One could never become complacent, he thought, for events had a way of transforming life into a completely different equation just when you least expected it. When he had walked into the admiral’s office he was concerned for his career over the incident with Colonel Wherley at the Timucuahatchee River. When he walked out of that office, he was consumed by the crucial needs attendant upon assuming a new command, hampered by low manpower and morale.
As he reveled in the slightly cooler air of the shadows and looked out over the glittering waters of the anchorage—starting to change from the fetid windless air of the summer months just past, he thought of what the admiral and commander had said about him not needing the wind anymore. For the first time in his life at sea he would be independent of the wind for motive power and totally dependent upon one of those infernal mechanical contraptions that spoiled the natural beauty of a ship. The smell and dirt and noise would be repulsive. Even the crew would be different, containing many men devoted to maintaining and operating the belching beast in her belly that made her such a dangerous modern warship. Those men were called the “black gang” for the obvious and accurate reason that they were usually filthy from the coal soot and engine grease they worked with. The usual cleanliness of a naval vessel that Wake had always expected would be hard to maintain on a steamer.
He suddenly realized that James had gone from sail to steam in the navy and wondered if his brother had felt the same way when he reported aboard that monitor. He wished James could tell him what to expect. The sad thought of James made him sigh. At least Linda was getting better, and she was definitely safer on Useppa among friends. One less thing for him to worry about while taking on a new command—and a steam command at that. His days under sail were ending.
Wake felt a deep affinity for the St. James. She was a schooner man’s ship and had performed well in all the trials of the last ten months, but he was ready for his new challenge. It would all be difficult to adjust to, but it was a challenge Wake was beginning to find interesting, as he started walking toward the officers’ boat landing by the naval wharf. He was thankful he would have Rork and Durlon as trusted shipmates to help him in that challenge.
The thought of the two veteran petty officers brought questions of what kind of crew he might find aboard the Hunt in the morning. He wasn’t worried about them—curious but not worried. He was an experienced naval officer now and Hunt would be his third command. He knew what to do and had the confidence of his admiral that he would accomplish it. That Loethen had given him command of the Hunt over other officers in the squadron Wake considered as a personal debt to the admiral—and he would ensure that debt was paid in full by the success of the armed tug.
“St. James,” he said to the youngster at the oars as he stepped into a dinghy at the landing.
“Aye, St. James, an’ a pretty schooner she is, sir,” the boy replied, but Wake wasn’t listening. He was thinking of the unusual manner he had come to his new command.
The entire situation was ironic to Wake’s logical way of thinking. All of this had unfolded because one month ago three hundred miles away from this place he had made a decision fraught with consequence. Wake ran a finger along the scar on the side of his face as he considered it. A point of honor had been the catalyst for that decision—that no one else would die needlessly, wasted through foolish intent or ego, and that Colonel Wherley should be removed from the possibility of showing further tragic idiocy. That the colonel had consented was a minor miracle, but his retaliation was still a distinct problem for the future. If Wherley sought revenge at some point, he would have to deal with it then. Still, the chance was worth it, reasoned Wake as he was rowed out to his final night as the St. James’s captain. After all, it wasn’t that complicated—his brother James would have understood it perfectly. It was just a simple point of honor.
Wake stowed all of that in the back of his mind, for he had plenty to accomplish aboard the St. James this evening before assuming command of the Hunt in the morning. Briefing Rork on the day’s news was the first item, followed by writing his final reports on the men, armament, rigging, supplies and provisions of the schooner. The last thing he would do tonight might be the most important, he decided. He would write a letter to Linda and share all that had happened to him.
“St. James!” called out the boy to the schooner ahead, in the traditional warning to a crew that their captain was approaching. As the dinghy came alongside, Wake saw that Rork was standing at the stern, watching him intently. Wake jumped up to the main chains and climbed to the deck. The bosun flashed a grin as he greeted his commanding officer and friend.
“Aye, Captain. Ye’ve come just in time for
