Young made an indignant clucking sound and tried to interrupt, but Rork ground a boot on the top of the merchant captain’s foot, leaned close to his ear, and said something quietly that Wake couldn’t hear entirely. Young’s eyes showed that he could hear the bosun’s words clearly as Rork spoke a little louder.
“This here Irish idiot is tellin’ your lordship to shut your hatch while my captain is speakin’ to ya. You’re not endearin’ yourself to me, ya limey bastard. In fact, you’re remindin’ me o’ some o’ your countrymen in Eire that have done things that need to be revenged. An’ it’s a long way to Key West. Do ye understand me plain?”
Young squirmed his foot but Rork ground down harder, with one hand, to anyone watching, resting apparently innocently on the Englishman’s neck. Wake knew it was anything but innocent. Young looked up at Rork and nodded his head as Wake spoke again.
“It is obvious to me, and will be to the government authorities in Key West, that you have openly and repeatedly been part of the operations of the enemies of the United States in a time of war. No protest of neutrality can be supported nor will be entertained. This is war and you are the enemy. We put our prisoners of war in special camps until they can be exchanged or the war ends. In your case there is no reciprocal for exchange. Your past actions speak to the matter, Mister Young, and mere words on your part will not change that past. . . .”
Wake stopped and let his words sink in. He hoped the man was not too drunk and could understand the import of what was just said. Young stood staring at his captor. He looked up at Rork again and back at Wake, shaking his head.
“I want to go home to England. Just let me go and I’ll not return. I hate this country and your squalid little war. I hate this damned heat. Why in the devil’s name did I ever leave England for this forsaken place, just to be with you people!”
Wake stayed silent. The creaking and smashing of the hull on the reef went on as men worked ceaselessly on the deck pumps to keep up with the leaks below. The heat built palpably with the sun high overhead as the wind died away and the sea glassed over. Men around them yelled and cursed and grunted as they went about the task of trying to save the vessel and her cargo, which until a hour earlier had been Young’s financial assurance of a return to the cool green hills of his homeland. Still Wake did not speak, he let the intent of his words permeate Young’s mind: the heat, the din, the years in a prison. Young glanced around, slumped, and looked down at the deck.
“You’re saying that there is something I could do to show I am not an enemy of the Federal government and navy?”
Wake kept up the somniferous drone. He would show Young no sympathy. The dislike in his voice was no act.
“If you are sincere in your desire to show the United States that you are not our enemy, and that this was an accidental situation that you have been mired in, then there is something you can do. It will require action on your part.”
“And if I do whatever this is, then what?”
“Then you are not an enemy. Just an unfortunate neutral British subject caught in our war. We turn you over to Mr. Howell, at the British Consulate in Key West, and you are forbidden to ever come into our country again. Perception, Mister Young, is based upon actions. It is time for your actions to give us a better perception of you.”
“I’ll do what you want. Just get me back to Nassau so I can make passage back to England. God help me.”
“God will help you, Mister Young. And so will we. Rork, escort Mister Young to his cabin and get all of his charts and papers, then bring him to the Annie. There will be a conference in Captain Williams’ cabin in fifteen minutes.”
“Aye, Captain. Me an’ Mister Young’re making fast friends now, aren’t we now Mister English man?” Rork glanced over at Wake and winked.
With that said the bosun led Young off below as Wake went forward. The work was progressing aboard the Random and Wake’s plan depended upon her being ready to sail soon. The carpenter’s mate from St. James was boarding up the cracked planking inside the hull after a sail had been fothered over the ripped planks outside to reduce the flow of water into her. A shouted answer from down in the hold to Wake’s question yielded the hoped for answer—an hour or two more would be sufficient to make her seaworthy, with planks boarded and caulked inboard and outboard of the hull.
That left the reef. The schooner was floating easier now, and the sailors were about to haul away on the hawser of the kedge anchor to pull her off the rocks. With no wind to push her further into shallow water, they should have her floating in deeper water by the time the carpenter finished his work.
Ten minutes later Wake was aboard the Annie, greeting his old friend, and senior in the grade of lieutenant, James Williams.
“James, how is she? Bad?”
“Touched a bit hard but nothing we haven’t done before, or will again. Should be off any moment. It was good to see you sailing up, Peter. In the proverbial nick of time. I understand you have captured her in our name. Thank you for that. Greatly appreciated. Gates went over and received the particulars on your boarding and her
