Catch the Wind: My Journey with Caroline

When I say I’ll come sailing, relief crosses Caroline’s face, though excitement is clearly there, too. I suspect going off with Lieutenant Woolsey alone makes her a little nervous, and having me along makes it easier for her, which, in turn, makes me feel better about having said yes.

Lieutenant Woolsey’s voice calls out impatiently for us to hurry. Before we can leave, Mrs. Abbott catches us at the door and orders us to obey his every instruction, fixing us both with the exact look Mom gives when she wants to be sure I’m actually listening. I promise we will, then hurry outside after the lieutenant.

Past the shipyard, we pass neat houses, roughly built shops near the water, and a main street so crowded we can hardly move without bumping into someone. The air is full of shouts and laughter, and the smell of fish, horse manure, and tar. A few men in patched clothing shove by, and I pinch my nose shut while Caroline hides a laugh behind her hand.

At the navy dock, a rowboat is waiting, and we climb in behind Lieutenant Woolsey as another sailor rows us across the harbor toward a wooden schooner with two tall masts. Climbing the ladder up to the deck is awkward in my long dress, but somehow I manage it without ending up in the water.

A tingle runs through me at the thought of standing on an actual navy ship in the middle of the War of 1812, until the reality of it hits like a kick to the stomach. I grip the ship’s side, eyes fixed on the cold water below. I begin to feel ill.

Caroline nudges me toward the marines standing at rigid attention nearby, their blue coats trimmed in yellow, guns nearly as tall as they are. She explains that the rest of the crew are ordinary navy sailors, then points out a huge black cannon on deck and says it’s thrilling. Cannons I’ve only ever seen in pictures suddenly look a lot more real up close, and I swallow hard.

An officer salutes Lieutenant Woolsey, and the two huddle together before commands ring out across the deck. Sailors dash across the deck, hauling ropes and raising sail, and before long we’re gliding out of the harbor toward open water. Mistake or not, agreeing to this means there’s no backing out now.

I keep my eyes on the harbor instead of dwelling on how deep this lake might run. I watch three canoes glide past, each paddled by Native Americans. I wish I knew which tribes call this area home in 1812.

I tell Caroline that being aboard a real ship feels amazing, and she takes it the wrong way, agreeing that yes, the breeze really does cut the heat compared to shore. Then, she admits her secret dream is to captain a ship of her own one day. Caught off guard, I tell her honestly that she should go after it. She grins back, then gives me a look so much like her mother’s, warning me to stay clear of the sailors and hold onto something sturdy until I’ve found my sea legs.

A U.S. flag flies overhead, barely a handful of stars stitched onto it, proof of just how young this country still is in 1812. I’m the only one standing here who already knows how far America will grow, and that this war ends with the nation still intact.

My throat tightens at the thought of Mom, and how frightened she’d be to know exactly where I am right now. Reaching into my pocket, I close my fingers around the compass she gave me. I know some ancestor of mine once fought in this very war, probably carrying this same compass aboard a ship just like this one. Watching the crew move around me, I feel a swell of pride that my family helped defend this country.

When Lieutenant Woolsey calls Caroline to the helm to meet Sailing Master Adams and help chart their course, she pulls me along, too, insisting it’s the best view on the whole ship. I follow more carefully behind her, watching my step so my dress doesn’t send me sprawling into a sailor’s path. Adams folds his arms as Caroline gives him directions to the secret cove, his frown suggesting he isn’t thrilled about taking orders from a girl. But he nods anyway and calls for the crew to hug the shoreline exactly as she instructed.

Sailors haul on ropes around us to adjust the sails, while others balance high overhead in the rigging. Smoke drifts from Adams’s pipe on a fresh breeze, and somewhere nearby a sailor breaks into a cheerful tune I’ve never heard before. Grinning, Caroline elbows me, as if to ask, “Isn’t this something?”

Just as my mood starts to lift, Lieutenant Woolsey warns Adams that British ships are still out there somewhere, and everyone needs to stay alert. The seriousness on his face is enough on its own to remind me exactly how dangerous, and how important, this voyage really is.