Point of Honor. Robert N. Macomber
twenty-four or so, with a face that looked perpetually pained, Faber had so far shown the competence of an experienced seaman if not the leadership of a veteran petty officer. He had made bosun’s mate a month before reporting aboard and had last served on a steam gunboat in Tampa Bay. Serving aboard a schooner in the Florida Keys was certainly quite different.
All of this activity and invigorating atmosphere reminded Wake that he had not yet had anything to eat. As he descended to his cabin for a bite of breakfast, he saw Rork coming aft on the main deck and motioned for him to follow below. Wake wanted to go over the provisions with him.
Seated at the small chart table in the commander’s cabin both men started at the grouper fish, potatoes, and gravy laid out by Beech. Wake, fork in hand, was the first to speak.
“Rork, wher’re we at on the provisions? Especially water.”
“Aye, Captain, we’re down to six o’ the small casks, plus the wee one in the schooner’s boat, o’ course. Other provisions are still good. Not sure how many, but I’m sure that we have at least ten o’ the salt pork left, and as many o’ the biscuit. Fruit, o’ course, is gone. A wee bit o’ the beer left. Water’s the thing, sir.”
Wake didn’t like that. They had used up too much water already. But in the heat of the tropic summer, the men had to consume more water or die.
“All right, it looks as though we’d better put in at the squadron for more water. How are those casks doing? Are we losing some through leakage?”
“Aye, sir. Some, but not as bad as we’ve had before. I just looked at the six o’ the little devils still full. Nary a drop around ’em leakin’.”
“Right then, back to Key West. Weather should hold.”
“Captain, with this lovely little wind she’ll do nicely. Key West by the morrow’s night perhaps, I’m a thinkin’. A bit o’ a beat upwind if the wind goes back to the east, but she’ll point high enough if we’re behind the reefs in the calmer water.”
With this decision made, Wake returned to what was left of the meal before him, swilling down a mug of coffee and then wondering how much water was used to make it. If the weather changed for the worse, or the wind died, all hands would be put on short rations by tomorrow morning. Six small casks of water for twenty-five men would not last long.
***
Sunset in this part of the ocean was always an event. As they roared along eastward, heeled over and beating upwind in long tacks toward Key West, the men of the St. James stopped in their work to admire the free display of God’s artistry spread out on the horizon behind them. Wake never halted this practice, for he believed that enjoying the tranquillity of a tropical sunset was one of the few benefits available to men subjugated to the disciplines and dangers of naval service.
This was one of the memorable ones. There were just enough cottony trade wind clouds to provide a moving canvas for pastel colors to be projected upon, and the luminescent glow of the sun as it slid downward made the waters to the west dance like glittering jewelry. Even the toughest of the men appreciated this demonstration of beauty and appeared to be pondering inward thoughts as they swayed with the movements of the ship and gazed far off into the receding light.
Wake always wondered what they were thinking, but no one ever talked during the last few minutes of a sunset. It was as if each owned a part of it, possibly the only thing of beauty he had ever owned, and it was an unspoken taboo to disturb his communion with the sun’s last moments.
Close to the horizon, golden hues were giving way to bright rose and faded pink, while at the zenith above, the colors were turning from darker royal blue and greenish-gray into violet-black. On the upper eastern arc of the sky the first, and brightest, stars were starting to glimmer in the early night void. Only two or three initially, then more as the blackness spread. Almost touching the bowsprit forward, the moon, seemingly twice as big as when seen from land, started to erupt from the sea, a faded spot of orange tinged with yellow. It was as if the watch had changed in the heavens, the sun going below decks and the moon coming on duty, smiling hello to its companions on the deck of the schooner. It was one of those moments sailors remember forever. When they’d grown old in some dreary place, wondering where their course in life had led them, this sunset would appear in their mind and remind them of the wondrous sights of the world they had once seen.
And then the surreal beauty of the cosmos around them changed in a stark instant.
“Sail ho!” The lookout aloft cried out and pointed to the southeast.
“Schooner to the east, hull down. Wing an’ wing downwind, sharp on the wind’ard bow!”
Wake shook himself from his reverie and looked over to Rork standing at the transom. The bosun nodded, and turned his attention aloft to the lookout.
“Has she altered course, son?”
The surprised reply came immediately. “Aye, she has, Bosun! She’s done a flyin’ jibe an’ goin’ on a port broad reach, a bit more southerly now! She ain’t that old army supply schooner, neither. She’s new to me. Looks to me like she spotted us an’ turned tail.”
Rork looked back at Wake, the two minds ruminating the same questions. Do they chase? For how long? What about the water? St. James was close hauled on a port tack. The chase could take a while. Rork knew better than to say it aloud. It was not his decision. It was the captain’s. Wake saw them all watching him.
“Bear off, Bosun Rork! Bear off and after her. She’s probably up to no good, and we’ll have to see.”
“Aye, sir. All hands to your sail stations. Faber, I want her turned off the wind smoother than a baby’s coo. You take the helm. Stand by the sheets, lads! No time to lose, we’ve got to close her so’s we can catch her in the moonlight. ’Twill be a glorious chase, this one, me lads!”
By the time the moon had ascended fully up above the eastern horizon, St. James had borne away from the wind and was crashing along to the south on an intersecting course for the unknown schooner. Both were moving fast, and the distance between them rapidly diminished from seven miles, to five miles, to maybe three. The moonlight cast a silver tint over everything as it rose higher in the sky. Depth perception in the off-light suffered as the men of the St. James tried to gauge whether they were still gaining in the chase.
The lookout aloft, now one of the younger sailors with better eyesight since Wake was taking no chances in the night, yelled out his observation.
“Deck there, she’s turnin’ more southerly!”
“Follow her around, Faber.” Wake was busy trying to gauge the point of interception, now made more difficult by the course change. St. James was now reaching, still on a port tack, with the suspect vessel ahead and to windward of her.
Rork had arrived at the same conclusion.
“Cuba. She’s trying to get to Cuban waters, sir. Thank God she didn’t go north into Quicksand Shoals. Be the devil to follow her through those at night.”
“Yes, Rork, I’m thinking the same. And we need to stay right on her through the night. I want the big fisherman stays’l sent up. We’re too far away from her. We’ve got to speed up.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll put it on and see how she’ll take it.”
“And Rork, all hands are on short water rations as of right now.”
Wake regarded Rork’s expression and laughed. He spoke loudly for the crew’s benefit.
“And just imagine how much prize money that schooner will bring!”
“Aye, me Captain! Enough quid for me whole family to cross ta’ America an’ live like the nobles they should be! Short water now, an’ rich bastards later, sir!”
The men around them were grinning, for they had all been quietly adding up their own share from the future sale of the strange schooner at the Admiralty Court in Key West.
St.