“Never mind,” Jack said. “I’ve said my piece, Mother.”
“Noted.” Marina handed him a key. “I’ll be up as soon as I can pick up a man.”
Clementine looked at Jack, expecting an explosion.
“She’s only tormenting me,” Jack said. He got up and stood behind Clementine’s chair to pull it out for her.
“Good night sweet prince,” Marina said. “And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
“I don’t understand you people,” Clementine complained as she got to her feet. “Hell. I don’t even understand what y’all are talkin’ about, half the time.”
Jack looked into the lobby and saw Robert who was hanging his foul-weather jacket on the coat tree. He raised his hand and waved.
Robert saw him, waved back and then gave his mother a puzzled look.
“You explain the arrangements to him,” Marina said to Jack. “I’m weary of the subject.”
Jack nodded and waited for Robert to join them. “Mother came down here with Josiah but he’s gone off to chase our dear brother. In the meantime, mother has booked us into suites.”
“Capital,” Robert said. “Because we’re going to be here through Christmas.”
“What?” Jack asked. “Here? In Galveston?”
Robert nodded. “New orders. We’re to establish a post here and raise a battalion. You’re the C.O. and I’m your X.O. Funds will be wired to the local bank in the next day or so. Uniforms, weapons and equipment will be shipped to us on the next available steamer.”
“What’s the purpose of this new battalion?”
“To defend the port of Galveston, of course.”
“From what?” The expression on Jack’s face was pure bewilderment.
Robert shrugged. “Anything that threatens it, I suppose. The orders came from the Secretary of the Army. Perhaps there’s concern about secession.”
“Or pirates,” Jack said hopefully.
“I thought I was gonna get to see California,” Clementine complained. “Then it was New Orleans. Now here I am, back on the stinkin’ Gulf of Mexico, right where I started from.”
Marina smiled at Clementine. “Welcome to the life of an Army wife.” She waved at the passing waiter.
“Another cocktail, madam?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Marina said. “Gin. Make this one a double, please.”
~
Clementine spun in a circle. “I never in my whole life thought I’d ever see a place so grand as this one.” She threw open the doors to the master bedroom. “Lord love a duck. Ten people could sleep in that bed.”
Jack chuckled and crossed the bedroom to open the door to the bathroom. “Take your clothes off.”
“Huh?” She followed him as far as the door and gaped. “Our own private tub?”
“With hot and cold running water.” He turned on the taps and adjusted the flow. “Get naked and let me bathe you.”
“Oh damn right,” she said, turning her back to him. “Un-do me.”
He began working on the buttons and nuzzled her hair. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
She pulled away and turned to face him. “Do you really?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t know how ignorant I am, ‘till lately. I was just wonderin’ how long it was gonna take for you to notice.”
“I’d hardly call you ignorant, Clem. Your grammar’s a little rough and perhaps you’ve never read Shakespeare, but that by no means makes you ignorant.”
“I need you to promise me somethin’, Jack.”
“What?”
“When I say somethin’ that sounds ignorant, tell me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“It won’t make you angry?”
“It might, but I’ll do my best to hide it.”
“Turn around.”
“You ain’t – you haven’t promised.”
“I promise. Turn around and let me finish those buttons before the tub overflows.”
She turned her back to him and held her hair up off her neck. “I really can speak good English. I’ve just lost the habit. I only need a little remindin’.”
“First lesson: stop dropping your Gs.”
“My whats?”
“You said remindin’ instead of reminding.” He slipped the dress off her shoulders, let it fall around her ankles and reached around to cover her breasts with his hands. “I don’t know how to unfasten this contraption.”
She pulled away and began tugging at the laces on her bustier. “I’ll give you lessons some other time. Get your own-self undressed and hurry up about it. I’m about as randy as a two-peckered goat.”
September 24, 1848
Galveston, Texas
The saloon in the Hotel Menard was nearly as lavishly furnished as the dining room. Had it been located anywhere else, Josiah Whipple’s rough and dusty attire would have been completely out of place, but in Texas, it was perfectly appropriate. “Here’s to you, Marina.” Whipple raised his glass.
“And to you, Josiah.” Marina swallowed her drink and signaled for another.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate getting old.”
“What makes you think that goin’ t’ Mexico’s gonna make you any younger?”
“In Mexico I won’t have to tolerate my children or their spouses.”
“I thought you liked Clem,” he said.
“I liked her better before I got to know her. She’s practically illiterate.”
“So am I.”
“I never said that I liked you.” She waved impatiently at the waiter.
Whipple waited until she had her fresh drink before speaking again. “So yer really goin’, all alone?”
“Yes. I’m leaving for Brownsville on the morning stage.”
“Wish I could talk y’ outta it.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“Can’t. William ain’t in Mexico now.”
“You’re here and he’s not. What’s the difference if you’re in Mexico and he’s not?”
“Maybe he’s not here, but he’s close to here.”
“What makes you think so?”
“He shot a man over to Beaumont about a week ago and they said he was ridin’ east when he left.”
“We’re west of Beaumont.”
“I know. That’s how come I’m here and not in Louisiana.” He watched her face until she squirmed. “When did you see him?”
She hesitated another moment, then sighed. “Three days ago.”
“Shit.” Whipple ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Was you ever gonna tell me?”
“Probably. After a couple more of these.” She tossed off the cocktail and signaled the waiter.
“Is he still here?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Marina?”
“Of course I’d lie to you, Josiah. But I’m not lying right now. He’s not here. I saw him to the port.”
He sat back in his chair. “He left by steamer?”
“Yes.”
“For where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Marina,” he said in a warning tone.
“I really don’t,” she insisted. “The steamer’s final destination was St. Louis, but he could have gotten off anywhere or gone on to points beyond.”
“What is it between you and William?”
“What is it?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a monster and I can’t say that I like him – but he’s still my son.”
Whipple took a deep breath. “Would you do somethin’ for me, Marina?”
“If it involves sex, no. Otherwise I might consider it.”
Whipple chuckled. “I’d like it if you would stay here ‘till Christmas when yer boys get their new orders.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?” he asked, rai
sing his voice. “You ain’t got no pressin’ business in Mexico, do ya?”
Marina shrugged. “Okay, Josiah. Don’t get all lathered up. I’ll stay until Christmas, if you do.”
October 8, 1848
Galveston, Texas
Jack, Robert, Clementine and Marina were seated in the living room of Marina’s suite. Jack, who had just read the telegram from the War Department, tossed the ticker paste-up onto the coffee table. “We have, once again, been ordered to San Francisco. It seems that there’s huge migration taking place to search for gold in California. We’re to hold an election of officers here and then leave them to defend the port of Galveston against ‘gold rushers’, whatever they might be, and proceed to California.”
“Why now?” Marina asked. “The gold discovery was months ago.”
“Apparently the news has only recently reached the East Coast,” Jack replied, “and the gold fever is larger and more violent than expected.”
“When are we to report in San Francisco?” Robert asked.
Jack chuckled. “The first of November.”
Robert sighed. “Well, thirteen months gives us several choices of routes. The Santa Fe Trail’s been improved recently and regular steamer service to Panama may start soon. And then there’s always the U.S. Mail Steam Ship route.”
Jack chuckled again. “No, Robert. Not next November; this November. Next month. We have less than a month, not thirteen months.”
“What?” Robert raised his hands over his head. “Don’t they have maps in Washington? How do they expect us to get from here to San Francisco in less than a month’s time?”
Marina picked up the message. “It must be a telegrapher mistake.”
“Mistake or not,” Robert said, “we must send a return wire stating that it will take a minimum of nine months to get from Galveston to San Francisco by sea.”
“How long would it take by land?” Clementine asked.
“It depends upon the weather,” Robert replied. “Six months to a year.”
“It’s too late in the year to try it overland,” Marina said. “The passes will be snowed in. I made that trek in winter once. It was nearly fatal.”
“The fastest route this time of year is by ship to the Isthmus of Panama, then by land across the Isthmus to the Pacific, and another ship from there to San Francisco,” Jack said.
Robert shook his head. “No good. That’s the U.S. Mail Steam Ship Company’s route. All the gold seekers will be boarding anything that floats and following that route.”
“Why do we care?” Jack asked.
“Obtaining passage from the Pacific side of Panama will be impossible,” Robert replied. “What we need are guaranteed first cabin accommodations from here to San Francisco on a good ship owned by a reputable company who won’t sell our berths to a higher bidder.”
Jack nodded agreement. “You’re right. But I know of no Pacific-bound ships scheduled until next year.”
“There’s a Clipper in the Bay,” Clementine said. “I saw it today.”
“The Rio Clipper; she’s bound for Rio de Janeiro,” Robert replied. “I was speaking with her captain in the gentlemen’s saloon earlier.”
“The new Steamship California left New York yesterday.” Marina picked up the newspaper that she had been reading. “She’s expected to reach Rio de Janeiro in twenty-eight to thirty days. If we take that Clipper out there, we can be in Rio before the California arrives and be in San Francisco by February.”
“We?” Jack grinned. “I thought you’d had too much of us.”
Marina smiled. “I’ll tolerate you three in exchange for the experience of sailing around Cape Horn and seeing California.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you had enough adventure for one lifetime, Mother?”
“Isn’t that Cape Horn passage real, real dangerous?” Clementine asked before Marina could reply.
Jack nodded. “The Straits of Magellan are the most dangerous waters in the world.”
“We’re no longer talking about tiny ships and sail power,” Marina argued. She folded back the paper and began to read. “The California measures two hundred feet in length, thirty-four feet beam, and twenty feet depth of hold. And her engine, built in the best manner by Messieurs Stillman Allen and Company, is rated at two-hundred-fifty horse power, but can easily be worked up to three hundred horse power.”
“We still have to convince the War Department that this country is bigger than they think, regardless of our means of transportation,” Robert said. “Otherwise we’ll be arrested and shot for desertion when we at last arrive.”
“You go do that,” Jack said, “and I’ll go book us on the Clipper for Rio de Janeiro and on the California from Rio to San Francisco.”
“Book me a stateroom,” Marina said.
“Yes, Mother,” Jack replied with a chuckle.
Robert looked at Marina. “What about Josiah?”
She shrugged. “If he gets back before we sail, he can come too. In steerage. Unless you want to share a stateroom with him.”
“He won’t get back and you know it,” Jack said.
“I don’t know it but I’ll write him a note.” She shooed him with her hand. “Go. Book our passage.”
“Yes, Mother.” He started for the door.
“Check the schedule first,” Marina warned. “We have to be there no later than the fifth of November.”
“Yes, Mother.”
November 12, 1848
Guanabara Bay, Rio de Janeiro
After leaving Galveston on October 10th, the Rio Clipper had made good speed to the tip of the Yucatan Peninsula where the wind had fallen off to dead calm for nearly two full weeks. The ship’s arrival in Rio was now ten days late. Marina pointed across the bow. “The California’s still here.” Her voice conveyed her relief. “She hasn’t sailed without us.”
One the British Naval officers, who had come aboard with the pilot, overheard Marina and crossed the deck to join her party. “The California’s captain, Captain Forbes, has taken sick, Madam.” He touched his cap.
“How serious is his illness?” Jack asked.
“He’s been advised by the Fleet Surgeon to rest ashore for two more weeks.” The young officer pointed. “He’s recuperating there at a villa in Catete.”
“How long did it take California to reach here from New York?” Marina asked.
“Just twenty-six days,” the officer replied. “A new record.”
“Thank you,” Marina said with a nod.
The young man gave her a salute and returned to join his colleagues.
“Two weeks?” Robert grumbled. “Here?” He waved his hand in disgust. “I’d almost rather be becalmed at sea for another two weeks than anchored in some steamy, smelly port.”
“Two weeks is far better than the months we’d have to wait for the next steamer,” Jack replied. He turned to Clementine, who was completely enraptured by the view of Rio. “Did you hear any of that?” He touched her arm.
“What?” She looked up at him. “Oh. Yes. The steamer’s still here and we won’t be sailin’ for two weeks.”
“Sailing,” Jack whispered.
Clementine nodded. “Sailing.”
“I think two weeks here might be fun,” Marina said.
“Fun?” Robert laughed and punched his brother on the arm. “Did you hear that? Our mother is actually anticipating having fun.”
Jack rubbed his arm in mock pain. “Will wonders never cease?”
Marina glared at them. “When you were children, didn’t we have fun – sometimes?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “We sometimes had fun – with Dad – in spite of you.”
“You really were never much fun, Mother,” Robert agreed.
Marina’s scowl faded and with a sigh, she peered back toward Sugarloaf. “No, I suppose I wasn’t much fun.”
Jack and Robert exchanged a glance of surprise.
“Look.” Clementine pointed toward the beach. “That woman is sh
owin’ her titties. I mean – she’s bare-breasted.” She pointed to a second woman. “So is that one.”
Robert gawked. “You’re right, Clementine. Bare as can be – and bold as you please. Two weeks here may not be that bad after all.”
December 7, 1848
Straits of Magellan
It was twenty minutes after high noon, but nearly as dark as midnight. The deck of SS California was pitching so badly that Jack had to hold on to a stanchion to stay on his feet. “So you’ve not made this passage before, Captain?” he shouted to be heard over the gale-force west wind.
“Nay,” Captain Cleveland Forbes replied. Forbes had asked Jack and Robert to join him in the wheelhouse as additional lookouts for their passage through the dangerous waters. “That usually wouldn’t matter but the charts have proved to be poor, and the iron in all these cliffs makes the compass unreliable.”
Jack was peering through the fog and spray at the towering dark masses of rock that surrounded them. “We don’t seem to be making any headway.”
“We’re not,” Forbes agreed. “Might even be going a bit backwards. The wind and tidal surge are both against us, but I dare not use any more power for fear that a paddle wheel might cavitate when we’re struck by one of the more severe gusts. Some of these troughs are very wide and very deep. This would be a bad place to throw a piston rod.”
“Will we have enough fuel to reach Panama after all this?” Jack asked.
“Nay.” Forbes shook his head. “If this lasts much longer we’ll be in trouble.”
Jack flinched as a wave broke over the bow and smashed against the window glass. “Could we use the anchor to hold us against this surge?”
“Too deep here,” Forbes said.
Robert had been examining a chart by lantern light. “If this is correct, that pinnacle marks the entrance of Jerome Channel,” he shouted over the howling wind. “There’s supposed to be an anchorage within the rocks called York Roads. It won’t give us any protection from the wind, but the tide should be negated somewhat and, according to this, it’s shallow enough to drop anchor.”
“How shallow?” Forbes shouted back.
“Four to five fathoms.”
Antebellum (Gone For Soldiers) Page 5