AN OLD BLOCKADE RUNNER.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVIII, Issue XX, 15 May 1897, Page 616

AN OLD BLOCKADE RUNNER.

ALEC G. PEARSON IN ‘THE SCOTSMAN.’ The year before last I met him one sultry summer evening on the levee at New Orleans. He was very grey and grizzled, with a face burnt to the colour of mahogany, and small, bright, restless eyes almost hidden beneath bushy eyebrows. From his general appearance I guessed he was, or had been, a sailor ; although his somewhat dilapidated rig-out seemed to prove that his last discharge bore date some time ago. I don’t know what put the thought into my head, but I eould not help connecting him in some way with a worn ont schooner that was made fast to the ban k on the opposite side of the river. Both of them, no doubt, had done good service on the ocean in their day, but their day was past, and they would duck to the flying spray no more. As I approached, he slightly rose from his recumbent attitude on a couple of cotton bales and peered at me from under the brim of his grey sombrero. I waa attracted by his face. It had an honest and fearless expression, but with a slight tinge of melancholy too, as of one who had too surely found out that the world could do without him. By way of opening the conversation, I said, nodding towards the schooner, • That craft yonder has seen the best of her days.’ He sat up and looked at her under the shade of his hand. ‘ I reckon she has,’ he replied. • You’d scarcely guess, now, that she’s done a smart amount of blockade running in her time. Lately she’s been owned by some coloured men, and only a week ago she drifted into port—a derelict. Lord knows what has become of her crew.’ ‘ An interesting old eraft. 1 suppose she was blockade running during the War of Secession.’ • Yes, sir ; and she was well known on this eoast. Why, I remember old McLnsky taking her out of the Brazos River one dark night in a blinding rain squall, and he must have passed right between a couple of Federal gunboats that were cruising outside. 1 was aboard another craft at the time ; we were anchored in the river waiting for a chance to run a cargo of cotton to Havana, but our skipper hadn’t the nerve

of old McLnsky, and he wouldn’t start in such thick weather. Why. the blackness seemed to be solid.’ ‘ Then you’re done some blockade running, yourself, eh f ‘I have, both in steamers and sailing vessels. And of the two there was far more excitement and danger in working a little sailing vessel ont under the nose of the ernisere, than running the blockade in a steamer.’ • I can imagine so.’ 1 But, after all, running ont of a blockaded port was not so very difficult if the wind and weather were favourable. Running in was a very different matter. We didn’t exactly know where the cruisers might be. We had to hang about off the port waiting for a dark night, and a leading wind perhaps ; and if it happened to fall calm we stood an additional risk of being captured ; because if shoal water prevented the men-o’-war getting near us, it was no obstacle to their boats. • Were all your tripe successful T I inquired. The old sea dog took off his soft hat, extracted a plug of tobacco from the inner band, and reflectively bit off a • chew.’ ‘Once we came very near being captured,’ he replied. ‘We had a valuable cargo on board, and I made more money on that trip than I had ever done before. But it did me no good. There was a curse on it.’ ‘ A curse on the money !’ I exclaimed, in surprise, for my companicn did not appear to be the sort of man who would be much given to superstitions fancies. • Yes, a curse,’ he repeated. • I have often wished that we had been captured, for I’ve had bnt little luck since, and something that happened might have been prevented. But I will tell you the story if you like, sir. It may interest you.’

* I should be glad to hear it,' I replied, taking a seat on a cotton bale next to him. * It waa the last trip I ever made as a blockade runner,' he began, * and it was in the smallest eraft I was ever in—a schooner of 100 tons, called the * Jeanette." There were four of us all told aboard of her, Including the skipper, who waa also part owner ; it was a bit short-handed for the work we had to do, but as we were all strong, active men, we managed all right. Well, we had made the outward passage without mishap, and were returning from Havana, our destination being the Brazos River. For two days the weather had been thick and the sky overcast, and we weren't too sure of our bearings, but we judged we must be getting near the coast, though as it lies low, you can't see It at any great distance. The night fell as black as pitch, but we kept on under easy sail, hoping to catch a glimpse of some light that would give us an idea of our position. In those days, you know, sir, lighthouses were neither so good nor so numerous as they are at present. You had to feel your way along the coast in thick weather. * Just before midnight, and while I was on the look-out, the outline of a big vessel suddenly loomed up not more than two cables’ lengths ahead. I ran aft and pointed her out to the skipper, the helm was shifted, and we passed silently under her stern, with our hearts beating fast, I can tell you, for she was evidently a Northern cruiser. We were not seen in the darkness —for we didn’t show a speck of light anywhere—and presently she faded away again out of sight. Then we saw a glimmer of a couple of lights low down on the water, to port, and by their position we knew they were the lights at the river entrance. But before we reached the bar a thick bank of fog eame rolling up and shut out everything from view. It was like a solid wall of blackness, and standing on the fo’c’s’le I conld not see the stern even of our little craft. But we stood on. * Suddenly I heard the splash of oars ahead, and before I could warn the helmsman we had crashed into a boat. I heard the splintering of wood, the shouts and curses of men, and then several dim figures scrambled on board over the bows. I helped one over the bulwarks, and in so doing discovered that he was a Federal

officer. Of course, he guessed at once, when he saw the pile of cargo on the deck, the sort of eraft he waa aboard of, and be ordered his men to take charge and shorten sail. * But our skipper was determined not to be taken when so near home, especially by such a handful of men—there were only five of them. He sang out that the first one of them that touched sheet or halliards aboard his vessel would be pitched overboard. * This was too mneh for the lieutenant. He drew his sword, and calling on his men to follow made a rush for the main deck. But he didn’t get far. His weapon waa was sent flying from his grasp by the blow of a handspike ; he staggered backwards for a couple of steps, and before he eould recover himself fell overboard. Then I felt a hand at my throat, and the next moment I was rolling on the deck fighting for my life with an enemy whose features I eould not distinguish for the darkness. But that he was an enemy I knew by the feel of his clothes. None of us wore uniform. It was an uncanny experience that fight in the murky gloom. Over and over we rolled, each trying to force the other over the side, forjneither of us were armed. But I was a powerful man in those days, and at length I gained the upper band of him. A minute later I was alone in the forecastle, which seemed strangely silent all at once ; but far away astern I heard the eries of a drowning man. * Presently the sails began to shake, and I made my way aft over the deck cargo as fast as I could, for I guessed there was no one looking after the steering. The wheel was jerking from side to side with the swing of the ship. I put it bard over, and then when the sails were clean fall again I stood and watched two shadowy forms struggling together by the cabin skylight. Neither of them spoke. But for their deep laboured breathing, one might hate easily fancied they were phantoms, they looked so dim and unreal through the fog. * For two or three minutes they kept writhing and twisting in each other’s grip, then one of them gave a short gasp, staggered forward a few paces, and dropped with a thud almost at my feet. The other stood still for a moment as if dazed, then he flung something overboard, and came and sat down on the wheel grating, on the op-

poeite side to where his late opponent bad fallen. It waa the skipper. * ** I had to use my knife,” he said, as soon as he had recovered breath ; “or he would have had me overboard. Is he dead * I bent down over the motionless figure, and placed my band upon his heart. The warm blood was soaking through his shirt. * “ Quite dead !” I whispered. * Nothing more was said. The * Jeannette ' sailed on through the sullen darkness, with the water sobbing against her sides. Presently the wind freshened and the fog rolled away ; and the first of the dawn began to show in the east. * The dead man was lying on bis back, and in the grey light his features were for the first time distinctly visible. Somehow his face seemed strangely familiar to me. I glanced towards the skipper. He had risen, and was leaning over the binnacle gazing down upon the corpse with sneh an indescribable expression of horror in his eyes that I feared for the moment he had gone mad. ‘ Then I suddenly remembered that he had a brother in the Federal Navy, and an awful suspicion flashed through my mind, and when I looked again at the faces of the two men—the living and the dead—the suspicion became a certainty.’ The old blockade runner rose from bis seat on the eotton bale and buttoned his dilapidated coat across bis chest. ‘ It’s eivil war that brings about such meetings as that,’ he said. Then he bade me good-night, for darkness was coming on, and the mists were rising from the yellow bosom of the Mississippi.