Wake was too far away to be certain, but he thought he saw marines coming out of the tavern with a tall, well-dressed man who certainly appeared to be their old nemesis, Saunders. This time, of course, he would be hard-pressed to talk his way out of his situation, Wake knew. This time, he was grouped with the anti-Spanish Cubans and would not be dealt with lightly by the government, especially Admiral Rodriguez.
Sampson could not help himself, and his impressions emerged. “Well, sir. Never met an admiral afore this. Wonder if a Yankee admiral coulda got all this done so quick like? Hate to have that grandee Spaniard admiral for a enemy, sir. That’s for certain.”
“Sampson, I do believe I agree with you on that,” replied Wake, laughing, though more than a little shaken at the turn of events.
The next morning’s ebb tide allowed them to coast past the walls and guns of El Morro Fortress. Once past the headland, they caught some of the easterly breeze and heeled over on the starboard tack, bound for Key West. As they cleared the land, Rork said to the sailor at the helm, “Come up three points to windward, Hewlitt. There’s a fathom-deep rocky shoal over there that’ll kick up the seas off that lee headland called Sotaventoo, or somethin’ of that nature. An’ we surely don’t want to be the ones who get it renamed for us, now do we, lad? Ain’t many of them, but them that are hereabouts are bad indeed. Got coral rocks that will cut the guts out of a good ship and crew. Don’t know about ’em till you’ve found one the hard way!”
Rork, you don’t know the half of it, thought Wake as he stood by the starboard running back stay and let his eyes take in the beautiful coastline of Cuba. He now knew that the shoals of Havana appear in many forms, all of which are deadly. Wake turned and looked forward along the deck toward Key West, far over the horizon. Sampson was working on lashing down the anchor when he glanced up and saw his captain looking in his direction. He smiled at Wake and shook his fist at the coastline receding astern. Wake took a deep lungful of clean sea air and nodded back to the crewman who had shared the Cuban dangers with him ashore.
“Steady on, Rork, and mind we steer small in these swells. You may set the watches. We are clear of the shoals at last.”
***
Late in the afternoon the next day, immediately after coming to anchor, Wake found himself in Admiral Barkley’s office explaining the details of what had transpired in Havana. Commander Johnson and the admiral listened intently and did not interrupt the narration of events as the three men sat around a chart table. When he had concluded, Wake sat there waiting for the official reaction to his decisions in Cuba. Admiral Barkley was first.
“Peter Wake, you did very well in a difficult situation. You accomplished your mission of finding out what is what with the Rebels in Havana and then took action to end their operations. I particularly enjoy how you got the Spaniards to take care of our problem and our enemies. Must have been quite a sight to see that Saunders’ face when his supposed allies took him away. Commander Johnson, I like a man who seizes an opportunity! God hates a coward, Mr. Wake, and he helps them that help themselves.”
Commander Johnson allowed himself a rare smile.
“It appears, sir, that Mr. Wake has done well and made the correct decisions. It also appears that this man Saunders will be incapacitated by the Spanish Navy for at least some time, although it would have been more suitable to find out all his connections in this area. I still wonder who is who on this island, sir.”
Wake hoped his heartbeat was not audible as Johnson stated the last. They looked at each other as Barkley went on.
“True, Commander, but Wake did the best with the least. I appreciate your good work, Mr. Wake. It’s good to know I have a man the commander and I can trust to use his head. On this station I may have further use of your talents. Now, turn in your ledgers and reports and get your vessel alongside the dock for reprovisioning. You’ll have priority. I’ll give you two days.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Wake left the spartan, whitewashed room, as different from that of the Spanish admiral’s as it could be, and walked out to the front of the building. As he stood in the sunshine feeling that at last he had accomplished something tangible and had lost none of his men’s blood doing it, Commander Johnson approached him.
“Mr. Wake, you were very lucky in Havana. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Good commanding officers recognize luck and capitalize on it. Still, you were very lucky. There were many ways for that plan of yours to go afoul.”
“Yes, sir” was the only reply Wake could think up, startled as he was by this informal meet with his superior.
“I hope you are as lucky on this island, Wake, and use your head to keep off the shoals around here. There are rumors among the officers that you are in dangerous liaison with some of the island’s more undesirable people. Perception can be taken as reality, Wake. Watch your course.”
And with that Commander Johnson walked away to the docks of the naval station’s boiler shop, leaving Wake standing there and staring after him, with a tightening feeling in his guts.
The feeling of accomplishment was gone. . . .
9
Ghosts of the Martyrs
Christmas was coming soon, although you could not tell from the weather in Key West. It made Wake a bit nostalgic about his New England Christmases when he looked about him and found no resemblance to his memories. He missed the sweet warmth and smell of baking coming from the kitchen of the family’s home after coming in from the cold, crisp air outside. He missed the gatherings of his seafaring family when the menfolk, at least those who were in port at the time, told sea tales to an enthralled group around the fireplace. The women would prepare a sumptuous feast and all would clan together for that special day. Churches would be filled during candlelight services, and the joyous reason for celebrating that day would transcend all other influences.
His memories were called up short, however, when he was summoned again to the admiral’s office. It had been several weeks since he had last seen the admiral and the commander after his return from Cuba. In that time he had been busy doing the mundane work of the small vessels of the squadron, in particular assisting the schooner Chambers, which had replaced the Gem of the Sea at Boca Grande Passage. Patrolling around the islands of those bays had revealed some Rebel activity, but most of the blockade runners seemed to be dormant.
Now, on one of his infrequent returns to Key West, he had suddenly been summoned to appear in front of the admiral with all speed. As he entered the squadron office building he wondered what could bring this haste. He prayed it had nothing to do with Linda or her father. He entered the office after the staff yeoman announced his presence.
Admiral Barkley was in a pleasant mood and smiled when he saw Wake. “Ah, Wake is here. Very good. Mr. Wake, please sit at the chart table. There is something the commander and I want to show you.”
Commander Johnson smiled and gestured to a chair at the table. “Hello, Wake, we have another special assignment for you. Sit down and look at this.”
Wake did as he was bid and looked at a chart of the Florida Keys spread out on the table. Johnson was pointing to an area by the middle of the hundred-mile-long chain of reefs and islets. Wake saw there an island noted as Lignumvitae Key, bounded to the south and east by the Matecumbe Keys. A small island named Indian Key stood beyond the Matecumbe Keys among the treacherous reefs that abounded in that area. Wake noted the curious names, but he’d become accustomed to strangely named places in this part of the world.
Commander Johnson started. “Mr. Wake, we need a small sloop to search this area for the reported remains of a Rebel steamer that went ashore there. We are not certain of the validity of this report but need to have it verified or discounted. The report came in today from a schooner captain who sighted a wrecked steamer with what he thought was a Rebel
flag inshore of what is known among the locals as Alligator Reef.”
Barkley added, “The water there goes from ten fathoms to less than one, in one hundred yards, I am told. The Rebel survivors may be among these islands adjacent. Odd names. Lignumvitae, Matecumbe, . . .”
“Lignumvitae is a type of tree with heavy wood, sir,” Johnson offered. “The locals say the island is covered with it. Matecumbe is some sort of Spaniard name, I should think.”
“Yes, whatever. Well, Wake, I want you to sail there right away and report what you find. Do not try to bring them back. If you find the ship or the crew, return here for help. The chances of rescue by their compatriots are slim and I do not want the Rebels overpowering your small crew and getting themselves a gunboat sloop.”
Wake replied, “Aye aye, sir.”
“Normally I would send a steamer with a crew large enough to handle any contingencies, but that I do not have at this moment. Speed in containing this situation, if they are Rebels, is essential. I’ll not have a bunch of damned piratical Rebels operating from islands right around the corner from this station.” Barkley fairly spat out this statement with his anger.
Johnson continued. “I believe that you understand the consequences, Mr. Wake. Go this afternoon. The wind should serve, and you could arrive by first light in the morn. Remember, observe and report back.”
Wake acknowledged his orders and stood to leave. On his way out of the room he turned as the admiral spoke one last time to him. “Oh, and Wake, mind you, don’t end up shipwrecked next to the Rebels. That would not do well at all.”
Another acknowledgment and he was on his way. Johnson had said nothing else, and Wake had not detected any further suspicions on the commander’s part. As he walked past the sentry and down the shoreline to the officers’ landing, Wake wondered for the hundredth time if he was just imagining Johnson’s hostility enlarged by his sense of guilt over Linda and her father.
Wake had been exceptionally careful in seeing Linda since his last meeting with Commander Johnson. He had seen her only twice and had watched his path both times for sign of a witness who could betray his affair. Linda told him that she thought he was imagining things, but she had no idea what kind of man Commander Johnson was and the power that he held over Wake and Linda. At any rate, she had agreed to be more careful in their rendezvous. Each one lasted only an hour or two, always ending far too quickly. He felt sure that Johnson could have no more recent information on his relationship with Linda since he’d been too careful for that.
Rork was on the foredeck with Holmes, showing him how to splice, when Wake returned to the sloop. Wake related their orders to Rork, and the bosun called the crew on deck and had the sloop under way in five minutes. The wind, southwesterly and wet, foretold a storm coming in a day or two out of the northwest. But for now it would serve, and the Rosalie set off down the main ship channel to the south toward the Atlantic side of the chain of islands.
After close-hauling down the channel and passing the outer reefs of Key West, the sloop eased her sheets and bore off to the east on a broad reach that fairly flew them through the seas. Even with only a reefed mainsail and jib showing, Rosalie was making such good speed that Wake knew they would sail the seventy miles and get there before sunrise, necessitating a beat back and forth until dawn could show them the deadly reefs. Finally, against his wishes, for no sailor wants to slow his ship when she is performing so well, Wake ordered Rork to furl the mainsail and run under the jib alone.
The night was spent rolling her gunwales under, for the wind veered to the west as anticipated. With only the jib drawing she had slowed and rolled with the wind and seas astern. Even with the centerboard down she rolled. The newer hands aboard were unaccustomed to this motion and it took its toll among them. The smell and noise in the gyrating lower deck combined to influence even the most senior veteran’s internal constitution. Everyone slept on deck after lashing himself to some secure location. Durlon, of course, lashed himself to his beloved gun, while Wake chose the quarter cleats at the stern. It was a long and miserable night.
At sunrise they were off an island, which the log run indicated should be Long Key. The islands they were looking for were soon seen coming low over the horizon on the port bow.
All hands were called to look out for the reefs, smoke ashore, or a shipwreck. They were still in deep water by the cast of the lead, but Wake knew that sooner or later he would have to enter through the barrier reefs and sail along the channel known to be inside the reefs.
According to the simple details of the islands noted on his chart, he should go northeast until Lower Matecumbe Key lined up with the shore of Lignumvitae. With the wind now blowing, and a northwester coming very soon, that anchorage under the lee of Matecumbe would be the best location to anchor if wind should increase to storm strength.
Just as the wind veered further and went to the northwest, the lookout clinging aloft in the crosstrees called out that he saw something in the water by the small island, presumably Indian Key, on the port bow. It was something dark and obviously not part of the island. As they got closer it started to take the elongated shape of a vessel. Slowly, a broken-off mast and a shortened smoke stack became identifiable against the dark green of the island’s jungle. A ragged cloth was on the mast about halfway up. Wake found himself staring at the shipwreck, not paying attention to his seamanship, and suddenly realized that he was now amongst the reefs that had claimed the steamer lying there ahead.
“Come up and steer for the middle of Lower Matecumbe Island, Rork. About due north, I should think.”
As Rork passed along the order to Seaman Nelson on the helm, Hewlitt and Schmidt, the new boy seaman, hauled down the sheet as the sloop went from a reach to close-hauled on the port tack. She was now smashing through the seas and heeling over till her gunwales were sloshing green water. The crew, all holding onto a spar or rigging, were staring at the shipwreck and the surrounding islands searching for some sign of survivors. It was then that Durlon, holding onto the gun, turned aft to say something to Wake and stopped before he could say a word. He just stared over the port quarter and raised his hand, pointing in that direction. His eyes opened to the size of half dollars and a creak came out of his mouth.
“Oh Lordy, Captain. Look at that!”
Rork and Wake turned around together and saw something that was almost unreal. To the northwest was a solid black wall of clouds that stretched over the entire horizon. The clouds in the front edge of the wall were churning and boiling, with the water ahead of the wall whipped into a frothy frenzy of dark gray. It was as if the cloud wall had evil intent. It was breathing and moving like a giant monster that had found a minuscule prey and was about to devour it. Wake and the bosun, and all the rest of the crew, stood swaying with the motion of the ship, staring at the beast coming for them. Only Nelson on the helm looked ahead, with occasional horrified glances over his left shoulder.
Wake looked at the island on the port bow and the lee it would offer. It was about three miles ahead. The storm front looked to be about eight miles distant, closing very rapidly. Wake couldn’t believe how fast it had appeared and how close it had gotten without anyone seeing it. He had never seen anything like it in all his years at sea.
“Rork, all hands secure the ship aloft and alow for the storm. Make ready the anchor to let go at a moment’s notice. Send a man to the shrouds with the shallow lead line. I want to know what the bottom is at all times now.”
Rork was in his element now. Every inch the bosun, he took over the crew and got them moving in response to the captain’s commands. The deck now heeled over even further as the first gusts of heavier wind started to reach out to the Rosalie. Solid water was now coming knee high aboard the lee deck, and the crew were struggling to keep their footing.
Wake glanced over at the steamer wreck, n
ow obscured by a blurring mist from the seas breaking over its hull. The wreck appeared to have settled down onto the bottom in the shallow water by Indian Key, listing over severely, the deck houses smashed, and the spars and stack about to fall. He could see no sign of life on the wreck and could spare no further time to check, for the storm was gaining even more rapidly on them than he had previously calculated.
The wind made the rigging shriek in an insane chorus. The shrouds had the bass while the running rigging of the halliards and topping lifts added a crazy fluctuating tenor. Hearing became impossible, forcing the crew to communicate solely by gesture.
All hands knew that this was a very serious and deadly peril they were facing, and even the stalwart Rork’s face contorted in severe concentration as he manhandled the anchor from its deck lashings for letting go quickly in an emergency. Rork looked aft at Wake and said with his face that all was done that could be done and that the Rosey was as ready as she could be for what would soon descend on them.
“Three fathoms!” called out Seaman White, half under water by the shrouds on the lee side.
Rosalie, who had been through so much in the last year, was straining herself in an effort to stay upright and moving. When Wake turned, he saw the boy Schmidt, a look of abject terror in his eyes, crawling along the deck toward him screaming something. When he reached the captain, he yelled into Wake’s ear.
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 23