On reaching Sewel’s Point, where I brought up to receive the commodore’s despatches, I was surprised to receive an order to return immediately and to give back those entrusted to me by General Arnold. This order originated, I afterwards discovered, in consequence of some unaccountable disagreement which had arisen between the general and the admiral. General Arnold said nothing when I gave him back his despatches, but he looked not a little angry and astonished. When the heads fell out it is not surprising that want of success was the result of their undertakings. My journal is full of various little incidents which happened at this time. The Charlestown and Hope captured in the Chesapeake a rich fleet of eight rebel merchantmen bound for the Havannah. The lieutenant of the Swift was made prisoner in consequence of an illegal use of a flag of truce. Several officers and men were blown up when chasing a rebel brig, and an artillery officer, heading a foraging party, was killed. The squadron was kept on the alert by an account brought by the General Monk sloop-of-war of a French ship of the line and two frigates having sailed from Rhode Island, it was supposed, for the Chesapeake.
Once more, on the 31st, the old Charon, during a heavy gale of wind, drove on shore, but by great and prompt exertion was got off. To keep her in countenance, when on the 5th of February I sailed with my prizes under convoy of the Charlestown for New York, on going down the West Branch I also got on shore, but succeeded in quickly getting off again. I had no little trouble in keeping the prizes in order. The Americans left on board one of them persuaded the people to side with them, and they ran her on shore, purposing to give her up to the rebels. I went in chase of her, fired several shots into her, and then, manning one of my boats, boarded her, captured her crew, who had been unable to escape, and got her off, made sail with my recaptured prize, and rejoined the fleet at midnight, when I put the mutineers on board the Charlestown, to be dealt with according to martial law.
On the 11th, at night, finding the “Langolee,” one of my prizes, some distance astern, and suspecting that she was about to give us the slip, I dropped astern, and, taking her in tow, brought her into the middle of the fleet. At midnight, however, a heavy gust of wind compelled me to cut the hawser and clap before it. With the small crew I had I found no little difficulty in handing my sails, which, after some time having done, I struck topgallant yards and masts and lay-to under a close-reefed mainsail. Once having made the ship snug I endeavoured to discover the whereabouts of the rest of the convoy, but not a trace of them could I discover. I hoped, however, with the morning light to make them out. When the cold-grey dawn spread over the ocean and I went aloft not a sail was in sight.
“This is no great misfortune,” said I to Grampus when I came on deck. “The Rattlesnake is a prime sailer, and by taking advantage of the winds we shall reach New York much sooner than if we had been obliged to whip up the convoy. We are a match, too, for any of the smaller rebel vessels we are likely to fall in with, and we must run away from the bigger ones.”
“That may be, sir,” answered the old man, “but d’ye see, sir, I’ve no great opinion of this here craft if it was to come on any long course of bad weather. I’ve a notion she’s an old craft, and I doubt much the soundness of her timbers and planks.”
I was rather inclined to laugh at Nol’s prognostication, and thought no more about his remarks. Before, however, many hours had passed, the gale, which had hitherto been blowing pretty steadily, increased in fury; the sea ran very high, and the spray, as it broke on board, froze hard on deck and sheathed the rigging in ice. When short-handed this is very trying, as double the strength is required to make the running rigging work. Happily we were under snug canvas, for I do not think we could have made or shortened sail. Towards evening Grampus came up to me with a look of concern in his countenance.
“I told you so, sir,” he said, touching his hat. “The old ship has sprung a leak. She has not lost time in letting in the water, for there are four feet already in the hold.”
Immediately on hearing this appalling news I gave orders to man the pumps, but it was at once found, to our further dismay, that they were useless, for they were choked with ice. Since the gale sprang up we had been unable to light a fire. In vain for a long time we tried. Without boiling water or a hot iron it was impossible to clear the pumps. The water was rapidly gaining on us. There seemed every probability of the ship sinking under our feet. Such has been the fate of many poor fellows—to have gone down in a cold, icy sea, hope and help far away. Such was the risk I had often before run, but never before had the expectation of it been brought so prominently before me. Never before had I, it seemed, so much to lose. Never so much to which to look forward with hope. Our efforts to light the fire became more and more frantic. At last I bethought me of applying salt to the ice in the pumps. We fortunately had a good supply of it on board. By forcing the salt down with a long iron the ice was melted, and the pumps at length got to act. Frantically we pumped away with our two pumps. We sounded the well; the water had decreased. This gave us courage to continue our exertions. At length we were able to keep the ship free. Still the gale continued, and I had my apprehensions, from the condition of the ship, that another leak might yet be sprung and all our efforts prove vain. Even a winter gale of wind in those latitudes off the American coast must come to an end, and this, by the morning of the 5th, sufficiently abated to allow me to set the fore and main stay-sails. I then stood towards the land. At noon Rockets came into my cabin, where I had gone to snatch a few minutes’ sleep, and reported a ship and two schooners in sight.
“An enemy, I’ll warrant,” I said to myself testily. “I shall be driven out to sea again, or perhaps, after all, fall into their hands.”
Still I stood towards them, ready to make all sail to escape should my suspicions be realised. I could not make them out. When I got within signalising distance I made the private signal, and great was my satisfaction to find in answer that the ship was the Charlestown, and the schooners two of the convoy.