At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series)

by Robert N. Macomber

  These impressions and conjectures swirled about in his head as he walked into the squadron’s offices on a hot, windy April afternoon in Key West. The rainy season was still months off, and the trade winds were sailing across the island unfettered in their passage from Cuba. The young officer waited respectfully, but with obvious tension, in the outer lobby as the staff clerk informed the chief yeoman that Master Peter Wake had arrived for his meeting with the admiral.

  It had been two months since Wake had returned from the mission to the Bahama Islands. In that time he and the Rosalie had been assigned support duty to various vessels along the coast. It was a dull routine of supply and dispatch compared to missions where they had been independent with responsibility for important results. But he had to admit it was better than the duty endured by those poor souls who just sat on their ships on the blockade and seldom got to leave at all. At least Rosalie was able to get under way and move about, with an occasional return to Key West.

  When he first returned from the Bahamas, Wake had immediately reported to the admiral and Captain Johnson. It had not been pleasant to make that report, but Wake had been surprised at their reaction. Instead of rage, they had expressed admiration for the way he had gathered the intelligence and then eluded the Royal Navy gunboat challenging him to heave to. They understood his frustration at Saunders’ apparently being at large and in operation again. Even Captain Johnson, not someone Wake considered sympathetic to his situation or future, had been restrained. In the end, the admiral, who was looking very sickly at that briefing, had told Wake that it was a difficult job done well and sent him back to routine coastal duty.

  And now they had suddenly summoned him to the offices upon his return from Sanibel Island. The chief yeoman of the squadron, a man even the officers treated with deference, ushered Wake into the outer office of the admiral, where the personal yeoman of the admiral announced his arrival.

  Wake was shocked when he entered. Admiral Barkley, a robust man a year ago, looked like death itself. He had become emaciated in the last two months, his color was almost transparent, and his demeanor was of a very old and frail man. The uniform hung in drapes from his frame and did nothing to conceal the sad fact that this man whom Wake respected was dying. The admiral tried to speak but produced instead a gut-wrenching cough. Captain Johnson spoke while the admiral tried to regain his composure.

  “Mr. Wake, it is good to see you, sir. The admiral has asked you here to advise you of a new assignment. And also of the results of your examination.”

  Wake saw the smile form on Johnson’s face and knew that his examination for lieutenant, completed in front of the review board the previous month, had been successful. At the time he had felt somewhat at ease with how it had gone, but one could never be sure on those things. He knew that he had fulfilled the necessary duties and sea experience. He was confident that he had written his examination essays as well as any other candidate. The steamship maneuvering category had given him pause since he had no practical experience in that, but he had used common sense in his reply and had received signs of affirmation from the interview board in return. He knew that he had a problem with his reputation among some officers in Key West, but had taken heart when he had found the board composed of captains from several vessels that had just reported in to the squadron from up north with no previous connection here. It was almost more than he could do to wait for the admiral to try to speak again. Finally he spoke, his voice barely audible.

  “Peter Wake, you have justified my confidence in you. I am proud to announce the Navy Department’s confirmation of your promotion to the commissioned rank of volunteer lieutenant. You have earned it.”

  Admiral Barkley held out a thin hand, and Wake shook it gently, looking into the admiral’s fading eyes and remembering his father far away in New England.

  “I don’t know quite what to say, sir, except thank you. It has been a true honor to serve under you. I have learned so much about so many things.”

  Wake felt moisture come to his eyes and an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He stopped speaking even though there was so much more he wanted to say. Once again Captain Johnson broke the lull.

  “Wake, you did earn it, I will say that. I have not approved of some of your behavior and associations, but I know that you are a good seaman and commander. Congratulations.”

  The admiral was still staring at now-Lieutenant Wake. He seemed about to say something, and both of the other officers waited for him.

  “I am dying, Lieutenant. They say I have the consumption. That the yellow jack I had last summer weakened me to the point that this damned thing will kill me. Imagine that! I will die like a sick dog on this godforsaken island!”

  Wake did not know what to say. Johnson looked at his commander with tenderness but said nothing. Barkley went on.

  “I know that I am an old sea dog. Fought for this nation in three wars and so many other damned places along the way I have forgotten half of ’em. Just always wished I could die on a deck, not in some sickroom. If it had to be this way, then I should have gone with Essie those years ago in Charleston when she passed on. But I am not here to speak of me, Wake. I want to speak of you. Of our navy. Of your future.”

  “Yes, sir” was the only thing for Wake to say.

  “This war will be over, probably by the turn of the year, or at the latest next spring. It seems to drag, but the Rebels are losing their strength steadily now. The army fools in Virginia will probably bungle it for a while longer, but time is against the Rebels now, and the Union will win for sure. Afterward, things will change. The navy will be dismembered as the politicians and pundits take over from the admirals and captains. The navy, the one we fight in and for, will be a tenth of her size. Officers will beg for berths aboard anything that will float. The volunteer officers will be trying to get regular commissions, but just a few will succeed. Only those with respect among the fleet or influence in Washington will get those positions.

  “You will have both, young Lieutenant Peter Wake, because you have earned the former, and I am giving you the latter. It is something I need to do for my navy before I go.”

  Wake found Johnson looking him in the eyes as Barkley gasped out more words in a gravelled voice.

  “And so I want to know, Wake, and know right now! Do you intend to stand up and be a real naval officer? Not just for the duration of this conflict, but for the navy after this war? Do you have what it takes to be a commander when the times get lean? Will you stand by this navy and make it better over the years? Think well your answer, young man, for it will contain your future.”

  “Ah, . . . sir, I was thinking of staying in the navy for a career. I was thinking of that very thing today, sir.”

  “And what do you say? Aye or nay?”

  A silence filled the room as the old man looked up into Wake’s eyes. Emotions overshadowed the conversation, and Wake knew exactly why the admiral had asked the question. It was a question of life: afloat or ashore, naval or merchant, with meaning or with mere existence. His answer was the only one he had seriously considered in the last several months, a very different one from what he would have answered a year ago.

  “I have become a navy man, Admiral. Never thought that I would, but I have lived a lot in this last year. This navy is my home, which is more than a merchant sailor can say. If the navy will have me, I will stay as long as they want me, sir.”

  The old man lit up with positive glee. Johnson smiled as the admiral proclaimed, “See, Johnson. I knew he had it in his heart! Damn it if I didn’t know that!”

  “Admiral, that you did, sir. Young Wake here answered as you thought he would.”

  “Wake, Johnson here will give you your orders. You’re getting a schooner. You may take two petty officers and two seamen with you from Rosalie. Make me proud, son. Now g
o before I drop in front of you. . . .” Barkley was again seized with coughing. He fell into a chair, clutching his chest. Captain Johnson motioned for Wake to leave the office and called for the clerk to come and minister to his dying chief. Johnson met Wake outside a moment later.

  “I know that was difficult, Lieutenant Wake. He feels that you have adjusted to naval life and would make a good career officer for the navy. He feels it would be the best for you and for the service.”

  “Captain, I had thought it over prior to this and made my decision. I meant what I said to the admiral.”

  “And he meant what he said to you. You may have friends you don’t even know about, Lieutenant. The admiral doesn’t have long, I fear. He asked for a sick leave, but they haven’t sent a replacement, so he stays on at his post. The man will probably die here.” Johnson then handed Wake the familiar envelope with the blue trim that contained orders for ship commanders. “Your orders are in here. You’re getting the two-gun schooner, St. James. She is lying at anchor off the repair docks here. Brought in a week ago, captured off Pensacola and adjudicated to us yesterday. You will take command immediately. Get her armed and manned and ready for sea. The orders for the yard are in there as well. You will have priority over the other small craft. Your station will be the Florida Keys, and also down to the Cuba coast when ordered.”

  Captain Johnson then handed Wake another envelope, much fancier than the first, with the seal of the Secretary of the Navy on the flap.

  “This is your commission as a volunteer lieutenant from Washington. Good luck, Lieutenant. . . . And, Lieutenant Wake, though I am glad for your promotion, I am still concerned about your associations. Stand clear of those shoals, for you now carry the weight of Cantwell Barkley’s blessing. Don’t disrespect that man’s honor. . . . Carry yourself accordingly for the good of the service.”

  The captain shook his hand with unexpected sincerity, turned, and went back into the office where the admiral was still gasping and swearing. The door closed and Wake was left alone feeling stunned and bittersweet.

  After he left the building, he was inexorably drawn through the familiar streets toward the back alley he knew so well. Against the will of Captain Johnson and “the good of the service,” but by an inexplicable will of his soul, he moved toward the one constant factor in his life that was soft and caring.

  Treading among the hibiscus bushes by the cooking shed behind the main house, he looked for Linda, finally catching a glimpse of her in a window by the parlor. Not knowing who was in the house with her, he waited for a few minutes in the bushes, hoping she would come within hearing so that he could call out to her. He knew this was unseemly for a grown man, and a lieutenant especially. He vowed that they would make the decision to bring their relationship into the open.

  Linda made her way onto the back portion of the verandah that circled the house and then walked across the growing shadows of the afternoon in the small backyard toward the kitchen. She stopped abruptly when Wake called out softly to her. He pulled her into the bushes and held her closely, willing himself to breathe in as much of her scent as possible as he stroked the softness of her beautiful auburn hair. But as he held her, in the same way he had so many times before, he felt a difference in her behavior.

  Linda kissed him on the cheek and disengaged from his arms.

  “Peter, . . . so you’re obviously back in port. I was wondering when you’d come again. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

  “Linda darling, it’s not that I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t come to you. You know they don’t give me much time in port.”

  “Yes, I know that, Peter. And I think I know why now. They all know about us and hate the thought of you and me together. They are trying to save you from me. I know that now. Peter, no one on this island thinks that a love can survive between a Yankee sailor and the daughter of a Rebel. I hear the twitters of the ‘ladies’ at the market when I walk in. They are so smug they don’t even care if I hear them make their little comments about me. My uncle hasn’t confronted me yet, but I know he soon will. The navy thinks it’s bad for you, and the islanders think it’s bad for me. I don’t know what to do. Peter, I have an awful feeling in my heart about this. About us.”

  “Look, it has been difficult, and it will be difficult. But this war won’t last forever. At the end the country will have to mend and heal these attitudes. Even here. Linda, even the Rebel sympathizers in Key West appreciated it when Colonel Good of the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania rescinded that ridiculous order to send away families with men in the Confederate armies. There are some decent men and women here. We have to hold on till this thing is over.”

  “Peter, yes, of course we were glad not to have to suddenly leave on a ship and be sent to the swamps of Carolina to fend for ourselves. But when does the next order come from the authorities? And will there be a decent man like Colonel Good here to stop it? You just don’t know what it is like here. You come and go. You are busy on your ship and have other things on your mind. For me, this place is a prison, and I have to survive among the other people here. It is horrible. You just don’t know.”

  Wake felt unarmed against this argument. He didn’t know what to say or do. He tried to hold her once more, but she moved away and looked up at his eyes without saying anything. He tried a change of topic.

  “Dear, I do have some good news. I have been commissioned a lieutenant! Admiral Barkley told me personally just an hour ago. I will get a new command. A schooner, like I used to sail up north.” As soon as he said it, he realized it was a feeble attempt to brighten her mood. He sensed that something was happening that he could not stop.

  “That is wonderful for you, Peter. I am glad for you. But it doesn’t change our situation, does it?”

  Wake took in the change in her voice. It had become neutral and without emotion. They stood staring at each other, their eyes communicating. Her lovely green eyes showed determination, though her chin quivered slightly. He couldn’t believe it. Was he losing her because of this damned island and its strange people? And this damned war?

  “I don’t know what you mean, Linda. Say it plain.”

  “I can’t take it any longer, Peter. I can’t play the role any longer. I am tired. I am so tired of it all, and I can’t carry on waiting for those few surprise moments when you can get some little time to steal away and see me.

  “And it isn’t good for you either, Peter. ‘Consorting with the enemy’ is what they call it. Admiral Barkley is a good man and has done what he could for you, but when he dies you will have no defender. The other officers think of the Southern girls here as playthings and look upon you as a fool to fall in love with one of us. You know that because you have heard them say as much among themselves in the taverns. I’ve heard these things too.”

  “What do you want, Linda?”

  “I want us to have a normal life together, openly. That is what I want, but that is not what I can have. I need to go back inside now. Uncle will be wondering. Peter, when you can come in the front door for me, come back. Until then, my heart can’t take the ache of living this way. Goodbye, Peter. I will always love you, even though I know now I can’t have you. . . .”

  With that final statement she walked into the kitchen, picked up a pot off the fire and returned to the house without looking back. Wake stood there, eyes misting over until he couldn’t see anything. He stood for several more minutes, a naval officer first reduced to seeing his lover in secret and now crying uncontrollably, in uniform, because she had had the courage to face the fact, and tell him, that their love was doomed from the start. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move. Wake slowly sat down with his head in his hands, trying to regain his composure and think, but he couldn’t make sense of this.

  The sound of the provost patrol from Fort Taylor finall
y shook him out of his melancholia. He heard the soldiers as they turned the corner and marched down Whitehead Street, the crunch of their boots in unison making a rhythmic statement about the reality of life in Key West, an example of what Linda had tried to explain to him. These troops had come from Pennsylvania and New York to prevent the island from aiding the Confederates on the mainland. For the people of the island, the troops were foreigners. He was a foreigner, part of an occupying power on this island. Linda was right, of course. He was one of the wardens, and she was one of the prisoners.

  With a sigh Wake stood and brushed himself off. He made his way out of the alleyway and back to Duval Street. Walking down to the harbor, he watched as sailors on liberty walked out of some of the “authorized” tap rooms on the side streets, arms wrapped around the girls of the establishments. No false pretenses there. It made him feel worse, and he hurried back to the waterfront.

  When he reached the Rosalie, by way of the harbor boat, he went immediately down into his cabin and stretched out on his crude bunk. An hour later he took off his uniform and sat there looking at his insignia. Tomorrow he would have to get new insignia from the chandlery where officers’ uniforms could be bought.

  Opening the envelope from Washington, he looked at the commission. The much-sought-after document meant he had a decent chance for a professional home for the rest of his life with at least half-pay security. He felt no emotion as he stared at the paper, however. It wasn’t as important now.