In the mid-afternoon the lookout sighted the walls of the fortress rising out of the sea. As eerie as it was when they would depart Jefferson, Wake couldn’t help but be impressed each time he returned. Despite the unsavory and sad aspects of the place, it did hold some spell over him.
An hour after first sighting the Tortugas, Drake stopped rolling around in his stupor on the deck. Rork went over and felt his neck for a pulse, made the sign of the cross, and walked aft to report to Wake that the prisoner was dead.
“Should we bury him here at sea, sir, or take him to his regiment?”
Wake muttered in reply. “Regiment.” He walked over to the windward rail for some air. The business of catching deserters like they were stray dogs did not appeal to him. He hated it.
Dozens of men, some in blue uniforms and others in dirty gray rags, lined the walls of Fort Jefferson and its main dock when the St. James anchored off the fortress later in the afternoon as the shadows were starting to lengthen. The same young flustered army lieutenant arrived at the schooner in the garrison’s boat and awkwardly climbed up the side to the main deck. He stared at the prisoners, three alive and sullen, one dead and serene, lying on the foredeck. One could almost imagine a slight smile on Drake’s lifeless face. The lieutenant finally turned to Wake.
“Sir, the colonel presents his compliments and appreciation for capturing the deserters. He said to say he was sorry for any inconvenience the voyage to the Marquesas to capture this scum has caused you. My soldiers in the boat will take them from you now. But I see only four. Did they resist, sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. This one,” Wake pointed to Drake, “resisted. The others gave up. One had died of thirst. He’s buried out there. None of my men were wounded.”
“Well, thank God for that, sir. The colonel, he wants to invite you to be his guest for dinner, sir. Says the army would like to show the navy its hospi . . . hospitality, sir. I’m to come and get you at sunset.”
“Thank the colonel for his invitation, Lieutenant, but I am tired and would not be good company, though I am sure that his table would be splendid. I have written a short summary of the events of the capture and death of your men. I just completed a copy, which you’ll get now, before we leave.”
The lieutenant looked positively scared.
“But sir, the colonel has invited you to dinner! You’ve got to go, sir. He’s invited you to dinner with the senior officers of the regiment. He expects you to be there, sir! I’m supposed to bring you. You can’t leave now!”
“Lieutenant, I am tired and not in the best of outlooks right now. Your deserters are in your boat and so should you be. Tell your colonel that the exigencies of the service deny me the pleasure of his table and company, and that I must and shall depart. Now. Good evening, sir.”
Wake turned away and watched some of his crew start to clean up the large dark stain on the deck. He noticed that Molloy was not among them.
“Rork, weigh the anchor and let’s get her moving along. I want to be out of the fortress channel by the time it gets completely dark.”
When it became clear that no one would look at or talk to him, the army lieutenant finally moved to the edge of the deck. He went down the side without a word and the boatload of misery made its way to the dock. Rork met Wake aft by the tiller.
“Leavin’ outta’ here in the dark, Captain? It’ll be a wee bit dicey dancin’ amongst those reefs tonight.”
“No, Rork. We’ll sail out of the fortress channel and anchor after dark inside the reefs by Garden Key. We’ll cross the outer reefs in the morning light.”
“Aye, sir,” said the bosun, who saw but did not understand the odd look on his captain’s face. “I was a wonderin’ why the sudden departure with the dark comin’. No disrespect intended, sir. Are ye all right, Captain?”
“No, Rork. I’m not all right. But I’ll start to be when we get away from this hellish place and its damned puppet colonels and dungeon atmosphere. And I want that stain off her deck! God, I feel like I’m on a stinking slaver.”
“Aye, sir. By morn she’ll look as clean an’ pretty as an’ Irish bride at the altar, sir! Know whatcha meanin’ about the slaver. Takes a bit out o’ a man to go after one o’ his own, even if they are just a bunch o’ army pogues. Had to do the duty, though, sir.”
“I’d rather be going after the enemy, Rork. It’s cleaner work.”
“Aye, we all agree on that, sir.”
The two of them turned their attention to the immediate issue of sailing the schooner away from the fortress in the gathering dusk, and no more was said about the stain or what caused it. Both of them knew there would be more stains, and there was nothing anyone could do about them, except clean up afterwards.
2
The Stream
The St. James was entering upon one of those glorious days that Wake loved in this part of the world. He had never seen anything like it sailing the North Atlantic off the New England coast. There the sea’s beauty derived from a terrible majesty, but here it was the intermingling of the clear and delicate water colors with the soft forms of the islands and
