Pullwood glanced at Wake’s eyes. “He was tired, sir. He’s been through a lot.”
“Did he ever speak of hopelessness or suicide to you?”
“No, sir. He’s not the kind of man to say such a thing.”
“After I relieved him, I searched his cabin, Pullwood.” Wake leveled his gaze at the surgeon’s mate, who remained unintimidated. “I found his stashes of laudanum and rum and have secured them, so I know he didn’t have any of his own left. You were to give him sedatives only as a last resort, and then as little as possible. Have you done that, Pullwood?”
“Yes, sir. I have taken care of my captain, Lieutenant. I would have even without orders from the executive officer.”
“You sound angry, Pullwood. Almost arrogant.”
“I’m not allowed to be arrogant, sir.”
“You’re correct on that, Pullwood. Present a report to me in ten minutes listing all medications dispensed in the last month. You should have that handy, since it’s part of the regular supply statement. Dismissed.”
After the surgeon’s mate departed, Wake called for Connery to come to his cabin.
“Immediately do a personal inventory of the drugs and medicinal liquor in the medical chests. Have it here in fifteen minutes.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” acknowledged the surprised officer. Suddenly a shout came aft to them from forward, relayed from man to man.
“Call for Lieutenant Wake, right away!”
Wake couldn’t believe the scene in the galley storeroom, dimly lit by lanterns that swayed with the roll of the ship. Lieutenant Custen was staring at a bread locker in the corner. Rork was standing beside him, a belaying pin in his hand, and Durling was glaring at the crew who had gathered in the passageway, keeping them back.
“Captain Terrington’s in the bread locker, sir. He won’t come out and says he’ll fight anyone who tries to make him,” reported Custen.
“Clear this area,” said Wake as he approached the bread locker. Durling and Rork pushed the men back down the passageway, leaving Custen and Wake in the small compartment.
“Captain Terrington, it’s Lieutenant Wake. I need to talk with you, sir.”
The reply sounded as if from a child. “I hate you, Wake. Get away.”
The ship rolled off a wave and there was a tumble inside the locker, prompting Wake to make his move. He flung the door open and entered the small space, Custen following. Terrington had fallen and was trying to stand when Wake took his wrists and held them tightly, pulling him out into the main stores room. Custen held Terrington’s shoulders.
“Captain,” said Wake in a firm tone, “you are ill, sir, and need to get back in your berth. Let us help you, sir.”
“You stole my ship! I’ll see you hanged at the first American port.” Terrington bowed his chest up, arms suddenly like steel as his voice raised. “You stole my ship. You stole my ship, damn you!”
“Captain, please, sir.” Custen was shaking as he tried to calm Terrington. “You’re sick. Lieutenant Wake didn’t steal anything. He just relieved you because of your sickness. You know that, sir.”
Terrington turned to Custen, his eyes glistening, lip curling. “You’ll swing too, you spineless puddle of bilge scum. You should have supported your captain when this mutineer took the ship! I won’t forget you, and this moment, Custen.”
Wake tightened his grip and pulled Terrington again toward the passageway, worried that Custen might loosen his due to the tirade. “Captain Terrington, I am taking you back to your cabin right now. Lieutenant Custen, summon Bosun Rork in here.”
Rork appeared instantly. “Couldn’t help but hear, sir. Let me help ya with this burden,” said Rork as he seized Terrington’s right arm and smoothly pinioned the man’s wrist back, all the while showing an innocent smile. The bosun looked at Custen, who was obviously shaken by it all. “Lieutenant Custen, perhaps you could clear a way in the passageway for us, if you would, sir? It would help Captain Terrington make his way. I’m a’feared he’s feeling a wee bit poorly right now.”
As Custen walked ahead of them, Rork leaned over and whispered something in Terrington’s ear. Wake felt an immediate weakening of the captain’s resistance. Terrington grew silent, his eyes locked on Rork as he was swiftly escorted out of the room. They strode down the passageway and into officers’ country, through the wardroom and into Terrington’s cabin, where Rork firmly set the man down onto his berth, then stood at parade rest, his eyes never leaving Terrington. Custen stayed outside, guarding the door.
Wake locked the door and said, “Captain, I am going to post an escort for you here twenty-four hours a day. Everything you need will be provided. You will not need to leave this cabin.”
Terrington was still defiant. “You’re going to die, Wake. In a ceremony in front of everyone on this ship. They’re going to hang you, and everyone who helped you, and everyone who did not help me.”
Rork was at Terrington’s ear in an instant, saying something that made the captain’s eyes go wide and his body recoil. Rork nodded at Terrington, then looked over at Wake.
“Sir, Captain Terrington will remain in his berth, snug an’ comfy as a bed bug, an’ not cause even a wee problem. I know you have some heavy responsibilities right about now. Nary worry a bit, sir. I’ll be honored to assist Captain Terrington here an’ make sure his every need is taken good care of. I’ll take the first trick. No problem.”
This had gone beyond relieving a sick captain, Wake knew. Now he had used force against his duly appointed superior. How many in the crew heard the shouts? How many thought it was mutiny? How could he command with credibility?
Wake had seen men hung by direction of a naval court-martial during the war. He recalled that vivid scene in Key West in 1865, the bodies jerking up the halliards, then swaying with the ship all day long as every sailor in the squadron watched. He had felt no remorse then, they had deserved it. Would anyone feel the same for him?
And he had dragged Rork and Durling and the officers into this mess. They would all suffer, particularly Rork after what he had done. Well, what’s done is done. Wake nodded his approval to Rork and walked forward to his cabin, ignoring the stares along the way.
***
“What?” exclaimed Wake, sitting at his tiny desk. “Explain that again.”
Connery shook his head. “There’s damn little laudanum left, sir. The chest has only three bottles. The medicinal brandy is gone, too. The reports have been falsified. Faked.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
Connery sighed, eyes downcast. “Because I received the monthly reports, sir, but I did not physically check the stock. I regret to report that I trusted the surgeon’s mate.”
“How did he explain on the medicine log the depletion of the laudanum?”
“Various ailments with various seamen, sir. Sometimes they were given a little laudanum, but he would put down that they were given more. He never put down that he was getting low. I’ve now talked to several of the seamen, sir. They told the truth. I also had Pullwood into my cabin, where he admitted what he did.”
“And how did he do it?”
“He and Captain Terrington were shipmates in sixty-seven, in the Med. He supplied him with the drug then. In exchange, Terrington got him privileges, extra liberty, wardroom slops, that sort of thing. Terrington asked for him to be on this ship. Pullwood kept him supplied all along.”
“Amazing. Anyone else?”
“Yes, sir. Quartermaster Johnny Castle and Steward Morely, sir. Both on laudanum. Both from Captain Terrington’s old ship. Both requested to come aboard with him. I’ve wondered about Castle for some time now, but thought he was sneaking rum. Pending your decision, I’ve got them all under arrest, put ’em under guard and separated them.”
“And their view of all this?”
“Morely came clean pretty fast. He appears to be the lackey of the group. Castle was the ring leader, according to Morely. The steward said that Terrington—excuse me, sir, Captain Terrington—was having regular meetings with his cronies and that Castle would take laudanum right alongside the captain. Said that he never saw Pullwood do that, but they’d all drink rum together. Turns out that Morely can write, too. I had him write out a statement in his own hand. It’ll be good evidence. Pullwood wrote his also, but it’s not as detailed. Says he can’t remember much.”
“What about Castle?”
“Castle isn’t talking, except to sound like a damned sea lawyer. The fool told me, all respectful of course, that I was the one who should be concerned, since I was the one who’d swing from a rope. Said I’d violated Article Thirteen of the naval regulations. Mutiny, a death offense, he reminded me—as if I didn’t know the articles by heart. Thought I saw the start of a smile on him when he said that.”
“Does he know Morely and Pullwood talked and the game is up?”
“Yes, sir. I confronted him with that, but it didn’t shake him a bit. Called ’em both the white mice of the ship, sir. Informants.”
“Hhmm . . . I see. Anyone else in on this damn thing?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“When you leave here I want you to write a full report—including everything anyone said. Bring all you have to me. I want it completed tonight.”
Connery acknowledged his orders and departed the cabin, leaving Wake alone with his thoughts. There was no doubt now that when they returned to the United States a court-martial would be called to decide upon his actions.
Would he and the officers and petty officers be convicted of mutiny? Wake was sure that he did the right thing, but would the senior officers of the court understand? Or would they take the word of Terrington?
God help us all now, he thought. It might all boil down to the testimony of sea lawyers and white mice.
33
Jungle Lair
El Gringo Loco found it two years earlier while working as a mercenary for the grandiosely named República de Moskitia. He had filed it away in his mind as the one place of refuge to go to when things got really difficult. It was perfect for his present purposes.
The Bomkatu River was not on any chart. The Nicaraguan government didn’t know it existed, even Moskito Indians twenty miles away at Uani had never heard of it. Ships transiting the coast could only see the entrance when they got within a mile—but most stayed far away from the reef-strewn shoreline—and the channel across the bar was unmarked. It was as secluded a location as he knew of in that part of the world.
The two steamers were nested together and tied to the mangroves and jungle trees on the bank. The upper masts had been lowered, and only the tips of their lower masts protruded above the treeline. For all intents, they were invisible from anyone searching for them.
For the previous two days they had been making minor repairs and taking all the dry wood they could find for fuel. But there wasn’t much dry wood. It was the rainy season, the forests were soaked, and the only cache of dry wood in the area was at Uani, a tiny village a few miles down the coast. The village had a pile of wood, cut for use in steam engines’ fireboxes, in a thatched shed. It also had food, which the two steamers had run out of upon arrival. Since then they had killed every animal on the river bank they could find. Now there weren’t any left.
Cadena was mending slowly, but still strong enough to stab one of the men in the eye for insubordination his second day on board his old steamer. Cadena knew that he would have to hurt someone, just to show the rest who was boss. When one man was less than respectful he had his chance and struck without warning or mercy. Now Cadena was standing in front of the norteamericano, visualizing the same act on him. It made him smile, even though he had bad news to report.
“The rum is gone too, Jefe. We must do something.”
“Food first, then fuel. Rum counts as food. Uani is close by. We’ll go there.”
That made Cadena smile more. “Ah yes, Jefe. The Indians here are far more friendly.”
“Cadena, since when have you cared whether they liked you or not?”
“You told us to pay on this coast, not to take against their will,” Cadena protested. “I was only remembering your orders, Jefe. You wanted this to be our refuge and we should not anger the locals.”
“Yeah, well that was then and this is now. I don’t care what you do here because we’ll be gone soon enough. By the way, this time we’re not paying—we’re taking. I’m not wasting money on ’em. And we’re not coming back to this area. This part of the Caribbean is getting too crowded with navy ships. Time to go elsewhere to have our fun. Somewhere we aren’t expected.”
Cadena was intrigued but knew enough not to ask. The gringo would tell him when he wanted to. Not before. “When do you want to go to the village?”
“Tomorrow, before dawn. We’ll go down the coast in the small boats, raid the place, and come back. I want to be under way as soon as possible after we get back and load the steamers. That means no lollygagging in the village, Cadena. Go in, get the stuff, and get out. No parties with your boys.”
“Yes, Jefe. I will lead the attack and be back here by early tomorrow afternoon, full of fuel and food. It will be a great success. You will see.”
The gringo stood up and grinned. “Oh yes, Cadena you little gusano, it will be a success—I’ll be leading it just to make sure, and your crippled little self will be right alongside me where I can keep an eye on you. Now get the men ready. We leave at two o’clock in the morning.”
***
Sirena was going slowly. The reefs formed a mortal maze at Cayo Muerto, and Toledo didn’t want one of them named for his ship. The maze extended twenty miles to the west, where the coast of Nicaragua lay waiting for them.
“Didn’t you go through here before?” asked Kramer in Spanish.
“No, we closed with the coast from the northeast, a deeper approach, not from the southeast. This time we have to come through the maze. It will add a day, I think. We must take our time among the reefs,” said Toledo as he pointed to a brown patch of water next to them.
Kramer watched as the coral head slid by to starboard, its top barely five feet below the surface. “Yes, my friend. I understand completely.”
Toledo laughed at Kramer’s concern. “In order for us to kill these pirates, we have to be able to find them, in a ship that floats!”
“Yes. Well said, amigo. Well said.”
***
The Plover made Greytown on the southern coast of Nicaragua with little problem. Upon their arrival Russell greeted the local Anglos—he still had trouble considering these disheveled quasi-renegades truly British—as a returning friend, hoping for information about the current political situation as well as about the elusive pirates. He got neither. What he did find was a cold hostility from the Nicaraguan authorities, who called the place San Juan del Norte and refused to use the English name. In fact, they were even more hostile than his previous visit.
In the person of a mestizo decked out in colorful sash over a ragged suit, who insisted upon being addressed as “Your Excellency,” the Nicaraguans demanded his ship leave an hour after she had dropped her hook, saying that there was no reason for him to stay longer. Though they had no military power to force him to leave, Russell complied, imagining how many rounds it would take to destroy the town as he departed the anchorage. He gauged it at around ten, maximum.
“Course to the north, sir?” asked his executive officer.
“Yes, make it so, Number One,” replied Russell as he stared out at the limitless eastern horizon, his mind filled with images of the green hills of England.
***
“Steer small, damn you!” yelled Custen at the helmsman, who had allowed Canton to
slew off a wave as they approached Punta Perlas from the southwest, around the reef. It was a tricky path through the inner reefs and everyone was nervous.
Wake watched the landmarks on the shore line up for their entry into the channel, then snapped the telescope shut. “Ring bells for dead slow. Come right to nor’nor’west.”
The helmsman and lee helmsman acknowledged the orders, their eyes locked on the wheel and the engine telegraph, their voices monotone. Wake caught Custen’s eye.
“We’re out of the worst part, I think, Mr. Custen. Have the foc’sle party prepare for anchoring. Have the coxswain get the gig ready for me. I’m going ashore.”
Twenty minutes later Wake was stepping out of the gig onto the beach in front of the village, Monteblanco beside him. A man with the confident air of command stepped up to them and spoke rapidly, Monteblanco translating.
“He says he knows why you are here. You are looking for the gringo pirate, but that person is not here. He also says that the government in Managua has been warned that foreign ships already have been searching the coast and has ordered that they be refused hospitality. They are to leave. Managua doesn’t trust foreign warships.”
“But we are here to help, to find and destroy the pirate.”
Monteblanco raised his eyebrows. “You are talking logic, Peter. They are talking ego and honor. They have memories of the man named Walker, who also said he was here to help them.”
“The filibusterer? The one who tried to overthrow the government?”
“Yes, my friend, the same. They equate all gringos with him now.”
Wake rubbed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Pablo, do you believe him when he says they haven’t seen the pirate?”
Monteblanco nodded. “Yes, I do for some reason. If the pirate had attacked here, that would be more important than some decree from far-off Managua. They would have told us, to get revenge, if for no other reason.”
“Then I guess we go.”
“Yes, amigo. We can continue north, toward Sirena’s area.”
A Dishonorable Few (The Honor Series) Page 22
