“Best way is to just stroll up that gangway like you own it,” Wake said, hoping he sounded confident.
“Quite right, Peter,” agreed Allen. “Command presence, that’s what’s called for now. Just like Father Muñosa at Sevilla.”
“Ah, I do not know about that, Peter,” worried Manuel. “It will be difficult to get past those police guards. They are inspecting everyone.”
Carmena spoke up. “No. It will work. Wait for the last-minute rush of people. That will overwhelm the authorities. They are the same around the world. When bureaucrats become overwhelmed they are not so vigilant.”
They got in line, Wake knowing that their appearance would stand out. He was first and as he got to the control point of the Guardia civil police Wake saw the captain of the Trinidad standing at the main deck railing, surveying the scene below. An idea formed and he seized on it. Waving wildly, he yelled out, “Good afternoon, Captain! Lieutenant Wake here. I’ve brought some friends back to the ship to meet you.”
The captain had met Wake only a few times and was not a close friend at all, but he did acknowledge the greeting with a puzzled look and noticeable wave of his hand, which was seen by the police officer at the gate. The ship’s third mate, who remembered Wake well, was also at the gate. Wake loudly introduced him to Carmena and Manuel, using false names of Useppa and Sean Rork, vintners from Jerez, and repeating with pride that they were going aboard to meet the captain. Carmena and Manuel smiled, mumbled something and kept walking as the third mate said hello and turned to someone else who was asking him something. Faced with the obvious stature of Wake and his companions, the policeman didn’t even ask for identification as they blithely walked right past him.
Once on the main deck the captain came over and asked Wake what he wanted. Wake, heart pounding, introduced his two Spanish companions, using the same names and explaining that they wanted to view the ship as possible transport for an upcoming trip to the West Indies. The two imposters muttered something about it looking pretty and began looking around at the boats slung in the davits as Wake thanked the captain for his time. He then turned to his companions and pointed out the ship’s funnel, launching into an explanation of the reliability of her engines. The captain, still confused, was distracted by another person who wanted to know in imperious tones when exactly dinner was starting and with whom they were seated.
Wake and Allen led Carmena and Manuel away and down into their cabin, where all of them let out a collective gasp of relief. A moment later they heard the plaintive wail of the ship’s whistle and the call of the stewards in the passageways for all non-passengers to go ashore.
“Ah, yes, back at sea!” said Allen with a contented sigh as he leaned back on his berth. “And I must say, very smartly done down there on the gangway, old chap. Was going to think of something along those lines myself, but you beat me to it, fair and square.”
“Yes, we thank you so much, Peter,” said Carmena, clutching Manuel’s hand, her eyes filling. “We owe you our lives. We will never forget this.”
Allen rolled over on the berth and gave the two lovers a disappointed look, quickly replaced by a grin. “My dear, it was my idea to go to Sevilla in the first place—had to practically drag this Yankee ashore. And the Alcázar? Why, it was me that led him inside, just as nice as you please. He copied that very plan on the gangway here.” Allen theatrically rolled his eyes. “Oh well, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they say.”
Wake nodded at his friend’s irrepressible humor. “Well, you’ve certainly got me there, Lieutenant Peter Sharpe Allen, of Her Britannic Majesty’s Royal Marine Light Infantry. And you’re completely correct—if you hadn’t gotten us into this mess, then it wouldn’t feel so good to be out of it and back to sea where we belong.”
He remembered the sensation of that rifle aiming at him and it reminded him of something he had discovered many years earlier, during the war. Sailors are always safer out at sea—away from the perils of land.
15
Goodbyes and Hellos
The Straits of Gibraltar were far narrower than Wake had always imagined, though the mountains on both sides being illuminated by the sun setting out over the Atlantic Ocean made the distance tricky to estimate. Looking like a section of the moon dropped down to earth, pocked gray cliffs—the famed Pillars of Hercules—rose up thousands of feet on the African side, like a wall barring passage into Morocco. The Spanish side was lower, more gentle, with high mountains further back from the coast, appearing as if the Iberian Peninsula had bowed down and invited the Moorish invasion a thousand years earlier. He looked for the famed Rock, but couldn’t see it. Allen explained that it wasn’t at the narrowest part of the straits, a mere ten miles wide or so, but actually around the inside corner on the Spanish side.
For hours they steamed east, approaching, then going through, the strait. They passed ship after ship coming out of the Mediterranean, most under sail but several steaming also. As the sun disappeared in a blaze of molten copper, they steamed past Cape Marroquí on the north and Cape Malabata on the south.
Long after Allen, Carmena, and Manuel left the cold windy deck, Wake stayed, bundled up and scrutinizing everything with a ship’s telescope. Like most of the passengers who were making their first transit of
