“Deck there! Sail broad on the starboard bow. Sloop or cutter rig. By the large island, behind that point, an’ headin’ nor’wes’ sorta.”
Rork’s bellow in reply was loud even for Wake below decks.
“An’ what does she look to you, Thatcher?”
“Don’ know her, Bosun! Don’t look right to me though. She’s jus’ luffed up and worn ’round to go back behind the island. No refugee boat would do that.”
Seconds later Rork was in Wake’s cabin.
“I heard the lookout, Rork. We’re off Lacosta Island, aren’t we?”
“Aye, that we are, sir. Twarn’t one o’ the Gem’s boats and probably not one o’ the Useppa refugee boats. Sounds a bit daft, sir, but I’m awondering if it’s the runner Captain Baxter was talking of. Maybe she somehow got past the Gem’s boat amongst those islands in there and is coming out Boca Grande Passage thinkin’ ol’ Gem’s agone away.”
“The wind will still serve to get us in there after her, right?”
“Right as rain, sir! We’ll have a good run inshore after ’em and catch the nippers just when they think they’re as safe as a fox in a henhouse.”
“Very good, let’s get St. James close-hauled and get in there before she has a chance to get too far away from us. Get the boat ready in case we have to go into the shallows after her.”
Rork bounded up the ladder and issued the expected orders to the crew who were already at their stations preparing to bring the schooner closer to the wind. As she came around to the east, the St. James picked up speed and heeled over, the wash along her lee port railing making a loud and constant swish of apparent satisfaction. The increased apparent wind in her rigging started to hum in concert with the flapping of the mainsail’s leech. Wake felt she was communicating to him, happy that she was able to move on a close reach bounding through the small seas. Even the sailors’ manner changed as they replaced the routine of a coastal supply run with the prospect of a chase and capture. Everything and everyone seemed to come alive at the notion.
The island was three miles off to the east with the wind from the southeast. Wake and Rork knew the Boca Grande Passage very well, and the bars and shoals that had led many a vessel to its demise posed no threat to them in this good breeze with clear visibility. The crew started to go about the business of readying for a possible fight. McDougall oversaw the readying of the two twelve-pounders, and his mate passed out the small arms. Faber went about the task of making sure all equipment was secured on deck and aloft, and White prepared the schooner’s boat for launching a boarding party. At the end of ten minutes the island was two miles away and Rork was reporting all was ready for whatever might come.
The top of the gaff on the mainsail of the sloop was just visible over the sabal palms at the northern end of Lacosta Island. The sloop was now heading southerly away from the passage. Moving slowly behind the island and tacking into the wind, it was obvious she was aware of St. James and was attempting to escape, something no refugee vessel would do. Wake was now convinced that she was a blockade runner.
“Keep a good eye on her, Rork. We’ve got a flood tide, which should help us get up behind the island quickly, but then we’ve got to get her before she can lose us in the small islands.”
“Aye, sir. She may try to sail down by Useppa to escape. White will have to go after her through those shoals.”
Just as they rounded the point of Lacosta, the lookout lost sight of the suspect craft’s sail over the trees. St. James came roaring up close alongside the point, heading as far up into the wind as possible behind the island to maintain speed. The sloop was a mile away, beached on the island with her sails down and crew scrambling ashore into the thick jungle.
“Bloody buggers have done it now! We’ll have to go in and get them, sir.”
“Yes, you’re right, Rork. Get all hands ready to go ashore except for Faber and four men. I want this done quickly. I’ll take the right wing and you take the left. Four men to guard the sloop and eight each to follow us. Load them all into the boat for one trip.”
An acknowledgment of the orders from Rork was the prelude to frenzied activity on the schooner’s deck as she came up into the wind and luffed to a point right off the beached sloop. The crew turned to with a will as they fairly threw the schooner’s boat into the water alongside as the schooner’s sails came tumbling down and the anchor slid into the water. Within moments, the boat, which usually carried ten men but now carried twenty with all of their accouterments, was heading the fifty yards ashore.
The three details immediately went to their areas upon splashing ashore, having been told of their tasks while in the boat. Four men went to the beached sloop and searched it, finding no prisoners but five bales of cotton and ten kegs of turpentine. Wake’s party ran north along the beach for a hundred yards then turned inland. Rork’s group did likewise to the south.
The run decreased to a slog as Wake’s men slashed their way through the tangled vines and thick undergrowth. Any attempt to be stealthy was lost as the sailors cursed and stumbled in their unaccustomed mission. Inside the jungle it was dark, and Wake realized suddenly that the late afternoon was arriving and that this thing had to be done quickly, before nightfall. He did not want his crew scattered through the island in the dark. Too many disasters could and would befall them.
“All right
