The dinner was held at the station commandant’s home, located in the center of the facility. It was surrounded by storehouses that held cordage, sail canvas, pitch, lumber, spars, and every manner of equipage needed by a sailing navy. During a brief tour of the station Wake saw that the padlocks on the shed doors were very old and some looked rusted shut. The volume of supplies that could be contained in the buildings was impressive, but they all were for sailing ships. Wake noticed that other than a small blacksmith shop and boiler engine, there were no large mechanical shops capable of engine repairs or iron work. His trust in Williams’ mystery speed ship was dwindling rapidly.
After dinner Warner led the guests upstairs to the second-story verandah where a delightful sea breeze cooled the air and the sunset glinted off the surrounding hills. It had been hot while walking around the station and at dinner on the first floor, making him sweat and his uniform coat clammy, but in the shade of the jacaranda and mahogany trees the second-floor wind washing over him felt delicious and he closed his eyes for a moment.
“—I said, Lieutenant, are you staying for Christmas services at the cathedral tomorrow?”
Stark stared at Wake, who realized he must have been dreaming and appearing idiotic to the others. “Oh, I’m very sorry, sir. Yes, we are staying. I was just thinking how nice it is up here with this wind. I’m afraid I was lost in thought, sir.”
“Yes. Nelson thought so too. He loved to have his tea here overlooking the bay and the station.” Stark swept a hand around. “You can see it all from here.”
Wake followed his hand and saw that indeed, he could see even more of the station. In the dim light, a shed caught his eye by the outer capstan dock. It looked newly built and he hadn’t seen it on the tour he’d been given.
He pointed in that direction. “Sir. That looks like a new shed. May I ask what you’ve got there?”
“Just some maintenance supplies, Lieutenant. If you are of a mind, I can have someone show them to you,” Stark replied coolly.
Wake knew he had gone too far. “I am sorry for being too intrusive, sir. I meant no disrespect or offense.”
“None taken, Lieutenant, of course. Please have another drink of port. We have plenty,” intoned Stark before walking away to speak with another guest.
Laporte was talking to a pretty girl, daughter of the mayor of Falmouth, and Brogan was chuckling at a British midshipman’s joke. Others on the verandah were engaged in conversations about the recent Franco-Prussian War, the unification of Italy, and the relative merits of various types of rum. Wake stood alone in a dark corner as an idea suddenly entered his mind.
Asking a steward where the officers’ head was located, he was directed to an outbuilding behind the commandant’s home. He made his way there and afterward went to the east, through a row of hibiscus and around the back of the officers’ quarters, the sick bay, and the apothecary shop, toward the rope walk. The tropical sun had set rapidly but fortunately a full moon was rising and gave Wake some light beyond the few dim lanterns scattered about.
Pausing to get his bearings, he walked behind the rope walk toward the dock and saw the shed. It was bigger than he originally had thought and there was a large sturdy wagon parked in front of the double doors. The padlock on the doors was new and solid. Walking around the shed he saw only one small window. Moonlight illuminated the interior enough that Wake could see a long crate on a table by the window.
He strained his eyes to read some lettering on the side of the crate, gradually making out the words. It was a shipping address and a warning:
To: Commander J. Fisher, RN
Woolwich Naval Arsenal
Woolwich, Great Britain
From: Robert Whitehead, Presidente
Stabilimento Tecnico di Fiume
Fiume, Austria
15 Agosto 1873
Pericolo—Esplosivi Navali
Danger—Naval Explosives
In the moonlight he saw ruts and wheel marks from the shed to the adjacent dock. Peering around the water in the dim moonlight he could see no wreckage of a barge, but lying on the dock he did see a new life-ring with a ship’s name painted on it. HMS Invincible. Wake knew that name—she was a new ship assigned to the Royal Navy’s West Indies Squadron. He also remembered the name on the crate from somewhere: Whitehead. There was something odd about the Invincible he had heard, but at the moment couldn’t remember what.
The unmistakable stamp of a military boot and click of a rifle’s hammer was followed by a tin whistle blowing loudly.
“Sir! Stand fast and identify yourself!” boomed the order from a Royal Marine standing thirty feet away, his white cross belt glowing in the moonlight and Enfield rifle with fixed bayonet at the port arms parry position.
“It’s all right, Marine. I am Lieutenant Wake of the American Navy, attending the commandant’s dinner and just taking a stroll after using the officers’ head over there.”
The Marine did not relax. “Sir! This is a prohibited area. I have summoned the sergeant of the guard. Please stand fast right there until the sergeant arrives.”
The sound of heavy boots running made Wake’s heart sink. He needed to get out of there before the sergeant arrived. “Marine, this is ridiculous and insulting. I’m returning to the commandant’s party,” he bluffed. It didn’t work—the Marine moved to block him.
“I said ‘stand fast,’ sir. Do not move.”
The Royal Marine sergeant’s arrival resulted in quick words with the Marine that Wake couldn’t hear. Other boots were running toward them as the sergeant approached Wake and
