Newton’s joke about the slang terms for a Royal Marine and a sailor fell flat on the two officers. Wake thought Allen’s surprise at the news a bit contrived, but decided it made no real difference. Whatever the Royal Navy imagined Wake to be, they would be sadly disappointed by putting a spy in his cabin. And anyway, Wake actually liked the red coat lieutenant and by this time they were first-name friends.
They made their way through the passageways toward their assigned cabin and finally found it in the second-class accommodations, one deck down from the main weather deck. It was larger than many Wake had in his career, but smaller than he had hoped. Ten minutes later their gear was stowed and both officers were on the main deck aft, looking across the water at Omaha anchored two hundred yards away.
“Fine-looking ship, Peter,” Allen offered.
“Aye, that she is, Pete,” said Wake, using his friend’s nickname—one he had never encouraged for himself. “Good captain and crew. I’ll miss them.”
“Seems like men in our profession are always saying hello or goodbye, doesn’t it?”
“Hello there, gentlemen!” boomed a voice from behind. A giant man, well over six feet tall and square-built, wearing grease-stained coveralls, loomed up and captured their hands in his paw, almost crushing them while shaking hands. “I’m the engineer, Monroe, from Fishguard in the wild land of Wales. Since you’re both in the business of going to sea, I’ll show you my two great beauties below in the belly of the beast tomorrow when we’re steaming, if you’d like.”
Wake answered for both of them when he said, “That would be very interesting, sir. We’d like to see your engines.”
Monroe beamed. “Aye, you will then. At three bells in the forenoon watch come below and I’ll show you. They’ll be working away the whole trip across. The more you work ’em the more they like it, you know. Not like you Yanks! I hear you’re not allowed to use your engines. Afraid they’ll break!”
Wake cringed in embarrassment. “Yes, you’re right, sir. But it’s budgetary constraints that stop us from using them on transits. Only use engines in harbors and battle.”
“Sounds silly to me, mate!” said Monroe as he walked off forward, the crowd on deck parting when they saw his approach.
“You’ll hear a fair amount of that in the Med, Peter,” added Allen. “The first-rate navies don’t understand why your government let yours go after your war. You had the second largest navy in the world. Scared the hell out of the bloody Frogs in Mexico to have your navy astride their supply lines. But now the Yanks don’t have much to work with and the Continental powers know it. The Austrians are the most arrogant about it, especially after what they did to the Italian navy at Lissa in sixty-six.”
“Well, I can’t argue with them, because we don’t understand it either, Pete. But I won’t denigrate my government, of course, so I guess I’ll just have to stand and take it.”
***
Two hours later the whistle blew five long blasts and the deck began to vibrate heavily as the engines were engaged in reverse gear. The pier slid forward beside them as the ship backed out and the captain, up on the midship cross-bridge, stalked back and forth while giving orders via the speaking trumpet. Trinidad eased astern into the bay, then stopped and turned to starboard slightly before the captain ordered her rudder amidship and rang up revolutions for six knots. Wake and Allen walked over to the starboard rail of the quarterdeck just aft of the bridge—they were allowed where civilian passengers weren’t—and stood watching the crew go about their work.
Wake was studying the rigging when Allen brought his attention over to starboard.
“Well, look at that, Peter Wake!”
Tears welled up in Wake’s eyes when he looked—the officers and men of the Omaha had lined the rails and yards, something normally done only for senior officers and government officials. Trinidad was passing within one hundred feet of Omaha and Wake could clearly hear Fawcett, the warship’s bosun, call all hands to give Lieutenant Wake three cheers.
He came to attention himself and saluted as the passenger steamer slid by his old ship, holding the salute for a long time as the cheers echoed around the harbor. Then Captain Gardiner, not using a trumpet, bellowed out across the water, “God bless you, Mister Wake! Give ’em hell in the Med!” and afterward also stood at attention with a salute.
It was all that Wake could do not to succumb to his emotion when he dropped his hand and stood easy. The other passengers had grown silent during the scene, knowing instinctively the bond that was being demonstrated. Now they started talking about the Yankee officer on their deck that had been the recipient of such an honor. Standing there watching Omaha getting smaller in the distance as the Trinidad picked up speed, both men were silent for a while. Wake’s thoughts were with his old crew.
“Never saw that done for a mere lieutenant, Peter. The Andrew would never do that,” Allen said, quietly breaking the spell.
“You’re right, Pete. It was against regulations. But sometimes we throw away the rule books.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about that. That’s what my father said about you Americans. He found out firsthand on HMS Macedonia back in eighteen-fourteen.” Allen laughed. “Said the bloody Yank sailors wouldn’t play fair by the rules!”
Wake shrugged as he watched the island fade away. “Yes, but really, war itself is the ultimate sign that the rules have failed, isn’t it?”
***
They were at sixteen degrees north and forty degrees east, the wind was calm and the sea glassy flat. The two engines had been thumping in rhythm for days, never missing a beat and consuming forty-seven tons of fuel a day, which amazed Wake. The ship
