At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  The greater time period was the half hour strike of the bell. The new men grew into this world of time and speed and undulating motion rather quickly. Wake was grateful for that. He had seen whole crews get sick and incapacitated only hours out of port, in his earlier life as a merchant officer. Perhaps this would be a good crew, and their mission would be far less difficult than apparently everyone with experience seemed to think. This beautiful day was a day for a sailor to remember. Wake was determined to approach his coming mission in Havana with optimism.

  Wake’s optimism was echoed by the weather, which stayed fair for the entire crossing of the Straits. By morning they were off the Cuban coastline to the west of Havana. On sighting the island in the early light, Wake gave the order to close-haul as far upwind to the east as possible. Soon the mountains of the interior behind the coast were in view as Rosalie flew over the swells and occasionally dropped into the troughs. Her heel increased to the point that they were sailing under double-reefed main and jib only, making seven knots an hour with no effort.

  The chart and information provided in his orders envelope showed that a guard cutter usually patrolled the coast off Havana and would be the pilot vessel as well. The lookout spotted the cutter in the midafternoon, and the Rosalie came close aboard the Guardia Costa vessel about three hours before sundown. The officer on the cutter spoke broken English and was able to understand Wake’s request to enter the port on official duty for the consul.

  During this intercourse Wake found out that a crewman aboard spoke Spanish. Sampson, a veteran navy sailor, spoke up when the conversation across the water to the cutter commander seemed to fall apart. He translated into Spanish what Wake was trying to convey. The Spanish officer then continued on to Sampson, who told Wake that the officer said the Rosalie was too small for him to bother with piloting into the harbor and to go ahead themselves with no escort.

  Sampson continued, adding his own estimate of the officer and his motives. “The dago officer says to go into the harbor and anchor under the guns of the fort until the morn, sir. Says there will be a revenue officer to clear us in the morn. He also says to make sure we render respects to the fortress, doin’ a gun salute to looward. Anything else and the fortress will sink us, he says, sir. I’m thinkin’ the little bag o’ bilgewater is tryin’ to show who’s who here. Bit a bragado, if’n ya ask me, sir.”

  “Thank you, Sampson, for your report. Rork, bear away for the entrance to the harbor. Durlon, clear away the gun for a salute to the fortress when we come abeam.”

  Both petty officers acknowledged their orders and went about their business of getting ready for entering a foreign port. This was Wake’s first foreign port of call since becoming an officer in the U.S. Navy, and he relied upon his number two to make sure events would transpire properly.

  The little sloop passed between the headlands into the passage to the harbor. Fortress El Morro was to windward and stood like a giant guardian over the city and port. Unlike the brown brick of Fort Taylor at Key West, El Morro had very old, gray stone walls. It gave a much more formidable impression than any American fortress Wake had seen. On the leeward headland there was another fortress, Castillo de Real Fuerza, smaller than El Morro but impressive in its own right. As she passed under the towering walls of El Morro, Rosalie lost some of the steady wind that had propelled her for the last hundred miles. Wake was impressed that just as she lost speed, the sloop passed into an area where dozens of the fortress guns would bear. It would be a slaughter if they ever had to fight their way into or out of this place under sail.

  After rendering the gun salute and receiving a rather dilatory one in return, Rosalie proceeded a short distance further and dropped her anchor into the deep waters of Havana harbor. She was still not in the regular anchorage of the port, but she was in calm water and secure. Wake could see officers on the walls of the fortress looking at the sloop through telescopes. He imagined the speculation that would be going on there.

  Every hour while they were anchored under the fortress, the harbor patrol rowed by and inspected them. The harbor patrol consisted of a twenty-foot rowing launch with eight men, only four of whom were actually rowing. Some minor officer in an apparently Spanish navy uniform was sitting in the stern, with two men armed with muskets sitting in the bows. A coxswain of sorts completed the crew. Most had no uniform and were obviously not enthusiastic about their duties. However, they did manage to pass the American sloop gunboat every hour on the hour.

  The sounds of the waterfront continued well into the night, drifting across the water with piercing screams, soft laughter, and loud threats creating a constant background of noise in several languages. Wake kept a watch on watch for the whole crew throughout the night. When the first beams of sunlight illuminated the buildings of the harbor, he called for the whole crew to be on deck and working. He was nervous about being in this port, and he was also nervous about his crew being subject to the many vices for which the port was infamous. Wake reasoned that with many crewmen on watch at any one time the chances of a sailor being taken by one of the various evils of rum, women, or gambling was lessened.

  Three hours past sunrise the government revenue cutter came alongside. The inspector of customs was an aging and overweight bureaucrat of the crumbling Spanish Empire. Sampson provided an interpretation of the sweating man’s monologue, which increased in length once he found that he did not have to use his pidgin English.

  The inspector, Señor Caldez, took great pains to explain to Wake and his listening crew that he was not a Cuban but a Spaniard, sent out to this island to further the government of the empire and bring these heathens into civilization. Sweat gave way to spittle as the man progressed into a speech that was beyond Sampson’s powers to decipher.

  Rork had his hands full maintaining discipline among the snickering gathered crew and finally had to order them aloft on a chafe repair chore that was more discipline than work. The final straw had been when one of them had made a disparaging comment about Señor Caldez and one of the inspector’s assistants said something to Caldez about it. The bureaucrat went on in his speech, to Wake’s relief, but Rork preempted any further problems with his direction to replace the baggywrinkle at the backstay and shrouds.

  After the inspector’s comments had finally ended, Wake was astonished to find the inspection had also ended, with no inquiries as to the mission of the sloop in Cuban waters. The heavy Spaniard descended into the cutter with the flourish of a courtesan and said a few final words to Sampson as he was rowed away.

  “Sir, the head man there, Señor Caldez, he says that you may anchor in the main anchorage by the waterfront over there. Says if you need anything, to call on him. He stressed the word anything, sir. I think he means women, sir.”

  The laughter from above was immediate as Sampson reported the last. Rork’s roar for silence was greeted with sheepish grins aloft and a look of concern on Sampson.

  “I’m sorry to be forward, sir, but that is what he said.”

  “Never mind the fools aloft, Sampson. You did well and I appreciate it. I will probably be using your services other times while we are here. In the meantime, Rork, let us weigh anchor and practice the men who are aloft down on the sweeps. They can spend their nervous energy rowing us across the harbor to the main anchorage. Sampson here can be the helmsman for this exercise.”

  An hour later the Rosalie was anchored with the other vessels right in front of the city itself. An amazing assortment of ships and boats filled the harbor. Flags from a dozen countries flew from the various ships, including, to the amazement of the crew of the Rosalie, a ship flying the flag of the Confederacy. Wake had never seen a flag like that so far in the war. He knew that international and Spanish law permitted it but was still aghast at actually seeing it.

  The ship with the Rebel flag was a small, fast-looking screw steamer. Ma
ybe a hundred feet long, with no guns apparent and no crew on deck. Wake was determined to find out what the consulate knew of her and whatever else he could ascertain. There were no other American naval vessels in the harbor and only one on patrol in the Straits of Florida, so Rosalie was the sole representative of the United States Navy. Wake turned to Rork and told him to gather the men aft.

  “All hands turn to and lay aft!” Rork bellowed. Wake noticed that even Rork was a bit on edge in these surroundings. His normally calm and humorous Irish wit was not in evidence since they had come to this port.

  When the small crew had assembled by the tiller, Wake started to talk.

  “Men, over there is an enemy vessel. We cannot touch her here. Everyone knows that we are the only United States ship in the harbor, and everyone will be watching us to see if we do anything against international or Spanish law. Do not give anyone any offense while we are here. Do not allow anyone to come aboard Rosalie. This is a very dangerous place. Follow your orders, and we will leave in one piece. Disobey them, and some or all of us could be killed or wounded. I know that some of you do not understand the reasons for my caution. It is enough that you understand my orders. Do not violate them.”

  Speech completed, Wake looked at the men for signs of comprehension. They just stood there with no reaction. After a moment of silence, Wake ordered Rork to get the men working again, this time under the direction of Durlon, who had them clean his deadly beauty to his satisfaction.

  When the men were fully engaged in their tasks, Wake had Sampson row him in the dinghy to the Spanish navy landing, where Señor Caldez’s cutter was moored. After obtaining permission to leave the dinghy there under Cuban guard and rudimentary directions to their destination, Wake and Sampson started their journey through the city to the American Consulate.

  The walk took them six blocks along the harbor to the Plaza de San Francisco, where a large, ancient church with a towering steeple topped by a saint holding a cross provided them with a turning point to head west three blocks. They joined throngs of people, busy and self-absorbed on commercial or personal endeavors, striding purposefully along the boulevard. Wake and Sampson viewed the merchants’ houses and offices as they walked, eventually passing by the consulates of Britain and France, with their magnificent fronts.

  Havana was a dirty city like any other seaport, but with an international air flavored by the many languages heard everywhere, a product of the maritime enterprises that went on both in public and behind closed doors. The streets of the old city were laid out in a large grid pattern running back from the shore, with mazes of alleyways running in between them. The buildings were of various ages and structures, but most were of stone block, with ornate facades that belied the shabby interiors that could be seen through open doors. Once away from the harborside, the breeze disappeared and the malodorous effect of the habitations, refuse and sewage, rose until it felt like you could almost touch it. The indistinct sounds coming from shore that were so exotically foreign out at the anchorage were now obnoxious in their raucous detail, with prostitutes shouting, families arguing, drunks coughing and gagging, and street vendors yelling above it all. The consulate was in the business part of the city, not far from the commerce of the docks. It was an area that had once been exclusive and was inside the defensive walls that ringed the western part of the port. But now the neighborhood had lost its glamour and was merely productive. The city of Havana was unlike any other place Wake had ever been. It intrigued and repulsed him at the same time.

  The loveliness of the city as seen from the deck of the Rosalie entering from seaward was a false beauty, Wake decided as he spotted the American flag hanging in front of a building a block away and headed for it. Havana reminded him of the painted harlots he had seen in seaports up and down the New England and Canadian coasts—once you got close you realized their age and their disposition were quite different from their first appearance. You also learned that they were very dangerous and unpredictable.

  Turning right at a major cross street, Wake spotted the American consulate office a few doors to the north, its flag hanging limp in the fetid heat. A quarter mile further in the distance he could see the lovely Catedral de Habana, with its two mismatched bell towers overlooking the central plaza. Off farther to the right he could see the imposing Castillo de Real Fuerza, one of the fortresses that he had had to sail past in order to enter the harbor. As Wake turned to enter the consulate, a glance down the other way on the street revealed some sort of argument between a uniformed Spanish official and a crowd of Cubans. Sampson’s linguistic ability was not equal to the task of fully translating all that was said, but he was able to infer that the crowd was berating the official, who apparently was a tax collector of sorts, for the corruption in his organization. The scene in the street enhanced Wake’s impression that Havana, indeed probably all of Cuba, was a giant façade that was maintained for the ego of the Spanish Empire.

  Once there, Sampson waited in the reception area as Wake went upstairs, where he was shown into the office of the consul. Wake presented his box of communications from Key West and Washington to an assistant and then studied the consul himself. Garrison Mason was a heavy, middle-aged man of pale complexion and was dressed in a business suit that did not improve his image. He gave the impression of being a man more at ease at a party than in an office dealing with the large issues that loomed everyday in this place. Wake could smell cigar smoke everywhere in the room, which was furnished in a surprisingly spartan fashion. A long way from Ohio, Wake mused.

  The assistant began opening the box of documents as the consul spoke with Wake about events transpiring to the north. The consul stopped abruptly when he saw the assistant hold up an envelope with the White House seal embossed on it. The assistant quickly opened it and started reading.

  “Collins, is that for me, from President Lincoln? Why, give it to me, man! It might be a reply to my request to get out of here.”

  “Yes, sir, it is from the president, but I fear not what you wanted. It says to stay until next summer, sir.”

  Consul Mason grabbed the presidential letter and left the room, ignoring Wake and muttering about lack of appreciation from people who should know better. That left Collins and Wake looking at each other. Wake was the first to speak.

  “Mr. Collins, could you give me an assessment of the situation here in Havana? Admiral Barkley desires to know what is what here and directed me to find out.”

  Collins replied, “Excuse old Mason there. He hates it here, didn’t want to come. Thought that it would lead to a soft position in Washington if he came down here for a while. That was two years ago, and I am now of the sad opinion that he was sent here to keep him out of Washington. He is a good man at heart, but this last letter dashed his final hope of political resurrection. I suspect he will resign now and return to Ohio. Ah, but the situation here in Havana. Not what it seems, I’m afraid. Let me fill you and your admiral in on the situation.”

  Collins, who had been the assistant to the consuls in Havana for the last ten years, began to give Wake a picture of the hopelessly convoluted state of things in Havana. His narration took half of an hour, but it was invaluable for Wake. Collins explained that Havana was actually two cities, the grand one that symbolized the most glorious period of the Spanish Empire, and the other that symbolized the squalor that the empire had become. The two Havanas existed together in the same space, one beautiful and exciting, the other lethargic and aging. The old quarter around the port was 350 years old, the empire’s crown jewel of the Caribbean. The buildings and fortresses there were magnificent monuments to the Spanish Empire. The Spanish bureaucracy was still one of the primary owners of these great structures, and the proud Spanish clung to these buildings as shields against the rude reality of a Cuba that was changing.

  The other city of Havana was the Cuban city. Thes
e quarters had none of the grandeur of the old Spanish city. This part of Havana had problems and people that the Spanish had ignored for the last two hundred years. The Cubans had been seething for revolution, the Spanish barely maintaining control of the island since the great Latin American revolutions of the 1820s.

  In addition to the dangers of the Confederate enemy here from his own country’s civil war, Wake learned about the civil war between the two great factions on the island that was smoldering just below the surface and about to ignite. Revolutionaries, emboldened by democratic ideas just a day’s sail away to the north, were everywhere despite the efforts of the Spanish-run secret police to eliminate them. Some of the revolutionary groups had United States sympathizers supporting them. Other groups had Confederate supporters. Cuba was still a slave island, and the Confederates emphasized this when dealing with the Spanish and the Cuban upper class in the hopes of forming a common cultural bond. Wake’s New England blood chilled at that thought. Men as animals? Bought and sold like beasts of burden? He had seen freed contraband blacks, former slaves who were now under protection of the Federal forces, but had never seen an actual slave. He wondered how he would react. He wondered what the slaves would think of him, a Yankee officer of a country that was freeing blacks. The whole issue of slavery made him uncomfortable, and he shivered in the heat.

  Collins cautioned Wake against accidentally getting involved, or even in contact, with these groups. The consequences could be large for an American who blundered into the simmering chaos of Havana politics. One perceived infraction could sway the Spanish government toward granting the wishes of the Confederate States. He also cautioned him against making abolitionist comments.