As Rork protested his innocence of intent, Wake decided to change the subject and implement the plan immediately.
“He meant no harm, Mr. Newton. Bosun Rork is from Ireland, as you can readily tell, and has heard of Indians but never seen one. Actually, I haven’t either. Now, let us take you and Mrs. Williams up on your kind offer. Rork, get six seamen to row Mr. Newton’s boat. Our boat will carry the wounded and return our men back to the St. James. I want them under way in ten minutes. And I want to sail north tonight as soon as our men return and the evening land breeze pipes up.”
Wake’s order meant the wounded had to be transferred from the St. James, where McDougall was doing his best for them, to the schooner’s boat again. Rork said “Aye, sir,” then spun on his heel and walked off bellowing orders.
Newton stood looking at the Irishman’s figure recede and shook his head.
“We are a little sensitive about our women, Captain. I am one of two old men left on the island, and am more than a bit protective out of necessity, sir. The bosun appears to be a good man, though, and perhaps I misunderstood his comment.”
“You certainly did, Mr. Newton. Sean Rork is as good as they come. He is my friend as well as my senior petty officer. But I completely understand your concerns and appreciate your protective attitude regarding the ladies of the island.”
Neither of the men said that which was on their minds. The year before, a naval petty officer had gotten drunk at an celebration in honor of the navy’s role in protecting the refugees, and in a animal rage attempted to sexually assault one of the girls on the island. That man had been the bosun of the sloop Wake had commanded at the time. The man had gone insane and subsequently committed suicide before standing trial. Both Wake and Newton remembered the horror of the ordeal well. Rork had been the man’s replacement a month later.
“Well, Captain Wake, we’ll be going. We’ll tend your men as well as we can. They’ll be far more comfortable on Useppa than in the small confines of your schooner.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll bring the St. James to the island on my way back south to Key West in a week or so. Gem should be back on station here by then, I’m sure, and their surgeon can give some medicinal help if needed. Thank you again, Mr. Newton. You have been a great help to me and my men, sir.”
“Our patriotic duty and honor, sir. Even if they won’t let me fight anymore, I still can do something to help out.”
Newton waded out to his crude island boat and his ragged but proud feminine crew, who helped him over the side despite his fussing that ladies should not have to do that kind of thing—that he wasn’t that old yet. Watching him go off in the descending gloom of the dusk, Wake was impressed by the behavior of Newton and the women. In order to arrive at Lacosta when they did, they must have shoved off from Useppa while the skirmish was still ongoing. Not knowing what they would find, they still made their way toward the battle sounds in order to assist. He was also impressed by the attitude of Newton toward the women under his care at the island.
If Wake had been Sergeant Williams, off fighting the Confederates in the interior of Florida, he would have been at least comforted by the fact his wife was as safe as could be expected because of the company of a gentleman who displayed such a protective nature. The thought made him think of Linda and the fact that she had no real protector when he was away from her. An idea started to form within his mind, but it was interrupted by Rork’s calling to him that all was ready to shove away from the beach.
Moments later the St. James’s boat got under way, headed south after the islanders. A myriad of duties devolved upon Wake in the half-light of dusk: an armed anchor watch was set, the prize crew of the sloop under Faber was detailed, a cursory report of the action written and given to Faber for transmittal to the squadron commander, the prisoners were securely lashed to the sloop’s mast, and the schooner’s arms and ammunition were stowed.
Wake told Faber to try to make Key West if he could or to report to any naval vessel they might intercept along the way. He was admonished to make sure the prisoners made it in good condition to the squadron. So far, they had not been forthcoming with information but just sat in a daze looking at the mounds of sand where their recent compatriots lay underground on the beach. The nature of their endeavor and its outcome was becoming quite clear to them. Wake suspected that one of the surviving pair was the leader of the blockade running effort. He had better clothes than the others in the Confederate crew, and just might be related to Robert Johnville himself. If so, he would be of great interest to the interrogators in Key West. Faber received his orders without comment and proceeded to make ready his vessel and small crew of four. A serious countenance clouded his face as he oversaw his preparations. There was no room for error in his mission.
An hour after his return to the schooner from the beach, Wake watched the total darkness of the tropical night fill the air around the islands where St. James lay anchored on the calm waters of the bay. Physically and emotionally exhausted, he sat down at the stern
