Wake could see that the planned timetable was falling apart. If the chart was wrong on the depths over the inner reefs, their situation could get even worse. It was frustrating having to follow orders without the authority to change them as the circumstances shifted. Too many factors in the plan were interdependent, and Wake knew he could not unilaterally alter the chain of events that were already under way without large consequences. Colonel Wherley and Lieutenant Commander West had made it abundantly clear to all the officers that this attack would go forward in spite of any particular officer’s reservations. He would continue onward, Wake decided, until some definitive obstruction made it obvious they should stop the attack.
Gradually a dark line made itself known on the horizon. Straight and without detail at first, it grew into an undulating smudge and then into individual treetops and blurs of sand and marsh. The lead still showed a fathom or more as they approached, but mud was being brought up astern of the tug.
The smoke from the two signal fires had vanished. No other fires were lit and no other signs of life could be seen ashore. However, the smoke from the tug was filling the air for all to see. It was obvious that the element of surprise was lost and the Rebels would know they were here. Wake wondered how the Confederates would respond. He knew from his latest landing experience that they could muster militia to this part of the Florida coast within two or three hours. He figured the fate of this operation depended upon how far away the militia was coming from.
Could the sailors get established ashore, set up a defensive work and hold it until the New Yorkers arrived? When the militia attacked—for Wake no longed permitted himself the luxury of wondering if they would attack—what would their force be comprised of? Would they have artillery or cavalry? The sailors had muskets and pistols. The request to carry a boat howitzer to the beach had been denied by West as taking up too much weight, which he said would be better used transporting more sailors.
The thought of a boat howitzer reminded Wake of the range of the gunboats’ weapons. They had anchored so far offshore that they were out of range and useless to help.
McDougall, seated next to Wake, had the same thought at the same time. He saw his captain look back at the distant gunboats and sagely wagged his head. “Aye, Captain. They’re of no use in this fight. We’re on our own here, for they’re too far away. The largest gun on both the Nygaard and the Bonsall is a hundred-pound Parrot rifled cannon. It can fire a six-point-four-inch shell five miles at thirty-five degree elevation and a ten-pound powder charge. But that means nary a thing ’cause those bastards’ll be watchin’ the fight, not partakin’ of it.”
Wake looked at the unruffled gunner and bobbed his head in return. “Then I presume that upon our return they’ll have to endure our tales of victory, right, Gunner McDougall?”
McDougall caught Wake’s tone and smiled. “Aye, Captain. There’s them that do, an’ them that watch others do the doin’. A shame there’s no prize money on this little dustup. Would make it a wee bit more enticin’ for a lad like me.”
“Good Lord, McDougall, you sound like Rork. Are all Irishmen as mad about money as you two?”
McDougall showed a rare laugh at his captain’s question. “Nay, Captain, many are worse!”
The bowman suddenly pointed ahead and yelled out a warning. “The tug’s slowing. Look at the mud!”
The water around them had turned into coffee, swirling about with seaweed and bottom mud everywhere. The tug slowed to a crawl with the boats in tow surging forward into her and each other. Shouts to fend off and steer away came from the small craft as the men on the stern of the David tried to keep the lines from fouling the propeller. The bowman called back to Wake that they were in a bit less than a fathom and that the tug ahead was plowing up the bottom.
As abruptly as they slowed, the tug crept faster again and the man with the lead told Wake they were past some sort of reef or bar and in a fathom and half. The shoreline in front of them was now coming into sharp detail and the beach could be seen to be a narrow strip of brown muddy sand between the water and tall marsh grass. The smell of the swamps drifted out to them, reeking of rotting plants and sulfur. All eyes on each boat searched for any indication of the enemy but found absolutely nothing. Not even the entrance to the Timucuahatchee River could be seen.
Wake wished he had insisted upon riding on the David so that he could confer with Erne as they approached the coast. Being a passive passenger irritated him and having to wonder what would be done next was infuriating. Wake tried to will the tug to turn to the north and go along the beach until they could find the river mouth. Minutes later, at seven-thirty-three by Wake’s pocket watch, the David turned to the south, swinging the boats behind her in a wild curve.
A half-mile down the beach they found it, proving Wake’s estimation wrong, and turned inland to ride the sluicing
