Wake noticed that all hands were looking at him frequently. They had all discussed his return to the ship and had decided that he had deserved a bit of a “rummed evenin’ ” after all he had been through. Hardin had not said a word to this conclusion of the crew, but had silently watched Wake and waited at the stern. Durlon, after greeting his captain’s return, started to go over his gun and tackle, a ritual that was completed at least three times a day, every day. Of course, by now his faith in the gun and his own ability had been borne out in battle. The crew, with Wake mentally agreeing from the stern, had judged that Durlon and his gun had saved the day at the battle on the river. That those few well-loaded and well-placed shots had saved their lives as well was the consensus also.
As the sun timidly peeked up over the liquid horizon astern, Wake remembered that he had yet to know where they were going. With a glancing look at Hardin, he went down to his cabin and the envelope that contained his orders.
Below decks Rosalie was not quite as lovely. It was a pretty day on deck, but down in the cabin it was dark, dank, and smelly. Wake made a mental note to have Hardin get the crew to fumigate and clean the ship below deck. He rummaged in his bag for the envelope and finally brought up the large package, weighted to sink if the ship was in danger of capture and sealed in the blue wax of the admiral’s office. His rigger’s knife opened the waxed edges, allowing the lead bullet weights to fall out.
He pulled out three pieces of paper and spread them out on his chart table. The first was a small chart of the area of Charlotte Harbor, the large bay with which he was now fairly familiar. He had never seen an official chart of that area—this was the first, and he realized that the chart had just been drawn and published a month ago by the navy.
The second piece of paper was his official orders. They directed him to meet with Lt. Baxter of the Gem of the Sea and advise him that offensive army operations were going to commence soon in that area of the coast and that all naval vessels were to assist their soldier colleagues to the best of their ability, as long as the object justified the potential losses. Commanding officers of ships were directed to provide boats, equipment, munitions, and manpower to secure landing places. Seamen were not to be sent long distances into the interior. Ship commanders were not to place their ships in a position of probable loss by enemy action or bad seamanship. Wake was directed to then go to the island of Useppa, located among the islands of Charlotte Harbor, and there render all assistance to the forces of the United States and/or to loyal refugees who may be at that place. He was to stay at that place until the army asked for him to escort them in their boats to the mainland for their operations, or for three weeks. Detailed reports of all operations were to be sent by the fastest means to the squadron at Key West.
The third piece of paper was addressed to Wake himself, but personally and not in the official language of the navy. It was from Commander Johnson and it asked him to ascertain from interviews with refugees and Rebel prisoners exactly what the possibilities were for an uprising among the inhabitants against the Confederate government in that area of Florida. It also asked for information from Wake on whom he suspected as disloyal among the refugees along the coast and at Key West. Johnson concluded in his letter that the response to these particular assignments was to be addressed to him in writing and given to his hand personally and immediately upon return to Key West.
Wake sat in his cabin stunned. His hand held the last memo and his eyes looked at it, but his mind was seeing the expression of the commander during that last meeting just yesterday. The working sounds of the hull and frames of the sloop faded around him as he remembered Linda and their last rendezvous. The sick feeling returned to his abdomen as he realized that this communication meant that he was involved in a convoluted twist of conflicts on several levels.
Surprisingly, he felt a distant responsibility to keep Edgar Donahue, Linda’s father, safe from the authorities. He rationalized this as an attempt to keep Linda safe from any harm and from being left alone should her father be arrested. But the feeling that he should shield her father from the authorities made him feel disloyal to the cause for which he was fighting, and for which his men had died and been wounded.
His mind progressed further from analysis of this communication to the very intense thought of what precisely the consequences were for him. Was this a way for Johnson to test his loyalty because Johnson knew about his relationship with Linda? Was this a way for Johnson to use him to get inside information on the Rebel sympathizers in Key West? Did Johnson think that he knew more than he did—that the Donahue family somehow divulged Rebel secrets to him? If Johnson knew of Linda’s relationship with him and suspected her sympathies to be those of her father, did Johnson suspect that she was using him to ascertain information about the operations of the squadron and passing that intelligence along to the Confederate spies in Key West? That was ludicrous, he knew. But still, could Johnson suspect it? The answer was yes. Wake slowly sighed and shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the thoughts that confused and hurt him. He had to stop building this up. He had to think this through and come to a logical conclusion. Johnson had only asked him to do what would be normally expected of him anyway. As a sailor he knew that you only reef down when the sea and sky showed you signs that a storm was coming. He saw no real signs that any storm was brewing with Johnson, and he would continue on his course and not reef until he did see those signs. But, sailor that he was, Wake decided that he would definitely keep an eye out to all points for any indication that he was in danger from any direction. He also decided, as he heard Hardin up on deck berating Sommer for being slow on the backstay hauling block, to reseal the orders and keep them placed well down in his bag. He memorized the location of the items in the bag on top of the envelope and returned to the deck, away from the gloom and doubt that had pervaded his cabin.
By the time he had regained the deck, Rosalie was fairly jumping the small beam seas. Her personality positively glowed, and the crew, satiated from another liberty in Key West, was moving about their business with the calm demeanor of experienced seamen. Maintenance was a never-ending routine aboard any vessel. But aboard a small naval vessel there were no idlers, and all hands had to turn to and handle various tasks that came up every day. For as happy as Rosalie was right now, she was a demanding girl, and failure to keep up her routine work would result in her reminding the sailors, at the most inopportune and possibly deadly moment, that they had failed her earlier when the work would have been relatively easy. As mean-spirited as Hardin was, Wake had to admit that the bosun was efficient at keeping Rosalie in good shape and ready for storm or battle.
Wake could see the eyes upon him and knew the question in their minds. He turned to Hardin and directed him to lay a course, after rounding the outer end of the Northwest Passage Channel, due north for Sanibel Island. He then walked forward to inspect the ship more closely, starting from the very bowsprit and working his way aft, as the men of the Rosalie exchanged looks and shrugs of resignation to their fate.
The next morning, as a colorful sunrise painted the sky to their starboard, they observed the coast of Captiva Island four miles to windward, just north of Sanibel, having made a good speed through the night and beating Wake’s mental prediction of where the sun would see them first in the morn. Rosalie was still bounding along, heeled over with a beam reach, her wood and canvas and rigging combining their voices in a rhythmic song that sounded almost African on its arrival at Wake’s ear.
The captain of the Rosalie couldn’t help but stretch and smile at the sights and sounds that only sailors know and miss terribly when beached ashore for long periods of time. As exhausting and frequently frightening as the sea is, there would always be mornings like this for old sailors to remember when sitting in front of the fire on cold winter nights when they had finally come home from the oceans. And so Wake relished the moment
and saw that many of the older men were in a similar revelation around him.
Durlon, who had the deck, asked if Wake wanted to tack the ship and turn back for Sanibel Island, since they had overshot it in the dark. His countenance changed for the worse when Wake replied that no, that was not necessary since they were heading to Boca Grande to speak with the Gem of the Sea. Wake did not go further, and Durlon did not ask with words the question in his mind. When his captain had returned below to his cabin, Durlon turned to Conner and whispered that he thought this voyage would end up at a bad spot since the captain had looked a bit concerned as he had spoken. There then began a whispered discussion of exactly what appearance did the captain’s face have, and exactly what did that look mean, in terms of the likelihood of more work, or danger, or misery, for the men who sailed the Rosalie.
In the swaying dungeon of the cabin that was his sanctuary, Wake looked one more time at the chart that accompanied his orders. It showed the island of Useppa and the other islands in that area. Rosalie had been to the anchorage at Useppa before when Wake had dropped off supplies and refugees at the settlement there. It was a strange and unique island, Wake remembered, and he always thought that it had an ominous atmosphere. Perhaps that was because of the displaced refugees, who had lost almost everything on the mainland when they had fled their homes. Or perhaps it was because of the geography of the island, with its relatively high hills overlooking the surrounding waters, rising strangely out of its mangrove jungle shoreline.
Then there were the stories of the Calusa Indians, who had made those hills centuries earlier. Wake had heard that they maintained a vast and sophisticated culture on this coast, like the ones on the Spanish Main. He knew that the Spanish had never been able to totally subdue them. His sailors told him one night, while anchored off the island in the moonlight, that the hills had actually been temple mounds where sacrifices had been made during celestial events, and that the islands in this area still harbored descendants from that dark civilization. Just thirty years earlier, Seminole Indians had overrun the fishing settlement on the island in the night, the survivors being rescued days afterward, miles away huddled in a small boat. The whole island seemed to be a place where mysterious and dreadful things happened. He hoped that the future would not be consistent with the past.
By midday, the sloop had moored alongside the Gem of the Sea, which was anchored in her old spot off the island of Gasparilla, in Boca Grande Passage. Lt. Baxter welcomed Wake aboard and brought him into his cabin, which was small compared to those in regular men-o-war but much larger than that of the Rosalie. After asking Wake how his wound had progressed and what was going on at Key West, Baxter turned to the envelope Wake handed him.
Wake sat and had a drink of tea while Baxter read his orders. When he had finished, he looked at Wake and asked him if he had spoken with Admiral Barkley or Commander Johnson about their mission. When Wake related the conversation in the admiral’s office, Baxter sighed and muttered that the fools in Key West were thinking up things to do so they could look useful to the senior fools in Washington. Wake, taken aback at this uncharacteristic attitude on the part of his friend, showed his concern on his face.
Seeing this, Baxter laughed. “I suppose, Peter, that this war has gotten to me, my friend. We sit here on the coast and try to stop their ships, we run up the rivers and try to destroy their depots, we transport the refugees to islands to try and make them safe. All of this, and we still haven’t really stopped them, or even touched them. Meanwhile our men are dying of disease and Reb sharpshooters, one by one. . . .”
Baxter grew slower and sadder in his speech as he continued. Wake looked him in the eye and tried to sound optimistic. “Maybe now is the time to change all of that. Maybe this time we can actually gain some ground. Get these pro-Union people to fight for their country and rouse up the disaffected in the interior.”
But Baxter looked at him and said, “As always, Peter, I will do my duty, and so will my men. It just seems that every idea that sounds good in Key West dies out here for lack of proper support or realistic expectations. I do not trust many of the people in these islands—nor the fools in the army either.”
Wake had to agree with him there. Before he bade him goodbye, he asked for a ship’s boat to meet him at Useppa Island in a week’s time to exchange intelligence of the enemy and of the reinforcements enroute to them. Baxter laughed again and said that he would keep in touch and to have fun over there with those folks on that island. They parted on the main deck as friends and fellow captains, wishing each other well in the coming times.
Rosalie swung away with the tide and set sail close reaching to the east one hour after she had come alongside the Gem. In that time the crews of both ships had caught up on gossip, paid off debts, and made speculations about the future. The crew of the smaller vessel had told of their apprehensions about returning to this coast, as Wake had heard through the ports of Baxter’s cabin. He was again amazed at how accurate the sailors’ intuition could be on these things, with the scuttlebutt including various wagers on potential destinations. The conjectured possibilities narrowed as Rosalie came up toward the island of Bokeelia, with Wake himself steering the sloop past the shoals. When close to Bokeelia, Wake tacked the sloop and broad reached to the south down a broad swash channel past several small islands. With the bow pointed toward Useppa Island in the distance, the crew surmised their destination and began to discuss the reasons for it.
Hardin looked at the island ahead and turned to his captain, asking if they were going to anchor out or tie along the rickety dock that jutted out from the beach on the east side of the island. Wake’s reply was to anchor out and that he would dinghy in to the island. Hardin shrugged and went forward to get the anchor ready, leaving Wake to survey the island, now with a new and more serious interest, for he would have to work closer than ever before with the people ashore.
The island was surrounded on its shores with mangrove jungle, except here at the landing beach. Relatively large in relation to its neighbors, it measured about a mile long by a quarter of that wide at the widest. Huts and crude shacks dotted the hills that came down to the water’s edge. Several more substantial structures stood on a central hill, back from the water. The best-built structures on Useppa appeared to be the water cisterns that captured the rainwater and held it for the inhabitants to use. These were square and clinker-built, like small boats from New England, to be watertight. Fresh water was the most precious commodity on the islands, where few wells had been dug.
As Rosalie got closer to the anchorage off the settlement, Wake could see people waving to them and coming down to the boats drawn up on the beach. Most of the refugees, whatever their occupations had been before the war, were now fishermen. Fortunately, the fishing was so good in this area of the coast that even beginners could bring in enough to feed their families and sell some to the naval vessels that occasionally stopped. Wake made a mental note to buy some fish and gain some information while doing so.
About a hundred yards off the beach he rounded the sloop up into the wind and Hardin let go the anchor in a little over a fathom of water. As she fell back on the hook, sails thundering as they flapped in the wind with the crew struggling to bring down the large mainsail, two boats came off the beach and headed out to the ship. A moment later they were alongside and, without invitation, which faintly riled Wake, three men climbed up the side of the sloop and strode aft.
Before Wake could speak, one of them condescendingly introduced himself as a Michael Remus Horndum, leader of the settlement on Patricio Island, a mile away to the north. He stood about average height, was skinny like all of the islanders, and had a sneer on his face that gave the appearance of the man having a permanent seizure. His voice revealed his Northern city roots and was loudly overwhelming. His clothing evidently had once been fine, but age and weather had reduced it to
a dull mockery of his present station in life. Wake, and most of his crew by the looks on their faces, instantly did not like or trust the man.
The other two quietly said that they were Harley Cornell of Useppa Island and Tom O’Clooney of Palmetto Island, just west of Useppa Island. Cornell gave the appearance of a school teacher, being of quiet manner and appearance, and reminded Wake that they had met before, about three months earlier when Rosalie had off-loaded some provisions for the islanders at Useppa. O’Clooney, a muscular man with a tanned and wrinkled face, smiled a great Irish smile of welcome that made him the instant friend of all hands. His large paw of a hand clasped Wake’s with a good-natured strength that belied his pleasant appearance. A good friend or a bad enemy, thought Wake as he released his hand from O’Clooney’s custody. The two islanders stood apart from Horndum and obviously shared the crews’ opinion of the man from Patricio Island. Wake found himself wondering what the rest of the people on that island were like.
After the preliminary introductions were completed, Cornell invited Wake and his crew to the island for that evening’s dinner and dance, a monthly affair that the islanders gave themselves to build morale and to keep an attempt at social intercourse alive in their sad situation. Refugees from all the islands would come by boat for these gatherings, and information as well as food, music, and drink were shared. Horndum echoed Cornell’s invitation and told Wake that it was a good opportunity for him to meet the “important people” of the islands. O’Clooney laughed and said to come on over for a bit of relaxation for the captain and his crew.
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 11
