“Yes, Mr. Wake, so you said in your report.” Barkley now sounded less pleasant. “But the important thing was that the enemy had a thrust into their previously safe areas, and their counterattack was prevented from becoming a disaster. That was not luck. That was good planning on your part with the gunboat and the men. And good execution by your gunner too.”
Johnson chose this moment to start in before Wake could reply to the unaccustomed compliment by the admiral. “You justified our confidence in you, Wake. You used your head and prevented a disaster. Now we have another assignment for you and the Rosalie.”
Wake waited for a while to reply, thinking more was forthcoming from the commander. But nothing more was said. Instead the admiral and the commander exchanged glances, Barkley finally saying, “Mr. Wake, I am sending you to take dispatches to Havana. I am sending you because your vessel is small and unobtrusive, because you have a head on your shoulders that can make adjustments as things go along, because you have powers of observation.”
Johnson went on. “Your primary mission will be to take communications to the consul there and wait for return dispatches. It may take several days in Havana for the return dispatches to be made up. You will spend those days ascertaining intelligence of Rebel shipping and their apparatus in the city for controlling ship movements and dealing with the Spanish authorities.”
“Sir, with respect, doesn’t the consul do that already? Won’t I be in his way there? And if I go ashore and try to gain intelligence in that city, couldn’t the Spanish consider that as spying, sir?”
“Ah ha, Johnson, I told you he would get to windward of that point early on! Good deductions, son. You’re right. Absolutely right. But the consul, even though he tries to gain information for us on the enemy vessels and their shore establishment, has not a speck of experience for this type of work. He evidently is some former mayor of an Ohio town who did sterling work for some political warrior in Washington and got appointed consul to Havana as a spoil. And we pay the price in shoddy intelligence from the closest port to our country with the enemy shipping in the open!”
Johnson followed his admiral. “Of course, Mr. Wake, these comments are not for dissemination. But, yes, we are sending you to do the job the consulate there obviously hasn’t. It will be potentially very tricky. The admiral,” at this point the commander’s monotone revealed no trace of his own opinion, “believes that you are the man for this mission. There will, of course, be no written orders other than those for a communications courier.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Wake stammered, as he could think of no other words to say.
“Wake, you’ll sail in another day. I expect you’ll be in Havana for several days. I will see you in about a week. I want to know what is really going on in that port. We are hearing rumors that some Reb vessels are being fitted out with guns. I want to know where and how. Also, and this is most important, are they communicating in any way with the Rebel spies on this island? Now good luck to you, son.”
“Thank you, Admiral. I’ll get you the knowledge you seek, sir. I understand the difficulties.”
Commander Johnson ushered Wake smoothly out of the office and into the reception area. At the outer door Johnson stopped and for a moment looked Wake in the eye. The moment seemed an hour to the younger man. Without another word, Johnson then turned around and returned to the admiral’s office, leaving a numbed and silent Wake standing in the middle of the room with a dozen officers staring at him.
The chief staff yeoman approached Wake and stood at attention. He handed Wake a large envelope and a wrapped box. Both had the familiar seal of the squadron on the blue ribbon tying each package tightly.
“Your orders from the admiral, sir. And might I be so bold as to say good job on that river fight, sir. We all heard about it.”
After the extraordinary previous few minutes Wake was a little slow in acknowledging the chief yeoman, a man of about fifty who had seen a lot of officers come and go in his time. Finally Wake came to his senses and realized that the chief yeoman and all of the other officers in the room were awaiting his reply.
“Very well, Chief. Thank you for your kind comment, but the good job was more done by my gunner, Durlon, than by me. It was a close run thing . . .”
“Well said, sir. Durlon’s a good man, and you’re an even better one for remembering him. There are those officers who don’t.”
Wake was taken aback by this unusual familiarity on the part of a petty officer until he realized that this man, as the chief yeoman of the admiral’s staff, probably knew more secrets and opinions than any other, including the admiral. The man had more influence than most of the ship captains and all of the junior officers like Wake.
The other officers in the room started conversations among themselves after the exchange between the master and the chief yeoman, as they were as impressed by the chief’s statement as Wake was. Some were nodding in agreement, and others were obviously at variance with the chief’s opinion. Wake became aware that he was the topic of discussion in the room and he did not like it. Feeling the palpable jealousy among some of the officers, Wake ignored them and continued with the chief yeoman.
“Thank you, Chief. The envelope contains my orders, of course, but what is in the box?”
“Dispatches for Havana from the admiral, sir.”
“Very well, thank you. I’ll be on my way.”
“Sir, one more thing, if I may. Beware of the shoals of Havana, sir. I’ve been there myself. Seen many a man fetch up on one that he never saw till it was too late. They are everywhere, and not a damn one charted, sir. Even a few of ’em out in the water. . . .” At this last the chief yeoman looked Wake in the eye, just as Commander Johnson had moments earlier. “Would be sad to see a good man end his career like that. Be careful, sir.”
Both men turned to go off in different directions, the chief yeoman back to his desk to write out the orders of his superiors for the governing of the squadron, and the young officer outside to think about all that had just happened to him.
The sun was shining and the breeze made the air seem clean as Wake walked out past the marine guard to the front gate of the naval station. In spite of the beautiful weather, he felt uneasy as he recited to himself the various comments from the admiral, the commander, and the chief yeoman—uneasy about the meaning of what they said, uneasy about what he was about to do in a foreign country, and very uneasy about the outcome of the pending mission.
His first priority was to get the envelope and the box back to his cabin. This he did in the next half hour since the dinghy was standing by at the officer’s landing. Once aboard the Rosalie and safely ensconced in his cabin, Wake opened the orders from the envelope.
They were standard navy orders and betrayed none of the information that had been imparted in the admiral’s office. They appeared almost boring in comparison to the intrigue and innuendo to which he had just been privy. And then it hit him like the impact from a gun recoil. His verbal orders were not supported in these written orders. Wake now realized that he was engaged in a very dangerous game, one that had many unforeseen “shoals,” as the chief yeoman had said. Of course, the chief yeoman had probably been the one to write out these orders for Admiral Barkley and Commander Johnson. This new insight into his immediate future made Wake even more uneasy than his ignorance had earlier. He had better think out every move on this mission. The consequences were enormous.
Wake returned to the deck and observed Rork speaking with the new men. Rosalie had been given a draft of new seamen to replace those of the original crew who had been killed, wounded, or had their enlistments expire. It struck Wake as sad that he had lost the entire crew of “Roseys” except for Durlon and Rork. Several had been wounded and a few killed at the engagements at the Peace and Myakka Rivers. Hardin’s fate did not cause any grief, b
ut still he was one more of the original crew who had gone. The Rosalie had gotten the reputation for being in action and for getting things done, but the price was not to be dwelled upon. Wake knew that he and his sloop were being talked about in the East Gulf Blockading Squadron, and he didn’t like that any more than he’d liked the scene with the other officers at the squadron offices. He felt a new pressure that he feared might silently undermine his life.
“Rork, I am going ashore now. I shall return by the end of the day. Present yourself at the yard victual and supply officer and make up provisions for two weeks. They should have received authorization from the squadron. We get under way at dawn. Full ammunition load.”
Rork grinned at the last sentence of his orders. He knew that Wake had something special up, and he was ready for whatever the young captain had in mind. “Aye aye, sir. Full ammunition load and provisions for two weeks. Old Rosey’s going to be busy yet again!”
“And, Rork, you may exercise the new men today after resupplying from the yard. I want everyone steady on this voyage.”
Several of the new men were standing close by and couldn’t help but hear the orders. They nodded their heads at the information but their expressions showed confusion. Rork turned to them, smiled, and gave loud encouragement.
“And steady they’ll be, sir. Won’t you, boyos!”
Wake was rowed ashore by Durlon, who was going to obtain some accoutrements for his beloved gun from the chief gunner at the yard. When he was disembarked at the officers’ landing, Wake muttered a brief goodbye to the gunner’s mate and walked through the naval station and out the front gate into the town.
He had not seen Linda in several weeks and then only briefly on the street, where they could not embrace and speak of the feelings in their hearts. He wondered if it was not more painful to be this close to her and see her yet not be able to hold her. He had to be very careful now. The repeated inferences he had received from various sources about Confederate operatives working in Key West seemed, to his distressed mind, to be warnings about Linda’s father. And so, particularly in light of his new mission, he had to be discreet in his behavior. He was still wary of Commander Johnson and the cryptic meaning of his words. As he walked along the streets of the town of Key West to Whitehead Street on the gorgeous December day, Wake mused that were it just war by fighting the enemy, it would be hard, but clear.
The houses and establishments of the town had not seen a fresh coat of paint since the war deprived them of such luxuries. Key West always seemed a bit tense under its apparent facade of toleration of the occupation by Federal forces. The formerly gay house fronts were now faded from bright blues and greens to powdery neutral shades as if in silent protest to the dampening of the traditional free-enterprise atmosphere of the island. These images crowded Wake’s mind as he strolled under the cool shade of the banyan trees on Whitehead Street to the alleyway that led behind the Donahue house.
Once there, behind the cooking shed that was detached in the backyard from the main house, Wake waited. It was near time for the midday meal, and he knew that with the cook now gone and buried, Linda would be doing the cooking for her father and uncle. Smells from the kitchen were making him very hungry. He heard humming in the kitchen and knew that Linda was there, just a few feet away.
As he entered the narrow kitchen, she was startled and almost dropped the hot pan she was carrying from the oven to the table. As quickly as it was put down on the table, she was in his arms.
“Peter, I knew you would come today. I heard at the store that Rosalie had come into port. How long do you have?”
“About three hours, maybe four. Go serve the family. I’ll wait out here for you. Maybe help myself to your cooking! It’s good to know that you can fill my stomach as well as my heart! I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know.”
“I won’t be able to even eat knowing you’re here so close. I’ve missed you so much I can’t stand it, Peter. And now today, Father is in a very bad mood. The newspapers from the North have come in this week, having nothing but bad news for the South. The Mississippi is under Union control, Lee is going backward, and some general named Sherman is in the mountains by Chattanooga. The Union people are all dancing with joy, but many islanders are depressed about it all. You should hear the talk at the store. This town is full of spies and toadies for both sides. It’s disgusting, Peter. And you, my poor darling, are in the middle of all of the danger up on that forsaken coast.”
Their conversation was ended by her father calling from the house, wanting to know when his meal would be ready. Wake stayed hidden in the bushes for half an hour, glancing continually around to see if anyone was watching, until Linda returned.
“Now I must clean up the kitchen from the noon meal and ready the evening one. I think that will take me all afternoon out here. What do you think, Peter Wake?”
“It will be a very busy afternoon, ma’am. That is what I think.”
With an occasional rattle of pots and pans, Linda stayed in the cooking house all afternoon with her young naval officer. With one eye looking out toward the main house, they caught up on all the events in their lives that had occurred in the last month. That Christmas was coming, with all the joy that season usually brings, was not mentioned. The Donahue family would be having a subdued Christmas, their first without Linda’s mother. And Wake would probably be back from Cuba, but on duty somewhere else.
The talk gradually lessened and the embraces lengthened along with the shadows of the trees. An hour before sunset, Wake realized that he had overstayed and was bound to go. He hated these moments. He left her as he always did, trying to lighten the heartache for both of them. His departure was quick, with a laugh and a kiss, but the pain was still there. Then he was gone back down the alley, this time out a different way than his ingress, lest anyone connect his location in that part of town to Linda’s family. It was only after he was away from her alluring power that he sensed again the danger in their rendezvous. Danger from both sides.
Shoals of Havana! If only the chief yeoman knew of the shoals in Key West that I have sailed around and through, thought Wake. For the thousandth time he wondered if he and Linda would ever be found out by either side. Disaster would result either way, he knew. The walk back to the officers’ landing was not nearly as pleasant as the walk from that place.
Early December mornings were lovely down here, especially when contrasted with those in New England. Wake had seen his share of tough winter storms and knew that right then in New England there were men who would give a lot to be where he was, danger and intrigue or not. Up there, the wind would be bitter and wet and could kill a man merely through too much exposure. But here, in the tropics of Florida, the trade wind blew on its daily ritual, fresh and sweet, a nice sailing breeze from the southeast.
***
The drill of weighing anchor and setting the mainsail was done with a minimum of fuss, thanks to Rork’s leadership with the new hands in the crew. Of the six new men, three were seasoned, able seamen and the others were brand new. Of the new ones, only one had grown up on a coast and knew what he was about. Rork and Durlon led them through the procedures patiently but firmly, and Wake was impressed that they did as well as they did. Evidently the practice the day before had paid off.
The reddish brown walls of Fort Taylor were close aboard for the departure of Rosalie from Key West, for this time she was sailing south. Wake looked at the soldiers on guard detail on the parapets and thought back to the May morning seven months ago when he had defended a young girl named Linda from an obnoxious lieutenant at that very fortress. It felt like seven years instead of seven months.
Rork was initially curious about the orders to set a broad reach out the main channel to the Straits of Florida, but he kept his thoughts to himself as the sloop bounded along through the jade and turquoise waters b
y the reefs that guarded the channel. In the daytime you didn’t need channel markers, for the water was so clear and the colors of the various depths so bright that anyone could steer a course through the shoals from the island. The reefs did their evil work at night and on cloudy days, when sailors fell victim to them, often fatally.
As they heeled over with the breeze, Wake was thinking about how many a man in Key West had been made very rich by these reefs. According to Linda, her father had made money from wreck salvaging over the years also. Odd that nature and man should combine in an enterprise and make such riches off the unfortunate who struck these reefs. An excellent warning for the mission about to begin, he thought as he appreciated the breathtaking view of the sea and coral reefs below that only sailors who sailed these waters were privileged to know.
The wind from the southeast, opposing the tremendous ocean river of the Gulf Stream, made a course to the southwest the best track. Once this order had been given, every man in the crew soon knew the destination. Havana. It was one of the most mysterious ports in the Caribbean, especially now with the war making it a center of enemy activity. Rork grinned again upon hearing this directive and turned to leading the crew in setting up the trim of the running rigging with a vigor that matched the speed of the Rosalie in the freshening wind.
Upon clearing the reefs, Rosalie rode the great ocean swells that had traveled five hundred miles through the Old Bahama Channel from the island of Hispaniola to break on Florida’s offshore islands and reefs. Driven by the trade winds, they became seasoned, old moving hills by the time they reached the sloop sailing toward Cuba. The rhythmic motion they created became the basic time measurement for the crew of the small ship. It took two swells to reach the foredeck from the stern. Three to climb aloft to the crosstrees for the lookout. Only one to walk athwart the beam of the sloop by the gun.
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 19
