Some minutes later we were descending a long flight of steps on the
Canadian side, which led to the banks of the river, covered with huge
sheets of ice. Here a boat was waiting to take us to “America.” One
passenger had already taken his place in it. He was an engineer from
Kentucky, and acquainted the Doctor with his name and profession. We
embarked without loss of time, and by dint of steering, so as to avoid
the blocks of ice, reached the middle of the river, where the current
offered a clear passage. From here we had a last view of the magnificent
Niagara cataract. Our companion observed it with a thoughtful air.
“Is it not grand, sir? Is it not magnificent?” said I to him.
“Yes,” replied he; “but what a waste of mechanical force, and what a
mill might be turned with such a fall as that!”
Never did I feel more inclined to pitch an engineer into the water!
On the other bank a small and almost vertical railroad, worked by a rope
on the American side, hoisted us to the top. At half-past one we took
the express, which put us down at Buffalo at a quarter past two. After
visiting this large new town, and tasting the water of Lake Erie, we
again took the New York Central Railway at six o’clock in the evening.
The next day, on leaving the comfortable beds of a “sleeping car,” we
found ourselves at Albany, and the Hudson Railroad, which runs along the
left bank of the river, brought us to New York a few hours later.
The next day, the 15th of April, in company with the indefatigable
Doctor, I went over the city, East River, and Brooklyn. In the evening I
bade farewell to the good Dean Pitferge, and I felt, in leaving him,
that I left a friend.
Tuesday, the 16th of April, was the day fixed for the departure of the
“Great Eastern.” At eleven o’clock I went to Thirty-seventh pier, where
the tender was to await the passengers. It was already filled with
people and luggage when I embarked. Just as the tender was leaving the
quay some one caught hold of my arm, and turning round I saw Dr.
Pitferge.
“You!” I cried; “and are you going back to Europe?”
“Yes, my dear sir.”
“By the ‘Great Eastern’?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied the amiable original, smiling; “I have considered
the matter, and have come to the conclusion that I must go. Only think,
this may be the ‘Great Eastern’s’ _last voyage; the one which she will
never complete_.”
The bell for departure had rung, when one of the waiters from Fifth
Avenue Hotel came running up to me, and put a telegram into my hands,
dated from Niagara Falls:—“Ellen has awakened; her reason has entirely
returned to her,” said Captain Corsican, “and the doctor has every hope
of her recovery.”
I communicated this good news to Dean Pitferge.
“Every hope for her indeed! every hope!” said my fellow-traveller, in a
sarcastic tone. “I also have every hope for her, but what good does that
do? Any one may have great hopes for you, for me, for all of us, but at
the same time he may be just as much wrong as right.”...
Twelve days later we reached Brest, and the day following Paris. The
return passage was made without any misfortune, to the great displeasure
of Dean Pitferge, who always expected to see the great ship wrecked.
And now, when I am sitting at my own table, if I had not my daily notes
before me, I should think that the “Great Eastern,” that floating city
in which I lived for a month, the meeting of Ellen and Fabian, the
peerless Niagara, all these were the visions of a dream. Ah! how
delightful is travelling, “even when one does return,” in spite of what
the Doctor may say to the contrary.
For eight months I heard nothing of my original, but one day the post
brought me a letter, covered with many-coloured stamps, which began with
these words:—
“On board the ‘Corinquay,’ Auckland Rocks. At last we have been
shipwrecked.”
And ended thus:—
“Was never in better health.”
“Very heartily yours,
DEAN PITFERGE.”
END OF “A FLOATING CITY.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BLOCKADE RUNNERS.
-------
Table of contents
Chapter Title Page
Chapter I. The “Dolphin.” 197
Chapter II. Getting under sail. 206
Chapter III. 215
Chapter IV. Crockston’s trick. 225
Chapter V. The shot from the “Iroquois,” and 235
miss Jenny’s arguments.
Chapter VI. Sullivan Island channel. 244
Chapter VII. A southern general. 252
Chapter VIII. The escape. 260
Chapter IX. Between two fires. 273
Chapter X. St. Mungo. 284
CHAPTER I.
THE “DOLPHIN.”
The Clyde was the first river whose waters were lashed into foam by a
steam-boat. It was in 1812, when the steamer called the “Comet” ran
between Glasgow and Greenock, at the speed of six miles an hour. Since
that time more than a million of steamers or packet-boats have plied
this Scotch river, and the inhabitants of Glasgow must be as familiar as
any people with the wonders of steam navigation.
However, on the 3rd of December, 1862, an immense crowd, composed of
ship-owners, merchants, manufacturers, workmen, sailors, women, and
children, thronged the muddy streets of Glasgow, all going in the
direction of Kelvin Dock, the large ship-building premises belonging to
Messrs. Tod and Mac Gregor. This last name especially proves that the
descendants of the famous Highlanders have become manufacturers, and
that they have made workmen of all the vassals of the old clan
chieftains.
Kelvin Dock is situated a few minutes’ walk from the town, on the right
bank of the Clyde. Soon the immense timber-yards were thronged with
spectators; not a part of the quay, not a wall of the wharf, not a
factory roof, showed an unoccupied place; the river itself was covered
with craft of all descriptions, and the heights of Govan, on the left
bank, swarmed with spectators.
There was, however, nothing extraordinary in the event about to take
place; it was nothing but the launching of a ship, and this was an
every-day affair with the people of Glasgow. Had the “Dolphin,” then—for
that was the name of the ship built by Messrs. Tod and Mac Gregor—some
special peculiarity? To tell the truth it had none.
It was a large ship, about 1500 tons, in which everything combined to
obtain superior speed. Her engines, of 500 horse-power, were from the
workshops of Lancefield Forge; they worked two screws, one on either
side the stern-post, completely independent of each other. As for the
depth of water the “Dolphin” would draw, it must be very inconsiderable;
connoisseurs were not deceived, and they concluded rightly that this
ship was destined for shallow straits. But all these particulars could
not in any way justify the eagerness of the people: taken altogether the
“Dolphin” was nothing more or less than an ordinary ship. Would her
launching present some mechanical difficulty to be overcome? Not any
more than usual. The Clyde had received many a ship of heavier tonnage,
and the launching of the “Dolphin” would take place in the usual manner.
In fact, when the water was calm, the moment the ebb-tide set in, the
workmen began to operate. Their mallets kept perfect time falling on the
wedges meant to raise the ship’s keel: soon a shudder ran through the
whole of her massive structure; although she had only been slightly
raised, one could see that she shook, and then gradually began to glide
down the well-greased wedges, and in a few moments she plunged into the
Clyde. Her stern struck the muddy bed of the river, then she raised
herself on the top of a gigantic wave, and, carried forward by her
start, would have been dashed against the quay of the Govan
timber-yards, if her anchors had not restrained her.
[Illustration: SHE PLUNGED INTO THE CLYDE.]
The launch had been perfectly successful, the “Dolphin” swayed quietly
on the waters of the Clyde, all the spectators clapped their hands when
she took possession of her natural element, and loud hurrahs arose from
either bank.
But wherefore these cries and this applause? Undoubtedly the most eager
of the spectators would have been at a loss to explain the reason of his
enthusiasm. What was the cause, then, of the lively interest excited by
this ship? Simply the mystery which shrouded her destination; it was not
known to what kind of commerce she was to be appropriated, and in
questioning different groups the diversity of opinion on this important
subject was indeed astonishing.
However, the best informed, at least those who pretended to be so,
agreed in saying that the steamer was going to take part in the terrible
war which was then ravaging the United States of America, but more than
this they did not know, and whether the “Dolphin” was a privateer, a
transport ship, or an addition to the Federal marine, was what no one
could tell.
“Hurrah!” cried one, affirming that the “Dolphin” had been built for the
Southern States.
“Hip! hip! hip!” cried another, swearing that never had a faster boat
crossed to the American coasts.
Thus its destination was unknown, and in order to obtain any reliable
information one must be an intimate friend, or, at any rate, an
acquaintance of Vincent Playfair and Co., of Glasgow.
A rich, powerful, intelligent house of business was that of Vincent
Playfair and Co., in a social sense, an old and honourable family,
descended from those tobacco lords who built the finest quarters of the
town. These clever merchants, by an act of the Union, had founded the
first Glasgow warehouse for dealing in tobacco from Virginia and
Maryland. Immense fortunes were realized; mills and foundries sprang up
in all parts, and in a few years the prosperity of the city attained its
height.
The house of Playfair remained faithful to the enterprising spirit of
its ancestors, it entered into the most daring schemes, and maintained
the honour of English commerce. The principal, Vincent Playfair, a man
of fifty, with a temperament essentially practical and decided, although
somewhat daring, was a genuine shipowner. Nothing affected him beyond
commercial questions, not even the political side of the transactions,
otherwise he was a perfectly loyal and honest man.
However, he could not lay claim to the idea of building and fitting up
the “Dolphin;” she belonged to his nephew, James Playfair, a fine young
man of thirty, the boldest skipper of the British merchant marine.
It was one day at the Tontine coffee-room under the arcades of the
Town-hall, that James Playfair, after having impatiently scanned the
American journal, disclosed to his uncle an adventurous scheme.
“Uncle Vincent,” said he, coming to the point at once, “there are two
millions of pounds to be gained in less than a month.”
“And what to risk?” asked Uncle Vincent.
“A ship and a cargo.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing, except the crew and the captain, and that does not reckon for
much.”
“Let us see,” said Uncle Vincent.
“It is all seen,” replied James Playfair. “You have read the _Tribune_,
the _New York Herald_, the _Times_, the _Richmond Inquirer_, the
_American Review_?”
“Scores of times, nephew.”
“You believe, like me, that the war of the United States will last a
long time still?”
“A very long time.”
“You know how much this struggle will affect the interests of England,
and especially those of Glasgow?”
“And more especially still the house of Playfair and Co.,” replied Uncle
Vincent.
“Theirs especially,” added the young Captain.
“I worry myself about it every day, James, and I cannot think without
terror of the commercial disasters which this war may produce; not but
that the house of Playfair is firmly established, nephew; at the same
time it has correspondents which may fail. Ah! those Americans,
slave-holders or abolitionists, I have no faith in them!”
If Vincent Playfair was wrong in thus speaking with respect to the great
principles of humanity, always and everywhere superior to personal
interests, he was, nevertheless, right in a commercial point of view.
The most important material was failing at Glasgow, the cotton famine
became every day more threatening, thousands of workmen were reduced to
live upon public charity. Glasgow possessed 25,000 looms, by which
625,000 yards of cotton were spun daily; that is to say, fifty millions
of pounds yearly. From these numbers it may be guessed what disturbances
were caused in the commercial part of the town, when the raw material
failed altogether. Failures were hourly taking place, the manufactories
were closed, and the workmen were dying of starvation.
It was the sight of this great misery which had put the idea of his bold
enterprise into James Playfair’s head.
“I will go for cotton, and will get it, cost what it may.”
But as he also was a merchant as well as his uncle Vincent, he resolved
to carry out his plan by way of exchange, and to make his proposition
under the guise of a commercial enterprise.
“Uncle Vincent,” said he, “this is my idea.”
“Well, James?”
“It is simply this; we will have a ship built of superior sailing
qualities and great bulk.”
“That is quite possible.”
“We will load her with ammunition of war, provisions, and clothes.”
“Just so.”
“I will take the command of this steamer, I will defy all the ships of
the Federal marine for speed, and I will run the blockade of one of the
southern ports.”
“You must make a good bargain for your cargo with the Confederates, who
will be in need of it,” said his uncle.
“And I shall return laden with cotton.”
“Which they will give you for nothing.”
“As you say, uncle. Will it answer?”
“It will; but shall you be able to get there?”
“I shall, if I have a good ship.”
“One can be made on purpose. But the crew?”
“Oh, I will find them. I do not want many men; enough to work with, that
is all. It is not a question of fighting with the Federals, but
distancing them.”
“They shall be distanced,” said uncle Vincent, in a peremptory tone;
“but now, tell me, James, to what port of the American coast do you
think of going?”
“Up to now, uncle, ships have run the blockade of New Orleans,
Wilmington, and Savannah, but I think of going straight to Charleston;
no English boat has yet been able to penetrate into the harbour, except
the ‘Bermuda.’ I will do like her, and if my ship draws but very little
water, I shall be able to go where the Federalists will not be able to
follow.”
“The fact is,” said Uncle Vincent, “Charleston is overwhelmed with
cotton; they are even burning it to get rid of it.”
“Yes,” replied James; “besides, the town is almost invested, Beauregard
is running short of provisions, and he will pay me a golden price for my
cargo!”
“Well, nephew! and when will you start?”
“In six months; I must have the long winter nights to aid me.”
“It shall be as you wish, nephew.”
“It is settled, then, uncle?”
“Settled!”
“Shall it be kept quiet?”
“Yes; better so.”
And this is how it was that five months later the steamer “Dolphin” was
launched from the Kelvin Dock timber-yards, and no one knew her real
destination.
CHAPTER II.
“GETTING UNDER SAIL.”
The “Dolphin” was rapidly equipped, her rigging was ready, and there was
nothing to do but fit her up. She carried three schooner-masts, an
almost useless luxury; in fact, the “Dolphin” did not rely on the wind
to escape the Federalists, but rather on her powerful engines.
Towards the end of December a trial of the steamer was made in the gulf
of the Clyde. Which was the most satisfied, builder or captain, it is
impossible to say. The new steamer shot along wonderfully, and the
patent log showed a speed of seventeen miles an hour, a speed which as
yet no English, French, or American boat had ever obtained. The
“Dolphin” would certainly have gained by several lengths in a sailing
match with the fastest opponent.
The loading was begun on the 25th of December, the steamer having ranged
along the steamboat-quay a little below Glasgow Bridge, the last which
stretches across the Clyde before its mouth. Here the wharfs were heaped
with a heavy cargo of clothes, ammunition, and provisions, which were
rapidly carried to the hold of the “Dolphin.” The nature of this cargo
betrayed the mysterious destination of the ship, and the house of
Playfair could no longer keep it secret; besides, the “Dolphin” must not
be long before she started. No American cruiser had been signalled in
English waters; and, then, when the question of getting the crew came,
how was it possible to keep silent any longer? They could not embark
them even, without informing the men whither they were bound, for, after
all, it was a matter of life and death, and when one risks one’s life,
at least it is satisfactory to know how and wherefore.
However, this prospect hindered no one; the pay was good, and every one
had a share in the speculation, so that a great number of the finest
sailors soon presented themselves. James Playfair was only embarrassed
which to choose, but he chose well, and in twenty-four hours his
muster-roll bore the names of thirty sailors, who would have done honour
to her Majesty’s yacht.
The departure was settled for the 3rd of January; on the 31st of
December the “Dolphin” was ready, her hold full of ammunition and
provisions, and nothing was keeping her now.
The skipper went on board on the 2nd of January, and was giving a last
look round his ship with a Captain’s eye, when a man presented himself
at the fore part of the “Dolphin,” and asked to speak with the Captain.
One of the sailors led him on to the poop.
He was a strong, hearty-looking fellow, with broad shoulders and ruddy
face, the simple expression of which ill concealed a depth of wit and
mirth. He did not seem to be accustomed to a seafaring life and looked
about him with the air of a man little used to being on board a ship;
however, he assumed the manner of a Jack-tar, looking up at the rigging
of the “Dolphin,” and waddling in true sailor fashion.
When he had reached the Captain, he looked fixedly at him and said,
“Captain James Playfair?”
“The same,” replied the skipper. “What do you want with me?”
“To join your ship.”
“There is no room; the crew is already complete.”
“Oh, one man, more or less, will not be in the way; quite the contrary.”
“You think so?” said James Playfair, giving a sidelong glance at his
questioner.
“I am sure of it,” replied the sailor.
“But who are you?” asked the Captain.
“A rough sailor, with two strong arms, which, I can tell you, are not to
be despised on board a ship, and which I now have the honour of putting
at your service.”
“But there are other ships besides the ‘Dolphin,’ and other captains
besides James Playfair. Why do you come here?”
“Because it is on board the ‘Dolphin’ that I wish to serve, and under
the orders of Captain James Playfair.”
“I do not want you.”
“There is always need of a strong man, and if to prove my strength you
will try me with three or four of the strongest fellows of your crew, I
am ready.”
“That will do,” replied James Playfair. “And what is your name?”
“Crockston, at your service.”
[Illustration: “THE SAME,” REPLIED THE SKIPPER.]
The Captain made a few steps backwards in order to get a better view of
the giant, who presented himself in this odd fashion. The height, the
build, and the look of the sailor did not deny his pretensions to
strength.
“Where have you sailed?” asked Playfair of him.
“A little everywhere.”
“And do you know where the ‘Dolphin’ is bound for?”
“Yes; and that is what tempts me.”
“Ah, well! I have no mind to let a fellow of your stamp escape me. Go
and find the first mate, and get him to enrol you.”
Having said this the Captain expected to see the man turn on his heel
and run to the bows, but he was mistaken. Crockston did not stir.
“Well! did you hear me?” asked the Captain.
“Yes, but it is not all,” replied the sailor, “I have something else to
ask you.”
“Ah! You are wasting my time,” replied James sharply; “I have not a
moment to lose in talking.”
“I shall not keep you long,” replied Crockston, “two words more and that
is all; I was going to tell you that I have a nephew.”
“He has a fine uncle, then,” interrupted James Playfair.
“Hah! Hah!” laughed Crockston.
“Have you finished?” asked the Captain, very impatiently.
“Well, this is what I have to say, when one takes the uncle, the nephew
comes into the bargain.”
“Ah! indeed!”
“Yes, that is the custom, the one does not go without the other.”
“And what is this nephew of yours?”
“A lad of fifteen whom I am going to train to the sea; he is willing to
learn, and will make a fine sailor some day.”
“How now, Master Crockston,” cried James Playfair; “do you think the
‘Dolphin’ is a training-school for cabin-boys?”
“Don’t let us speak ill of cabin-boys; there was one of them who became
Admiral Nelson, and another Admiral Franklin.”
“Upon my honour, friend,” replied James Playfair, “you have a way of
speaking which I like; bring your nephew, but if I don’t find the uncle
the hearty fellow he pretends to be, he will have some business with me.
Go, and be back in an hour.”
Crockston did not want to be told twice; he bowed awkwardly to the
Captain of the “Dolphin,” and went on to the quay. An hour afterwards he
came on board with his nephew, a boy of fourteen or fifteen, rather
delicate and weakly-looking, with a timid and astonished air, which
showed that he did not possess his uncle’s self-possession and vigorous
corporeal qualities. Crockston was even obliged to encourage him by such
words as these:—
“Come,” said he, “don’t be frightened, they are not going to eat us,
besides there is yet time to return.”
“No, no,” replied the young man, “and may God protect us!”
The same day the sailor Crockston and his nephew were inscribed in the
muster-roll of the “Dolphin.”
The next morning, at five o’clock, the fires of the steamer were well
fed, the deck trembled under the vibrations of the boiler, and the steam
rushed hissing through the escape-pipes. The hour of departure had
arrived.
A considerable crowd in spite of the early hour flocked on the quays and
on Glasgow Bridge, they had come to salute the bold steamer for the last
time. Vincent Playfair was there to say good-bye to Captain James, but
he conducted himself on this occasion like a Roman of the good old
times. His was a heroic countenance, and the two loud kisses with which
he gratified his nephew were the indication of a strong mind.
“Go, James,” said he to the young Captain, “go quickly, and come back
quicker still; above all, don’t abuse your position. Sell at a good
price, make a good bargain, and you will have your uncle’s esteem.”
On this recommendation, borrowed from the manual of the perfect
merchant, the uncle and nephew separated, and all the visitors left the
boat.
At this moment Crockston and John Stiggs stood together on the
forecastle, while the former remarked to his nephew, “This is well, this
is well; before two o’clock we shall be at sea, and I have a good
opinion of a voyage which begins like this.”
For reply the novice pressed Crockston’s hand.
James Playfair then gave the orders for departure.
“Have we pressure on?” he asked of his mate.
“Yes, Captain,” replied Mr. Mathew.
“Well, then, weigh anchor.”
This was immediately done, and the screws began to move. The “Dolphin”
trembled, passed between the ships in the port, and soon disappeared
from the sight of the people, who shouted their last hurrahs.
[Illustration: AND SOON DISAPPEARED.]
The descent of the Clyde was easily accomplished, one might almost say
that this river had been made by the hand of man, and even by the hand
of a master. For sixty years, thanks to the dredges and constant
dragging it has gained fifteen feet in depth, and its breadth has been
tripled between the quays and the town. Soon the forests of masts and
chimneys were lost in the smoke and fog; the noise of the foundry
hammers, and the hatchets of the timber-yards grew fainter in the
distance. After the village of Patrick had been passed the factories
gave way to country houses and villas. The “Dolphin,” slackening her
speed, sailed between the dykes which carry the river above the shores,
and often through very narrow channel, which, however, is only a small
inconvenience for a navigable river, for, after all, depth is of more
importance than width. The steamer, guided by one of those excellent
pilots from the Irish sea, passed without hesitation between floating
buoys, stone columns, and _biggings_, surmounted with lighthouses, which
mark the entrance to the channel. Beyond the town of Renfrew, at the
foot of Kilpatrick hills, the Clyde grew wider. Then came Bouling Bay,
at the end of which opens the mouth of the canal which joins Edinburgh
to Glasgow. Lastly, at the height of four hundred feet from the ground,
was seen the outline of Dumbarton Castle, almost indiscernible through
the mists, and soon the harbour-boats of Glasgow were rocked on the
waves which the “Dolphin” caused. Some miles farther on Greenock, the
birthplace of James Watt, was passed: the “Dolphin” now found herself at
the mouth of the Clyde, and at the entrance of the gulf by which it
empties its waters into the Northern Ocean. Here the first undulations
of the sea were felt, and the steamer ranged along the picturesque coast
of the Isle of Arran. At last the promontory of Cantyre, which runs out
into the channel, was doubled; the Isle of Rattelin was hailed, the
pilot returned by a shore-boat to his cutter, which was cruising in the
open sea; the “Dolphin” returning to her Captain’s authority, took a
less frequented route round the north of Ireland, and soon, having lost
sight of the last European land, found herself in the open ocean.
CHAPTER III.
The “Dolphin” had a good crew, not fighting men, or boarding sailors,
but good working men, and that was all she wanted. These brave,
determined fellows were all, more or less, merchants; they sought a
fortune rather than glory; they had no flag to display, no colours to
defend with cannon; in fact all the artillery on board consisted of two
small swivel signal-guns.
The “Dolphin” shot bravely across the water, and fulfilled the utmost
expectations of both builder and captain. Soon she passed the limit of
British seas; there was not a ship in sight; the great Ocean route was
free; besides no ship of the Federal marine would have a right to attack
her beneath the English flag. Followed she might be, and prevented from
forcing the blockade, and precisely for this reason had James Playfair
sacrificed everything to the speed of his ship, in order not to be
pursued.
Howbeit a careful watch was kept on board, and in spite of the extreme
cold a man was always in the rigging ready to signal the smallest sail
that appeared on the horizon. When evening came, Captain James gave the
most precise orders to Mr. Mathew.
“Don’t leave the man on watch too long in the rigging, the cold may
seize him, and in that case it is impossible to keep a good look-out;
change your men often.”
“I understand, Captain,” replied Mr. Mathew.
“Try Crockston for that work; the fellow pretends to have excellent
sight; it must be put to trial; put him on the morning watch, he will
have the morning mists to see through. If anything particular happens
call me.”
This said, James Playfair went to his cabin. Mr. Mathew called
Crockston, and told him the Captain’s orders.
“To-morrow, at six o’clock,” said he, “you are to relieve watch of the
main-masthead.”
For reply, Crockston gave a decided grunt, but Mr. Mathew had hardly
turned his back when the sailor muttered some incomprehensible words,
and then cried,—
“What on earth did he say about the main-mast?”
At this moment his nephew, John Stiggs, joined him on the forecastle.
“Well, my good Crockston,” said he.
“It’s all right, all right,” said the seaman, with a forced smile;
“there is only one thing, this wretched boat shakes herself like a dog
coming out of the water, and it makes my head confused.”
“Dear Crockston, and it is for my sake.”
“For you and him,” replied Crockston, “but not a word about that, John;
trust in God, and He will not forsake you.”
So saying, John Stiggs and Crockston went to the sailor’s berth, but the
sailor did not lie down before he had seen the young novice comfortably
settled in the narrow cabin which he had got for him.
The next day, at six o’clock in the morning, Crockston got up to go to
his place; he went on deck, where the first officer ordered him to go up
into the rigging, and keep good watch.
At these words the sailor seemed undecided what to do; then making up
his mind, he went towards the bows of the “Dolphin.”
“Well, where are you off to now?” cried Mr. Mathew.
“Where you sent me,” answered Crockston.
“I told you to go to the main-mast.”
“And I am going there,” replied the sailor, in an unconcerned tone,
continuing his way to the poop.
“Are you a fool?” cried Mr. Mathew, impatiently; “you are looking for
the bars of the main on the fore-mast. You are like a cockney, who
doesn’t know how to twist a cat-o’-nine-tails, or make a splice. On
board what ship can you have been, man? The main-mast, stupid, the
main-mast!”
The sailors who had run up to hear what was going on, burst out
laughing, when they saw Crockston’s disconcerted look, as he went back
to the forecastle.
“So,” said he, looking up the mast, the top of which was quite invisible
through the morning mists; “so, am I to climb up here?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Mathew, “and hurry yourself! By St. Patrick a Federal
ship would have time to get her bowsprit fast in our rigging before that
lazy fellow could get to his post. Will you go up?”
Without a word, Crockston got on the bulwarks with some difficulty; then
he began to climb the rigging with most visible awkwardness, like a man
who did not know how to make use of his hands or feet. When he had
reached the top-gallant, instead of springing lightly on to it, he
remained motionless, clinging to the ropes, as if he had been seized
with giddiness. Mr. Mathew, irritated by his stupidity ordered him to
come down immediately.
“That fellow there,” said he to the boatswain, “has never been a sailor
in his life. Johnston, just go and see what he has in his bundle.”
The boatswain made haste to the sailor’s berth.
In the meantime Crockston was with difficulty coming down again, but his
foot having slipped, he slid down the rope he had hold of, and fell
heavily on the deck.
“Clumsy blockhead! land-lubber!” cried Mr. Mathew, by way of
consolation. “What did you come to do on board the ‘Dolphin’! Ah! you
entered as an able seaman, and you cannot even distinguish the main from
the fore-mast! I shall have a little talk with you.”
Crockston made no attempt to speak; he bent his back like a man resigned
for anything he might have to bear; just then the boatswain returned.
“This,” said he to the first officer, “is all that I have found; a
suspicious portfolio with letters.”
“Give them here,” said Mr. Mathew. “Letters with Federal stamps! Mr.
Halliburtt, of Boston! An abolitionist! a Federalist! Wretch! you are
nothing but a traitor, and have sneaked on board to betray us! Never
mind, you will be paid for your trouble with the cat-o’-nine-tails!
Boatswain, call the Captain, and you others, just keep an eye on that
rogue there.”
Crockston received these compliments with a hideous grimace, but he did
not open his lips. They had fastened him to the capstan, and he could
move neither hand nor foot.
A few minutes later James Playfair came out of his cabin and went to the
forecastle, where Mr. Mathew immediately acquainted him with the details
of the case.
“What have you to say?” asked James Playfair, scarcely able to restrain
his anger.
“Nothing,” replied Crockston.
“And what did you come on board my ship for?”
“Nothing.”
“And what do you expect from me now?”
“Nothing.”
“Who are you? An American, as these letters seem to prove?”
Crockston did not answer.
“Boatswain,” said James Playfair, “fifty lashes with the
cat-o’-nine-tails to loosen his tongue. Will that be enough, Crockston?”
“It will remain to be seen,” replied John Stiggs’ uncle without moving a
muscle.
“Now then, come along, men,” said the boatswain.
At this order, two strong sailors stripped Crockston of his woollen
jersey; they had already seized the formidable weapon, and laid it
across the prisoner’s shoulders, when the novice, John Stiggs, pale and
agitated, hurried on deck.
“Captain!” exclaimed he.
“Ah! the nephew!” remarked James Playfair.
“Captain,” repeated the novice, with a violent effort to steady his
voice, “I will tell you what Crockston does not want to say. I will hide
it no longer; yes, he is American, and so am I; we are both enemies of
the slave-holders, but not traitors come on board to betray the
‘Dolphin’ into the hands of the Federalists.”
“What did you come to do, then?” asked the Captain, in a severe tone,
examining the novice attentively. The latter hesitated a few seconds
before replying, then he said, “Captain, I should like to speak to you
in private.”
[Illustration: “CAPTAIN!” EXCLAIMED HE.]
Whilst John Stiggs made this request, James Playfair did not cease to
look carefully at him; the sweet young face of the novice, his
peculiarly gentle voice, the delicacy and whiteness of his hands, hardly
disguised by paint, the large eyes, the animation of which could not
hide their tenderness—all this together gave rise to a certain suspicion
in the Captain’s mind. When John Stiggs had made his request, Playfair
glanced fixedly at Crockston, who shrugged his shoulders; then he
fastened a questioning look on the novice, which the latter could not
withstand, and said simply to him, “Come.”
John Stiggs followed the Captain on to the poop, and then James
Playfair, opening the door of his cabin, said to the novice, whose
cheeks were pale with emotion, “Be so kind as to walk in, miss.”
John, thus addressed, blushed violently, and two tears rolled
involuntarily down his cheeks.
“Don’t be alarmed, miss,” said James Playfair, in a gentle voice, “but
be so good as to tell me how I come to have the honour of having you on
board?”
The young girl hesitated a moment, then reassured by the Captain’s look,
she made up her mind to speak.
“Sir,” said she, “I wanted to join my father at Charleston; the town is
besieged by land and blockaded by sea. I knew not how to get there, when
I heard that the ‘Dolphin’ meant to force the blockade. I came on board
your ship, and I beg you to forgive me if I acted without your consent,
which you would have refused me.”
“Certainly,” said James Playfair.
“I did well, then, not to ask you,” resumed the young girl, with a
firmer voice.
The Captain crossed his arms, walked round his cabin, and then came
back.
“What is your name?” said he.
“Jenny Halliburtt.”
“Your father, if I remember rightly the address on the letters, is he
not from Boston?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a Northerner is thus in a southern town in the thickest of the
war?”
“My father is a prisoner; he was at Charleston when the first shot of
the Civil War was fired, and the troops of the Union driven from Fort
Sumter by the Confederates. My father’s opinions exposed him to the
hatred of the Slavist part, and by the order of General Beauregard he
was imprisoned. I was then in England, living with a relation who has
just died, and left alone with no help but that of Crockston, our
faithful servant, I wished to go to my father and share his prison with
him.”
“What was Mr. Halliburtt, then?” asked James Playfair.
“A loyal and brave journalist,” replied Jenny proudly, one of the
noblest editors of the “Tribune,” and the one who was the boldest in
defending the cause of the negroes.
“An abolitionist,” cried the Captain angrily; “one of those men, who,
under the vain pretence of abolishing slavery, have deluged their
country with blood and ruin.”
“Sir!” replied Jenny Halliburtt, growing pale, “you are insulting my
father; you must not forget that I stand alone to defend him.”
The young Captain blushed scarlet; anger mingled with shame struggled in
his breast; perhaps he would have answered the young girl, but he
succeeded in restraining himself, and opening the door of the cabin, he
called “Boatswain!”
The boatswain came to him directly.
“This cabin will henceforward belong to Miss Jenny Halliburtt; have a
cot made ready for me at the end of the poop; that’s all I want.”
The boatswain looked with a stupefied stare at the young novice
addressed in a feminine name, but on a sign from James Playfair he went
out.
“And now, miss, you are at home,” said the young Captain of the
“Dolphin.” Then he retired.
CHAPTER IV.
CROCKSTON’s TRICK.
It was not long before the whole crew knew Miss Halliburtt’s story,
which Crockston was no longer hindered from telling. By the Captain’s
orders he was released from the capstan, and the cat-o’-nine-tails
returned to its place.
“A pretty animal,” said Crockston, “especially when it shows its velvety
paws.”
As soon as he was free, he went down to the sailors’ berths, found a
small portmanteau, and carried it to Miss Jenny; the young girl was now
able to resume her feminine attire, but she remained in her cabin, and
did not again appear on deck.
As for Crockston, it was well and duly agreed that, as he was no more a
sailor than a horse-guard, he should be exempt from all duty on board.
In the meanwhile the “Dolphin,” with her twin screws cutting the waves,
sped rapidly across the Atlantic, and there was nothing now to do but
keep a strict look out. The day following the discovery of Miss Jenny’s
identity, James Playfair paced the deck at the poop with a rapid step;
he had made no attempt to see the young girl and resume the conversation
of the day before.
Whilst he was walking to and fro, Crockston passed him several times,
looking at him askant with a satisfied grin; he evidently wanted to
speak to the Captain, and at last his persistent manner attracted the
attention of the latter, who said to him, somewhat impatiently,—
“How now, what do you want? You are turning round me like a swimmer
round a buoy: when are you going to leave off?”
“Excuse me, Captain,” answered Crockston, winking, “I wanted to speak to
you.”
“Speak, then.”
“Oh, it is nothing very much, I only wanted to tell you frankly that you
are a good fellow at bottom.”
“Why at bottom?”
“At bottom and surface also.”
“I don’t want your compliments.”
“I am not complimenting you, I shall wait to do that when you have gone
to the end.”
“To what end?”
“To the end of your task.”
“Ah! I have a task to fulfil?”
“Decidedly, you have taken the young girl and myself on board; good. You
have given up your cabin to Miss Halliburtt; good. You released me from
the cat-o’-nine-tails; nothing could be better. You are going to take us
straight to Charleston; that’s delightful, but it is not all.”
“How not all?” cried James Playfair, amazed at Crockston’s boldness.
“No, certainly not,” replied the latter, with a knowing look, “the
father is prisoner there.”
“Well, what about that?”
“Well, the father must be rescued.”
“Rescue Miss Halliburtt’s father?”
“Most certainly, and it is worth risking something for such a noble man
and courageous citizen as he.”
“Master Crockston,” said James Playfair, frowning, “I am not in the
humour for your jokes, so have a care what you say.”
“You misunderstand me, Captain,” said the American. “I am not joking in
the least, but speaking quite seriously. What I have proposed may at
first seem very absurd to you; when you have thought it over you will
see that you cannot do otherwise.”
“What, do you mean that I must deliver Mr. Halliburtt?”
“Just so, you can demand his release of General Beauregard, who will not
refuse you.”
“But if he does refuse me?”
“In that case,” replied Crockston, in a deliberate tone, “we must use
stronger measures, and carry off the prisoner by force.”
“So,” cried James Playfair, who was beginning to get angry, “so, not
content with passing through the Federal fleets and forcing the blockade
of Charleston, I must run out to sea again from under the cannon of the
forts, and this to deliver a gentleman I know nothing of, one of those
Abolitionists whom I detest, one of those journalists who shed ink
instead of their blood!”
“Oh! it is but a cannon-shot more or less!” added Crockston.
“Master Crockston,” said James Playfair, “mind what I say; if ever you
mention this affair again to me, I will send you to the hold for the
rest of the passage, to teach you manners.”
Thus saying the Captain dismissed the American, who went off murmuring,
“Ah, well, I am not altogether displeased with this conversation: at any
rate, the affair is broached; it will do, it will do!”
James Playfair had hardly meant it when he said an Abolitionist whom I
detest; he did not in the least side with the Federals, but he did not
wish to admit that the question of slavery was the predominant reason
for the civil war of the United States, in spite of President Lincoln’s
formal declaration. Did he then think that the Southern States, eight
out of thirty-six, were right in separating when they had been
voluntarily united? Not so; he detested the Northerners, and that was
all; he detested them as brothers separated from the common family—true
Englishmen—who had thought it right to do what he, James Playfair,
disapproved of with regard to the United States: these were the
political opinions of the Captain of the “Dolphin.” But more than this,
the American war interfered with him personally, and he had a grudge
against those who had caused this war; one can understand, then, how he
would receive a proposition to deliver an Abolitionist, thus bringing
down on him the Confederates, with whom he pretended to do business.
However, Crockston’s insinuation did not fail to disturb him, he cast
the thought from him, but it returned unceasingly to his mind, and when
Miss Jenny came on deck the next day for a few minutes, he dared not
look her in the face.
And really it was a great pity, for this young girl with the fair hair
and sweet, intelligent face deserved to be looked at by a young man of
thirty. But James felt embarrassed in her presence; he felt that this
charming creature who had been educated in the school of misfortune
possessed a strong and generous soul; he understood that his silence
towards her inferred a refusal to acquiesce in her dearest wishes;
besides, Miss Jenny never looked out for James Playfair, neither did she
avoid him. Thus for the first few days they spoke little or not at all
to each other. Miss Halliburtt scarcely ever left her cabin, and it is
certain she would never have addressed herself to the Captain of the
“Dolphin” if it had not been for Crockston’s strategy, which brought
both parties together.
The worthy American was a faithful servant of the Halliburtt family, he
had been brought up in his master’s house and his devotion knew no
bounds. His good sense equalled his courage and energy, and, as has been
seen, he had a way of looking things straight in the face. He was very
seldom discouraged, and could generally find a way out of the most
intricate dangers with a wonderful skill.
This honest fellow had taken it into his head to deliver Mr. Halliburtt,
to employ the Captain’s ship, and the Captain himself for this purpose,
and to return with him to England. Such was his intention, so long as
the young girl had no other object than to rejoin her father and share
his captivity. It was this Crockston tried to make the Captain
understand, as we have seen, but the enemy had not yet surrendered, on
the contrary.
“Now,” said he, “it is absolutely necessary that Miss Jenny and the
Captain come to an understanding; if they are going to be sulky like
this all the passage we shall get nothing done: they must speak,
discuss; let them dispute even, so long as they talk, and I’ll be hanged
if during their conversation James Playfair does not propose himself
what he refused me to-day.”
But when Crockston saw that the young girl and the young man avoided
each other, he began to be perplexed.
“We must look sharp,” said he to himself, and the morning of the fourth
day he entered Miss Halliburtt’s cabin, rubbing his hands with an air of
perfect satisfaction.
“Good news!” cried he, “good news! You will never guess what the Captain
has proposed to me. A very noble young man he is. Now try.”
“Ah!” replied Jenny, whose heart beat violently, “has he proposed to—”
“To deliver Mr. Halliburtt, to carry him off from the Confederates, and
bring him to England.”
“Is it true?” cried Jenny.
“It is, as I say, miss. What a good-hearted man this James Playfair is!
These English are either all good or all bad. Ah! he may reckon on my
gratitude, and I am ready to cut myself in pieces if it would please
him.”
Jenny’s joy was profound on hearing Crockston’s words. Deliver her
father! she had never dared to think of such a plan, and the Captain of
the “Dolphin” was going to risk his ship and crew!
“That’s what he is,” added Crockston; “and this, Miss Jenny, is well
worth an acknowledgment from you.”
“More than an acknowledgment,” cried the young girl; “a lasting
friendship!”
And immediately she left the cabin to find James Playfair, and express
to him the sentiments which flowed from her heart.
“Getting on by degrees,” muttered the American.
James Playfair was pacing to and fro on the poop, and, as may be
thought, he was very much surprised, not to say amazed, to see the young
girl go up to him, her eyes moist with grateful tears, and holding out
her hand to him saying,—
“Thank you, sir, thank you for your kindness, which I should never have
dared to expect from a stranger.”
“Miss,” replied the Captain, as if he understood nothing of what she was
talking, and could not understand, “I do not know—”
“Nevertheless, sir, you are going to brave many dangers, perhaps
compromise your interests for me, and you have done so much already in
offering me on board an hospitality to which I have no right whatever—”
“Pardon me, Miss Jenny,” interrupted James Playfair, “but I protest
again I do not understand your words; I have acted towards you as any
well-bred man would towards a lady, and my conduct deserves neither so
many thanks nor so much gratitude.”
“Mr. Playfair,” said Jenny, “it is useless to pretend any longer;
Crockston has told me all!”
“Ah!” said the Captain, “Crockston has told you all, then I understand
less than ever the reason for your leaving your cabin, and saying these
words which—”
[Illustration: “THANK YOU, SIR, THANK YOU.”]
Whilst speaking the Captain felt very much embarrassed; he remembered
the rough way in which he had received the American’s overtures, but
Jenny, fortunately for him, did not give him time for further
explanation; she interrupted him, holding out her hand and saying,—
“Mr. James, I had no other object in coming on board your ship except to
go to Charleston, and there, however cruel the slave-holders may be,
they will not refuse to let a poor girl share her father’s prison, that
was all; I had never thought of a return as possible; but since you are
so generous as to wish for my father’s deliverance, since you will
attempt everything to save him, be assured you have my deepest
gratitude.”
James did not know what to do or what part to assume; he bit his lip; he
dared not take the hand offered him; he saw perfectly that Crockston had
compromised him, so that escape was impossible; at the same time he had
no thoughts of delivering Mr. Halliburtt, and getting complicated in a
disagreeable business: but how dash to the ground the hope which had
arisen in this poor girl’s heart? How refuse the hand which she held out
to him with a feeling of such profound friendship? How change to tears
of grief the tears of gratitude which filled her eyes?
So the young man tried to reply evasively, in a manner which would
insure his liberty of action for the future.
“Miss Jenny,” said he, “rest assured I will do everything in my power
for—”
And he took the little hand in both of his, but with the gentle pressure
he felt his heart melt and his head grow confused: words to express his
thoughts failed him. He stammered out some incoherent words,—
“Miss—Miss Jenny—for you—”
Crockston, who was watching him, rubbed his hands, grinning and
repeating to himself,—
“It will come! it will come! it has come!”
How James Playfair would have managed to extricate himself from his
embarrassing position no one knows, but fortunately for him, if not for
the “Dolphin,” the man on watch was heard crying,—
“Ahoy, officer of the watch!”
“What now?” asked Mr. Mathew.
“A sail to windward!”
James Playfair, leaving the young girl, immediately sprang to the
shrouds of the main-mast.
CHAPTER V
THE SHOT FROM THE “IROQUOIS,” AND MISS JENNY’s ARGUMENTS.
Until now the navigation of the “Dolphin” had been very fortunate. Not
one ship had been signalled before the sail hailed by the man on watch.
The “Dolphin” was then in 32° 51´ latitude and 57° 43´west longitude.
For forty-eight hours a fog which now began to rise had covered the
ocean. If this mist favoured the “Dolphin” by hiding her course, it also
prevented any observations at a distance being made, and, without being
aware of it, she might be sailing side by side, so to speak, with the
ships she wished most to avoid.
Now this is just what had happened, and when the ship was signalled she
was only three miles to windward.
When James Playfair had reached the bars, he saw distinctly, through an
opening in the mist, a large Federal corvette in full pursuit of the
“Dolphin.”
[Illustration: HE SAW DISTINCTLY.]
After having carefully examined her, the Captain came down on deck
again, and called to the first officer.
“Mr. Mathew,” said he, “what do you think of this ship?”
“I think, Captain, that it is a Federal cruiser, which suspects our
intentions.”
“There is no possible doubt of her nationality,” said James Playfair.
“Look!”
At this moment the starry flag of the North United States appeared on
the gaff-yards of the corvette, and the latter asserted her colours with
a cannon-shot.
“An invitation to show ours,” said Mr. Mathew. “Well, let us show them;
there is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“What’s the good?” replied James Playfair. “Our flag will hardly protect
us, and it will not hinder those people from paying us a visit? No; let
us go ahead.”
“And go quickly,” replied Mr. Mathew, “for if my eyes do not deceive me,
I have already seen that corvette lying off Liverpool, where she went to
watch the ships in building: my name is not Mathew, if that is not ‘The
Iroquois’ on her taffrail.”
“And is she fast?”
“One of the fastest vessels of the Federal marine.”
“What guns does she carry?”
“Eight.”
“Pooh.”
“Oh, don’t shrug your shoulders, Captain,” said Mr. Mathew, in a serious
tone; “two out of those eight guns are rifled, one is a sixty-pounder on
the forecastle, and the other a hundred-pounder on deck.”
“Upon my soul!” exclaimed James Playfair, “they are Parrott’s, and will
carry three miles.”
“Yes, and farther than that, Captain.”
“Ah, well! Mr. Mathew, let their guns be sixty or only four-pounders,
and let them carry three miles or five hundred yards, it is all the same
if we can go fast enough to avoid their shot. We will show this
‘Iroquois’ how a ship can go when she is built on purpose to go. Have
the fires well banked up, Mr. Mathew.”
The first officer gave the Captain’s orders to the engineer, and soon
volumes of black smoke curled from the steamer’s chimneys.
This proceeding did not seem to please the corvette, for she made the
“Dolphin” the signal to lie to, but James Playfair paid no attention to
this warning, and did not change his ship’s course.
“Now,” said he, “we shall see what the ‘Iroquois’ will do; there is a
fine opportunity for her to try her guns, go ahead full speed!”
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Mathew; “she will not be long in saluting us.”
Returning to the poop, the Captain saw Miss Halliburtt sitting quietly
near the bulwarks.
“Miss Jenny,” said he, “we shall probably be chased by that corvette you
see to windward, and as she will speak to us with shot, I beg to offer
you my arm to take you to your cabin again.”
“Thank you, very much, Mr. Playfair,” replied the young girl, looking at
him, “but I am not afraid of cannon-shots.”
“However, miss, in spite of the distance, there may be some danger.”
“Oh, I was not brought up to be fearful; they accustom us to everything
in America, and I assure you that the shot from the ‘Iroquois’ will not
make me lower my head.”
“You are brave, Miss Jenny.”
“Let us admit, then, that I am brave, and allow me to stay by you.”
“I can refuse you nothing, Miss Halliburtt,” replied the Captain,
looking at the young girl’s calm face.
These words were hardly uttered when they saw a line of white smoke
issue from the bulwarks of the corvette; before the report had reached
the “Dolphin” a projectile whizzed through the air in the direction of
the steamer.
At about twenty fathoms from the “Dolphin” the shot, the speed of which
had sensibly lessened, skimmed over the surface of the waves, marking
its passage by a series of water-jets; then, with another burst, it
rebounded to a certain height, passed over the “Dolphin,” grazing the
mizen-yards on the starboard side, fell at thirty fathoms beyond, and
was buried in the waves.
“By Jove!” exclaimed James Playfair, “we must get along; another slap
like that is not to be waited for.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Mathew, “they will take some time to reload such
pieces.”
“Upon my honour, it is an interesting sight,” said Crockston, who, with
arms crossed, stood perfectly at his ease looking at the scene, “and to
say they are friends who send such brandy-balls!”
“Ah! that’s you,” cried James Playfair, scanning the American from head
to foot.
“It is me, Captain,” replied the American, undisturbed. “I have come to
see how these brave Federals fire; not badly, in truth, not badly.”
The Captain was going to answer Crockston sharply, but at this moment a
second shot struck the sea on the starboard side.
“Good,” cried James Playfair, “we have already gained two cables on this
‘Iroquois.’ Your friends sail like a buoy; do you hear, Master
Crockston?”
“I will not say they don’t,” replied the American, “and for the first
time in my life it does not fail to please me.”
A third shot fell still farther astern, and in less than ten minutes the
“Dolphin” was out of range of the corvette’s guns.
“So much for patent-logs, Mr. Mathew,” said James Playfair; “thanks to
those shot we know how to rate our speed. Now have the fires lowered; it
is not worth while to waste our coal uselessly.”
“It is a good ship that you command,” said Miss Halliburtt to the young
Captain.
“Yes, Miss Jenny, my good ‘Dolphin,’ makes her seventeen knots, and
before the day is over, we shall have lost sight of that corvette.”
James Playfair did not exaggerate the sailing qualities of his ship, and
the sun had not set before the masts of the American ship had
disappeared below the horizon.
This incident allowed the Captain to see Miss Halliburtt’s character in
a new light; besides, the ice was broken, henceforward, during the whole
of the voyage, the interviews between the Captain and his passenger were
frequent and prolonged; he found her to be a young girl, calm, strong,
thoughtful, and intelligent, speaking with great ease, having her own
ideas about everything, and expressing her thoughts with a conviction
which unconsciously penetrated James Playfair’s heart.
She loved her country, she was zealous in the great cause of the Union,
and expressed herself on the civil war in the United States with an
enthusiasm of which no other woman would have been capable. Thus it
happened, more than once, that James Playfair found it difficult to
answer her, even when questions purely mercantile arose in connexion
with the war: Miss Jenny attacked them none the less vigorously, and
would come to no other terms whatever. At first James argued a great
deal, and tried to uphold the Confederates against the Federals, to
prove that the Secessionists were in the right, and that if the people
were united voluntarily they might separate in the same manner. But the
young girl would not yield on this point; she demonstrated that the
question of slavery was predominant in the struggle between the North
and South Americans, that it was far more a war in the cause of morals
and humanity than politics, and James could make no answer. Besides,
during these discussions, which he listened to attentively, it is
difficult to say whether he was more touched by Miss Halliburtt’s
arguments, or the charming manner in which she spoke; but at last he was
obliged to acknowledge, among other things, that slavery was the
principal feature in the war, that it must be put an end to decisively,
and the last horrors of barbarous times abolished.
It has been said that the political opinions of the Captain did not
trouble him much. He would have sacrificed his most serious opinion
before such enticing arguments and under like circumstances; he made a
good bargain of his ideas for the same reason, but at last he was
attacked in his tenderest point: this was the question of the traffic in
which the “Dolphin” was being employed, and, consequently, the
ammunition which was being carried to the Confederates.
“Yes, Mr. James,” said Miss Halliburtt, “gratitude does not hinder me
from speaking with perfect frankness; on the contrary, you are a brave
seaman, a clever merchant, the house of Playfair is noted for its
respectability; but in this case it fails in its principles, and follows
a trade unworthy of it.”
“How!” cried James, “the house of Playfair ought not to attempt such a
commercial enterprise?”
“No! it is taking ammunition to the unhappy creatures in revolt against
the government of their country, and it is lending arms to a bad cause.”
“Upon my honour, Miss Jenny, I will not discuss the fight of the
Confederates with you; I will only answer you with one word: I am a
merchant, and as such I only occupy myself with the interests of my
house; I look for gain wherever there is an opportunity of getting it.”
“That is precisely what is to be blamed, Mr. James,” replied the young
girl; “profit does not excuse it; thus, when you supply arms to the
Southerners, with which to continue a criminal war, you are quite as
guilty as when you sell opium to the Chinese, which stupefies them.”
“Oh! for once, Miss Jenny, this is too much, and I cannot admit—”
“No; what I say is just, and when you consider it, when you understand
the part you are playing, when you think of the results for which you
are responsible, you will yield to me in this point, as in so many
others.”
James Playfair was dumbfoundered at these words; he left the young girl,
a prey to angry thoughts, for he felt his powerlessness to answer; then
he sulked like a child for half an hour, and an hour later he returned
to the singular young girl who could overwhelm him with convincing
arguments, with quite a pleasant smile.
In short, however it may have come about, and although he would not
acknowledge it to himself, Captain James Playfair belonged to himself no
longer, he was no longer commander-in-chief on board his own ship.
Thus, to Crockston’s great joy, Mr. Halliburtt’s affairs appeared to be
in a good way; the Captain seemed to have decided to undertake
everything in his power to deliver Miss Jenny’s father, and for this he
would be obliged to compromise the “Dolphin,” his cargo, his crew, and
incur the displeasure of his worthy uncle Vincent.
CHAPTER VI.
SULLIVAN ISLAND CHANNEL.
Two days after the meeting with the “Iroquois,” the “Dolphin” found
herself abreast of the Bermudas, where she was assailed by a violent
squall. These isles are frequently visited by hurricanes, and are
celebrated for shipwrecks. It is here that Shakspeare has placed the
exciting scene of his drama, “The Tempest,” in which Ariel and Caliban
dispute for the empire of the floods.
The squall was frightful; James Playfair thought once of running for one
of the Bermudas, where the English had a military post: it would have
been a sad waste of time, and therefore especially to be regretted;
happily the “Dolphin” behaved herself wonderfully well in the storm, and
after flying a whole day before the tempest, she was able to resume her
course towards the American coast.
[Illustration: THE SQUALL.]
But if James Playfair had been pleased with his ship, he had not been
less delighted with the young girl’s bravery; Miss Halliburtt had passed
the worst hours of the storm at his side, and James knew that a
profound, imperious, irresistible love had taken possession of his whole
being.
“Yes,” said he, “this brave girl is mistress on board; she turns me like
the sea a ship in distress—I feel that I am foundering! What will Uncle
Vincent say? Ah! poor nature, I am sure that if Jenny asked me to throw
all this cursed cargo into the sea, I should do it without hesitating,
for love of her.”
Happily for the firm of Playfair and Co., Miss Halliburtt did not demand
this sacrifice; nevertheless, the poor Captain had been taken captive,
and Crockston, who read his heart like an open book, rubbed his hands
gleefully.
“We will hold him fast!” he muttered to himself, “and before a week has
passed my master will be quietly installed in one of the best cabins of
the ‘Dolphin.’”
As for Miss Jenny, did she perceive the feelings which she inspired? did
she allow herself to share them? No one could say, and James Playfair
least of all; the young girl kept a perfect reserve, and her secret
remained deeply buried in her heart.
But whilst love was making such progress in the heart of the young
Captain, the “Dolphin” sped with no less rapidity towards Charleston.
On the 13th of January, the watch signalled land ten miles to the west.
It was a low-lying coast, and almost blended with the line of the sea in
the distance. Crockston was examining the horizon attentively, and about
nine o’clock in the morning he cried,—
“Charleston lighthouse!”
[Illustration: CROCKSTON WAS EXAMINING THE HORIZON ATTENTIVELY.]
Now that the bearings of the “Dolphin” were set, James Playfair had but
one thing to do, to decide by which channel he would run into Charleston
Bay.
“If we meet with no obstacles,” said he, “before three o’clock we shall
be in safety in the docks of the port.”
The town of Charleston is situated on the banks of an estuary seven
miles long and two broad, called Charleston Harbour, the entrance to
which is rather difficult. It is enclosed between Morris Island on the
south, and Sullivan Island on the north. At the time when the “Dolphin”
attempted to force the blockade Morris Island already belonged to the
Federal troops, and General Gillmore had caused batteries to be erected
overlooking the harbour. Sullivan Island, on the contrary, was in the
hands of the Confederates, who were also in possession of Moultrie Fort,
situated at the extremity of the island; therefore it would be
advantageous to the “Dolphin” to go as close as possible to the northern
shores to avoid the firing from the forts on Morris Island.
Five channels led into the estuary, Sullivan Island Channel, the
Northern Channel, the Overall Channel, the Principal Channel, and
lastly, the Lawford Channel; but it was useless for strangers, unless
they had skilful pilots on board, or ships drawing less than seven feet
of water to attempt this last; as for Northern and Overall Channels,
they were in range of the Federalist batteries, so that it was no good
thinking of them. If James Playfair could have had his choice, he would
have taken his steamer through the Principal Channel, which was the
best, and the bearings of which were easy to follow; but it was
necessary to yield to circumstances, and to decide according to the
event. Besides, the Captain of the “Dolphin” knew perfectly all the
secrets of this bay, its dangers, the depths of its water at low tide,
and its currents, so that he was able to steer his ship with the
greatest safety as soon as he entered one of these narrow straits. The
great question was to get there.
Now this work demanded an experienced seaman, and one who knew exactly
the qualities of the “Dolphin.”
In fact two Federal frigates were now cruising in the Charleston waters.
Mr. Mathew soon drew James Playfair’s attention to them.
“They are preparing to ask us what we want on these shores,” said he.
“Ah, well! we won’t answer them,” replied the Captain, “and they will
not get their curiosity satisfied.”
In the meanwhile the cruisers were coming on full steam towards the
“Dolphin,” who continued her course, taking care to keep out of range of
their guns. But in order to gain time James Playfair made for the
south-west, wishing to put the enemies’ ships off their guard; the
latter must have thought that the “Dolphin” intended to make for Morris
Island Channel. Now there they had batteries and guns, a single shot
from which would have been enough to sink the English ship; so the
Federals allowed the “Dolphin” to run towards the south-west, contenting
themselves by observing her without following closely.
Thus for an hour the respective situations of the ships did not change,
for James Playfair, wishing to deceive the cruisers as to the course of
the “Dolphin,” had caused the fires to be moderated, so that the speed
was decreased. However, from the thick volumes of smoke which escaped
from the chimneys, it might have been thought that he was trying to get
his maximum pressure, and, consequently, his maximum of rapidity.
“They will be slightly astonished presently,” said James Playfair, “when
they see us slip through their fingers!”
In fact, when the Captain saw that he was near enough to Morris Island,
and before a line of guns, the range of which he did not know, he turned
his rudder quickly, and the ship resumed her northerly course, leaving
the cruisers two miles to windward of her; the latter seeing this
manœuvre understood the steamer’s object, and began to pursue her in
earnest, but it was too late. The “Dolphin” doubled her speed under the
action of the screws, and distanced them rapidly. Going nearer to the
coast, a few shell were sent after her as an acquittal of conscience,
but the Federals were outdone, for their projectiles did not reach half
way. At eleven o’clock in the morning, the steamer ranging near Sullivan
Island, thanks to her small draft, entered the narrow strait full steam;
there she was in safety, for no Federalist cruiser dared follow her in
this channel, the depth of which, on an average, was only eleven feet at
low tide.
“How?” cried Crockston, “and is that the only difficulty?”
“Oh! oh! Master Crockston,” said James Playfair, “the difficulty is not
in entering, but in getting out again.”
“Nonsense!” replied the American, “that does not make me at all uneasy;
with a boat like the ‘Dolphin’ and a Captain like Mr. James Playfair,
one can go where one likes, and come out in the same manner.”
Nevertheless, James Playfair, with telescope in his hand, was
attentively examining the route to be followed. He had before him
excellent coasting guides, with which he could go ahead without any
difficulty or hesitation.
Once his ship was safely in the narrow channel which runs the length of
Sullivan Island, James steered bearing towards the middle of Fort
Moultrie as far as the Pinckney Castle, situated on the isolated island
of Shute’s Folly; on the other side rose Fort Johnson, a little way to
the north of Fort Sumter.
At this moment the steamer was saluted by some shot which did not reach
her, from the batteries on Morris Island. She continued her course
without any deviation, passed before Moultrieville, situated at the
extremity of Sullivan Island, and entered the bay.
Soon Fort Sumter on the left protected her from the batteries of the
Federalists.
This fort, so celebrated in the civil war, is situated three miles and a
half from Charleston, and about a mile from each side of the bay: it is
nearly pentagonal in form, built on an artificial island of
Massachusetts granite, it took ten years to construct and cost more than
900,000 dollars.
It was from this fort, on the 13th of April, 1861, that Anderson and the
Federal troops were driven, and it was against it that the first shot of
the Confederates was fired. It is impossible to estimate the quantity of
iron and lead which the Federals showered down upon it. However, it
resisted for almost three years, but a few months after the passage of
the “Dolphin,” it fell beneath General Gillmore’s three hundred-pounders
on Morris Island.
But at this time it was in all its strength, and the Confederate flag
floated proudly above it.
Once past the fort the town of Charleston appeared lying between Ashley
and Cooper rivers.
James Playfair threaded his way through the buoys which mark the
entrance of the channel, leaving behind the Charleston lighthouse
visible above Morris Island. He had hoisted the English flag, and made
his way with wonderful rapidity through the narrow channels. When he had
passed the Quarantine buoy, he advanced freely into the centre of the
bay. Miss Halliburtt was standing on the poop, looking at the town where
her father was kept prisoner, and her eyes filled with tears.
At last the steamer’s speed was moderated by the Captain’s orders; the
“Dolphin” ranged along the end of the south and east batteries, and was
soon moored at the quay of the North Commercial Wharf.
[Illustration: MISS HALLIBURTT WAS STANDING ON THE POOP.]
CHAPTER VII.
A SOUTHERN GENERAL.
The “Dolphin” on arriving at the Charleston quay, had been saluted by
the cheers of a large crowd. The inhabitants of this town, strictly
blockaded by sea, were not accustomed to visits from European ships.
They asked each other, not without astonishment, what this great
steamer, proudly bearing the English flag, had come to do in their
waters; but when they learned the object of her voyage, and why she had
just forced the passage Sullivan, when the report spread that she
carried a cargo of smuggled ammunition, the cheers and joyful cries were
redoubled.
James Playfair, without losing a moment, entered into negotiation with
General Beauregard, the military commander of the town. The latter
eagerly received the young Captain of the “Dolphin,” who had arrived in
time to provide the soldiers with the clothes and ammunition they were
so much in want of. It was agreed that the unloading of the ship should
take place immediately, and numerous hands came to help the English
sailors.
Before quitting his ship James Playfair had received from Miss
Halliburtt the most pressing injunctions with regard to her father, and
the Captain had placed himself entirely at the young girl’s service.
“Miss Jenny,” he had said, “you may rely on me; I will do the utmost in
my power to save your father, but I hope this business will not present
many difficulties; I shall go and see General Beauregard to-day, and
without asking him at once for Mr. Halliburtt’s liberty, I shall learn
in what situation he is, whether he is on bail, or a prisoner.”
“My poor father!” replied Jenny, sighing; “he little thinks his daughter
is so near him. Oh that I could fly into his arms!”
“A little patience, Miss Jenny, you will soon embrace your father. Rely
upon my acting with the most entire devotion, but also with prudence and
consideration.”
This is why James Playfair, after having delivered the cargo of the
“Dolphin” up to the General, and bargained for an immense stock of
cotton, faithful to his promise, turned the conversation to the events
of the day.
“So,” said he, “you believe in the triumph of the slave-holders?”
“I do not for a moment doubt of our final success, and as regards
Charleston, Lee’s army will soon relieve it: besides, what do you expect
from the Abolitionists? admitting that which will never be, that the
commercial towns of Virginia, the two Carolinas, Georgia, Alabama, fall
under their power, what then? Will they be masters of a country they can
never occupy? No, certainly not; and for my part if they are ever
victorious they shall pay dearly for it.”
“And you are quite sure of your soldiers?” asked the Captain; “you are
not afraid that Charleston will grow weary of a siege which is ruining
her?”
“No, I do not fear treason; besides, the traitors would be punished
remorselessly, and I would destroy the town itself by sword or fire if I
discovered the least Unionist movement. Jefferson Davis confided
Charleston to me, and you may be sure that Charleston is in safe hands.”
“Have you any Federal prisoners?” asked James Playfair, coming to the
interesting object of the conversation.
“Yes, Captain,” replied the General, “it was at Charleston that the
first shot of separation was fired. The Abolitionists who were here
attempted to resist, and after being defeated they have been kept as
prisoners of war.”
“And have you many?”
“About a hundred.”
“Free in the town?”
“They were until I discovered a plot formed by them: their chief
succeeded in establishing a communication with the besiegers, who were
thus informed of the situation of affairs in the town. I was then
obliged to lock up these dangerous guests, and several of them will only
leave their prison to ascend the slope of the citadel, where ten
confederate balls will reward them for their federalism.”
“What! to be shot!” cried the young man, shuddering involuntarily.
“Yes, and their chief first of all. He is a very dangerous man to have
in a besieged town. I have sent his letters to the President at
Richmond, and before a week is passed his sentence will be irrevocably
passed.”
“Who is this man you speak of,” asked James Playfair, with an assumed
carelessness.
“A journalist from Boston, a violent Abolitionist with the confounded
spirit of Lincoln.”
“And his name?”
“Jonathan Halliburtt.”
“Poor wretch!” exclaimed James, suppressing his emotion; “whatever he
may have done one cannot help pitying him. And you think that he will be
shot?”
“I am sure of it,” replied Beauregard. “What can you expect? War is war,
one must defend oneself as best one can.”
“Well, it is nothing to me,” said the Captain; “I shall be far enough
away when this execution takes place.”
“What! you are thinking of going away already.”
“Yes, General, business must be attended to; as soon as my cargo of
cotton is on board I shall be out to sea again. I was fortunate enough
to enter the bay, but the difficulty is in getting out again. The
‘Dolphin’ is a good ship; she can beat any of the Federal ships for
speed, but she does not pretend to distance cannon-balls, and a shell in
her hull or engine would seriously affect my enterprise.”
“As you please, Captain,” replied Beauregard; “I have no advice to give
you under such circumstances. You are doing your business, and you are
right. I should act in the same manner were I in your place; besides a
stay at Charleston is not very pleasant, and a harbour where shells are
falling three days out of four is not a safe shelter for your ship; so
you will set sail when you please; but can you tell me what is the
number and the force of the Federal ships cruising before Charleston?”
James Playfair did his best to answer the General, and took leave of him
on the best of terms; then he returned to the “Dolphin” very thoughtful
and very depressed from what he had just heard.
“What shall I say to Miss Jenny? ought I to tell her of Mr. Halliburtt’s
terrible situation? or would it be better to keep her in ignorance of
the trial which is awaiting her? Poor child!”
He had not gone fifty steps from the governor’s house when he ran
against Crockston: the worthy American had been watching for him since
his departure.
“Well, Captain?”
James Playfair looked steadily at Crockston, and the latter soon
understood he had no favourable news to give him.
“Have you seen Beauregard?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied James Playfair.
“And have you spoken to him about Mr. Halliburtt?”
“No! it was he who spoke to me about him.”
“Well, Captain?”
“Well! I may as well tell you everything, Crockston.”
“Everything, Captain.”
“General Beauregard has told me that your master will be shot within a
week.”
At this news any one else but Crockston would have grown furious or
given way to bursts of grief, but the American, who feared nothing, only
said, with almost a smile on his lips,—
“Pooh! what does it matter?”
“How! what does it matter?” cried James Playfair; “I tell you that Mr.
Halliburtt will be shot within a week, and you answer, what does it
matter?”
“And I mean it—if in six days he is on board the ‘Dolphin,’ and if in
seven days the ‘Dolphin’ is on the open sea.”
“Right!” exclaimed the Captain, pressing Crockston’s hand. “I
understand, my good fellow, you have got some pluck; and for myself, in
spite of Uncle Vincent, I would throw myself overboard for Miss Jenny.”
“No one need be thrown overboard,” replied the American, “only the fish
would gain by that: the most important business now is to deliver Mr.
Halliburtt.”
“But you must know that it will be difficult to do so.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Crockston.
“It is a question of communicating with a prisoner strictly guarded.”
“Certainly.”
“And to bring about an almost miraculous escape.”
“Nonsense,” exclaimed Crockston; “a prisoner thinks more of escaping
than his guardian thinks of keeping him; that’s why, thanks to our help,
Mr. Halliburtt will be saved.”
“You are right, Crockston.”
“Always right.”
“But now what will you do? there must be some plan; and there are
precautions to be taken.”
“I will think about it.”
“But when Miss Jenny learns that her father is condemned to death, and
that the order for his execution may come any day—”
“She will know nothing about it, that is all.”
“Yes, it will be better for her and for us to tell her nothing.”
“Where is Mr. Halliburtt imprisoned?” asked Crockston.
“In the citadel,” replied James Playfair.
“Just so!—On board now?”
“On board, Crockston!”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ESCAPE.
Miss Jenny, sitting at the poop of the “Dolphin,” was anxiously waiting
the captain’s return; when the latter went up to her she could not utter
a word, but her eyes questioned James Playfair more eagerly than her
lips could have done. The latter, with Crockston’s help, informed the
young girl of the facts relating to her father’s imprisonment. He said
that he had carefully broached the subject of the prisoners of war to
Beauregard, but as the General did not seem disposed at all in their
favour, he had thought it better to say no more about it, but think the
matter over again.
“Since Mr. Halliburtt is not free in the town, his escape will be more
difficult; but I will finish my task, and I promise you, Miss Jenny,
that the ‘Dolphin’ shall not leave Charleston, without having your
father on board.”
“Thank you, Mr. James; I thank you with my whole heart.”
[Illustration: “I PROMISE YOU, MISS JENNY.”]
At these words James Playfair felt a thrill of joy through his whole
being.
He approached the young girl with moist eyes and quivering lips; perhaps
he was going to make an avowal of the sentiments he could no longer
repress, when Crockston interfered,—
“This is no time for grieving,” said he; “we must go to work, and
consider what to do.”
“Have you any plan, Crockston?” asked the young girl.
“I always have a plan,” replied the American; “it is my peculiarity.”
“But a good one?” said James Playfair.
“Excellent! and all the ministers in Washington could not devise a
better; it is almost as good as if Mr. Halliburtt was already on board.”
Crockston spoke with such perfect assurance, at the same time with such
simplicity, that it must have been the most incredulous person who could
doubt his words.
“We are listening, Crockston,” said James Playfair.
“Good! You, Captain, will go to General Beauregard, and ask a favour of
him which he will not refuse you.”
“And what is that?”
“You will tell him that you have on board a tiresome subject, a scamp
who has been very troublesome during the voyage, and excited the crew to
revolt. You will ask of him permission to shut him up in the citadel; at
the same time on the condition that he shall return to the ship on her
departure, in order to be taken back to England, to be delivered over to
the justice of his country.”
“Good!” said James Playfair, half smiling, “I will do all that, and
Beauregard will grant my request very willingly.”
“I am perfectly sure of it,” replied the American.
“But,” resumed Playfair, “one thing is wanting.”
“What is that?”
“The scamp.”
“He is before you, Captain.”
“What, the rebellious subject?—”
“Is myself; don’t trouble yourself about that.”
“Oh! you brave, generous heart,” cried Jenny, pressing the American’s
rough hands between her small white palms.
“Go, Crockston,” said James Playfair; “I understand you, my friend; and
I only regret one thing, that is, that I cannot take your place.”
“Every one his part,” replied Crockston; “if you put yourself in my
place you would be very much embarrassed, which I shall not be; you will
have enough to do later on to get out of the harbour under the fire of
the Feds and Rebs, which, for my part, I should manage very badly.”
“Well, Crockston, go on.”
“Once in the citadel—I know it—I shall see what to do, and rest assured
I shall do my best; in the meanwhile, you will be getting your cargo on
board.”
“Oh! business is now a very unimportant detail,” said the Captain.
“Not at all! and what would your uncle Vincent say to that? We must join
sentiment with work; it will prevent suspicion; but do it quickly. Can
you be ready in six days?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let the ‘Dolphin’ be ready to start on the 22nd.”
“She shall be ready.”
“On the evening of the 22nd of January, you understand, send a
shore-boat with your best men to White Point, at the end of the town;
wait there till nine o’clock, and then you will see Mr. Halliburtt and
your servant.”
“But how will you manage to effect Mr. Halliburtt’s deliverance, and
also escape yourself?”
“That’s my look-out.”
“Dear Crockston, you are going to risk your life then, to save my
father!”
“Don’t be uneasy, Miss Jenny, I shall risk absolutely nothing, you may
believe me.”
“Well,” asked James Playfair, “when must I have you locked up?”
“To-day—you understand—I demoralize your crew; there is no time to be
lost.”
“Would you like any money? it may be of use to you in the citadel.”
“Money to buy the gaoler! Oh, no! it would be a poor bargain; when one
goes there the gaoler keeps the money and the prisoner! No! I have surer
means than that; however, a few dollars may be useful; one must be able
to drink, if needs be.”
“And intoxicate the gaoler.”
“No, an intoxicated gaoler would spoil everything. No, I tell you I have
an idea, let me work it out.”
“Here, my good fellow, are ten dollars.”
“It is too much, but I will return what is over.”
“Well, then, are you ready?”
“Quite ready to be a downright rogue.”
“Let us go to work then.”
“Crockston,” said the young girl, in a faltering voice, “you are the
best man on earth.”
“I know it,”replied the American, laughing good-humouredly. “By-the-bye,
Captain, an important item.”
“What is that?”
“If the General proposes to hang your rebel—you know that military men
like sharp work—”
“Well, Crockston?”
“Well, you will say that you must think about it.”
“I promise you I will.”
The same day to the great astonishment of the crew, who were not in the
secret, Crockston with his feet and hands in irons was taken on shore by
a dozen sailors, and half-an-hour after, by Captain James Playfair’s
request, he was led through the streets of the town, and in spite of his
resistance was imprisoned in the citadel.
During this and the following days the unloading of the “Dolphin” was
rapidly accomplished; the steam cranes lifted out the European cargo to
make room for the native goods. The people of Charleston, who were
present at this interesting work, helped the sailors, whom they held in
great respect, but the Captain did not leave the brave fellows much time
for receiving compliments; he was constantly behind them, and urged them
on with a feverish activity, the reason of which the sailors could not
suspect.
Three days later, on the 18th of January, the first bales of cotton
began to be packed in the hold; although James Playfair troubled himself
no more about it, the firm of Playfair and Co. were making an excellent
bargain, having obtained the cotton which encumbered the Charleston
wharves at very far less than its value.
In the meantime no news had been heard of Crockston. Jenny without
saying anything about it was a prey to incessant fears, her pale face
spoke for her, and James Playfair endeavoured his utmost to ease her
mind.
“I have all confidence in Crockston,” said he, “he is a devoted servant,
as you must know better than I do, Miss Jenny. You must make yourself
quite at ease; believe me, in three days you will be folded in your
father’s arms.”
“Ah! Mr. James,” cried the young girl, “how can I ever repay you for
such devotion? How shall we ever be able to thank you?”
“I will tell you when we are in English seas,” replied the young
Captain.
Jenny raised her tearful face to him for a moment, then her eyelids
drooped, and she went back to her cabin.
James Playfair hoped that the young girl would know nothing of her
father’s terrible situation until he was in safety, but she was apprized
of the truth by the involuntary indiscretion of a sailor.
The reply from the Richmond cabinet had arrived by a courier who had
been able to pass the line of outposts; the reply contained Jonathan
Halliburtt’s death-warrant. The news of the approaching execution was
not long in spreading through the town, and it was brought on board by
one of the sailors of the “Dolphin;” the man told the Captain, without
thinking that Miss Halliburtt was within hearing; the young girl uttered
a piercing cry, and fell unconscious on the deck. James Playfair carried
her to her cabin, but the most assiduous care was necessary to restore
her to life.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw the young Captain, who, with a
finger on his lips, enjoined absolute silence. With difficulty she
repressed the outburst of her grief, and James Playfair, leaning towards
her, said gently,—
“Jenny, in two hours your father will be in safety near you, or I shall
have perished in endeavouring to save him!”
Then he left the cabin, saying to himself, “And now he must be carried
off at any price, since I must pay for his liberty with my own life and
that of my crew.”
The hour for action had arrived, the loading of the cotton cargo had
been finished since morning; in two hours the ship would be ready to
start.
James Playfair had left the North Commercial Wharf and gone into the
roadstead, so that he was ready to make use of the tide, which would be
high at nine o’clock in the evening.
It was seven o’clock when James left the young girl, and began to make
preparations for departure. Until the present time the secret had been
strictly kept between himself, Crockston, and Jenny; but now he thought
it wise to inform Mr. Mathew of the situation of affairs, and he did so
immediately.
“Very well, sir,” replied Mr. Mathew, without making the least remark,
“and nine o’clock is the time?”
“Nine o’clock, and have the fires lit immediately, and the steam got
up.”
“It shall be done, Captain.”
“The ‘Dolphin’ may remain at anchor; we will cut our moorings and sheer
off, without losing a moment.”
“Just so.”
“Have a lantern placed at the main-mast-head; the night is dark, and
will be foggy; we must not risk losing our way in returning; you had
better have the bell for starting rung at nine o’clock.”
“Your orders shall be punctually attended to, Captain.”
“And now, Mr. Mathew, have a shore-boat manned with six of our best men;
I am going to set out directly for ‘White Point.’ I leave Miss Jenny in
your charge, and may God protect us!”
“May God protect us!” repeated the first officer.
Then he immediately gave the necessary orders for the fires to be
lighted, and the shore-boat provided with men. In a few minutes the boat
was ready, and James Playfair, after bidding Jenny good-bye, stepped
into it, whilst at the same time, he saw volumes of black smoke issuing
from the chimneys of the ship, and losing itself in the fog.
The darkness was profound; the wind had fallen, and in the perfect
silence the waters seemed to slumber in the immense harbour, whilst a
few uncertain lights glimmered through the mist. James Playfair had
taken his place at the rudder, and with a steady hand he guided his boat
towards White Point. It was a distance of about two miles; during the
day James had taken his bearings perfectly, so that he was able to make
direct for Charleston Point.
Eight o’clock struck from the church of St. Philip when the shore-boat
ran aground at White Point.
There was an hour to wait before the exact time fixed by Crockston; the
quay was deserted, with the exception of the sentinel pacing to and fro
on the south and east batteries. James Playfair grew impatient, and the
minutes seemed hours to him.
At half-past eight he heard the sound of approaching steps; he left his
men with their oars clear and ready to start, and went himself to see
who it was; but he had not gone ten feet when he met a band of
coast-guards, in all about twenty men. James drew his revolver from his
waist, deciding to make use of it, if needs be; but what could he do
against these soldiers, who were coming on to the quay?
The leader came up to him, and seeing the boat, asked,—
“Whose craft is that?”
“It is a shore-boat belonging to the ‘Dolphin,’” replied the young man.
“And who are you?”
“Captain James Playfair.”
“I thought you had already started, and were now in the Charleston
channels.”
“I am ready to start. I ought even now to be on my way, but—”
“But—” persisted the coast-guard.
A bright idea shot through James’s mind, and he answered,—
“One of my sailors is locked up in the citadel, and to tell the truth I
had almost forgotten him; fortunately I thought of him in time, and I
have sent my men to bring him.”
“Ah! that troublesome fellow; you wish to take him back to England?”
“Yes.”
“He might as well be hung here as there,” said the coast-guard, laughing
at his joke.
“So I think,” said James Playfair, “but it is better to have the thing
done in the regular way.”
“Not much chance of that, Captain, when you have to face the Morris
Island batteries.”
“Don’t alarm yourself. I got in and I’ll get out again.”
“Prosperous voyage to you!”
“Thank you.”
With this the men went off, and the shore was left silent.
At this moment nine o’clock struck; it was the appointed moment. James
felt his heart beat violently: a whistle was heard; he replied to it,
then he waited, listening, with his hand up to enjoin perfect silence on
the sailors; a man appeared enveloped in a large cloak, and looking from
one side to another, James ran up to him.
[Illustration: MR. HALLIBURTT?]
“Mr. Halliburtt?”
“I am he,” replied the man with the cloak.
“God be praised!” cried James Playfair; “embark without losing a minute.
Where is Crockston?”
“Crockston!” exclaimed Mr. Halliburtt, amazed. “What do you mean?”
“The man who has saved you and brought you here was your servant
Crockston.”
“The man who came with me was the gaoler from the citadel,” replied Mr.
Halliburtt.
“The gaoler!” cried James Playfair.
Evidently he knew nothing about it, and a thousand fears crowded in his
mind.
“Quite right, the gaoler,” cried a well-known voice; “the gaoler is
sleeping like a top in my cell.”
“Crockston! you! can it be you?” exclaimed Mr. Halliburtt.
“No time to talk now, master; we will explain everything to you
afterwards; it is a question of life or death. Get in quick!”
The three men took their places in the boat.
“Push off!” cried the captain.
Immediately the six oars dipped into the water; the boat darted like a
fish through the waters of Charleston Harbour.
CHAPTER IX.
“BETWEEN TWO FIRES.”
The boat, pulled by six robust oarsmen, flew over the water. The fog was
growing dense, and it was with difficulty that James Playfair succeeded
in keeping to the line of his bearings. Crockston sat at the bows, and
Mr. Halliburtt at the stern next the Captain. The prisoner, only now
informed of the presence of his servant, wished to speak to him, but the
latter enjoined silence.
However, a few minutes later, when they were in the middle of the
harbour, Crockston determined to speak knowing what thoughts were
uppermost in Mr. Halliburtt’s mind.
“Yes, my dear master,” said he, “the gaoler is in my place in the cell,
where I gave him two smart blows, one on the head and the other on the
stomach, to act as a sleeping draught, and this when he was bringing me
my supper; there is gratitude for you. I took his clothes and his keys,
found you, and let you out of the citadel, under the soldiers’ noses.
That is all I have done.”
“But my daughter?—” asked Mr. Halliburtt.
“Is on board the ship which is going to take you to England.”
“My daughter there! there!” cried the American, springing from his seat.
“Silence!” replied Crockston, “a few minutes, and we shall be saved.”
The boat flew through the darkness, but James Playfair was obliged to
steer rather by guess, as the lanterns of the “Dolphin” were no longer
visible through the fog. He was undecided what direction to follow, and
the darkness was so great that the rowers could not even see to the end
of their oars.
“Well, Mr. James?” said Crockston.
“We must have made more than a mile and a half,” replied the Captain.
“You don’t see anything, Crockston?”
“Nothing; nevertheless I have good eyes, but we shall get there all
right. They don’t suspect anything out there.”
These words were hardly finished when the flash of a gun gleamed for an
instant through the darkness, and vanished in the mist.
“A signal!” cried James Playfair.
“Whew!” exclaimed Crockston, “it must have come from the citadel. Let us
wait.”
A second, then a third shot was fired in the direction of the first, and
almost the same signal was repeated a mile in front of the shore-boat.
“That is from Fort Sumter,” cried Crockston, “and it is the signal of
escape. Urge on the men; everything is discovered.”
“Pull for your lives, my men!” cried James Playfair, urging on the
sailors, “those gun-shots cleared my route. ‘The Dolphin’ is eight
hundred yards ahead of us. Stop! I hear the bell on board. Hurrah, there
it is again! Twenty pounds for you if we are back in five minutes!”
The boat skimmed over the waves under the sailors’ powerful oars. A
cannon boomed in the direction of the town. Crockston heard a ball whiz
past them.
The bell on the “Dolphin” was ringing loudly. A few more strokes and the
boat was alongside. A few more seconds and Jenny fell into her father’s
arms.
[Illustration: JENNY FELL INTO HER FATHER’s ARMS.]
The shore-boat was immediately raised, and James Playfair sprang on to
the poop.
“Is the steam up, Mr. Mathew?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Have the moorings cut at once.”
A few minutes later the two screws carried the steamer towards the
principal channel, away from Fort Sumter.
“Mr. Mathew,” said James, “we must not think of taking the Sullivan
Island channel; we should run directly under the Confederate guns. Let
us go as near as possible to the right side of the harbour out of range
of the Federal batteries. Have you a safe man at the helm?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Have the lanterns and the fires on deck extinguished; there is a great
deal too much light, but we cannot help the reflection from the
engine-rooms.”
During this conversation the “Dolphin” was going at a great speed; but
in altering her course to keep to the right side of the Charleston
Harbour she was obliged to enter a channel which took her for a moment
near Fort Sumter; and when scarcely half a mile off all the guns bearing
on her were discharged at the same time, and a shower of shot and shell
passed in front of the “Dolphin” with a thundering report.
“Too soon, stupids,” cried James Playfair, with a burst of laughter.
“Make haste, make haste, Mr. Engineer! We shall get between two fires.”
The stokers fed the furnaces, and the “Dolphin” trembled all over with
the effort of the engine as if she was on the point of exploding.
At this moment a second report was heard, and another shower of balls
whizzed behind the “Dolphin.”
“Too late, stupids,” cried the young Captain, with a regular roar.
Then Crockston, who was standing on the poop, cried, “That’s one passed.
A few minutes more, and we shall have done with the Rebs.”
“Then do you think we have nothing more to fear from Fort Sumter?” asked
James.
“Nothing at all, but everything from Fort Moultrie, at the end of
Sullivan Island; but they will only get a chance at us for half a
minute, and then they must choose their time well, and shoot straight if
they want to reach us. We are getting near.”
“Right; the position of Fort Moultrie will allow us to go straight for
the principal channel. Fire away then, fire away!”
At the same moment, and as if in obedience to James Playfair, the fort
was illuminated by a triple line of lightning. A frightful crash was
heard; then a crackling sound on board the steamer.
“Touched this time!” exclaimed Crockston.
“Mr. Mathew!” cried the Captain to his second, who was stationed at the
bows, “what has been damaged?”
“The bowsprit broken.”
“Any wounded?”
“No, Captain.”
“Well, then, the masts may go to Jericho. Straight into the pass!
Straight! and steer towards the island.”
“We have passed the Rebs!” cried Crockston; “and if we must have balls
in our hull, I would much rather have the Northerners’; they are more
easily digested.”
In fact, the “Dolphin” could not yet consider herself out of danger; for
if Morris Island was not fortified with the formidable pieces of
artillery which were placed there a few months later, nevertheless its
guns and mortars could easily have sunk a ship like the “Dolphin.”
The alarm had been given to the Federals on the island, and to the
blockading squadron, by the firing from Forts Sumter and Moultrie. The
besiegers could not make out the reason of this night attack; it did not
seem to be directed against them. However, they were obliged to consider
it so, and were ready to reply.
It occupied James Playfair’s thoughts whilst making towards the passes
of Morris Island; and he had reason to fear, for in a quarter of an
hour’s time lights gleamed rapidly through the darkness. A shower of
small shell fell round the steamer, scattering the water over her
bulwarks; some of them even struck the deck of the “Dolphin,” but not on
their points, which saved the ship from certain ruin. In fact, these
shell, as it was afterwards discovered, could break into a hundred
fragments, and each cover a superficial area of a hundred and twenty
square feet with Greek fire, which would burn for twenty minutes, and
nothing could extinguish it. One of these shell alone could set a ship
on fire. Fortunately for the “Dolphin,” they were a new invention, and
as yet far from perfect. Once thrown into the air, a false rotary
movement kept them inclined, and, when falling, instead of striking on
their points, where is the percussion apparatus, they fell flat. This
defect in construction alone saved the “Dolphin.” The falling of these
shells did her little harm, and under the pressure of her over-heated
boilers she continued to advance into the pass.
At this moment, and in spite of his orders, Mr. Halliburtt and his
daughter went to James Playfair on the poop; the latter urged them to
return to their cabins, but Jenny declared that she would remain by the
Captain. As for Mr. Halliburtt, who had just learnt all the noble
conduct of his deliverer, he pressed his hand without being able to
utter a word.
The “Dolphin” was speeding rapidly towards the open sea. There were only
three miles more before she would be in the waters of the Atlantic; if
the pass was free at its entrance, she was saved. James Playfair was
wonderfully well acquainted with all the secrets of Charleston Bay, and
he guided his ship through the darkness with an unerring hand. He was
beginning to think his daring enterprise successful, when a sailor on
the forecastle cried,—
“A ship!”
“A ship?” cried James.
“Yes, on the larboard side.”
The fog had cleared off, and a large frigate was seen making towards the
pass, in order to obstruct the passage of the “Dolphin.” It was
necessary, cost what it might, to distance her, and urge the
steam-engine to an increase of speed, or all was lost.
“Port the helm at once!” cried the Captain.
Then he sprang on to the bridge above the engine. By his orders one of
the screws was stopped, and under the action of the other the “Dolphin,”
veering with an extraordinary rapidity avoided running foul of the
frigate, and advanced like her to the entrance of the pass. It was now a
question of speed.
James Playfair understood that in this lay his own safety, Miss Jenny’s,
her father’s, and that of all his crew.
The frigate was considerably in advance of the “Dolphin.” It was evident
from the volumes of black smoke issuing from her chimneys that she was
getting up her steam. James Playfair was not the man to be left in the
background.
“How are the engines?” cried he to the engineer.
“At the maximum speed,” replied the latter; “the steam is escaping by
all the valves.”
“Fasten them down,” ordered the Captain.
And his orders were executed at the risk of blowing up the ship.
The “Dolphin” again increased her speed; the pistons worked with
frightful rapidity; the metal plates on which the engine was placed
trembled under the terrific force of their blows. It was a sight to make
the boldest shudder.
“More pressure!” cried James Playfair; “put on more pressure!”
“Impossible!” replied the engineer; “the valves are tightly closed; our
furnaces are full up to the mouths.”
“What difference! Fill them with cotton soaked in spirits; we must pass
that frigate at any price.”
At these words the most daring of the sailors looked at each other, but
did not hesitate. Some bales of cotton were thrown into the engine-room,
a barrel of spirits broached over them, and this expensive fuel placed,
not without danger, in the red-hot furnaces. The stokers could no longer
hear each other speak for the roaring of the flames. Soon the metal
plates of the furnaces became red-hot; the pistons worked like the
pistons of a locomotive; the steam-gauge showed a frightful tension; the
steamer flew over the water; her boards creaked, and her chimneys threw
out volumes of smoke mingled with flames. She was going at a headlong
speed, but, nevertheless, she was gaining on the frigate—passed her,
distanced her, and in ten minutes was out of the channel.
“Saved!” cried the Captain.
“Saved!” echoed the crew, clapping their hands.
Already the Charleston beacon was disappearing in the south-west; the
sound of firing from the batteries grew fainter, and it might with
reason be thought that the danger was all past, when a shell from a
gun-boat cruising at large was hurled whizzing through the air. It was
easy to trace its course, thanks to the line of fire which followed it.
Then was a moment of anxiety impossible to describe, every one was
silent, and each watched fearfully the arch described by the projectile.
Nothing could be done to escape it, and in a few seconds it fell with a
frightful noise on the fore-deck of the “Dolphin.”
The terrified sailors crowded to the stern, and no one dared move a
step, whilst the shell was burning with a brisk crackle.
But one brave man alone among them ran up to the formidable weapon of
destruction. It was Crockston; he took the shell in his strong arms,
whilst showers of sparks were falling from it; then, with a superhuman
effort, he threw it overboard.
Hardly had the shell reached the surface of the water when it burst with
a frightful report.
“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried the whole crew of the “Dolphin” unanimously,
whilst Crockston rubbed his hands.
[Illustration: HE TOOK THE SHELL.]
Some time later the steamer sped rapidly through the waters of the
Atlantic; the American coast disappeared in the darkness, and the
distant lights which shot across the horizon indicated that the attack
was general between the batteries of Morris Island and the forts of
Charleston Harbor.
CHAPTER X.
ST. MUNGO.
The next day at sunrise the American coast had disappeared; not a ship
was visible on the horizon, and the “Dolphin,” moderating the frightful
rapidity of her speed, made quietly towards the Bermudas.
It is useless to recount the passage across the Atlantic, which was
marked by no accidents, and ten days after the departure from Queenstown
the French coast was hailed.
What passed between the Captain and the young girl may be imagined, even
by the least observant individuals. How could Mr. Halliburtt acknowledge
the devotion and courage of his deliverer, if it was not by making him
the happiest of men? James Playfair did not wait for English seas to
declare to the father and daughter the sentiments which overflowed his
heart, and, if Crockston is to be believed, Miss Jenny received his
confession with a happiness she did not try to conceal.
Thus it happened that on the 14th of February, 18—, a numerous crowd was
collected in the dim aisles of St. Mungo, the old cathedral of Glasgow.
There were seamen, merchants, manufacturers, magistrates, and some of
every denomination, gathered here. There was Miss Jenny in bridal array,
and beside her the worthy Crockston, resplendent in apple-green clothes,
with gold buttons, whilst Uncle Vincent stood proudly by his nephew.
In short, they were celebrating the marriage of James Playfair, of the
firm of Vincent Playfair and Co., of Glasgow, with Miss Jenny
Halliburtt, of Boston.
The ceremony was accomplished amidst great pomp. Every one knew the
history of the “Dolphin,” and every one thought the young Captain well
recompensed for his devotion. He alone said that his reward was greater
than he deserved.
In the evening there was a grand ball and banquet at Uncle Vincent’s
house, with a large distribution of shillings to the crowd collected in
Gordon Street. Crockston did ample justice to this memorable feast,
while keeping himself perfectly within bounds.
Every one was happy at this wedding; some at their own happiness, and
others at the happiness around them, which is not always the case at
ceremonies of this kind.
Late in the evening, when the guests had retired, James Playfair took
his uncle’s hand.
“Well, Uncle Vincent,” said he to him.
“Well, Nephew James?”
“Are you pleased with the charming cargo I brought you on board the
‘Dolphin’?” continued Captain Playfair, showing him his brave young
wife.
“I am quite satisfied,” replied the worthy merchant; “I have sold my
cotton at three hundred and seventy-five per cent. profit.”
[Illustration: “WELL, UNCLE VINCENT.”]
THE END.
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Transcriber’s Note
Where hyphenation occurs on a line break, the decision to
retain or remove is based on occurrences elsewhere in the
text.
The errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been
corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the
page and line in the original text.
Errors in punctuation and quotes have been silently
restored.
reference correction original text
12.4 enterprise the enterpri[z]e of the freighters
16.19 top-men quartermasters, top[ ]men, steersmen
25.4 steam-ship winding passage for our steam[ ]ship.
illus26 CAPSTAN-BARS EVERY MAN AT THE CAPSTAN[ ]BARS
37.14 skylights side sky[-]lights, supported on
37.15 upper deck with the upper[-]deck by wide
45.15 ironwork not a piece of iron[-]work remaining
48.15 upper deck passengers stood on the upper[-]deck
56.31 statistician the universal [statician]
73.4 upper deck the upper[-]deck at the stern
80.11 upper deck couple on to the upper[-]deck.
89.11 ahead One ring signifies ship a[-]head
91.20 ahead with the wind a[-]head, and
105.6 upper deck on to the upper[-]decks; the scene
113.7 cracks glimmered through the [creaks]
117.7 Pleiades The [Peliades] ascended the celestial
119.2 'eel' in twisting myself like an [analide]
another edition
119.2b upper deck I reached the upper[-]deck,
126.3 a head charge 10,000 francs a[]head
127.13 homogeneity owing to the perfect [homogenity]
134.20 Mac Elwin Captain [McElwin] is one of
144.31 upper deck at the end of the upper[-]deck,
146.13 shore boats masts and shore[-]boats, hanging from
150.18 1772 have lived in [1172], or even in 1824
154.31 rope-ladder A rope[ ]ladder was thrown over
157.9 main-mast from the [mainmast]; these arrangements
165.21 statistician Cockburn, the [statician], who had
166.3 statistician And the [statician] left me
169.12 Montmartre the Boulevard [Montmatre] of Paris
186.3 Trenton Tren[d]on (New Jersey)
198.24 500 horse-power 500[-]horse[ ]power, were from
204.35 Wilmington Orleans, Wil[l]mington, and Savannah
204.36 Charleston going straight to Charlesto[w]n
205.4 Charleston Charlesto[w]n is overwhelmed
216.27 some so[ ]me incomprehensible words
217.35 fore-mast the main on the fore[]mast.
219.9 fore-mast from the fore[]mast!
246.7 lighthouse “Charleston light[-]house!”
249.28 ahead could go a[-]head without any
249.29 was Once his ship [was] safely in the
250.1 Pinckney Pickney Castle
268.21 main-mast-head placed at the [mainmast-head]
271.36 Halliburtt citadel, replied Mr. Halliburt[t]
------------------------------------------------------------------------