Point of Honor. Robert N. Macomber
usually polite captain swear, but he felt it and knew it was a manifestation of the tension they all were feeling. The previous night his captain had made the final momentous decision to continue the pursuit. They were down to three casks of water, not even enough to last the voyage back to Key West. Capture the schooner or not, they were going to have to find water on this coast somewhere. That meant going ashore without permission in a country that was opposed to the Americans.
Wake knew he was in a perilous situation, both physically and politically. He had left his patrol area and endangered his crew and his ship. The only positive way out of this was an immediate capture of the other ship with a valuable cargo aboard. Wake resigned himself not to think about any repercussions, only about the enemy and the water.
The captain and bosun went up on deck and stood by the helm facing the crew that had assembled without being called. Normally, a captain would not brief a crew on the ship’s position or decision making. He would order, they would obey. But these were not normal times. These men were on the border of being sick from diminished water intake in the brutal tropical summer sun. And they soon might be faced with a fight for their lives in a naval battle with an unknown enemy. They deserved to know the situation. Wake’s voice was dry and raspy as he got right to the point.
“Men, we are off the coast of Mexico. We are going to capture that schooner ahead, one way or another. After we do, we will re-water somewhere on this coast. Right now we have enough water for three more days. Not enough to sail back, but enough to look for water here.
“Today we will sight the coast. Today we will get that ship. We will solve the riddle of this chase. We all saw her reception by the Spanish. There must be someone, or something, on her that was worth it to that schooner’s crew to flee this far. We’re going to find out what, and we’re going to do that today. Rest easy. We may well have to fight her soon.”
The crew said not a word. No emotion played on their faces to show their thoughts. They just turned away and went to their watch chores or off-watch rest. Rork’s face transformed from serious contemplation to his normal easy smile.
“Aye, Captain Wake. A rougher row to hoe we’ve not had, but this one will smooth out. I’ll see about getting some more rags aloft to catch this breeze an’ speed the little darlin’ up a bit.”
***
Three hours later they sighted a low blur ahead. Both vessels had borne off the wind slightly and were now rushing on a broad reach over the port quarter, heading more westerly. The blur started to stretch across the entire horizon, with a few bumps scattered along it. The news cheered the men, particularly the younger men who were new to the navy and had not sailed this far away into foreign waters.
The schooner ahead maintained a distance of around a half mile, which fluctuated periodically. McDougall stood by the foremast and eyed the other vessel from the moment land was spotted. Half an hour later he came aft, put a knuckled hand to his brow, and respectfully requested permission to speak to the captain. Rork walked over and joined them.
“Beggin’ ye’s pardon, Captain, but I’ve been a thinkin’ on that one over there. With our new point o’ sailin’, maybes we could alter course, ju’ a wee bit to windward, an’ I could get off a shot. We’d lose ground, sure as a whore smells rotten, sir. But not too much, I’d wager. What’ve we lost, sir?”
Wake nodded and glanced at Rork.
The bosun sighed. “Worth a try on the gun, sir. But McDougall, my good countryman, what would the bishop say o’ your blashemy against the fairer sex. Aye, methinks you’re wrong lad, for I once knew a trollop down Wexford way, in Rosslare to be precise, who smelled of roses from her sprit to her counter, an’ all between!”
The three of them broke into laughs. Even old sour McDougall chuckled, his face crinkled into an unaccustomed gap-toothed grin as he retorted to his brother Gael.
“Rork, you son o’ Eire, ye’ve got the advantage of youth upon me, lad. For I’m not able to even remember a trollop, rotten or sweet, so many years have passed since that pleasure was mine. So I’ll bow to your lordship’s wisdom on that one, an’ spare a laugh on it too!”
Laughter subsided to smiles, with the rest of the crew staring aft in curiosity at the three men. Not a few of them were smiling too at the sight of old McDougall showing humor during this most serious of times. Wake was grateful to both of the Irishmen for their ability to lighten the tension and return the focus of the crew to the enemy. McDougall soon had the gun crew searching the shot locker for the best specimen. The entire crew grasped the idea at hand and went to their stations for sail handling or gunnery.
The boy Kane at foremast lookout let out a squeaky shout. “Deck there! Her crew’s moving about. Somethin’s happenin’, but I don’ know what yet!”
Wake grabbed Rork’s arm. “Quick Rork, now before she does something! Head her up!”
“Aye, Captain. Head her up, lad. Stand by ta haul your sheets an’ lifts! Haul in!”
Immediately the St. James swerved to the left three points and headed farther up toward the eye of the wind. She quickly heeled over and picked up speed. Now they were crashing along, the wind over her deck increased, which made the noises of the sails and rigging louder also. Every man was intently eyeing McDougall and his deck gun crew. The old man was sighting along the barrel now, calmly issuing orders to his crew of six men to adjust the traverse and elevation of the gun. No one else was talking, though all were wishing he would get on with it and fire, for though they were going much faster on this point of sail, they were also heading slightly away from the other ship. It had to be done to free up the gun’s ability to fire forward since St. James had not altered course, the forward mast and rigging would have continued to mask the gun’s sights. But it was taking too long.
Boom!
Smoke covered the schooner for an instant before being blown away on the wind. Twenty-five minds willed the shot to go to the enemy ship. Twenty-five pairs of eyes never left the target. The splash was a satisfactory hundred yards to the starboard of the prey. A cheer of “Hurrah!” went up on the St. James as all hands waited to see what the other ship would do. This was when most blockade runners would heave to and accept their fate. But nothing happened.
“Bring her back down to the course and stay on her tail, Rork. McDougall, good shot, man. Make another one even better.”
As she came back down to her previous course and lost speed, the gun crew reloaded. McDougall got everyone ready and nodded to Rork.
The order was given again to head up into the wind, and once more the ship sped up and heeled over. This time the gunner didn’t need as long to aim, and the gun went off before most in the crew anticipated it.
Boom! . . . and another splash in line but two hundred yards too far aft of the target. It earned another cheer, this one more hoarse.
Kane shouted down from the foremast. “Deck there, sail bearing broad on the looward bow! On the horizon line. Comin’ out from shore. Schooner or lugger, sir.”
Wake didn’t care at this point about any other intruder in his battle. He wanted that ship.
“Keep firing, gunner!”
The gun crew reloaded as fast as they could, with McDougall slowing them down to do it properly. Rork surveyed the approaching ship from a perch in the starboard main shroud ratlines.
“I can see her, sir. Beating out from shore. Be a long while afore she’s out to us. By my reckon, we’re in open waters anyway, sir.”
Boom! Another cheer announced that McDougall had gotten closer.
Wake had to admit after this shot, however, the need to get St. James back on course behind the target to close the range again. This was all taking too long. They slowed down back on the original course as the gunners reloaded.
Kane yelled out again. “Deck there! There’s another one of ’em coming from that big point o’ land to port, sir! Ship four points on the port bow. Looks like a lugger rig, like