to the gangway, dodging crates of dry goods and stacks of rough cut lumber ready for loading and stowage below decks.

What’s this then? barks a fit-looking man in a weather-beaten cap stationed aboard at the head of the gangway.

A wee load of kindl’n for me cook fires, Mister Merrick, sir.

‘Wee load my barnacled arse. That’s a mighty burden of kindling you got there, Goodfoot.

Aye, sir ‘ta tell true it ‘tis. A long ‘n arduous voyage she’ll be sir, with the Horn ‘n all. Wouldn’t do ‘ta deprive all hands, officers too ‘ya knows, out ‘a hot pot ’o Jamaican and a bubbl’n bite ‘o stew on a cold ‘n stormy on account of a wee puny flame then, would it, sir? Best ‘ta sail ship-shaped, sir, I always sez, ‘fer weather fair ‘er foul, best ‘ta sail ship-shaped.

Well, we best get ‘er aboard then. You two, bear a hand here.

Aye, sir. With a tug of their caps, the two sailors prove eager to provide a helping hand to the ship’s cook. They lift the barrow between them, transporting Goodfoot’s cargo from dock to deck.

Watching the transaction convinces Hagglund that the man at the head of the gangway is an officer.

Pardon, sir, is this where I come aboard?

What business do you have with this vessel? If it’s a berth you’re seeking, we’re manned up.

I have a certificate of passage on the brig Azalea, sir.

That so? We don’t sail ‘til tomorrow on the ebb. Spend this night ashore, laddie. It’ll be a serious long voyage you’re embarking upon.

Hoping I might spend the night aboard ‘er sir, being as I’m here.

Hoping were you? Where’s ‘yer gear lad?

‘Tis here sir, kit ‘n all, Hagglund shows, lifting his duffel from the dock.

That’s it huh, seabag? Sailed a’fore have ‘ya lad?

No sir. My uncle was a ship’s captain. Told me only farmers came aboard ship with a suitcase. Sea bag ‘twas his sir.

Mr. Merrick cannot contain his smile. There be someone ‘a chasing ‘ya boy? Constable mayhaps, or a daughter’s father?

No sir, not that I’m aware’s!

No offense meant. Come aboard then, but don’t blame me when you come down with the itch. Goodfoot, see this young gentleman below to passenger’s country.

What itch? Hagglund asks the old cook as they leave the gangway.

‘Wimen, boy, ‘wimen. Sometimes ‘ya itch’n for ‘em, sometimes a’cuz of ’em depending on the port ‘n the price. This way lad, watch ‘yer uck’en step.

Descending the ladder to the deck below, Hagglund slams his head into the hatch cover.

And ‘yer head laddie, mind ‘yer uck’en head!

Chapter Two

Richard Taverner falls in love with the vast harbor lying dead ahead, its entrance guarded by rising hills that keep a lookout’s watch over Yerba Buena’s Golden Gate. From the Officer of the Watch comes the order up colors. Boats Gunnarsson gives Taverner a nod. Under Boats’ watchful eye, Richard executes the command with the flourish of a seasoned sailor.

Damned snappy for my first hoist, Taverner thinks, but does not say.

Belay ‘yer line to yon cleat. Smartly now, Dunderhead! Master’s eye’n ‘ye. Waving in the mixed winds aloft, the weathered ensign displays all twenty-eight of its five-pointed stars from the mizzen gaff. Under the experienced eye of her captain, Swallow takes advantage of the incoming tide, maintaining a heading parallel to the shore to avoid the hidden shoals and isles studding the bay. With a caution gained from experiencing currents confused by powerful tides, her captain heads her into Yerba Buena Cove.

Owned by a first generation Buena Vista capitalist, a priority docking alongside the makeshift pier that reaches out from the foot of Clay Street welcomes Swallow upon return to her home port. Her stay dockside, limited by the economics of wharf fees and cartage charges, will proceed with exercised haste. Once berthed, she will follow her homecoming routine of debarking passengers, discharging cargo, completing needed repairs and refurbishments, reloading stores, embarking passengers, and taking on cargo. Each of these activities occur in varying degrees of simultaneity, resulting in what the untrained eye sees as a chaotic parade of people, crates, and animals. With souls and goods aboard, stowed, and quartered, Swallow will drift with the ebb, hoist sail when bay winds turn favorable, and depart for a return north, beating her way to ports of call in Alta California and Oregon Country.

Preoccupied with ship’s work, Taverner waits for shore leave to visit the rough and tumble village. Tales of fisticuffs and worse on the Barbary Coast brings him little worry. His youth spent kicking around the fishing docks of Astoria, along the shore of Oregon’s Columbia River, has hardened his knuckles and accustomed him to blows landed by combatants larger than he in weight and reach.

Astoria is little more than a collection of fishing villages, made up of ethnic groups banded together to preserve language and tradition. Intercourse between groups occurs only when there is promise of mutual benefit in the netting of Columbia’s bounty, such as establishing drift rights without actual combat, or pooling resources to clear the river bottom of hazards to fishing. As in their native countries, Norseman retain their dislike of Swedes, who stay intolerant of Finns, who abide neither Swede nor Norwegian. With celestial bliss, the Chinese form a Masonic Society.

Taverner signs on as deck hand aboard Swallow at Gray’s Harbor, after his brief career as a logger. Push comes to shove, as he reaches the age where the difference between boy and girl becomes clear. Fights over feminine favor won or lost come without gain. He finds no ethnic group for a native born English speaking American of uncelebrated ancestry. He hires on to cut timber up north.

If he follows in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark along the rugged coastal interior, the weather will be wet, cold, and miserable. North of Cape Disappointment, perpetual rain fuels the growth of knotted trees, slippery moss, and dripping fern. Coastal Salish Indians are usually, but not always, friendly.

He rejects the strenuous foot journey for the adventure of a sea voyage. Taverner sails into the logging industry aboard a shallow drafted, flat-bottomed barge. Towed behind a schooner that beats its way up coast to load logs in the mud flats of Captain Gray’s harbor, the barge wallows its way northward. He finds the passage exhilarating, the beauty of the sea entrancing, the food disgusting, and the weather wet, cold, and miserable; but he does not have to walk.

As passenger, the five-day excursion provides idle time. He spends these days enjoying each movement of the blunt nosed scow and the sights and smells of the sea. He is not without some experience working on the water. As a boy on the Columbia River, he has spent many a night pulling net on a drifting butterfly gillnetter. Owned by a feisty Finn, they fish throughout the night with naught but cold coffee, smoked salmon, and fiery aquavit for sustenance. Never having ventured beyond the breaking bar of the Columbia, he finds himself excited by the towed vessel’s movement through the swell rather than over it. He witnesses the terror of seasickness but does not succumb. A strange excitement comes with the realization that he is adventure bound.

Wanderlust he inherits from his father, a Yankee ship’s captain. Time and pregnancy work their peculiar spells. The captain sails away without knowledge of having sired the boy, losing any opportunity to provide legitimacy or guidance.

Time and tide, Madam, he declares. Then he takes his ship over the breaking bar into the rising waves of the Pacific, never to return.

Refusing the role of a heroine in a bad opera, Pacomae LaFluer awards her son both the captain’s Christian and surname. No junior, no second, only Richard; never Dick. Along with pedigree, she shares a brief but undiluted history of the most current branch of his family tree. She remains