“Upon our arrival with the prisoners at the fortress, I had to decline an invitation to dine with Colonel Grosland due to wanting to get under way prior to the dark setting in and making the channel unsafe. I meant no disrespect to the man or his regiment, Admiral.”
“Well, Wake, it certainly was taken that way. What do you intend to do about this?”
Rork gently nudged Wake’s boot again.
“Admiral, I intend to write a memorandum to the colonel apologizing for any offense I may have given and assure him that it was not intentional. It will be delivered this afternoon to Fort Taylor for his review.”
Wake gazed over the admiral’s shoulder to the harbor through the window. Bluefield stared at the two junior men as Morris got up from his chair at the table and removed his glasses. Morris punctuated the silence, speaking to Bluefield but looking at Wake.
“Admiral, I believe the colonel will be satisfied by that letter and that Wake here has an understanding of his transgression of etiquette. I would suggest, sir, that we concentrate on the matter of the ship disposition plan now that this minor issue is resolved. By your leave, sir, I will dismiss these two men.”
“Very well, Morris, let’s get back to the damn war.”
Morris replied as Bluefield returned to the chart table. “Very good, Admiral. Mr. Wake, Rork, you are both dismissed. Mr. Wake, send a copy of that letter to me. And Wake, provision your schooner and be ready to get under way in forty-eight hours’ time. You’ll be making a run up the peninsula’s west coast to the ships there.”
Wake and Rork saluted and fled the room as quietly and quickly as they could. Once outside in the anteroom, Rork stopped and was about to say something to his commander but was preempted by Wake’s raised hand.
“Not here, Rork. Later we’ll talk.”
“Aye, sir. Just a damned shame, sir. Thought you’d be a hero, sir.”
“That’s enough Rork, we need to get back to the ship. There’re many things to accomplish and little time to do it.”
They strode out of the outer offices past several astonished yeomen, who apparently had heard much, if not all, of the dialogue in the admiral’s office. The clerks were more than a little wary of the look on the faces of Wake and Rork as the two men left the building.
***
Four hours later Rork joined Wake at the stern of the St. James The sun was outdoing its usual evening splendor. Rork didn’t like the look on his captain’s face—indeed, had been concerned about him the entire afternoon. Wake had left to Rork the details of getting the captured weapons to the armory and dealing with the St. James’s provisioning. Wake had concentrated on his letter of apology to Colonel Grosland and had finally sent it off to the fort. Neither had made further mention of the meeting with the admiral.
Standing at the stern of the schooner, looking at the sun descending amidst the clouds, Wake looked as melancholy as Rork had ever seen him.
“A volcano. A volcano for sure, sir.”
Wake slightly shook his head and looked at Rork. “What are you talking about, man?”
“That sunset, sir. The sun looks to be a volcano boiling up out of the mountain of that cloud. Pretty as the one in Tenerife, sir. Funny, what a’ image the clouds and a sunset can put together, Captain. Never get a tired o’ lookin’ at what sunsets they have down here. Better than even ol’ Ireland.”
“That they do have, Rork. These waters have some pretty aspects, to be sure. But they also have their terrors.”
“Hells abound, sir. There’s terrors everywhere that this ol’ son o’ Eire’s been. Nothin’ a wee bit o’ rum ashore can’t cure or cancel, sir. No sense in your bein’ aboard this night, sir. We’ve got two nights ashore. I’ll take the morrow’s an’ you take tonight’s, sir. Head on over to the other officers at the Rum and Randy Tavern there and spill some rum down your gullet. Hold a one o’ their comely wenches and dance a jig. Victory—an’ we’ve had a victory, sir—demands its spoils. A sailorman can do no less, Captain!”
“Rork, you’ll be the corruption of me yet. But perhaps a night ashore and a taste of rum would be welcome.” The Rum and Randy Tavern, a forlorn structure located on a dirt lane along the edge of “Bahama Town,” where the black Bahamian immigrants of the island lived, was not visited by the elite of Key West. That genteel class, now much impoverished by the war, tended to gather in parlors like the Russell Hotel along Duval Street in the main part of town. The walk out to the Bahamian quarter would be enough to deter them, but the rowdy behavior of the sailors on liberty ashore, even the officers who gathered at the Rum and Randy, scared away even the more adventuresome of the upper class civilians. And even the army provost troops were circumspect in their dealings with the establishments frequented by the enlisted sailors and commissioned officers on their liberty ashore after weeks on the blockade.
The Rum and Randy had its counterparts for the seamen and the petty officers. The lower ratings frequented the notorious Precious Pub, nicknamed the “Poxy Pub,” which was located in the center of the black quarters. A dilapidated structure which appeared as if it would collapse at any moment, it had the worst reputation for violence, which was enhanced by the fact they never removed the bloodstains from the walls and floor, lending a slaughterhouse look and smell to the place.
The deck petty officers—boatswains, sailmakers, coxswains and quartermasters—patronized the Anchor Inn just down the lane from the Rum and Randy Tavern. The Anchor featured rooms to let by the hour in the back. Many of the petty officers had their own “shore wives,” each of
