4

A Moonlight Stroll

The ride was long and bumpy. Wake, Laporte, and Ensign Kevin Brogan sat crammed together in a carriage that had seen far better days, apparently in the seventeen-hundreds. The driver proudly explained that it had been the carriage Admiral Lord Nelson used on the island eighty-six years earlier when he was a young captain commanding a frigate. Brogan, a fresh-faced young man of Irish descent, quipped that he hoped the springs weren’t as bad then, “for the sake of Nelson’s sainted arse.” Laporte, the ship’s gunnery officer and resident ladies’ man, brushed a brown curl of hair back in place and retorted he couldn’t care less about Nelson’s arse, he was worried about his own.

After a two-hour ride through the interior hill country they arrived at the village of All Saints, in the geographic center of the island where each of the pie-shaped parishes joined. A change of horses later they were once again on their way, arriving at Falmouth on the south coast at mid-afternoon. The driver pointed out sights along the way, but the dust and jarring dampened the passengers’ enthusiasm for such tourist chatter. Then the driver swung left off the road onto a path that went straight up a high hill, saying that he had a sight to show them they would appreciate and they would return to the main road later.

Horses exhaling loudly with the strain, the carriage made its way past Clarence House, where the Duke of Clarence once stayed, and onto the rounded top of Shirley Hill, near a decayed fortification. There the driver stopped the carriage and suggested that the Americans might want to disembark and stretch their legs, taking a moment to walk to the edge and look down to the west at a little cove.

Laporte was the first to do so and whistled in surprise. Wake and Brogan joined him afterward, standing there stunned as the driver sauntered over and said he thought they would enjoy the view.

Spread out four hundred eighty feet below them was a hidden cove, off the main bay of English Harbour. At the entrance were three forts and around the cove was clustered the famous naval station of Antigua, commonly called Nelson’s Dockyard ever since that icon of the Royal Navy was stationed there. It was an unexpected, startling, and magnificent sight.

“Perfect defensive position. Look at the interlocking gun bearings,” observed Laporte.

“And completely hidden from seaward,” observed Wake as he scanned the cove and English Harbour for any sign of Inconstant or any other large warship. All he saw was the excise cutter and a small gunboat.

The driver described the various forts and villages in view, adding that there were even more defensive positions that couldn’t be seen and that Antigua had never been captured. He also added that most forts had not been manned since 1850, and that only a small remnant of the 29th Worchester Infantry Regiment was still on the island. Most had been shipped home the year before.

Wake thought about what he was seeing. And not seeing. The driver was a civilian employee of the naval station who had taken them out of the way to get a bird’s eye view of the station. No large warship was in sight. If there was anything to be hidden the man wouldn’t have taken them there. He scanned again, paying close attention to the docks.

Evidently nothing was there, he decided, then paused, wondering if it was all part of an elaborate ruse and the speed ship was there, simply camouflaged?

***

Wake bowed slightly to Captain Warner as diffused late afternoon sunlight came through the open doors of the dining room from the verandah. “Thank you again, sir, for the very kind invitation. Captain Gardiner sends his most sincere regrets that he cannot attend.”

“It is we who regret that Captain Gardiner was not able to come, Lieutenant. We were looking forward to making his acquaintance,” said Warner smoothly. His executive officer, Commander Stark, stood next to him with a grim face that Wake realized was apparently his usual appearance. Stark, like, Warner, was an older man and didn’t have the tan of a seagoing naval officer, one of the first things a sailor looked at when meeting another professional. They also seemed soft, with rounded stomachs one seldom saw on officers who were on active duty. Wake’s impression was that their positions were a reward for past services, possibly long past.

The dinner was held at the station commandant’s home, located in the center of the facility. It was surrounded by storehouses that held cordage, sail canvas, pitch, lumber, spars, and every manner of equipage needed by a sailing navy. During a brief tour of the station Wake saw that the padlocks on the shed doors were very old and some looked rusted shut. The volume of supplies that could be contained in the buildings was impressive, but they all were for sailing ships. Wake noticed that other than a small blacksmith shop and boiler engine, there were no large mechanical shops capable of engine repairs or iron work. His trust in Williams’ mystery speed ship was dwindling rapidly.

After dinner Warner led the guests upstairs to the second-story verandah where a delightful sea breeze cooled the air and the sunset glinted off the surrounding hills. It had been hot while walking around the station and at dinner on the first floor, making him sweat and his uniform coat clammy, but in the shade of the jacaranda and mahogany trees the second-floor wind washing over him felt delicious and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“—I said, Lieutenant, are you staying for Christmas services at the cathedral tomorrow?”

Stark stared at Wake, who realized he must have been dreaming and appearing idiotic to the others. “Oh, I’m very sorry, sir. Yes, we are staying. I was just thinking how nice it is up here with this wind. I’m afraid I was lost in thought, sir.”

“Yes. Nelson thought so too. He loved to have his tea here overlooking the bay and the station.” Stark swept a hand around. “You can see it all from here.”

Wake followed his hand and saw that indeed, he could see even more of the station. In the dim light, a shed caught his eye by the outer capstan dock. It looked newly built and he hadn’t seen it on the tour he’d been given.

He pointed in that direction. “Sir. That looks like a new shed. May I ask what you’ve got there?”

“Just some maintenance supplies, Lieutenant. If you are of a mind, I can have someone show them to you,” Stark replied coolly.

Wake knew he had gone too far. “I am sorry for being too intrusive, sir. I meant no disrespect or offense.”

“None taken, Lieutenant, of course. Please have another drink of port. We have plenty,” intoned Stark before walking away to speak with another guest.

Laporte was talking to a pretty girl, daughter of the mayor of Falmouth, and Brogan was chuckling at a British midshipman’s joke. Others on the verandah were engaged in conversations about the recent Franco-Prussian War, the unification of Italy, and the relative merits of various types of rum. Wake stood alone in a dark corner as an idea suddenly entered his mind.

Asking a steward where the officers’ head was located, he was directed to an outbuilding behind the commandant’s home. He made his way there and afterward went to the east, through a row of hibiscus and around the back of the officers’ quarters, the sick bay, and the apothecary shop, toward the rope walk. The tropical sun had set rapidly but fortunately a full moon was rising and gave Wake some light beyond the few dim lanterns scattered about.

Pausing to get his bearings, he walked behind the rope walk toward the dock and saw the shed. It was bigger than he originally had thought and there was a large sturdy wagon parked in front of the double doors. The padlock on the doors was new and solid. Walking around the shed he saw only one small window. Moonlight illuminated the interior enough that Wake could see a long crate on a table by the window.

He strained his eyes to read some lettering on the side of the crate, gradually making out the words. It was a shipping address and a warning:

To: Commander J. Fisher, RN

Woolwich Naval Arsenal

Woolwich, Great Britain

From: Robert Whitehead, Presidente

Stabilimento Tecnico di Fiume

Fiume, Austria

15 Agosto 1873

Pericolo—Esplosivi Navali

Danger—Naval Explosives

In the moonlight he saw ruts and wheel marks from the shed to the adjacent dock. Peering around the water in the dim moonlight he could see no wreckage of a barge, but lying on the dock he did see a new life-ring with a ship’s name painted on it. HMS Invincible. Wake knew that name—she was a new ship assigned to the Royal Navy’s West Indies Squadron. He also remembered the name on the crate from somewhere: Whitehead. There was something odd about the Invincible he had heard, but at the moment couldn’t remember what.

The unmistakable stamp of a military boot and click of a rifle’s hammer was followed by a tin whistle blowing loudly.

“Sir! Stand fast and identify yourself!” boomed the order from a Royal Marine standing thirty feet away, his white cross belt glowing in the moonlight and Enfield rifle with fixed bayonet at the port arms parry position.

“It’s all right, Marine. I am Lieutenant Wake of the American Navy, attending the commandant’s dinner and just taking a stroll after using the officers’ head over there.”

The Marine did not relax. “Sir! This is a prohibited area. I have summoned the sergeant of the guard. Please stand fast right there until the sergeant arrives.”

The sound of heavy boots running made Wake’s heart sink. He needed to get out of there before the sergeant arrived. “Marine, this is ridiculous and insulting. I’m returning to the commandant’s party,” he bluffed. It didn’t work—the Marine moved to block him.

“I said ‘stand fast,’ sir. Do not move.”

The Royal Marine sergeant’s arrival resulted in quick words with the Marine that Wake couldn’t hear. Other boots were running toward them as the sergeant approached Wake and boomed out, “Lieutenant, I am Colour Sergeant Lithgow of the Her Majesty’s Royal Marines. This is a prohibited area and you are far from the officers’ head and the commandant’s dinner party. I have the officer of the guard coming and he will speak with you directly. Remain in position until his arrival, sir.”

Wake realized that it was now or never. “I have been insulted, sergeant, and I’m informing the station commandant right now about the behavior of his men. I certainly expected better of a veteran such as yourself.” He started walking to the main street and called over his shoulder, “And you can have your officer of the guard meet me at the commandant’s home, straight away.”

Behind him Wake heard the rifle being brought up to fire, then the sergeant quickly telling the Marine, “For Christ’s sake, put that weapon down. He’s just a damn fool Yankee.”

Wake walked back toward the rope walk, momentarily relieved, but he knew that now he would have to explain it to Warner and Stark. Five minutes later he was back on the verandah and walked up to Warner, who was talking with the Falmouth mayor, just as an agitated Marine subaltern arrived at the doorway, looking around the crowd for the senior officer.

Wake plunged in. “Captain Warner, pardon me for interrupting, but I have the unfortunate duty, sir, to report a breach of naval respect toward me by one of your Royal Marines a moment ago. I knew you’d want to know of it.”

Warner turned to Wake with an annoyed look. “What, you say? Disrespect by a Royal Marine?”

The subaltern was making his way through the crowd as Wake went on. “Yes, sir. I was accosted by a Marine sentry as I made my way back from the officers’ head to the party. The man held me prisoner at gunpoint. Of course, once the sergeant got there cooler heads prevailed. But I did think it bizarre, sir, that a Marine would do that to an allied naval officer.”

Wake knew that, technically, the American and Royal navies were not allies, but by this point everyone on the verandah could hear the conversation and he saw that the mayor and several other guests were shocked at the allegation. He also saw Laporte and Brogan come up and stand behind him, their jaws set and eyes leveled at Warner.

“Sir! I have to report that one of our sentries just discovered this American officer in a prohibited area,” announced the subaltern to Warner.

“Oh? And where was that?” asked Warner.

“At the capstan dock, sir.”

Wake cut in. “Captain, this is ridiculous. The only thing there is a maintenance shed and the old capstans used to warp Nelson’s ships into the dock. I was taking a walk back from the head, sir, and those men obviously went way over the line of respect and discipline.”

The civilians were nodding their heads in agreement and starting to voice objections when Warner held up his hands. “Yes, Lieutenant. Perhaps they were a bit overzealous. After all, it’s just an old dock and shed there.”

“Thank you, sir. I was certain you’d understand and rectify the situation.”

“Oh, yes, Lieutenant Wake,” Warner growled low so that the others couldn’t hear it. “I believe I understand exactly what happened. . . .”

“But, sir!” protested the subaltern. “This man was—”

Warner held up a hand. “Enough said. It was a misunderstanding. Send a report to my office in the morning.”

Then he turned back to Wake. “Lieutenant Wake, quarters for you and your officers are ready. The dinner and party are concluded. Thank you for coming. I’ll have you escorted to your quarters by an officer so you won’t get lost in the dark again. Tomorrow after breakfast you will be driven back to St. John’s.”

The British officer spoke that part loud enough that the other guests and officers started to file back into the home and descend the stairs. Wake, following inside, was unnerved by the look in Warner’s eye and his tone—there was no doubt he knew what Wake had been up to. This whole situation was out of control, Wake thought, worried about the consequences of his getting caught.

“Why thank you, sir,” he tried to say nonchalantly. “We are much obliged.”

Warner stopped on the stairwell. “I will see you at the church service tomorrow, Lieutenant. Please make sure your captain is there. I need to speak with him and I’d rather see him ashore than have to go out to your ship.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”