The Narrative of a Blockade-Runner

by J. Wilkinson

On the afternoon of December 24th, the United States fleet opened fire upon Fort Fisher, the heavy cannonading continuing during the two following days. The booming of the heavy guns could be distinctly heard in Wilmington.

There was a complete panic there; the non-combatants moving away, and fright and confusion prevailing everywhere. The co-operating land forces, under General Butler, had almost completely invested the fort, and the communication between it and Wilmington was at one time interrupted, so that it was impossible to ascertain the condition of affairs below. In the midst of the turmoil, we cast off from the wharf, about two o'clock in the afternoon of December 26th, and anchored off Smithville after dark, the tide not serving for crossing the bar that night.

Next morning the "Agnes Fry," an inward bound blockade-runner, was discovered aground on the western bar. Towards evening two or three of the blockading fleet stationed off that bar steamed in, and opened fire upon her. The bombardment of the fort was still in progress. A little after dark, just as we were weighing our anchor, General Whiting, who was then in Fort Fisher, telegraphed to us that the United States land forces were embarking, the attack upon the fort having been abandoned. We were under way in a few moments, closely followed by the Hansa, Captain Murray, and parting from her just as we crossed the bar. I had known the captain for many months, under his assumed name, and it was quite generally known that he held a commission in the British Navy. While I was living in Nova Scotia, some years afterwards, the card of Captain A. commanding H. B. M. ship J—n was brought to me, and I was surprised to find in the owner of it, my old friend Murray. Several British naval officers of rank and high character, were engaged in the same exciting and lucrative occupation of blockade-running; among them the gallant Captain Burgoyne, who commanded afterwards the unfortunate ship "Captain" of H. B. M.'s Navy, and who perished together with nearly the whole crew when she foundered at sea.

We crossed the bar under such favorable circumstances, that we were not discovered; nor did we see any of the fleet until we had cleared the Frying Pan Shoals, when we easily avoided several vessels which had participated, no doubt, in the attack upon Fort Fisher, and were now about to take their stations off the western bar.

We made a rapid, though a very rough voyage to Bermuda, a stormy northwest gale following us nearly the whole distance. The Prussian Major Von Borcke, who had served on General Jeb Stewart's staff, and who afterwards published (in Blackwood's) his experience of the war, was a passenger. The Major was no sailor, and his sufferings from sea sickness were much aggravated by a gunshot wound in his throat. As the engines of the "Chameleon" would "race" in the heavy sea following us, and her whole frame would vibrate, he declared in military phraseology ("our army swore terribly in Flanders!") that he would rather encounter the dangers of a "stricken field" than voluntarily endure an hour of such torture.

We arrived at St. George's on the 30th of December; and our troubles immediately commenced. It was the 5th of January before permission was received to land our cargo of cotton; His Excellency, the Governor having called upon the law officers of the crown for aid in the dire dilemma. When the vessel's papers were at last pronounced correct, we discharged our cargo, and then arose the perplexing question of loading. I haven't the least doubt that the American Consul was sadly bothering His Excellency all this time; but permission was finally granted to us to take in provisions but no munitions of war. As we did not want "hardware," as munitions of war were then invoiced, we proceeded to load. But a great deal of time had been lost, and we did not take our departure for Wilmington till January the 19th; having on board as passengers General Preston and staff, returning from Europe.

Our voyage across was very rough, and the night of our approach to New Inlet Bar was dark and rainy. Between one and two o'clock in the morning, as we were feeling our way with the lead, a light was discovered nearly ahead and a short distance from us. As we drew closer in and "sheered" the Chameleon, so as to bring the light abeam, I directed our signal officer to make the regular signal. No reply was made to it, although many lights now began to appear looming up through the drizzling rain. These were undoubtedly camp fires of the United States troops outside of Fort Fisher; but it never occurred to me as possible, that a second attack could have been made, and successfully in the brief period of time which had elapsed since our departure from Wilmington. Believing that I had made some error in my day's observations, the Chameleon was put to sea again, as the most prudent course in the emergency. The night was too far spent to allow of any delay. Orders were therefore given to go at full speed, and by daylight we had made an offing of forty or fifty miles from the coast. Clear and pleasant weather enabled me to establish our position accurately—it was my invariable custom, at sea, during the war, to take my own observations—and early in the night we made the Mound Light ahead, for which I had shaped our course. The range lights were showing, and we crossed the bar without interference, but without a suspicion of anything wrong, as it would occasionally happen, under particularly favorable circumstances, that we would cross the bar without even seeing a blockader. We were under the guns of Fort Fisher in fact, and close to the fleet of United States vessels, which had crossed the bar after the fall of the fort, when I directed my signal officer to communicate with the shore station. His signal was promptly answered, but turning to me, he said, "No Confederate signal officer there, sir; he cannot reply to me." The order to wear round was instantly obeyed; not a moment too soon, for the bow of the Chameleon was scarcely pointed for the bar before two of the light cruisers were plainly visible in pursuit, steaming with all speed to intercept us. Nothing saved us from capture but the twin screws, which enabled our steamer to turn as upon a pivot in the narrow channel between the bar and the "rip." We reached the bar before our pursuers, and were soon lost to their sight in the darkness outside. Our supply of coal being limited, the course was shaped for Nassau as the nearer port, where we arrived without accident. A day or two after our arrival the news came of the fall of Fort Fisher.

Several narrow escapes, besides our own, were made. Maffitt, in command of the "Owl" crossed the Western Bar a night or two after the fall of Fort Fisher, and while our troops were evacuating Fort Caswell and other military stations along the river. Crossing the bar, and suspecting no danger, he continued on his way up to Smithville, where he anchored. He was boarded a few moments afterwards by a boat from our military post there. The officer in command of the boat informed him of the capture of Fort Fisher, and that our troops were then evacuating Fort Caswell; adding that several vessels of the Federal fleet had crossed the New Inlet Bar, and were at anchor in the river almost within hail of him. Maffitt was about to give the order to slip the chain, "not standing upon the order of his going," when his pilot begged for permission to go ashore, if only for ten minutes. He represented the situation of his wife, whom he had left ill and without means of support, in such moving terms, that Maffitt granted permission, upon condition that he would return speedily. The pilot was faithful to his promise, returning in fifteen or twenty minutes. During his absence, steam was raised, and the chain unshackled. As the pilot's foot touched the deck of the "Owl" again, the boat was hooked on and run up to the davits, the chain slipped, and the "Owl" on her way to sea again.

Another blockade-runner is said to have been not so fortunate. She had run the gauntlet safely, and come to anchor off Smithville. The tarpaulins had been removed from the hatches, the lamps lighted, and a cold supper spread upon the table, at which the passengers were seated, two or three officers of the British army among them. A toast to the captain had been proposed, and they had just tossed off a bumper in champagne to his health and continued successes, and he was about to reply to the compliment, when the officer of the deck reported that a boat was coming alongside. The captain received the officer at the gangway. The mail bag, according to the usual routine, was given to the latter for transportation to the shore; and the customary inquiries made after the name of the vessel, cargo, number of passengers, etc. The astounded captain was then informed that his vessel was a prize to the United States ship—then at anchor near him!