Cubans sprinkled into the mix.
The Flying Siam hoisted her sails and came down the East River with the outgoing tide, where she joined the larger harbor. From there, they struggled to maneuver among the smoke-belching tugs, the clippers coming off the ocean, and the heavy traffic of light barges, fishing smacks, and the ferries heav ing back and forth between New York and New Jersey. A mighty sloop of war wallowed offshore, its guns bristling. Gulls wheeled overhead, their calls mingling with the sounds of bells and whistles from the various ships, coastal forts, and lighthouses.
This burst of clandestine activity was mysterious and exciting, and it wasn’t until they were well offshore that the first worry tickled at her belly. She’d expected to receive more instructions on the ship, but so far, nothing.
The bells rang for supper, and after she’d eaten a dinner of quahogs and beans cooked in salt pork, she returned briefly to her stateroom, a small, dingy space that smelled of its previous occupant. There were tobacco stains on the wall, and the spittoon had been emptied but not cleaned. At least they’d changed the sheet on the cot.
Instead of lingering in the room, Josephine made her way to the deck to watch the sun sinking in the west. A fresh, briny breeze snapped in off the sea and tugged at her black curls, trying to pull them free from her bonnet. All was quiet on deck except for the slap of waves against the hull, the creak of ropes and canvas, and the occasional calling of sailors. A lighthouse blinked several miles off the starboard bow. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, suddenly chilly.
Was she really going to Havana? And what in heaven’s name would she do when she got there? Look for the American legation or settle into a hotel and wait for someone to find her?
“Enjoying the night?” a man said behind her.
She recognized the voice and was relieved when she turned to see Franklin Gray approaching. He wore a dark wool jacket with trousers and a felt bowler, pulled down so it wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.
“You weren’t at supper,” she said.
“I stayed in my room until dark. Seemed prudent. Did you spot any suspicious characters?”
“Several. But nobody who seemed particularly interested in me. Are we being watched?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We carry illicit cargo. After Havana, we’ll carry still more. If there are Union agents aboard, they haven’t been warned of our presence. Mr. Pinkerton wanted as few people as possible to know of our departure.”
“So we are going to Cuba. I’d wondered if we’d get around Key West and make straight for the delta with a load of contraband for the enemy.”
Mr. Gray took out a silver case and offered her a cigarette before he lit his own. She declined.
“ The Flying Siam will never run the blockade. It’s too big, too easily recognized. We’ll transfer to something even less luxurious, I’m afraid. I apologize for the room. A lady should have something more accommodating.”
“If you knew the kinds of things I saw growing up on the river . . .” She smiled. “I’m not bothered by the conditions.”
The tip of his cigarette glowed. “Wait until you see the rats scurry up and down the ropes at Havana.”
“If a man—or woman—gets hungry enough, he’ll eat a rat.”
He laughed at this. “I was skeptical about Mr. Pinkerton’s plans for you. But now I see that you are the perfect woman for the business at hand.”
“A woman is always underestimated. A clever woman doubly so.”
“How did you gain General Beauregard’s confidence at the battle?” he asked. “It surely wasn’t only your huckleberry pie.”
“Don’t discount my pie, Mr. Gray. It has weakened the knees of many a man.”
Josephine may have fought and scrabbled in a world of men, but she was not above using those feminine charms she had learned from her mother, and if Gray wasn’t a fool, he would see that she was doing the
The Flying Siam hoisted her sails and came down the East River with the outgoing tide, where she joined the larger harbor. From there, they struggled to maneuver among the smoke-belching tugs, the clippers coming off the ocean, and the heavy traffic of light barges, fishing smacks, and the ferries heav ing back and forth between New York and New Jersey. A mighty sloop of war wallowed offshore, its guns bristling. Gulls wheeled overhead, their calls mingling with the sounds of bells and whistles from the various ships, coastal forts, and lighthouses.
This burst of clandestine activity was mysterious and exciting, and it wasn’t until they were well offshore that the first worry tickled at her belly. She’d expected to receive more instructions on the ship, but so far, nothing.
The bells rang for supper, and after she’d eaten a dinner of quahogs and beans cooked in salt pork, she returned briefly to her stateroom, a small, dingy space that smelled of its previous occupant. There were tobacco stains on the wall, and the spittoon had been emptied but not cleaned. At least they’d changed the sheet on the cot.
Instead of lingering in the room, Josephine made her way to the deck to watch the sun sinking in the west. A fresh, briny breeze snapped in off the sea and tugged at her black curls, trying to pull them free from her bonnet. All was quiet on deck except for the slap of waves against the hull, the creak of ropes and canvas, and the occasional calling of sailors. A lighthouse blinked several miles off the starboard bow. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, suddenly chilly.
Was she really going to Havana? And what in heaven’s name would she do when she got there? Look for the American legation or settle into a hotel and wait for someone to find her?
“Enjoying the night?” a man said behind her.
She recognized the voice and was relieved when she turned to see Franklin Gray approaching. He wore a dark wool jacket with trousers and a felt bowler, pulled down so it wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.
“You weren’t at supper,” she said.
“I stayed in my room until dark. Seemed prudent. Did you spot any suspicious characters?”
“Several. But nobody who seemed particularly interested in me. Are we being watched?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We carry illicit cargo. After Havana, we’ll carry still more. If there are Union agents aboard, they haven’t been warned of our presence. Mr. Pinkerton wanted as few people as possible to know of our departure.”
“So we are going to Cuba. I’d wondered if we’d get around Key West and make straight for the delta with a load of contraband for the enemy.”
Mr. Gray took out a silver case and offered her a cigarette before he lit his own. She declined.
“ The Flying Siam will never run the blockade. It’s too big, too easily recognized. We’ll transfer to something even less luxurious, I’m afraid. I apologize for the room. A lady should have something more accommodating.”
“If you knew the kinds of things I saw growing up on the river . . .” She smiled. “I’m not bothered by the conditions.”
The tip of his cigarette glowed. “Wait until you see the rats scurry up and down the ropes at Havana.”
“If a man—or woman—gets hungry enough, he’ll eat a rat.”
He laughed at this. “I was skeptical about Mr. Pinkerton’s plans for you. But now I see that you are the perfect woman for the business at hand.”
“A woman is always underestimated. A clever woman doubly so.”
“How did you gain General Beauregard’s confidence at the battle?” he asked. “It surely wasn’t only your huckleberry pie.”
“Don’t discount my pie, Mr. Gray. It has weakened the knees of many a man.”
Josephine may have fought and scrabbled in a world of men, but she was not above using those feminine charms she had learned from her mother, and if Gray wasn’t a fool, he would see that she was doing the
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