Historical Tales Volume Ii Part 19

"'Starboard, and go ahead easy,' was the order now, and as we crept in not a sound was heard but that of the regular beat of the paddle-floats, still dangerously loud in spite of our snail's pace. Suddenly Burroughs gripped my arm,--

"'There's one of them, Mr. Taylor,' he whispered, 'on the starboard bow.'

"In vain I strained my eyes to where he pointed, not a thing could I see; but presently I heard Steele say, beneath his breath, 'All right, Burroughs, I see her. Starboard a little, steady!' was the order pa.s.sed aft.

"A moment afterward I could make out a long, low black object on our starboard side, lying perfectly still. Would she see us? that was the question; but no, though we pa.s.sed within a hundred yards of her we were not discovered, and I breathed again. Not very long after we had dropped her, Burroughs whispered,--

"'Steamer on the port bow.'

"And another cruiser was made out close to us.

"'Hard-a-port,' said Steele, and round she swung, bringing our friend upon our beam. Still un.o.bserved, we crept quietly on, when all at once a third cruiser shaped itself out of the gloom right ahead, and steaming slowly across our bows.

"'Stop her,' said Steele, in a moment; and as we lay like dead our enemy went on and disappeared in the darkness. It was clear there was a false reckoning somewhere, and that instead of rounding the head of the blockading line we were pa.s.sing through the very centre of it. However, Burroughs was now of opinion that we must be inside the squadron, and advocated making the land. So 'slow ahead' we went again, until the low-lying coast and the surf-line became dimly visible. Still we could not tell where we were, and, as time was getting on alarmingly near dawn, the only thing to do was to creep down along the surf as close in and as fast as we dared. It was a great relief when we suddenly heard Burroughs say, 'It's all right. I see the Big Hill.'

"The 'Big Hill' was a hillock about as high as a full-grown oak, but it was the most prominent feature for miles on that dreary coast, and served to tell us exactly how far we were from Fort Fisher. And fortunate it was for us we were so near. Daylight was already breaking, and before we were opposite the fort we could make out six or seven gunboats, which steamed rapidly towards us and angrily opened fire.

Their shots were soon dropping close around us, an unpleasant sensation when you know you have several tons of gunpowder under your feet.

"To make matters worse, the North Breaker Shoal now compelled us to haul off the sh.o.r.e and steam farther out. It began to look ugly for us, when all at once there was a flash from the sh.o.r.e followed by a sound that came like music to our ears,--that of a sh.e.l.l whirring over our heads.

It was Fort Fisher, wide awake and warning the gunboats to keep their distance. With a parting broadside they steamed sulkily out of range, and in half an hour we were safely over the bar.

"A boat put off from the fort, and then--well, it was the days of champagne c.o.c.ktails, not whiskeys and sodas, and one did not run a blockade every day. For my part I was mightily proud of my first attempt and my baptism of fire. Blockade-running seemed the pleasantest and most exhilarating of pastimes. I did not know then what a very serious business it could be."

On the return trip the "Banshee" was ballasted with tobacco and laden with cotton, three tiers of it even on deck. She ran impudently straight through the centre of the cordon, close by the flag-ship, and got through the second cordon in safety, though chased by a gunboat. When Na.s.sau was reached and profits summed up, they proved to amount to 50 a ton on the war material carried in, while the tobacco carried out netted 70 a ton for a hundred tons and the cotton 50 a bale for five hundred bales. It may be seen that successful blockade-running paid.

It may be of interest to our readers to give some other adventures in which the "Banshee" figured. On one of her trips, when she was creeping down the land about twelve miles above Fort Fisher, a cruiser appeared moving along about two hundred yards from sh.o.r.e. An effort was made to pa.s.s her inside, hoping to be hidden by the dark background of the land.

But there were eyes open on the cruiser, and there came the ominous hail, "Stop that steamer or I will sink you!"

"We haven't time to stop," growled Steele, and shouted down the engine-room tube to "pile on the coals." There was nothing now but to run and hope for luck. The cruiser at once opened fire, and as the "Banshee" began to draw ahead a shot carried away her foremast and a sh.e.l.l exploded in her bunkers. Grape and canister followed, the crew escaping death by flinging themselves flat on the deck. Even the steersman, stricken by panic, did the same, and the boat swerved round and headed straight for the surf. A close shave it was as Taylor rushed aft, clutched the wheel, and just in time got her head off the land.

Before they got in two other cruisers brought them under fire, but they ran under Fort Fisher in safety.

One more adventure of the "Banshee" and we shall close. It was on her sixth trip out. She had got safely through the fleet and day had dawned.

All was joy and relaxation when Erskine, the engineer, suddenly exclaimed: "Mr. Taylor, look astern!" and there, not four miles away, and coming down under sail and steam, was a large side-wheel steamer, left unseen by gross carelessness on the part of the look-out.

Erskine rushed below, and soon volumes of smoke were pouring from the funnels, but it was almost too late, for the chaser was coming up so fast that the uniformed officers on her bridge could be distinctly seen.

"This will never do," said Steele, and ordered the helm to be altered so as to bring the ship up to the wind. It took them off the course to Na.s.sau, but it forced their pursuer to take in her sails, and an exciting chase under steam right into the wind's eye began. Matters at length became so critical that no hope remained but to lighten the boat by throwing overboard her deck-load of cotton--a sore necessity in view of the fact that the bales which went bobbing about on the waves were worth to them 50 or 60 apiece.

In clearing out the bales they cleared out something more, a runaway slave, who had been standing wedged between two bales for at least forty-eight hours. He received an ovation on landing at Na.s.sau, but they were obliged to pay four thousand dollars to his owner on their return to Wilmington.

The loss of the cotton lightened the boat and it began to gain in the race, both craft plunging into the great seas that had arisen, yet neither slackening speed. A fresh danger arose when the bearings of the engine became overheated from the enormous strain put upon them. It was necessary to stop, despite the imminence of the chase, and to loosen the bearings and feed them liberally with salad oil mixed with gunpowder before they were in working order again. Thus, fifteen weary hours pa.s.sed away, and nightfall was at hand when the chaser, then only five miles astern, turned and gave up the pursuit. It was learned afterward that her stokers were dead beat.

But port was still far away, they having been chased one hundred and fifty miles out of their course, and fuel was getting perilously low. At the end of the third day the last coal was used, and then everything that would burn was shoved into the furnaces,--main-mast, bulwarks, deck cabin, with cotton and turpentine to aid,--and these only sufficed to carry them into a Bahama Island, still sixty miles from Na.s.sau. They were not there two hours before they saw a Federal steamer glide slowly past, eying them as the fox eyed the grapes.

The adventure was still not at its end. Mr. Taylor hired a schooner in the harbor to go to Na.s.sau and bring back a cargo of coal, he and Murray Aynsely, a pa.s.senger, going in it. But the night proved a terrible one, a hurricane rising, and the crew growing so terrified by the fury of the gale and the vividness of the lightning that they nearly wrecked the schooner on the rocks. When the weather moderated the men refused to proceed, and it was only by dint of a show of revolvers and promise of reward that Taylor and his pa.s.senger induced them to go on. On reaching Na.s.sau they were utterly worn out, having been almost without sleep for a week, while Taylor's feet were so swollen that his boots had to be cut off.

Thus ended one of the most notable chases in the history of blockade-running, it having lasted fifteen hours and covered nearly two hundred miles. Fortunate was it for the "Banshee" that the "James Adger," her pursuer, had no bow-chasers, and that the weather was too ugly for her to venture to yaw and use her broadside guns, or the "Banshee" might have there and then ended her career.

_FONTAIN, THE SCOUT, AND THE BESIEGERS OF VICKSBURG._

The Civil War was not lacking in its daring and interesting adventures of scouts, spies, despatch-bearers, and others of that interesting tribe whose field of operations lies between the armies in the field, and whose game is played with life as the stake, this being fair prey for the bullet if pursued, and often for the rope if captured. We have the story of one these heroes of hazard to tell, a story the more interesting from the fact that he was a cripple who seemed fit only to hobble about his home. It is the remarkable feat of Lamar Fontain, a Confederate despatch-bearer, which the record of the war has nothing to surpa.s.s.

Fontain's disability came from a broken leg, which had left him so disabled that he could not take a step without a crutch, and in mounting a horse was obliged to lift the useless leg over the saddle with his right hand. But once in the saddle he was as good a man as his fellow, and his dexterity with the pistol rendered him a dangerous fellow to face when it became a question of life or death.

We must seek him at that period in 1863 when the stronghold of Vicksburg, on which depended the Confederacy's control of the Mississippi, was closely invested by the army of General Grant, the siege lines so continuous, alike in the rear of the town and on the Mississippi and its opposite sh.o.r.e, that it seemed as if hardly a bird could enter or leave its streets. General Johnston kept the field in the rear, but Grant was much too strong for him, and he was obliged to trust to the chapter of chances for the hope of setting Pemberton free from the net by which he was surrounded.

Knowing the daring and usual success of Lamar Fontain in very hazardous enterprises, Johnston engaged him to endeavor to carry a verbal message to General Pemberton, sending him out on the perilous and seemingly impossible venture of making his way into the closely beleaguered city.

In addition to his message, he took with him a supply of some forty pounds of percussion caps for the use of the besieged garrison.

On the 24th of May, 1863, Fontain set out from his father's home, at a considerable distance in the rear of the Federal lines. He was well mounted, and armed with an excellent revolver and a good sabre, which he carried in a wooden scabbard to prevent its rattling. His other burdens were his packet of percussion caps, his blanket, and his crutches.

That night he crossed Big Black River, and before dawn of the next day was well within the lines of the enemy. Travel by day was now out of the question, so he hid his horse in a ravine, and found a place of shelter for himself in a fallen tree that overlooked the road. From his hiding-place he saw a confused and hasty movement of the enemy, seemingly in retreat from too hot a brush with the garrison. Waiting till their columns had pa.s.sed and the nightfall made it safe for him to move, he mounted again and continued his journey in the direction of Snyder's Bluff on the Yazoo.

Entering the telegraphic road from Yazoo City to Vicksburg, he had not gone far before he was confronted and hailed by a picket of the enemy.

Spurring his spirited steed, he dashed past at full speed. A volley followed him, one of the b.a.l.l.s striking his horse, though none of them touched him. The good steed had received a mortal wound, but by a final and desperate effort it carried its rider to the banks of the Yazoo River. Here it fell dead, leaving its late rider afoot, and lacking one of his crutches, which had been caught and jerked away by the limb of a tree as he dashed headlong past.

With the aid of his remaining crutch, and carrying his baggage, Fontain groped his way along the river side, keenly looking for some means of conveyance on its waters. He soon found what he wanted in the shape of a small log canoe, tied to a tree on the river bank. Pressing this into his service, and disposing himself and his burden safely within, he paddled down the stream, hoping to reach the Mississippi and drift down to the city front before break of day.

Success was not to come so easily. A sound of puffing steam came from down the river, and soon a trio of gunboats loomed through the gloom, heading towards Yazoo City. These were avoided by taking shelter among a bunch of willows that overhung the bank and served to hide the boat from view. The gunboats well past, Fontain took to the current again, soon reaching Snyder's Bluff, which was lighted up and a scene of animation. Whites and blacks mingled on the bank, and it looked like a midnight ball between the Yankee soldiers and belles of sable hue.

Gunboats and barges lined the sh.o.r.e and the light was thrown far out over the stream. But those present were too hilarious to be watchful, and, lying flat in his canoe, the scout glided safely past, the dug-out not distinguishable from a piece of driftwood. Before the new day dawned he reached the backwater of the Mississippi, but in the darkness he missed the outlet of the Yazoo and paddled into what is called "Old River."

The new day reddened in the east while he was still vainly searching for an opening into the broad parent stream. Then his familiarity with the locality showed him his mistake, and he was forced to seek a hiding-place for himself and his boat. He had now been out two days and nights. The little food he brought had long been devoured, and hunger was a.s.sailing him. Sleep had also scarcely visited his eyes, and the strain was growing severe.

Getting some slumber that day in his covert, he set out again as soon as night fell, paddling back into the Yazoo, from which he soon reached the Mississippi. He was here on a well-peopled stream, boats and lights being abundant. As he glided on through the gloom he pa.s.sed forty or fifty transports, but had the good fortune to be seen by only one man, who hailed him from the stern of a steamer and asked him where he was going.

"To look after my fishing-lines," he replied.

"All right; hope you'll have a good catch." And he floated on.

Farther down in the bend of the stream above Vicksburg he came upon a more animated scene. Here were the mortar-boats in full blast, bombarding the city, every shot lighting up the stream for a wide s.p.a.ce around. But the gun crews were too busy to pay any attention to the seeming drift-log that glided silently by the fleet or to notice the man that lay at full length within it. On he went, trusting to the current and keeping his rec.u.mbent position. The next day's dawn found him in the midst of the Confederate picket-boats in front of the city. Here, tying a white handkerchief to his paddle, he lifted it as a flag of truce, and sat upright with a loud hurrah for Jeff Davis and the Southern Confederacy. As may well be imagined, his cheers were echoed by the boatmen when they learned his mission, and he was borne in triumph ash.o.r.e and taken to General Pemberton's head-quarters. He received a warm welcome from the general, alike for the message he brought and the very desirable supply of percussion caps. It was with no little admiration that Pemberton heard the story of a daring feat that seemed utterly impossible for a cripple on crutches.

During the next day the scout wandered about the beleaguered city, viewing the animated and in many respects terrible scene of warfare which it presented,--the fierce bombardment from the Federal works, extending in a long curve from the river above to the river below the city; the hot return fire of the defendants; the equally fierce exchange of fire between the gunboats and mortars and the intrenchments on the bluffs; the bursting of sh.e.l.ls in the city streets; the ruined habitations, and the cave-like refuges in which the citizens sought safety from the death-dealing missiles. It was a scene never to be forgotten, a spectacle of ruin, suffering, and death. And the suffering was not alone from the terrible enginery of war, but from lack of food as well, for that dread spectre of famine, that in a few weeks more was to force the surrender of the valiantly defended city, was already showing its gaunt form in the desolated streets and the foodless homes.

Fontain was glad enough after his day and night among the besieged to seek again the more open field of operations outside. Receiving a despatch from General Pemberton to his colleague in the field, and a suitable reward for his service, he betook himself again to the canoe which had stood him in such good stead and resumed his task of danger.

He was on a well-guarded river and had to pa.s.s through a country full of foes, and the peril of his enterprise was by no means at an end.

The gloom of evening lay on the stream when he once more trusted himself to its swift current, which quickly brought him among the craft of the enemy below the city. Avoiding their picket-boats on both sides of the river, he floated near the gunboats as safer, pa.s.sing so near one of them that through an open port-hole he could see a group of men playing cards and hear their conversation. He made a landing at length at Diamond Place, bidding adieu to his faithful dug-out and gladly setting foot on land again.

Hobbling with the aid of his crutch through the bottom-lands, the scout soon reached higher ground, and here made his way to the house of an acquaintance, hoping to find a mount. But all the useful horses and mules on the place had been confiscated by the foe, there remaining only a worthless old gelding and a half-broken colt, of which he was offered the choice. He took the colt, but found it to travel so badly that he wished he had chosen the gelding.

In this dilemma fortune favored him, for in the bottom he came upon a fine horse, tied by a blind bridle and without a saddle. A basket and an old bag were lying close by, and he inferred from this that a negro had left the horse and that a camp of the enemy was near at hand. Here was an opportunity for confiscation of which he did not hesitate to avail himself, and in all haste he exchanged bridles, saddled the horse, turned loose the colt, mounted, and was off.

He took a course so as to avoid the supposed camp, but had not gone far before he came face to face with a Federal soldier who was evidently returning from a successful foray for plunder, for he was well laden with chickens and carried a bucket of honey. He began questioning Fontain with a curiosity that threatened unpleasant consequences, and the alert scout ended the colloquy with a pistol bullet which struck the plunderer squarely in the forehead. Leaving him stretched on the path, with his poultry and honey beside him, Fontain made all haste from that dangerous locality.