LOOKING FOR A PILOT.
Bright and early the next morning the captain of one of the twenty-seven
gunboats that were attached to the Burnside expedition, came out of his
cabin to take a breath of fresh air before sitting down to his
breakfast. He was a large, full-bearded man, had a broad and a narrow
band of gold lace around each sleeve of his coat, a lieutenant's straps
on his shoulders, and wore his hands in his pockets. When he went up the
ladder he lifted his cap to the quarter-deck, and was in turn saluted by
the acting ensign on watch.
"Anything new or strange to tell me, Mr. Robbins?" asked the captain
carelessly.
"Nothing at all, sir, except that a lone contraband came off to us in a
leaky skiff, when I first took charge of the deck," was the reply.
"Does he know anything?" was the captain's next question.
"I did not interrogate him, sir, only just enough to find out that he is
not a pilot."
"Perhaps he knows where we can get one, so you might as well bring him
aft."
A messenger-boy was sent forward to obey this order, and presently
brought to the quarter-deck the lone contraband of whom the ensign had
spoken, and who was none other than Doctor Patten's boy Jonas, whom we
saw watching the Union vessels from his hiding-place on the beach. The
captain asked him who he was and where he belonged, what his master's
politics were, and why he ran away from him and came off to the fleet,
and then he said:
"You told my officer here that you are not a pilot for these waters; but
you must know where I can find one. There ought to be any number of them
on the mainland, for I happen to know that many of you black people make
the most of your living on the water."
"Dat's a fac', moster," replied Jonas, "but I aint no pilot. Dey used to
be some on de mainland, but dey aint dar now. Dey up to de forts on de
Island."
"All of them?" inquired the captain. "Can't you think of a single man
hereabouts who knows the channel through Croatan Sound?"
"Not about here, I can't," answered the black boy, "an' I tell you dat
fur de truth. Dey is all on de Island waitin' for you uns to come wha'
dey is; but dey's two back in de country a piece."
"How far back in the country, and who are they?"
"It's a right smart piece, sar; twenty mile suah, an' mebbe mo'. Name
Mahcy Gray an' Cap'n Beardsley, sar."
"Are they Union or secesh?"
"Well, sar, dere's Mahcy Gray, he's de best kind of a Union boy; but de
other one, he's----"
"Boy!" interrupted the captain. "I don't want any boy to take charge of
my ship. This is no boy's play," he added, returning the salute of his
executive officer, who just then came up the ladder. "If I understand
the flag-officer's plans, we are to lead one division of the fleet in
the attack; and if we go on until we are aground, and the division
follows in our wake, there will be the mischief to pay, for the other
vessels draw more water than we do."
"Sakes alive, moster! Mahcy Gray won't nebber run you on de groun',"
exclaimed the negro, with so much earnestness in his tones that the
captain turned about and listened to him. "He de bes' boy fur de Union
you eber see, an' he take you right fru de Sound, wid his eyes shet, on
de blackest night you eber was out in. But dat rebel Beardsley you don't
want no truck wid him. He know wha' de deep watah is mighty well, but he
aint gwine to take you dar. He run you on de groun' suah's you live and
breathe."
"Never mind talking about that. You called him captain a minute ago.
What is he captain of?"
"Well, sar, moster, previous to de beginning of de wah he was cap'n ob a
trader; but endurin' de wah he run a privateer an' blockade runner; de
_Osprey_ he call her."
"What?" exclaimed the gunboat captain, so suddenly that Jonas jumped,
and the executive and the officer of the deck looked surprised. "Did you
call him Beardsley, and say that he commanded the _Osprey?_"
"Dat's de name, moster," replied Jonas. "He cotch some Yankee vessels
outside, an' when de gunboats get too thick on de bar, he take de two
big guns out, load up wid cotton, an' run de blockade."
"What was his object in taking the guns out?" inquired the captain; and
the negro went on to explain what the reader already knows--that
Beardsley had disarmed and disguised his little vessel in order to
deceive the cruisers along the coast. If he had been captured with
nothing but cotton on board, the Federal authorities would not be likely
to hang him and his men as pirates, which they might have done if they
had caught him while he had two howitzers on his gun-deck and a supply
of small-arms and ammunition in his cabin. The gunboat captain listened
attentively, and seemed very much impressed by what the negro had to
say; and when the latter ceased speaking he turned his back upon him,
and said to his executive officer:
"Mr. Watkins, I have wanted to meet that man for--for an age, it seems
to me now. He is the villain who robbed me of the _Mary Hollins_, and
ironed my crew like felons--like felons, sir, and in spite of my earnest
protest." Then turning once more to the negro, he inquired, "Can you
guide a squad of my men to Beardsley's house and Gray's to-night? You
told me, I believe, that they live twenty miles or more inland."
"Dat's about de distance of de journey you will have to travel, sar,"
answered Jonas.
"I kin go da', kase I know de house whar dey resides. But de cap'n don't
live da' no more sense de Union men riz up in de night an' burn him
out."
"I don't care how many times he has been burned out, nor who did it.
What I want to know is if you can take my officers where they can put
their hands on him to-night."
Yes; Jonas was quite positive he could do that.
"All right; but look here, boy," said the captain, shaking his finger at
Jonas. "Tell me the truth now, or you will never see another sunrise.
Are there any rebels ashore between here and the place where those two
pilots live?"
"Oh, yes, sar; dere's plenty of dem at Plymouth, moster."
"I am as well aware of that fact as you are," interrupted the captain.
"What I want particularly to know is if there are any cavalry scouting
around who would be likely to pick up the men I shall probably send
ashore to-night."
"Not now, dey aint, sar; but a while ago dey was piles of dem. Dey go
round to all de plantations an' tooken away de black ones en' make 'em
wuk on de forts. I wuk on dem myself."
"Consequently there may be some cavalry out there now," said the
captain. "But I warn you, boy, that if you lead my men among them----"
"Who? Me?" exclaimed the negro, in accents of alarm. "'Fore de Lawd,
moster, you don't think Jonas would do dat? Why, sar, Ise been prayin'
fur you uns to come, an' so has all de black ones. Dem rebels kill me
suah, if dey see me wid de Yankees."
"And so will I if you take my men where the rebels can get hold of them;
so that will make twice you will be killed. That will do for the
present, but I may want to ask you some more questions by and by. Go
for'ad. Beardsley, Beardsley!" continued the captain, turning again to
his chief officer, who wore an acting-master's uniform. "I remember that
when I was a prisoner on board the _Osprey_ I heard one of the mates
address my captor by that name, and it somehow runs in my mind that this
pilot we have been talking about is the same man. I made the best effort
at escape that I could, but the _Hollins_ was so heavily loaded that she
moved through the water as though she had a hawser dragging over the
stern; and besides he had the weather gauge of me. I showed him some
pretty fair seamanship, and he might have given me and my men kind
treatment in return for it."
"Certainly, sir," answered the executive. "A brave man always respects a
brave foe."
"But he didn't, Mr. Watkins. On the contrary, when we got into Newbern,
and the mob on the wharf began howling and calling us names, as they did
the minute they caught sight of us, Captain Beardsley made no effort to
stop them. He rather seemed to enjoy it. Give me a chance to take a good
look at him when he is brought on board, and if he is the man I think he
is, I want you to have him put into the brig without the loss of a
moment and into double-irons besides. That was the way he served my
crew. As soon as I have taken my coffee I will go down and tell the
flag-officer what I have learned and what I intend to do with his
permission; so I shall want my gig presently."
The captain went into his cabin, and when he came out again, a short
time afterward, he was dressed in full uniform and wore his side-arms.
He seemed to be in no particular hurry to leave the vessel, for although
breakfast had been served and eaten, the long red meal pennant was still
floating from the masthead, and the blue-jackets were smoking their
pipes on the forecastle; but Jonas was loitering around, looking as
happy as a darky always does after he has enjoyed a hearty repast, and
when he saw the captain beckoning to him he came aft. What the Union
officer wanted to question him about this time was as to the quickest
and safest methods that could be employed to take a company of, say
fifty men, through the country to Beardsley's house and Gray's, and
bring them back to the fleet. Would it be necessary for this company to
march overland, or could it go the whole or a part of the way in boats?
and was there any danger that the men would be forced to fight their
way? Jonas answered all his questions as readily as though he had known
beforehand what they were going to be; and when the captain brought the
interview to a close by sending the negro forward again, he held in his
hand a rude map of all the principal waterways that intersected the
mainland south of Plymouth and north and west of Middletown, and had
learned how the garrison at the first-named town could be easily and
safely avoided. Then he stepped into his gig, which was called away when
the meal pennant was hauled down, and was taken on board the flagship.
His superior officer must have approved of the plans which Captain
Benton (for that was the name of the Yankee skipper who had once been
Lon Beardsley's prisoner) submitted for securing the services of a pilot
who was familiar with the waters through which the fleet was to sail to
victory, although not very much was done toward carrying them out until
after dark. The day was not a favorable one for a movement on the part
of the Union forces, for a thick fog came rolling in from the sea and
covered the waters of the Sound. Once during the forenoon it lifted long
enough to disclose the rebel fortifications on the Island, and the
double rows of piles and sunken ships through which the _Fairy Belle_
had sailed a few weeks before, with Commodore Lynch's eight boats above,
and then it settled down again thicker than ever. But two of the Union
commanders at least were not idle, and when darkness came to conceal its
movements, the expedition which they had quietly prepared during the day
put off for the shore. It consisted of four cutters filled with
small-armed men, two being from Captain Benton's vessel and the others
from the gunboat that lay next astern. The work of securing the pilots
was to be done by two squads of twenty men each, one under command of
Captain Benton's executive officer, the second being led by an acting
ensign from the other vessel. Mr. Watkins's boat was first in the line
and the boy Jonas, who crouched in the bow of his cutter, was the guide
and pilot.
A second expedition, which put off from the flag-ship an hour later,
held straight for the shore and stopped when it got there; but the one
in whose fortunes we are at present most interested did not stop. It
turned into the mouth of a little river which was seldom navigated, even
by the fishing and trading boats that were so numerous in the Sound. It
was known as Middle River; and if Jonas, who had lived upon its banks
ever since he could remember, had been asked how long it was and where
it took its rise, he would have been obliged to say that he did not
know. But he did know that by following some of its numerous tributaries
the expedition could pass in the rear of the forts at Plymouth into
Seven Mile Creek, and land within a few hundred yards of Captain
Beardsley's house and Marcy's. And that was just what it did.
Although the strictest silence and caution were observed, the progress
of the blue-jackets was not as slow and laborious as those who knew
where they were going thought it would be, and neither did they see or
hear anything to be afraid of. Only once during the long hours they
passed in those narrow, crooked streams did they hear a sound to tell
them where they were, and that was when a distant sentry on the right
bank, and a little astern of them, shouted the number of his post and
called out that all was well. Then the blue-jackets drew a long breath
of relief, and congratulated themselves and each other on having passed
Plymouth without knowing it. Perhaps this was a fortunate thing for
Jonas. It might have frightened the wits all out of him if he had
dreamed of such a thing, but the two sailors who crouched by his side in
the leading cutter held revolvers in their hands, and were under orders
to shoot him down at the first sign of treachery. He knew, however, that
they were watching him, for on several occasions, when it was found
necessary to change the course of the boat in order to follow the
windings of the stream, they had cautioned him to clap a stopper on his
jaw-tackle and pass his instructions aft in a whisper, like any other
white gentleman.
"Da' now! Da' now!" said Jonas suddenly.
"Not so loud, you black rascal," commanded one of the guards,
emphasizing his words with a crushing grip on the negro's shoulder.
"What's the row?"
"Cap'n Beardsley used to live right ober da', 'fore de Union men riz up
an' burn' him out," replied Jonas.
"We don't care where he used to live," growled the tar. "Where does he
live now?"
"Right ober da'," repeated the negro. "An' you uns got ter lan' heah on
de lef' han' side ob de bayou."
This information was duly passed aft to Mr. Watkins, who sat in the
stern-sheets by the side of the coxswain, and the first cutter was
turned in toward the bank, the others following close in her wake. When
Mr. Watkins stepped ashore, he demanded of Jonas why he had landed the
expedition in those dark woods where there was not a sign of a house to
be seen; and the negro hastened to explain that the road lay about a
quarter of a mile straight ahead, and that the house in which Beardsley
formerly lived stood on the other side of it. The drive-way, which ran
close by the ruins of the dwelling, led into a lane that passed through
the quarter; and there, in the overseer's house, was where Beardsley
lived now. This much having been learned, and a guard being left in
charge of the boats, forty sailors, with Jonas and his keepers at their
head, began threading their way through the thick bushes in the
direction in which the road lay. Twenty minutes' time sufficed to bring
them to it, but when Jonas began giving further instructions and
directions Mr. Watkins interrupted him.
"Right da' is de drive-way," said he, "an' down da' is de lane dat goes
fru de quarter. Look out fur de houn' dogs, an' don't waste no time in
foolin', kase Beardsley's niggers say he mighty timersome sense you
Yankees come on de coast, an' de fust thing you know he run out de back
do' an' take to de bresk. Now, sar, moster----"
"Take the boy with you and go ahead, Mr. Burnham," commanded the
executive officer. "And it might be well for you to act upon the hint he
has given, and surround the house as quickly and quietly as possible.
Remember the signal, and when you are done with the boy send him back to
me under guard."
In obedience to these orders Mr. Burnham's squad moved through the open
gate at a quick but noiseless pace, Jonas and his keepers leading the
way, and in a few minutes disappeared in the darkness. Ten minutes were
passed in silence, and then the angry protests of a small army of dogs,
mingled with the doleful yelps of one which had been knocked endways by
a savage blow from the butt of a Spencer carbine in the hands of a
blue-jacket, whom he had tried to seize by the throat, arose on the
still air, being almost immediately followed by a single shrill note
from a boatswain's whistle. This was the signal agreed upon, and it
brought to Mr. Watkins' ears the intelligence that if Captain Beardsley
was in his house, he was now shut up in it and could not escape. In less
than ten minutes more Jonas and his two guards were heard coming back
along the drive-way at double-quick; whereupon Mr. Watkins's own squad,
which up to this time had remained motionless in the road, set out at a
brisk walk for Mrs. Gray's dwelling.
"This is the place where the Union pilot lives, is it?" said Mr.
Watkins, when Jonas halted and pointed out the house.
"Yes, sar, moster, dat's de place. No dogs heah to pester you, kase ole
Bose done killed by de robbers. I speck Mahcy Gray mighty dubersome
sense dem robbers been heah, an' mebbe he fight; but you uns luf Jonas
talk to him, an' clem you see him open de front do' too quick. No need
to circumroun' dis house. Marse Mahcy aint gwine run off."
Mr. Watkins's men were moving toward the house while the negro was
talking in this way, and now they were drawn up in line in front of the
gallery by the master's mate, who was second in command, while Mr.
Watkins mounted the steps and pounded upon the door with such effect
that he awoke echoes in all the wide halls. The startling summons
frightened old Morris so badly that he drew his head under the
bed-clothes; sent Julius like a shot out of the back window and
scurrying barelegged through the garden; reached the ears of a pale but
resolute woman, who hastily began arraying herself in such garments as
she could find in the dark, and brought out of bed an excited,
determined boy who opened an upper window with a crash, and shoved the
muzzles of two heavy revolvers down at the blue-jackets. This was Marcy
Gray. When his eye fell upon the double line of men in front of the
house he made up his mind that the robbers had come out in full force
this time.
"Get out of that, or I will blow some of you to kingdom come!" said he,
without a quiver in his voice. "One--two----"
"Avast there!" exclaimed the master's mate.
"Don't shoot, Marse Mahcy, honey!" cried Jonas, who thought that both
the revolvers were pointed straight at his own head. "Dese yer folks all
Yankees, sar; all Yankees de las' blessed one ob 'em, sar."
"Jonas, is that you?" said Marcy, who could scarcely believe his ears.
"What brought you here at this hour of the night, and how came you in
the company of such a gang as that?"
"If you are Marcy Gray, I beg to assure you that we are here for no evil
purpose," said Mr. Watkins, who now came down from the porch and looked
up at the boy. "We want to see you particularly. Come down, if you
please, and let me explain."
"You're quite sure you are Union, are you?" said Marcy, who, at first,
could not make up his mind that this was not a ruse on the part of
lawless men to gain admission to the house; but, on second thought, he
concluded that it was not, for, if they had been determined to come in,
they could have done it by breaking down the doors, or smashing the
windows, and that, too, without taking the trouble to call him and his
mother.
"We are quite positive on that point," answered Mr. Watkins. "We belong
to the Burnside expedition. You knew we were in the Sound, I suppose?"
"I am satisfied, and will be down while you are thinking about it," said
Marcy, slamming the window, and hastening back to his room.
He lingered there long enough to put on a few articles of clothing, and
then ran down the stairs with a lighted lamp in his hand. In the lower
hall he found his mother, who was bravely striving to nerve herself to
face something more dreadful than she had yet experienced. She had heard
Marcy talking to the men who were gathered in front of the house, and,
although she had not been able to catch any of the words that passed
between them, she was somewhat reassured when she looked into her son's
beaming face.
"Who are they?" she asked calmly. "Surely they do not act like the
robbers, who----"
"They are Yankees from the fleet, and want to see me about something,"
was the excited reply. "Will you take this lamp into the parlor while I
admit them?"
Certainly his mother would do that; but what could the Yankees want of
Marcy at that time of night, and how did they hear of him, in the first
place, and find out where he lived?
"Doctor Patten's boy, Jonas, told them, most likely; but when and where
they picked him up beats me. I can't imagine what they want, either; but
I will open the door for them as readily as I would for Jack," replied
Marcy; and, as his mother turned into the parlor with the lamp, he went
down the hall to the front door.
"Are you Marcy Gray, the pilot?" inquired Mr. Watkins, as the two
saluted each other, instead of shaking hands.
"Caesar's ghost!" was the ejaculation that trembled on the boy's lips;
and then he wondered if he was to be arrested for acting as pilot for
Captain Beardsley's privateer and blockade runner.
"Because, if you are, you are the man I want to see," continued the
officer.
"Will you come in?" answered Marcy, who thought it best to hold his
peace until he had received some insight into the nature of the business
that had brought his visitor there.
The latter complied, and, when he entered the parlor, was rather taken
aback to find a dignified lady there. He saluted her courteously, and,
without intending to do so, added to her fears at the same time that he
explained his errand, by saying:
"I beg a thousand pardons, madam, for intruding upon your privacy at
this unseemly hour; but the truth is, our fleet has gone as far toward
the enemy as it can go without the aid of pilots to direct its
movements. The name of Marcy Gray has been mentioned to my commander,
Captain Benton, and I am here to secure his services."
"Oh, sir!" cried Mrs. Gray, clasping her hands appealingly. "Would you
cruelly rob me of the only son I have left, and take him into battle? He
has already been sadly injured during this terrible war."
The fact that Marcy carried one of his arms in a sling had not escaped
the notice of the officer, and now he looked at the boy rather sharply.
There was but one conclusion to be drawn, he told himself: If Marcy got
that wounded arm in battle, he must have been fighting on the
Confederate side.
"I was not aware that the young man was in the service," said he coldly.
"I thought he was Union."
"And so I am," exclaimed Marcy. "I have a brother in your service, and
he is aboard one of your gunboats at this moment. I know, for I took him
out to the fleet before the fortifications at Roanoke Island were
completed. Did you speak of a Captain Benton just now? I once met a
sea-captain of that name, but of course the commander of a Union
war-ship can't be the man I saw insulted and abused by a mob in
Newbern."
"How and when did that happen?" demanded the officer, his face
exhibiting the profoundest interest.
"It was when the crew of the prize-schooner _Mary Hollins_ were marched
off to jail," replied Marcy. "It was no fault of mine that I saw them
captured, for I am Union to the backbone. I have been persecuted on
account of my principles----"
"My lad," exclaimed Mr. Watkins, taking Marcy's uninjured hand in both
his own, "were you on the _Osprey_ when she made a prize of the schooner
_Hollins?_"
"I was," answered Marcy, becoming as excited as the officer appeared to
be. "I passed as her pilot and drew pay as such; but I did duty as
foremast hand most of the time, and sailed on her because I could not
help myself. May I ask if you know anything about it? I do not remember
of seeing you among the crew."
"I know all about it although I wasn't there," answered Mr. Watkins,
whose astonishment would scarcely permit him to speak plainly. "My
commander, Captain Benton, was master of the _Mary Hollins_ at the time
she was captured by that pirate. He is now acting volunteer lieutenant
in the navy of the United States, and commands one of the finest vessels
in Flag-officer Goldsborough's squadron."
Marcy Gray had never been more amazed in his life.