At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  “Yes, sir, I believe I do. When, sir?”

  “As soon as you are provisioned and ready, Mr. Wake. Put some cargo on deck to disguise your twelve-pounder gun and let your crew wear some clothes from the slop chest for this voyage.”

  Johnson added, “Wake, if you are chased by a British naval vessel, dump the deck gun overboard and continue the façade of being a cargo lugger just sailing through the islands from the Florida Keys. Do not advise them of your true identity. They will let you go; don’t worry.”

  Wake did not believe that the powerful Royal Navy would let a suspicious vessel go, but held his tongue.

  “Now, you will receive your written orders from the yeoman clerk in the outer office. Get that information on these blockade runners, Wake. We need it to stop the munitions from getting to the Rebel armies. We also need it to shut those British government bastards up with solid evidence of their cooperation with the Rebels to use the Bahamas as a trans-shipment point and base of operations. Any questions?”

  “Ah, . . . well, no, sir.”

  “All right. Wake, this will be a very important assignment that has not been decided upon lightly.” Admiral Barkley was looking very serious as he spoke. “It is being given to you because of my trust in your professional judgment. Do this well, son. We might be able to end this war sooner if we can reduce their supplies from coming in. You may go now.”

  Wake stood and said his formal respects and goodbyes. They wished him luck, never taking their eyes off his eyes. He felt devoid of strength as he emerged from the building and walked over to the waterfront. This was going to be very difficult.

  Upon returning to the Rosalie he invited Rork into his cabin and told him they were going on another mission to gather information for the admiral, without telling him the destination. Rork did not look pleased but replied, “Aye aye, sir” when told to disguise the deck gun and crew. Wake advised him that he wanted the sloop under way the morning after next, fully provisioned for a month. If anyone at the commissary or the supply shops was not completely cooperative, then Rork was to let Wake know his name. Wake’s demeanor told Rork that his captain was nervous about this coming cruise and that everything had better be done correctly and quickly.

  On the appointed morning, before sunrise, Wake brought Rork and Durlon into his cabin and told them the details of the destination and the mission. They reacted by asking questions and making suggestions on how to conduct the cruise to increase their chances of success. Wake was very proud of the way they took on this new assignment: no complaints or recriminations against the admiral, just a professional assessment of how to do it well.

  Two hours later they were sailing in the deep water outside the fringing reefs of the Florida Keys, close-hauled on a starboard tack with the trade wind out of the southeast. The Rosalie was enjoying the moment as she bounded along in the deep blue water, heeled over by the press of the full mainsail and jib. It was definitely a wonderful day to start a cruise to a foreign destination, with a few puffy clouds in a powder-blue sky. Wake allowed himself a little smugness, thinking how in New England right now they were hiding in their houses from the bitter weather. Perhaps he didn’t miss the north as much as he thought, certainly not on a January day like this.

  Three mornings later they were broad reaching in light winds under the same canvas somewhere off the island of Grand Bahama. The lookout spotted it on the port bow about noon. All hands crowded onto the foredeck to see the low-lying island come over the horizon. In the past day they had seen various vessels sailing or steaming in the Straits of Florida, but none of them had been British warships. Most were trading schooners, and one time they had seen a United States naval steamer in the distance.

  Wake chose to round the island’s western end by a wide berth. He did not want to call attention to Rosalie by sailing close in to the shore, even though it would have decreased the distance sailed. He needed to get around the end of Grand Bahama Island, come easterly and sail close-hauled along the fringe of islands that line the northern edge of the Little Bahama Bank. As he would get more easting, they would sail along the islands offshore of Great Abaco Island. Among those islands, where Great Abaco turns from a southeast trend to one to the due south, they would find the place called Man-O-War Cay. They would stay offshore until reaching that island, then turn into the shallows and reefs and make their way into the maze of small islands. Wake estimated two more days to arrive at their destination.

  Since neither he nor any of his crew had ever been in these waters, they would proceed with caution. The last thing he needed was to wreck his ship. The reefs would be as dangerous as the Confederate blockade runners. His orders stressed the need for secrecy and discretion. Admiral Barkley himself had added an addendum to his orders advising Wake to actually trade some of the goods loaded onto his deck to complete his disguise, and to allow only the petty officers ashore to “guard against accidental discovery from rum-loosened lips.”

  In spite of the extremely tense feeling in his stomach and mind, Wake had to smile at the admiral adding that proscription. He was, of course, exactly correct. He knew that the ways of the navy, and its sailors, had not changed much since he was a young officer. Wake chuckled aloud. Rork looked over at his commander with concern since they were entering waters filled with dangerous reefs and enemy sympathizers, and attention to detail was needed. As he turned back to overseeing the men replacing the chafing baggywrinkle on the shrouds aloft, Rork guessed that his captain was probably thinking about that young lady of his in Key West.

  On the fifth day out of Key West they tacked inshore at Man-O-War Cay. Sail had been reduced as they were now close-hauled on the other tack, the wind holding steady in the southeast. The Rosalie passed the large rock off the eastern end of the island, through water even clearer than that of the Florida Keys. As they approached the island, the crew saw a dozen native sloops in the three-mile-wide bay between the outer fringe islands and the large island of Abaco. One was entering the harbor at Man-O-War Cay, and Wake decided to follow her in. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought as he listened to the leadsman call out the depths. A fathom and more took them into the harbor, where there were no large vessels of either steam or sail, only small native sloops and a schooner of the same size as the Rosalie. Rork gave Wake an inquiring glance.

  “Rork, we shall anchor here and I will go ashore to ascertain any intelligence of the Rebel ships or their sympathizers. Stay aboard and alert. Tell any bumboat that comes along that we are only here for a while and will be leaving soon. And remember to keep the crew below decks. Only you and Durlon will be seen. This is a trading sloop and not a naval vessel. No need for all those men, right?”

  “Aye, right ye are, sir. Jest a simple lot o’ traders we are, back in the midst of the damned English occupiers of my beloved Eire.”

  “Try not to start anything unpleasant in my absence with these ‘damned English,’ Rork,” Wake said as he prepared to row himself off in the dinghy to a crude jetty close by.

  When ashore, Wake went to see the local commissioner of the island, who functioned as the government representative and therefore was the customs official also. Wake was nervous about his mission and wondered several times if Admiral Barkley had authorized it alone, or if Secretary of the Navy Wells in Washington had approved of it. He also wondered what it was exactly that had made their informant “precipitously” leave the area. Many scenarios crossed his mind on that subject—all of them very unpleasant. The young officer was acutely aware of how the British would view the mission of the Rosalie if they ever found out the truth. He was directed to walk up the hill to the house of the commissioner by a quiet man in a boat building shed who regarded Wake with undisguised curiosity.

  The limestone and shell walls of the commissioner’s home were washed with a faded pink pigment from seashells, which ad
ded a gay atmosphere, especially when combined with the beautiful flowers that abounded in the yard. The house itself, set upon a hill overlooking the small harbor, was not substantial in size or elegance, but had enough added details of construction and personal touch to make it the home of the leader of the islanders.

  Wake stepped up onto the verandah and spoke loudly to announce himself. “Hello! Commissioner Williams! Anyone home?”

  “No need to yell too loud, young man. I am right here in my home,” came the reply from the middle-aged man who showed at the main doorway. He was short and slightly built, with fading reddish hair and a face that was made almost blood red by either the broiling sun or strong drink. He stood looking at Wake without offering his hand and continued, “Commissioner Albert Williams of Her Majesty’s Government of the Colony of the Bahamas, West Indies Station, Man-O-War Cay. Now, I know that you are from the United States by your accent, probably from a New England state, but that is all I know. Would you please introduce yourself and state how the commissioner of this small island can be of assistance to you?”

  “Sir, I am Peter Wake, the captain of the trading sloop just come to anchor in your harbor. I have my manifest and bill of lading and am here to complete my entry into the colony. I am four days outbound from St. Augustine.”

  “I see. And what brings you to this island?”

  “I’ve heard there is trade to be found among these islands. I have not been among them before and am looking for new places. I have some cotton by the bale, molasses, turpentine, cloth goods, and some sundry items. If anyone here needs a cargo to be run into Florida, or a pilot to run a vessel to Florida, I can furnish that also.”

  The commissioner was watching him very carefully. Wake was hoping his story was holding water with this man, who had control over the islands in this immediate area. After a moment the commissioner replied.

  “Mr. Wake, your accent does not support your proposition. A Yankee who wants to run the blockade? Please explain that, if you would.”

  “I am born and bred a Yankee sailor. But I’ll be damned if I’ll die to keep the South in the country against their will. If they want to go, I say let them go. I think this war is trumped up by the New York merchants, Commissioner, and I will not be a party to it. I am a sailor and a trader and want to stay free. I guess some would say I am absconding from the conscription. I say I am a free man of the sea and want to practice my trade. I know the coast of Florida and can take cargo there if I can find some to be taken. That is all there is to it, sir.”

  “A free man of the sea? Well, even a free man of the sea must pay the Queen’s shilling in these waters, Peter Wake. You have your papers? I will inspect them and sign them. You will have one month here in the Abaco Islands to trade. Should you not pay the Queen’s excise upon the trade you have completed prior to departure, you will be gaoled in Nassau. And that, Peter Wake, will not be pleasant, I assure you.

  “Now let me see your papers of pratique, lading, crew, et cetera, and get this business completed. You just might find some transactions to your satisfaction here in these islands. Also, we have very strict laws here. Her Majesty,” Williams said this with exaggerated importance, “wishes that you follow them, and the instructions of her officers, both civil and naval. Keep your men and yourself in good behavior, Mr. Wake.”

  “Thank you, Commissioner. I will be sailing throughout the Abacos and probably won’t stay an entire month. I want to leave if I can’t get any trade to Florida. If you would be so kind, sir, let anyone know who is interested to contract with me that he can communicate with the Rosalie whilst I am here.”

  As the commissioner was signing the papers, Wake continued on his rhetoric with an inquiry.

  “By the way, Commissioner Williams, will I have to worry about United States Navy ships molesting me in your waters? I have heard they intrude here.”

  “Not anymore. The governor in Nassau put an end to that. They were getting damned arrogant and inspecting ships in British waters! No, they will not molest you or anyone else here. It would appear that you have already met them, or at least someone unpleasant, by that scar on your head. A bullet or a blade, sir?”

  Wake’s hand came unconsciously up to the side of his head where the scar still traced the wound from the battle that night on the river. His fingers ran along the line by his ear as he replied to the observant commissioner. “Aye, sir. Riggin’ knife on the mess deck of the warship Vandalia, Commissioner. Had my fill o’ the navy after a month, and that was three years ago. Decided I didn’t like their ways, especially the ways of a certain toady officers’ steward who had a bosun as a protector. Bastard of a bosun, was a brute all right. Knew I had to leave when he didn’t quite kill me and we were both on the same ship. Woulda killed me certain, but I made my freedom. Took French leave and went back sailing as a free seaman.”

  “I see, Captain Wake. So you definitely have no reason to love the American Navy. Should I hear of any cargo needing a run to Florida, I will remember you. Good luck, sir.”

  As Wake descended the hill on his way back to the island’s quiet waterfront, he breathed deeply and tried to look as unconcerned as possible. He had made up the Vandalia story on the spot and did not know if the commissioner believed him. He figured it would soon be obvious either way. By a storefront along the docks, he said hello to a severe-looking woman who openly stared at him. Wake noticed that these islanders were very quiet and almost fearful of strangers. He had uncomfortable thoughts as he came back aboard the sloop minutes later and spoke to Rork.

  “We will stay here until tomorrow morn and then sail for Nassau. Trade some small stuff with the bumboats. But no rum. Not a drop! Fruits, yes, get us some fruit. How are the men below, Rork?”

  “Hot, sir, but the wind sail is funneling some air below, and the awnings help.”

  “Good. I want to get out of here as soon as I can for their health, but we must get the information we came for.”

  Rork looked at his captain with curious but respectful eyes and said nothing but nodded his acknowledgment. An hour later he came below to Wake’s cabin and told him of a trade he had made for bananas that had included some useful information in addition.

  “Captain, the man who sold the bananas asked if we were the new American pilot coming to the island from Nassau. Said they had heard a pilot was coming to steer the runners through. When I said that we didn’t come from Nassau, but that we could take a cargo to Florida, he shut up like a clam. Handed over the fruit and rowed off for the little dock down the way as fast as you please.”

  “Coming from Nassau, eh? So they have an American pilot coming here? To meet blockade runners. But this harbor isn’t deep enough. Ocean ships can’t get through the reef. Anything over a fathom in draft would have a hard time in these waters.”

  Durlon came up to the captain and bosun standing by the mast and contributed to the conversation.

  “May be just an old gunner, sir, but I was thinkin’ that maybe they meets them offshore of the island. No need to come inshore, just sail out by island boat and go off from there to the Southern coast.”

  Wake pondered that while the petty officers looked at him. He turned toward Durlon.

  “You may be a gunner, but, by God, I do think you have a point. This is no seaport. Nothing here for a runner except knowledge. Knowledge of a pilot. If this bumboatman was right, and they are expecting a pilot to come here and rendezvous soon with a runner, we may be in some sort of luck. Keep your eyes open.”

  “Aye, sir. This old muzzle-lover may just be right, though ’twill be a rare thing!” offered Rork as he punched Durlon’s arm and smiled the wide Irish grin that made him a favorite among the Key West barmaids.

  As Durlon turned to go aft, he punched Rork back. “Ya Irish rogue! Ya love me plenty when the shootin’s goin’ on!”<
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  The rest of the day passed slowly as the small boat work of the island went on around them. No other boats came alongside. The three men waited under the awning doing the usual chores required every day aboard every vessel, large or small.

  In the late afternoon they heard a commotion by the government dock. A large schooner with the peculiar long-boomed rig of the Bahamas sailed into the anchorage and glided up to the dock. Commissioner Williams and a few other islanders met the sloop as she made fast to the dock. Wake could see Williams go aboard quickly and converse with several men at the stern, then lead them ashore and up the hill to his house. Meanwhile, the islanders had set about unloading the cargo heaped on her decks. Wake turned to Rork.

  “Rork, I want you and Durlon to keep watch on the hill where the commissioner’s house is located. If you see any of those men come down the hill, let me know immediately. I believe that our Rebel pilot may be among them.”

  Rork acknowledged and went back to his business, glancing frequently over at the hill above the waterfront. In the dusk of the late afternoon he woke his captain up from a nap, informing him that the men from the schooner were back aboard and that Williams came back with them. Wake nodded and said to keep watch for anything unusual.