Gardiner nodded and solemnly held up a finger. “To our wives and our sweethearts, Peter. May they all have good health, tranquility, love for us . . .” A sly grin emerged on his face. “. . . and may they never ever meet each other!”
Wake was still laughing when Williams came up to them and blurted out, “Oh my God, I forgot until I was leaving, Captain, and I do apologize. I’ve got newly arrived mail for the ship that I left in the boat alongside. Do you think the crew would like it now?”
Gardiner bellowed out, “By God, man, yes!” and within minutes the large bag was being swayed up and out of the boat. The captain’s clerk called out the addressees and the joyous day had a happy ending with sailors reading the news from home to their mates.
Wake was given a large dark blue envelope. He knew the type. It came from the Bureau of Navigation at the Navy Department in Washington—the bureau that made the assignments for naval officers. He stood by the light at the binnacle and opened it, reading slowly, his face tightening.
“Orders, Mr. Wake?” asked Gardiner. “You’re not due orders for several months yet, at least.”
“They’re not letting me go home in June,” Wake muttered, still staring at the paper. “These are orders to join the European Squadron, effective immediately. I’m to secure transport to Genoa aboard a British packet named Trinidad, from Barbados. I can’t even go home first.” He looked up at Gardiner, shock clearly showing. “They’re sending me to be on the staff of the admiral commanding the squadron over there, sir. A two-year staff job—not even a ship’s complement billet—until eighteen-seventy-five. Flag lieutenant to the admiral. Flag lieutenant, of all things. Why me?”
Wake gazed off at the lights of St. John’s. “God help me. Linda was expecting me home in June for a two-month leave.”
“Damn it all. I’m sorry, Peter. Here, let me see that,” said Gardiner, concerned for the subordinate who had become a friend, knowing there was nothing he could do. Quickly perusing the orders, he handed it back to Wake. “You know that flag lieutenant on foreign station is a routine assignment in an officer’s career, Peter. There’s nothing negative in that. You’ll be the personal assistant to the admiral in the most prestigious squadron in the navy. It’ll help your career, give you connections, get you noticed.”
Gardiner shook his head. “But I sure as hell didn’t see this coming. I thought you’d stay around this part of the world for a while.”
“I guess old Nelson got his revenge on me,” Wake said as he trudged to the hatchway and his cabin below, still stunned, wondering how he would tell Linda.
6
Pensacola and Martinique
Wake thought it sadly ironic that Omaha was making very good time southbound, now that he was heading away from home for two years. Under almost all sail she surged along at twelve knots on a broad reach, past butterfly-shaped French Guadeloupe and then British Dominica, both of which had huge mountains dominating the horizon. While under the lee of the islands they slowed a bit, but in the open passages between the islands twenty-knot transatlantic trade winds built their speed into exhilarating rides, making everyone from captain to steward revel with the excitement of the voyage. On the morning of the second day outbound from Antigua, they saw Montagne Pelée, highest point on the legendary French island of Martinique.
Gardiner had explained to Wake at Antigua that he was not going to head directly to Barbados to drop him off, but instead would complete their patrol of the Leeward Islands down to Martinique, then start their patrol of the Windward Islands at Barbados. He did not tell Wake that he wanted to delay his executive officer’s departure as long as possible, hoping that someone or something would intervene.
By mid-afternoon they were passing the quaint town of St. Pierre, which was situated below the volcanic mountain. Wake had seen many coastal towns in the islands, but St. Pierre captured his soul like no other. The pastel coral-stone buildings strung out along the beach were set against hills carpeted in four or five shades of green, all of which faced the aqua-blue Caribbean water. Flowers provided splashes of purples and pinks and yellows everywhere. And over the whole scene loomed Pelée, a 4800-foot-high giant whose head was wreathed in clouds, like an omnipotent god overseeing its brood. For some reason he didn’t understand, St. Pierre enchanted him, and he stood at the port rail gazing at it for a long time as Omaha transited down the coast.
At the end of the day they headed into the open harbor at Fort de France on the central west coast, passing the black-walled Fortress St. Louis sprawling over a point of land to port. The small city spread out before them around the large bay. Ascending the hillsides, it presented a different image than St. Pierre, however. It was more haughty and cynical-looking, arrogant almost, with none of St. Pierre’s visually pleasing imagery of nature in harmony with man. As they went through the formalities of entering the port, Wake wondered if it would be as unfriendly as it looked. After what had happened at Antigua and the shock of his new orders, he hoped for an easy time and amicable visit.
The guns of the fortress saluted Omaha’s Stars and Stripes, the blasts echoing around the bay and alerting all the merchants that a foreign warship, and potential customer, was in port. They anchored just aft of the French gunboat Bouvet, which three years earlier, during the Franco-Prussian War, had fought the only ocean naval battle of the conflict against the German gunboat Meteor. Wake knew that the action, between Havana and Key West, was indecisive, but had heard both sides pompously claim victory ever since.
Shortly after the hook was buried, the
