Still, as the crew of the St. James had discovered to their pain just a week earlier, this was no time to take chances or assume the blockade runners would meekly surrender. Wake watched as Rork led half the boarding party up and over the gunwales of the schooner with cutlasses and pistols drawn, as the other half of the party stayed down in the boat with muskets leveled at the men on the deck.
The rest of the bluejackets then ascended to the deck, some herding the Rebel crew forward while others disappeared from view as they went below to complete the search of the vessel. It certainly looked as if all was going well, but Wake was worried about the Annie. It might be the top of the flood tide and getting her off the rocks could prove difficult, if not impossible. Not knowing the tidal times and sequences on this section of the coast made gauging the situation more of a guess than an appraisal.
“MacDougall, get me two men and the dinghy. I want to go to Rork and then over to Annie to ascertain precisely their plight. It appears that the boarding party is safe. You stay here.”
MacDougall affirmed the order, and soon two of the younger seamen were rowing Wake to the Rebel schooner. The air was warming and the noonday calm was approaching as the wind started to lighten. That much was a help to getting the ships off the rocks, thought Wake as he surveyed the situation aboard the schooner ahead of him. He could see Rork speaking to a person aft, who appeared to be a leader of some sort, probably the captain. The man did not look cowed and was animated in his gestures.
After one of the sailors helped him up the main chains to the deck, Wake looked around to examine the state of the prize vessel. The sails were now down and the crew lashed together forward by the sampson post. The rhythmic crunch of wood on rock with each low swell caused Wake to wince, but the bluejackets getting an anchor off to deep water in the St. James’s boat reassured him that all was being done to get her free as soon as possible. Rork came up and saluted.
“Sir, she is the Random of Nassau. Hundred tonner with Captain Young, a limey, commanding. He says they were in Clearwater hiding until yesterday’s storm. Then they slipped out and thought they were past our ships until dawn when they saw Annie. I’m afraid that Captain Young is not a happy man, Captain Wake. Not a happy man atall, sir.”
“Is he claiming not to be running the blockade?”
Rork smiled as he continued.
“No sir. He’s a bit embarrassed about hittin’ the reef when he only had another day till he got to his destination. Mad as a hornet, he is, Captain. Said that the money he would’ve made on this run would allow him to leave Nassau and return to England. Says he hates the Bahamas and the Americans and their war. Just wants to go back and live in the old country. Says he was on his last run. Carryin’ bits and pieces o’ things that’d bring a good price. Haven’t had time to look myself yet, but the manifest says tools and medicines.
“Trades southern turpentine and cotton for ’em, then sells that for a fortune in Nassau. Young says they’re all astarvin’ an’ desperate on this coast cause o’ the blockade an’ the war. A bit disillusioned with the grand cause an’ all evidently. No glory when you’re slowly starvin’, Captain. Saw that in my own day, back home. Ain’t a pretty sight.”
“Where precisely was he bound for?”
“Some place with the evil soundin’ name of Deadman’s Bay, Captain. Has run into there six times in the last two years from Nassau. Do you know of it?”
“Yes, I saw it on the chart. The squadron caught some runners there last year. Annie got some there earlier this year. The channel into there appears tricky. I believe we’ll need some local knowledge, and he sounds like he knows it.”
“That he does, sir.”
Rork was watching him closely as Wake went on.
“They’re disaffected with the Confederacy there?”
Wake’s hand went up to absently rub the scar on his face. Rork knew what that mannerism meant. Wake was thinking up an idea, and the immediate future would become interesting.
“That’s what he says, Captain. Your mind is workin’ again, I can tell.”
“Bring him here, Rork.”
“Aye, Captain. But he’s madder than a bishop caught in an Orangeman’s pub!”
Wake stayed aft as the British captain was brought to him, the rest of the captured crew of five watching the proceedings intently. Captain Vincent Young was a disheveled man in his late forties, heavy set with a florid face that betrayed a fondness for liquor. His demeanor was anything but submissive as he started in right away without the usual courtesies.
“Well, you’ve got me now. This Irish idiot says you’re the captain commanding this rabble. Are you the fool who ran aground after us or the one from the anchored schooner?”
Wake’s germinating idea had not included an obnoxious blockade-runner captain. He was amazed by the man’s attitude. The smell of rum and the slur of the words provided a partial explanation for the bravado. But that would be gone by the next morning. The plan could still work. It would mean a delay in returning to Key West, but opportunities often entailed an investment of time and effort. This opportunity was unique. The profit in terms of the navy’s war efforts in Florida would be worth the chances taken.
Wake regarded the man before him and spoke in a low monotone.
“I am
