“Ah, but young Lieutenant Wake, this fight’s not for you and your sailors. You’re men of the sea, as useless as fish on the land. We have you outnumbered and outgunned. You and your men will all die here. And why? For what? You can’t beat us. That infantry regiment down the road at the beach can’t help you. You have done your duty already, sir. Retire from the field with an honorable surrender now and spare your sailors’ lives. We in the Fifteenth have seen too much bloodshed in this war and are heartily sick of it. I ask you to stop it now.”
That was it! In the midst of the chaos earlier, Wake thought that might be the case. The colonel’s comments, meant to be facetious and then sympathetic, had proven the point. The Confederates had been warned of the Yankee landing but hadn’t known of the quick occupation of Claresville by the sailors. If Wake and his landing force had not been at the crossroads, the 195th New York would have been bottled up along that swamp road to the beach camp. Colonel Holland and the Fightin’ Fifteenth Florida wanted to get past Claresville and cork up that bottle with the New Yorkers inside. If they could do that, then the Union forces couldn’t go inland and the foodstuffs of Florida could continue to feed the vast armies to the north.
And Wake couldn’t believe that Holland had just made the ridiculous suggestion of surrendering to him. He must have known Wake would laughingly decline. So why did he do it?
“Well, Lieutenant Wake, I’m afraid my pleasure at our meeting cannot delay the exigencies of the situation. I must demand a reply to my admittedly very kind offer.”
Wake examined Holland’s eyes a few seconds more before answering. It was a bluff. It was all a bluff. A gigantic bluff. He absolutely knew it. They wouldn’t have stopped if they didn’t have to, and they didn’t have to for lack of men or guns. It was ammunition. That was the reason. They were low on ammunition. Wake realized that if he was wrong, they would all probably die in battle or a prison camp, but there was no other choice.
“Colonel Holland, I must express my admiration for your tactics thus far employed. The attack in the storm was quite impressive. Very innovative and educational for a landlocked sailor such as myself. I must remember to return the favor should we meet again like this. However, regarding your kind offer, you know I cannot surrender. You know I will not surrender. You also know that the forces of the Federal government in this area are far stronger than your gallant, but under-strength regiment. Sir, the needless shedding of blood will be your decision.”
Colonel Holland smiled again, a slight curve of one corner of his mouth, a sadly knowing smile eroding Wake’s confidence that he was right. Maybe the colonel was playing bluff poker on a grand scale.
“Very well, Lieutenant Wake. I know you understand that I had to at least offer the chance of surrender. It has been an honor to meet you, young man. Your country should be proud of you. Your death really will be a pity. Good-bye, sir.”
“My honor also, Colonel. May we meet in better times someday, sir. Good-bye.”
Wake saluted the colonel smartly and spun around. He walked away at as slow a pace as he could discipline himself to make. He tried to appear with as much nonchalance as he knew the colonel was displaying behind him. Wake kept an unconcerned look as he reached his men’s lines among the damaged buildings of Claresville. McDougall met him at the side of the barn where Foley’s body still lay where he died, a graphic reminder of the end for them all if Wake was wrong.
“Well, sir? What was the parley by that Reb colonel?”
“It appears that they want us to surrender, McDougall. Ridiculous, of course. I believe they are getting quite desperate now. What is happening around our perimeter?”
McDougall’s jaw dropped open and his shoulders slumped. A moment later he spoke, shaking his head in disbelief as the words came out. “Sweet Jesus, but I wish that damned rascal Rork were here to see this! The captain himself says the Rebs are desperate now. They’ve shot down a third o’ our men and are fancying to blast the rest, an’ the captain says they’re desperate now! Captain, I’m a hatin’ to piss on this little celebration o’ yours, but we’re about done in, an’ those Rebs over there’ve got a whole lot more to throw our way, sir. Maybe the time has come to go back to the beach. Back to the water where sailors belong proper, sir. We can’t fight these regular soldiers, sir.”
Wake understood McDougall’s plea. He was reluctant to let the gunner know his hypothesis but felt the peril of the scenario they found themselves in demanded it be given.
“Think McDougall. Not emotion, but logic. Think this through. What is the first thing you tell your men when they start shooting?”
“Mark their targets. Make every shot count. Don’t waste ammunition.”
“Correct, Gunner. Now, how much do we have left?”
“A fair amount, Captain. Forty rounds per man. They fired off about ten a man. I just checked. The lads didn’t get much time to fire off what they had, what with the surprise an’ all. The Rebs broke out of ranks and charged us in small groups soon after they fired off all o’ those volleys, so’s the lads didn’t have no big target groups to shoot at.”
“Precisely. Now, remember the Rebel barrage of artillery and musket fire? How many rounds do you think they fired?”
“Oh Lord, Captain. Hundreds of musket rounds and
