A SUCCESSFUL STILL HUNT
About three months after my adventure in the bay, the doctor came to me
one morning after quarters and reported that he had a number of cases
on the sick list of a decidedly scorbutic character. This, he said,
was mainly the result of a lack of fresh vegetables in the messes, as
we had been neglected by the supply steamers for a long time. Since my
late experience, I had made no further attempts at obtaining fresh beef
on shore, so had come down to a salt-beef ration.
The doctor said that it would be necessary to have a change in the
dietary to check the progress of this disease, and he submitted his
report for my consideration.
Although my orders from Commodore Bell contemplated my keeping a close
blockade of Aransas, I had received, in view of the extent of coast I
was expected to care for, permission to exercise a certain amount of
discretion, which I felt assured would warrant me in running down to
the Rio Grande under the existing circumstances.
That was the southern limit of the Texan coast, about one hundred
and seventy-five miles from Aransas, and was included in my beat, as
the Anderson was the only ship on the blockade between Galveston and
Matamoras.
When I notified Mr. Bailey of my intention and gave orders for getting
under weigh at daylight the following morning, my executive officer
did not attempt to conceal his pleasure at the prospect of a change
from the deadly monotony of the blockade; and I observed that evening,
as I took my after-dinner exercise on the poop, that the songs from
the forecastle displayed an unusual amount of vigor in the choruses.
Indeed, I had never heard “Dick Turpin’s Ride to York” go off with such
vim, and the chorus,--
“My bonny, my bonny, my bonny Black Bess,”
could almost have been heard on the sand hills, three miles away, that
sheltered our Confederate friends, the Texan Rangers.
The next morning we were off bright and early with a fresh breeze from
the northward, and the following day we dropped our anchor just north
of the imaginary line that divided Mexican from American waters. In
fact, I was so close to this boundary line that, although I laid my
anchor on American bottom, when the wind was from the northward my ship
swung into Mexican water. By treaty this line, starting from the centre
of the mouth of the Rio Grande, runs out three miles W. N. W. I mention
this particularly, as its importance in my story will be discovered
farther on.
My anchorage was well outside of the fleet in the harbor, which to
my surprise included a number of large merchant steamers flying the
English flag, all of them busily engaged in loading or unloading; and
all of them, as I observed, were well to the southward of the line, and
consequently in Mexican waters.
Our anchors down, sails furled, and yards squared, I had my gig called
away, and pulled in shore to an American ship of war with whom I had
exchanged signals and which I had thus learned was the United States
steamer Princess Royal, a captured English blockade runner purchased
by our government at the prize sale and fitted out as a vessel of war.
She was commanded by Commander George Colvocoresses, a regular officer,
a Greek by birth, and called by the sailors, who could not grapple with
this Hellenic appellation, “Old Crawl-over-the-crosstrees.”
After reporting and explaining my errand at the Rio Grande, I expressed
my astonishment at the activity that was manifest on every side in the
harbor.
“Yes,” said the captain, “I have had the pleasure of seeing small
vessels come in here almost every day loaded with Texan cotton,
which they have quietly discharged in lighters, and those ships have
brought cargoes of arms and ammunition from England which they sell at
excellent prices to the Confederate agents ashore, and after they have
discharged they will load up with cotton for Liverpool.”
“What becomes of the war material?”
“Oh, it is all smuggled across the river, a little farther up from the
coast, into Texas. Those guns you can now see being hoisted out will be
in the hands of the Confederates within the next sixty days.”
“And can nothing be done about it?”
“Absolutely nothing. I have protested with the authorities, and they
assure me that nothing contraband of war shall be permitted to cross
the river into Texas. But the under customs officers are easily bribed,
and they become conveniently blind.”
Returning to the Anderson, I pulled near the discharging ships, and I
could readily see that they were, as the captain had said, hoisting
out munitions of war, with no attempt at concealment. Of course, as
they were ships of a neutral power in Mexican waters, we, as United
States officers, were helpless in preventing this traffic, which
was of such great benefit to the Confederates and which kept their
trans-Mississippi armies so admirably equipped.
On going ashore the next day to arrange for supplies, I found the
streets of Matamoras swarming with Confederate officers, who made
themselves offensive to us in many ways. So I did not endeavor to
prolong my stay at the Rio Grande, but pushed things along, laid in
a generous supply of fresh fruits and vegetables, filled our water
tanks, and was ready for sea again within a week. Then one afternoon
I went on board the Princess Royal to make my farewell call on Captain
Colvocoresses, and returning to my ship, was about getting under weigh,
when, taking a look seaward, I saw a schooner standing in for the
harbor from the eastward.
Mr. Bailey, who was looking at her intently with his glass, exclaimed:
“Captain, she is full of cotton and carrying a large deck load. She is
a blockade runner, sure!”
A glance through my own glass verified the correctness of his report.
“By George, Mr. Bailey, we’ll have a try for her!”
“I am afraid it is no use, captain. She is too near the line; before we
can get under weigh she will be in Mexican water, where she can laugh
at us.”
“Yes, if she finds out who we are. Let us see if we can’t outwit her. I
don’t believe she has noticed us yet, and she is well to the eastward
of the line yet. Quietly brace our yards awry; cock-bill the main yard
a bit; haul down that pennant and ensign; run in our guns and close the
ports; slack up the running rigging; throw an old sail over the port
gangway as though we had been taking in cargo there; get up a burton
on the mainstay and a whip on the main yard; send all hands below. In
short, turn the old ship into a merchantman for the time being, to
throw the schooner off the scent. If we succeed in doing that, I will
guarantee that we bag her.”
Mr. Bailey hurried away to have this work done, and I sent my orderly
to ask Mr. Taylor to come into the cabin.
I explained my plan to him, and told him to man and arm the second
cutter and to drop her under the starboard quarter, where she could not
be seen from the approaching schooner, and to be ready at a word from
me to dash upon the prize. I knew that I could depend upon this officer
for an intelligent and prompt performance of his share of the work,
and I told him the instant he got on board the schooner to heave her
to on the other tack and at once take the bearing of the mouth of the
river so carefully that he could swear to the vessel’s position, if the
matter should come up in the prize court for adjudication.
Then I replaced my uniform coat and cap with a white linen jacket and
a straw hat, and took up a conspicuous position on the poop, looking
very like a merchant captain. Meanwhile Mr. Bailey, following my
suggestions, had transformed my dandy man-of-war bark into a merchant
drogher, to all appearance from a short distance. He had also got
himself up in the masquerade costume of a Kennebunk mate, and in his
shirt sleeves was lounging over the midship rail, cigar in mouth,
watching the approach of our Confederate friend, who was standing in
for the anchorage evidently entirely unconscious of any lurking danger.
The greatest difficulty I experienced was in keeping my men out
of sight. They were as full of excitement as a cat watching for a
mouse, and would endeavor to steal up the hatchways for a peep at the
schooner, notwithstanding all the vigilance of their officers.
At last the schooner was within little more than a cable’s length of
our port quarter, and her crew were standing by to shorten sail, in
anticipation of anchoring, when I quietly walked across the poop and
gave Mr. Taylor the word.
Like a tiger springing upon his prey, the boat flew through the water,
was alongside the schooner, and Mr. Taylor was at the tiller, which he
put hard down, to the utter astonishment of the steersman.
The boat’s crew were already in possession, the schooner, was luffed
up in the wind, close under my quarter, a line was thrown to her, her
sails came down by the run, and she was our prize without striking a
blow and almost without a word being uttered!
The captain of the vessel had not fully recovered from his astonishment
when he was brought on board my ship. From him I learned that she was
the America, with one hundred and eleven bales of cotton, with which
she had run out of Laredo a few days before. Casting a glance about
my decks, now filled with men, he muttered: “Well you ’uns certainly
tricked me that time! This must be that infernal Yankee bark they told
me was off Aransas Pass!”
As I did not deem it advisable to remain longer in port after my
capture, although it was undoubtedly made in American waters, I got my
ship under weigh at once, and within thirty minutes we were standing
out to sea with the schooner in tow, and the whole affair had passed
off so quietly that I doubt if a vessel in port was aware that anything
out of the common order had taken place.
I sent the America to Key West with a prize crew, and the following
evening I was back at my old anchorage off Aransas with an abundance of
fresh provisions and mess stores and enjoying the comfortable feeling
that comes of outwitting an adversary.