She was still there. A little closer even, but still not close enough.
Old McDougall even deigned to come forward and look at the ship he might be called upon to destroy. He stayed for just a moment, gazed at the other vessel in his noncommittal way, and returned amidship to his guns.
As he passed by Wake he muttered his opinion without stopping. “In this sea, Captain, a quarter mile with solid shot should put ’em in the mind to heave to. Be a bitch ta’ board though. God be with the bastards who have to do that.”
Wake smiled, amazed that McDougall had just said exactly what he had been thinking. There could be no boarding in this sea. They would both have to sail to calmer water for that. And there was no calm water around, except for some bays on the forbidden coast of Cuba.
As if on cue, the lookout standing in the foreshrouds just off the deck said, “Believe that’s land over yonder, boys. Yep, land ho, dead ahead!”
“Dammit, Hutch, make a proper report to the petty officer of the deck!” Rork’s voice took everyone, including Wake, aback. Hutch, the lookout, duly chastened, repeated his information in the prescribed manner to Faber, who had the deck watch. Rork sat down next to his captain.
“Cuba and them Spaniards, sir. Wonder what she’ll do now.”
“Time will tell. I may break this off if the wind doesn’t ease. We’re getting pretty far to leeward from Key West. I’ll decide at noon.”
“Aye, noon it is, sir.”
***
By noon the day was bright and the sea had laid down a bit. Both schooners were still sailing to the south, and the mountains of Cuba were clearly visible. He knew distances at sea were deceiving, but Wake thought they would be in Spanish territorial waters by sunset. The distance between the two ships had narrowed to a mile. Within gunshot for a twelve-pounder but not accurate range in those sea conditions. Since daylight had arrived St. James had been flying her ensign but the mystery ship had no colors showing.
Rork stood at the leeward rail, leaving the windward to his captain as custom dictated. The decision had to be made, and made then. And only one man aboard could make it. Wake crossed the deck to the low side.
“Rork, we stay on the chase. Serve the beer until it runs out. Then cut the water rations in half again and serve that. Put the beer and the water in the pantry locker and secure it. There’s room in there for it, right?”
“We’ll move some of the salt pork barrels out and put the beer an’ water in there, sir. “
“Very well. And set the big stays’l again once it’s repaired.”
“Aye, sir.”
Wake studied his second in command.
“You’re uncommonly silent, Rork. Why?”
“Well, Captain, I’m thinkin’ this here is a uncommon situation, sir. This could go well for us all, or bad for us all. Either way, we’re all in it, sir.”
Wake nodded agreement and descended into his dark den of privacy. He was exhausted. Lying down on his bunk for just a moment’s rest slid him into a sleep that occupied four hours.
“Deck there! A big lugger is coming out of that bay ahead!”
The sound of the lookout’s report startled Wake’s dreaming mind and he sat bolt upright, almost cracking his head on the beam above. By the time he had reached the main deck, most of the crew on watch was staring off to the south, pointing at a two-masted triangular-sailed vessel standing out to sea, straight at St. James and the other ship. The Cuban coast was only three or four miles away. Abruptly, a spot of color appeared in the after rigging of the new vessel: the gold and white colors of the empire of Spain. The lugger was naval, and she was now steering directly for the schooner ahead of St. James.
With a determined countenance, Rork shook his head and turned to his captain, who had just come up to the foredeck.
“Captain, I’ll be a sheepherder in Bantry if it don’t look like the dago navy will be protecting our friend there. Probably escort them into harbor so’s us yanks don’t violate the precious sanctity of Spain’s waters! Won’t have her afore she reaches their protection. More’s the pity too, sir. Me relatives in Eire would’ve loved it here. Luck o’ the ever bleedin’ Irish.”
Wake, who usually tried not to show great emotion in front of the crew, believing it lessened the trust they had to have in him, gave in to his frustration.
“Damn, Rork, I think you’re right. She’ll just make it. Damn it all. Make ready to come about. We’ll just head home the minute they come up to her.”
But Rork was not right. The fleeing schooner did not rush into the protecting arms of the Spanish Navy. Instead, moments after the lugger had shown her official colors, the mystery schooner bore off to the west and put her sails out wing and wing again. St. James was close enough now, less than a mile, that Wake could look through his glass and see figures on the fleeing ship setting more sail.
“By Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I’ll not fathom that move, Captain!”
“I don’t either, Rork, but let’s follow her around and bear off the wind. And get everything aloft that will catch air! Maybe we won’t turn around after all.”
Now a puff of smoke showed from the Spaniard and the dull pop of a cannon shot came across the water. A splash erupted two hundred yards behind the other schooner.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch! ’Tis the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen, sir! The dagos are goin’ after her.”
“Now I’ve absolutely got to see what’s aboard her, Rork. This is getting very interesting.”
With all hands in the evolution, St. James’s crew completed a very dangerous jibe and brought all sail wing and wing. Every sail aboard was sent up and spread out on either
