“She’s showin’ her colors, sir!” volunteered Chestnut. “Doesn’t that mean for us to heave to, sir?”
Now Wake wasn’t feeling so enthusiastic. He was in a very dangerous situation. “Steady on, boys. We will not heave to in these seas. Rork, please send up our ensign and stand by to slack away on the sheets.”
A small American flag, of the type a coastal sailor would have aboard, was hauled up to the peak of the mainsail. Afterward all the crew waved at the oncoming ship in the most innocent way they could imagine, all the while preparing to ease away off the wind and set more sail.
As the Peterel passed within a hundred feet to windward of the Rosalie, Wake heard a man call out through a trumpet, “Ahoy to the sloop there! Your name and last port?”
The rumble of machinery and the loud swish of the steamer’s bow wave became almost overwhelming as Wake answered with cupped hands, “Rosalie! Two days outbound from Man-O-War, bound for Nassau!”
“Rosalie! Heave to in our lee! Heave to!”
The officers on the stern of the steamer were examining the small sloop and her crew with telescopes, giving Wake the feeling of a bug being eyed by a predator prior to being eaten. That feeling was heightened by the close-up look at the armament of the British warship. Modern weaponry was very much apparent, including pivot-mounted, breech-loading Armstrong guns. Wake glanced at Durlon, who spoke quietly to his captain.
“Aye, she may be slow but those Armstrongs can reach out and hurt us, Captain. Those look like twenty-pounders, and that one there,” he nodded in the direction of the largest gun on the steamer’s deck, which was partially hidden by the bulwark, “looks, by God, to be a forty-pounder! ”
Sloshing along downwind, the steamer slid past them quickly and was soon astern. Her officers were still eyeing the American sloop. They became more animated as the distance between the ships increased. Now they were yelling something, but no words could be made out. The moment had come for action, and Wake was thinking that it had to be done correctly and quickly.
“Ease away on the sheet! Set the jib and shake out those mains’l reefs!”
Instantly the pounding gave way to a rolling swoop over the beam seas as the Rosalie heeled over with the lee rail awash. The added press of sail served to dampen her motion a bit, and the increase in speed seemed even more pronounced as the sound of the bow wave increased in tempo. They were positively flying along, almost passing out of the water at the crest of a wave. Hole in the Wall slid by to leeward.
Wake stood at the stern, still trying to look innocent by waving to the warship heading away to the northeast. As he waved he felt a change in her motion, and Holmes at the great tiller interrupted him. “Sir, bit of a wind shift. We’re getting headed, sir.”
With that new development, Rork let out a string of Irish oaths that impressed even Wake. Quickly the crew hauled the sheets in again to conform to the now west-of-south wind. It was back-breaking work, for the sloop with all sail set was creating a tremendous force to haul against. Just then Chestnut and young Schmidt yelled in unison, “She’s coming round!” as they pointed aft. Wake turned to see the other ship, astern by a mile now, slowly turn up into the wind and come round on their heading. With none of her barque-rigged sails set, Peterel could turn around fast. Now time would tell who was faster. Wake looked at Great Abaco Island again to gauge whether he could round the last remaining headland, Southwest Point, and then fly off to leeward on the west coast of the island.
“Stream the log, Rork. As soon as we round that point we shall run off close along the shore. Maybe we can make them timid among the reefs!”
The log showed the sloop was making eight knots, with surges even faster. She was smashing along in the seas and the strain was evident in her standing rigging, with the leeward shrouds sagging off and the windward ones taut and moaning in the wind. Rork was watching everything at once, directing preventer lines to be set up and putting an extra man on the helm to help with the steering. Wake knew she was being overpowered by the wind, but he also knew it was her only chance of escaping the steamer, now dully colliding with the seas astern of them and heading for the Americans.
The set and drift of the sloop carried her down to the leeward shore, and soon they could hear the crash of the surf less than a mile away. In a few minutes Wake judged that the time was right, even with that wind shift, and that they should now head west close aboard the rocks at the base of Southwest Point.
“Bear away and ease the sheets! Mind your helm and steer small for the west, close on the shoreline!”
This order was punctuated by the sight—for the sound had been carried off to the northeast—of a plume of water that erupted a quarter mile ahead of the bows. Wake was stunned at first and came out of his shock finally when Durlon came up to him and yelled into his ear, “Damned good shot, sir. Probably can’t do that again though! Sheer luck, if ya’ ask me!”
There was nothing more to do than what they were already doing. The distance between the little sloop and the shore narrowed rapidly as they passed Southwest Point very close and slewed around to run off on a broad reach along the coast of the island. Wake estimated that they were still about a mile and a half from the steamer, and the British were not gaining much, if any.
He could tell by the buildup of the seas that they were getting close to the reefs along the shore. The wind was also building. The chart indicated a bay far ahead with reefs and islands in it. If they could make it to the safety of the shallow water, where the steamer could not go, they might just force the enemy, for that is how Wake now thought of them, to give up the chase.
Boom! . . . The sound was coming along the wind, since the steamer was now astern and upwind of the sloop, steering farther out around the point than the Americans, as the next plume of water erupted far out ahead of them. Durlon pointed out to his shipmates that he had predicted that wild shot, and started to make wagers concerning the next one. Somehow this calmed everyone, including Wake, enough to face the next few shots with academic interest. None of them came close.
Cedar Point was a headland coming up several miles ahead and, with Rosalie on a broad reach, would be easily rounded. The chart indicated there would be enough water for the sloop to cross the gap in the reefs, but the two-fathom bottom would bar the steamer from the entrance.
For the next half hour the chase continued as before, but without further shots from the British ship. The distance between them was difficult to gauge but definitely was not diminishing. The coast prior to reaching the bay ahead was straight and without off-lying reefs. All they had to do was hold on to their lead and make it through the reefs of the bay they were quickly approaching. Soon they could see the waves rising up along the reef, then the foam became visible, and soon they could hear the crash of the heavy seas as they broke down upon the coral rocks.
The wall of exploding surf had a quiet space showing a quarter mile off Cedar Point and the sloop headed for that. Rosalie was sailing faster now than Wake had ever experienced since joining her. Surging down the waves, which were building as they got closer to the bay and the bottom shallowed, the sloop was on the verge of broaching several times. The sheer strength of the helmsmen and their intuitive knowledge of how to steer through the following seas was what kept them from veering out of control and ending up a wreck on the reefs to leeward. Rork and Wake stood quietly next to them, not wanting to distract the men who had the lives of all aboard in their hands. Every man in the crew intensely watched the men on the tiller and the Royal Navy steamer astern of them. Wagers and jocularity were gone as they all hauled or slacked the sheets and tried to hold on and not fall on the pitching and rolling deck.
The reefs ahead now showed with terrifying clarity. Even the razor-sharp coral could be seen below the crashing surf. The sound of the seas smashing into the reefs wa
s a constant rumble occasionally interrupted by much louder thuds as a larger wave fell heavily onto the coral formations. Faster than Wake had predicted, they found themselves within the maelstrom of noise and spray, with the seas lifting them high and throwing them forward. The die was now cast and they could not turn around or to either side but had to hope they could get through the apparent gap in the teeth of the coral they were steering for. Rosalie rose higher and held there for a moment, then fell down the front of the wave, her bow wave making a rushing sound that overwhelmed all else.
The men at the tiller were struggling to keep her under control as the sloop raced forward at speeds faster than Wake had ever seen any ship under sail make. The log was now uselessly skipping astern of them but Wake estimated that they must be making at least twelve or thirteen knots, possibly more. It would be instantaneous death for all of them if they hit a reef at this speed. The two helmsmen were barely able to stand from exhaustion and their arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably from the effort. Wake and Rork relieved the seamen and held the straining tiller, steering through the opening in the brown coral walls that were plainly visible in the breaking seas on either side of the sloop. It was all they could do to keep her on course.
“Hold on and pray for forgiveness, men!” he shouted with a smile as Rork bore a hand to help on the tiller. All hands held onto anything substantial as they entered the narrow channel.
“All right, ya limey bastards! Lay off and belay!” the bosun yelled as he fought the helm to help Wake counter the twist of the seas trying to slew Rosalie around. He even held the tiller with one hand to shake the other in a great fist at the steamer, which was periodically disappearing behind the huge seas thrown up by the rising bottom.
“By the mark, two!” cried Sampson from the leeward shrouds as he was knee-deep awash in the green water. “By the mark, four!” he cried again as he cast the lead line again and found the depth increasing inshore of the reefs.
And in a moment the water was amazingly calmer and the sloop much easier to steer, with the tempest of the reefs behind them. Rork and the captain were relieved at the helm by White and Hewlitt. Wake collapsed onto the deck, gasping for breath and looking out to sea. The steamer was continuing north past the reefs and the bay. A final shot came their way and exploded in the top of a wave along the reef to windward of them. Durlon winced, and Sampson and Nelson asked for their money since it had come much closer than he had predicted in his wager.
Wake shook his head in disbelief and stood, helping an exhausted Rork up from deck where he was resting from the ordeal.
“White, steer for that small island there ahead. Durlon, if you could spare the time away from your gambling endeavor, kindly drop the mains’l immediately. I want to reduce our visibility to them as much as possible.”
Wake was duly acknowledged by a grinning Durlon and a serious-faced White, and the sloop sailed through the shoaling water to a point of land at a thin island ahead of the bow. By the time they had reached the point, Rosalie had only the jib pulling and they had slowed to a couple of knots. Soon they had drifted around and under the lee of the point into flat water. Wake felt exhausted and sat on the stern rail.
“Anchor and get the sail down. I want a man aloft to tell me what they are doing. Schmidt, that will be you.”
The rest of the crew stowed the gear and sails as the boy climbed the shrouds to the crosstree spreaders and stood by the topmast, peering out to sea through the mangrove trees of the island that separated the Americans from the British. He called out from aloft.
“They’ve come about, sir. The steamer is headin’ back along the reefs real slow into the wind. They’s makin’ heavy weather of it, sir.”
“Continue, son. What are they doing now? Are they lowering a boat?”
“No, sir, they haven’t stopped to lower a boat, sir. Looks to be they’re goin’ away to windward, back the way we all come from, sir. That’s good, ain’t it, sir?”
Wake, a slumped and exhausted form on the deck among the other slumped forms of his crew next to him, started laughing. He was joined by Rork and Durlon and soon all the rest of the men. The boy up on the mast looked confused.
“Yes, young sailor Schmidt. The fact that they are going away would be a good thing. A very good thing! Stay up there for another hour and keep your eyes peeled for any sign of the steamer or one of her boats. Our fate is in your hands now, son.”
Rork spoke up from his seat on the deck by the binnacle. “They won’t be launchin’ a boat to go through that surf, sir. Even the crazy limeys won’t be daft enough to do that!”
Rork got a quizzical look on his face as he thought of what he had just said, then started laughing again. Wake joined as he pointed to the bosun.
“You’re right again, Bosun Rork. Nobody but a damned fool would go through that reef in that surf! Certainly no seaman worth his salt that I know.”
Soon all hands on the Rosalie were laughing at the bosun and his unintended comment on their sanity. And with that the exhausted crew of the sloop Rosalie slept, many of them on the deck, anchored behind a mangrove island hidden away from their pursuer. Remembering the words of Commissioner Williams regarding the wishes of Queen Victoria that he and his crew should be well behaved, Wake laughed in his thoughts. Oh, if Her Majesty could only know how badly her wishes have been ignored! He did not know what they would do next, but he did know that they would soon have to escape the waters of the Bahamas. Her Britannic Majesty’s Ship Peterel was bound to return when the weather piped down in order to capture the insolent Americans who had flaunted her authority. Nassau was no longer a part of the plan. Now they had to make the safety of Florida.
Two days later the wind veered to the north and blew fresh and cold. The seas no longer crashed in from offshore against the reef, but instead small waves rolled out from shore. The sloop sailed downwind out through the perilous cut in the reefs when the sun was high and the coral was easily seen in the clear waters. Lookouts, who had watched the horizon for the last two days and found nothing, doubled their efforts, for all hands knew that by now there might be several ships of the Royal Navy bound for this bay in an effort to trap and capture the cheeky Americans. Wake sailed with just the jib drawing in order to reduce the sight of his ship on the horizon to any others.
That night they set all sail and raced along the Northwest Providence Channel to the west. No other ships were seen, but at dawn the next day they reduced sail again as they had come into the trade route and saw many island sloops and schooners. Occasionally they sighted a full ship-rigged vessel or a steamer, but none came close enough to be recognized.
On the third dawn after leaving the bay, they saw the coast of Florida, low and sandy, and closed inshore with sails wing and wing on a gentle breeze from the east. The men of the Rosalie were cheered by the realization that they were safely out of British territory. Catching the countercurrent along the beach, Rosalie sailed on a broad port reach until they saw the familiar sights of the Florida Keys stretch out before them, curving southwest and then due west into the Gulf of Mexico. Wake felt a mixture of emotions. He was glad to be back in the relatively safe waters of his home area, glad to return to the arms of Linda, and glad to be able to rest himself and his men. But he dreaded having to tell Admiral Barkley the intelligence he had found out, that somehow his plan in Cuba to rid them of Saunders had been thwarted and that the blockade-running operations of the northern Bahamian islands was far more extensive than thought previously. He feared that this damned war would drag on and on if they were not even able to stop blockade runners like Saunders from their operations.
On the other hand, Wake was fairly certain that their identity had not been compromised and that the British probably thought the sloop was just another trading vessel smuggling items into or out of the colony. If the Peterel’s crew had be
en able to board the Rosalie, the bad news for the admiral would have included the nightmare of an international incident as well.
Wake touched his scar as he watched Fort Taylor pass by to starboard on their return to Key West harbor. It was by the sheerest luck that he and his men were not in the dungeons of Fort Charlotte in Nassau for violating Her Majesty’s wishes. As he had rapidly learned in the last six months, of such things were success and failure determined in war.
Even in the heat of the noonday calm, the thought of what could have happened made him shudder.
11
Course Made Good
It had been almost a year of war for Wake. Vicksburg, Gettysburg, Chickamauga, and the Wilderness were the newest locations of the bloody battles on land, seizing the attention of a terrified nation. The navy had fought all along the country’s coastlines and rivers as well. Sensational accounts of the new Confederate submersible weapon at Charleston and Rebel torpedo bombs in Virginia had filled the newspapers and dominated the talk in the taverns of Key West. It seemed that the insanity would never end. Just as another Union victory would be announced, with the accompanying toll of dead and maimed, the Southerners would somehow fight their way to one more innovative success, doing more with less each time. Wake was alternately depressed by the Union inability to decisively end the carnage and awed by the Confederacy’s ability to prolong it. It was all so different from what he had expected a year ago.
It had been a very long year since Peter Wake had left New England and the merchant marine for this life of a naval officer in the East Gulf Blockading Squadron at war in a tropical world of islands and jungles, a life and world that he could not have imagined before his arrival. The year had presented him a series of difficult problems with no easy answers. And it was truly beyond his comprehension that he had grown accustomed to living in this world of sailors and guns and danger. It intrigued him to think of what challenges might rise over the horizon in the near future of his life.
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 28
