In ship and prison

by William P. Chipman

I shall write only of those incidents of which I was a part. Possibly through Lieutenant Haines, who seemed to have taken a great interest in me, I shared in some of the more dangerous undertakings, but I would by no means have the reader think we were the only ones who were doing anything. The fact is that every man on land or sea was in service—every soldier and every sailor was instant in season and out of season during the days and nights that now followed. I did not hear of a single shirker, nor do I know of a case where anyone in those days tried to favor himself. If there was ever an army of heroes, the men under General Lincoln deserved that title. If there was ever a gallant naval force, the officers and crews of our ships won the appellation over and over again. The story never has been told—nor can it ever be told—of what was endured and suffered and done by that little army and smaller navy in their efforts to save the town.

Scarcely had the British ships moved up the outer harbor when Lieutenant Haines paid me a visit. When we were alone in my mess-room, he said in a low tone:

“Master Dunn, are you ready to go with me on what may prove a perilous undertaking?”

“Yes,” I answered promptly, and waited for him to make such disclosures as seemed wisest to him.

He smiled. “Your promptness does you credit,” he continued, “but let me first tell you the nature of my mission. The enemy have, as you know, captured Beacon House Light, and the Commodore has learned there was a special reason for it. Some Tory friend has furnished the British admiral with a chart of the harbor—its channels and its courses—the Beacon Light serving as a center from which they take all their bearings. If the Light can be destroyed now, their drawing, if not rendered entirely useless, will at least not be so serviceable, and so Commodore Whipple has asked me to undertake its destruction. I have consented, and on the first favorable night shall make the attempt. I shall take fifteen men with me, and, if you are ready to accompany me, will ask you to take the same number.”

“I am as ready to go now as I was before you told me what we were to do,” I declared.

Again he smiled. “I expected it, and yet let me state wherein our peril lies. First, we must have a dark, stormy night for the enterprise or else we cannot get through the British fleet, and we run the risk which naturally comes to open boats in a raging sea. Then, should we pass the fleet and overpower the men in the Light and succeed in destroying it, we shall have an aroused enemy to escape on our return. I regard it as about an even chance for us to go down to the Light undiscovered; but to come back in safety the odds are all against us.”

“Still I shall go,” I asserted unhesitatingly.

“Commodore Whipple will speak to Captain Tucker, asking that you be assigned to this work, and I will then give you further details of my plan,” the lieutenant added as he arose to depart.

Two days later there came a storm from the south-east. Before sundown the rain poured in torrents, and the wind blew in great gusts. As night came on it became so dark one could not see a boat’s length away. It was the favorable time for which we had been waiting, and I was not surprised to receive word from Lieutenant Haines to be ready to start at eight o’clock.