Last Summons to Richmond.—Demoralization.—The "Chameleon."—More
trouble in Bermuda.—Another Narrow Escape.—Fall of Fort
Fisher.—Maffitt's Escape, and Capt. S.'s Capture.—Another Hard
Chase.—Failure to enter Charleston.—Return to Nassau.
Another, and a longer cruise, was then contemplated, and there was some
prospect of prevailing with the Secretary of the Navy to fit out the
ship for a cruiser, by giving her proper spars, providing the means of
disconnecting the screws, and furnishing quarters for officers and men.
But disasters to our arms were then following fast upon each other.
General Sherman, after marching unopposed from Atlanta to the sea, and
capturing Savannah, was preparing to continue his progress. Wilmington
was threatened by a powerful sea and land force. The half starved and
ill clad army of Northern Virginia was in the trenches around
Petersburg, and the now contracting area of country available for
supplies, had been so thoroughly drained, that it became a vital
question how to provision the troops.
I was summoned again, and for the last time during the war, to Richmond.
It was in the early part of December. There now remained to the
Confederacy only the single line of rail communication from Wilmington,
via Greensborough, and Danville, to Richmond. The progress of
demoralization was too evident at every step of my journey, and nowhere
were the poverty, and the straits to which the country was reduced, more
palpably visible, than in the rickety, windowless, filthy cars,
traveling six or eight miles an hour, over the worn out rails and
decaying road-bed. We were eighteen hours in making the distance (about
one hundred and twenty miles) from Danville to Richmond. As we passed in
the rear of General Lee's lines, and I saw the scare-crow cattle there
being slaughtered for the troops, the game seemed to be at last growing
desperate. We were detained for perhaps an hour at the station where the
cattle were being slaughtered. Several soldiers who were on the train,
left us there; and as soon as they alighted from the cars, they seized
portions of the offal, kindled a fire, charred the scraps upon the
points of their ramrods, and devoured the unclean food with the avidity
of famished tigers.
It was arranged in Richmond, that I should take command of the
"Tallahassee," and proceed with all dispatch to Bermuda for a cargo of
provisions; my late experience with the Governor of the island rendering
it quite probable that he would prevent the Chickamauga from even
discharging her cargo as a merchant vessel. That steamer (the
Tallahassee,) of so many aliases, had just returned from a short cruise
under Captain Ward of the Confederate States Navy. She was now
christened again, and bore, thenceforward, the appropriate name of the
"Chameleon." Her battery was dismounted, the officers and crew detached,
and she was ostensibly sold to the navy agent at Wilmington. A register,
and bill of sale, were prepared in legal form, the crew shipped
according to the laws relating to the merchant service, and regular
invoices and bills of lading made out of her cargo of cotton. The
vessel, indeed, was so thoroughly whitewashed, that she subsequently
passed a searching examination in Bermuda; but my recent experience
there had convinced me of the necessity of adopting every precaution,
and I was left to my own discretion with regard to all the details; the
instructions under which I was acting requiring me only to bring in a
cargo of provisions with all dispatch.
The "Chameleon" was in nearly all respects like the Chickamauga, only a
few feet longer, and drawing a few inches more water.
On the afternoon of December 24th, the United States fleet opened fire
upon Fort Fisher, the heavy cannonading continuing during the two
following days. The booming of the heavy guns could be distinctly heard
in Wilmington.
There was a complete panic there; the non-combatants moving away, and
fright and confusion prevailing everywhere. The co-operating land
forces, under General Butler, had almost completely invested the fort,
and the communication between it and Wilmington was at one time
interrupted, so that it was impossible to ascertain the condition of
affairs below. In the midst of the turmoil, we cast off from the wharf,
about two o'clock in the afternoon of December 26th, and anchored off
Smithville after dark, the tide not serving for crossing the bar that
night.
Next morning the "Agnes Fry," an inward bound blockade-runner, was
discovered aground on the western bar. Towards evening two or three of
the blockading fleet stationed off that bar steamed in, and opened fire
upon her. The bombardment of the fort was still in progress. A little
after dark, just as we were weighing our anchor, General Whiting, who
was then in Fort Fisher, telegraphed to us that the United States land
forces were embarking, the attack upon the fort having been abandoned.
We were under way in a few moments, closely followed by the Hansa,
Captain Murray, and parting from her just as we crossed the bar. I had
known the captain for many months, under his assumed name, and it was
quite generally known that he held a commission in the British Navy.
While I was living in Nova Scotia, some years afterwards, the card of
Captain A. commanding H. B. M. ship J—n was brought to me, and I was
surprised to find in the owner of it, my old friend Murray. Several
British naval officers of rank and high character, were engaged in the
same exciting and lucrative occupation of blockade-running; among them
the gallant Captain Burgoyne, who commanded afterwards the unfortunate
ship "Captain" of H. B. M.'s Navy, and who perished together with
nearly the whole crew when she foundered at sea.
We crossed the bar under such favorable circumstances, that we were not
discovered; nor did we see any of the fleet until we had cleared the
Frying Pan Shoals, when we easily avoided several vessels which had
participated, no doubt, in the attack upon Fort Fisher, and were now
about to take their stations off the western bar.
We made a rapid, though a very rough voyage to Bermuda, a stormy
northwest gale following us nearly the whole distance. The Prussian
Major Von Borcke, who had served on General Jeb Stewart's staff, and who
afterwards published (in Blackwood's) his experience of the war, was a
passenger. The Major was no sailor, and his sufferings from sea sickness
were much aggravated by a gunshot wound in his throat. As the engines of
the "Chameleon" would "race" in the heavy sea following us, and her
whole frame would vibrate, he declared in military phraseology ("our
army swore terribly in Flanders!") that he would rather encounter the
dangers of a "stricken field" than voluntarily endure an hour of such
torture.
We arrived at St. George's on the 30th of December; and our troubles
immediately commenced. It was the 5th of January before permission was
received to land our cargo of cotton; His Excellency, the Governor
having called upon the law officers of the crown for aid in the dire
dilemma. When the vessel's papers were at last pronounced correct, we
discharged our cargo, and then arose the perplexing question of loading.
I haven't the least doubt that the American Consul was sadly bothering
His Excellency all this time; but permission was finally granted to us
to take in provisions but no munitions of war. As we did not want
"hardware," as munitions of war were then invoiced, we proceeded to
load. But a great deal of time had been lost, and we did not take our
departure for Wilmington till January the 19th; having on board as
passengers General Preston and staff, returning from Europe.
Our voyage across was very rough, and the night of our approach to New
Inlet Bar was dark and rainy. Between one and two o'clock in the
morning, as we were feeling our way with the lead, a light was
discovered nearly ahead and a short distance from us. As we drew closer
in and "sheered" the Chameleon, so as to bring the light abeam, I
directed our signal officer to make the regular signal. No reply was
made to it, although many lights now began to appear looming up through
the drizzling rain. These were undoubtedly camp fires of the United
States troops outside of Fort Fisher; but it never occurred to me as
possible, that a second attack could have been made, and successfully in
the brief period of time which had elapsed since our departure from
Wilmington. Believing that I had made some error in my day's
observations, the Chameleon was put to sea again, as the most prudent
course in the emergency. The night was too far spent to allow of any
delay. Orders were therefore given to go at full speed, and by daylight
we had made an offing of forty or fifty miles from the coast. Clear and
pleasant weather enabled me to establish our position accurately—it was
my invariable custom, at sea, during the war, to take my own
observations—and early in the night we made the Mound Light ahead, for
which I had shaped our course. The range lights were showing, and we
crossed the bar without interference, but without a suspicion of
anything wrong, as it would occasionally happen, under particularly
favorable circumstances, that we would cross the bar without even seeing
a blockader. We were under the guns of Fort Fisher in fact, and close
to the fleet of United States vessels, which had crossed the bar after
the fall of the fort, when I directed my signal officer to communicate
with the shore station. His signal was promptly answered, but turning to
me, he said, "No Confederate signal officer there, sir; he cannot reply
to me." The order to wear round was instantly obeyed; not a moment too
soon, for the bow of the Chameleon was scarcely pointed for the bar
before two of the light cruisers were plainly visible in pursuit,
steaming with all speed to intercept us. Nothing saved us from capture
but the twin screws, which enabled our steamer to turn as upon a pivot
in the narrow channel between the bar and the "rip." We reached the bar
before our pursuers, and were soon lost to their sight in the darkness
outside. Our supply of coal being limited, the course was shaped for
Nassau as the nearer port, where we arrived without accident. A day or
two after our arrival the news came of the fall of Fort Fisher.
Several narrow escapes, besides our own, were made. Maffitt, in command
of the "Owl" crossed the Western Bar a night or two after the fall of
Fort Fisher, and while our troops were evacuating Fort Caswell and
other military stations along the river. Crossing the bar, and
suspecting no danger, he continued on his way up to Smithville, where he
anchored. He was boarded a few moments afterwards by a boat from our
military post there. The officer in command of the boat informed him of
the capture of Fort Fisher, and that our troops were then evacuating
Fort Caswell; adding that several vessels of the Federal fleet had
crossed the New Inlet Bar, and were at anchor in the river almost within
hail of him. Maffitt was about to give the order to slip the chain, "not
standing upon the order of his going," when his pilot begged for
permission to go ashore, if only for ten minutes. He represented the
situation of his wife, whom he had left ill and without means of
support, in such moving terms, that Maffitt granted permission, upon
condition that he would return speedily. The pilot was faithful to his
promise, returning in fifteen or twenty minutes. During his absence,
steam was raised, and the chain unshackled. As the pilot's foot touched
the deck of the "Owl" again, the boat was hooked on and run up to the
davits, the chain slipped, and the "Owl" on her way to sea again.
Another blockade-runner is said to have been not so fortunate. She had
run the gauntlet safely, and come to anchor off Smithville. The
tarpaulins had been removed from the hatches, the lamps lighted, and a
cold supper spread upon the table, at which the passengers were seated,
two or three officers of the British army among them. A toast to the
captain had been proposed, and they had just tossed off a bumper in
champagne to his health and continued successes, and he was about to
reply to the compliment, when the officer of the deck reported that a
boat was coming alongside. The captain received the officer at the
gangway. The mail bag, according to the usual routine, was given to the
latter for transportation to the shore; and the customary inquiries made
after the name of the vessel, cargo, number of passengers, etc. The
astounded captain was then informed that his vessel was a prize to the
United States ship—then at anchor near him!
Charleston was now the only harbor on the Atlantic coast at all
accessible, and that must evidently soon fall; but a cargo might be
landed there before that inevitable catastrophe, and fully appreciating
the exigency, I determined to make the effort. Even after the
occupation of Wilmington by the United States troops, there would remain
an interior line of communication between Charleston and Virginia. The
facts of history prove that the importance of carrying in a cargo of
provisions was not exaggerated, for the army of northern Virginia was
shortly afterwards literally starving; and during their retreat from the
position around Petersburg the country adjacent to their line of march
was swarming with soldiers who had left the ranks in search of food.
But it was the part of prudence to ascertain, positively, before
sailing, that Charleston was still in our possession. This intelligence
was brought by the "Chicora" which arrived at Nassau on the 30th of
January; and on February 1st, the "Owl," "Carolina," "Dream," "Chicora"
and "Chameleon" sailed within a few hours of each other for Charleston.
The condition of affairs throughout the Confederacy was far more
desperate than we, who were abroad, had any idea of. Despondency and
demoralization had advanced with gigantic strides within the past two or
three eventful months. Admiral Semmes, in his "Memoirs of Service
Afloat, etc," gives the following account of an interview with General
Lee: "As soon as I could command a leisure moment, I paid General Lee a
visit at his head-quarters near Petersburg, and spent a night with him.
I had served with him in the Mexican War. We discussed together the
critical state of the country and of his army—we were now near the end
of January, 1865, and I thought the grand old chieftain and Christian
gentleman seemed to foreshadow in his conversation, more by manner than
by words, the approaching downfall of the cause for which we were both
struggling. I had come to him, I told him, to speak of what I had seen
of the people, and of the army, in my transit across the country, and to
say to him that unless prompt measures could be devised to put an end to
the desertions that were going on among our troops, our cause must
inevitably be lost. He did not seem to be at all surprised at the
revelations I made. He knew all about the condition of the country,
civil and military, but seemed to feel himself powerless to prevent the
downward tendency of things, and he was right. It was no longer in the
power of any one man to save the country. The body politic was already
dead. The people themselves had given up the contest, and this being the
case, no army could do more than retard the catastrophe for a few
months. Besides, his army itself was melting away. That very night, as I
learned at the breakfast table, one hundred and sixty men deserted in a
body. It was useless to attempt to shoot deserters when demoralization
had gone to this extent." A few weeks subsequent to the date referred to
in the above extract, General Johnston was ordered to "drive back
Sherman." He states in his "Narrative" in reference to accepting the
command: "This was done with a full consciousness on my part, however,
that we could have no other object in continuing the war than to obtain
fair terms of peace; for the Southern cause must have appeared hopeless
then to all intelligent and dispassionate Southern men."
We passed Abaco light soon after dark, and shaped our course direct for
Charleston. At early dawn the next morning, while I was lying awake in
my room on the bridge, I heard the officer of the deck give the quick
sharp order to the helmsman "hard a-port!" The steering wheel in all of
the blockade-runners was upon the bridge and immediately forward of the
captain's state-room, and the officer of the deck kept his watch upon
the bridge. As I never undressed at night, while at sea in command
during the war, I was out upon the deck in a moment; and then I saw
distant two or three miles and directly in our former course, a large
side-wheel steamer. From her size and rig, I guessed her to be the
"Vanderbilt;" and I was afraid that the Chameleon had at last found more
than her match, for the Vanderbilt enjoyed the reputation of great
speed. We wore round before we were discovered, but as the strange
steamer's bow was pointed in our direction a few moments afterwards, it
was plain that we would have to make good use of our heels, and that the
race would be a trying one. The Chameleon was in fine condition for the
ordeal, and the usual precaution of cleaning fires, and raising the
steam had been taken before daylight. My staunch old quartermaster,
McLean, who had been with me in nearly all the chances and changes of
blockade-running, always took his place at the wheel on trying
occasions. He had nerves of steel, and would have steered the vessel
without flinching against a line of battle ship, if so ordered. Upon one
occasion, after we had crossed the Western Bar, and were steaming at
full speed along the coast, we suddenly discovered a long low blockader
on our starboard bow, and at the same instant, distinctly heard the
order from the stranger's deck, to "pass along the shell!" I called out
to my old helmsman, "Port and run her down!" and if the strange vessel
had not moved out of our way with alacrity, she would have been
assuredly cut in two. We grazed her stern by a hair's breadth as we shot
by her at the rate of thirteen knots. Before they had recovered from the
confusion on board of her, we had passed into the darkness beyond, and
the shell which they sent after us flew wide of its mark.
McLean was now placed at the wheel. It was a close race for hours,
neither apparently gaining or losing a foot; but Providence again
befriended us. As the day advanced, the breeze, which was very light
from the northward at daylight, continued to freshen from that quarter.
We soon set all of our canvas, and so did the chaser, but as the latter
was square rigged, and we carried fore and aft sails, our sheets were
hauled flat aft, and the Chameleon kept close to the wind by the steady
old helmsman. I do not doubt that we would have been overhauled but for
this favorable contingency. Head to wind our pursuer would certainly
have overtaken us, and off the wind her chances would have been almost
equally good. But she began to drop gradually to leeward as the wind
continued steady, and by two o'clock in the afternoon, she was five or
six miles distant on our lee quarter. Although we had not increased the
distance between us much, if any, since the commencement of the chase,
we had weathered upon the chaser until her sails had become useless
about twelve o'clock when she furled them. As the snowy cloud of canvas
was rolled up like magic, and the tall tapering spars were seen in its
place, I supposed the cruiser was about to retire from the contest; but
she still followed with the tenacity of a bloodhound. But apparently to
no purpose till about two o'clock, when the chief engineer, Mr.
Schroeder, appeared on the bridge with the report that the journals were
heated, and it was absolutely necessary to stop to ease the bearings!
This was a predicament, indeed; but when I looked down into the hold,
and saw the clouds of vapor rising from the overheated journals, as a
stream of water was being pumped upon them, I saw that Schroeder was
right in the assertion, that unless the bearings were instantly eased,
the machinery would give way. I had implicit confidence in Schroeder,
and it had been justly earned, for he had served long under my command,
and had always displayed, under trying circumstances, great coolness,
presence of mind, and ability. He made every preparation for the work
before him, taking off his own coat, and when everything was in
readiness, the order to stop the engines was given. In a few moments, we
lay like a log upon the water, and the chaser was rapidly lessening the
distance between as, and the suspense became almost intolerable. Our
fate was hanging by a thread; but in ten minutes the journals had been
cooled off, the bearings eased, and the Chameleon again sprang ahead
with renewed speed. The steamer in chase had approached nearly within
cannon shot—probably within long range—but in the course of the next
hour, we had gained so rapidly in the race that the pursuit was
abandoned as hopeless; and as the stranger wore around, to resume her
station under easy steam, we followed in her wake till dark, when we
evaded her without difficulty, and continued on our course toward
Charleston.
But another precious day had been lost, and subsequent unfavorable
weather still further retarding our progress, we did not reach the coast
near Charleston Bar till the fifth night after our departure from
Nassau. The blockading fleet had been reinforced by all the light
cruisers from the approaches to the Cape Fear River; and as we drew in
to the land, we were so frequently compelled to alter the course of the
Chameleon, in order to evade the blockaders, that we did not reach the
bar till long after midnight, and after the tide had commenced to fall.
I was tempted to force the pilot to make the attempt, but finally
yielded to his assurances that access was impossible under the
circumstances. As this was the last night during that moon, when the bar
could be crossed during the dark hours, the course of the Chameleon was
again, and for the last time, shaped for Nassau. As we turned away from
the land, our hearts sank within us, while the conviction forced itself
upon us, that the cause for which so much blood had been shed, so many
miseries bravely endured, and so many sacrifices cheerfully made, was
about to perish at last!