Cambridge, Maryland, a very long time ago.
The boy had his nose almost pressed against the glass display case that held the knives. It was a chandler shop on the waterfront, and a lot of the knives were of the type preferred by the sailors and ship owners who were the core patrons of the shop. Large single blade clasp knives, and some smaller gentleman's pen knives were on display, and the boy admired all of them, but had been saving his pennies earned from chores to buy a knife of his own. It would have to be a plain knife, Iron bolsters and no frills in the handles. As he was looking, the door of the shop opened and a heavy footstep sounded on the creaking floorboards. A thickset knot of man had entered, and the boy knew who he was by sight and reputation. He was weathered as an old salt could be, with a face tanned and creased by a thousand suns and storms during a lifetime at sea. An iron gray beard framed his face, and iron gray hair stuck out from under his cap. He was almost as wide as he was tall, but in that thickset way that spoke of muscle and gristle from years before the mast to work his way to a ships captain. The store owner himself hurried to wait on the man.
"Captain Martin, how can we be of service to you?' he asked.
"You can have the items on this list aboard my ship before the evening tide that we're leaving on." the ships captain replied.
The store owner looked over the list and promised to have the items delivered by the turn of the tide. The grizzled captain looked over at the boy standing by the case of goods, and saw the knives on display.
"Buying yourself a knife, are ya boy?" he asked.
The boy was startled by being addressed by a local legend, and stuttered.
"Y, yes sir. I've been saving and one day I'm going to get one of these."
The captain glanced in the case and nodded slightly.
"A boy should have a knife. Useful thing to have, even ashore. Make it a good one. How old are you?" he asked.
"I'm 11 now sir." the boy said.
"Who's your father, and do I know him?' the captain asked.
The boy hesitated a bit.
"My father is dead, sir. He passed away last year in the winter. My mother does sewing and cleaning and I do what I can for a few coins here and there, sir.
To his dying day, the boy never figured why the captain did what he did next. The captain looked the boy over as if making a judgement, then said curtly, "Come with me."
The boy followed him out of the store and they walked down the dock until they came to the ship. The boy had long admired the ships that came and went on the Choptank, and now he was standing by a local legend, the Sarah Goodwin. The slim black hulled vessel was one that was built right there in Cambridge at the towns shipyard. Some called this type of vessel a Chesapeake schooner, others called it a Baltimore clipper. They were built for speed, and in two wars with England they had been used both as blockade runners and privateers. Now they were used for coastal trade and fast cargo runs to the islands. Captain Martin had hauled rum and molasses from Jamaica to Maryland, and golden leaf Maryland tobacco up to the New England states, and back with hard goods from Boston to Jamaica. The deck of the ship was swarming with workers, off loading kegs of rum to make room for the hogsheads of tobacco waiting on the dock to be transported north.
"Come on, boy." the captain said as he walked up the gangplank.
Almost giddy with excitement at being invited onto the ship, he followed the captain up and then down a steep ladder way to the cabin. The boy looked around in wonder at the cabin. The smell of tar and hemp was strong in the air. A bunk, a shelf full of books, a small desk against the bulkhead, and a chart table took up almost all the space. The captain sat down at the desk and opened a drawer and rummaged through it. He took out a pistol and laid it aside out of the way as he rooted around in the desk. Then he found what he was looking for. He withdrew his hand and in it was a large knife. He looked a the boy.
"This is my old knife, and it's a good one. I picked up a new one last trip north, so I don't really need it anymore. I'd think you'd give it a good home, and you'll have to promise me you'll treat it like a good tool and not abuse it. " he said as he handed it to the boy. As the boy took it, he felt the solid weight of it, and studied the smooth worn handles of some kind of very dark dense looking wood. He pulled open the blade against the strong spring, and the blade snicked onto place with a good snap. The sheepsfoot blade was dark gray with a heavy patina, and the edge was honed razor sharp. A bail was on the butt of the knife, and a lanyard was braided marline that smelled of tar. A monkeys fist was on the end of the lanyard. The boy was speechless.
"A boy's first knife should be a given thing from his father." the captain said. "But you don't have one, so you've a hard sail against the wind on your own. Take this and practice your knots, and maybe you can sign on as a seamens apprentice when you get old enough."
The boy was stunned by the gift, and in wonder at the suggestion.
"Yes sir, I'll take good care of it. You'll see." he said.
"Good, then give me coin. Any coin will do, even if it's copper." said the captain.
"A coin, sir?"
"It's an old custom. A coin for a knife, or the knife will cut the friendship." the captain said.
The boy fished around in his pockets and came up with a penny. The captain had guessed that the boy had little, and a penny would do. They shook hands on the done deal, and the captain saw the boy to the gangplank.
"Learn your knots well, boy." the captain told him.
"I will sir, you'll see."
Many years passed, and one day the Sarah Goodwin was back in Cambridge, off loading rum and molasses and taking on tobacco for shipment north. Still in good shape from a refit in the Cambridge boatyard she was still a fast sailor on the jamaica rum run. In the chandler shop the store owner looked up as a tall young man in a faded reefer coat entered. He was broad shouldered and thick with with muscle and gristle from years before the mast working his way up to a ships officer.
"Can I help you sir?" the store owner asked.
The young man handed over a list of goods.
"Yes, see that Captain Martin gets those items before we sail tonight, if you please."
The storekeep took the list and then looked at the young man in a searching way.
"Do I know you, sir? he asked.
The young ships officer from the Sarah Goodwin was looking at the glass display case with the knives in it.
"Maybe," he said, as he sliced off a piece of plug tobacco with a large sailors knife that had handles of a dark very dense wood. "I was going to buy a knife from you once."
The boy had his nose almost pressed against the glass display case that held the knives. It was a chandler shop on the waterfront, and a lot of the knives were of the type preferred by the sailors and ship owners who were the core patrons of the shop. Large single blade clasp knives, and some smaller gentleman's pen knives were on display, and the boy admired all of them, but had been saving his pennies earned from chores to buy a knife of his own. It would have to be a plain knife, Iron bolsters and no frills in the handles. As he was looking, the door of the shop opened and a heavy footstep sounded on the creaking floorboards. A thickset knot of man had entered, and the boy knew who he was by sight and reputation. He was weathered as an old salt could be, with a face tanned and creased by a thousand suns and storms during a lifetime at sea. An iron gray beard framed his face, and iron gray hair stuck out from under his cap. He was almost as wide as he was tall, but in that thickset way that spoke of muscle and gristle from years before the mast to work his way to a ships captain. The store owner himself hurried to wait on the man.
"Captain Martin, how can we be of service to you?' he asked.
"You can have the items on this list aboard my ship before the evening tide that we're leaving on." the ships captain replied.
The store owner looked over the list and promised to have the items delivered by the turn of the tide. The grizzled captain looked over at the boy standing by the case of goods, and saw the knives on display.
"Buying yourself a knife, are ya boy?" he asked.
The boy was startled by being addressed by a local legend, and stuttered.
"Y, yes sir. I've been saving and one day I'm going to get one of these."
The captain glanced in the case and nodded slightly.
"A boy should have a knife. Useful thing to have, even ashore. Make it a good one. How old are you?" he asked.
"I'm 11 now sir." the boy said.
"Who's your father, and do I know him?' the captain asked.
The boy hesitated a bit.
"My father is dead, sir. He passed away last year in the winter. My mother does sewing and cleaning and I do what I can for a few coins here and there, sir.
To his dying day, the boy never figured why the captain did what he did next. The captain looked the boy over as if making a judgement, then said curtly, "Come with me."
The boy followed him out of the store and they walked down the dock until they came to the ship. The boy had long admired the ships that came and went on the Choptank, and now he was standing by a local legend, the Sarah Goodwin. The slim black hulled vessel was one that was built right there in Cambridge at the towns shipyard. Some called this type of vessel a Chesapeake schooner, others called it a Baltimore clipper. They were built for speed, and in two wars with England they had been used both as blockade runners and privateers. Now they were used for coastal trade and fast cargo runs to the islands. Captain Martin had hauled rum and molasses from Jamaica to Maryland, and golden leaf Maryland tobacco up to the New England states, and back with hard goods from Boston to Jamaica. The deck of the ship was swarming with workers, off loading kegs of rum to make room for the hogsheads of tobacco waiting on the dock to be transported north.
"Come on, boy." the captain said as he walked up the gangplank.
Almost giddy with excitement at being invited onto the ship, he followed the captain up and then down a steep ladder way to the cabin. The boy looked around in wonder at the cabin. The smell of tar and hemp was strong in the air. A bunk, a shelf full of books, a small desk against the bulkhead, and a chart table took up almost all the space. The captain sat down at the desk and opened a drawer and rummaged through it. He took out a pistol and laid it aside out of the way as he rooted around in the desk. Then he found what he was looking for. He withdrew his hand and in it was a large knife. He looked a the boy.
"This is my old knife, and it's a good one. I picked up a new one last trip north, so I don't really need it anymore. I'd think you'd give it a good home, and you'll have to promise me you'll treat it like a good tool and not abuse it. " he said as he handed it to the boy. As the boy took it, he felt the solid weight of it, and studied the smooth worn handles of some kind of very dark dense looking wood. He pulled open the blade against the strong spring, and the blade snicked onto place with a good snap. The sheepsfoot blade was dark gray with a heavy patina, and the edge was honed razor sharp. A bail was on the butt of the knife, and a lanyard was braided marline that smelled of tar. A monkeys fist was on the end of the lanyard. The boy was speechless.
"A boy's first knife should be a given thing from his father." the captain said. "But you don't have one, so you've a hard sail against the wind on your own. Take this and practice your knots, and maybe you can sign on as a seamens apprentice when you get old enough."
The boy was stunned by the gift, and in wonder at the suggestion.
"Yes sir, I'll take good care of it. You'll see." he said.
"Good, then give me coin. Any coin will do, even if it's copper." said the captain.
"A coin, sir?"
"It's an old custom. A coin for a knife, or the knife will cut the friendship." the captain said.
The boy fished around in his pockets and came up with a penny. The captain had guessed that the boy had little, and a penny would do. They shook hands on the done deal, and the captain saw the boy to the gangplank.
"Learn your knots well, boy." the captain told him.
"I will sir, you'll see."
Many years passed, and one day the Sarah Goodwin was back in Cambridge, off loading rum and molasses and taking on tobacco for shipment north. Still in good shape from a refit in the Cambridge boatyard she was still a fast sailor on the jamaica rum run. In the chandler shop the store owner looked up as a tall young man in a faded reefer coat entered. He was broad shouldered and thick with with muscle and gristle from years before the mast working his way up to a ships officer.
"Can I help you sir?" the store owner asked.
The young man handed over a list of goods.
"Yes, see that Captain Martin gets those items before we sail tonight, if you please."
The storekeep took the list and then looked at the young man in a searching way.
"Do I know you, sir? he asked.
The young ships officer from the Sarah Goodwin was looking at the glass display case with the knives in it.
"Maybe," he said, as he sliced off a piece of plug tobacco with a large sailors knife that had handles of a dark very dense wood. "I was going to buy a knife from you once."
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