“We left the others at Egmont. They will be taken to Key West, but I thought John would be better here, with you. He is confused and very unhappy. I believe your advice to him would be welcome, sir. They need more help than just the material type, if you understand my meaning, sir.”
“Yes, Captain, I do. It is a hard time for Floridians, and especially the men. Old ways die hard here. I will do what I can. He may want to enlist in the Second Florida Union Cavalry Regiment. To salvage his self honor.”
“Precisely what I thought. But he has to be sure of that decision. And now two more matters, if I may, before you go to see your family.”
“Yes, of course, Captain.”
“I want to profoundly thank you for helping my wounded men. It was a Godsend to me, and we are all very grateful for all you and the other islanders did for them.”
The old man raised his hands in protest.
“We did what we could, Captain. I’m afraid it wasn’t enough for your man Scarbond though. We are sorry for his death. The two others we hear are doing better.”
“Much better, Mr. Newton. We are taking them to Key West with us. Which brings up my last point—a request actually.”
The elder listened as Wake spoke from the heart on an issue quite different from the others. Newton nodded gently as the lieutenant explained his situation and the plan for rectifying it. For Wake, it was like speaking with a grandfather who understood exactly what his intent was and how it could be realized. The two men, from such different backgrounds and generations, had been thrust together by the momentum of the war and fate. Wake showed his huge relief when Newton said he would be honored to help.
The shadows had lengthened to the east of the seagrape tree when they stood up and shook hands. The mosquitoes were starting to be felt and both men absentmindedly swatted them away as they spoke.
“Good-bye, Mr. Newton. I hope things work out for John and his family. I don’t know exactly when I will see you next, but hope it will be soon. And thank you again, sir, for all of your help. Now, and in the future.”
“Good-bye, Captain. God bless you and your men. I will be here waiting.”
Wake thought about saying farewell to John Newton, but the beach was crowded with well-wishers greeting the family and helping them ashore. Instead he waded out to the dinghy and was rowed to the St. James.
As the sun began its descent the schooner rode the ebb around Patricio Island and toward Boca Grande, short tacking in the westerly sea breeze as another afternoon storm rose along the eastern sky. It was hard work maneuvering the ship through the shoals and out the channel, but finally they were free of the land. Turning due south, they sailed on her best point of sail, a broad reach, and slid down the coast of islands toward the squadron’s headquarters.
Wake knew that whatever his reception might be from the admiral in Key West, the plan first conceived upon meeting Hervey Newton a week and a half earlier was at last well on its way to fruition. All he had to do now would be to convince the main participant. And deal with the admiral.
Boca Grande to Key West in the light summer winds was usually a two-day voyage. The St. James sailed it overnight, enjoying a rousing sail with fresh westerlies uninterrupted by the storms brewing inland along the coast. The spirits of the crew, already high in anticipation of the delights of Key West, soared even higher with this confirmation of their luck. Even the morning easterly was strong enough to move them fast, six knots and frequently more, toward their destination. The sunrise was clear and clean and invigorating.
None of these signs of celestial approval eased Wake’s mind, however. He knew that he faced probable discipline for his part in the riot. Was it really only three weeks earlier? So much had happened since that night. He tried to prepare himself for the interview with Admiral Bluefield but found himself lacking any plausible explanation for his behavior that night at the fight. The obvious excuse of defending the honor of the men of the squadron sounded hollow in his mind, especially when placed against the undoubted reaction of Bluefield.
The buildings of Key West came over the horizon at the same time that Fort Taylor loomed up in its malevolent way. They were an odd sight, the structures of man built for commerce and society and that built for war and death. The fort dominated the harbor vista, forming the main point of referral for everything else as a ship approached the docks and anchorage. The massive authoritarian walls reminded Wake of his upcoming meeting with the man who had power over every aspect of his life in the navy.
St. James anchored just to the northeast of the naval wharf as the heat of the day increased. Wake searched the harbor for Rork’s vessels, finally spotting them a quarter mile away nested together. He saw no sign of Rork.
“Faber, get the wounded to the hospital straight away. MacDougall, water and provisions immediately. No liberty for anyone until I return. I will be at the squadron offices.”
With those terse instructions Wake descended to the dinghy without looking back. Acknowledgments were mumbled as the petty officers and men watched their captain rowed to the officers’ landing at the wharf. The men knew what was awaiting him. All knew he would have to face it alone, but that the outcome would affect them too. They knew not to call out and wish him luck. That would be a breach of discipline and an embarrassment to him. But they nodded their heads a moment later as they watched him get out of the
