“One good shot into the paddle will end this trip,” thought Mr. Taylor; “and it is my first run in, too!”
Then came a welcome sound overhead. A shell from the fort whirred its way towards the gunboats and warned them off.
With a parting broadside they sheered off out of range, and after half an hour’s run the Banshee was over the bar and in quiet waters. They soon sped up the sixteen miles to Wilmington, and found a large posse of willing slaves ready to discharge their cargo.
The poor folk at Wilmington were then very much pinched for want of good food and drink, and the advent of the Banshee restored smiles all round. Living on corn-bread, bacon, and water grows monotonous, and invitations to lunch on board the Banshee were never declined—in fact, many friends did not even wait for an invitation.
Within a very few days the Banshee was again ready for sea, ballasted with tobacco and laden with cotton—three tiers even on deck! High profit tempted them to pile up their vessels like hay-waggons, and put to sea in a condition quite unfit to meet a boisterous wind.
It was fortunately more easy to run out than to run in, as there was no harbour mouth to find in the dark, and the open sea lay before them. They learnt that the Admiral’s ship remained at anchor during the night, while the other vessels moved slowly to and fro across the mouth of the river; so they formed a bold plan, thinking that security lay in a startling impudence. They hid the Banshee behind Fort Fisher till nightfall, rowing ashore to get the latest news from Colonel Lamb, who commanded the fort.
“Which, sir, is the Admiral’s flag-ship?”
“The Minnesota, a sixty-gun frigate. Don’t go too near her.”
“That is just what we mean to do, Colonel; but first we will take her bearings exactly. We don’t want to bump into her.”
The Colonel was very kind and helpful, and they often enjoyed his society and that of his wife, who lived in a cottage not far off.