"High tide, Captain Jackson," said the First Mate. "Southerly wind, still at twelve knots. The moon will be setting in a few hours; the sun won't rise for six more."
"Thank you, Mister Phillips; it's time to run the inlet, then," replied the Captain. "General Washington needs his gunpowder, and we could use some provisions ourselves. Brandy, perhaps?"
"Aye, Captain!" the First Mate grinned.
"Set full sails, then, Mister Phillips. Jibs and staysails, too. We'll want Mary Martha to be flying tonight. And quietly, if you please; no need to announce ourselves. Make your course due north."
"Aye, Captain."
The Mary Martha was originally a British merchant brigantine, then captured by the Continental Navy and converted for blockade running. She was but lightly armed, the better to lighten her and increase her speed. The British blockade of the Chesapeake Bay made reprovisioning the Continental Army a challenging task, and while food was important, powder and ammunition were even more so.
If the crew was nervous about sailing at flank speed, at night, and close to the barrier islands and shoals off the Delaware shore, they didn't show it. They trusted the Captain, and worked swiftly and quietly, raising every sail she carried.
As the Mary Martha gained speed, Captain Jackson stood near the helmsman, alternately watching the compass and scanning to port. Success now depended on compatriots ashore. Mary Martha could most likely outrun the British if they found her, but that wouldn't help General Washington. Jackson had to get their cargo ashore.
The temperature was falling; fog was beginning to form in wispy banks, low to the sea.
The ship groaned as its speed built further, still sailing due north. Doubled lookouts stood at the bow, watching for the British; Captain Jackson still scanned the shore.
"There!" called the mate, and indeed, eight miles away, a pinpoint of light was visible--the signal fire that marked the inlet into Rehoboth Bay. Jackson was confident, as most captains are: The difficulty of the task would aid its success; the British would never expect the Continentals--even the local ones--to attempt to run the Indian River inlet under full sail, at night. Most local navigators wouldn't attempt that feat during the day.
"Steady as she goes, helmsman. Wait for my order," said Jackson. Their success still depended upon men ashore: A second signal fire was needed by the Mary Martha. Meanwhile the first beacon was alight for all to see, including the British, but that couldn't be helped.
Jackson waited, his eyes fixed on the first beacon, while the Mary Martha paralleled the shore.
"There, sir!" called the mate, and a second light appeared, very near the first.
"Converging or diverging?" asked Jackson.
The mate waited to be sure. "Converging, sir!"
"Agreed," said Jackson. The lights appeared to be moving closer together.
The second light was on a tower, and was six miles farther away--clear across Rehoboth bay. All Jackson had to do now was wait, until....
"They're in line, Captain!"
"Helm, hard aport," Jackson said calmly.
Mary Martha heeled hard, her rigging groaning under the load.
"Get the sails trimmed, Mister Phillips! Helm, keep the lights in line. Mark your course."
"Aye, sir. Course is two-six-eight."
"Very well."
The Mary Martha was sailing at flank speed directly toward a tiny opening in a barrier island.
Then the bonfires disappeared as a shallow fog bank drifted across the path of the brigantine.
"Captain!" the helmsman shouted.
"Steady as she goes, son. Steer your course; when we clear the fog, make corrections as you see fit."
"Aye sir," said the helmsman, sounding less confident than he'd hoped.
Mary Martha emerged from the fog, and the signals reappeared.
"Good job, seaman," said Jackson. "Remember, the brighter light is on the north side of the inlet; the dimmer one is on the shore behind. As we draw nearer, let the lights diverge; the farther one should inform your course."
"Aye, sir."
"Sail ho!" the cry came from a lookout, "three points off the starboard bow!"
"There! A British frigate!" said Phillips.
Jackson spotted the moonlit sail, but said nothing.
"Orders, Captain?"
"None, Mister Phillips. Helm, steady as she goes." Jackson watched the sail a bit longer.
"Mister Phillips, he's north of us; the wind is southerly, making him beat to windward, see? He can't go much closer ashore; he'll have to tack astern of us. What is his closest crossing range, do you reckon?"
Phillips looked at the sail and considered. "Two thousand yards, sir."
"Do you think he can hit us with a rear quartering broadside at two thousand yards, on a first and only attempt?"
"I reckon we'll see soon enough, Captain Jackson."
"Right you are, lad."
The shore drew closer, as did the British ship. The sound of the surf breaking on the beach grew louder; seagulls could be heard circling the breakers. As it neared shore, the Mary Martha seemed to be moving at breakneck speed. The inlet, barely visible in the moonlight, still seemed impossibly narrow.
"Be ready to drop sails, Mister Phillips."
"Aye, sir."
The Mary Martha reached the inlet just as a flash appeared on the gun deck of the frigate. As the brigantine slipped through the channel, the broadside hit harmlessly on the beach behind and to starboard.
The crew's cheers broke the tension.
"Mister Phillips?"
"Aye sir?"
"Drop all but the top gallants. My compliments to the crew. There'll be a bonus tonight."
"Aye sir. General Washington will have his powder, then?"
"It would appear so, Mister Phillips."