Chapter twenty-seven
WilmingtonDenning climbed a row of cotton bales, lit a Cuban cigar and regarded the rugged faces of his loyal crew assembled on the deck. Thirty-three weathered expressions stared up at him, in small groups of twos and threes.
Most of the crew had anticipated what was coming from their captain this warm evening before the lines were cast. White-bearded, jowl-faced Ben Woodson, Denning’s conscientious navigator from Savannah, had his head down. He had told Denning only yesterday that he was tired and war-weary. Denning looked to Homer Cogswell, the forty-year-old pilot from Smithville, the chunk of granite on legs, father of two, who knew every Cape Fear underwater sandbar by name. Cogswell was a wise man, experienced in life, fearless, steady, a real rock. He was pla
