CATCHING A TARTAR
But the good fortune that had thus far fallen to the lot of the
Anderson was to take a turn, for we had not long returned to our
station at Aransas when an affair occurred that was a decided damper
upon the fun we had heretofore enjoyed in capturing prizes.
One morning while the watch was washing down the decks the lookout
at the masthead gave the always welcome “Sail ho!” and upon closer
inspection the vessel in sight proved to be a small sloop hugging the
shore to the northward and evidently running down the coast on her way
to the Rio Grande.
Of course we slipped our anchors at once and made sail in chase; but
the wind was light and the sloop was of such light draft that, having a
leading wind, she could safely keep almost in to the surf line, where
we could not possibly get at her with the ship. In consequence, the
sloop was rapidly approaching the entrance to Aransas Bay, where she
would easily have escaped us, when I resorted to my former expedient
and sent in an armed cutter, with a light gun, to head her off, knowing
that if I could get her off shore I should eventually capture her.
But when the captain of the sloop saw what I was up to, he put his
helm up, without hesitation, let draw his sheets, and drove his vessel
through the light surf and high up on the beach. Then the crew at once
abandoned the craft, and, running up over the sand hills, disappeared.
The officer in my boat, following sharp upon his chase, ran alongside
the sloop, of which he took possession, and found her loaded with
between forty and fifty bales of cotton. But, unfortunately, she had
been beached at the very tiptop of high water; and as the tide soon
after began to run ebb, it was very evident to Mr. Allen that his prize
would soon be high and dry, so he returned to the ship for further
orders.
That evening at high water I sent in three armed boats, with orders
for one of them to lay outside the breakers and cover the landing
party. The crews of the other two boats, under command of my executive
officer, were directed to make every effort to get the sloop afloat,
and for that purpose they were amply provided with hawsers, blocks
and tackles, a kedge anchor, and such other paraphernalia as I deemed
necessary for the proposed work.
The wind was light and there was a full moon, so that the conditions
were very favorable for success. Mr. Bailey laid out the sloop’s
anchor, backed with our kedge, brought the hawser to the sloop’s
windlass, reinforced it with a heavy purchase, and got a heavy strain
on the hawser with the aid of his twoscore men, who were working with
all their heart, but not an inch would she budge. Her skipper had
driven her up with all sail set, and she had made a bed for herself in
the soft sand from which we could not possibly move her.
When the tide began to run ebb, Mr. Bailey decided to return to
the ship and report progress--or rather the lack of it. I had been
anxiously watching the operations from the ship, which I had anchored
as near the beach as prudence permitted, and I was naturally annoyed
at the want of success on the part of my people.
I presume my manner gave Mr. Bailey the impression that I attributed
the failure to his insufficient effort, which was by no means the case,
but I saw that he was very much dejected as he made his report.
The officers talked the matter over together in the wardroom that
evening, as I learned later on, and the next morning Mr. Taylor, who
was my favorite boat officer, came to me after quarters and asked, as a
special favor, permission to go in with three picked boat’s crews that
morning and, abandoning what seemed a well-nigh useless attempt to get
the sloop afloat, to unload her and tow the cotton, worth twenty or
twenty-five thousand dollars, off to the ship.
“I’ll guarantee to do it, captain,” said the plucky fellow. “I propose
to take in two or three coils of inch rope in the boats and after
getting the bales afloat I can lash them together so that we can tow
them off to the ship in this smooth water with our three boats.”
“It will be very hard work, Mr. Taylor, even if you get the bales
afloat through the surf, which is doubtful. And I don’t feel clear in
my mind that it would be strictly in the line of duty. The sloop is
ashore, and her blockade running can be put an end to for good and
all by a match and a few pounds of powder, or we can knock her to
pieces from the ship in target practice. Our men had a hard day’s work
yesterday for nothing, and I don’t care to give them more of it.”
“I know that, sir; but the crew are just crazy to do it. I should only
take volunteers, and there are twice as many ready to go as I require
for the work.”
I saw that officers and men were alike anxious for the lark, as they
considered it; they were always ready when I called upon them for
the severest duty, and so against my better judgment I gave way and
consented. But I insisted that the first cutter, well armed, should
remain outside the surf to cover the shore operations, and that under
no circumstances should she be taken off from guard duty. By this
precaution alone I was saved from what would have otherwise been a very
serious disaster.
Most of the forenoon was passed by the shore party in breaking out the
bales and in warping them out to one of the boats outside the surf, and
by noon nearly all the cotton was afloat. Just before twelve o’clock
I was about giving the order to make the boat recall signal, for the
men to come off to dinner, when I saw a series of puffs of smoke from
the sand hills and heard the muffled reports of musketry. In a moment
there was a rush of gray-coats toward my men, a rapid return fire from
my guard boat, a struggle on the beach, plainly visible through the
glass, two or three figures lay prone on the sand, and then the heads
of men could be seen swimming from the beach out to the boat. One of
the cutters was meanwhile launched and forced out through the surf, the
rebels keeping up an active fire at it, and then all was quiet, with
two boats pulling out toward us and a group of rebels gathered about my
whaleboat on the beach!
All this had not taken much longer in the action than it has in the
telling, and we on board ship were so utterly surprised at the sudden
attack, that for a moment we looked on in speechless amazement! But
only for a moment, for the boatswain’s call was not needed to bring
all hands on deck, and the orders that rang out sharp and swift were
obeyed with equal promptness.
“Aloft, topmen and lower yard men, and loose topsails and courses!
Stand by to sheet home and hoist of all! Stand by to slip the anchor!
Forecastle there; clear away the rifle and get a range on those
fellows! Be careful, Mr. Allen, and give the gun elevation enough to
clear our boats!”
The sails fell from the yards and flew to the mastheads, the courses
were sheeted home and the tacks ridden down, the jibs ran up, our
anchors were slipped, and filling on the starboard tack we stood in for
the land, the forecastle gun, actively served, throwing shells among
the rebels, who were taking shelter behind the sand hills.
“Put a leadsman in the fore chains, sir! Give me the soundings sharp,
my lad!”
“And a quarter five,” came the quick response.
We were drawing sixteen feet, and that left but fifteen feet of water
under my keel. I certainly could not go much farther in.
“Get another cast, and be quick about it!”
“Qu-a-a-r-ter less five!”
“Stand by to tack ship! Put your helm down!”
“And a h-a-l-f four!”
“Hard a lee! Tacks and sheets! Mainsail haul!”
The dear old barkey came up in the wind like a bird, lost her headway,
paused, trembling, for a moment, and then filled on the other tack as
the head yards flew round. We began to edge off shore again, while the
call from the leadsman, “Quarter less four,” warned me that we had got
on the other tack none too soon.
Out of danger with my ship, I could now turn my attention to the
situation in shore, where I found two of my boats well off to me and
the beach clear of the combatants, who did not care to face my fire;
but my white whaleboat had been run up inside of the sloop, and was
temporarily abandoned.
The two boats were soon alongside, and I learned, to my sorrow, that
six men of the whaleboat crew were prisoners on shore and two of the
second cutter’s crew had been wounded in escaping. The abandoned
cotton was meanwhile floating about in the breakers, a disagreeable
reminder of the cause of our discomfiture.
Mr. Taylor reported that when the rebels opened fire and made a rush
for them, two of our boats were beached. The crew of the cutter ran
their boat out and got her beyond the breakers under a heavy fire with
only two wounded; but the crew of the lighter boat were less fortunate,
and were headed off by the rebels, and six of them were compelled to
surrender at discretion. Several of the Confederates were wounded by
the fire from our guard boat, and Mr. Taylor thought that two of them
were killed.
The next day I sent in a flag of truce boat to Colonel Hobbie, in
command of the Confederates, and endeavored to effect an exchange of
my men for several rebel prisoners I had on board; but failing in that
attempt, I sent my boys their clothing and a liberal supply of tobacco.
All of this, however, as I learned, was confiscated by the rebels, and
none of their property ever came into the hands of my men.
The following day I found that my whaleboat had been taken away
during the previous night, so I went to quarters for target practice
and speedily knocked the sloop into kindling wood with our broadside
battery,--as I should have done at first,--and so brought that episode
to a close.
Six months later, while the Anderson was at New Orleans, Harry Benson,
the coxswain of my whaleboat, who was one of those captured, came off
to the ship and reported for duty. He had escaped from the prison pen
at Matagorda wearing an old Confederate uniform he had managed to
purchase, and had actually walked, nearly six hundred miles, through
Texas to New Orleans!