Paddy laughed. “Not old Seamus. Deaf as a post with the curiosity of a thick plank. And you won’t be the first, inspectors and suchlike ride in the cab. Seamus will keep his nose clean, remember nothing.”
“Where will Jimmy ride?”
“He’s not going on this train. The constable saw him last night and would wonder where he vanished to if he didn’t see him around. Let him stay a day or two and I’ll see he gets to Dublin. And it has been donkey’s years. The lad and me have a lot to talk about.”
“That is fine
by me. Three days from now, Jimmy, on the Thursday. Take that first morning train and I’ll be waiting at the station in Dublin.”
FIGHTING BACK
Captain Green was very proud of himself, his ship and his crew. The USS Hartford had taken a severe beating during the war when she had run the gauntlet between Fort Jackson and Fort St. Philip on the Mississippi. She had run aground once, had worked her way back into the river, then had caught fire — but still went on to lead the fleet that had seized New Orleans. After that battle Admiral Farragut had transferred his flag, then the Hartford had limped back to the Washington Naval Yard for repairs. The refitting had proceeded at a leisurely pace, mainly because most of the military supplies and guns had gone to the newly built ironclads. Even though the Hartford was wooden hulled, she was well armed with cannon and, since she was powered by both steam and sail, could go anywhere that her captain desired. Just two days after her refit was completed he was in his cabin working on the new manifests when his first lieutenant, Lathers, knocked on the door.
“Officer coming aboard, sir, just got word. Gustavus Fox, Assistant Secretary of the Navy.”
“We should be honored. Bring him down when he gets here.”
Gus Fox wore his naval uniform: in the navy yard it would be less conspicuous. The captain and his first lieutenant were waiting. Trying to hide their curiosity at the reason for this visit.
“I have your sailing orders, Captain.” Fox pushed over the sealed envelope. “I would appreciate it if you would read them now.”
Captain Green opened the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. The orders were brief and to the point. He passed the sheet of paper to Lathers. Who read it and shook his head in puzzlement.
“ Salina Cruz in Mexico? Why — I’ve never even heard of the place!”
Captain Green smiled and tapped the chart that lay open on the table between them. “You’ve not been keeping up with the news. This used to be a small fishing port in Mexico, on the shores of the Gulf of Tehuantepec …”
“Of course! This the Pacific port where the British have landed all those troops.”
“The very place.” They both turned to look at Fox. “I imagine you brought this order in person for reasons of your own,” the captain said.
“I certainly did. I want to tell you what you are going to do when you reach this port. You are being sent to make our presence felt down there, and yours will be the first American ship to have that honor. We want you to use your best judgement as how to do that. There are British ships there and we want them destroyed. You are to leave for Mexico as soon as your coal bunkers are full and supplies boarded.”
The two officers smiled together at the thought. Lieutenant Lathers traced his finger down the Atlantic coast of South America, to Tierra del Fuego, and through the Drake Passage and past Cape Horn.
“Damned long way to go,” he said. “All the way south, then back up the Pacific coast.”
“But we can do it,” Green said. “We will steam as far as Montevideo. Then we fill our coal bunkers there, then full sail to the Cape. Get through the Drake Passage under steam so we won’t have to beat about for weeks. We’ll be a good deal slower than usual, but we’ll make it. Then once we reach Mexico—” He slammed his fist down on the chart.
“The cat will be among the pigeons!” He turned to Fox. “Do we have any idea what is waiting for us there?”
Fox smiled happily. “The last report said that there were transports only. Some of them armed I am sure. But no ships of the line were reported. Certainly no ironclads. With a little bit of luck…”
He did not need to finish the sentence. They all knew what the firepower of this ship could do.
“You are to sink any and all ships in the port. If you can fire on any of the shore positions without endangering your ship, why you are to do that as well. When you are done you will sail to San Francisco where orders will be awaiting you. Any questions?”
“None, sir. But I do want to thank you for the assignment. It will be done — just as you said.”
Two days later, in a pelting rainstorm, they took in their lines and under a full head of steam headed south. After coaling in Argentina, they would not touch land again until they reached the Pacific coast.
They encountered the usual storms at the Cape, and westerly winds greeted them when they reached Tierra del Fuego. Instead of beating about waiting for favorable winds, they lit the fires in the boilers and steamed through the Drake Passage and around the Cape. Then, with their fires damped, they sailed north until they reached El Salvador and went ashore at Acajutla. There they emptied out the foul green water from their barrels and filled them with sweet spring water, while the cook bought fresh fruit and vegetables. When they left it was on a west-north-west heading that would take them into the Gulf of Tehuantepec.
Dawn revealed a narrow stretch of jungle off their starboard bow, backed by the jagged mountains of the Sierra Madre. The westerly trade winds moved them along briskly and there was no need now to dip into their irreplaceable store of coal. The engine was silent, the boiler cold since they had not used it since they had forced themselves west against the headwinds while rounding the Cape. Only when the Oaxaca mountains were visible ahead, with the tiny white specks of a village rising above the shore, did the captain order the engine room to raise steam. He did not know what he would find ahead — and he was on a lee shore. Not for the first time did he bless the steam engine that could get a sailing ship out of trouble.
“Sails ho!” the lookout called out: Captain Green trained his glass at the coast ahead. “Three, four — maybe five,” he said. “What a gorgeous sight.”
Black smoke puffed from the stack as the sails were lowered and Hartford aimed for the enemy ships. They had surely been seen because white sails suddenly blossomed along the bare masts of the British ships. But they were late, far too late, for the warship was bearing down upon them at a good eleven knots. They were fat Indiamen, all of them, and not very used to setting sail with such little notice. The first two ships were anchored no more than a hundred feet apart.