“Why haven’t you reported that sail?”
I looked around the horizon and replied: “I have not seen a sail
this morning, sir.”
“No, I suppose not! come on deck!”
When I reached the deck I was received with a grin of derision,
and found that a fine schooner was running under full sail within
half a mile of us. I had looked too far. Every one too had been
busy while I was dreaming aloft. The American flag was flying at
our peak, and the men were now sent to the guns. A boat’s crew was
called away, and, eager to atone for my neglect, I jumped in. We
pulled over to the schooner, which was now lying to, boarded her,
and found her to be the _Robert Gilfillan_, from Boston to Hayti,
with an assorted cargo. The master, a loquacious down-easter, was
led to believe that the _Nashville_ was the United States steamer
_Keystone State_, and he invited the officer in charge of the boat
to take breakfast with him. The hot rolls looked most tempting,
and the fragrance of the coffee was particularly tantalizing. The
master, whose name was Gilfillan, told us that everything was going
on splendidly for “the Union,” and that the Union troops had been
“whipping the bloody Rebels like forty.” In fact, “the Rebellion
was nearly played out.” Lieutenant Ingraham, who was in command of
the boat, very quietly said: “Haul down your flag and take your
papers aboard my ship immediately.”
“What for?” asked Captain Gilfillan.
The answer came promptly: “That vessel is the Confederate States
steamer _Nashville_, and you are my prisoner.”
The poor fellow was part-owner of the schooner, and I shall not
soon forget the mingled dismay and astonishment on his face. But
resistance was useless, and he did as he was ordered. All our boats
were now lowered, and everything of value, the bells, chronometer,
glasses and nautical instruments, some provisions, brooms and a
lot of “notions,” were taken aboard the _Nashville_. The schooner
was then set on fire, and in a few hours had burned to the water’s
edge. For some days the hearts of the crew were gladdened by the
fresh butter and choice Boston crackers which formed part of the
stores of the ill-fated _Gilfillan_. The master and crew were given
as comfortable quarters as we had, and all possible care was taken
of them.
As we neared Beaufort every light was carefully covered at night,
even the binnacle lamps being masked. At midnight we hove to for
soundings, and found that we might expect to make land by daybreak.
The men seemed to think that we should certainly be captured,
and packed up their clothing in their bags ready for a run. No
one slept much that night, and as soon as the fog lifted in the
morning every eye was on the alert. Beaufort harbor was plainly
visible some miles distant, and we saw, besides, what we did not
care to see. “Sail astern!” shouted the lookout; and then came the
cry: “Sail on the starboard bow!” and then again: “Sail on the port
bow.” Things looked rather blue. The vessel astern did not cause us
much anxiety, but the blockaders on our port and starboard bows,
although not directly in our course, were so far ahead that if we
attempted to run in we might expect to be cut off. But Captain
Pegram was prepared for the emergency. “The Stars and Stripes” were
run up at the mainmast head, and a small private signal of Messrs.
Spofford & Tileston, the former agents of the vessel, was run up at
the foremast. Our course was then changed so that we headed for the
nearer of the two United States vessels. The “Stars and Stripes”
were displayed by them, in response to our flags, and a vigorous
signaling began. It was plain that the blockader could not make out
the meaning of Spofford & Tileston’s pennant. On we went without
heeding this until Beaufort harbor was not more than five or six
miles distant on our starboard bow. We could see the officers on
the quarter-deck of the blockader, and the men at the guns. The
engines were slowed down, and we blew off steam. The blockader
nearest to us thought that we had something to communicate, and
lowered a boat. As this was done, we hove round, the “Stars and
Stripes” came fluttering to the deck, and the Confederate flag was
run up at the foremast, the mainmast and the peak. With all the
steam we could carry, we dashed on towards Beaufort. The Yankee
now saw the trick, and fired a broadside at us. No harm was done.
She followed rapidly, firing occasionally from the bow guns; but
without injury we crossed the bar under the protection of the guns
of Fort Macon, and came safely to anchor near the railroad wharf,
at Morehead City. For a little while we were in more danger from
our friends than from the enemy. The commandant at Fort Macon took
us for one of the enemy’s vessels, and was about to open on us with
his heavy guns, when one of his officers suggested that, as we were
running towards the fort, they might as well wait until we were
somewhat nearer. This proved our salvation. Before we had reached
the point where they could effectively fire at us from the fort, we
had shown our true colors and given the blockader the benefit of
a clear pair of heels. It was a beautifully calm morning, and the
_Nashville_ surpassed herself. In splendid sailing trim and with
little or no cargo, she must have made sixteen or eighteen knots as
we ran into the harbor.
On the _Nashville_ now all was joy, for the blockader attempted no
further pursuit. The men hurrahed, and the officers tossed up their
caps and congratulated each other on our success. Well they might.
They were looking forward to a speedy reunion with their families
and their friends. For the first time I realized my isolated
position. There was no home or friends for me; nothing but doubt
and uncertainty, yet I had confidence that with time, faith and
energy, I might accomplish what I desired. The day, a pregnant one
for me, was February 28, 1862.