Chapter 2. Fitzgerald
From the railing of the "Passion Flower" Captain Jeremiah Fitzgerald peered with anticipation at the British North American coastline. The Passion Flower was a seventy-six feet long, two-hundred and twenty ton bark out of New Bedford. Jeremiah was very proud of his merchant trader ship, having earned enough money to purchase one 6 years go and go into business for himself.
He detected slightly, the scent of the land, the sweet Maine pine forests wafting toward them over the waves. He took in a deep lung-full, loving the freedom of the sea.
His dark thoughtful eyes sought out the familiar landmarks of Harmony, but they were still too far away to discern anything without an extension glass. They had made good time on their journey from the West Indies, making use of the favorable gulf stream currents to exceed a speed of 16 knots.
Jeremiah was an extremely striking-looking young man. His broad shoulders and muscular arms had been built up from a life at sea. His cap lay far back on his head showing his dark, reddish brown hair and a broad forehead and strong jaw. Deeply bronzed by the equatorial sun, Jeremiah Fitzgerald drew the eyes of many women in all the ports. He had gone to sea at the age of eleven, a brave, commanding man in his bearing and had earned the respect of all his men. Serious and thoughtful, his dark brown eyes had a flicker of mischief and adventure.
"Mr. Standish," He addressed the first mate.
"Aye, sir." The first mate replied behind the ship's wheel.
"Call all hands, we will make ready to take in sail."
"ALL HANDS!" Standish bellowed.
"In less than two hours, we should be walking down the streets of Harmony." Jeremiah smiled, showing straight white teeth.
"It's been a long time, sir."
"Yes, five years is a long time."
The Passion flower dropped anchor in the port of Harmony at mid-day. Half the crew were allowed ashore, while the others remained to unload the cargo. Jeremiah had checked his manifest and locked away the important papers in the strongbox, then climbed up the hatchway.
Captain Fitzgerald was about to cross from the gangway to the dock when a tall gentleman with stringy hair, wearing a long black cloak and a funny Dutch style hat, smoked a pipe and barred his way.
"A word, Captain." The man said with an imperious air.
Jeremiah looked up, tensing his right fist, but kept his temper. He cocked his long leg on the railing. To himself he muttered, "By God! These small town officials are all alike."
"Sir?" he was so grilled into showing the proper respect to his elders that he addressed most people with perfunctory SIR or MADAM. "I didn't catch your name."
"Crane. Alistar Stoke Crane." The man said.
"And what can I do for you today, Mr. Crane?" Jeremiah said, rubbing his stubby powerful chin.
"As a member of Harmony's Town Council, and direct representative to King William, I must inform you that you must cease your men from unloading this cargo."
The crew heard the order and looked bewildered.
"You will remove yourself from this vessell." Crane seemed to crack a smile, but his face was hidden by shadow that it was difficult to discern.
"I am captain and owner of this ship, and no one tells me or my crew what to do, you hear that?"
"You are in error, Captain. There are unpaid taxes, bank notes....Captain Fitzgerald, you are a debtor." Alistar Crane said.
"Listen, you insufferable little worm...this is my ship, and I don't know what you've been drinking, but I've got business to attend to. So get the hell out of my way." Jeremiah elbowed Crane.
First mate, Mark Standish watched all this with a worried look. He had first heard of Crane from letters written from his family who were concerned about the growing power of this ruthless businessman Alistar Stoke Crane. They had told him how many of the local families lost their lands to him, and how he had much political influence.
"You have failed to render to the Crown ...importation, stamp sugar, tea and duty taxes from the Passion Flower's trading profits. We've been overly lenient in the past, but it will no longer be permitted. And...Your promisary note for payment on this ship is long overdue...."
"By God! I'll have you know that this ship was bought and paid for in full. The documents are recorded in with the attorneys Randall and Winthrop of New Bedford."
Alistar Crane produced a lengthy document, with the seal of the King. "I am the holder of that bank note, from Randall and Winthrop, who happen to work for me in New Bedford...they have informed me that there is no record of it having been paid. How curious."
"Then you're a damn liar. I have my original copy in my strong box." Jeremiah said.
Alistar Crane nodded and grinned. "The police are rounding the docks as we speak."
Jeremiah grabbed Alistar Crane by the coat. "Police? What for? I have committed no crime. I can prove ownership of this vessell, and my tax payments are recorded at the Exchange House in Portland." With fury he shoved the wormy mannered Alistar Crane into the railing, losing his control. "You got that?"
"The legal British courts of William and Mary have received no tax payments recorded anywhere..." Alistar said under a choke hold "under a decree of Parliament...they can confiscate your vessel for lack of payment to the Crown! Unhand me, you wiley Irish scum, or you will not live to see another day!"
Jeremiah peered over at the 20 riflemen aiming their muskets at him, while the 8 others ascended below-decks, apparently to confiscate the ship's log and the strongbox containing his documents.
"What of my ship?" Jeremiah shouted insanely.
"Your ship?" He gave a laugh. "It will become part of Crane shipping lines, as I have paid your back taxes to the Crown, I already own it."
"God Almighty, I'll kick your head in, you stinking bastard! STANDISH! Secure the strongbox!"
Before Standish could move across the deck toward the hatchway, a soldier had pointed his bayonet into the man's back, breaking his skin. In a few moments, the other soldier had gone below and brought out the strongbox.
"Deliver it to the Crane properties, and guard it with your life."
"Yes sir." The soldier left with Fitzgeralds original documents, and anything of value.
"You've removed governmental legal documents....and drew up your own...." He was raging while the crew looked down the barrells of muskets, their hands rose above their heads. Jeremiah raised Alistar Crane up in his brawny hold and was about to toss him overboard. At the time, he had not thought what kind of influence and political power the man must have...
"You have one option open to you, captain----in order to avoid imprisonment! You can work your debt off to me, as captain of this ship and do as I command, or...rot in jail till the British Courts hang you from a gibbet for abusing a British Magistrate. What do you say?"
"Only if you pay my crew their wages..."
"It will be incorporated in your debt to me..."
By the time the militia had surrounded Jeremiah, he had no choice but to release the man, although perhaps he had slipped his footing, because he dropped Alistar Crane overboard into the foul and smelly dockside water. "All right, you thieving bastard, I'll work for you."
Fitzgerald had eventually been released by the militia. The first place Jeremiah Fitzgerald, now indentured to work for Alistar Crane and his good friend Standish headed to was the local pub where he got stinking drunk.
From the railing of the "Passion Flower" Captain Jeremiah Fitzgerald peered with anticipation at the British North American coastline. The Passion Flower was a seventy-six feet long, two-hundred and twenty ton bark out of New Bedford. Jeremiah was very proud of his merchant trader ship, having earned enough money to purchase one 6 years go and go into business for himself.
He detected slightly, the scent of the land, the sweet Maine pine forests wafting toward them over the waves. He took in a deep lung-full, loving the freedom of the sea.
His dark thoughtful eyes sought out the familiar landmarks of Harmony, but they were still too far away to discern anything without an extension glass. They had made good time on their journey from the West Indies, making use of the favorable gulf stream currents to exceed a speed of 16 knots.
Jeremiah was an extremely striking-looking young man. His broad shoulders and muscular arms had been built up from a life at sea. His cap lay far back on his head showing his dark, reddish brown hair and a broad forehead and strong jaw. Deeply bronzed by the equatorial sun, Jeremiah Fitzgerald drew the eyes of many women in all the ports. He had gone to sea at the age of eleven, a brave, commanding man in his bearing and had earned the respect of all his men. Serious and thoughtful, his dark brown eyes had a flicker of mischief and adventure.
"Mr. Standish," He addressed the first mate.
"Aye, sir." The first mate replied behind the ship's wheel.
"Call all hands, we will make ready to take in sail."
"ALL HANDS!" Standish bellowed.
"In less than two hours, we should be walking down the streets of Harmony." Jeremiah smiled, showing straight white teeth.
"It's been a long time, sir."
"Yes, five years is a long time."
The Passion flower dropped anchor in the port of Harmony at mid-day. Half the crew were allowed ashore, while the others remained to unload the cargo. Jeremiah had checked his manifest and locked away the important papers in the strongbox, then climbed up the hatchway.
Captain Fitzgerald was about to cross from the gangway to the dock when a tall gentleman with stringy hair, wearing a long black cloak and a funny Dutch style hat, smoked a pipe and barred his way.
"A word, Captain." The man said with an imperious air.
Jeremiah looked up, tensing his right fist, but kept his temper. He cocked his long leg on the railing. To himself he muttered, "By God! These small town officials are all alike."
"Sir?" he was so grilled into showing the proper respect to his elders that he addressed most people with perfunctory SIR or MADAM. "I didn't catch your name."
"Crane. Alistar Stoke Crane." The man said.
"And what can I do for you today, Mr. Crane?" Jeremiah said, rubbing his stubby powerful chin.
"As a member of Harmony's Town Council, and direct representative to King William, I must inform you that you must cease your men from unloading this cargo."
The crew heard the order and looked bewildered.
"You will remove yourself from this vessell." Crane seemed to crack a smile, but his face was hidden by shadow that it was difficult to discern.
"I am captain and owner of this ship, and no one tells me or my crew what to do, you hear that?"
"You are in error, Captain. There are unpaid taxes, bank notes....Captain Fitzgerald, you are a debtor." Alistar Crane said.
"Listen, you insufferable little worm...this is my ship, and I don't know what you've been drinking, but I've got business to attend to. So get the hell out of my way." Jeremiah elbowed Crane.
First mate, Mark Standish watched all this with a worried look. He had first heard of Crane from letters written from his family who were concerned about the growing power of this ruthless businessman Alistar Stoke Crane. They had told him how many of the local families lost their lands to him, and how he had much political influence.
"You have failed to render to the Crown ...importation, stamp sugar, tea and duty taxes from the Passion Flower's trading profits. We've been overly lenient in the past, but it will no longer be permitted. And...Your promisary note for payment on this ship is long overdue...."
"By God! I'll have you know that this ship was bought and paid for in full. The documents are recorded in with the attorneys Randall and Winthrop of New Bedford."
Alistar Crane produced a lengthy document, with the seal of the King. "I am the holder of that bank note, from Randall and Winthrop, who happen to work for me in New Bedford...they have informed me that there is no record of it having been paid. How curious."
"Then you're a damn liar. I have my original copy in my strong box." Jeremiah said.
Alistar Crane nodded and grinned. "The police are rounding the docks as we speak."
Jeremiah grabbed Alistar Crane by the coat. "Police? What for? I have committed no crime. I can prove ownership of this vessell, and my tax payments are recorded at the Exchange House in Portland." With fury he shoved the wormy mannered Alistar Crane into the railing, losing his control. "You got that?"
"The legal British courts of William and Mary have received no tax payments recorded anywhere..." Alistar said under a choke hold "under a decree of Parliament...they can confiscate your vessel for lack of payment to the Crown! Unhand me, you wiley Irish scum, or you will not live to see another day!"
Jeremiah peered over at the 20 riflemen aiming their muskets at him, while the 8 others ascended below-decks, apparently to confiscate the ship's log and the strongbox containing his documents.
"What of my ship?" Jeremiah shouted insanely.
"Your ship?" He gave a laugh. "It will become part of Crane shipping lines, as I have paid your back taxes to the Crown, I already own it."
"God Almighty, I'll kick your head in, you stinking bastard! STANDISH! Secure the strongbox!"
Before Standish could move across the deck toward the hatchway, a soldier had pointed his bayonet into the man's back, breaking his skin. In a few moments, the other soldier had gone below and brought out the strongbox.
"Deliver it to the Crane properties, and guard it with your life."
"Yes sir." The soldier left with Fitzgeralds original documents, and anything of value.
"You've removed governmental legal documents....and drew up your own...." He was raging while the crew looked down the barrells of muskets, their hands rose above their heads. Jeremiah raised Alistar Crane up in his brawny hold and was about to toss him overboard. At the time, he had not thought what kind of influence and political power the man must have...
"You have one option open to you, captain----in order to avoid imprisonment! You can work your debt off to me, as captain of this ship and do as I command, or...rot in jail till the British Courts hang you from a gibbet for abusing a British Magistrate. What do you say?"
"Only if you pay my crew their wages..."
"It will be incorporated in your debt to me..."
By the time the militia had surrounded Jeremiah, he had no choice but to release the man, although perhaps he had slipped his footing, because he dropped Alistar Crane overboard into the foul and smelly dockside water. "All right, you thieving bastard, I'll work for you."
Fitzgerald had eventually been released by the militia. The first place Jeremiah Fitzgerald, now indentured to work for Alistar Crane and his good friend Standish headed to was the local pub where he got stinking drunk.