THE CAPTURE OF THE KENSHAW.
Jack Somers sat down on a log at the mouth of the bayou to await the
arrival of the cutter. He was entirely satisfied with what had been
done thus far, and everything was certainly working right; but he would
have felt much safer in regard to the future if such a man as Mr.
Granger had been in command of the expedition. Mr. Dickey was no older
than himself, and had a higher respect for his own personal dignity
than for anything else. And indiscretion might ruin the whole affair,
and return the party to the Middy empty-handed and crest-fallen. Jack
hoped for the best; and, when the boat appeared, he jumped on board,
and reported to Mr. Dickey the success of his mission.
“Very well, Somers. You have behaved yourself with great gallantry,
and I shall take occasion to report your good conduct to the captain,”
replied Mr. Dickey.
“Thank your honor,” added Jack, removing his cap, though he could not
help laughing in his sleeve at the magnificent bearing of the young
officer.
“It is a great satisfaction to an officer to have men upon whom he
can rely, when difficulty and dangerous service is to be performed,”
continued Mr. Dickey, addressing the engineer.
“Yes, sir,” responded that officer,--a man of forty, who had seen more
service before Mr. Dickey was born than the latter had ever performed.
Jack Somers resumed his position in the bow of the boat, on the lookout
now for the cotton-steamer. After the expedition had proceeded a couple
of miles or more, a second lantern was discovered on shore, which was
evidently another signal for the pilot. Jack reported the fact to Mr.
Dickey; and that gentleman was by this time so well trained, that he
knew exactly what to do. Our hero and another man were ordered to land,
and secure the signal-man. The work was accomplished, and the lantern
hung upon a branch of a tree; for Jack concluded that another man could
not be spared for such inactivity as simply holding a lantern.
This signal was displayed at a bend in the bayou; and, when the cutter
came up to the curve, the blazing fires of the cotton-steamer were
discovered at the distance of less than half a mile. Mr. Dickey at once
became excited by the brilliant prospect before him. A smart dash, and
the valuable prize would be his own; and what a joy it would be to
report the success of his mission!
“Give way, my lads!” said Mr. Dickey, warming up with the enthusiasm of
the moment.
“He’ll spoil the whole of it!” groaned Jack in the ear of Tom
Longstone. “We shall have to sneak back like whipped chickens!”
“Why, no, my darling. We can board her, and carry her decks at one
pull,” whispered Tom.
“We may do that; but the rebels will set the prize on fire, disable her
engine, and run her aground, or something of that sort, as soon as they
see us coming. We ought to pounce upon them like cats, when they are
not thinking.”
“Here comes the engineer,” added Tom as Mr. Gordon came forward to
obtain a better view of the scene of operations.
Jack ventured to suggest to him what he had just said to Tom; and the
engineer volunteered to open the subject to Mr. Dickey. The result was
that the men were ordered to lie on their oars. The boat was then moved
into a recess in the bank, where it was concealed by overhanging bushes.
“Now, my lads,” said Mr. Dickey, when he had placed the boat to his
satisfaction. “I expect every man to do his duty. We shall board that
steamer as she comes down, and carry her in the twinkling of an eye.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the crew in a low tone.
“Silence, men!”
The cotton-steamer was now in motion. The signal-lantern at the bend
below assured her pilot that everything was ready; and she came forward
very slowly. Her great furnaces, which were opened occasionally when
the firemen threw in wood, cast a broad glare upon the dark waters of
the bayou. Every heart in the cutter was beating wild with expectation
as she advanced. She was now within a few rods of the boat. Her
forward-deck was but a few inches above the surface of the water,
presenting a most inviting prospect for a boarding-party.
“All ready, my lads!” said Mr. Dickey in a low tone. “Give way!”
The boat dashed forward; and Jack, with the painter in his hand,
leaped on board, and made it fast to a cleat on the forecastle. Tom
Longstone was by his side; and, as Mr. Dickey had not thought to make
a particular distribution of his characters for the exciting drama
which was now acting, the two quartermasters, animated probably by the
instinct of their profession, rushed up the stairs to the boiler-deck,
and thence to the hurricane-deck, from which Jack, outstripping his
companion, bounded into the wheel-house, where, with pistol in hand, he
confronted the astonished Litchfield, _alias_ Lunsley.
“Surrender, or you are a dead man!” shouted Jack.
“Who are you?” demanded the pilot with a horrid oath.
“Do you surrender? or shall I blow your brains out?” yelled Jack, as
Tom Longstone tumbled into the wheel-house.
At this moment, the boat stopped; for Mr. Gordon, the engineer, had
prudently taken possession of the machinery as soon as he came on
board, to prevent the pilot from running the boat aground.
“Mind the helm, Jack, and I’ll settle this ’ere chap,” said Tom, as he
approached the pilot, and thrust his pistol in his face.
“Who are you?” growled Lunsley, retreating into the corner of the
wheel-house.
“I’ll larn ye who I am, you black-hearted traitor!” added Tom, as he
seized him by the collar.
“Hands off, my old joker!” replied the pilot, shaking off his grasp;
for he was a powerful man.
“All right, my hearty! If you don’t surrender like a Christian, I’ll
send you down to Davy Jones!”
Tom evidently intended to put a pistol-ball through his head; but Jack
begged him not to cheat the gallows of its due. After some further
parley, Lunsley concluded to surrender, and gave up his pistols, which
he had had no opportunity to take from his pockets. He was handed over
to a couple of marines, and secured in a safe place.
The cotton-steamer had now come to a dead stand. All the white men on
board had been secured, including the captain, mate, clerk, engineers,
and two pilots. The firemen were negroes; and, being by nature loyal,
they were not molested.
“Our victory is complete,” said Mr. Dickey, who had now made his way to
the wheel-house.
“I beg your honor’s pardon,” said Jack; “but there’s a battery of
artillery on shore, and we had better not stay up here too long.”
“I don’t ask your advice, quartermaster,” replied the commander of the
expedition.
“I beg your honor’s pardon,” added Jack with becoming humility.
Mr. Dickey walked down the hurricane-deck, and back, and then returned
to the wheel-house.
“Strike one bell, quartermaster!” added he.
Jack obeyed the order, and the steamer started.
“Will your honor please to give me the course I am to steer?” asked
Jack meekly.
“Down the stream, of course!” replied Mr. Dickey.
“I am no pilot, sir, for these waters; and she may stick hard and fast
before we go ahead five fathoms.”
“Strike two bells, quartermaster!”
“Two bells, sir!” repeated Jack.
“We have no pilot, certainly,” said Mr. Dickey, more nervously; “but we
must go ahead.”
“If your honor would send the boat ahead to sound, we could work her
down very well,” suggested Jack, when he saw that the accomplished Mr.
Dickey was absolutely at his wits’ end for an expedient.
The commander was graciously pleased to adopt this plan; and Tom
Longstone was ordered to take one of the steamer’s lanterns, and sound
out the channel in the boat. The veteran quartermaster took the lead
from the forecastle, and proceeded to execute the order.
Mr. Dickey placed himself at Jack’s side at the wheel, and the steamer
went ahead again. Her progress was necessarily very slow: but the
lantern in the cutter was a safe guide; and, in due time, she reached
the mouth of the bayou. The boat was then recalled, Raymond taken on
board, and the steamer emerged into the great river. The commander
was relieved from his nervous anxiety, and his remarks became more
brilliant, though he displayed less of the self-sufficiency of his
nature than might have been expected under the circumstances. The
events of the night had inspired him with no small degree of respect
for Quartermaster Somers, and he was less haughty than on former
occasions.
The cotton-steamer had proceeded but a short distance down the river
before the Middy was discovered steaming up. It is quite likely that
Captain Bankhead suffered a great deal during the absence of the
expedition, from anxiety for the safety of his men. The appearance of
the prize must have been a great relief to him: for it removed from
his mind a burden equal in weight to the whole cargo of cotton.
The Middy ran up alongside the Kenshaw,--which was the cotton-steamer’s
name,--after hailing her, and learned that she was indeed the expected
prize.
“Captain Bankhead. I have the honor to report the entire success of the
expedition,” said Mr. Dickey, as he stepped on board the Middy.
“I congratulate you upon your success, Mr. Dickey,” replied the
captain, grasping the hand of the proud and happy young officer. “I
have been trembling for you every moment since your departure.”
“I am happy to say, sir, that everything has worked to my entire
satisfaction. The men behaved themselves with great discretion and
gallantry; and I would particularly recommend Quartermaster Somers to
your favor.”
“Somers again!” laughed Captain Bankhead.
“He conducted himself with remarkable skill and gallantry, sir; and
his conduct merits my entire approbation. I take great pleasure in
reporting his excellent conduct to you, sir; and trust that his merit
will not be overlooked.”
“It shall not be, Mr. Dickey. He shall be particularly mentioned in my
despatch to the flag-officer,” replied the captain, who could hardly
help laughing at the high-flown speech of Mr. Dickey.
The Kenshaw was run up to the bank of the river, and moored to a tree;
for Captain Bankhead did not think it prudent to start for New Orleans
without a pilot. The Middy came to anchor in a position where she could
defend her from any attack from the shore.
Litchfield, the pilot, had been put in irons, and conveyed on board the
Middy. He was silent and sullen, refusing to answer any questions put
to him by the captain. In the morning, however, he appeared to be more
tractable, and expressed his regret for his past conduct.
“I’m true to the Gover’ment, cap’n, and have been from the beginning,”
said he.
“And for that reason you attempted to destroy my vessel!”
“No, sir: I only wanted to get that steamer out, and take her down to
New Orleans. You haven’t any pilot on board now, cap’n; and, if you
will only trust me, I’ll take the Kenshaw down for you, and prove that
I’m a true man.”
“Very well: I will trust you,” replied Captain Bankhead.
“You will find that I’m all right.”
The pilot’s irons were taken off, and he was ordered into the boat. Mr.
Dickey was appointed to the command of the Kenshaw as prize-master, and
Jack was to go in her as wheelman. Captain Bankhead accompanied the
party to the steamer; and, on boarding her, proceeded at once to the
wheel-house, followed by Lunsley. Two marines, armed with muskets and
pistols, were placed in the apartment.
“Somers,” said the captain, “you will remain at the wheel during the
passage down. The pilot will give you steering directions. If the boat
gets aground, you will immediately order the marines to shoot him!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Jack.
“You needn’t take all that trouble, cap’n. I shall do my duty, honor
bright,” added Lunsley.
“You have a strong inducement for doing it,” answered the captain as he
left the wheel-house.
Mr. Dickey gave his orders, and the great furnaces of the Kenshaw
blazed with renewed vigor. The fasts were cast off, and the steamer
commenced her downward trip to New Orleans. The Middy kept close astern
of her, with her guns shotted in readiness to defend her in case of an
attack.
Jack Somers kept his station at the wheel-house for seven long hours,
his breakfast and dinner being brought up to him. Lunsley said very
little on the passage. He was apparently studying his chances to escape
from the strong grip which held him in abeyance: but there sat the
marines, pistol in hand, during the entire trip; and certain death was
the penalty of even a suspicion of treachery.
At one o’clock, the Kenshaw made her landing at the Levee in New
Orleans. The pilot was immediately delivered over to General Butler for
safe keeping; and Jack, who had not slept a wink during the preceding
night, appropriated the captain’s stateroom to his own use, and turned
in.