After the naval contingent and the refugees had testified regarding the identity of the Betty and her crew, the defendants and their lawyer looked positively depressed. They had no defense, stated their attorney, without the other witnesses who had been denied to them and thus rested their case. The judge was not helpful.
“If you have no defense, sir,” he intoned to the defense lawyer, “it is because you are defending a scoundrel who would profit from both sides in this sad war, and a traitorous renegade who has renounced even his Rebel brethren in order to side with a scoundrel. Men like these have no defense because they have no character.”
The judge then declared that the seized vessel was contraband of war and that the men aboard her were prisoners of war to be taken to Fort Warren in Boston Harbor on the next ship northbound for further incarceration. Four hours after it started, the trial was over.
Wake breathed a sigh of relief at having survived this entire ordeal. As he walked out of the Customs House and through the palm trees toward Duval Street, he pondered the many turns of fate of the last week. They had made him richer from the sale of the Betty and provided valuable information for his side in this complex conflict. Those same turns of fate had made other men prisoners of war, bound for a dungeon fifteen hundred miles away, branded forever by their enemies as scoundrels and renegades.
4
Yellow Jack
As he stared at rivulets of sweat running down his arm, Wake decided that the August heat in Key West was the most pervasive he had ever known. The wind was nowhere to be found, and the humidity made everything wet all the time. It penetrated everywhere. No building ashore nor vessel afloat was impregnable against its effects. It made everyone move slowly and think even more slowly. Initiative ebbed away among the civilian population and even among the naval crews, making an order to do some task seem surreal and resented. Only in the early morning, and as the afternoon thunderstorm was brewing up its hour of wind, could any strenuous physical work be done.
It was even worse after the cooling wind of the afternoon storm had ended because then the wind died and the ground and decks actually steamed from the renewed heat. Tempers flared afloat below decks and ashore in the bars and hovels that were optimistically called hotels. Discipline suffered. Commanders despaired. And the month of August seemed to drag out far longer than the thirty-one days allocated in the calendar.
The anchorage at Key West rolled with the low swells that swayed the Rosalie’s spars in a long, lazy arc. Her crew lay on deck under a sail awning, trying to move as little as possible. Swimming helped a bit, but the water was almost as warm as the air. Besides, many officers thought too much swimming was lazy behavior and bad for naval discipline.
Two days earlier Wake had been ordered back to the southwest coast of Florida after a supply run to Key West, but the Rosalie couldn’t move out of the harbor without wind. So she lay at anchor and they waited, without even the usual afternoon storm to break the soul-draining monotony. The supplies had to be off-loaded into an army transport steamer and sent up to the blockade ships, so at least those crews, who had the same problems with the August heat as those at Key West, could get reasonably fresh provisions.
Wake stood in the corner of the office of the squadron yeoman, which was filled with the commanders of the other vessels in Key West at the time. They had all been summoned to a meeting that was to have started fifteen minutes earlier at two o’clock, but neither Commander Johnson nor anyone else had invited them into the meeting room. So, demonstrating discipline even in this heat, the sloop and schooner captains left the chairs for the senior vessel commanding officers and stood there, mute and unobtrusive, while their seniors pondered the reason for the meeting and the excuse for its tardiness.
Finally, after several more minutes of listening to inane gossip among his seniors, Wake saw Commander Johnson and Admiral Barkley walk in the front entrance and through the assembly to the large room used for meetings. Neither had a pleasant look about him. No greetings were exchanged as the admiral strode through the officers in the room. In fact, from their demeanor, Wake immediately thought that the Confederates had launched some unforeseen offensive and the squadron was going to be given fighting orders.
When everyone had assembled in the room and the speculative talk among the officers had subsided, Admiral Barkley spoke in a quiet and measured voice, his eyes studying each man before him in turn. Commander Johnson stood to his chief’s right, holding a sheaf of papers and bearing the countenance of a man about to go into battle against overwhelming odds.
“Gentleman, the Rebels’ greatest friend, and our greatest foe, has been found on this island. The yellow jack is here.”
A collective gasp could be felt in the room as the officers mentally grappled with the worst possible intelligence they could have been presented. The dreaded yellow fever was in their midst. Commentary immediately rose among them as the admiral continued.
“The squadron surgeon has met with the doctors on the island and confirmed that there are five cases in the town. So far, we have not seen any among the naval people here, but that, as you know, is just a matter of time.”
“Therefore, gentlemen, I am ordering all vessels away from this place, including the ones normally based here. Those will anchor no closer than three miles off the island. All others will weigh anchor by sunset and go to their stations on the coast. When we feel certain that you can return, that word will be sent out to the squadron. It will probably be at least several weeks.”
Each officer was now calculating his ship’s provisions aboard and how long he could make them last. Almost as one, they began to protest the order of making such an abrupt departure.
“Yes, I know what you are all thinking, gentlemen,” said Commander Johnson. “However, you also know that this has to be done, and done now. There is safety at sea on this thing. Just be glad that you have the ability to leave. . . .”
At Johnson’s last words the room grew quiet, every man knowing exactly what the commander meant. Those who stayed at the squadron headquarters in Key West were going to confront an unseen and unknown foe. There was little they could do against it—just work and wait and hope and pray. Many of them would become terribly sick and incapacitated. Some of them would die a horrible death.
Admiral Barkley concluded the morbid meeting. “Gentlemen, good luck. The main thing in all of our minds should, and will, be the safety and efficiency of the East Gulf Blockading Squadron. The war does not end when yellow jack appears. You will be on your own for a while, but I have every confidence in your ability to do your duty. I look forward to seeing you all again in about a month or so.” As he said this, the admiral forced a smile to show on his face. “And at that conference you can report to me on your latest victories. Now, goodbye and God protect you.”
The stunned officers muttered offers of good luck to the admiral and his staff as Barkley and Johnson exited the room and left them standing there. For a moment, the crowd of captains stood there gazing at each other. The heat and humidity of the room had been forgotten in the comprehension of the brutal news presented by their leader. But now they suddenly realized how beastly hot the room was, aggravated by their growing fear, and they made their way to the doorway while removing their uniform coats that were always worn for a meeting with the admiral.
Wake’s first thoughts were for the Rosalie and her crew. The sloop was provisioned and ready to go, Wake knew, as he walked out of the building slowly. The rest of the captains had rushed out, trying to get done in the few hours before sunset what normally would take days to accomplish. The crew of Rosalie was aboard and ready to get under way. The lack of wind was not an obstacle anymore. Steamers would be ordered to tow the sailing vessels out away from the island. They would wait for wind out in the Gulf of Mexico rather than in the harbor.
Th
at left Linda. His mind was racing with various plans to find her and spend those few remaining hours with her. It had been three weeks since he had last held her. And that rendezvous had only been for three hours in the early morning before dawn. Wake knew the relationship could not continue like that, and at some point it would either end or be accepted by her family. But now was not the time for those decisions.
He finally decided on the direct approach of going to her family cook at the back door of the house and asking if she was there. He thought that he could trust in her maid’s loyalty to Linda. He wondered if Linda knew of the yellow fever since he had not heard of its arrival prior to the meeting. Judging by the response of the officers gathered there, neither had they. Therefore, it probably was not out among the population yet, he decided as he walked down Whitehead Street. But it soon would be, after that dramatic announcement by Admiral Barkley.
Mattie, the cook, was working in the cooking shed, set back in the gumbo limbo trees behind the main house. She listened and watched him intently as Wake asked her if Miss Linda was home and free to come to the kitchen. A few moments later Linda was there and in his arms, Mattie watching out toward the house for any oncomers.
“Darling, I’ve got to leave the harbor by sunset. I don’t have much time. Linda, there is a fever in the town and we have all been ordered away.”
“Peter, it is the fever season now. It has always been a danger. Everyone from here knows it. Is it yellow jack? That’s the worst.”
“From what I understand it is, my dear, and you and your family need to be very careful.” After which he related in a general way the outcome of the meeting at headquarters. He reasoned that the news was already spreading over the town anyway.
He made her promise to be very careful: sleep under nets, fumigate the house frequently with smoke, stay away from strangers, and stay home as much as possible. As he recited the precautionary procedures, he became more anxious for her. He wished there was some way to take her away with him. If he had been a merchant ship captain, he could have.
They sat and talked while Mattie made the dinner for the family. The black cook pounded on conch meat with a mallet as Wake and Linda quietly exchanged tender kisses and conveyed their thoughts about what was about to come. Mattie’s rhythmic pounding provided a subtle sense of time ebbing away. Long before they were ready for it, Mattie pronounced that dinner was soon to be served and that sunset was only a little ways off. She then stared at Wake without saying a word.
Mattie’s departure to the main house with the dinner food jolted Wake to make his own exit. He felt a tremendous sense of cowardice fill him as he said goodbye to his lover. His sense of guilt almost destroyed his power to speak. There was so much he wanted to say, and so much he wanted to do. And yet they both knew that he was powerless to do anything.
Promises having been made and long, loving kisses having ended, Wake quietly walked away around the back of the property, feeling for all the world like a cad. It reminded him of the renegade from the Confederate army whom he had captured and who was now rotting in a prison somewhere. It was all so damned unfair.
He caught a ride on another ship’s boat going his way. All across the harbor he could see ships moving and hear men calling out orders. He turned and looked at the squadron offices. In the second floor window of Commander Johnson’s office he could see the flash of a reflection off a telescope. It now turned toward his direction, and Wake could only imagine the thoughts going through that veteran officer’s mind as he watched the squadron escape from the island’s sickness.
Hardin met him as Wake came aboard. He had already heard the news and had the anchor hove short and the crew standing by. The crew went about their work without the excitement shown all over the harbor. Wake was once more impressed with his small band of men. Anyone with any sense wanted to be away from this place, but at least they were going to do it in a seamanlike manner.
A steam tug soon came by, and her young ensign, one rank junior to Wake, rather abruptly said to be ready in ten minutes to receive a tow line from the schooner Annie, which would be under tow from the tug herself. The ensign then steered away to another sailing vessel. The young man appeared to be feeling the pressure of trying to assist so many ships at once.
Just then, Sommer pointed ashore to the signal mast at the squadron building. The men of the Rosalie were joined by the men of the other ships in the harbor in watching a large yellow flag ascend the mast and hang there in the deathly stillness. The golden yellow of the signal was accentuated by the spreading glow of the sunset. Wake felt an ice-cold chill run down his spine as he stood there drenched in sweat, mesmerized by that flag. The yellow jack . . .
Twenty minutes later they were under tow through the Northwest Channel and away from the island. The breeze felt by the forward motion of the tow was like a refreshing sweet drink to all hands. Almost all were bare-chested as they savored the movement of air that cooled the sweat on their bodies. At little more than steerage way, the tug and tows slowly moved along the channel between the shallows and coral patches to either side toward the open Gulf of Mexico. Two hours later the schooner and the sloop were anchored fifty yards from one another and the tug was heading back up the channel to the harbor in the darkness. Anchor watches were set, and Wake lay down exhausted on the deck, wondering when the wind would come and what Linda was doing at that moment.
Morning came and there was still no wind. Swimming was authorized for all hands of both vessels by the captains. The crews of the sloop and the schooner spent the day in the tepid water, mainly under the shade of the bow or the stern. Even here, in this heat and flaunting the customs of the old navy, the line between junior and senior was clear. The seaman and junior ratings stayed in the shade of the bows, and the senior petty officers and the commissioned officers treaded water under the sterns. Periodically, some competitive soul would try to organize a swimming race, but the general mood of laziness precluded any exertion.
Wake swam over to the schooner and floated under her countered stern with her captain, James Williams. As they lay on the calm surface, Wake listened to Williams tell of how four months earlier he had fired at a fleeing British schooner off the coast of Cuba, and then lost her as she went inshore to the territorial waters. The action had sparked an international incident among Spain, Britain, and the United States. Admiral Barkley had defended Williams’ actions to Washington, but had privately lambasted him for being a hundred miles off his station at the Tortugas, and being near Cuban waters at all. But, Williams related, they couldn’t officially discipline him because it would be an official admission of wrongdoing and get them all in trouble with the other countries. Now, however, Williams observed to his brother captain, he was not on the most favored list of Commander Johnson and the admiral.
Wake related his own history on the coast, with the diverse results that he had achieved. Both young captains then pondered the variables of international maritime law and decided that it was all a toss of the dice and not a well-ruled game. With the intellectual certainty of their age and position, they proposed that the powers to be in Washington could not even imagine the problems of the men making the decisions on the scene of these actions.
After the sun had crossed its apogee, the lookout stationed aboard the Annie cried out that he saw a wind line in the water to the south. He was greeted by the floating crewmen of both ships with comments about his eyesight and that of his ancestry. But when the lookout from the Rosalie confirmed the sighting a few minutes later, no one doubted it. Instead, all hands looked at the two captains to see what their decision would be. Wake and Williams looked at each other, then turned toward their crews and told them to get aboard and make ready to get under way. Technically, Williams was senior in grade by five months, but that kind of procedural strictness did not intrude at this moment. Within five minutes the crews were st
arting to weigh anchor and set sails.
The wind was very light at first, but it built steadily to a nice sailing breeze. The Annie set off to the west for the Dry Tortugas, as the Rosalie spread all sails wing and wing, bound north to the coast. As the wind built up, so did the clouds that would soon send one of the usual summer thunderstorms. In harbor at anchor, the cool winds they brought were a relief. However, out at sea they could be very dangerous, and Wake kept an eye on the mountainous clouds to the south. As the schooner sailed off westward, he called out good luck to Williams, who waved back the same.
The storm that afternoon was a quick succession of gale- force winds and nasty breaking seas, then driving rain followed by a calm where the sloop wallowed in the leftover seas. The entire storm took no more than an hour and a half. During the height of the rain all of the crew’s clothing was tied into the rigging to wash out the body sweat and sea salt. The men stood on deck rejoicing in the God-given shower, reveling in being cool, knowing it would not last long since after the rain had subsided, they would have to work the pumps. In the heat of the summer the seams on deck would open and rain leaks would turn the deck below into a dark and humid cave where fungus would grow on anything not used for a day, and the lowly bilge demanded its tribute at the pumps.
On the third day after leaving the Annie, the sloop sighted the now familiar Sanibel Island. Wake decided to sail north to the anchorage at Boca Grande and meet with the Gem of the Sea, the vessel to which his sloop was attached. He wanted to tell Lt. Baxter, her captain and his superior, about the situation in Key West and the orders for the ships of the squadron.
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 5
