Honorable Mention Read online

  “Mr. Emerson, would you be so kind as to pour me some of that orange juice and then pass it around the cabin. Men, please have some of this juice, it tastes mighty good on a day like today. Of course, our British cousins say it keeps the scurvy away, but I suspect they view it as one more occasion to lace a liquid with some of their special issue.”

  His offer of the fruit juice to even the petty officers, and his joke about the Royal Navy’s love of its rum had the desired effect of easing the tension in the cabin as several of the men chuckled. Wake had no reason to be angry with them and did not want them fearful, but he did have the deadly serious task of forming a cohesive crew, one way or another, that could overcome the incredible handicap of being short a third of their men. They would have to work together and learn each other’s functions. The old boundaries could not stand. There would be no divisiveness in his ship.

  Wake waited until he had their attention, then spoke in a quiet voice. “All right, now let’s get to the matter at hand. In the week since I’ve been aboard, I’ve seen that we have some excellent leadership on the Hunt. The officers and senior petty officers have the skill and experience to accomplish anything that we are tasked with by the squadron.

  “In addition to having the skills of running the ship, I have also seen that each of you has done a good job in attempting to elevate the spirits of the men in your divisions and get them past the devastation of the fever on this ship. I know the effect the yellow fever had upon them, and I know that it still haunts their minds. However, the time for sensitivity is over. It is the responsibility of the men now in this cabin to replace that fear with fortitude. Is that understood?”

  A chorus of low “aye, sirs,” came back to Wake from the men in the cabin.

  “Good, because our situation is about to become more difficult. I have just come back from the squadron offices after getting our orders to go to sea, and also an authorization order for a replacement draft of men for those missing in Hunt’s crew.”

  Wake paused for a moment as he saw that each of the men facing him was leaning forward to hear about how their division would fare with replacements.

  “Knowing that there are few unassigned men left in the squadron I asked for only seventeen of the most badly needed positions. We are getting five—” Wake heard the collective intake of breath in the cabin and continued. “Four ordinary seamen from the hospital and a coal heaver, if he can be persuaded to reenlist. There are no other men available. The squadron is desperately short. This situation is perilous, but it is not just the Hunt, as you all know. All of the ships are short. We will have to make do. Simple as that. Any questions so far?”

  Ginaldi raised a finger and an eyebrow. “Captain, would that coal heaver be named Chard by any chance?”

  “Yes, that was his name. His enlistment ended six months ago. He was one of the 1861 men for three years. He may reenlist if asked properly.”

  Ginaldi did not seem pleased at the prospect.

  “Captain, I’ve heard tell of him. The engineer on the Proteus had him and was glad to be rid of the man. Said the man was possessed of a manner that could make a saint a sinner, sir.”

  “Well, Mr. Ginaldi, then it would appear that your getting him to reenlist will be even more of an accomplishment, wouldn’t it? You needed men to heave the coal. So go persuade him to come to us and heave coal.”

  Though the engineer petty officers did not laugh, the others in the cabin grinned. Ginaldi bowed in his chair to Wake and smiled. “Aye, aye, sir. This Chard’s never met Italian charm before, I’d wager. I’ll have him so proud to be aboard the Hunt, he may just pay me for the honor of it, sir!”

  Wake grinned at Ginaldi’s enthusiasm. He did not understand steam mechanics yet, but he understood spirit.

  “Mr. Ginaldi, I believe the man won’t have a chance against your considerable Italian charm. Now, men, I know you are wondering about how we are going to get this short crew to both work and fight the ship. It is simple—everyone will be trained in another’s work, doing double duty if needed to get Hunt’s mission accomplished. That means that deck seamen and gun crews will train and work in the engine room and that the black gang will have to train and help on the guns to fight the ship. Understood?”

  No one spoke for a moment. Finally Emerson stood up and looked at Wake.

  “Sir, we’ll do whatever we must to get the Hunt ready for sea duty. How long till we weigh anchor?”

  Wake knew this would be the worst part. It was one thing to tell them they would have to train men on tasks for which they had no experience and to ask them to do double duty if needed, it was another to do it all in an impossibly short time.

  “We get underway tomorrow at sunrise with the ebb. Later, I will brief you on our assignment.”

  They were all stunned. Wake had been stunned also when the chief of staff had given him his orders earlier in the day, before the visit to DeTar. Emerson was about to reply when Rhodes spoke, most probably to himself but loud enough in his shock that all heard it. “We just can’t do that.”

  Rhodes looked up and realized what he had just uttered was against regulations, and very much against the attitude an officer was expected to display.

  “Ah um . . . sir. What I meant was that it’s such a short time to get everything done, all the provisioning and supplies, and with a shorthanded crew and all.”

  Ginaldi nodded his head in agreement and added a comment. “Sir, it is a short time. We’ll have to coal the ship too. We don’t have but a half load in the bunkers right now.”

  Emerson tried to speak but Wake raised a hand and stopped him. All eyes were riveted on their captain as he addressed them.

  “Gentlemen, and petty officers. Yes, you are right. It is not enough time to get the Hunt ready for sea in the accustomed fashion. That means we will have to get her ready for sea in an unaccustomed fashion. There is no room for failure here, men. We are at war, and the exigencies of war do not stop because yellow fever has demoralized our crew and made us shorthanded. It is time to act and show what we are capable of, which is far more than you believe at the moment. Now, let us walk out of this cabin and get Hunt ready for sea, even if all hands—including every man here—have to work all night to accomplish that. Understood?”

  This time there was no hesitation and the chorus of “Aye, ayes” was loud. Emerson immediately stood and started to give Rhodes, Ginaldi, Durlon, and Rork tasks. The drone of the petty officers conversing about what to do first had an excited air about it, and Wake was glad that the preliminary gloom was over. As the cabin cleared out Emerson came over to the desk with a serious look on his face.

  “Sir, I am sorry about Rhodes’ and Ginaldi’s comments. They were out of line with those statements.”

  Wake saw that Emerson was genuinely upset and worried that his captain would find fault with him. Such was the life of an executive officer, but Wake was not going to dwell on it.

  “Well, they spoke what first came into their heads, which was wrong. But it was a shock and a very difficult task, I realize. Don’t worry, Mr. Emerson, I’m not angry—this time. But next time I expect leaders to lead, figure out how to overcome obstacles, and not whine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Mr. Emerson.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “If being shorthanded and short on time are our worst problems in the future, then this ship and crew will be very lucky indeed. Sooner or later we may have some real dilemmas to worry about—that are much bloodier.”

  Emerson had heard the stories about how fearlessly Wake had acted under enemy fire, but how afterward he had grieved for his men who were killed or wounded. Emerson also could see the scar by Wake’s right ear, where a shot had nearly killed him in a river fight last year. The executive officer of the Hunt had not yet been under enemy fire himself, but he knew that the chances of that changing were pretty good with t
he famously aggressive Peter Wake commanding the ship, and what the captain said was not mere rhetoric. Emerson nodded as he replied.

  “I understand, sir. We’ll get her ready, and then handle what comes our way.”

  “Very well, Mr. Emerson. It’s also time to tell you of the urgent assignment that has caused all of this turmoil. It won’t be a pleasant one.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “We are headed to the Mosquito Inlet up on the east coast of the peninsula, where the schooner Ramer is lying with her crew dead or dying of yellow fever. The Hunt will help save the lives of all they can, and get that schooner back to Key West. There are rumors that the Rebels have heard of the sick crew and are planning on trying to take her. The men of the Hunt are going to have to overcome their fear and do their duty. And you and I and Ginaldi and young Rhodes are going to lead them.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand. When will you tell the others?”

  “Once we’re under way in the morning. I don’t need speculation and fear hindering our preparations for sea—so keep that information to yourself and make sure all is completed quickly. There is no time to lose on this.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  There was no disguising the concern in Emerson’s eyes, but his voice had a confident tone. Well, that is all I could hope for right now, Wake thought, as he diverted the subject to the present.

  “Now Mr. Emerson, I believe we should get over to the coaling dock first, then load ammunition off the ordnance ship. Do you concur?”

  The two men then plunged into a conversation about priorities and procedures of ammunition resupply, reprovisioning, and coaling the ship as quickly as possible. They were soon engrossed in the effort, and no more was made of the issues of leading the Hunt’s men back into another ship plagued with yellow jack.

  All had been said that needed to be said. Now it was time to accomplish their orders.

  2

  The Enemy Within

  When he heard no more bustle from the main deck, indicating that the Hunt was finally prepared to get under way, Wake needed no one to rouse him, for he hadn’t slept in the short time he had been in his cabin. Earlier in the night he’d left the officers to their work, determined to not stand there watching over their shoulders. That would only show a lack of trust in them and in himself. So he had gone below to the privacy of his cabin.

  There he had sat at his cluttered desk and, by the yellow light of a purser’s lamp, reread the latest letter from his brother in Massachusetts. Luke was his oldest brother and a schooner captain on the family trading firm’s sole remaining vessel—the others having been sold off due to the war slump in American shipping. The letter was melancholy. Their father was not well and getting worse. Luke wrote that it appeared the death of their brother James while on duty aboard a monitor on the Charleston coast had precipitated their father’s decline. And just two months earlier, brother John also joined the navy, which made the old man even more morose. Their mother, a quiet strong woman who had raised her sons alone while their father was out at sea, told Luke that she was afraid her husband would die of heartbreak. Luke concluded the letter with the wish that Linda would make a good wife for his littlest brother, and the jest that he hoped Peter would not forget all the seamanship Luke had taken so long to teach him, now that he was a highfalutin’ captain on some stinkbucket coal-eating steamer. Luke always ended his letters with a jest, but this one failed to produce a smile.

  Wake gritted his jaw as he thought about being so far away from his father and mother. He wished he and Linda could be there. He wanted them to get to know his new wife, and see that their son was happy. He knew that his mother would love Linda, and felt that his father might regain his health and spirits by meeting his new daughter-in-law. They had only had boys, and Wake thought Linda could be like a daughter for them. And someday they would have their first grandchild to play with. But furloughs were not available, the Hunt had a mission that would start very shortly, and Linda was not here.

  The thought of Linda set his heart aching, a hard, real pain inside his chest. He wanted to see her, hold her, touch that soft auburn hair, and look into those entrancing deep green eyes. But she was a hundred and forty-five miles away, living with pro-Union refugees at Useppa Island, by Boca Grande on the west coast of Florida. Though he would have given almost anything to be with her tonight in Key West, Wake knew she was probably much safer and certainly in good company where she was.

  Word of their quiet marriage a few months earlier had spread throughout Key West and many people were upset, particularly with her. A Southern girl marrying an enemy Yankee sailor at a time when so many Southern boys were dying for their state—it just wasn’t proper. It was one thing to be decent and hospitable to the Yankees, but quite another to marry one of them! Added to that, of course, was the fact that it wasn’t even an official marriage in a real church by a recognized minister. A black Bahamian preacher had married them on the beach by the African cemetery on the south shore of Key West. Many Key Westers, especially the old-time Conchs who were set in their ways, felt that either Linda Donahue had completely lost her senses or that perfidious Yankee had done something downright evil to her mind.

  In the months since then, Linda had survived an attack of yellow fever at Useppa and was nursed back to health by those good refugee people. Wake liked and trusted them, which is why he had sent his new wife there. Beyond the escape from Key West and the sickness though, Linda Wake had found a new home and friends at Useppa, and by her letters, was truly happy there, which alleviated the sadness of their separation somewhat.

  For their part, the leadership in the squadron had ignored the marriage and treated Wake no differently. Not as much could be said for some of the officers, however. While he never heard them, Wake knew from others that they were talking about him in the officers’ messes. He did not care and wasted not a moment on the issue. Those officers were like old women and gossiped about who was doing what with whom, and Wake knew nothing could stop them. Linda was safe from the tensions of Key West, which was the important thing.

  He folded Luke’s letter carefully and returned it to the drawer with the other family letters, which now included one a week written from Useppa. Wake had so much to do, to think about, to prepare for. Many things could happen over the next few days and he, as the captain, must have an idea of how he and the men of the Hunt would handle them. He snuffed out the lamp, savoring the darkness and privacy, and trying to think. Had he done all he could to get the ship and the men ready?

  Mind whirling in a mix of navigational contingencies, watch bill assignments, supply orders, weekly status reports, and medical information from what the surgeon ashore told him to do on his arrival at the Ramer, Wake moved over to his berth and lay down. The constant rumbling of the engine could be felt all through the ship and usually could lull one to rest. He closed his eyes, but it was no use. Five minutes later he was moving through the companionway to the main deck.

  The Hunt hadn’t slept in the night either. Throughout the night the hissing of steam pipes, the thud of supply boxes and casks dropping on deck, and the loud giving and acknowledging of orders served to let all vessels in the naval wharf area of the harbor know that the U.S.S. Hunt was getting herself ready for sea in a hurry. Emerson and Rhodes were everywhere, their voices rising above the others, checking on the loading and stowing of the various equipment and supplies of a warship, those crucial items that keep her own crew alive and bring death to her enemies.

  Hunt was coaled and had provisions for three weeks. All that was left to do was stow the supplies and get her ready for sea. They would leave shortly and take advantage of the ebb. In the loom of the lanterns placed safely to leeward of the men trudging up the gangway from the wharf, Wake saw Rork on the starboard waist directing a detail of sailors in the dangerous duty of bringing aboard the last of the shell ammunition from a cart on the wharf. Durlon’s rasp
could be heard below in the magazine, calling up that they were about to seal off the powder space and the shot locker was just about full.

  Rork took his eyes off the sailors for a moment and nodded to Wake, then looked to the sky.

  “No wind today, Captain.”

  “We’ll make our own with this ship, Rork.”

  The bosun shook his head slightly, his eyes back on the men lowering the shells down the hatchway. “I hope we do, Captain. The lads could use a bit o’ breeze with all the sweat they’ve worked up tonight. They’re ready to fall, sir.”

  Wake looked at Rork. The man looked old and tired in the dim light, even though he was but thirty-three. Rork hadn’t slept in two days, like most of the men on the ship.

  “Rork, we’ll be under way in a few minutes and then the men off watch can get some sleep. I know they’re tired. You need to get some sleep too.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. I am tired, Captain. Ya have me there, sir. All this bloody coal dust reminds me of my packet days in the Irish Sea, when we’d go over to Wales an’ see them ol’ colliers wallowing like pigs in the sea, an’ we’d sail by fast and clean. Used to feel sorry for the poor sods. Ships and men all as black as an African. Never thought someday I’d be covered with the stuff me ownself, though.”

  “Rork, I know what you mean. All this is new for me too. We’re not alone, though. I do believe a lot of this navy’s sailors’ are going to get to know coal dust pretty well before this war ends. It’s the way of the future. No stopping it.”

  “A filthy future it’ll be then, sir. Filthy men and filthy ships.”

  Rhodes’ voice came from forward, interrupting Wake as he pondered Rork’s comment and wondered how his ship would look in the morning light. Rhodes’ solid form materialized from the darkness as he stepped into the lantern light.