Within another hour the wind had lain down enough so that all plain sail was set and the ship’s complement started to repair the damage done by the storm. The jib that had flown during the high winds was doused and resewn along the leech where it had flailed the edge to tatters. Why it did not part was a cause for some conjecture among the men. Rork himself examined the canvas and oversaw the repair, while others went aloft to see about the running and standing rigging. As the sun descended through the haze of the remaining cloud cover, the sailors of the St. James got ready for their supper, talking of the hazards of blockading this coast and wondering what they would find at Cedar Keys, seventy miles distant and due north.
They never found out. The next morning, when still twenty miles south of the Cedar Keys, they caught a glimpse of a sail to the northeast, just off the coast. Wake was on deck when the yell first came from the foremast crosstrees. The coast in this area trended back to the east so that St. James was out of sight of land. Wake informed MacDougall, who had the deck, to sharpen up into the wind some more and close with the sail. The slight morning land breeze barely reached out this far and was only providing for three knots of speed, so Wake knew the chase, if it turned out to be that, would be a long one. Still, the prospects for some excitement, and possibly some prize money, invigorated the crew of the schooner so that they turned to the trimming of the sails with a will. Constant supposition about the suspect vessel, her cargo, and her destination was heard in voices from the deck and aloft.
Then they saw a second sail, south of the first and apparently further into shore. Now the speculation changed. After another half hour they saw more details in the distant canvas and deduced that there were two schooners over there, within a mile of each other, and both heading north northwest on a broad reach in the wind from shore.
“This is getting more interesting, Rork.”
“Aye, that it is, Captain. Is it a courtship or a rape? That’s the question from this perspective as I see it, sir.”
MacDougall’s usually silent manner loosened a bit as he joined in the conversation at the windward rail.
“You’ll know soon enough when the range betwixt ’em closes. Then, if it ain’t love with those two over there, you’ll hear a growl from a twelve-pounder, sure as God made bosuns to carry gunners around the oceans.”
Wake put down his glass and looked at the two petty officers standing to his left, the gaunt older gunner looking grim in spite of his humor and the younger giant of a bosun grinning at his friend’s homily. Wake, not for the first time, felt a kinship with these two men.
“MacDougall, I do believe that on occasion you can be profound, even if it is at the expense of the bosuns of the world!”
Rork, who could not pass up such an opportunity as this, added his opinion of the gunner’s mate’s theorizing. “Captain, my friend the esteemed gunner has made some trifle bit o’ humor and I, for one aboard this here schooner ship, am glad that he recognizes that without the bosuns to bring ’em into range, the gunners o’ the world would be useless as an Irishman in a whiskey vat.”
“No gunners, no navy, sir. Simple as Rork’s brains.”
Even taciturn MacDougall couldn’t help but smile with his last comment, and all three shared a laugh as Rork put paid to the debate.
“By the Lord above and around us, he’s got me there, Captain. MacDougall, you are truly an evil old man!”
A shout from aloft interrupted them.
“Deck there! Land ho! Behind the sails to the east.”
The horizon began to change into faint irregularity as low marshy islands off the mainland of Florida grew into focus. The coast was now about eight miles away, the sails of the two schooners half that distance. The report of water depth below them came next from the leeward foreshrouds.
“Two fathom! Two fathom!”
It was an odd coast indeed where a ship could be this far offshore and still be in only twelve feet of water. The morning sight had indicated they were somewhere off the Crystal River area. From that point the coastline of Florida started to curve back to the north northwest, before making almost a right angle and trending about due west for a dozen miles or so at Waccasassa Bay. Cedar and Seahorse Keys should be ahead of them somewhere. The bottom here was notorious for shoals and rocky reefs. Wake was not comfortable with their position and wondered what the captains of the vessels further inshore were thinking of at this moment. The camaraderie of the moment before was gone as he turned to Rork.
“I want the lookouts doubled. There are reefs quite far offshore on this coast, and the chart is very vague. Have them look for reefs especially. The Cedar Keys should be dead ahead or a point off the port bow.”
“Aye, sir. Decisions to be made soon enough.”
Rork walked forward to a group of men working on pitching the foredeck seams and sent two of them up the masts to observe for dangers. MacDougall returned to the helmsman and made the hourly log entry. Wake remained at the rail, feeling the light wind coming over the water from Florida with the scent of forest and beach upon it. It was at times like this, when decisions were about to be made, that a ship’s captain was the most alone, set apart by his responsibility, and the authority given him to carry it out.
“Deck there! Land ho, two points on the port bow! An island, I think sir. No, two islands. Now more, sir. A
