Point of Honor, page 31
Wake took a moment to arrange his thoughts, for he had anticipated this line of questioning from West and knew there would be no right answer. West wasn’t interested in what happened, only how the events on shore would affect his career.
“Sir, the mission was accomplished. I did move forward earlier than planned because the situation unfolded differently than expected. It was taking longer to get the soldiers ashore and the crossroads needed to be secured. Once we were there, we found that the enemy was approaching for an attack. The enemy would’ve bottled up the Federal forces if they could have made it down that road through the swamp to the beach camp, and so we fought them at Claresville to stop that from happening.”
“And the army’s participation in all this, Lieutenant Wake?”
“They relieved us this morning at Claresville, sir.”
West shook his head and looked at Wake closely. “I do not understand how it is that you constantly seem to antagonize senior army officers, Wake. First at Tortugas, then Key West, and now here. You’re getting known for that. This operation was a simple one in concept and yet became convoluted when you became involved in its execution.”
“There has been absolutely no intent of antagonism on my part toward any army officer anywhere, sir.”
“Yes, well, I further understand that now Colonel Wherley is mysteriously sick and wants to go back to Key West immediately to convalesce, so I guess I’ll have to put him aboard the Nygaard. Word is that he has a fever and regrets not taking quicker action to reinforce the sailors. Says the fever debilitated him.”
“Yes, sir. I saw that he was feeling sick myself, sir. Appeared very ill just this morning when I saw him last.”
West kept eyeing Wake. “From what I heard he was feeling quite well, and angry about you, until this morning. Then he told people he had been sick and put Martin in command. Is there anything else about this I should know?”
“No sir, that about sums it up. I believe the operation can go forward with some chance of success. Major Martin appears to be a competent leader and the New Yorkers have enough strength ashore to deal with the most likely opposition.”
West shook his head again and picked up some papers lying on the chart table. A waft of breeze came down the companionway into the cabin and Wake watched the wind ruffling the water through the ports behind West. He struggled to remain calm and sip his tea as his superior spoke again.
“Well, on another matter, I have dispatches and orders from the squadron at Key West. It seems that yellow fever has broken out in Key West and at Tampa. Several ships’ crews have been affected so much that they cannot work their vessels. Many people at Key West are down with it. Of course, it is the damned season for yellow jack, and so I guess we must expect it to come aboard our ships.”
West paused in thought, then continued. “Now, Bonsall, the tug, and a schooner, are ordered to stay here and support the army operations. The other vessels will depart for other assignments. Nygaard and St. James are to report to Key West for further orders. Nygaard will stop at Tampa, and you will stop at Boca Grande to see about conditions at those places and report them to the admiral. You will depart immediately upon the wind serving. Questions on that?”
“No, sir.”
“There was some mail delivered to your ship yesterday from the steamer that dropped off the dispatches and orders. Bosun Rork has done well in your absence and I have no complaints about him.”
“He is a good man, sir.”
“All right, Lieutenant Wake, you may go. Nygaard will be faster and will carry my official reports of the actions undertaken here. I hope for your sake that there will be no animosity amongst the army officers about the situation here. I tried to plan and implement a sound mission. I just wish the execution of it had been done with as much diligence and cooperation. My report will, of course, reflect that.”
Wake took a deep breath, letting the air out slowly. “The action was successful, sir. I am sure that the admiral will appreciate that, as well as your command of the naval forces in this area.”
“Yes . . . well, we’ll see about that. You may go.”
Wake stood at attention but was ignored by West, who had turned around and was studying some papers on his desk. After a moment of waiting, Wake left the cabin and went up to the main deck where he had the officer of the deck summon his boat.
***
The mailbag initially revealed no letter for Wake, so he read the newspapers that had been sent aboard via the transiting steamer. Then a letter that had fallen out of the bag was found and brought to him. He recognized it right away as not being the hoped for one from Linda, but one almost as welcome from his family in New England. The envelope was postmarked July 23, only six weeks prior, written in his father’s handwriting. That was not unusual. Of his parents, his father was the letter writer, though his mother occasionally would tuck a small note in the envelope. His father’s letters arrived every month, with a concise summary of the news in Massachusetts, the family’s schooner business, who was doing what in the family, and his opinion of how the war was going. Forty years of writing reports to and from ship owners had conditioned the elder Wake to be brief and informative, if not affectionate.
Four months ago Captain Wake the Elder, as he was widely known in New England to distinguish the man from his sons who were also captains in their own right, wrote that Peter’s brother James had joined the navy also. James was quickly assigned to the Charleston blockade on an ironclad monitor and had been active in operations among the coastal islands there. The old man had expressed disapproval of a navy that would assign an experienced schooner man to one of those iron contraptions that didn’t even have a mast. Wake, however, was glad that his older brother was at least on a vessel that could provide some protection from gunfire, even if it didn’t have the beauty of a sailing ship.
As he tore open the envelope while sitting on his berth in the small cabin that was his sanctuary, Wake wondered about the war and when it would end. It had been predicted that by September the rebels would be suing for peace and Lincoln would win the November election hands down, but the newspaper accounts Wake had just finished reading told of a different future.
Wake heard a thud as Rork rapped on the bulkhead and requested permission to enter. The bosun wore a serious look as he came in and sat on the edge of the proffered chair. Wake put down the letter after removing it from the wrinkled envelope and regarded his second in command.
“What’s the matter, Rork? You look like you have bad news to tell.”
Rork’s jaw was set and Wake knew from experience that was a sign of problems. Rork nodded and spoke in a low tone that Wake could barely hear.
“Aye, sir. ’Twas a good day indeed until I heard what I heard just now, Captain.”
“All right, tell me. And speak up, man.”
“By your leave, I’ll keep it down, sir. Just got word on McDougall and those other lads I sent over to the surgeon on the Bonsall, sir.”
Wake felt a sudden flush of sickness. “Go ahead, Bosun.”
“McDougall’s got the yellow jack. So’s the others, sir. Five all told. Surgeon’s mates told me themselves that the other ships have men down with it too. All from the landing party. Word’ll be out soon, if not already.”
Wake’s sigh was audible. “How bad is he?”
Rork’s eyes moistened as he replied. “He’s bringin’ up the black vomit now, sir. Must’a been sick for a couple o’ days ashore.”
“The others?”
“O’ the four others I sent over, two’s down in the sick bay an’ can’t move, the other two is feeling poorly but not as bad. Surgeon says since they’re young they may have a chance, but the ol’ gunner is too far gone. Delirious he is now, sir. Screamin’ an’ moanin’ in Gaelic. Surgeon says he’ll be dead by tomorrow’s sunset the way he’s emptying himself out.”
Wake’s head dropped. “The wind seems to be piping up with a sea breeze. I want to be under way in half an hour. Meanwhile I will go to see McDougall.”
“Captain, the surgeon’s not allowin’ that. Quarantined. The old lad is gone out o’ his head, Captain. He wouldn’t know ya’. Time to let him go, sir, an’ pray it’ll be quick and merciful.”
“Yes. You’re right. Any more showing signs aboard our ship?”
“No others yet, sir.”
“Very well, get under way immediately and set a course south for Boca Grande. We’ll see how Lieutenant Baxter and the Gem of the Sea are doing, look in at Useppa Island, and then sail for Key West.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Rork. I know how close you and McDougall are.”
“Close as brothers, sir. But I know how you feel about the ol’ boy too. The lads told me how you both together came through ashore with the Rebs. A damnable loss for us all. After all those years he’s leavin’ like this. Makes a man need a dram just to think about it.”
Rork stood up and left the cabin without another word to Wake, who looked at the unread letter before him in a daze. It was hard to concentrate, and yet his mind registered that the schooner was starting to sway gently in the growing sea breeze and had swung on her anchor until the coastline was now astern and her bow pointed west. He stood up and stretched his tired arms and legs, then picked up the letter.
Above his head he heard the thumping of feet on the deck as the sailors went to their stations to weigh anchor and haul away on the halliards. Petty officers’ voices rose to give the orders that all hands knew by heart. Next came the thundering of heavy canvas as it rose on its clattering parrels up the masts, and the clanking of the windless as the anchor rode came in over the bow. It was a familiar and systematic cacophony that Wake had heard so many times in his life. But now, as he read the second sentence of his father’s typically brief letter, it faded away until there was only a beating sound in his ears from the blood pounding through his head.
His brother James was dead. Shot by a Rebel sharpshooter from a tree along a river in South Carolina. His father didn’t even know the name of the place where it had happened, just that his son had been shot as they steamed up a river unaware that any danger was close by. James had been standing on the open deck speaking with the monitor’s captain when the shot hit him in the chest and he fell dead. Wake’s father reported that the captain had sent a letter saying that James Wake had died instantly and without any pain.
Peter Wake knew better than that. He had seen men writhe in horrible pain from chest wounds as they drowned in their own blood and begged for help. Only an improbable shot directly through the heart would kill quickly, and even then it would take several seconds. Wake hated knowing these things. He wished he could have been ignorant of how men died of wounds. The war had taken that away. He now knew too much about that subject.
Wake’s chin quivered as he sat down at the chart table and said a prayer aloud for his brother James and his parents. The Wake family had gone to church for the celebrations of the major feasts over the years. They were religious but not pious. Their faith was not a pillar of their lives, but rather a backdrop. The brothers had occasionally spoken together on the subject and mainly reflected the attitude of their father—that it was the proper thing to be a Christian and show allegiance but it need not dominate the everyday actions of a man.
The ship heeled over suddenly and Wake realized they were under way, broad reaching south with a westerly sea breeze. His hands were shaking as they clutched the letter. He felt nauseous as the cabin seemed to close in around him, but his logical mind knew it wasn’t seasickness. Taking the letter with him, he made his way through the cabin and climbed up to the deck, devoid of any sea legs and wondering if it was due to the time ashore or the shock of his father’s message. Lurching on deck, he swayed aft to where Rork stood near the helmsman. At the stern rail he motioned for the bosun to come over to him.
Rork could see something was very wrong and strode quickly to the rail as Wake stared out to the endless horizon to windward, wishing he could appreciate the sight before him. It was a sailor’s kind of day, with a good sailing breeze coming up, a few puffy clouds building over the coast, the schooner dashing along on her best point of sailing, and a course ahead free of dangers. The men on deck were performing their tasks with the confidence of sailors who knew their work, and were glad to be at sea again.
As Wake wordlessly handed Rork the letter, he thought of old times with his brothers, times at sea and other times at home when they were all much younger. Of how James was the one who was quieter than the others, sometimes enduring teasing about it, and how he had a talent for drawing seascapes and landscapes. As Rork read the letter beside him, Wake thought of how James had always sailed in New England’s cold gray waters and never seen the beauty of the tropical seas.
When he finished reading it, Rork dropped the letter to his side and looked at his captain, but Wake didn’t notice. He was thinking of how much James would have loved to be sailing with them at that moment. That quietest of the Wake brothers would have truly appreciated the wonder of it all.
***
The humidity was oppressive as Wake jumped out of the schooner’s boat and waded onto the crushed shell beach at Useppa Island. Old Hervey Newton was there to meet him and could tell that the naval officer had heard the news.
Wake was terse as he stood in front of the elderly man. “Where is she, Mr. Newton?”
Newton replied in a fatherly tone. “Son, she’s at the last home up there on the hill. She’s past the danger time and she’s recovering now. She’ll be fine in a while.”
Wake didn’t wait to hear the last of Newton’s explanation—he was already running up the path to the top of the hill. The terror inside his heart and the heat in the air around him soaked his shirt with sweat until beads of perspiration flung off him in sheets as he ran by two startled women coming down the path. Yards before he had made the home at the top he called out in a voice choked with emotion.
“Linda! I’m here! I’m here, darling.”
A young dark-skinned woman wearing a simple faded frock came out of the palm-thatched home and stood silently as Wake rushed past her and through the doorway. He stopped, adjusting his eyes from the searing glare of the sun outside to the black gloom of the interior.
“Linda? Are you here, dear?”
The voice seemed to come from far away. “Oh, Peter!”
A figure leaned forward in the crude cot in the corner. With his eyesight adjusted to the dim room, Wake could see her hand reaching out to him and he went into her arms.
“Linda, are you all right? What happened?”
“Peter, I’m sorry to be like this. Don’t worry, dear, I’m getting better.”
“I found out you were sick when we came alongside the Gem of the Sea at Boca Grande. Baxter said you were very ill and he was worried. Linda, he said you have yellow fever.”
Her voice was finding strength now, but the pain in her bones made her lay back down, still holding his hand tightly.
“Yes, it’s the fever. Had it for two weeks, but it’s leaving now. I’m better.”
His words were lost in his throat. He fought back the tears he felt welling up as he held her closely. “Linda, I love you. I need you. Don’t leave me.”
She managed a thin smile and stroked the scar on the side of his face. “I’ll be fine in a few days, Peter. I love you and I won’t die, dear.”
He winced when she said that word.
“Peter, I’m acclimated and young and strong. I’ve made it through and will recover my strength. It will all be better, dear.”
He lifted his head and looked into her green eyes. Nodding, Wake let out a sigh. “When I heard, it scared me, Linda. It scared me till I thought my heart would stop.”
At that she actually laughed. It was weak, but still a laugh. “Well, Peter Wake, I was a bit interested in the outcome myself!”
Shaking his head, he joined in her quiet laugh and sat up beside her. Linda eased herself onto a canvas pillow and pointed to the woman outside the doorway. “Sofira there was the one who nursed me back to relative health. She moved here a little while ago. Her husband’s fighting with the pro-Union militia with Captain Cornell. Sofira is a half-Seminole and knows things about healing. She gave me some teas and roots and things and stood by me when it was worst.”
Wake looked at the woman standing out in the sun and could see the strong Indian features in her face. A little toddler girl ran up to the woman and hugged her legs.
“She looks familiar to me, but I can’t place her.”
“You met her after the fight on Lacosta Island. She was one of the women who came with Mr. Newton to help you. She told me she had met you. Sofira said she could tell you were a good man by what you said and did that night.”
Linda slumped back on the pillow, exhausted. Her eyes were barely open and Wake realized that she had strained herself to look cheerful for his benefit.
“Linda, you need to rest. Get some rest, dear. I’ll come back later to be with you.”
Linda didn’t answer but nodded and fell into a wearied half-sleep as Wake kissed her forehead and rose from the cot. He stood up and looked at the girl he loved more than life and watched as she slid into a deep slumber. Walking outside, he spoke to the woman still standing there.
“Ma’am, I want to say thank you for all you did for my wife. I think you saved her life. Linda said your name is Sofira.”
The woman looked at her child and then at Wake. She had a quietness that was at once disconcerting and impressive. Her words came slowly and without inflection.
“Yes, Sofira Thomaston. Linda is strong and will be better. She knew the fever before and outlived it. It could not kill her now. It tried.”
