Point of Honor. Robert N. Macomber
the current and wind roaring up from the Caribbean. Just after dawn the men of the St. James followed their mystery ship out beyond the cape. The Spanish lugger was nowhere in sight.
Fortunately the wind and current were both from the southeast as they roared around the cape. That meant that they did not have the same mountainous seas from the opposing wind they had faced in the Straits of Florida. But it did mean that while they were sailing fast, steering to the south by west, they were actually being carried off by an unknown amount to the north and west. Wake was finally able to get a sun sight at noon. Rork went down to the captain’s cabin to see the results of the calculations that would show where they were.
The discussion at the chart table, as Wake completed his mathematics off the celestial tables, centered around the current’s direction and strength. That Antonio was still apparently close off their port quarter did not bode well. The current must be very strong. The enemy must now either tack and sail back toward Cuba in order to go eventually to Jamaica, or continue southwesterly and end up in Mexico.
Mexico . . .
Rork didn’t quite understand the implications of that destination, so Wake explained the rather dire connotation of the word. He explained that he hoped that they would not sail to Mexico. A more perilous international location could not be found in this part of the world. The Mexicans were currently fighting against French Imperial forces in some of the remote areas of the country, the central region having already been under French control for two years. In July of ’62, a puppet Mexican government had voluntarily given up its sovereignty and declared in favor of Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph, a brother of the emperor of Austria and a subordinate of Emperor Napoleon III of France. However, the newly appointed emperor of Mexico was not doing an effective job of pacifying the country he ruled, even with substantial French military support.
Wake told Rork he had read in the Key West newspaper that Maximilian, as he was known to the world, had finally landed in Mexico with his wife Carlotta a month earlier. He had decided to run his empire in Mexico from that place and legitimize his claim to the new monarchy. Meanwhile, the Mexican patriot Juarez continued to fight on in the northern mountains. The Monroe Doctrine against foreign invasion of the Western Hemisphere sounded magnificent, but in the reality of the Civil War the Americans knew they did not have the strength to eject the Imperial French forces and looked the other way in humiliation. Wake remembered that in the fall of 1863 there had even been some speculation among the officers at the Russell Hotel that the French navy might take pre-emptive action against the lone outpost of Key West, which sat astride their lines of communication to Mexico. Rork recalled the petty officers wondering the same thing at their tavern in Key West, the Anchor Inn. Thankfully, that scare had passed without event.
And if all this wasn’t enough, the Mexicans themselves were not especially enamored of Americans since the war eighteen years earlier, which had resulted in a Yankee invasion of their capital and the annexation of over half their country into the United States. Wake didn’t know all of the nuances of the political climate in Mexico, but he knew enough to be very concerned. Rork nodded pensively as he thought about the weight on his captain’s shoulders.
They discussed the possibility of the mystery ship going into Mexican, now considered French, territorial waters. What could the St. James do? The French were supportive of the Confederacy since it drained the U.S. Navy away from confronting them. Would Wake run afoul of a French Navy warship? Even if he did not, might there be a diplomatic protest against a U.S. Navy ship in French waters? Rork knew the protest might take a while to get back to Key West, but when it did it would not be pleasant for Wake to endure. Hot pursuit would not apply, since they did not have evidence at this time that the ship was their enemy, even though no one on St. James doubted it at this point.
Whatever the eventual outcome, they were only a short distance from the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico, and the decision would have to come quickly. Wake resolved to settle the question of this obvious enemy vessel then and there, and let the powers in Washington deal with the consequences later. After all, he was in a desolate stretch of the Caribbean now and pretty much on his own. Wake said that for some reason he could not cipher, this chase had seemed personal from the beginning, a sentiment that Rork echoed.
***
The long discussion of currents and winds and political whims gave way to the mathematical establishment of their position, or as close as a celestial sight on a pitching deck and a somewhat trustworthy chronometer would allow. Wake fixed their location as approximately twenty miles southwest of Cabo San Antonio, steering south and sailing at over seven knots an hour. He estimated the current at almost five knots. He further estimated that the time for a tack to the east, in order to beat upwind to Jamaica, would occur in about ten hours. They would continue to follow the suspect vessel. Rork grimly agreed and departed the cabin to exercise the crew at weapons drill one more time, more to occupy their minds and keep them from thinking about the water supply than to improve their skills.
Rork placed McDougall in charge of this drill. The gunner’s mate wasted no time in pleasantries, quickly lining up on deck amidships the off watch as well as half those on watch. Each had a cutlass and pistol in a belt or rope around his waist and a musket in his hand. McDougall decided that they may as well fire five rounds from each of the firearms in the direction of the schooner ahead. There was little possibility of a hit, but it would definitely improve morale.
As each man fired his pistol and long gun, the latter in rapid reloaded succession, a cheer went up from the others. They had started the cruise with enough ammunition for thirty rounds apiece of musket ball and twenty for each of the pistols. The ten rounds the sailors got to fire focused their attention on the enemy and its future capture and sale. Like a tonic, it made smiles appear and humor return among the men of the St. James. Wake couldn’t help but smile also, especially when he thought of the reaction to all of this aboard the ship ahead.
The sunset that evening, the fourth of the chase, brought the men back to melancholy thoughts. On a ship as small as St. James, the whole crew was aware of the consequences of their situation, which became the topic of subdued conversation before the mast as much as in the cabins aft. Each of them knew that the ultimate factor was not whether they would or could capture the other schooner, it was if the water would last until a port could be found. They also knew that they were somewhere far outside their patrol area and were going into a situation none of them could predict or control.
As if mocking them, the sun failed to display its usual splendor in farewell, obscured by a trade wind squall line miles off to leeward, the only one they had seen in days. No one stood on the deck and gazed off to the western horizon. Instead they sat up forward around the fore hatch and silently watched their opponent sailing steadily onward ahead of them. No laughter or boasting about spending their prize money. The thirst was starting to hurt. The crew was growing quiet. Both Rork and Wake took note of it.
The whole crew on deck awaited the calculations of the noon sight and the subsequent position. The night and following morning had produced no change in the weather or the relative places of the vessels in the pursuit. The noon position would be the first new information available. From McDougall to Kane, the ship’s boy, they all waited and watched the after deck hatch for their captain and bosun to emerge from their conference in the cabin below.
“Well, sir, what do ye think?” Rork looked nervous.
Wake looked up from the table, holding down his navigation instruments with one hand and the miserably meager chart of the coast of Yucatan, Mexico, with the other. Everything on the table was threatening to go over to the deck from the gyrations of the schooner in the now beam seas.
“I think we should see land on the bow soon. Says here there are low sandy hills on the coast, and we should be close to a place called Cozumel. It’s a large island off the mainland. I’m pretty sure we are finally out of the damned current now and making good speed over the bottom.”
“Captain, I’ll be blessed by the saints above! ’Tis appearin’ that you were right as rain. Mexico it is. An’ now we’ll have ta deal with the slimy frog navy, if they show.”
“I hope not. We don’t need that. I just want to capture that bitch