Point of Honor. Robert N. Macomber
was there to do. Wake thought it must be hell to sit in there and watch others bring in captured enemy ships.
“Holding firm, sir!” came from the foredeck as Faber watched the men belaying the rode on the sampson posts. The lazy coils of the rode were thrown down on the prisoners who were still shackled by the fore pinrail. Wake called to the men at the foremast.
“Douse the jibs and foresail.”
Immediately the sails slid down the forestays and the forward mast. Wake turned to the men at the mainmast.
“Lower the peak and halliard. Douse the mainsail, men.”
The quiet beauty of the two ships tacking in unison up the channel was now replaced by the swearing and grunting of both crews as they fought to control the heavy canvas along the booms and bowsprits. Furling the sails under the eyes of the squadron called for special care, and the men of the schooner and her prize made a proper harbor stow of the sails, with which no admiral could find fault. Twenty minutes later, when all was completed, Faber came aft. He glanced ashore at the admiral’s offices. The flash of the glass was gone from the window.
“Said an’ done, Captain. They’re all a jealous o’ the ol’ St. James today! Shall I have the gig swung out for you?”
“Yes, Faber. And send a message to Bosun Rork. My compliments on a fine display of seamanship, and I’d be pleased if he would ready himself to accompany me to report to the admiral in half of an hour.”
Faber’s eyes crinkled into a slight smile but his voice betrayed no emotion as he replied and turned away, continuing to oversee the many chores that needed to be done every time a ship came to anchor.
Wake surveyed the harbor and thought about his upcoming meeting with the admiral. The capture of the Wendy, and her neatly packed instruments of death, was a significant victory in this squadron. But the method of that capture would be open to debate at the least, and possibly censure or even worse discipline. Once again Wake went through everything in his mind, and once again he decided that he had made the correct decisions at the times he had made them.
He touched the scar on the side of his face as he leaned against the railing and looked at his prize floating docilely in the harbor. He thought of all it had taken to get her and knew it was worth it. And very shortly he would find out if the man with the glass in that window would agree.
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