***
The guard came to attention at the front door and the yeoman stood up in the outer office. Was it Wake’s imagination or were they both staring at him? He was past caring and determined to get it over with.
A young flag lieutenant newly attached to the staff, smooth and unruffled in an immaculate uniform, came out from a side office and greeted him politely. Extending his hand and speaking with more grace than Wake had seen in quite a time, the lieutenant explained that the admiral was occupied with some rather weighty matters but that he would be available to see the captain in half an hour, if the captain would be so gracious as to kindly wait. The man had the air of a social affair about him. With all the tension that had built within him, ready for an immediate confrontation with the imperious admiral, it was all Wake could do not to burst into laughter at the preposterous demeanor of the lieutenant. The man looked the very image of a stage actor playing at what he thought a naval officer should act like.
Wake sat down and waited. The half hour went by with no additional sign of the flag lieutenant. At one hour Wake told the yeoman to see what the situation was. The youngster returned with no definitive information except to say that the flag lieutenant said to please wait further.
At eleven o’clock, an hour and fifteen minutes since Wake’s arrival, the flag lieutenant emerged again and profusely apologized to him for the delay. It seemed that the admiral had been dealing with the colonel of the Fort Taylor garrison on a matter of urgency. This mention of Colonel Grosland caused Wake to remember that he had enemies in that quarter also, even though he had sent his promised letter of apology. He set his jaw, took a deep breath, assumed his most professional manner and strode into the office of the admiral commanding the East Gulf Blockading Squadron. But Bluefield wasn’t there.
Instead, as the yeoman called out his name to the men in the room, Lieutenant Wake found himself facing Commander Morris, the Chief of Staff of the squadron, and another man who was a stranger. Morris left his position by the window overlooking the harbor and approached Wake, shaking his hand and demonstrating far more hospitality than during Wake’s previous visit. Morris’s voice was actually pleasant as he introduced Wake to the other man, seated at the chart table without uniform coat and therefor devoid of visible rank.
“Admiral, this is the young man I spoke of earlier, Lieutenant Peter Wake of the St. James. He’s just returned from Deadman’s Bay.”
Morris paused and looked at Wake, who spoke the expected words but still did not know whom he was addressing.
“Sir, Lieutenant Wake reporting in from patrol.”
Morris finally understood and smiled.
“Ah . . . Lieutenant Wake has been gone from Key West for over three weeks, Admiral Loethen. He doesn’t know of the change in command. Lieutenant, Admiral Bluefield was sent to Washington a week ago and has been relieved by Admiral Loethen.”
Wake tried not to show the confusion he felt. The situation was now different, still dangerous, but changed. He had never heard of Loethen and wondered what his previous service had been.
“I see, sir. Welcome to the squadron, Admiral.”
Loethen got up from his chair and crossed the room. His stature was impressive, with a large-framed body that stood over six feet tall and an intelligent face with expressive eyes. He was somewhere around fifty-five years old, Wake gauged, so about forty years of service in the regular navy. The man spoke slowly, with a Southern accent.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I am anticipating an interesting assignment here. It certainly has been thus far, hasn’t it, Commander Morris?”
Loethen eyed Wake intently. It was obvious that he was examining a man he had been briefed on earlier.
Morris replied to the question with a laugh. “Admiral, it has been quite a week, sir. In fact, Mr. Wake here was a subject of some of your interaction with the army authorities this week.”
There it was. Wake waited for the onslaught of anger. But Morris was still smiling, and Loethen joined him in a chuckle. The admiral turned his face to Wake.
“Young Mr. Wake, I have never met you and yet I have had to deal with you in this last week. It would seem that one of the matters that I inherited from Bluefield was one involving a certain riotous affair that you, sir, evidently initiated after drinking too much Cuban rum in some little hell hole around here.”
Morris wasn’t smiling now and also spoke to Wake. “I would imagine that you recall that incident, Lieutenant, do you not?”
“Ah, yes sir.”
Morris went on, with Loethen listening closely. “And the officer that disparaged the honor of this squadron, do you remember him?”
“Yes, sir, vaguely.”
“And the ensuing riot that required the garrison to be called out of Fort Taylor?”
“No, sir. I do not recall that. I was in a bed and asleep by that point, sir.”
Morris didn’t react to the answer and his manner stayed serious. Loethen wasn’t smiling anymore either as Morris asked further. “And then you left the harbor at sunrise in the St. James and haven’t been seen here since for three weeks or more. Correct?”
“Yes, sir. I departed upon my mission up the coast and have just returned.”
Loethen sat in the chair, sighing as he dropped a heavy hand onto a chart of the Caribbean Sea lying atop the table. Morris shook his head and walked away from Wake, going to his spot by the window as the admiral quietly spoke.
“So, Lieutenant Wake, you understand what happened and acknowledge your role in starting this commotion?”
The moment had arrived. Wake braced himself as he replied.
“Sir. I do acknowledge that I fought with that officer over the honor of this squadron and that I am given to understand that subsequently there was
