“Sir, I have a senior bosun’s mate who could take command of St. James and do an excellent job. Name of Rork, sir.”
Morris interrupted. “Rork. He’s been with you a while, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has he sat for the examination for ensign?”
“No sir, but he’s ready. He is prepared in all aspects for his navigation, seamanship, and gunnery.”
Morris shook his head. “Then no, he can’t take command. He could make acting ensign possibly, but St. James can’t be given to an acting ensign, even now.”
“Then I’d like to take him with me, sir. And also a gunner’s mate named Durlon. He’s aboard the Buker at anchor right now in the harbor. Saw her as we sailed in today.”
Loethen stood up from his desk and called for the yeoman to come into the room. Wake and Morris stood also as the admiral addressed the lieutenant.
“Wake, you’ve taken some criticism about your personal affairs from some jealous naval officers. You’ve also received some criticism from certain army quarters. I like your explanation today about all that, so don’t you worry about me or the commander here. We think you’re the kind of man the squadron needs, particularly at this time. And don’t worry about the army. I’ll just tell them you’re mentally unstable or something and try to get their sympathy. Of course, I would appreciate it if you please don’t aggravate them any further. In fact, just stay away from anyone in an army uniform for a while. Now, get that ship and crew ready and get her under way.”
Wake’s confusion slowed his answer, but he got it said. “Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The yeoman stood in the corner waiting. Abruptly, the admiral noticed him. “Yeoman, get orders done for Gunner’s Mate Durlon on the Buker, and Bosun’s Mate Rork on the St. James, both to be transferred to the Hunt immediately. I want those orders sent out to their ships within an hour.”
The yeoman acknowledged the order and disappeared out the door. Wake wanted to disappear too, if just to digest this strange turn of events and his new challenge.
“Sir, are there any other orders?”
Loethen looked at Wake, then Morris, and laughed out loud. “Good Lord, Lieutenant, aren’t those enough?”
Morris joined him in chuckling and pointed at the door. “The admiral’s previous orders were sufficient, Lieutenant. You may go now.”
“Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Wake came to attention, turned on his heel and started to stride from the room when he was stopped by Loethen speaking in a gently paternal manner. “By the way, son, you were right.”
Wake faced the older man standing behind the government-issue desk, flanked by wall charts of his geographic area of responsibility. The water-stained charts covered a thousand miles of coastline and islands and had numerous notations written on them. Pins with little flags depicting ships on blockade protruded all over the charts. The admiral, no longer laughing or even smiling, suddenly appeared tired and aged. For the first time since he had entered the office several minutes earlier, Wake was aware that the burdens of command had made the admiral’s wrinkles become furrows and his hair thin out and recede. Wake also realized that his eyes were the most different. They had changed considerably over just the last few months. They were weary and dull now, with the lids slanted heavily over the outer corners. They appeared, in this brief study of the admiral, sad and worn out.
Wake remembered when he first arrived in Florida, and the admiral who commanded the squadron at that time, Cantwell Barkley. Old Barkley had taken a fatherly interest in the newly arrived Wake, giving him command of an armed sloop, the Rosalie. The admiral later died from yellow fever complications. Now Loethen was taking on the same tired look that Barkley had worn before he got sick. Command could do that to a man, Wake realized, as he replied to the unusual statement of the admiral.
“Right, sir? Right about what?”
“About honor, son. Decisions that are made with honor as a guide don’t have to be apologized for, and they’re certainly not drivel at all. I needed to be sure of you. Now I am. Continue to make those kinds of decisions, Lieutenant, and may God protect you and your men out there. Now, leave me to my unendingly mundane but necessary chores, son.”
Wake felt an empathy and appreciation for the older man who had the lives of thousands of people, both naval and civilian, in his hands. The silence in the room was not uncomfortable to Wake now, but rather it seemed a natural pause that was a type of communication in itself. A silent message of trust.
Wake finally said, “Aye aye, sir.”
Loethen nodded and lowered his gaze to the disheveled papers on his desk, then glanced over at Morris, growling an order in a quarterdeck voice. “Commander, how can I control this squadron when I can’t even control the papers on my own desk. Get a yeoman in here to make some sort of semblance of order out of this confounded mess.”
Loethen noticed Wake standing in the doorway watching him. “Wake, why are you still here? You have things to accomplish. Now go accomplish them!”
Dashing out the door, Wake called, “Aye aye, sir!” over his shoulder to the admiral, as a group of waiting officers in the outer room laughed at the admiral’s booming comment and the lieutenant’s rapid exit.
Outside the building, past the curious officers and alone in the dwindling sunlight, Wake paused and leaned against a coconut palm and looked out over the anchorage, letting the refreshing breeze wash over him like a cleansing surf. He searched out the Hunt lying at anchor on the far side of the harbor. With a tall stack, and two masts without sails that were useful for signaling but not much else,
