“Now, Mr. Gladstone of the Liberals is having a rather difficult time in Great Britain these days, isn’t he, gentlemen? Something about his being weak on foreign policy in Europe, according to the British papers. In fact, as everyone knows, he’s fighting for his political life and the Tories under Mr. Disraeli are breathing down his neck. And what effect would this torpedo espionage on your part, against one of Great Britain’s greatest supporters in the world, have on the current government’s future? Especially when many in both countries are trying to put our past differences away. And while the Alabama Claims Commission is assessing damages against American shipping caused by your building of ships for our enemies, in violation of your supposed neutrality during the war. Yes, I think it would make Prime Minister Gladstone’s high moralistic posturing about being such an honorable and religious man seem to ring a bit hollow, don’t you think? Why, my goodness gracious, gentlemen, what would those Fleet Street editors say about all this?”
Gardiner paused a moment, sighing. “Now why don’t we all take a step back and calm down here, shall we? Let’s remember that we are cultural cousins and naval professionals and stop playing adversarial roles. This was just curiosity on the part of a naval officer. Nothing more. So why don’t we just work together and share our information on torpedo development? That is the message I will send to Washington. I suggest you send the same to London.”
Gardiner spread his hands out, palms upward. “Let’s just end this silliness and let Nelson’s ghost in Antigua rest in peace.”
Gardiner walked to the rector’s chair behind the desk and sat down, deliberately leaning back in a relaxed pose, waiting for an answer. Warner stood by an elegant wingback, grimly looking at Habersham for guidance. The governor paced twice across the office, then stopped and smiled at Captain Warner.
“Well, Stansell, I do believe that Shakespeare would say we’ve been hoisted upon our own petite petard. Our American self-styled cousin here has put forth a valid political point, though I’m sure it does not negate his man’s unauthorized reconnoitering. The reality is that a public blathering about who has done what to whom would not serve the interests of either of our nations. I believe you can understand that evaluation of the situation, can you not?”
Warner barely controlled his anger. “I don’t take orders from the foreign office—or the governor of some colonial island for that matter—and I don’t discuss British imperial policy in front of foreigners. And I also don’t consider Americans our cousins, brothers, or any other sort of relative. That is my evaluation of this situation, Your Excellency.”
He followed with a “Merry Christmas, Your Excellency” and walked out of the study without closing the door. Habersham sat down in the vacated chair and shrugged.
“I would suppose that American naval officers think the same of their civil leadership and diplomats, Captain Gardiner. However, the ultimate factor is that the Lords of the Admiralty do take orders from the Prime Minister and this will be handled quietly on our side. Captain Warner just needs a bit of time to shed some embarrassment.”
“And I will suggest it be done the same on our side, sir,” said Gardiner as he got up from the chair. “I believe it is time for me to go, sir. May I sincerely wish you, your islanders, and the Royal Navy, a merry Christmas and a peaceful New Year. Good night, Your Excellency, and thank you for your wisdom in this matter.”
***
Omaha spent Christmas at anchor in St. John’s Harbour, with all hands taking the day off except when on watch. The ship had been cleaned and polished the day before and at noon on Christmas day Gardiner read the obligatory passage from the Bible to the assembled crew and afterward declared the start of the holiday. The cooks had been preparing a sumptuous feast and with the captain’s tacit approval had marinated several of the dishes with rum, getting around the navy’s prohibition of issued grog for the crew, in effect since 1862. The galley’s aromas had been teasing everyone all morning and all hands were ready for the celebration. Wake thought it a wonderful day, not only from Gardiner’s description of the previous night’s de-escalation of tensions, but from the magnificent sunny weather and warm winds. He didn’t miss the white Christmases of New England at all.
Gustavius Williams and his family joined the island’s American residents aboard the warship for the dinner. Gardiner decided not to tell Williams about what Wake had discovered at the dockyard and what had transpired later with Warner and the governor. The man was just too unsettled in nature for them to trust his judgment or ability to keep a secret. They did tell him, to his obvious disappointment, they saw no sign of the ship he had information on and to stop trying to recruit informants.
Dessert was followed with entertainment by the amateur musicians and thespians in the crew, highlighted by a satirical rendition of dinner in the petty officers’ mess. It brought forth an uproarious response from the audience and afterward the guests departed the ship. That evening little groups clustered along the decks, talking in hushed, contented tones about the day and home and future ports, a quiet foreground for the tropical display in the sky to the west.
Wake longed for Linda, her green eyes and silky auburn hair, the soft touch of her hand, her Irish-lilted Southern accent, the smell of her jasmine perfume. He imagined her in bed, beckoning him demurely. . . .
As the sun gloriously set behind Sandy Island at the mouth of the harbor, Gardiner broke Wake’s trance by slapping him on the shoulder and raising his ever-present mug of coffee, making a toast as they stood on the afterdeck. “May our friends never love our enemies, whoever they may be!”
Wake
