The next day, as the sun rose over the Barras and Pine Islands to the east, Wake awoke to the sounds of men on the beach speaking crisply and condescendingly. Disoriented at first, Wake slowly realized that they were the men of the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania getting an early start at organizing the island volunteers into a militia unit. Climbing up onto the main deck, he saw the crew of the sloop also stirring and looking to the west at the tragicomic scene on the beach.
There, lined up in a more or less orderly fashion, were the revelers of the night before. Where just eight hours earlier men in tattered island clothing had been arm in arm with the neatly uniformed sergeant and lieutenant of the “famous Forty-seventh,” singing songs and swilling jugs of quasi-rum and palm wine, there now stood the same soldiers in front of the same islanders, the latter a badly hung-over group of volunteers. It appeared that the sergeant and lieutenant had had some experience in overcoming alcoholic consequences, for they looked as if they had not even been at the party the night before. Wake smiled as he thought of how Key West had probably provided a lot of that type of experience for the men of the Forty-seventh. Indeed, the lieutenant on the beach this morning was not the nervous little Vanding of the meeting on the Honduras. The lieutenant’s orders were clear and commanding, echoed each time by the sergeant. The young officer came alive on the drill field, leaving his lackluster personality behind. Wake wondered how that officer would behave if and when he heard bullets filling the air around him.
Wake noticed that the men of his crew were not laughing at the proceedings on the beach. Instead, they were quietly discussing the training evolutions and pointing out which of the volunteers was doing well. Wake saw that Rork was leading this discussion. It somehow made him feel more confident to know that his men were professionally evaluating the militiamen rather than just mocking them. One sign of veterans, he thought, is not making fun of anyone they may have to depend on in the near future.
Later in the day the volunteers, organized now into a ranger company, began their shooting drill. Almost all of them knew how to shoot, but the sergeant taught them the standard army loading drill. He then marched them down the beach a safe distance where they could fire at buoys floating off the island away from any vessels or other inhabited places. This the crew of the Rosalie watched very intently, with Rork providing commentary and Durlon setting up small wagers on the results. Wake watched the men on the beach going through the drill and firing volleys at the buoys and realized that his men had only been drilled at firing individually, not as a group. But they had held their own at the battle up the river, and Wake decided that he didn’t have to drill them the army way.
While the men of the volunteers were going through their paces, the children and many of the women watched from atop the hills of the island. That the militiamen were conscious of their families watching them was obvious, as they would chance the wrath of the sergeant and glance smilingly over at their loved ones on the hill after they had done something particularly impressive. Wake, occasionally watching throughout the day from the deck of the sloop, felt a pang of regret that these men would someday soon have to face something far worse than the sergeant’s words. He hoped that they would be far better prepared in that event than they looked at this point.
That night he went ashore and met with Vanding and Cornell at the latter’s home, a hut made of some ship’s woodwork, tree limbs, and palm thatch. As they sat on crude stools in the “parlor” room and discussed the day’s events over a jug of palm wine, Cornell stopped his small talk suddenly. He looked at Vanding, then at Wake, and carefully told them that his men were ready. They were ready now to strike at the enemy they had feared and fled from for the last two years. It was time. He welcomed the Forty-seventh to come along with them, but the Rangers were going to attack the Rebels with or without the Forty-seventh.
There was no doubting the sincerity of Cornell’s statement. Wake knew that the man meant what he said, and even Vanding sensed the intense force of his words. Vanding sat there and nodded slowly as Wake said to Cornell, “We are with you, sir. Any day there will be more reinforcements from Key West and we can go forward with an attack.”
Cornell smiled and intoned, almost like a preacher, “Gentlemen, as the elected captain of this ranger company, I am telling you that we are going forward, alone if necessary, in one week against the Rebels on the mainland. The army and the navy are most welcome to come along, but this is our time, our duty. I know you both will understand.”
“But we have no final orders yet, sir,” stammered Vanding. He looked toward Wake for assistance with this militia leader who was not willing to go slowly and carefully. However, Wake understood Cornell and the refugees by now and replied to Cornell, “You will have my assistance, sir. My men and I are with you.” Then, grinning, he turned to the young army lieutenant. “Mr. Vanding, I think your men can manage to keep up with the Rangers on the mainland. I propose a toast to the success of the Florida Rangers!”
All three men raised their coconut-shell cups of palm wine and drank. Vanding, still nervous about acting without orders, went along with the other two and put on a brave show of confidence, which started Cornell and Wake laughing. By the time Mrs. Cornell had come back into the room, all three men were laughing over the ironic improbability of their situation. There they were—a sailor, a refugee, and a soldier on a jungle island grandly sipping palm wine out of coconut cups and toasting to the imminent defeat of the enemy by a band of ragged civilian refugees. The tension of the preceding weeks disappeared in the camaraderie and preposterousness of the moment.
The palm wine jug managed to last several hours into the night, and by the time Wake was walked back to the beach where Sommer lay sleeping in the dinghy, the three men had become well aware of each other’s histories. For the first time in a long time, Wake felt positive about the future.
Two days later the Honduras left to go further up the coast to Tampa, leaving the Forty-seventh’s soldiers on the island. Wake had taken his sloop each day through the islands of the area, looking for Rebels and/or information on their whereabouts. At sunset on the second day, with Rosalie anchored off Useppa, Rork called out that a steamer was coming round an adjacent island. It was the tug Honeysuckle, come up from Key West. As the ship came closer, Wake could see her decks crowded with blue coats.
Half an hour later he was on board the anchored steam tug and speaking with a volunteer lieutenant from the Florida Rangers company at Key West. General Woodbury at Key West had sent another twenty refugee militia men who had volunteered to serve the Union. These men, assembled from up and down the Florida Keys, were to be under the command of Captain Cornell and to commence operations as soon as possible. Vanding and the regulars of the Forty-seventh would be under Cornell’s direction also. Wake thanked the lieutenant and hastened ashore to give the good news to his compatriots.
When Cornell and Vanding received the information, gone was the palm wine laughter. Cornell looked thoughtfully at Vanding, who in turn swallowed hard and said, “So now we can go. The Forty-seventh Pennsylvania will be honored to serve you, sir.”
Later that night the militia lieutenant from the tug, a very young man named Thompkins, who was from St. Augustine, came ashore and talked with the other three officers. A plan was suggested by Cornell and refined by Wake, with Thompkins and Vandings listening. The plan was to go up through the Charlotte Harbor area, then land a force of men at the mouth of the Myakka River. From there they would reconnoiter to the northeast and try to find out the disposition of the Confederate militia forces and the cattle herds that were destined for the main Rebel armies in Tennessee. Once ashore, they would attempt to recruit Union loyalists to the regiment. They would embark on small boats from the Gem of the Sea and the surrounding islands, sailing through the night to get to Myakka. The gunboat would go with them and provide support for the beachhead the
sailors would man until the soldiers returned to the boats. The mission would take at least three days once they landed.
Each man knew that the time had come. There was no turning back. Grimly, they discussed how to handle difficulties that might occur. Cornell, a veteran of the Seminole War, knew the worth of surprise and did not want to squander it. He reminded them that they needed to get each man in their units ready, for they would leave the next night. Wake returned to his ship to prepare a report on this impending action. Honeysuckle, due to leave the next day to go back to Key West, would take their plan back to the general and the admiral.
The next morning was one of hurrying, as the sloop sailed for the Gem of the Sea, lying off Lacosta Island. Wake went aboard and spoke with Captain Baxter. His recital of the plan of action met with Baxter’s approval, after which, with no time for pleasantries, Wake and the Rosalie sailed back through the islands to Useppa with three of Baxter’s small sailing boats to help transport the soldiers to the Myakka River.
By the time of their return in the late afternoon, the island had been transformed into a depot of sorts, with supplies and munitions piled on the beach and soldiers from the Rangers and the Forty-seventh milling about waiting for their vessels to arrive. Cornell was having a discussion with Vanding and Thompkins when Wake came up to them and advised that the boats were ready to be loaded. The officers turned their men to the task of wading out to the boats anchored in waist-deep water and heaving the supplies up into the waiting arms of the sailors, who then stowed them in such a fashion so as not to ruin the sailing trim of the vessels. Petty officers from the Gem of the Sea, who were commanding the boats, were also getting the armament ready for action. By sunset, all the gear was stowed aboard the three small boats and the Rosalie.
Wake suggested that all hands eat their evening meal and then sleep for an hour or so before sailing through the night northward to their destination. This suggestion proved to be practical for only the sailors, however, as the families ashore were emotional and long-winded with their goodbyes to the soldiers grouped on the beach. In the end, Cornell started embarking his men earlier than planned, just to get them away from the families, who were now starting to realize the seriousness of their final words to their loved ones.
A chorus of apprehension and anticipation came from the shore as more than fifty soldiers, both militia and regulars, said goodbye to the islanders. As the almost full moon rose in the east, the sloop and the smaller craft hoisted their sails and glided away from the island of Useppa in a gentle northwest breeze. The vessels were just barely lit from the moon, and the stars appeared everywhere in the convex ceiling of the clear night sky. After they had gotten about a mile from Useppa Island, it grew quiet on all four craft, with only the soft call of the lookouts and the leadsman on the Rosalie disturbing the thoughts of the men of the expedition.
Busy as he was with the navigation of the flotilla, Wake took time to think of these men he was delivering to possible death—proud men, both young and old, who were now about to see the face of war that the rest of the country had endured for the last two years. These were men who were as ready as they could be to do their duty. Cornell was on the sloop, standing aft by the stern and looking back toward the three cutters sailing astern. Wake heard the militia leader sigh and turn away from his view to face forward.
“Captain Wake, I want to thank you for all of your assistance on this matter. You and the navy have been our salvation these last few years. Now we get to have our revenge and stand for ourselves. I fear that it may go on for a long time, but at least we can help now, and not sit and wait for something to happen.”
“Sir, we are here to help. Your refugees have been invaluable to the navy during the last years with their information on enemy movements and local knowledge of the coast. But I should not call them refugees any longer, I believe. No, sir, they are now militia and are fighters for the cause. They’ll do well, sir. Don’t you worry.”
“Well, son, it’s not a few renegade Seminoles we’re going after this time. No, it’s going to be tougher than that. I know many of them over there on the mainland personally. It’s going to be damned tough.” Cornell sighed again. “I’m going to lie down now for a while and try to get my people to do the same and stay out of your crew’s way. Good night, sir.”
Wake felt a chill go up his spine on hearing Cornell’s remark about the people on the mainland. He remembered that the war on this coast was different for the refugee Rangers. Unlike the soldiers from the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania or the navy’s sailors, the militia men knew many of their enemies here, knew their families and homes. Once again, Wake found himself thinking about the refugees, what they had gone through and what they would have to endure in the near future.
Dawn found them off the mouth of the Myakka River, carefully sounding their way up through the shallows of Charlotte Harbor. The cutters led the flotilla in under oars, the sloop slowly following under sail in an almost nonexistent morning land breeze. Every eye was focused on the shore as they got closer, looking for signs of movement in the mangrove jungle and straining to hear any shot that might be launched from the green walls of the river.
Cornell chose a sandy spit of land that protruded from the eastern shore as the landing site. The Rosalie anchored off the shore by about one hundred yards in a fathom of water, while the cutters were run into the shallows as far as they could be floated. The disembarkation of men and supplies evolved into a scene of laughing and yelling and confusion as the sailors and soldiers attempted to get the beachhead set up as quickly as possible.
Wake didn’t like all of the noise and sensed that Cornell didn’t either. A quiet and surreptitious landing it was not, in spite of the angry threats of the sergeants and petty officers. The larklike atmosphere was at odds with the reality of the situation, and it seemed forever before the beachhead was set up and secure.
Finally, in the heat of the midday sun, Cornell said goodbye to Wake on the beach. “Well, goodbye and good luck here. We will be back in three days. The password will be ‘Barkley,’ in honor of your admiral,” Cornell said with a mischievous smile. “And we will be very sure to call it out as soon as we get close to your picket line. Please have the kindness to alert your sailors not to shoot us.”
“We will do our best to shoot only the enemy. Or at least whoever we think is probably the enemy,” replied Wake, with the tensions of the moment broken by the nervous humor of overstated politeness. “Good luck to you, sir,” called out Wake to his friend as the column trudged off the beach and into the mangroves.
After the expedition had departed, the beachhead sailors, under the command of Bosun Moore from the Gem of the Sea, started to clear brush from the picket line they had formed. Piling up the brush and tree limbs to form crude breastworks, the sailors began the work of making a defensive position out of the depot on the beach. Moore was very serious in his endeavors, and so Wake left him alone and went back to the sloop to check their dispositions for fighting, should it come to that.
Rosalie, at Rork’s suggestion, was anchored fore and aft with spring lines bent to the anchor rodes so that she could be rotated to bring her gun to bear at various locations. He explained to Wake that this was a trick he had learned from a discussion with a bosun in Key West who had served on the James River Squadron in Virginia. Durlon had gotten canister ammunition ready for the twelve-pounder and had a ready locker of pistols and muskets on deck. The crew spent the afternoon drilling in the loading and firing of the deck gun, as well as getting some sleep.
A position this close to the enemy would require half the crew to be awake, alert, and armed. Wake was concerned that the Rebels might try to board his ship in the night, especially after his victory over them on the Peace River, just a few miles away to the east. Wake was very uneasy with his role of providing static gunfire support for the beachhead. He w
as used to being able to move at will on the water, not being trussed up along the shore.
That night was cloudy, with some rain and a wind from the south. The signs told of a nor’wester coming the next day or so, the first of the winter season, and Wake was concerned about his powder and his men in the chilled, wet weather. Cold weather in December in Florida wasn’t comparable to that he had seen in New England, but could still be miserable to a man exposed to the elements out on the deck. Tarpaulins were stretched over the main boom, ready to be cast off if necessary, in an effort to keep the men dry and therefore more alert. Periodic shouts of alarm from the sailors ashore hearing things moving around in the jungle just ahead of them would send the entire flotilla into battle quarters. Each time it took at least ten to fifteen minutes to calm everyone down and get them back to the watch on watch routine of half the crew at rest and the other half instantly ready to fight.
Just after midnight, a sailor on the beach fired at a buttonwood tree that he had been staring at for an hour and had just seen move. That ignited several other shots at the buttonwood tree from the startled and scared sailors on the beachhead. Wake was grateful that Durlon had not fired his gun too. Durlon had been about to fire when Moore called from the beach to say it was just a nervous sailor shooting at a tree and not an enemy attack. The loud guffaws from the vessels and the beachhead were a little too quick and jittery and showed that all hands were just as nervous as the poor unfortunate who had started the shooting.
Wake thought back to his meeting with the admiral. Barkley and Johnson had told him that they had confidence in his ability to use judgment about what to do in operations with the army. And here he was with a flotilla of four small vessels and twenty-five sailors defending a beachhead, waiting for fifty untried soldiers to return from a march into the midst of enemy territory—completely surrounded, without any communications, anchored close to a lee shore with a storm pending, and very vulnerable to attack. Wake started to think that this might be the very situation that he had been warned not to get into. Looking around in the gloomy night, he could see only the lanterns on Rosalie and a few lanterns on the beach. The enemy could be upon them before they knew it. He stayed up all night, sitting and waiting. . . .
At the Edge of Honor (The Honor Series) Page 16
