***
Faber was the petty officer of the deck when the call came down from the lookout an hour before the meridian that a large rigged ship was several miles ahead and sailing close-hauled south toward them. Faber’s report to Wake down in his cabin included the opinion that it was most certainly the Gem of the Sea, the ship they were to meet with first on their passage along the coast. The Gem of the Sea was a bark-rigged sailing ship with the duty of guarding the coast from Boca Grande Pass down to Marco Island, a coast with many deserted islands and bays—perfectly suited for the Confederate blockade runners that operated there. The Gem, as she was known in the squadron, had the almost impossible task of trying to plug all these holes. She had some smaller sloops and schooners to assist, one of which had been Wake’s first naval command. This section of Florida held many recent memories for Wake, some of which were most unpleasant. As he stood on the deck after hearing Faber’s report, Wake looked from the ship approaching to the coast of Captiva Island a few miles off to windward, and his hand reached to touch the scar on the side of his face. The battle that produced that scar took place just two score miles from these islands, at a place misnamed the Peace River. Some of the crew from the Gem were also at that battle. Wake shook his head at the memories.
Rork came up to him from behind.
“She’s left her station at Boca Grande Pass, sir. I wonder what the lads on Gem are up to? Perhaps they’ve gotten word ol’ Johnville is back with another runner at Punta Rassa.”
Wake smiled at the suggestion. Robert Johnville had a reputation among the Rebels as a blockade runner with a charmed life. He ran cotton and turpentine out to Cuba and the Bahamas, and rum and manufactured goods back into Florida. Occasionally, in a bow to his state’s cause, he even brought in munitions for the war effort. Whatever he brought in, he sold it for enormous profits. Captured a couple of times earlier in the war, he had been released repeatedly, but the charm had left him and he was back as a prisoner in Key West, having been caught the latest time on the Caloosahatchee River. One of his schooners, the Director, had been destroyed at Punta Rassa several months earlier. Wake remembered that the battle up the Peace River had been with two other vessels of Johnville’s flotilla.
“I think not, Rork. Robert Johnville is still our guest at Fort Taylor.”
“Maybe another then, sir. There’s so many of the devils about on this coast. I’d wager a guinea to a penny she’s after one of ’em.”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough. When Gem gets closer, get St. James around on their tack. I want to speak with Captain Baxter, and we can at least send over their mail by heaving line even if they can’t stop.”
The distance narrowed rapidly and soon Rork had the St. James brought around heading south alongside the larger bark. Wake leaned out while hanging onto the port main shrouds and yelled across the agitated water between the two ships to his senior counterpart on the Gem.
“Captain Baxter, sir! We are two days out from Key West with mail and provisions for you. Do you wish to heave to and transfer them?”
“No, Mr. Wake! We are after a runner thought to be coming out of the islands by Punta Rassa. I have the ship’s boats searching the inside passage and we are bound to rendezvous in several hours. I dare not delay. Send over the mail and return later to transfer the provisions on your way back south.”
Wake told Rork to get the mail ready for sending over on a messenger line, then continued his loud conversation with Baxter. The wind and waves created a background noise that made any attempt to speak sound like a scream.
“Captain Baxter, sir! What runner? I thought Johnville was a prisoner at Key West.”
“Mr. Wake, evidently some of his men are still operating in these islands. A small sloop was seen there yesterday.”
A line was thrown over to the Gem by Rork and secured by a bosun’s mate there. Next an oilcloth-wrapped package, lashed to a larger line, was hauled across the chasm but not before it dipped into the waves momentarily. Taunting and critiquing by both crews accompanied the procedure as the package finally made it over the gunwale of the bark. Another package similarly dressed came across to the St. James. Seconds later the two ships were unleashed from each other and Wake shouted a farewell.
“Good luck, Captain Baxter! We’ll be back this way in a few days.”
Baxter waved his good-bye and turned to an officer who was standing there holding a bundle of letters. For the hundredth time Wake was thankful he did not have to stay on the coast at one spot for months at a stretch like the captain and crew of the Gem of the Sea.
“Very well, Rork. Get her turned back to the north, and we will set course for Tampa Bay.”
A turn through the wind around to port laid the schooner over on a broad starboard reach. St. James headed northward, her bowsprit touching on the horizon, as her crew settled into the routine of watch keeping and deck and sail chores. Wake returned to his documentary duties in his cabin while Faber eyed the set of the sails and Rork went forward to inspect the ground tackle.
Faber’s watch had ended and Rork had the deck when the next cry came from the lookout in the crosstrees. In his cabin Wake could hear it all above him as he
