went at full steam ahead through the channel over the bar, guided only
by the faint lights the Confederates had cunningly placed to enable
ships to enter the river safely. Hobart navigated his vessel by these,
and crossed the bar; and then saw that a large barge had been placed by
the Federals at the entrance for the purpose of signalling if any ship
tried to slip out. The cotton ship almost ran the barge down, but by
quick manœuvring avoided doing so, and steamed on. Next instant there
was the _whoosh! whoosh!_ and a rocket sped heavenwards--the warning
to the blockading fleet. Then there was the boom of a gun; but Hobart
pushed forward, turned eastward, steaming a mile or so from the coast.
Now and then there came the sound of guns being fired, sometimes quite
close at hand; but they saw no ship, neither were they seen by any
apparently, for nothing untoward happened until about nine o’clock the
next morning, when through the rising mist they saw a large cruiser
bearing down upon them.
It was a case of running for it, and the cotton ship sped on with her
engines pounding out every ounce of power there was in them. After her
came the cruiser, gaining at every yard, for the cargo of the runner
was very heavy, and she was unable to show a clean pair of heels to the
pursuer.
Some of the bales of cotton were shifted aft in order to sink the
screws as deep as possible, and so increase the speed; but even this
did not help them much, and the cruiser was still gaining. Then Hobart
had a stroke of luck. About a mile in front of him he saw peculiar
ripples which he knew betokened the proximity of the Gulf Stream. If he
could only get his ship into the stream quickly he might stand a chance
of escape, for the Gulf Stream, going at the rate of three miles an
hour, would help them on their way considerably. The course was altered
at once, and the cotton ship sped on towards the stream, into which
she entered; and immediately her speed was accelerated. Meanwhile, the
cruiser had also changed course, but had not got into the bosom of the
stream, with the result that after a time Hobart found he had gained
some seven miles on her.
Then about twelve o’clock the cruiser entered the stream, and again
the distance between the two ships lessened, till by five o’clock
only about three miles separated them; and shortly after the cruiser
opened fire without result. Seven o’clock, and she was still nearer,
for her shots went over the cotton ship, and Hobart began to think it
was a case of giving up. Then night fell, and the sky was overcast;
fortunately the cotton ship was in shadow cast by the moon shining over
edge of clouds. This made a huge difference to their chance of escape,
for when it came out from behind the clouds it showed the chasing
cruiser quite plainly, but did not reveal her quarry, although she was
barely a mile away. Luck was certainly on Hobart’s side!
Changing his course, in order to confuse his pursuer, who was still
firing guns in rapid succession, although she could not see her aim,
Hobart presently gave the order to “Stop!” and the cotton ship came
to rest, steam was blown off under water, and the still and silent
ship remained there till presently the men on board saw the cruiser go
racing past them, firing madly at nothing!
Hobart got that cargo of cotton through all right!
Another Confederate blockade-runner was Captain William Watson, of the
_Rob Roy_ schooner. He was also a dispatch-carrier on the occasion we
are about to narrate, Major-General Magruder having entrusted him with
important documents which he was to deliver to the Confederate States
consul at Havana.
The night decided on to make the run was dark, and there was a good
strong wind, but an uncertain one; outside the mouth of the Brazos
River lurked a number of Federal cruisers and gunboats. Watson had for
company two other schooners, the _Hind_ and the _Mary Elizabeth_. The
_Rob Roy_ took the pilot aboard and led the way down the river and over
the bar; the _Rob Roy_ and the _Mary Elizabeth_ managed to get away
without being seen, but the _Hind_ dropped astern and was captured.
Once clear of the mouth of the river the other two schooners sped
under all the sail they dare hoist, having to be sparing with it lest
the white show against the cliffs and reveal their presence. They had
something like ten or eleven hours of darkness before them, and hoped
to be well away from the watchful cruisers by that time. A gale sprang
up, for which they were thankful, as it carried the ships along at a
rattling pace. The _Mary Elizabeth_, however, was separated from the
_Rob Roy_, which romped through the seas at a speed that delighted
Watson, for by noon next day they had come a hundred and thirty miles
without anything unforeseen happening. The only unfortunate thing was
that the ship was now in the track of Federal cruisers searching for
blockade-runners between New Orleans and Point Isabel; and while Watson
was thinking seriously of this the wind dropped and the schooner was
becalmed. The sails were lowered, so that the ship should not be so
noticeable to any passing vessel, and Watson paced his deck eating his
head off with impatience, expecting every minute to see a cruiser on
the horizon. At two o’clock he saw a ship which he knew spelt danger.
Instantly he made up his mind what to do. In the Brazos River they had
picked up a couple of sweeps, and these were brought into use, together
with boat oars. Then all the men available bent their backs to the
task of rowing the schooner! They steered her so that she would go out
of the course of the new-comer, and after working like niggers for
goodness knows how long they managed to get her three miles, and then
saw the other vessel pass them seven miles away. Watson thanked his
lucky stars that he had taken in his sails, for the bare poles he knew
would be scarcely visible to a steamer at such a distance away.
So far, so good. Towards evening a light breeze came up, sails were
set once more, and the schooner went on her way until early next
morning, when the wind dropped again, and the sails were lowered as
before. She was becalmed for that day and the following night; and in
the morning there appeared a large ship which some of the men aboard
were sure was a man-o’-war. So it was out sweeps again to get the
schooner out of danger. When they were some nine miles away from the
man-o’-war the wind came up, which--strange how men get what they want
when they would rather be without it!--they regarded as unfortunate,
for they dared not hoist sail lest they be discovered.
Eventually, however, it was decided to take the risk, and every inch of
canvas was crowded on, and away sped the _Rob Roy_, Watson hoping to
get clear before the man-o’-war had a chance to hoist her sails. They
had gone some distance when they noticed that the wind had caught the
warship, and that she had hoisted all her canvas and was pelting along
after them as fast as she could sail. Watson suddenly tacked, and the
large vessel, keeping on her port tack, passed by to leeward some six
miles away. Then, when she tacked about to follow them, Watson went
back to his old course, and once more gained on her, for every time the
warship changed course she had to lose way.
So the queer chase went on; but the warship gained upon the _Rob
Roy_, and Watson’s one hope was that he would be able to keep at a
safe distance, out of range of her guns, until night fell, when he
would stand a better chance of giving her the slip. The sailors on the
man-o’-war, anticipating that the wind would soon drop, worked hard to
get their vessel as near to the runaway as possible, so that if that
should happen they might be able to tackle her in their boats. Watson
knew this, and still kept tacking about to increase the distance,
until at last the wind did fall and the two ships were becalmed.
The man-o’-war was some four miles off then, and Watson had his sweeps
and oars out again, the men falling to with a will; but as there was a
slight sea against them they were not able to propel the ship so far
as they had done previously. Soon Watson saw a couple of boats put off
from the warship, their men pulling with all their might, hoping to
catch the schooner before the breeze came up again. When they were a
mile away the wind came, and the _Rob Roy_, aided by the sweeps, began
to make some way, but not sufficient to outpace the boats, one of which
came to within a quarter of a mile. The men on board now began to think
that all was up, that they might just as well surrender; and Watson got
his dispatches ready to throw overboard. He had wrapped them in canvas,
weighted with a piece of chain, so that they should sink and not fall
into the enemy’s hands.
Just when it seemed that they must be overhauled the wind became
stronger, and the men, working hard at their sweeps, the sails bulging
out as they caught the breeze, carried the schooner along at a pace
that soon left the boats far behind; and the men stood up and waved
their hands tauntingly to the sailors who had thought to have them in a
few minutes.
A rifle-shot rang out across the waters, then others, and the bullets
whistled across the deck, narrowly missing the men. The warship now
made after her boats, to pick them up, and this gave the _Rob Roy_ a
better chance of escape. Then the wind freshened so much that Watson
became nervous; too much wind was not good for the overladen _Rob Roy_,
and the sea was getting very boisterous. To make matters worse, the
schooner was leaking very badly, and some of the men had to be told off
to work the pumps for all they were worth.
As night fell the warship had gained considerably, and opened fire
with her guns, the shots, however, falling short. Then the _Rob Roy_
was hidden by the darkness. Watson at once changed his tack in order
to baffle the pursuer, and all through the night the schooner scudded
before the wind, and by morning had left the cruiser far behind,
reaching Tampico in due course without further adventure.
ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND
The Story of Some Castaways--and a Scoundrel
In October, 1628, there sailed from the Texel a Dutch ship, the
_Batavia_, under the command of Captain Francis Pelsart. Now Pelsart
wasn’t the best of navigators, and after having been at sea for nine
months he lost his way on a trackless ocean, and, though he did not
know it, he was close to the islands known as Houtman’s Abrohos, or
Houtman’s Rocks, off the west coast of Australia--the seas in that
quarter of the globe not being, as every schoolboy knows, the best
known in those far-off days. As a matter of fact, Captain Pelsart was
having a run of hard luck--lost, sick, and with a coming wreck in
front of him, and not far off, either. While Pelsart lay in his cabin,
without warning of any kind except the booming of the breakers, the
_Batavia_ went pounding on a shoal off Houtman’s Rocks, where she stuck
fast.
Jumping out of his cabin, Pelsart rushed on deck, and, seeing the
position of things, soundly rated the master for his neglect; whereupon
that worthy pointed out, quite convincingly, that he wasn’t to blame,
seeing that as the place where they were had not been visited by anyone
else before--so far as he knew--how was he to know the reefs and
shoals? This argument, of course, commended itself to Pelsart, who,
realising that the best must be made of a bad job, bethought himself of
getting the _Batavia_ off the shoal. He had the cannon with which the
ship was armed pitched overboard, in the hope that this would lighten
her sufficiently to float her. But the _Batavia_ refused to be floated,
and when a sudden and heavy squall came down on her Pelsart really
thought everything was over; but the _Batavia_ weathered it all right,
and, taking a last desperate chance, the captain ordered the mainmast
to be cut away. This was done, but in such a way that, instead of going
clear over, it fell on the deck.
Convinced finally that there was no chance of getting his ship off,
Pelsart wondered what was to be done for the safety of his passengers
and crew. Just a little distance away, in the bright moonlight, he
could see two small islands, while some three leagues off lay a larger
island. He resolved to have the islands inspected to see what they
were like, and therefore sent the master of the ship on that errand.
Meanwhile, on board the _Batavia_ reigned a miniature pandemonium;
women were shrieking, children crying, grown men were raving; and the
ship was beginning to break up, so that altogether poor Pelsart had
his hands full, and was relieved when the master returned and reported
favourably on the islands. There were, all told, 230 people on board,
and, women and children going first, 120 were landed on the large
island and forty on the smaller one near at hand, leaving seventy still
to be landed. These also would have been rescued but for the fact
that the crew behaved as no sailors ever should; they began to drink
heavily, and got out of hand, for which reason only a very few barrels
of water were landed, and twenty barrels of bread. Now, one would
imagine that a castaway crowd’s first thought would be to conserve the
food they had got, but this particular crowd did quite the other thing,
and began to waste both food and water, with the result that one of
the crew went back to the ship, by which Pelsart was still standing,
telling him not to send any more provisions for a while. Pelsart
therefore went ashore, leaving an officer and seventy men on the ship.
Arrived on shore, the captain discovered that the tale brought to
him was quite correct; scarcely any water was left. Resolved to make
this good, he tried to return to the ship to supervise the sending
of further barrels; but the weather had become too rough for him to
venture, and he had to hold back. Meanwhile, the ship’s carpenter,
taking his life in his hands, swam ashore with the news that the ship’s
crew on board were in a pretty bad way, and that unless something were
done they would be all flung headlong into the sea when the ship broke
up. Pelsart, unable to go himself, prevailed upon the carpenter to go
back and tell the crew to hold on a while, and busy themselves with
making rafts on which to float to shore. But the crew, although they
did all they could, were unable to get to shore because the sea was
now running heavier than ever, and to trust oneself on the pounding
waves was to court disaster. Therefore they had to remain on the wreck,
while Pelsart fumed and fretted at the thought of not being able to do
anything for them.
Neither the larger island nor the smaller one, on which Pelsart himself
was stranded, had any water besides that which had been brought; and
this was little enough, in all conscience. The people who had been so
prodigal of it at the beginning now came to see that without water they
would surely perish. What was to be done? Water they must have; and
they urged Pelsart to go to some of the neighbouring islands in quest
of it.
With a captain’s loyalty to his ship’s company, Pelsart refused to go
without the consent of all. Why should he take the main chance of being
able to get away to safety while all the others remained stranded, cast
away without means of sustenance? No, if he went at all, everyone must
agree to his going. The folk on the small island argued with him, but
argued in vain.
“I’ll go over there,” he said, pointing to the larger island, with its
120 poor souls, “and get their consent; or else I’ll go back to the
ship and perish with her.”
There was no gainsaying that, anyway; and so they let him push off the
boat, taking in her a crew sufficient to work her. They were a wily
clique, that crew! When the captain got well away from the island they
refused to take him to the other island. They feared, no doubt, that
the people there would not agree to Pelsart’s going, and they knew
that out at sea Pelsart was helpless against them. The captain raved,
threatened; but raved and threatened in vain. They would not let him
go, and when he jumped up and made as though he would fling himself
overboard and swim back, they none too gently grabbed at him and held
him down by force.
Pelsart scowled and growled at his mutinous crew; but neither black
looks nor hard words moved them, and eventually Pelsart had to come to
an arrangement whereby he agreed to go in search of water, provided he
received a manifesto, signed by all his men, approving of this. Things
being fixed up thus, the captain at last set out on his quest; and a
long, long quest it proved to be.
Day after day he sailed amongst the islands, seeking water, but finding
none; and all the time the supplies were running short. At last he
resolved to go farther afield, and struck off across the trackless
sea, and in a little while found himself off the coast of Australia,
then a continent without a shred of civilisation. He hit the coast at
the spot where Geraldton now stands, and tried to put in at a small
cove; surf, however, romped at the boat, and flung her back each time
she pushed her nose shorewards. Pelsart at last gave up in despair
and sailed to the northwards, following the coast, looking for a
likely spot to land. In due course this was found; but when they did
land the men found no water, and only succeeded in frightening a few
natives, who fled for their lives at the sight of the strange white
men. Off again, to land, probably, at the North-West Cape, where they
found water--rain water! This was not at all hopeful, and, as the
coast had been trending away to the east, Pelsart determined to strike
north-east, where he knew lay Batavia, in Java.
Twenty-two days after leaving his shipwrecked company Pelsart found
himself at Batavia, having sailed nearly sixteen hundred miles in an
open boat. At Batavia, in due course, Pelsart was able to obtain a
frigate, with which he set out to return for his castaways.
Meanwhile, however, things were happening on the islands away down
south. And such things!
The men whom Pelsart had left on the wreck had succeeded in getting
off in safety after many days of anxious waiting, and the last man to
leave was the supercargo, an ex-apothecary of Haarlem who rejoiced in
the name of Jerom Cornelis, and who had ambitions. He wanted to be a
pirate, and thought that he had found a splendid opportunity. He worked
out his plans with delightful thoroughness. First he would kill off all
the honest men of the company, and then, having formed his pirate crew,
take the captain by surprise when he came back, as he firmly believed
he would. Probably Cornelis’s further plans allowed for seizing
Pelsart’s boat, and sailing away with it until he came up with some
large vessel, whose crew his piratical company would eventually succeed
in overpowering, when they would find themselves in possession of a
ship suitable for their purpose of scouring the seas.
But the first step was to get rid of the true men; and as there seemed
to be more of this calibre than Cornelis felt he could deal with at one
operation, he resorted to an artful ruse. Forty men, under the chaplain
and a Mr. Weybhays, were dispatched to another island in search of
water, with instructions to light three fires as a signal of success.
The little band were successful, and lighted their beacons as agreed.
But there was no answer!
What had happened? They were soon to know. Even at the fair distance
he was away Mr. Weybhays could see that something untoward was taking
place on the island, and presently several men sprang into the sea and
began swimming towards him for dear life. What a tale they told when
they reached the island! Hardly had Weybhays left when Cornelis and
his scoundrelly crew had begun to butcher the honest men left behind,
and had succeeded in killing nearly forty! _Now_ Weybhays knew why he
had not received the answering signal; he had evidently been sent off
merely to get rid of him and his company while the ex-apothecary did
his fell work, after which, no doubt, their turn would come.
In this latter surmise Weybhays was right; but first Pirate Cornelis
had other fish to fry. Away on the smaller island were some forty men
who had been landed before Pelsart departed, and Cornelis decided
to go over and wipe out all those who would not throw in their lot
with him. What he was afraid of was that either party might be able
to warn Pelsart on his return, and thus frustrate Cornelis’s evil
plan. So, without loss of time, the pirates rowed over to the small
island, landed, and after a little trouble with the men, who did not
really want to die, succeeded in killing them off, saving only seven
youngsters and five women. On the island, also, they found a number
of chests which had been washed ashore from the wreck, and these
they broke open. They were filled with rich apparel, and the pirates
bedecked themselves in wonderful attire, Cornelis incidentally forming
a bodyguard clothed in scarlet livery. He felt almost a king, I’ll
wager!
For some days the pirates had a gorgeous time, drinking and rioting,
for some of the rum casks had been washed ashore. Then, considering
it time he got to pirate’s business again, the captain-general, as
he called himself, decided to tackle Weybhays and the forty odd men
he had with him. Gathering all the arms he could find, Cornelis took
twenty-two men with him in two light shallops, and went over to settle
accounts with Weybhays.
Weybhays very nearly settled Cornelis, whose crew got a good
thrashing and put back to their island, a sadder and angrier crowd.
The pirate-in-chief, however, refused to be scared, and, arming
thirty-seven men, went back to the attack. He wondered vaguely why
he had got beaten before, for Weybhays’ men were unarmed, except for
roughly fashioned clubs, fitted with long nails. Cornelis felt that it
was a bad start for a pirate gang, and determined to wipe the stain
out. Instead of which, when the second expedition got near the island,
Weybhays and his men, dashing out into the water, fell upon the pirates
with vigour, and, after a fine scrimmage, succeeded in driving them
back, beaten a second time.
[Illustration: “Weybhays and his men fell upon the pirates”]
Cornelis felt hurt. He could see his plans being altogether upset
unless he could cope with Weybhays, and clearly he and his dastardly
crew were no match for that fearless man and his gallant company when
it came to fighting. He must try other means; and try them quickly,
lest Pelsart return and Weybhays be able to warn him.
Cornelis therefore thought of a scheme to outwit Weybhays. Amongst the
latter’s party were two French soldiers, whom the pirate thought might
be willing to come to terms with him and play the traitor--if he could
but get into communication with them. He opened up negotiations with
Weybhays, hoping thereby to be able to correspond with the Frenchmen.
He promised Weybhays that, if the latter would return the boat he had,
his party should not again be attacked, and that some of the salvage
from the _Batavia_ should be given up. Weybhays agreed to this after a
while, and Cornelis hugged himself as he thought that, without a boat,
Weybhays could not warn Pelsart when he appeared; and he hugged himself
more when, during the negotiations, he succeeded in smuggling letters
to the Frenchmen, offering them six thousand livres each if they would
turn traitor to Weybhays, who had insisted upon the treaty being drawn
up in proper order and being signed by both parties.
The captain-general, sure in his own mind that the Frenchmen could not
resist the temptation of his gold, waited serenely for the morning to
come, when he was to go over to Weybhays’ island and sign the treaty;
but in the meantime the gallant French soldiers had decided that it
was better to be honest than to be pirates, and they therefore warned
Weybhays.
Morning came, and with it Cornelis and three or four of his men. He
was in high spirits, anticipating that he was about to get the better
of Weybhays. Instead, he received a shock. Weybhays, making no sign
that he knew aught of Cornelis’s stratagem, went down to the beach and
helped him run his boat up; and then, before Cornelis knew what had
happened, Weybhays and his men fell upon him, knocked him on the head,
and put _hors de combat_ two of his companions, the others succeeding
in escaping in the boat.
Poor old Cornelis! When he came round he found himself trussed like
a fowl for the cooking. Gone all his lofty hopes, shattered all his
ambitions. Weybhays had triumphed.
But away on the other island Cornelis’s ruffianly crew were plotting
and planning on his behalf--also on their own, by the way, for they
felt that Cornelis was the corner-stone of their own safety, and that
unless he were free they did not know how to cope with Pelsart, should
he return. So without delay they tumbled into their boats and went over
to Weybhays’ island, intending to do great deeds and rescue Cornelis.
Weybhays was ready for them, and sent them scuttling off again--soundly
beaten!