At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  Wake thanked the assistant consul for his insight into the political situation. He then asked specifically about the Rebel shipping organization in the city. Collins stated that the Rebels had a group of Anglo and Cuban merchants who doubled as quasi-official representatives of their government, but that not much was known about them. He counseled Wake against reconnoitering for intelligence of the Confederate liaisons in Havana, stating that it might play into their hands and offend the Spanish authorities by flaunting their sovereignty.

  Collins continued by calling Wake’s attention to the Rebel vessel lying in the harbor. He said that the word in the harbor was that she was due to sail in four days with a rumored cargo of rum and merchant items for a port in the upper Gulf of Mexico, probably Mobile. She had not flown the Rebel flag until the Rosalie had arrived and apparently was doing so out of defiance and a desire to impress her Cuban friends. Collins concluded by saying that he thought that she would probably be caught in the blockade anyway and warned Wake not to try to do anything against her in Spanish waters.

  After this long discourse on the Havana state of affairs, Wake was getting fatigued by the bewildering swirl of information and personalities. He expressed his appreciation to the assistant consul and left the consulate building with Sampson alongside. As they walked down the Malecon, the great boulevard by the sea that was the cultural and social center of the city, Wake asked Sampson if he had been to this port before.

  “Never been here, sir. Been mainly to Mexico and the Middle America coast. This place makes me a bit uneasy though, sir. Completely unlike them other countries. Odd, seein’ the Spanish flag and grandees around here. Don’t see ’em at the other places. Somethin’ about this port is no damn good. Beg your pardon for bein’ so bold with my words, sir.”

  “Quite all right, Sampson. I agree about it being very strange. Strange indeed. Tell you what, Sampson. When we meet a Spanish speaker, do not covey to them that you have the ability to converse in their language. Let them speak their lingo and later contrive to let me know their conversations. We must be very guarded while here.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Listen in Spanish but speak not!”

  “Precisely, Sampson. And I want to find out about that Rebel steamer too. Keep your ears open on that account especially.”

  Wake stopped and turned to look out over the extraordinary view of the harbor and sea that the Malecon afforded. He noticed that an average-looking man dressed like the other Cubans on the boulevard stopped also about fifty feet behind them. Wake began an animated conversation with Sampson about the size of the guns in the fortress of Morro across the channel, confusing Sampson but enabling Wake to get a better look at the man. After a minute Wake resumed his stroll and explained to Sampson about the man, who had continued his following, for that is what it now certainly appeared to be.

  “Should I go about and conk the bastard, sir? We can take him off and talk to him private like.”

  “No, Sampson,” laughed Wake, “I am afraid the Spanish would not like that, especially here on the boulevard, and I am sure that the consul would disapprove. Though I must admit that it is tempting. No, we will continue our walk to the naval landing.”

  The sun was high by the time they got to the naval landing and found their dinghy among the raft of small craft at the dock. The short trip to the sloop was made with Sampson rowing and watching the surveillance man over the stern and Wake watching the Rebel steamer over the bow. When they got alongside the Rosalie, Sampson advised his captain that the man in question had watched them for some time as they rowed out to their ship. Then he had departed the dock and gone into a tavern of some sort on the great boulevard just outside the naval dock area. He confirmed to Wake that he could find that tavern again when next on land. The seed of an idea started to germinate in Wake’s mind. To bring it to fruition, he would need some good luck that very night.

  After sunset Wake gathered Rork and Durlon in his cabin. By the dim light of the chart lamp he explained what his plan would entail.

  “All right men, here is what we are going to do. Sampson and I are going ashore and will not be back until much later, probably until two bells in the middle watch at least. Rork, you have the command until then. In the unlikely event that I do not make it back by daylight, you will make it ashore and inform the consul that Sampson and I must have been taken drunk in a pub and are worse for the wear. Upon that report, you will depart Havana with dispatches and sail for Key West. There you will report in person to Commander Johnson or Admiral Barkley what has transpired. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Durlon and Rork. Rork continued, “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. Not to be out of my place, sir, but what will ye be doin’ ashore?”

  Wake smiled and replied, “Well, Rork, Sampson and I are going for a drink tonight in a certain tavern by the waterfront that may contain further information on what exactly the Rebels are doing in Havana.”

  Durlon laughed quietly at the thought of his captain having a drink with Sampson in a Cuban tavern, but Rork kept his eyes on Wake and leveled his voice. “Captain, this sounds to be very dangerous and not the kind of thing for just the two of you. I should come along for some . . . added influence, sir.”

  Wake knew what kind of “influence” Rork wanted to add.

  “Rork, thank you for your concern, but Sampson and I can handle the evening. I need you to handle Rosalie in my absence and in the unlikely event I don’t return by daylight. Durlon, I need you to assist Rork.That is all I have to say on the subject, men. Sampson and I will leave directly.”

  “Aye, sir,” acknowledged Rork, who still had a look of concern in his eyes. “An’ may the wisdom of Saint Patrick be with you, sir.”

  An hour later Wake and Sampson, both dressed in the nondescript clothing of American merchant sailors, stood by the crude bar, drinking cheap rum in the tavern the mystery surveillance man had entered. The room was dark and dank with gray stone walls that had to be at least two hundred years old. Dim lanterns attempted to light up areas of the room, which appeared to have two doors set back into the shadowed far wall by a corner. The noise was deafening, several languages competing for loudest and a desultory guitar player singing a mournful song in the corner. Among the rough men of the place were equally rough-looking women who were plainly bargaining for payment in exchange for the theoretical pleasures they could offer. Several were eyeing Wake and Sampson, since Americans were known to have more money than the other sailors of the world, particularly with the war raging just to the north of the island and the U.S. government chartering ships at top dollar to transport supplies for the army and navy.

  Making small talk and occasionally laughing loudly, Wake and Sampson surveyed the room and its occupants for the man from the afternoon. The other men in the room noticed the two gringos but did not speak with them. It was apparent to Wake that all in the room knew they were there, but no hostility was apparent. The woman behind the bar was watching them very closely and obviously trying to listen to their conversation, which, according to plan, was that of merchant seamen looking for another ship.

  Two more wooden cups of rum went down their throats, and Wake decided to engage the prostitutes in talk to occupy time while he and Sampson continued their perusal of the room and its occupants. A girl of young but indeterminate age sidled up to Wake while an older-looking woman rubbed against Sampson. The young one had not been ravaged by her lifestyle yet, and Wake felt slightly attracted to her despite his better judgment telling him otherwise. Wake prayed not to get drunk on the rotgut wine. He knew this was one of those places where a man could get killed in a moment, and it would be nothing but a spectacle for the others to watch.

  It seemed the price, negotiated in gestures and simple seaport English since Sampson was not letting on that he could understand Spanish, was fluctuating. Both men
and the two females started laughing at the comical gesturing that they had all resorted to in order to communicate. While acting the drunk seaman and laughing with the others, Wake suddenly saw a glow of light enlarge at the back of the room.What he saw took him aback completely.

  One of the doors in the dark recesses of the tavern had opened as a barmaid emerged, allowing the brightly lit room beyond to fill the dim void and illuminate the area. Through the doorway Wake saw a well-dressed man standing in the distant room pointing his finger at another man. Wake instantly recognized the man being pointed at.

  It was Saunders, John Saunders from the sloop that Wake had let go up near Sanibel Island many months ago.

  Wake stood there staring, remembering that day when Hardin had warned him that Saunders was a Confederate engaged in blockade running, remembering how he had let the man go because he did not have absolute proof, remembering the humiliation when he had finally gotten proof afterward but had already lost the Rebel blockade runner. First he felt a sickness in his stomach. Then he felt a cold anger and focused on the Confederate who was so close but untouchable.

  Finally Sampson, who of course knew nothing of that prior incident, nudged Wake and said, “Well, mate, they’ve come down to our station in price! A half dollar each.” Beside him the females looked eager for his affirmative reply.

  “Ladies, uno momentito. Sampson and I must talko. Must talk. Moneda!” Wake said to the surprised prostitutes and the equally surprised Sampson. The two women stood there mutely waiting while Wake quietly explained to Sampson that he had no intention of going into an alley with some “poxy trollop” and then having to visit the surgeon repeatedly later. Wake further explained to a chagrined Sampson that the object of their mission was in the room beyond and told him briefly about the incident with Saunders and the box that was later found that proved him to be an enemy. A very dangerous one at that.

  While Wake was explaining all this to Sampson, the barmaid was putting tankards of rum on a tray for a girl who had emerged from the room in back. Sampson was attentive to his captain but also listening to the servant talk about her customers. Sampson interrupted Wake as the servant girl returned to Saunders’ room with the new drinks, and said to him quietly, “Sir, I do believe that the bar women were talkin’ about the men in that room. The little servant girl said that the men had Confederate paper money that she thought was useless, but they promised her gold later to pay for their lodging and refreshments.” He raised his voice and said, “And that’s what methinks, sir, I mean, mate. Sorry for the mistake.”

  “That’s all right, Sampson, you son of a whore,” Wake laughed loudly in the seaman role again for the benefit of the prostitutes still standing next to them, then quietly added, “but we must get more information on what they are about. You go with one of these girls and ask about those men. Find out what she knows. I will stay here and watch that room. Sampson, be back in ten minutes and be careful, man. Do you understand me?”

  “Aye, matey . . . sir, careful it is and back to me moorin’ in ten minutes. ’Tis rough duty I shall do, but I’m not a man to shy back.”

  After showing the other woman that he had no money and her wait would be fruitless, for the next few minutes Wake stood there and watched the tavern and the door in the dark corner. He was starting to feel the effects of the rum and reminded himself to be careful. On Sampson’s beaming return, after more than the agreed-upon ten minutes, he ordered two more rums. Sampson was looking sheepish—certainly out of character for the man.

  “Sorry I was a bit tardy, sir. Couldn’t be helped, honest, sir. Had to play the part, as it were. Well, that little one, Rosa Elena, was a pretty good time, and she talked a bit afterward. She said there are always ships with Southern confederados here looking for men who know the coast. If we want to ship out on one, we just go to that back room and ask. She also said that the important-looking man in there comes to the tavern every couple of months and stays for a week, then leaves again. That is the sum of it, sir. She’s just a whore and doesn’t know that much.”

  “Very good, Sampson. We’ll stay here for a bit further. Mind the drink does not take you over,” ordered Wake as he continued his survey of the tavern.

  An hour later, after midnight and many rums each, Wake turned to Sampson and told him they were leaving. Saunders had just walked out of his room, followed by two other men, and they were heading for the front door of the tavern. One of the men with Saunders looked familiar to Wake, but the dim light did not serve to clarify his identity. Wake and Sampson walked out onto the street a moment after the three men.

  They could see Saunders and his cohorts walking along the Malecon. They were having an animated conversation and apparently were not aware they were being followed. Wake and Sampson walked along until they saw the men come to a bumboat dock, where they watched Saunders embark on a dory and disappear out into the dark harbor beyond. When they lost sight of the small boat, it was heading for the general anchorage where the Rebel steamer was moored. The other two men walked away to a dark side street. When they turned toward Wake for a brief moment, he could see them more clearly. The recognition of one man did not surprise him and he shook his head. Sampson recognized the man at the same time and muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned if it isn’t that ol’ bag o’ bilge water, fancy man himself, Caldez. Looks as if this is gettin’ stormier by the minute, Captain. Wonder who else is in cahoots with the Rebs.”

  At this new twist Wake told Sampson that they would return to their dinghy landing and have a trip around the harbor.

  While rowing from the landing to the Rosalie, they went alongside the Rebel steamer. The watch on deck studied them as they passed fifty yards off. No obvious signs of imminent departure were apparent, and the lights were out except for the quarterdeck lamp. No sign of Saunders could be seen. Tired and more than a little drunk, the two returned to the sloop to find Rork waiting on deck. Both went below and collapsed without saying anything to anyone.

  At the consulate the next day Wake found the consul in a very good mood. He did not apologize for his abrupt departure the day before, and Wake, a junior officer, knew enough not to press that issue. Mason’s conviviality continued until Wake presented him with his new-found knowledge of Confederate activity in Havana, omitting the method of gaining the new information.

  “Wake, that is really nothing new. The Rebs are all about here. The Spanish are making money off them hand over fist. Everyone is corrupt here.”

  “Sir, it appears that the Spanish officials are doing this in the open. Perhaps a diplomatic protest?”

  “Doesn’t do any good, Wake. Anyway, I will be gone from this hellish place soon. I am resigning and taking the next packet to Philadelphia, and it will be the next fool’s problem. And don’t tell me how to do the job of consul! I am tired of idiots telling me how to do my job!”

  “Aye aye, sir. Meant no disrespect, sir. Just passing on my information,” replied Wake in the neutral tone of a subordinate who has angered a superior. He backed away and made his way out of Mason’s office as the consul turned and stared out the window, as if looking for the very ship that would allow his escape from this place.

  Collins met him on his way out of the building. Wake, by this time wary of everyone in Havana, did not relate his information to the assistant consul. Instead he listened as Collins invited him to a function that night at the consulate in honor of the new Spanish naval commander of the Havana region. Wake’s attendance, as the only American naval officer in Havana at that moment, was mandatory, Collins explained. He added that the Rosalie would only be needed one or two days more until the dispatches from consular officials around the island were gathered. Then she could return to Key West.

  After spending a day at anchor watching the various vessels of the Caribbean pass into and out of the harbor, Wake got himself ready for
the event that night. When Sampson, who had heard his captain was going ashore again that night through the scuttlebutt of the small crew, offered to assist him with translating, Wake laughed and told him that his services would not be needed.

  By the end of the second dogwatch Wake was at the consulate in his best available uniform, which wasn’t saying much. He had never been to a formal affair in uniform and felt very much out of place. The dinner and entertainment afterward were Spanish and Cuban, showing him a side of the Hispanic culture that he had not seen. Wake was enthralled with it all. The women were very beautiful and the food was indescribably delicious. When the dancing music started later, he could not help himself from being taken over by the African-Latin Cuban rhythm. He knew he could not actually perform the dances but sat there next to the Consul entranced as dozens of couples moved to the sounds of the Caribbean.

  Mason was jovial again during the evening, as if he had no recollection of the afternoon’s anger in his office. He introduced Wake to various officials and their ladies throughout the night, always acting as if Wake were the captain of a large man-o-war instead of a small sloop. The perfect politician, thought Wake as he endured the endless polite conversation. Another of those “shoals of Havana” they warned me about. The new Spanish admiral, resplendent in full dress uniform and medals, had not spent more than a few seconds with the junior officer from the United States, clearly not impressed by Wake’s rank or his ship.