Sailing close-hauled, the schooners would turn slowly to the north northwest in four hours time. Twenty hours of transit northward, far enough offshore to preclude observation from land, would take them to the entry point of the channel among the shoals and reefs of Deadman’s Bay. It would be a finely balanced thing, equally dependent upon weather and upon navigating skill.
Williams and Wake decided that Young would lead them all in the Random, with Rork standing by him constantly, and a crew of naval seaman to work the captured ship. The ships’ boats of the Annie and St. James would be towed alongside those vessels for the final approach, and each would be filled with well-armed sailors ready to board and capture anything in their path.
Williams, as the senior officer present, was in command of the operation, but he delegated the command of the actual landing party to Wake. The Random would lead the flotilla and go alongside the dock at the depot. St. James would follow closely, mooring alongside Random at the dock. Any vessels anchored in the river or at the dock would be instantly overwhelmed and captured by the boats’ crews. The sailors filling the decks on the two schooners would be used as the landing party and would capture the depot and gather any refugees found ashore. Annie, with a shorthanded crew, would remain at the entrance of the river and cover the others with her guns. In the event of disaster, she was their hope of escape.
7
Deadman’s Bay
The night went easy for the ships broad reaching to the north with a light land breeze. Morning showed no land to the east. As they sailed onward, the petty officers and bluejackets aboard the three schooners readied themselves and their weapons. Orders and signals were repeated among all the men so that each understood what would be required of him.
Wake studied the chart, noting that the channel into Deadman’s Bay started about two and a half miles off the entrance to the river and wound its way through two lines of reefs that paralleled the shoreline. Only at the high water of a summer lunar tide could larger schooners such as these get into the river, Young had explained. The channel was usually only marked with stakes if the Rebels knew a blockade runner was coming in, otherwise they would pull them out or deliberately misplace them to trap a blockading ship on the reefs. The Rebels knew the Random would be coming in sometime in the next week or two, so the stakes might be there, and the tides were conducive for the schooners to enter. Everything was as thought out and ready as Wake could make it.
An afternoon storm appeared later that day, repeating the chaos of two days earlier. The ships separated in the hour-long fury of the storm and only came back together in the half-light after the sun had disappeared into the gray mass to the west. No flamboyant show of good luck came from the sun that evening. Instead, it was a depressingly indistinct dusk that, with a falling wind and rising humidity, gave the impression the heavens were not optimistic about the outcome of this very risky enterprise.
Sailors on each vessel, superstitious by and large, engaged in speculations of what they would find, how Young would carry out his part, and how many would stay on that coming shoreline for eternity. The discussions were not apprehensive but simply reflected the seaman’s constant appreciation for the statistical odds of things. Mere life at sea was dangerous, adding warfare to the equation made the odds unfailingly longer.
The night was covered with hazy clouds, making the dead reckoning more of an educated guess than usual. At the appointed hour of midnight, the three schooners closed up abreast and luffed up into the wind coming out of the southeast. Rork, Wake, and Williams conferred over final preparations.
Williams announced that his position put them approximately ten miles west of Bowlegs Point, which was on the coast around eight miles south of the Steinhatchee River. This meant that a course to the northeast for three hours in the present wind should place them at the entrance to the channel into Deadman’s Bay and the Steinhatchee River. Wake concurred and Rork acknowledged. Williams gave the order to proceed onward, and Rork got Random close-hauled on the starboard tack, followed by the other ships. No rousing speech of glory or victory was given. The men were too tired or too anxious, and in any event were not in that mood. It was time to go forward and get the task accomplished. They had already passed the point of no return.
Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later Wake saw the Random’s sails luff, and then she turned to starboard abruptly, settling down on a course even closer to the wind. At the same time, the leadsman aboard St. James called out that they now had two fathoms under her. St. James luffed to windward and settled on the new course, the crew as quiet as Wake had ever seen them. Not even whispers were exchanged as the men stared off to the east where they knew land, and the enemy, waited for them. Glancing aft, Wake saw Annie alter course to follow them. By his calculations, they should now be in the channel, but he saw no stakes marking the course. Indeed, he could see nothing around them, though there should have been land two or three miles away. The tide, wind, and clouds were cooperating. But was Vincent Young?
Suddenly ahead a commotion filled the night air. The Random was luffing her sails even further upwind now. She continued around and settled on a port tack, heading southerly. Wake quietly gave orders to follow, but MacDougall was ahead of him and had already eased the sheets.
