He handed the bottle back, and Tanner stepped across the galley, rustled up two glasses, half-filled each with the liquor. Handed one to Taylor.
“Tanner, you got a goddamned funny way of sayin you’d like to have a drink with a man.”
“That ain’t what I want to say. I want to say, you too damned hard on the cap’n.”
“‘Hard on the cap’n? Are you jokin?”
“No, I ain’t. And you know it. Ride over him every chance you got. I don’t know what the hell you was doin up on that crate, but I bet it ain’t no coincidence you was right under the old man’s cabin.”
Taylor took a sip of his whiskey, hoped he was not flushing red, or at least that Tanner would not see it in the muted light. “This here the master’s division gettin all uppity about what us engine-room niggers is doin? Y’all think we should keep to our place? Don’t try to come into the big house, like?”
“Ain’t about that. I don’t give a damn about that. Some of my best friends is black gang. Do what you want to the luff. It’s just Cap’n Bowater. I don’t appreciate the grief you give him.”
“And why are you so concerned about good Cap’n Bowater?”
“’Cause he saved my life, oncet. Man don’t forget that.”
Taylor took a drink, pulled out the remainder of his cigar, sparked it to life. He needed a moment to consider this. Bowater did not seem the life-saving kind to him.
After a long silence, Taylor said, “All right, Tanner. Reckon you best tell it.”
Tanner looked at Taylor, and for a moment seemed to consider whether or not he would. “You got another one of them cigars?” he asked at last.
Taylor frowned, but he reached in his pocket, withdrew his penultimate cigar, handed it over. Waited patiently while Tanner bit off the end, then handed him his own smoldering cigar to use as a light.
“It was in the Mex War,” Tanner said at last. “In ’46. At Veracruz. I wasn’t in the navy but five years or so. Thought I knew it all, ’course, but I didn’t know shit. Anyway, we was bringing ammunition ashore for a navy battery they was setting up south of the city there. Had these big, flat barges, crazy sons of bitches. Couldn’t hardly control ’em, even when the weather was good. They’d get four or five of ’em on a hawser, get one of them little paddle-wheel schooners to bring up to the beach.
“So there’s Ensign Bowater, fresh from the Navy School, looks clean and proper, like a little sailor doll you’d buy for your daughter. He’s in command of this little paddle wheeler ’cause her proper captain’s assigned to the battery ashore. They figured that was the real work, let the green-horn take the barges back and forth.
“We’re bringin our barges on and off the beach, ain’t no thing. Made the last run of the day, sun’s goin down. We got about five miles to steam back to the fleet. They was anchored around that island the Mex call Sacrificios.
“Halfway there, and one of them Mex northers come rippin through. You ever experience anythin like that?”
Taylor nodded. “I know about them northers.”
Tanner nodded as well. “Then you know, they come right outta nowhere, come tearin down like a bull gone mad. Right in the middle of that big bay, and a norther come down on us, just as it was getting dark. First ya feel that blast of cold air, then the wind starts fillin in. Next thing we know we takin green water over the sides, fillin faster than we can bail. Seas gettin bigger and bigger, and mind, them barges warn’t nothin in a seaway in the gentlest of times. Rain’s comin down, lightnin flashin around, and ol’ Ensign Bowater jest drivin that little schooner for all she’s worth, right for the fleet.
“But a mile from the fleet and I start thinkin, ‘Damn, we may live through this after all.’ Then, sure as hell, the hawser parts, right at our bow. We was the last barge in the line, see? So away we go, twirlin around downwind, jest like a leaf in a damn stream. Last I seen of the schooner and Ensign Bowater, he’s jest steamin along still. I don’t reckon he even knew we was gone. And I jest shake my head, don’t even bother to cuss him out, on account of I didn’t reckon we could expect much more, and him a boy right outta school.
“For about an hour we bailed like hell and some prayed and some was cussin and finally we hit the surf, due south of where we lost the tow. It was full night by then—dark comes quick when you got one of them northers—and we didn’t know we was on the beach till the barge grounds out. Two good hits and it breaks all to hell and all us sailors on board, there was about twenty of us, we all in the water.
“’Bout fifteen of us managed to get ashore, the rest drowned, or was beat to death by the surf. Some of us managed to snatch up rifles and even some cartridge boxes and we kept ’em dry, and that was a good thing. See, the Americans was nearly surrounding Veracruz, but surrounding the Americans was all these gangs of Mex irregular cavalry, and guerrillas and any damn Mex got his hands on a gun and reckoned he’d kill and rob him an American soldier.
“So we didn’t know what in hell we was going to do, but we set up some kinda defense, there on the beach, ready to fight off whatever Mex comes at us. Didn’t take too damned long, either. We’d drifted way south of the American lines, right in Mex territory, and them guerrillas come on, just like sharks. Didn’t know they was there till we hear rifles and one of our boys jest falls dead.
“You got to understand, it was dark as hell. Couldn’t see a thing. And most of our powder was wet, and us sailor boys, we ain’t so good at loading and firing in the rain, not like them infantry sumbitches. We figured we was done for, and it was only a matter of time. I seen that first one go down, and I figured that was it. Never reckoned to get it on no damned Mexican beach.
“Then, right out of nowhere, we hear a steam engine! Steam engine, there on that beach, and we don’t know what the hell it was. Then there’s a flash of lightning, and there’s the paddle-wheel schooner, with them barges still behind, but they’re empty now, and backing down into the surf. I never thought no one would come for us. Twenty sailors? On a night like that? Didn’t reckon anyone would think it was worth it. Then I reckoned someone musta relieved Bowater of his command, ’cause I sure as hell didn’t think that toy sailor’d do it on his own.”
Taylor took a last gulp of whiskey, refilled his glass and Tanner’s. “And?”
“And I was wrong. Once Bowater realized our barge was gone, he called for volunteers amongst the other barge crews to go after us. Happy to say they all volunteered. Then Bowater, he jest let the paddle wheeler drift downwind and current, reckoned he’d fetch up where we did. Damned stupid thing to do, but he didn’t know no better. Then he sees our gunfire. Drops anchor, backs the paddle wheeler down on the beach until the last of them barges is right in the surf. He had ’em tied together, see, to form sort of a bridge. All we had to do was climb over ’em.”
“So that’s how he saved your sorry ass?”
“Nope. Problem was, those Mex had us under fire. We tried to go back across the beach, they would have come out and slaughtered us. So after a while, Bowater figures this out. Next thing we know, here he comes, leadin the barge crews, with whatever weapons they got, climbin over them barges and into the surf, and right up to where we was hidin. The Mex is firin at us, and we firin at the Mex and some of those poor bastards is getting shot down. But we held ’em. All night, in the damned rain and the wind, we held ’em off.
“First light we starts movin toward the barges. We had half a dozen of the fellows was United States Marines, and they was the only ones knew how to cover a retreat, like. So they organized the thing, and we backed off down the beach, got on them barges, and all the while we can see the Mex gettin closer, firin the whole time, and we’s nearly out of ammunition.