"After this I made a trip in a new boat that had just been sent out to me, the Wild Dayrell. And a beauty she was, very strong, a perfect sea boat, and remarkably well engined.
"Our voyage in was somewhat exciting, as about three o'clock in the afternoon, while making for Fort Caswell entrance (not Fort Fisher), we were sighted by a Federal cruiser that immediately gave chase. We soon found, however, that we had the heels of our friend, but it left us the alternative of going out to sea or being chased straight into the jaws of the blockaders off the bar before darkness came on. Under these circumstances what course to take was a delicate point to decide, but we solved the problem by slowing down just sufficiently to keep a few miles ahead of our chaser, hoping that darkness would come on before we made the fleet or they discovered us. Just as twilight was drawing in we made them out; cautiously we crept on, feeling certain that our enemy astern was rapidly closing up on us. Every moment we expected to hear shot whistling around us. So plainly could we see the sleepy blockaders that it seemed almost impossible we should escape their notice. Whether they did not expect a runner to make an attempt so early in the evening, or whether it was sheer good luck on our part, I know not, but we ran through the lot without being seen or without having a shot fired at us.
"Our anxieties, however, were not yet over, as our pilot (a new hand) lost his reckoning and put us ashore on the bar. Fortunately, the flood tide was rising fast, and we refloated, bumping over stern first in a most inglorious fashion, and anchored off Fort Caswell before 7 p.m.—a record performance. Soon after anchoring we saw a great commotion among the blockaders, who were throwing up rockets and flashing lights, evidently in answer to signals from the cruiser which had so nearly chased us into their midst.
"When we came out we met with equally good luck, as the night was pitch dark and the weather very squally. No sooner did we clear the bar than we put our helm aport, ran down the coast, and then stood boldly straight out to sea without interference; and it was perhaps as well we had such good fortune, as before this I had discovered that our pilot was of very indifferent caliber, and that courage was not our captain's most prominent characteristic. The poor Wild Dayrell deserved a better commander, and consequently a better fate than befell her. She was lost on her second trip, entirely through the want of pluck on the part of her captain, who ran her ashore some miles to the north of Fort Fisher; as he said in order to avoid capture—to my mind a fatal excuse for any blockade-running captain to make. 'Twere far better to be sunk by shot and escape in the boats if possible. I am quite certain that if Steele or Capper had commanded her on that trip she would never have been put ashore, and the chances are that she would have come through all right.
"I never forgave myself for not unshipping the captain on my return to Nassau; my only excuse was that there was no good man available to replace him, and he was a particular protégé of my chief. But such considerations should not have weighed, and if I had had the courage of my convictions it is probable the Wild Dayrell would have proved as successful as any of our steamers."
The rest of the story of the loss of the fine steamer Wild Dayrell, which was accidentally run ashore at Stump Inlet February 1, 1864, is told in the official report of Lieut. Commander F.A. Roe of the U.S. cruiser Sassacus to Admiral S.P. Lee, as follows:
U.S.S. "Sassacus."
Off Stump Inlet, N.C., February 3, 1864.