The Sea is a Thief (9 page)

The day was crisp and fine.  Its highlight for the community at large was the service at the Methodist Church. The Bagwells proudly counted themselves members of its congregation.  The Reverend Kearney's sermon was on adultery; he was against it.  The Bagwell family pew was directly in front of the pulpit, where Edmund's leadership was displayed along with his daughter Nancy's hats.  They were her particular pride and joy, brought from all corners of the globe by sea captains who did business with her father.  When a captain tied up at the Bagwell packing houses to haggle over a contract, it never hurt to bring a gift for the owner's daughter.  It might be a hat, a dress, or a colorful bauble from New York or Philadelphia. Its journey might have begun in a fashionable shop in Paris.  No other girl on Chincoteague had such items in her clothes closet.  It was difficult to find an occasion where they did not look out of place on the island, but that posed no problem for Nancy.  Her clothing collection was continually on parade. Today was no exception.  Her satin dress was a royal blue, with navy velvet trim at the waist and cuffs, in homage to the uniform worn by the Union forces.  A blue rosette framed her throat.  Her bonnet was trimmed in ivory lace and tied at the chin with a blue-and-white ribbon a yard long on a side.  The pointed ends nearly touched her waist.  The overhanging front of the bonnet revealed its decorative touches: straw flowers, a bunch of satin grapes, and a peculiar green bird that seemed to have winged its way from the jungles of South American to light in Nancy's hair.  Had Rev. Kearney's pulpit not been so high, the people in the next three rows would have had difficulty seeing him preach.      

But preach he did, and ended thunderously, calling up “Nearer, my God, to Thee” from the choir, and resting briefly.  When he rose again to dismiss the congregation, he was lavish in his welcome for the visiting Captain and in his praise for the smartly uniformed sailors who waited patiently just outside the front doors of the little church.  The Bagwell party exited slowly.  Everyone took his chance to shake the hand of their new companion.  Henry Sharpe had spared no effort to make a good impression.  He stood tall and regal in his long double-breasted coat, its nine rows of brass buttons gleaming.  His Captain's stars rode proudly on his shoulders and his gold-plated sword hilt sat high on his hip, its silk tassel prominently in place.  A rare warm smile beamed from behind his long grey moustache and curly beard.  For those moments accompanying the Bagwells from Sunday services, he declared himself a happy man.    

His day on the island of Chincoteague had gone well from the moment he arrived, early that morning.  The boats full of sailors had landed at the Bagwell Oyster Packing House pier to a warm reception by a delegation led by Edmund Bagwell himself.  The United States flag flew proudly from the hundred-foot flagpole above the Bagwell residence, while two large men at the front of the group carried smaller flags onto the pier.  Bagwell was dressed in his finest black suit with matching vest, and wore a gold watch chain with an amber fob.  His shirt front was heavily starched and his bowtie impeccable.  His bushy dark beard flared outwards and his moustache was curled at the ends.  He extended a meaty hand to Sharpe, roaring out his greeting.  

“Welcome to our fair island, Captain!  We salute you as the defender of the island of Chincoteague!”  Their handshake went on interminably, South greeting North, the arm of the oystering industry reaching out to the guns that protected it.   

There was no band on Chincoteague, but there was a man who could play the bugle, and at that point he did.  He knew two melodies,
Reveille
and
Taps
, and wisely chose
Reveille
.  It rang out across the water in wavering tones.  When the final note faded, Edmund Bagwell clamped his powerful hand on the Captain's shoulder and directed him down the wharf towards the Atlantic Hotel.  The sailors marched behind him silently in loose formation.  

On the steps of the hotel a second greeting had been staged.  The alarm bell that rang when the
Venus
was first spotted was polished to a high sheen and decked in tricolor bunting.  As the Captain approached, a group of well-dressed ladies burst into a patriotic song
.  
In their midst stood Arinthia and Nancy Bagwell. Mrs. Bagwell's dress was the opposite of her daughter's in its color scheme: Navy blue, with royal blue accents.  She wore a broad, flat royal blue hat with a velvet bow.  Their song concluded, the group surrounded the Captain and escorted him to the Methodist church.  

Now, some two hours later, their spiritual duty was accomplished.  The Bagwells led Sharpe back down the street they first travelled, towards the center of town.  Their home was the largest residential building on Chincoteague by a wide margin, and as it loomed before them Edmund Bagwell directed some of his companions to show the crewmen of the Louisiana to the Atlantic hotel, where a huge kettle of oyster stew waited.  They would not lack for a meal while their Captain dined with his hosts.

The Bagwell home was decorated only modestly on the outside.  Large as is was, anchoring the most important corner of the main street, it lacked the fancy woodwork that a prosperous Rhode Islander would have chosen to display his wealth.  It reminded Henry Sharpe of the plain saltbox houses of Cape Cod.  Three brick steps led up to a heavy central doorway framed by rows of windows upstairs and down.  Chimneys capped both ends, while the soaring flagpole stood guard between the home and the edge of the channel not too distant behind it.

The front door opened and party was greeted by the broad smiles of the Bagwells' two servants, George and Ruth Broadwater.  The couple was black, but they were not slaves.  They had served the Bagwell family faithfully for years, sharing a corner of their home and drawing modest pay.  The oyster trade had brought some leisure to a few local families.  For them, the luxury of a cook or housekeeper, white or black, was well within reach.  They could easily afford to pay the wages the position commanded. The Bagwells appreciated the loyalty of George and Ruth, and the couple felt fortunate to have their positions.  

Neither Edmund nor Arinthia were proponents of the Southern tradition of slavery.  They did not make their opinions known when they travelled on the mainland of Virginia, which owed much of its wealth to that custom.  In their hearts, though, neither husband nor wife believed that slavery had done their state much good.  Both had been raised on small farms on Chincoteague Island, with few comforts, doing their share of the unending work that farming offered up each day.  Though Chincoteaguers had kept slaves in the past, their numbers were never large, and no slaves remained there.  Many a white man worked as though enslaved.  Their bondage was to the land and the sea, demanding and fickle masters that gave and took away on a whim.  It seemed unhealthy that an entire region of the United States should owe its livelihood to the unwilling labor of another race of men.  The world had turned against slavery already.  Though the Southern Methodist Church supported it, no other Methodists did.  It appeared likely that the nation would soon turn from it as well, whatever the outcome of the hostilities, and the Bagwell family had cast its lot with the Union.  The issue of slavery did not divide them from their Northern neighbors.  

Today George and Ruth had outdone themselves.  Important guests did not visit every day.  Arinthia's instructions had been clear. The Captain was a distinguished man, to whom everyone on the island owed a great deal, and his meal was to be memorable.  

The family gathered in the parlor as the table was made ready.  The signs of the Bagwells' prosperity did not escape Henry Sharpe.  Their taste was a bit odd, but their home was filled with items he was surprised to find on Chincoteague.  Persian rugs of diverse colors and patterns covered every square foot of the floor.  Curtains with long silk tassels framed the windows.  The furnishings were mahogany, well-made and richly upholstered. A towering grandfather clock guarded the staircase.   

Ruth Broadwater emerged from the dining room, the full sleeves of her simple grey dress pushed up nearly to her elbows.  Her perfect white apron identified her as the chief cook.  She nodded to Mrs. Bagwell.  “We would be pleased if you would join us in the dining room, Captain,” she announced, and the meal commenced.  

The Captain was seated at one end of the long table.  Edmund Bagwell faced him at the other.  His wife and daughter sat across from each other on either side.  Clear autumn light streamed in from the two windows overlooking the channel.  A wood fire crackled in the brick fireplace between them.  The
Louisiana
rode calmly at anchor in the distance, a comforting presence to which the Bagwell family had long since grown accustomed.  As Edmund said grace, his little corner of the world was in good order.  

The meal began with oyster stew, as many Bagwell meals did. China bowls, the blue willow pattern, were filled from an outsized tureen.  Plump, succulent Chincoteague oysters floated in a broth of the freshest butter and cream.  Nancy Bagwell plunged her spoon into the savory liquid with gusto.  She loved oysters.  The Captain sipped his stew more delicately.  Usually, the dish was not to his taste, but of course he would be a model guest.  The Bagwells watched carefully for signs that he was enjoying their oysters, and enjoy them he did, quite purposefully.

Edmund wasted no time before starting dinner conversation.  “You must tell us about your ship, Captain Sharpe,” he announced, wiping his mustache on a linen napkin.  “She's most unusual!”  

“The first such vessel we've seen in these waters,” added Arinthia.

“She's called the
Louisiana,
isn't she?” added Nancy.  “I have a spyglass.  I read her transom during the battle.”  

The Captain cleared his throat.  There was so much to tell. “Yes.  She is an iron ship, an unusual design for the Navy, as you observed.  She began life as a cotton freighter in New Orleans, hence the name, you see.  She was in port in Philadelphia, carrying a load of cotton, when hostilities broke out.  Would have returned to Louisiana, but the Navy intercepted her on the spot and converted her to wartime duty.”  

“Coal-fired, isn't she?” queried Edmund, digging into his chowder.  

“Yes, primarily.  The masts and sails are intended for use in an emergency, but on my ships we avoid emergencies.”

“And her guns, Captain?  Most effectively used, I must say.  My compliments!” Edmund was enthusiastic.

“Four guns, thank you, sir.  Three heavy cannon and a twelve-pounder.  My gunners and their mates are excellently trained.”  For the first time the Captain permitted himself a modest smile.  He was beginning to enjoy the company of the Bagwells.  He went on to describe at length the details of the ship's armament.  Edmund and Arinthia listened attentively, while Nancy's attention was taken up by her oyster stew.  

The soup course complete, Ruth cleared the china, as George Broadwater emerged from the kitchen with an oval platter bearing two pairs of roast canvasbacks, hot from the oven.  Each rested on a bed of wild rice.  Edmund was pleased at their appearance.  “You'll enjoy these, Captain.  They are taken here on Chincoteague, then put on ice at our provision company and shipped up and down the coast.  Most flavorful birds!”   He picked up an ivory-handled knife and began working on his duck.  

“Is there a Mrs. Sharpe?” queried Arinthia, taking the conversation in a new direction. “What a fortunate woman she is, if so!”  The Captain touched his napkin to his lips.  

“Actually, there is not,” he said.  He felt the need to elaborate.  “The Navy has always taken precedence in our family.  It's a difficult life, you know, difficult for a woman, left behind. I should like to marry, should the opportunity…present itself.”

Arinthia deftly changed the subject. “What a career you must have enjoyed in the Navy, Captain Sharpe!  Please give us the particulars.”  

The Captain cringed a bit inwardly.  He took justifiable pride in his career, a few shortcomings notwithstanding, but some details were not to be shared.  The Navy's memory was so very long when it came to those matters.

His duck tasted too gamey and the texture of the rice was foreign to him.  The Captain was glad to put down his utensils and converse.  He took a long sip of water.

“You do flatter me, madame,” he began, though the flattery was not unwelcome.  “The Sharpes have been seafaring men as long as we remember.   My grandfather served with Commodore Perry at the Battle of Lake Erie during the war of 1812.”

“
The
Commodore Perry?” interjected Edmund.

“Yes, Oliver Hazard Perry,” the Captain continued.  “The very same.”  

“He's in my history book, Father,” Nancy commented enthusiastically. “Three towns and two counties are named after him!”

“Your studiousness is most impressive, young lady,” nodded the Captain.  Arinthia and Nancy beamed.  Henry Sharpe had been well aware of the towns and counties since childhood: Perrysburg, Perryopolis, Oliver Township.  When he was a young officer he imagined
Sharpesville, Sharpsburg, and Sharpetown
.  Why not? Grandfather and Commodore Perry had been close colleagues.  Perry was a Rhode Islander as well, both men educated in Newport.  The Captain was born the year after the Battle of Lake Erie, to a father who was already rising in the Navy.  It was a settled matter in the Sharpe household that Henry would follow in the family tradition.  

The Captain continued.  “You may be aware that the Commodore's younger brother, Matthew Perry, also a Commodore, founded the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis. It was my privilege to graduate in its first class, 1845.”  The Captain threw back his shoulders, pleased to have reached the high point in his personal history.