The first few days passed quietly, with nothing to interrupt the usual routine of sea life on board of a man-of-war. As we were now in the direct track of the blockade runners bound from the coast of Texas to Havana, their favorite port, I issued an order that a lookout should be kept at each masthead from daylight until dark; and I also offered a prize of twenty-five dollars to the man sighting any vessel that we should afterward capture.
As a result of these precautions the cry of “Sail ho!” was constantly heard from our vigilant lookouts; but the sails thus discovered proved, after much chasing, to be all legitimate traders, or at least their papers represented them as such, and we had our labor for our pains.
As I looked at our track, as laid out on the chart by the navigating officer, at the end of the fourth day, it resembled a Chinese puzzle much more than the course of a vessel bound to a certain point with a leading wind. So as I felt that I had no more time to lose, I laid my course for Galveston, where I was to report to Commodore Bell before going down to my station.
The following morning I was aroused by my orderly, who reported that the officer of the deck had made out a schooner on the lee beam standing to the eastward. Sending up word to keep away in chase, I bundled on my clothes, and hurrying on deck found our ship with yards squared standing down for the schooner.
The vessel was so far to the leeward of us that her hull was scarcely visible above the horizon, but the breeze was fresh and our canvas was drawing well, and it was soon apparent that we were gaining on her. By the time we piped to breakfast we had raised her hull, and I felt confident of overhauling her in a few hours.
But it now became evident that the schooner was by no means anxious that we should come to closer quarters, and proposed to prevent it if possible. Suddenly putting her helm up, she kept away before the wind and crowded on canvas until she looked like a great white gull.
This convinced us that we had at last fallen into luck, and that the schooner was what we had been so diligently seeking,—a blockade runner. To make assurance doubly sure, I gave the Parrott rifle its extreme elevation and sent a shell screaming down toward her, at the same time hoisting our colors, as a polite invitation for her to heave to and allow us to overhaul her.
But our courtesy passed unnoticed, and she displayed no colors in return. So we followed her example in making sail, and every yard of duck that could be boomed out from any part of the ship was brought into play.
We were evidently gaining on our chase, and everything seemed to promise well, when there was an ominous sound of slatting canvas, and looking aloft, I saw that the breeze was failing us. This was unfortunate, for a stern chase is proverbially a long chase, the forenoon was already well-nigh spent, and we were yet several miles astern of the schooner.
I ordered that all our sails should be hoisted taut and sheeted close home, but the wind continued to get lighter until there was scarcely enough breeze to give us steerage-way. Occasionally we could feel a slight puff of air, and, remembering the experience of the frigate Constitution when she was chased by two English ships in 1813, I ordered that whips be rigged aloft and the sails thoroughly drenched with salt water. Still, with all our efforts, it was evident that we were not materially lessening the difference between the two vessels, if indeed we were not losing ground.