On the next occasion that same enterprising officer was employed on a similar enterprise, his efforts were crowned with complete success.
He started one dark night, in a submerged vessel of the same kind as that above described, and exploded the torpedo against the bows of one of the blockading squadron, doing so much damage that the vessel had to be run on shore to prevent her sinking.
I must, before finishing my account of what I saw and did in Charleston, mention a circumstance that showed how little the laws of meum and tuum are respected during war times. The morning before I left, I had a fancy for having my coat brushed and my shoes polished. So having deposited these articles on a chair at the door of my room, I went to bed again to have another snooze, hoping to find them cleaned when I awoke. After an hour or so I got up to dress, and rang the bell several times without getting any answer. So I opened the door and looked out into the passage. To my surprise I saw an individual sitting on the chair on which I had put my clothes, trying on one of my boots. He had succeeded in getting it half on when it had stuck, and at the time I discovered him he seemed to be in a fix, inasmuch as he could neither get the boot off nor on. He was struggling violently with my poor boot, as if it were his personal enemy, and swearing like a trooper. Not wishing to increase his ire, I blandly insinuated that the boots were mine, on which he turned his wrath towards me, making most unpleasant remarks, which he wound up by saying that in these times anything that a man could pick up lying about was his lawful property, and that he was astonished at my impudence in asking for the boots. However, as the darned things would not fit him 'no how,' he guessed I was welcome to them; and giving a vicious tug to the boot to get it off, he succeeded in doing so, and I, picking it up with its fellow, made good my retreat. But where was my coat? I could not get an echo of an answer, where? So I went downstairs and told my piteous tale to the landlord, who laughed at my troubles, and told me he could not give me the slightest hopes of ever seeing it again; but he offered to lend me a garment in which to travel to Wilmington, which offer I gladly accepted.
CHAPTER XIII.
NEVER CAUGHT!
On my return to Wilmington I found that my vessel was ready for sea, so I took charge of her, and we went down the river.
We had to undergo the same ordeal as before in the way of being smoked and searched. This time there were no runaways discovered, but there was one on board for all that, who made his appearance, almost squashed to death, after we had been twenty-four hours at sea. We then anchored under Fort Fisher, where we waited until it was dark, after which, when the tide was high enough on the bar, we made a move and were soon rushing out to sea at full speed. There was a considerable swell running, which we always considered a point in our favour. By the way, writing of swells puts me in mind of a certain 'swell' I had on board as passenger on this occasion, who, while in Wilmington, had been talking very big about 'hunting,' which probably he supposed I knew nothing about. He used to give us long narratives of his own exploits in the hunting-field, and expatiated on the excitement of flying over ditches and hedges, while apparently he looked upon blockade-running and its petty risks with sublime contempt. Soon after we crossed the bar on our way out a gentle breeze and swell began to lift the vessel up and down, and this motion he described as 'very like hunting.'
Just after he had ventured this remark, a Yankee gun-boat favoured us with a broadside and made a dash to cut us off. This part of the fun, however, my friend did not seem to think at all 'like hunting,' and after having strongly urged me to return to the anchorage under the protecting guns of the fort, he disappeared below, and never talked, to me at least, about hunting again.