In ship and prison

After two weeks in port we sailed again, this time making a cruise to the northward. We reached the neighborhood of Halifax before we found a prize, and then captured a small brig. Learning that she was a part of a convoy, consisting of the frigate Elizabeth of twenty guns, the brig Observer of sixteen guns, and the sloop-of-war Howe of fourteen guns, and that there were under their protection two large ships with cargoes of great value, Captain Tucker determined “to make capital,” as he expressed it, and sailed to intercept them.

The next morning they were sighted, and hoisting the English colors we sailed boldly into their midst. Selecting the heaviest armed ship, we came up with her and hailed her:

“Are you the frigate Elizabeth, from Antigua bound to Halifax?” was our Captain’s query.

“Yes,” was the answer. “What ship are you?”

Instead of replying directly, Captain Tucker answered:

“I’ll come on board.”

He had already laid his plans. Fifty men under the command of Lieutenant Bates were in readiness to board her. To them and to the helmsman a set of special signals was given, and specific directions as to the part they were expected to play in the coming struggle. Then the first signal was given, and as if by accident the Boston ran afoul of the Elizabeth’s yards. Pretending it was the fault of the helmsman, Captain Tucker called out:

“Brace about there, sir,” but at the same time he gave his second secret signal.

The sailor at the helm saw it, and in obedience to that rather than to the spoken command, only entangled the vessel with her antagonist more and more, and soon was in close contact with her.

Seeing all was ready, our skipper gave his third signal, and a waiting sailor ran down the English flag and hoisted the stars and stripes. Then in stentorian tones came the command:

“Fire!”

But the English captain had now discovered our real character, and both vessels fired a broadside at the same time. The moment the terrible roar of the artillery ceased, however, the fifty picked men leaped on board the Elizabeth. Like the rush of a whirlwind they swept her deck, drove her crew down below, and hauled down her colors. These movements were seen by the Observer, and she came down to attack us. But Captain Tucker cried out in a threatening voice:

“We are ready for you, sir, two to one. Come on!”

Our men already had control of the Elizabeth, and turned with our frigate to attack the newcomer. Finding she had got to face the guns of two vessels instead of one, the brig thought discretion the better part of valor, and attempted to run away. A broadside poured into her quickly changed that plan, however, and she ran down her flag.

The sloop-of-war Howe, supposing her consort was going to fight, had ranged up towards, and now fired upon us. Whereupon Captain Tucker shouted:

“Captain Frazer, if you fire another broadside, I’ll blow you out of the water. Surrender!”

The captain of the sloop evidently thought it prudent to do so, and obeyed the command. It was an easy matter for us then to pick up the two ships, and we took all five of the vessels safely into port.

In November we were back again in Philadelphia, where we received orders to put our frigate into thorough order for a special service. While this work was going on there was much speculation among us—the younger officers of the ship—as to the character of this mission. But we did not know until the beginning of the following month what was really expected of us. Then Captain Tucker received this official order:

The reason for this order was already known to us. Sir Henry Clinton, taking advantage of the withdrawal of the French fleet under the command of Admiral D’Estang from Savannah, in the previous October, to the West Indies for winter quarters, had despatched a large land and naval force from New York to besiege that town. Rumors were already multiplying that its fall was certain, and would be followed by an immediate attack on Charleston. Hoping to save the latter place Congress had directed General Lincoln, who was in command of the Continental army in the south, to hasten to its defense, and meantime was collecting a fleet there to aid the land forces.

In five days we were ready to sail, and on Christmas day entered the harbor of Charleston. In order for the reader to understand the events which transpired there during the next three months, it will be necessary for him to have certain facts clearly in his mind. He should remember that the town lies on a neck of low land, a peninsula, formed by the junction of the Ashley and Cooper rivers, whose confluence makes a harbor two miles wide, and seven miles long, facing south-east to the ocean. The width of the Ashley river at its mouth is about twenty-one hundred yards, and the width of the Cooper not far from fourteen hundred. Down the harbor, and bounding it on its sea side, are the Sullivan and James islands, the former being the site of Fort Moultrie, and the latter that of Fort Johnson.

At the time of our arrival the British had not yet appeared, but during the next five weeks they came in constantly increasing numbers, until there was a land force of ten thousand men, and a naval force consisting of a ship of fifty guns, two of forty-four guns each, and four of thirty-two guns each, besides numerous transports and smaller vessels, ranging from six to twenty-four guns.

To oppose these formidable forces General Lincoln could rely upon only fifteen hundred regular troops, and such militia as could be drawn from the surrounding country—in all less than four thousand men; while the armed vessels numbered five: the schooner Providence, Commodore Whipple’s flagship, mounting eighteen guns; the frigate Ranger, Captain Thomas Sampson, carrying twenty-four guns; the frigate Boston, Captain Samuel Tucker, with twenty-four guns; the frigate Queen of France, Captain John Peck Rathbone, with twenty guns; and the state brig, Notre Dame, with twelve guns.

To check the advance of the enemy up the harbor our ships were stretched across the channel between Fort Moultrie and Fort Johnson, while in the former garrison there was a force of three hundred picked men, and in the latter one hundred.

Up to the first of February, though there had been some slight skirmishing, the British still remained in the outer harbor, while we held possession of the inner harbor and the town. But early in that month active operations were begun to dislodge us, or compel our surrender.

Early one morning our lookout forward noticed that all of the British transports and some of the men-of-war were hoisting their anchors, and preparing to sail. He reported his discovery to the officer of the deck, who promptly notified Captain Tucker. He came up from the cabin, and signalled the movement to the Commodore, who sent a man into the cross-trees of the flagship to watch the enemy. When the departing vessels had disappeared behind Morris island, Commodore Whipple ran up a signal for the Boston to send out a yawl to watch the mouth of Wappoo creek, and in case the British attempted to land in that vicinity to announce the fact by firing three swivel guns. He added:

“I will send a boat along with yours.”

I was put in command of the yawl from our frigate, and Lieutenant Haines had charge of the boat from the Providence. His superior rank made him commander of the expedition, and together we proceeded down the creek to its mouth, and, lying to there, waited for the coming of the English vessels.

Soon they appeared below Morris Island, but instead of rounding it, and sailing up our way, they kept straight on down the coast.

“What does that mean?” asked Lieutenant Haines, turning to me.

I studied the situation for a moment or two before I replied. Then I said:

“They are going farther down the shore to land. They know if they come up here our vessels can put themselves into a position where, if they do not prevent the landing, they can make it a terribly costly thing to undertake. But dropping a few miles down the coast, they can land without any interference from us. We haven’t a sufficient land force to send a part down there to stop them. The ships they have left in the lower harbor are enough to prevent our fleet from following them, and there isn’t water enough for our craft to slip out this back way. So they can take their time, and disembark the troops without fear of being disturbed by us.”

“I believe you are right,” the lieutenant responded. “Sir Henry Clinton has got his thinking cap on at last. Well, this is so different from what our Commodore expected I will send you back to report. Meantime I will follow the enemy down the shore.”

“And shall I return to you with the new orders?”

“Certainly, if there are any.”

Up the creek and down to the flagship I went as fast as a dozen stout arms could pull the yawl. Commodore Whipple was at the railing when I reached the side of the vessel, and returning my salute, said:

“Report right where you are, Midshipman. What have you discovered?”

“Lieutenant Haines presents his compliments, sir,” I began, “and desires me to say that the British ships are going on down the coast, and in his judgment are seeking a landing-place where we cannot follow them or send down a land force to prevent them.”

“I surmised as much,” answered the Commodore with a smile. “It is what I should do, if I were in charge of those forces. Has Lieutenant Haines gone down the coast to keep watch of them?”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” I replied. “I should have reported that also, and he wishes to know if you have any new orders?”

“Wait a moment,” he directed, “and I will send down to you a day’s rations for the lieutenant and his men. Then you may go over to your own frigate and provision your own boat similarly, and return down the shore. When the enemy have effected a landing, one of your boats may come back to tell me where it has been made. The other may remain to watch the movements of the red-coats.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” I replied and gave my men the order to pull away.

In a short time I had secured the rations, and was on my way to rejoin Lieutenant Haines. It was noon before I overtook him, or rather his boat. I found that pulled on the north side of John’s Island, thirty miles below Charleston, but the lieutenant was not with his men.

“The British are landing on the other side,” the boatswain in charge explained, “and Lieutenant Haines is over there watching them.”

In about an hour he came back.

“Ah!” he said as he caught sight of me, “I thought it was about time for you to be here, and they sent down our rations? I expected it. We’ll have dinner right away, and while eating it I’ll tell you what I have seen.”

Kindling a small fire on the beach, we made some coffee, and were soon stowing away our food with the hearty appetites a keen air had created.

“The British are landing in a small cove almost opposite this, and not over a mile away,” the officer said, between his mouthfuls of food. “As soon as a regiment is landed, it crosses over to the main shore and goes into camp. It will take them some hours to complete the task. We’ll go over again after a while.”

Two or three hours later he announced that he was ready, and together we made our way through the woods to the south side of the island. Before we reached there we could plainly hear the sounds of the disembarking, and my comrade remarked in a low tone:

“They are not through yet.”

We were soon where we could see all that was going on, and there we lay for a long time watching the constantly changing scene. It was night before the last company was landed, and the order was given for the empty transports to return to Charleston harbor under the escort of the attending men-of-war.

“We may as well return to our boats,” the lieutenant now said, rising and leading the way back through the underbrush. When at the cove, he continued:

“You made the first report. I will make this one, while you and your men remain here to see what movement the red-coats make in the morning.”

“All right,” I assented, and then stood there watching until his yawl had been lost in the darkness which was fast falling.