She wondered what sort of a parting he would have had with the family. Or would he just have sneaked away?
In any event, everyone was up and doing, feeling that mighty events had been thrust upon them, to be carried out to the best of their ability. Saving only her, tied to this farm and this house, and even this room, by her babe. And her absent husband.
Chapter Seven: The Atlantic — 1861
‘WELL, gentlemen,’ inquired Captain Semmes. ‘Are we ready for sea?’
He surveyed his officers. They consisted of Lieutenants John Kell, Rodney Bascom, Robert Chapman and William Evans; Surgeon Francis Galt; Engineer William Brooks; and Captain’s clerk Breedlove Smith. Forward, the remainder of the crew were assembled, sixty-five seamen, stokers and warrant officers, and twenty marines. ‘All present and correct, sir,’ Kell replied. ‘Then you may set the colours, Mr Kell, and prepare to cast off.’
‘Aye-aye,’ Kell acknowledged, and the waiting seamen heaved on the halliard while the marine bugler uttered a blast on his trumpet; immediately the battle flag of the Confederacy broke out from the mizen head. Early as it was in the morning, as the date was 30 June 1861 it was already broad daylight, and it seemed all of New Orleans was assembled on the waterfront to cheer their heroes — flags were waving, together with handkerchiefs and hats, and there was even a band playing. Not that there was a single Louisianan amongst the crew, unless Rod could be considered so by residence. There was in fact hardly an American citizen on board, save for the majority of the officers. It was the concept of this one little ship setting forth to challenge the might of the United States Navy that was at once gripping and inspiring.
The ship had been towed from the dockside to a mooring the previous night, and now it was simply a matter of dropping the buoy. This was Rod’s responsibility to supervise, and as the order came and he saw the rope slipping away into the water, and looked up at the shore and the crowd, while the cheers re-echoed into the sky — and surely warned the Federal blockaders that something was about to happen, even if they had not previously been informed by their spies — he wondered if he would ever see New Orleans again. Or Martine’s. Or any of the people who had filled so important a part of his life during the past two years. The face of Marguerite Grahame — he found it difficult to think of her as Marguerite McGann — seemed to dance before his eyes.
‘Slow ahead, Mr Brooks,’ Semmes ordered. ‘Stand by your halliards, Mr Kell. We will need all our speed.’
‘Aye-aye. Stand by for’ard, Mr Bascom.’
‘Aye-aye,’ Rod said, as the ship began to shudder to the rumble of the engine and the turn of the screw. A last look at the crowded shore, then the bows of theSumter were thrusting into the flow of the river. They would indeed need everything they possessed, if they were going to break free. But Semmes had chosen his time well, for it was a brusque morning, with a fresh north westerly breeze soughing across the bayous; outside there would be a choppy sea and perhaps tired men. They would also possess a certain element of surprise, and by all accounts, the Federal squadron was not yet at full strength. He wondered where Jerry McGann was, thought it would be an ironic twist were they to be opposed in this first naval action of the war, and then knew that was impossible, as presumably Jerry was still in Europe.
But would they not, one day, be opposed, as he had thought from the moment he had read Mallory’s letter? That had surely been a decision of fate, taken long ago.
Now they were in the mainstream of the river, Lake Pontchartrain away to their left as they followed the twisting final passage through the bayous down to the Delta. Here the river steadily shallowed and was encumbered by sandbanks, one reason why a regular trader with New Orleans, such as theSumter, needed a shallow draft — and equally a reason why there was little chance of any of the larger Federal ships ever ascending the stream to bombard the city.
But it required all of John Kell’s concentration to con the ship through the narrow channels. Soon Lake Barataria was on their right, the famous home of the pirate Jean Lafitte, who had come out of these swamps to help Andrew Jackson defend New Orleans against the British in 1814. Now this latter-day pirate, Raphael Semmes, was about to, hopefully, earn himself a similar fame. Rod looked down at the brown water flowing away from the bows, and then aft at the stern, where Semmes and Kell stood together, wondering what thoughts must be going through their minds. The first Confederate ship to put to sea. His blood began to tingle.
‘Stand by,’ came the word from aft. Through the clustering trees which rose up out of the primeval swamp it was now possible to catch glimpses of the sea; the wind was indeed whipping up whitecaps in Breton Sound.
‘Enemy ships in sight,’ came the call from the masthead.
‘Message understood,’ replied Breedlove Smith.
‘We’ll take the North Point exit, Mr Kell,’ Semmes said, studying the chart. Up to that moment no one had known which exit he would choose — there were too many suspected Northern spies in New Orleans for him to risk confiding even in his officers, for fear a careless word in a tavern might enable the blockading squadron to concentrate.
‘Aye-aye.’ Kell was pleased, as the choice would have the advantage of putting the wind at their backs from the very start. ‘Set your working canvas, Mr Bascom.’
‘Aye-aye.’ Rod gave the orders, and the seamen went aloft to release the sails. The white billowed in the breeze, and the ship gathered pace, seeming to race down the narrow waterway — to hit sand now would mean instant disaster, and remembering his experiences off Cuba Rod was aware of a feeling of breathlessness. But Kell remained absolutely confident, and they touched nothing.
‘Stop engine, but stand by,’ came the command; the ship would soon be travelling faster than any speed the engine could provide — but there was no telling when they might need the additional power again.
Now the last of the trees had gone, and Rod was looking at rippling sandbanks to either side, and then open water ... and a ship, quite close in, riding to her bower anchor. A Federal gunboat. But quite unprepared to see the Confederate raider coming straight at her.
‘Anchored vessel dead ahead,’ he reported.
‘I see her, Mr Bascom. Prepare to open fire.’
The eight-inch bow chaser was loaded and run out. Swinging to and fro on her cable, and presenting her bows to them as she faced the wind, the gunboat was not going to be an easy target to hit, with a smooth-bored cannon, but his nerves tingled at the thought of actually firing in anger once again.
‘Break out your topsails,’ Kell called, and the crew went aloft again to add all the sail the ship could carry in the fresh breeze. Rod guessed they were all riding on a high of excitement and commitment at this moment, dreaming of the glory — and the loot — to come.
Rod levelled his binoculars, saw sudden activity on the gunboat’s deck, as theSumter's true nature, hitherto blurred against the background of trees, was discerned. He could imagine the orders being given, and saw men lining up on the foredeck to take up the anchor. But they would be too late; the Confederate raider was at sea.
*
‘Starboard the helm,’ Semmes commanded. ‘You’ll save your powder, Mr Bascom,’ he bawled through his speaking trumpet.
‘Aye-aye,’ Rod acknowledged. TheSumter was already heeling as she swung away to the south, and the boatswain hastily had the sheets trimmed to continue filling the sails. A gun exploded from the gunboat’s deck, but the shot was harmlessly wide, and the Confederate vessel was almost immediately out of range.
Rod returned aft to join Semmes and Kell, and saw, creeping round South Point, the sails of another vessel, altogether larger than the gunboat, and already under way. He indicated her to Semmes, who inspected her through his binoculars. ‘That’s the USSBrooklyn,’ he said. ‘I know her well.’ He glanced at their faces. ‘She out-guns us, gentlemen. We shall have to run as fast as we can, but you’ll maintain action stations.’
‘Aye-aye,’ both officers agreed, and Rod
went forward to patrol the main deck where the thirty-two pounders were situated. They could only be used in broadside firing, as theSumter, designed to chase rather than be chased, had no stern cannon. Every few minutes he looked back at the warship, which made a magnificent sight, surging downwind through the choppy sea, canvas straining, white bone racing away from the bluff bows. And even as he watched, there was a puff of smoke, and a few seconds later the rumble of the explosion drifted across the intervening water. But the shot was well wide; as both vessels were yawing to and fro before the wind, accurate shooting at any long range would be next to impossible.
Yet the Federal ship was gaining. Very slowly, but equally surely. When he returned aft he found Semmes gazing at her somewhat pensively. ‘We need either more weather, or less, Mr Bascom,’ he said. ‘Or she’ll catch us up for sure.’
Rod inspected the sky and the horizon, using his glasses. It was mid-morning by now, and there were clouds gathering to the south west. ‘There should be a rain squall in a couple of hours, sir,’ he suggested. ‘And we’re into the hurricane season. At this time of year the rain could be prolonged and heavy.’
‘You’ve sailed these waters before, Mr Bascom,’ Semmes acknowledged. ‘A couple of hours. Yes, we might just do it.’
There was nothing to do but watch, and wait. TheSumterwas making all the speed she could in the circumstances, but theBrooklyn was certainly inching closer, as everyone on board the raider could see. Not a man went below; instead they clung to the rigging or gathered at the bulwarks to watch their fate approaching by the moment. Soon the warship was firing again, but these balls also passed harmlessly into the sea.
‘Where is that rain you promised me, Mr Bascom?’ Semmes asked, now looking somewhat agitated. Quite apart from the physical danger or the prospect of imprisonment which was looming before him, it would be a sad blow to southern morale if their first raider was to be sunk or taken on her very first day at sea.
‘There, sir,’ Rod said, pointing at the now considerable bank of heavy cloud on the starboard bow. ‘May I suggest we make for it?’
Semmes nodded. ‘You’ll alter course two points to starboard, Mr Kell,’ he said. ‘Mr Brooks, stand by your boiler. Mr Bascom, prepare to hand your sails.’
‘Aye-aye,’ the officers said, and hurried about their duties.
*
TheBrooklyncould of course recognise their intention, and now began to fire regularly, some of the shots coming dangerously close to the wooden hull of theSumter. But now the sun was obscured by the clouds, and a moment later the first drops of rain fell, while the wind gusted up to gale force.
‘Take in canvas,’ came the call, and Rod sent his men aloft to furl the now straining sails, while the wind whistled about their ears and he felt a tremendous sense of exhilaration; this was the first gale of wind he had known at sea since that unforgettable day off Cuba, three years before.
‘I need power, Mr Brooks,’ Semmes said.
‘You have it, Captain.’
Smoke belched from the funnel, and theSumterdrove straight into the squall. The bows went down into the first trough, and green water cascaded over the forecastle, swirling aft to make the deck slippery. Rain water thudded down as well, and the crew were soaked through. But no one thought of anything save their pursuers. TheBrooklynwas lost to sight in the teeming rain, but that would only be temporary; everything depended on how well Semmes used his few minutes of invisibility. Rod could imagine the options racing through the captain’s mind; maintain course, and hope theBrooklyn altered hers, or gamble on a sudden sharp alteration of direction, which might take him to safety, but could equally bring him out of the rain virtually alongside his adversary? It was like playing a deadly game of blind man’s buff.
‘Helm hard a starboard,’ came the command.
The coxswain spun the wheel, and theSumter began to turn to the west.
‘Keep her at it,’ Semmes said, and Rod caught his breath. Semmes was taking the biggest gamble of all, and entirely reversing his course. The ship came right round in a tight circle, heeling and rolling and shipping water as she was lashed by the wind and the rising sea.
‘Due north is your course,’ Semmes said.
The coxswain brought the helm back amidships, and the ship steadied, while every man on board peered into the driving rain, rubbing water from their eyes and hair as they did so, expecting to see the warship emerge from the gloom at any moment, dead ahead. But there was nothing to be seen, and now the rain was thinning.
‘Stand by to make sail, Mr Bascom,’ Semmes called.
‘Aye-aye,’ Rod called, and a sudden shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom. ‘Aloft,’ he commanded. ‘Break them out.’
‘Thank you, Mr Brooks,’ Semmes said, ‘but we’ll maintain speed for a few minutes yet, until we see where we are.’
Because on this course theSumter would have to be close-hauled, or sailed as near to the wind as she could, which was not her fastest point. Now the rain had entirely stopped, the wind was dropping, and even the seas were becoming smaller. The day was bathed in brilliant sunshine. And all eyes were looking behind them again; in front of them the sea was empty.
‘Sail ho,’ came the cry from the masthead.
Glasses were levelled to the south. ‘That’s her, all right,’ Semmes said. ‘We’ve done it, by God.’
For the Federal cruiser had elected to stand on, and was now emerging from the squall several miles to the south west.
‘Stop engines, Mr Brooks,’ Semmes commanded. ‘Set everything we have, Mr Bascom. Course is due east, Mr Kell. She’ll not catch us now.’
*
Indeed the captain of theBrooklynsoon recognised that fact, and before evening had given up the chase and was beating back to his position off New Orleans. The crew of theSumter gave three hearty cheers, and Rod knew that Semmes had done more than merely elude their first pursuer. He had given his men confidence — in each other, in their ship, in their officers, and above all, in their commander. Two days later they were off the Florida Keys, with the main shipping channel to and from the West Indies ahead of them. ‘Now, gentlemen,’ Semmes told his officers. ‘We possess one inestimable advantage at this moment; no ship at sea can yet know we are loose. We must use that to the limit. But I will have one thing clearly understood; the world will call us pirates, to be sure, and commerce destruction is not my idea of how a war is best fought. But it is the way this war has to be fought, until we have accumulated sufficient strength to meet the Union Navy at sea. Yet must we fight it as American gentlemen. Our duty is to send Federal shipping to the bottom. Not Federal sailors, where they do not resist our attack. We are to wage war upon wood and iron, not blood and flesh, save where it is unavoidable. Even more important, the prisoners we take must be treated with the respect and honour that we accord each other. That applies most particularly to any females who may happen to fall into our hands, and is something that must be impressed upon the lower deck. Let every man understand that I will hang the first one to insult any woman who may find herself aboard this vessel. Only by adhering to these rules of conduct in the strictest fashion will we always be able to hold our heads high, look our detractors in the eye, and tell them, We did our duty to our country, as honourable men. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they acknowledged.
‘Then I will give you a toast.’ He raised his glass of lemon juice. ‘To our first prize. May she be just over the horizon.’
They sighted a ship that very afternoon, but she was flying the Union Jack. ‘Now there’s a pity,’ Semmes remarked. ‘We’ll set course for Havana, Mr Kell. We should be able to coal there, and there is a lively trade between New York and Cuba. Which will no doubt become livelier, as they now have to buy Cuban instead of Louisianan sugar.’ Another cry of ‘Sail ho!’ came from the masthead just on dusk. The ship was too far away for her flag to be identified, but she was clearly beating north, across their bows.
‘Shelooks like a Yanke
e,’ Semmes decided, having given her a long inspection through his glasses. ‘Certainly we must find out, without alerting her as to our purpose. We’ll stand on until darkness, Mr Kell, then we will hand all sail and turn in pursuit. No lights must be shown. How much fuel do we have, Mr Brooks?’
‘Sufficient for five days steaming, Captain.’
‘That should be more than enough. To your posts, gentlemen.’
He was a consummate pirate, Rod thought, who would surely have earned immortal fame with Morgan two hundred years before. And his plan worked to perfection. TheSumter held her course, apparently an innocent trader making for Havana, until the sun had plunged into the calm sea behind them. Then all her sails were furled, the engine started, and she swung up to the north in pursuit of the stranger, who remained easily visible as she carried all her lights, while, being oblivious of her danger, she continued to beat into the light breeze under sails alone, thus travelling very slowly.
Once again no one left the deck during the night, as the excitement of perhaps being about to make their first kill grew in every stomach. And the lights came steadily nearer as hour passed hour; with the wind coming out of the north west, even the sound of theSumter's engine was carried astern.
When the darkness began to pale, the stranger was no more than two miles distant. ‘You’ll prepare a boarding party, Mr Kell,’ Semmes commanded. ‘Mr Bascom, run out your guns, but do not fire into her hull unless she returns shot. Our aim is to make her heave-to if she is a Yankee, and only sink her after we have removed her people and her cargo.’
‘Aye-aye.’ Rod hurried about his duties, perhaps feeling more excited than most. His brief service in the Caribbean had been to suppress activities like this; he wondered what Ned Purves would say if he could see him now.
Iron Ships, Iron Men Page 17