“Rork, sit down and take a load off your feet. How’s the wounded man?”
“Not good, sir. He’ll probably go by tomorrow. I’ve seen ’em last longer, but not much. He’s a bit more tranquil now, Captain. I put a Irish lullaby on his head to make him forget the pain.”
After serving with the bosun for almost eight months, Wake by now knew that an “Irish lullaby” was a stout blow from a strong fist to a head, intended to knock the recipient out cold.
“And what of the others? What did they have to say?”
“They made a pot o’ noise, sir, most of which had no sense. They did tell the story of their venture. Seems they had no idea exactly where they were, ’cause the ship that dropped their regiment off at the fortress in Tortugas steamed there in the night. Didn’t know the distance. They thought Key West was just a ways to the east. Sail a bit with the wind at your back and the magic city would come over the horizon!
“Fools they were, Captain. A wee bit o’ water and some biscuits. They all were scared proper by the time they spent a night alone in a leakin’ sailin’ skiff made for a day’s sail o’ reef fishin’. Was prayin’ to Peter and Paul, they was, by the sound of their story. Drifted by the wind an’ set by the current across to the Marquesas. Not knowing where they was, o’ course, and landed on the island three days later, damned near dead, all of them. No water left ’n no food. One soul drank the sea water and ended his days on the beach of another island, twistin’ in the guts. Buried the poor bastard on that island where he fell. Rest sat there for a couple o’ days more, till they saw the darlin’ St. James come along like an angel to save ’em.
“Said they was glad to see us, an’ was made up to go back to their regiment. Had quite a bit enough of the life o’ the carefree deserter an’ buckaroo.”
“Really? Interesting . . .”
“Even more curious than that, sir. Said that the one layin’ gutshot came out to talk, an’ got shot by our boy Molloy. Two o’ them twarn’t talkin’ on it, Captain, but the oldest o’ the lot lashed up there, the man named Dobert, he said it looked like the sailor shot the soldier by mistake. Got startled and the pistol fired.”
Rork stopped talking and looked across the dim cabin to his captain.
“Bring them one at a time back here, except the wounded one, of course, and we’ll get statements. It’ll be a long night, Rork.”
“Aye, that it will, Captain. No rest for the wicked or the weary!”
With that the bosun lifted himself up the ladder while Wake returned to his penmanship in the yellow-tinted gloom. The evening moved slowly, with two of the prisoners talkative about how they had stolen the boat and fled the hell of Fortress Jefferson but silent about the shooting, and Dobert strangely devoid of emotion as he described how his companion became mortally wounded.
Next, Rork brought White, Hill, and Molloy down separately. Each gave a sworn statement reciting what they had previously said. In the end, Rork and Wake sat at the desk and spoke of the situation.
“Well, sir, it looks by the face o’ it that our lads should be believed. Accident or in battle, the man was a deserter who got shot, and if he dies on the ’morrow he may be luckier than those who live to see Jefferson and that colonel again. Methinks that those men will have a hard way to go, an’ may plan better the next time they decide to go cruisin’ through the islands. If they live past the punishment! You have a problem with it, sir?”
“No, Rork. You’re right. A deserter deserves whatever he drifts into. Doesn’t really matter, does it? It’ll get written up, and that will be that. Get some sleep. We sail in the morn to bring the gallant colonel his wayward boys.”
***
The scene on the deck the next morning was one not likely to be soon forgotten by the men of the schooner St. James. The wounded man, full of laudanum and rum, was lolling around on the deck, his leg lashed to a ringbolt, and the other prisoners were staring at him with a look of dread in their faces. Wake thought that it might well be a valuable lesson to the younger members of his own crew about the consequences of military, and especially naval, discipline. So far on this ship, Wake hadn’t had to resort to any serious discipline, a result he related to Rork’s ability to lead men through example and deterrence. Still, it was good that those who had not seen such discipline be treated to this sight.
The wind sprung up from the southeast after sunrise, and the St. James sailed on her best point with the air on the port quarter. With six knots of speed she was making good time to the west and the Tortugas Islands. None of the sailors would stand or sit near the prisoners, and the wounded one, now known to be named Drake, had a broad area of deck to himself. His dark, soaked dressing oozing blood onto the deck made the sailors cringe and curse, not from the pain, but from the work to holystone the wood clean again.
As the day went on, the taboo area around Drake diminished in size, until the crew fairly stepped over and close to him as they did their chores. He became just another of the deck fittings, without value or respect. As if he were already dead.
The prisoners lashed to the foremast sat sullenly throughout the day.
