Part 2

The morning after our departure from Southampton, the crew were mustered into the service of the Confederate States and signed the articles. I was rated as a “landsman,” or a “boy.” The crew were divided into two watches, and the regular routine of duty at sea began. I found that I had twelve hours on duty out of every twenty-four, and at no time more than four consecutive hours to call my own. For instance, to-day I would be on duty from 12 to 4 A. M., 8 A. M. to 12 M., 4 to 6 P. M., and 8 to 12 P. M., and so on in uninterrupted succession. This was rather hard work for one who was fond of comfort and late breakfasts, but I speedily learned not to lose any time in going to sleep, and undressing appeared a useless indulgence. This was not the worst of it. The wind was fair, and we had been running under the foresail, foretopsail and spanker, when some evil genius inspired the officer of the deck to order all hands aloft to reef the foretopsail. Now I knew nothing of gymnastics. I had never attempted to climb a greasy pole or a rope in my life, and was unaccustomed to any more difficult mode of reaching a given elevation than by the use of easy stairs, with a strong baluster. The _Nashville_ was rolling handsomely, and I was not eager to respond to the call that had been made, hoping that my assistance would not be needed or expected by my hardy companions. But Sawyer, the boatswain, had no idea of allowing me to escape in that way, and enquired, in his usual polite way, whether I intended to be all day making up my mind. I told him I thought not, and started up the shrouds. Making a desperate effort to be lively, I missed every second or third ratline and scraped most of the skin off my shins. At last I reached the mast-head and got on the topsail yard. My calculation was that the best place for me was close to the mast, which I might hug with one arm while I helped to manipulate the flapping sail with the other; but the men who were up there would not hear of this. With much profanity, they told me that the proper place for me was out at the extreme end of the yard. Suspended under the yards, as customary, and parallel with it, was a foot rope. Planting my feet squarely against this, and resting my chest upon the yard and holding on like grim death with my hands, I got out to the yard-arm, but here the foot rope was so close to the yard that it was of little use to me. Just then one of the men gave the rope a jerk. My heels went up and my head went down, but I saved myself from falling by a violent effort and trusted the foot rope no more. Using both hands in lifting the sail, I balanced my body as well as I could upon the yard, and at this moment I confess I would not have given a sixpence for my chance of seeing the next morning’s sun. I came down safe, however, as you perceive, and more scared than hurt. The men said that I left the marks of my fingers on the stays, and that the wood was indented where I grasped the yard. After a while I became accustomed to going aloft, although I never could make myself believe that it was better to be at the yard-arm than nearest the mast. The men were right, however, in regarding the former as the easiest berth, as the weight of the sail to be lifted is the least there.

The _Nashville_ having been originally a passenger steamer, as I have already mentioned, carried only enough coal in the bunkers for six or eight days steaming, so we were soon employed in hoisting coal from the lower hold forward, and running it aft to the bunkers. So long as the work was at the windlass on deck I got along very well, but, when I was sent down into the stifling atmosphere of the lower hold to fill the baskets with coal, I quickly ended the difficulty by fainting. When I revived, I went on deck and told Mr. Sawyer what had taken place. As one of the officers whom I knew was looking at him, he contented himself with saying that “I was no account anyhow, and might as well stay on deck.”

This is as good a place as any to give the names of the officers: The commanding officer, as I said before, was Captain Robert B. Pegram, of Virginia; the First Lieutenant and Executive officer was Mr. Bennett; Lieutenant John J. Ingraham, of South Carolina, was the Sailing-master; the Second Lieutenant was Mr. Whittle, of Norfolk, Virginia; Dr. John L. Ancrum, of Charleston, was the Surgeon; Mr. Richard Taylor, of Norfolk, Virginia, was the Paymaster. The Midshipmen were: Thomas, of Georgia; McClintock, of Mississippi; J. W. Pegram (the Captain’s son), of Virginia; Clarence Cary, of Virginia; Hamilton, of South Carolina; Sinclair, of Virginia; Dalton, of Mississippi. The Master-at-arms was Lewis Hill, of Richmond, Virginia. We had aboard, also, a Charleston pilot, Captain James Evans.

My intercourse with the officers was very pleasant while at Southampton, and I was on excellent terms with Cary, Pegram, Dalton, Hamilton and McClintock while we were at sea. They were careful, of course, not to allow their personal consideration for me to interfere in any way with a proper regard for the discipline of the ship. Cary was anxious to improve himself in French, and I gave him a lesson nearly every day. To one of the other midshipmen I gave some lessons in music. The sailors were very much disgusted that any special kindness should be shown me, and really, until we reached Bermuda, this kindness on the part of the officers was confined necessarily to a friendly nod, or other greeting, excepting when I was giving any of the midshipmen such little assistance in French and music as I have mentioned.

The second day after we left Southampton my trunk was broken open and nearly everything I had in it was stolen by the sailors. I complained to Mr. Bennett, who suggested that I ought to have expected it, and should have been careful to keep my trunk securely locked, or to have had in it nothing that was worth stealing.

Captain Pegram did not appear to know that I was on board until we had been several days at sea. I was engaged one morning in sweeping the deck, or cleaning paint, when he stepped out from the pilot house, and seemed to recognize me. He nodded and said “good morning,” and that was all. My heart sank and I felt forsaken.

IV.

In order to baffle the _Tuscarora_, who was sure to pursue us, Captain Pegram took a more northerly route than was usual; and on the fourth or fifth day after sailing the wind freshened sharply, and in a few hours blew with terrible force. The ship was old, and unprepared for bad weather, and it was not without anxiety that our officers saw the tempest approach. In twenty-four hours the gale had reached its height. The waves were running awfully high to my unaccustomed eyes, and were battering the sides of the ship as though determined to force an entrance. Nobly, however, did the _Nashville_ behave. There surely never was a better sea boat. She shipped little water, and, although each wave that struck her bows made her tremble and quiver from stem to stern, she bore herself nobly in the unequal contest. Loose spars, boxes, coils of rope and water-casks, which had been improperly secured, were rolling about on deck, threatening to break the legs of whoever should pass. The port bulwarks from the heel of the bowsprit to the wheelhouse were washed away flush with the deck. One angry wave carried off the whole of the port wheelhouse and dashed to pieces several of the “buckets,” or paddles. The saloon and the forward cabin were several inches deep in water, and the forecastle was in a worse plight. For days this continued. The engines were slowed down, and we did no more than hold our own. It would have been dangerous, lame as the vessel was, to drive her in the teeth of the tempest. The most grewsome part of it all was the unremitting tolling of the forecastle bell, as the _Nashville_ rose on the crest of the wave and glided down, and down, into the trough of the sea.

THE BELL.

1.

A stormy night, the foaming waves, In crested might, the good ship braves; She seeks in vain the rest she craves, Surging o’er dead seamen’s graves, While still is heard, o’er tempest’s swell, Thy low deep tones, O! warning bell.

2.

The masts are gone, the timbers creak, All work of mortal hands is weak; “Oh, God! Oh, God! she’s sprung a leak,” Each eye is dimmed and blanched each cheek, And on each ear, a funeral knell, Falls the note of the tolling bell.

3.

The boats are swamped; in wild despair Men cry aloud or bend in prayer; The poor ship groans, shrieks fill the air; A moment--and the ocean’s bare. But still is heard, as seamen tell, When souls are lost, that warning bell.

While the gale was at its height the engine broke down, and sail was made to keep the vessel’s head to the wind. The storm began to subside, and on the morning of the eighth day the wind had lulled. The waves still ran high, and for the first time I saw the beautiful effect of the dashing of the spray over the rail of the vessel, forming miniature rainbows arching to the deck and glowing and glittering with prismatic colors.

I suppose I ought to say at this point that I was very sea-sick on the first day out, but, as Bo’sun Sawyer was constantly after me to do some of the drudgery he had in mind for me, I had no time to indulge in the pleasures of sea-sickness and recovered entirely in less than twenty-four hours.

I had one very narrow escape during the gale. Crossing the hurricane deck, I was thrown off my feet by a sudden lurch of the vessel and went whirling to leeward. One of my feet caught in the rail as I was lurching overboard, and this was all that saved my Confederate career from being brought to an untimely end.

When the weather grew fine, the crew were ordered out for drill, and from the recesses of the hold our hidden armament was produced. It consisted of about twenty rusty smoothbore muskets. The muskets were given to the sailors and firemen, who were then drilled in the manual of arms by one of the officers. There was a good deal of difference of opinion as to what the commands meant, and the whole affair was very much of a burlesque, as every now and then a sudden lurch of the vessel would send three or four of the squad staggering down to leeward. When the command was given, Ready! Aim! and every musket was levelled at our instructor’s head, the startled officer called out hastily: “For Heaven’s sake, men, don’t point your guns at me! They are loaded!” The warning was not given too soon, for, as they were dismissed, two of the men rolled into the scuppers, their pieces going off with a very ugly report. That was the first and the last of the drilling.

Although he had made no sign, Captain Pegram had not forgotten me. When we had been out seven or eight days, the Master-at-arms went to the boatswain and told him that I and a man named Lussen were to take one of the staterooms on the hurricane deck. This was paradise to me, for I had there every convenience that I required, and could escape from the loathsome company of the rest of the crew. Lussen was a singular character. He was evidently a thoroughly instructed sea-faring man and a good navigator. He had his sextant with him. According to his own account he had been an officer in the Navy of one of the South American Republics, and expected on reaching the Confederacy to get an appointment in the Confederate service. Being a very intelligent man, pleasing in his manners and not at all coarse, he was a welcome room-mate and an acceptable companion. Our separation from the rest of the crew did not strengthen the men’s kindly feeling for us, and they lost no opportunity of showing their spite and their disgust. One thing they insisted on, and that was that we should go down to the forecastle for our meals. A favorite dish once or twice a week was plum-duff, but the plums were so scarce that one of the men said that he could hear one plum singing this little song to another:

Here am I! Where are you? Tell me where to find you.

In a letter that I wrote to my mother from Bermuda, I described our change of quarters as follows: “Our state-room on the upper deck has two bunks and a toilet stand, and is very prettily painted. Through the windows we can look at the open sea. What a contrast to the den that we did inhabit! When work is over I can have the blessedness of being alone. More than this: one of the Midshipmen told me that he heard Captain Pegram and Mr. Bennett talking about me, and Captain Pegram said he was very much pleased with my conduct.”

V.

On the evening of the 19th of February we were told that we might expect to make land the next morning, and as soon as the sun rose every one was on the lookout. In an hour or two land was in sight on the port bow, and even my unskilled eye could make out what seemed to be a long dark cloud on the horizon. Gradually the land became distinct, and by noon we were lying off Bermuda signaling for a pilot. The general aspect of the island was far from inviting, as nothing could be seen but rugged hills covered with dwarfed trees, and I looked in vain for the fine harbor of which I had heard so much. A boat with four negroes, who were making considerable fuss, came alongside with a splash, and, in great state, the black pilot clambered up the side and took his place in the pilot house. He understood his business. The _Nashville_ ran squarely towards the island as though she was to be thrown upon the rocks. Then a narrow passage between two lofty hills was visible, and into this we steamed. Above our heads on each side towered the rocks, and the passage was so narrow that the yards seemed to scrape the trees on either side as we passed in. The passage gradually opened, and we dropped anchor in the beautiful harbor of St. George’s. This harbor is, without exception, the most beautiful and picturesque that I have ever seen. There was not a ripple on the water, while dotting its brightly blue bosom in every direction were hundreds of islands, some of them of considerable size and others mere spots upon the placid surface of the harbor. The surrounding hills were adorned with houses built of white stone and shining like snow in the light of the sun. On the highest point was the signal station, where floated the red cross of St. George. It was near the end of February, yet the weather was warm and the sky was unclouded. It was hard to realize that only a few days before we had left cold fogs and drizzling rain in England.

The principal object in calling at Bermuda was to obtain a supply of coal, and Captain Pegram made a bargain with the master of a Yankee bark then in the harbor for as much as we needed. I think the coal had been intended to supply United States cruisers which were expected to stop at St. George’s, but the high price we offered was too much for the patriotism of the master of the bark. I had a great desire to go ashore and see what Bermuda looked like, but this privilege was denied me as Bo’sun Sawyer found abundant occupation for the whole of us in shovelling coal and then scrubbing the paint. I was allowed on Sunday to be one of the boat’s crew who went to the landing to bring off Captain Pegram, who had gone to church, and I had the satisfaction of waiting there in the sun for two or three hours and of being roundly abused, by the rest of the crew, for “catching crabs” in the most awkward manner as we rowed back to the _Nashville_.

Up to this time Captain Pegram had not determined positively whether he would run into Charleston, Savannah or New Orleans, and the information which he obtained at Bermuda satisfied him that these ports could only be reached with great difficulty, as the blockade had now become rigid. A ship captain whom he talked with informed Captain Pegram that he thought we might run into Beaufort, N. C., with comparative ease, and it was determined to try our fortune there.

After leaving Bermuda I was relieved from some of the scrubbing and cleaning, and was allowed to take my turn as lookout, being posted for two hours at a time on the foretopsail yard. There I had the pleasantest hours that I knew on the _Nashville_. It was quiet and still. I was far removed from the bickering and blackguardism of the crew, and could indulge myself freely in watching the varied hues of the dancing waters, broken now and again by a shoal of porpoises, or by the brief flight of the flying-fish as they darted from the wave in the effort to escape from their pursuers. But all this was not conducive to keeping a sharp lookout. The second day after leaving Bermuda I was busily thinking of what might happen when we should reach our destination. The hail came from below: “Foretopsail yard there!”

I answered promptly “aye! aye! sir.”

“Why haven’t you reported that sail?”

I looked around the horizon and replied: “I have not seen a sail this morning, sir.”

“No, I suppose not! come on deck!”

When I reached the deck I was received with a grin of derision, and found that a fine schooner was running under full sail within half a mile of us. I had looked too far. Every one too had been busy while I was dreaming aloft. The American flag was flying at our peak, and the men were now sent to the guns. A boat’s crew was called away, and, eager to atone for my neglect, I jumped in. We pulled over to the schooner, which was now lying to, boarded her, and found her to be the _Robert Gilfillan_, from Boston to Hayti, with an assorted cargo. The master, a loquacious down-easter, was led to believe that the _Nashville_ was the United States steamer _Keystone State_, and he invited the officer in charge of the boat to take breakfast with him. The hot rolls looked most tempting, and the fragrance of the coffee was particularly tantalizing. The master, whose name was Gilfillan, told us that everything was going on splendidly for “the Union,” and that the Union troops had been “whipping the bloody Rebels like forty.” In fact, “the Rebellion was nearly played out.” Lieutenant Ingraham, who was in command of the boat, very quietly said: “Haul down your flag and take your papers aboard my ship immediately.”

“What for?” asked Captain Gilfillan.

The answer came promptly: “That vessel is the Confederate States steamer _Nashville_, and you are my prisoner.”

The poor fellow was part-owner of the schooner, and I shall not soon forget the mingled dismay and astonishment on his face. But resistance was useless, and he did as he was ordered. All our boats were now lowered, and everything of value, the bells, chronometer, glasses and nautical instruments, some provisions, brooms and a lot of “notions,” were taken aboard the _Nashville_. The schooner was then set on fire, and in a few hours had burned to the water’s edge. For some days the hearts of the crew were gladdened by the fresh butter and choice Boston crackers which formed part of the stores of the ill-fated _Gilfillan_. The master and crew were given as comfortable quarters as we had, and all possible care was taken of them.

As we neared Beaufort every light was carefully covered at night, even the binnacle lamps being masked. At midnight we hove to for soundings, and found that we might expect to make land by daybreak. The men seemed to think that we should certainly be captured, and packed up their clothing in their bags ready for a run. No one slept much that night, and as soon as the fog lifted in the morning every eye was on the alert. Beaufort harbor was plainly visible some miles distant, and we saw, besides, what we did not care to see. “Sail astern!” shouted the lookout; and then came the cry: “Sail on the starboard bow!” and then again: “Sail on the port bow.” Things looked rather blue. The vessel astern did not cause us much anxiety, but the blockaders on our port and starboard bows, although not directly in our course, were so far ahead that if we attempted to run in we might expect to be cut off. But Captain Pegram was prepared for the emergency. “The Stars and Stripes” were run up at the mainmast head, and a small private signal of Messrs. Spofford & Tileston, the former agents of the vessel, was run up at the foremast. Our course was then changed so that we headed for the nearer of the two United States vessels. The “Stars and Stripes” were displayed by them, in response to our flags, and a vigorous signaling began. It was plain that the blockader could not make out the meaning of Spofford & Tileston’s pennant. On we went without heeding this until Beaufort harbor was not more than five or six miles distant on our starboard bow. We could see the officers on the quarter-deck of the blockader, and the men at the guns. The engines were slowed down, and we blew off steam. The blockader nearest to us thought that we had something to communicate, and lowered a boat. As this was done, we hove round, the “Stars and Stripes” came fluttering to the deck, and the Confederate flag was run up at the foremast, the mainmast and the peak. With all the steam we could carry, we dashed on towards Beaufort. The Yankee now saw the trick, and fired a broadside at us. No harm was done. She followed rapidly, firing occasionally from the bow guns; but without injury we crossed the bar under the protection of the guns of Fort Macon, and came safely to anchor near the railroad wharf, at Morehead City. For a little while we were in more danger from our friends than from the enemy. The commandant at Fort Macon took us for one of the enemy’s vessels, and was about to open on us with his heavy guns, when one of his officers suggested that, as we were running towards the fort, they might as well wait until we were somewhat nearer. This proved our salvation. Before we had reached the point where they could effectively fire at us from the fort, we had shown our true colors and given the blockader the benefit of a clear pair of heels. It was a beautifully calm morning, and the _Nashville_ surpassed herself. In splendid sailing trim and with little or no cargo, she must have made sixteen or eighteen knots as we ran into the harbor.

On the _Nashville_ now all was joy, for the blockader attempted no further pursuit. The men hurrahed, and the officers tossed up their caps and congratulated each other on our success. Well they might. They were looking forward to a speedy reunion with their families and their friends. For the first time I realized my isolated position. There was no home or friends for me; nothing but doubt and uncertainty, yet I had confidence that with time, faith and energy, I might accomplish what I desired. The day, a pregnant one for me, was February 28, 1862.

VI.