The Confederate steamer _Lilian_, of which I was then purser, was
chased for nearly a hundred miles from Cape Lookout by the U.S. steamer
_Shenandoah_, which sailed a parallel course within half a mile of her
and forced the _Lilian_ at times into the breakers. This was probably
the narrowest escape ever made by a blockade runner in a chase. The
_Shenandoah_ began firing her broadside guns at three o'clock in the
afternoon, her gunners and the commanding officers of the batteries
being distinctly visible to the _Lilian's_ crew. A heavy sea was
running, which deflected the aim of the man-of-war, and this alone
saved the _Lilian_ from destruction. A furious bombardment by the
_Shenandoah_, aggravated by the display of the _Lilian's_ Confederate
flag, was continued until nightfall, when, by a clever ruse, the
_Lilian_, guided by the flash of her pursuer's guns, stopped for a
few minutes; then, putting her helm hard over, ran across the wake of
the warship straight out to sea, and, on the following morning, passed
the fleet off Fort Fisher in such a crippled condition that several
weeks were spent in Wilmington for repairs.
The "Lynx" and Her Pilot.
He is now the Rev. James William Craig,[4] Methodist preacher, but I
like to think of him as Jim Billy, the Cape Fear pilot of war times, on
the bridge of the swift Confederate blockade runner _Lynx_, commanded
by the intrepid Captain Reed, as she races through the blackness of
night on her course west nor'west, straight and true for the Federal
fleet off New Inlet, in utter silence, the salt spray of the sea
smiting the faces of the watches as they gaze ahead for the first sign
of imminent danger.
Soon there is added to the incessant noise of wind and waves the
ominous roar of the breakers, as the surf complains to the shore, and
the deep sea lead gives warning of shoaling water. "Half-speed" is
muttered through the speaking tube; a hurried parley; a recognized
landfall, for Reed is a fine navigator, and "Are you ready to take
her, Pilot?" "Ready, sir," comes from Jim Billy in the darkness. Then
the whispered orders through the tube: "Slow down," as there looms
ahead the first of the dread monsters of destruction; "Starboard,"
"Steady." And the little ship glides past like a phantom, unseen as
yet. Then "Port," "Port," "Hard a'port," in quick succession, as she
almost touches the second cruiser. She is now in the thick of the
blockading squadron; and suddenly, out of the darkness, close aboard,
comes the hoarse hail, "Heave to, or I'll sink you," followed by a
blinding glare of rockets and the roar of heavy guns. The devoted
little Confederate is now naked to her enemies, as the glare of rockets
and Drummond lights from many men-of-war illuminate the chase. Under a
pitiless hail of shot and shell from every quarter, she bounds forward
full speed ahead, every joint and rivet straining, while Jim Billy
dodges her in and out through a maze of smoke and flame and bursting
shells. The range of Fort Fisher's guns is yet a mile away. Will she
make it? Onward speeds the little ship, for neither Reed nor Jim Billy
has a thought of surrender. A shell explodes above them, smashing the
wheelhouse; another shell tears away the starboard paddle box; and, as
she flies like lightning past the nearest cruiser, a sullen roar from
Colonel Lamb's artillery warns her pursuers that they have reached
their limitations, and in a few minutes the gallant little ship crosses
the bar and anchors under the Confederate guns. The captain and his
trusty pilot shake hands and go below, "to take the oath," as Reed
described it--for the strain must be relaxed by sleep or stimulation.
"A close shave, Jim," was all the captain said. "It was, sir, for a
fact," was the equally laconic answer.