Next he opened his orders and found that the St. James was a seventy-ton schooner built just five years ago, even newer than the Rosalie. She was to be armed with two six-pounder boat howitzers and manned by a crew of twenty-five. The yard was ordered to “take all care to provision, supply, and equip her for naval usage.” Her length of eighty-five feet and draft of six feet meant she could go almost anywhere she might be needed. He found himself wondering if his cabin would be more spacious.
A voice calling him to supper brought him on deck, where the crew not on liberty ashore were starting to eat their salt pork. Rork stared at Wake as they sat on the deck and ate their food. He could sense that something was bothering his commander and finally spoke up.
“Sir, how did it go ashore today? I saw you had some orders with you when you returned. Do we have another go at the Rebs? Or more of the same work?”
Wake was glad to be able to finally speak of positive information. “Rork, the day was eventful. I found out several things that may interest you.”
“I’m all ears, sir! I’d be much obliged to find out just what has happened among the esteemed leadership on this fine day!”
Wake smiled at Rork’s reply as Durlon came over and sat with them. Wake continued with a lighter tone. “Well, men, first I found out that I have passed the examination for lieutenant and have been given my commission.”
“Excellent, sir! Well done and well earned, if I do say so meself,” said Rork with a huge Irish grin lighting up his face.
Durlon put down his plate and extended his hand. “I’ll be damned, sir. So the powers that be actually knew talent when they saw it. Congratulations, sir. We’re all glad for ya.”
“Thank you, men. I must admit it surprised me a bit, but it is very welcome. I’ve decided to stay in for a career, even after this war is done.”
Both petty officers nodded their approval of this decision and looked at him for more revelations.
“Also, I have been given command of a schooner just taken into the service, the St. James, which is lying at anchor over there by the docks. Spent many years on schooners up north. Haven’t gotten to see her myself yet, but she sounds like a good vessel.” Wake held up his hand as Rork and Durlon were about to congratulate him again. “And, I have been given permission to ship two petty officers over to her from Rosalie. So that would mean you two, if you want to come with me.”
“Honored, sir,” said a suddenly serious Rork.
“No sense in not going with ya, sir. So what are her guns, sir?” said an equally serious Durlon. He was always serious when he spoke of cannons.
“Good, I’m glad you’ll both be with me. We can take two seamen also. Rork, you can recommend which to me later. Durlon, she’ll have two twelve-pounder howitzers. Close-in weapons.”
Durlon pondered this news and replied, “A schooner with twelve-pounders. That will do, sir. We can make some mischief with that.”
Rork looked at his gunner friend and laughed. “Mischief, me old son? We could make a bit of hell with those two darlins’. I do believe, sir, that my friend here is startin’ to speak with a bit o’ understatement. He must be gettin’ old.”
“Be that as it may, Rork, we will go over in the morning and see our new ship and make plans for getting her fitted out and under way as soon as we can.”
The pleasant period lasted for another hour as the three men spoke of their new ship and her area of operations. They talked of which crewmen to bring along and how to get the most from the yard and supply clerks. As dark descended with the completeness of the tropics, Wake wandered back to his cabin and thought about gaining a new ship and losing the love of his life, all in one day. It all was happening so fast that he couldn’t fathom the meaning yet. He collapsed in his bunk in the tiny, musty cabin and fell asleep exhausted from the emotions that had drained him.
The next five days proved to be as physically wearing as the last had proved emotional. Wake and the two petty officers had to turn their beloved Rosalie temporarily over to a newly arrived bosun’s mate from the steam gunboat U.S.S. Tahoma. He had stories to tell of serving under the famous Alexander Semmes, cousin of the notorious Rebel naval officer Raphael Semmes, who was making news around the world as he scourged the American merchant marine. The Semmes of the East Gulf Blockading Squadron was equally as active in bringing the war ashore and afloat to the Confederates of Florida, and had recently been sent north to command a new monitor gunboat. Wake had heard of the man, and once had met him, but was impressed when the bosun told them of the Tahoma’s exploits. After spending time with the new interim commander of his old sloop, he felt that Old Rosey was going to be in good hands, which made him feel better, for he had come to love the little ship that had carried them through so much in the last year.
The St. James did indeed have a larger cabin for the captain. She also carried a tall rig for her length, a valuable asset when the summer doldrums would come. Since her hull drew more water and was more voluminous, the crew berthing area made out of the former hold was more habitable also. Wake and Durlon noted with approval that her magazine was far more secure and that the two twelve-pounders would not impact her center of gravity as much as on the Rosalie. Rork was very impressed that her rigging and canvas looked almost new, which was very unusual for a blockade runner at this point in the war. He surmised that she must have been refitted at Nassau lately and wondered if their old nemesis Saunders had been part of that effort.
All in all, Wake was pleased with how things were progressing. The new crew was signed aboard and consisted of a few veterans, like Sampson and Hewlitt from the Rosalie, but mostly new recruits. These young men were in awe of Rork and Durlon and absolutely fearful of Wake. In their short time in the navy they had already learned the power of a naval officer over their lives.
The one distressing factor was, as always, dealing with the yard and supply petty officers, who seemed to be greatly disturbed when anything disrupted their personal plans and schedules. The crew had to resort to threatening, cajoling, inducing, and openly bribing in order to get the equipment, supplies, and provisioning that the St. James needed to make her a fighting ship.
Finally it was done and the day came for Wake to assemble the crew on deck and read his orders for command and the official commissioning of the vessel into the United States Navy. Afterward, they set sail and made their way south down the main channel past Fort Taylor toward the Atlantic Ocean, Wake thinking again of the day he had met Linda in the guard room there. He was trying to block any sadness from his feelings, however, since they were sailing outbound on a gorgeous day with a fair southwesterly breeze and the brilliant colors of the reefs lit up the waters all around them. The various blues and greens, with an occasional purple or yellow, reminded him of how far away he was from New England and his previous life. He turned away from staring at the walls of Fort Taylor and looked out to sea, where indigo blue signaled deep water beyond the reef.
He had not even tried to see Linda again after that last meeting. Her words had burned into his mind, and he relived that moment again and again. Though he knew that the blame lay with the war, he could not help feeling in his heart that he was responsible for her sadness, that he had somehow failed, that he should have done something, said something. He was trying to come to terms with his new reality, that he was empty except for this ship, this crew, and this mission.
They turned eastward at the outer reef and ran on a broad reach out to the Gulf Stream. The patrol orders were to sail to Salt Key Bank, or Cay Sal, as the Spanish had called it for four hundred years, between the Bahamas and Cuba, and search there for any suspicious ships. Then they would turn northward and proceed to Cape Florida, thence back to Key West by the inside channel among the keys. It was a simple plan, with some intricate navigation required among the reefs at their destinations, but
Wake welcomed it as a mind-consuming exercise that would overwhelm the memories haunting him. Rork and Durlon knew something was still bothering their captain, but did not know that the Rebel girl, whom they both knew about, had broken his heart.
On their second day out they saw a native sloop from the Bahamas and hailed her. She reported that there was a schooner in the Cay Sal area flying a British flag but appearing American built and manned. The black spongers aboard the sloop added that the Americans in the schooner didn’t look like they were there to trade with the other spongers and turtlers who sailed those waters. Wake was intrigued and decided to investigate the schooner.
With the wind still out of the southwest, Wake sailed the St. James around to the northeast end of the chain of barely visible islets known as the Double Headed Shot Cays. Neither he nor any of his crew had been to this place, but Wake had heard plenty of stories about shipwrecks in the area. The depth rose from many hundreds of fathoms—no one knew exactly how many—to only ten fathoms in the space of a hundred yards. He could just imagine trying to approach from the west with the ocean swells coming onto the shallow banks. They reduced sail and steered northeast for a day, then tacked her back round and sailed slowly under just the jib due south, looking for some sign of the islands. The last thing Wake wanted was to find the reefs with his keel.
After a day of slow sailing, they tacked back to the north in the dark of the night. Now the new lieutenant was worried about the effect of the currents in the area. He had heard stories about those too. The next morning they sailed south again, with double lookouts in the bows.
First they sensed the change in the seas on the starboard beam. The swells started to lump up and make crests, disrupting the regular pattern they had been sailing through. Now all hands were called to look in all directions forward of amidships. They crept forward to the south, rolling with the increased wave action, until at midmorning a young new crewman by the name of Lawrence cried out that he thought he saw something in the distance on the port bow.
Rork scrambled up to the crosstrees and stood next to Lawrence. He searched the scene with a telescope, a valuable instrument not entrusted to a mere youngster. Soon he was calling down to his captain that the sailor was surely correct and the reef islets were some few miles ahead. Wake luffed the jib to slow her speed to a crawl as the bottom started to show underneath.
Sampson swung the lead line. “Nay on to seven!” “By the deep five!” “Now under four!” He called out from the port shrouds as he swung the line up and ahead and down into the water. The bottom was showing in stark clarity, terrifying for the new hands, but Wake knew how to “read” the waters of this part of the world by now and was calling the steering by the colors he saw. They drew closer to the line of reef islets and observed no vessels among them. Steering around the huge coral heads that rose up brown and menacing from the sandy bottom, they finally came around the end of the easternmost islet and anchored in two fathoms under its small lee.
Rork was sent with the launch to the closest islet to see what he could find ashore on the coral and sand rocks that rose only a few feet out of the sea. The launch was a luxury compared to the dinghy they had used with Rosalie. Rork was able to take five men with him and covered the short distance quickly. A few minutes later he returned, explaining to his captain that no sign of a camp or any people could be seen. Wake then decided that they would have to go the length of the chain of islets, searching each one for any sign that sailors had been there. These islands had been used for rendezvous by pirates in the previous century, and he surmised that the blockade runners could be using them as such now.
The wind was on their bow as the St. James weighed anchor and tacked under jib and reefed foresail along the southwesterly line of small islands. At each cay they repeated the procedure of anchoring and rowing ashore, but always they returned without any sign of their possible enemy. They sailed until midday, when the sun was high enough for them to read the colors of the water, and thus stay off the jagged reaches of coral rock that threatened to maroon them in this desolate place.
After anchoring for the afternoon and evening, they got under way again the next day, following the same routine of Wake making detailed sketches of the area while Rork, Sampson, or Durlon read the water and steered the schooner through the dangers. After three days they reached the westernmost end of the chain, and Wake gave the order to let her run away to the east, along the path they had come.
After days of fruitless search he became concerned about water and other provisions. There was no further reason to stay at Cay Sal, and Wake determined that they should make their run north to Cape Florida before the food and water situation should become urgent. It took only two days to make the run easterly, but by the time they turned north the wind had gone into that direction also, making the course another very close haul.
Emerging from the shallows of the Cay Sal Bank under reefed fore and main with a small jib showing, St. James heeled over to shoulder her way into the building seas and wind. The confused seas became large swells and the schooner fairly swooped along in the rhythm of the ocean. By the end of that day, after the sun had sunk into the haze of the horizon, Wake could tell that they were in the Gulf Stream again. But this time was different. The wind and current were now opposing each other, and the seas upon the surface of the great swells were starting to rise and curl. He had seen this before on Rosalie and was very glad to be aboard a much larger vessel that could handle the potential peril with more ease. As they smashed their way along to the north, the night was wet and cold on deck and seawater found its way everywhere below, making the crew’s spaces even more uncomfortable.
Watch after watch they slogged into the next day, wondering aloud to each other if the Bahamians had intentionally given them false information to lead them away from the true course of a blockade runner. Wake and his petty officers discussed it and deduced that it might be the case, vowing to remember the faces of the men who had given them that report.
By the next day Wake had new navigational decisions to make. With the sky overcast he had not been able to take a sight for a position and had been relying on his and Rork’s dead reckoning since leaving the shallow islets behind. The difficulty was that the great ocean river of the Gulf Stream had greatly influenced their course. But how much and in what direction?
The lieutenant decided to make a tack to the west, running until he could see the Florida mainland, then sail south to Cape Florida. After conferring with Rork and getting his estimate of the Stream’s effect upon their course, Wake made his announcement and the schooner was borne away with the sheets eased on a starboard tack. The crew, even the newcomers to the ways of the navy, knew that a miscalculation could result in their sailing to the west on a latitude too far south that would end them on one of the Florida Keys’ reefs before they ever saw the land ahead. Wake knew their fears—indeed, he shared them within himself—but he also knew that a decision had to be made. Rork’s estimate did not seem to be enough to the east and north, and he rejected it as probably wrong. He went with his own estimate. Either he had made his calculations correctly about the course made good, or he had not and they would pay the price for the mistake.
All hands watched ahead as the St. James slid through the seas on her beam reach. It was her best point of sail, and it seemed as though they were almost going to lift up into the air at times when coming off a wave. Despite the anxiety, Wake found himself smiling in appreciation of how his new ship sailed. She was fast warming into his heart with her ways.
By dusk the sun had fallen through the sky to become a flaring beacon for the helmsman to steer by. Wake, not wanting to close the land in the coming darkness, was just about to give the order to tack back to the east when the lookout aloft yelled with such glee that he almost fell.
“Land! I see land ahead there. See it? The bi
g tree off over there.” His arm pointed to two points off the port bow.
“Lookout aloft! Give a proper report or I’ll have ye stand the next watch up there with the birds, damn ya,” came booming up from the deck as Rork took a telescope from the binnacle rack and, winking at Wake, swung into the ratlines to climb upward. “Captain, he probably saw a cloud, but I’ll be checking up on the lad anyhow.”
Moments later, the entire crew stood swaying on the main deck of the schooner, every eye focused on the bosun.
Rork roared down, “By the saints in heaven! Lord Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! The boyo here is right enough that he sees something ahead, Captain. But it ain’t a cloud or a tree, by God. It’s the lighthouse at Cape Florida itself, sir! Dead on exact landfall, sir.”
A ragged cheer went up from the crowd on the deck as Durlon made his way over and shook Wake’s hand. All hands watched as the gunner’s mate grinned at his captain.
“Damned good navigation, sir! Never saw it done like that afore.”
Wake thanked him for his kind words as Rork came down the swaying backstay hand over hand, landing on the deck next to them with a thud.
“Well, Captain, you was as right as the misty rain on a Irish day, sir. You’ve done right for all of us lads.”
With all of the crew beaming at him for his navigational victory and the sun turning into a fiery display of luminescent colors ahead of them, suddenly Wake felt illogically sad. His eyes were seeing the happy crew in front of him, but his mind was looking at the images of the war he had fought for the last twelve months in this alien tropical world. The faces of men, his men, killed in battles, came flooding into his senses. He knew the crew was expecting him to say something—a profound or witty saying, at least an order. Something.
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 30
