Hurricane Hurry

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Nol, though a sensible fellow in the main, was a thorough old salt, and with all the usual prejudices of his class.

“To my mind ill-luck has set in against us. I had a dream t’other night. I thought as how, while we was a-standing on under all sail, thinking ourselves all right and free from danger, far away from land, I saw a big fish—she was a whopper, depend on that—a-swimming along over the sea. I looked at her, and she opened her mouth and made right at the ship. Her upper jaw reached far up above the main-top mast truck, and the lower one, I’d no doubt, dipped far away down below her keel. Well, as I was a-saying, on she came, roaring away like a young porpoise, and heaving the foam right over our mast-heads. I knew what would happen, and so it did. Just as easily as the big shark in Port Royal harbour would swallow a nigger boy, she made a snap at the ship and bolted us all, masts and spars and hull, and I felt as how we was all a-being crunched up in her jaws. I woke with a start, which made me almost jump clean out of my hammock, all over in a cold sweat, and right glad I was to find that it wasn’t true; but, d’ye see, Tom, as to going to sleep again, I couldn’t for the life of me, but lay awake a-kicking up my toes and turning the matter over in my mind. Says I to myself, ‘There’s some harm a-coming to the old barkie of some sort or other, or my name’s not Nol Grampus. When we gets ashore this evening,’ says I to myself, ‘this is the beginning on it,’ and you’ll see my words comes true, Tom.”

There was not light enough to allow me to observe Rockets’ countenance, but I felt very sure, from the exclamations in which he indulged, that he was taking in the whole matter with open-mouthed credulity, scarcely understanding that Grampus was only describing his dream, and that he had fully made up his mind that some dreadful accident was about to happen to the ship. The scene I have been describing took place during one of the cessations from labour, while the captain and first lieutenant and master were considering what means could next be adopted to get the ship afloat again. I was anxious that Nol’s remarks should not be heard by the rest of the crew, for I knew by experience how greedily such an idea as the one he had expressed—that the ship was doomed—might be taken up by the crew, and perhaps produce the very event he had predicted. I was about to step forward and interfere, when the order was issued to carry out another anchor astern, and Grampus and his listener had to go about their duty. All night long we were toiling away, getting out all our anchors, starting the water, even lowering some of the guns into the boats.

“I told you so; I knew how it would be,” I heard Grampus remark just as he happened to meet Tom, while I was passing. “Ill-luck has come to the ship, and ill-luck will stick to her, unless so be we gets a parson aboard and manages to heave him into the sea. That’ll set things to rights again, may be.”

I was amused at the old man’s recipe for averting the doom from the ship. It was not, however, new to me, for I had before heard a similar proposal made under like circumstances. Never did a set of men labour and toil more perseveringly than did our crew that night. Still the ship stuck fast. It became at last a matter of doubt whether we should have to throw all our guns overboard, and perhaps our provisions and ammunition; and if so, all hopes of gaining prize-money or of doing anything in the way of fighting was over for a long time to come. Captain Symonds of course was unwilling to resort to this alternative till the last. Grog was served out to all hands, and then we set to again with a will. Hour after hour passed; as yet the weather remained moderate, but we could not conceal from ourselves the disagreeable fact that, should it come on to blow, in the position in which we were placed, the ship would too probably be knocked to pieces. We were all so busily employed that the hours did not pass so heavily as they would otherwise have done. We were in constant movement ourselves, and had to keep the ship in constant movement to prevent her from forming a bed for herself in the sand. The tide, which was ebbing when we got on shore, at last turned and began to flow. Slow enough it came in to suit our impatience. At length dawn appeared. The crokers were of opinion that the clouds looked threatening. “If a gale springs up, the old ship will leave her bones here, that’s very certain,” I heard one or two of them remark. I watched the current as it came sweeping by us; the water was evidently rising round the ship. Again all the strain we could command was put on the hawsers. None but a seaman can understand the satisfactory sensations we experienced as her vast hulk yielded to our efforts. We felt that she was gliding off the bank. “She moves, she moves! hurrah, hurrah!” was shouted fore and aft. Her speed increased, round went the capstan right merrily. Again and again the men shouted. She was clear of the bank. One after the other the anchors were weighed, sail was made on the ship, and rapidly we glided up the mighty Chesapeake. We proceeded up as high as Newportneuse, and so suddenly and unexpectedly did we come on the enemy that a considerable number of merchantmen were unable to make their escape. As soon as we had brought up, the boats were lowered, and away we went in chase.

The moment the crews made out who we were, they cut their cables and ran, while we in hot speed went after them. Some few gave it up as a hopeless case and hauled down their colours; others ran on shore, and their crews set them on fire, or we did so, to prevent any one from benefiting by them. They were mostly loaded with Virginian tobacco. No one in the fleet wanted a good supply of the fragrant weed after that. We took or destroyed a dozen or more brigs and schooners. It might have been necessary, but it was cruel work, and I did not think it was the best way to make the planters of Virginia love us the more. Such was the way our expedition commenced operations.

Before I proceed I must recommend my readers to look at a map of Virginia bordering the southern or rather western side of the Chesapeake, and examine the scene of the operations which, under the directions of General Arnold, we were about to commence against the rebels. To the east will be found that large estuary of the Atlantic running nearly north and south, and known as Chesapeake bay, or gulf, or river. It forms the eastern boundary of Virginia. Flowing into it from the west the river Potomac bounds the State on the north, while a vast marsh, known by the unattractive name of the Dismal Swamp, separates it on the south from North Carolina. Between the Potomac and the Dismal Swamp several other rivers and creeks are to be found. The largest is James river, with Portsmouth and Gosport near the mouth. Running into it on the north is Hampton creek, on which stands the town of Hampton, and a little to the north of it again is York river and York Town, which was to become the scene of operations of a character most disastrous to the royal cause. York Town stands on an elbow of York river, between it and James river. Some way up James river is the town of Richmond, the capital of the State of Virginia. The country was, at the time of which I am speaking, as densely populated and as well cultivated as any part of the province of North America. The Dismal Swamp is an exception to the fertility of the surrounding country. It is a vast quagmire, composed of vegetable matter and the decayed roots of trees and plants. On the surface appear in rich luxuriance every species of aquatic plants, from the delicate green moss to the tall cypress. It covers, I was told, an area of a thousand square miles, and is forty miles long and twenty-five broad, having, however, in the centre, a lake of some size fringed to the very borders with dense masses of trees which extend even into the water itself. The water is perfectly level with the banks, and sometimes overflows them. Altogether, from its uninhabitable and impassable character, and the sombre appearance of its vegetable productions, it well deserves the name given to it.

The last day of the year 1780 had now arrived. Captain Symonds sent for me and informed me that I had had the honour of being selected for some important duty, and that he could fully rely on my carrying it out with my usual zeal, energy, and discretion. I bowed, and replied that I was always anxious to do my duty; but my heart, I confess, did beat rather quickly and anxiously in consequence of the possibility I at once saw of realising the hopes I had so long entertained, I need not, however, again revert to that subject.

“Some intelligent pilots are required to conduct the men-of-war and transports up James river, as also some guides are wanted for the army when they land,” said my captain. “Now you see, Mr Hurry, as they won’t come simply because they are wanted, you are to go on shore and catch them. Captain Hawthorne of the 80th Regiment, with two detachments, one from the Queen’s Rangers and one of his own men, will accompany you. You will have altogether fully three hundred men. With their courage and discipline they will be a match for a thousand or two thousand rebels, and I expect that you will carry out your instructions with credit to yourself and advantage to the service.”

I bowed, and the captain continued: “It is believed that the enemy have secured some of their vessels in Hampton creek. You are to find out where they are, and, if you can, take possession of them and bring them away. If not, burn or destroy them; at all events, acquaint yourself sufficiently with the country to enable you to lead an expedition up the creek to capture them. With regard to the inhabitants, you are to treat them with civility and in a conciliatory manner. If necessary, of course you will coerce them, but as much as possible show them that we come as friends rather than as foes.”