Wake took a deep breath, letting the air out slowly. “The action was successful, sir. I am sure that the admiral will appreciate that, as well as your command of the naval forces in this area.”
“Yes . . . well, we’ll see about that. You may go.”
Wake stood at attention but was ignored by West, who had turned around and was studying some papers on his desk. After a moment of waiting, Wake left the cabin and went up to the main deck where he had the officer of the deck summon his boat.
***
The mailbag initially revealed no letter for Wake, so he read the newspapers that had been sent aboard via the transiting steamer. Then a letter that had fallen out of the bag was found and brought to him. He recognized it right away as not being the hoped for one from Linda, but one almost as welcome from his family in New England. The envelope was postmarked July 23, only six weeks prior, written in his father’s handwriting. That was not unusual. Of his parents, his father was the letter writer, though his mother occasionally would tuck a small note in the envelope. His father’s letters arrived every month, with a concise summary of the news in Massachusetts, the family’s schooner business, who was doing what in the family, and his opinion of how the war was going. Forty years of writing reports to and from ship owners had conditioned the elder Wake to be brief and informative, if not affectionate.
Four months ago Captain Wake the Elder, as he was widely known in New England to distinguish the man from his sons who were also captains in their own right, wrote that Peter’s brother James had joined the navy also. James was quickly assigned to the Charleston blockade on an ironclad monitor and had been active in operations among the coastal islands there. The old man had expressed disapproval of a navy that would assign an experienced schooner man to one of those iron contraptions that didn’t even have a mast. Wake, however, was glad that his older brother was at least on a vessel that could provide some protection from gunfire, even if it didn’t have the beauty of a sailing ship.
As he tore open the envelope while sitting on his berth in the small cabin that was his sanctuary, Wake wondered about the war and when it would end. It had been predicted that by September the rebels would be suing for peace and Lincoln would win the November election hands down, but the newspaper accounts Wake had just finished reading told of a different future.
Wake heard a thud as Rork rapped on the bulkhead and requested permission to enter. The bosun wore a serious look as he came in and sat on the edge of the proffered chair. Wake put down the letter after removing it from the wrinkled envelope and regarded his second in command.
“What’s the matter, Rork? You look like you have bad news to tell.”
Rork’s jaw was set and Wake knew from experience that was a sign of problems. Rork nodded and spoke in a low tone that Wake could barely hear.
“Aye, sir. ’Twas a good day indeed until I heard what I heard just now, Captain.”
“All right, tell me. And speak up, man.”
“By your leave, I’ll keep it down, sir. Just got word on McDougall and those other lads I sent over to the surgeon on the Bonsall, sir.”
Wake felt a sudden flush of sickness. “Go ahead, Bosun.”
“McDougall’s got the yellow jack. So’s the others, sir. Five all told. Surgeon’s mates told me themselves that the other ships have men down with it too. All from the landing party. Word’ll be out soon, if not already.”
Wake’s sigh was audible. “How bad is he?”
Rork’s eyes moistened as he replied. “He’s bringin’ up the black vomit now, sir. Must’a been sick for a couple o’ days ashore.”
“The others?”
“O’ the four others I sent over, two’s down in the sick bay an’ can’t move, the other two is feeling poorly but not as bad. Surgeon says since they’re young they may have a chance, but the ol’ gunner is too far gone. Delirious he is now, sir. Screamin’ an’ moanin’ in Gaelic. Surgeon says he’ll be dead by tomorrow’s sunset the way he’s emptying himself out.”
Wake’s head dropped. “The wind seems to be piping up with a sea breeze. I want to be under way in half an hour. Meanwhile I will go to see McDougall.”
“Captain, the surgeon’s not allowin’ that. Quarantined. The old lad is gone out o’ his head, Captain. He wouldn’t know ya’. Time to let him go, sir, an’ pray it’ll be quick and merciful.”
“Yes. You’re right. Any more showing signs aboard our ship?”
“No others yet, sir.”
“Very well, get under way immediately and set a course south for Boca Grande. We’ll see how Lieutenant Baxter and the Gem of the Sea are doing, look in at Useppa Island, and then sail for Key West.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Rork. I know how close you and McDougall are.”
“Close as brothers, sir. But I know how you feel about the ol’ boy too. The lads told me how you both together came through ashore with the Rebs. A damnable loss for us all. After all those years he’s leavin’ like this. Makes a man need a dram just to think about it.”
Rork stood up and left the cabin without another word to Wake, who looked at the unread letter before him in a daze. It was hard to concentrate, and yet his mind registered that the schooner was starting to sway gently in the growing sea breeze and had swung on her anchor until the coastline was now astern and her bow pointed west. He stood up and stretched his tired arms and legs, then picked
