In ship and prison

In a short time I became convinced of two things. First, that we would have no difficulty in running through the British fleet unnoticed. The storm was so severe every patrol boat had been withdrawn; the darkness was so heavy we could not be seen ten feet away; the wind and sea made so much noise that whatever sounds came from us would pass unheard. I dismissed therefore all apprehension on this point immediately. The other matter was more serious, and soon became a struggle for life. It was the battle with the storm. To pull against it took all the strength of my men; to keep the yawl true to her course was an impossibility; to prevent our craft from filling and sinking took the united efforts of four of the crew.

We gained our way slowly. The lights of the British vessels showed that. At length we were among the upper craft, and guided by them, I strove to swing back to the course from which I had seriously deviated. The combined strength of Boatswain Lewis and myself could not hold our helm to its place. Twice we swung dangerously near the enemy’s ships. Once we passed directly under the stern of a frigate but we were unseen and unheard. At length we were clear of the fleet, and now the Beacon House Light itself became our guide.

Two hours had been allowed in the arranging of our plans for us to reach the little cove where we were to make our rendezvous; four had elapsed before we reached there, only to find ourselves alone.

The agreement between Lieutenant Haines and myself was that whoever arrived there first was to wait one hour for the coming of the other party. But that had been on the supposition that two hours were ample to make the passage to the cove even against the storm.

It was now midnight, an hour later than I would have waited had I reached the rendezvous on time. Had Lieutenant Haines arrived there, and, after waiting the allotted time, gone on to the light house? I looked long and earnestly towards the beacon, but there was nothing in the shadows behind, or the rays in front, to give me a definite answer. I confess I was puzzled. I did not know whether to wait my hour there, or to go on immediately to the tower. I finally decided on the former course. I would obey my directions to the letter.

Slowly the minutes passed—so slowly that again and again I put my watch to my ears to make sure it had not stopped. A half-hour; another quarter had come and gone, and I was overhauling the materials I had brought for the destruction of the Light in case the sole responsibility devolved upon me, when my ear caught the faint sound of oars. I listened, and the sound was more distinct, then the lieutenant’s yawl came out of the gloom and touched the shore at my feet.

“Did you reach here, Master Dunn, without capsizing?” were the officer’s first words.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then you did better than I,” he responded, and as he stepped ashore I saw he was as wet as a drowned rat. His men were also in the same condition.

“Our rudder broke just after we ran through the fleet,” he explained, “and before we could do anything to prevent it, the yawl broached to, and shipping a ton or more of water, went over. We lost one man, and the entire contents of the craft except some extra oars which were fastened inside. With much difficulty we righted her, bailed her out with our tarpaulins, and, crawling back into her, finally succeeded in reaching here, but in a sorry condition to carry out our assigned task. I am glad you arrived in better shape. How long have you been here?”

“Nearly an hour, sir. I was waiting out the allotted time before I went on to the Light.”

“That was right,” he said heartily, “for it gives me a chance to share in the work. Five minutes to one,” he added, glancing at his watch in the light of my dark lantern; “not so late as I had feared. There is still time to complete our job and get back to our ships.”

“We shall have the wind and tide with us, and can make our return much more rapidly,” I suggested.

“Yes, if the enemy does not prevent,” he admitted. “But the moment the beacon is in flames they will be on the alert for us, and having fresh men at the oars may run us down. We took that chance, however, when we decided to come here.”

We now took the powder and oil cans from my boat, and distributed them among our crews to carry. Then ten of us with our hands free to use our cutlasses placed ourselves at the head of the squad, and we began our march across the point to the light house.

This was a huge structure, built partly of stone and partly of hard pine logs. The door, fortunately for us, was on the rear side of the building, and towards this we made our way. Reaching it without discovery, we paused a moment to listen. The lantern at the top of the tower shone brightly, but all the rest of the building loomed up darkly above our heads. No sound came from within. The inmates, whatever their number, were evidently asleep, save perhaps the single watchman to care for the lantern.

My own plan, had I come alone, was to force open the door and seize the men within before they could recover from their surprise. But Lieutenant Haines had arranged to obtain by ruse what I should have gained by force. Raising the hilt of his sword, he pounded loudly on the door. Twice he was compelled to do this, and then a sleepy voice asked:

“Who’s there? What do you want?”

“Our boat is ashore. We want shelter for the rest of the night,” the officer answered as though he belonged to the British patrol.

“Aye! aye! sir,” came the response, “I’ll be there in a moment.”

There was a shuffling of feet and then the door was thrown wide open for us. Springing in, we seized the attendant before he could make the slightest resistance. There were six other men, all in their bunks, and, though roused by our entrance, they had no time to get their weapons before we had made them prisoners. Then the seven were taken down to our boats under a strong guard, there to await our coming.

We were now ready for our work of destruction. Tearing out a half dozen places in the foundation of the building, we placed canisters of powder within them. From these long strings of oakum, well saturated with oil, were carried to the center of the house. Here a huge pile of combustibles was made, oil was spread on walls and floors and stairs, the front windows were darkened to hide the flames from that side, a rear window was left open for draft—and all was ready.

Sending the men off to the yawls, the lieutenant and I knelt down, and with flint and steel started a blaze in the heap of combustibles. Watching it until sure the fire was really kindled, we slipped out the door and ran for the cove.

There we halted and fastened our eyes upon the burning building. Through the rear door and window we could see the flames as they gained headway. Across the floor, up the walls they ran, and streaming out through the openings threw a great glare upon the dark curtain of the night. It was clear our work had been well done, and the structure was doomed. Then Lieutenant Haines turned to his prisoners, saying:

“Good sirs, we leave you here simply because we have no room for you in the boats. Possibly the nearest frigate will send a boat for you; if not, you will be no more exposed to the gale than we are. One word of warning to you, however. We have placed six kegs of powder in yonder walls. It will, therefore, be well for you to keep a long distance from the fire. Good-night,” and with that he gave the order for us to embark.

Our plan for the return was to keep near the shore until opposite Sullivan Island, then dash quickly to the south to enter the upper bay through the passage between Morris and Sullivan Islands. This course would enable us to run before the wind for a large part of the way, would keep us out of the glare of the burning building, and would also make it impossible for the enemy to follow us except in small boats.

For a short distance our boats kept together, probably because we were all more intent on watching the fire than we were in making our escape. Soon there came an explosion, followed in rapid succession by five others. Stones and logs were tossed high in the air; the great tower tottered and then fell with a crash which sounded loud above the storm; sparks and embers flew in every direction; the flames burst out anew as though they would devour everything before them.

“She’s destroyed!” I shouted, but if the lieutenant heard me he made no answer. I glanced in the direction his boat had been but a moment before, and saw that it had disappeared, lost in the darkness.

“Give way, my lads!” I said to my own men, and they obeyed with a will.

As we went up the bay I could see signs that the enemy were aroused. Lights flashed to and fro on the decks of the frigates. The one nearest the Beacon House fired a cannon, and then put out a boat which hastened to the shore.

“They’ll soon know the fire was not an accident,” I remarked to my boatswain, “and may attempt to follow us.”

“It will do them no good, sir,” he answered. “We have too long a start for them to overhaul us. Our fear is yonder as we cross out to the channel. If I mistake not, one of the ships has hoisted her anchor, and is coming up this way.”

I looked in the direction he indicated, and saw by her rapidly moving lights that one of the vessels had certainly cast off her moorings and was running up the bay.

“We must reach and cross the channel before her,” I declared. “Heave away, lads!”

“Aye! aye! sir!” they responded, and bent to their oars.

Without waiting to go higher up the bay, I had our helm changed to carry us out towards Cumming’s Point. But fast as we went, the ship came faster. It seemed also that she was shaping her course to head us off.

“Run up under Sullivan’s Island,” I directed Master Lewis. “If necessary, we’ll beach the boat and seek protection in Fort Moultrie.”

He promptly turned our bow that way, and the coming vessel changed her own course just enough to follow in our wake.

“She must see us!” I now exclaimed in my surprise.

“It looks so, but I do not see how,” the boatswain admitted in a puzzled way.

“Change again towards the point,” I ordered.

He did so, and again the ship turned. All the while she had been gaining rapidly upon us, and now was so near I was anxious lest she run us down.

“Port! Port your helm!” I cried, hoping in that way to swing clear of her. But we were too late. I had only time to call to my men to save themselves by springing upon her deck, as she cut our yawl in two.

Following the advice I had given my men, I leaped for her rail. She was not so large nor so high out of water as she had seemed when farther down the bay, and I caught the railing and pulled myself up on her deck. Rising, I shook the water from my clothing, and then heard a voice near me say:

“I’m right along with you, sir.” It was Boatswain Lewis.

“So am I,” another and then another voice exclaimed.

The same cry came from the larboard rail, and I was sure that half of my men at least had escaped the disaster—but escaped into the enemy’s hands. To my amazement, however, little attention was paid to us. Her officers and men seemed too busy with the care of their ship for that.

Standing near her foremast with my men, I slowly took all this in, and came to the conclusion that the craft had broken her anchor chains and driven up the bay before the gale. All her courses had been due to attempts to prevent her wreck, and to get back to her anchorage, and not to her efforts to follow me. In fact, as I learned a little later, she had not seen us at all, and had no idea we were in that locality until she ran us down.

Soon an officer passed near us in the discharge of his duties.

“Where is your captain?” I asked.

“On the quarter-deck,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“One of the men you just ran down.”

“A Yankee officer?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the inner harbor?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.”

He led me aft to his commander, and in a few words explained who I was and how I came there.

“He says he knows the upper bay,” the subordinate continued.

“I am Captain Jackson,” the skipper then said. “This is the cartel ship, and we have lost our anchors, leaving us at the mercy of the storm. There are a number of refugees on board, including several women and children. For their sake the vessel must be saved. If you can put us into the inner bay where we can ride out the storm, or beach the craft in safety, I will give you charge of her.”

I thought a moment. Then I answered:

“I believe I can bring you near enough to our frigate for them to throw us a hawser, sir, and you can then ride out the storm.”

“Do you suppose they will allow me to return when the gale is over, or will consider me a prize?” he inquired.

“I cannot say what our commander will do, sir,” I responded, “but if I were in command of our fleet the character of your ship would protect you.”

“I must take the risk,” he concluded, and turned the wheel over to me.

I ran in behind Cumming’s Point for smoother waters, and then took a straight course up the bay past Fort Johnson. I could now see the lights of the Boston, and headed directly for her.

At my suggestion Boatswain Lewis was sent into our bow to hail the frigate. In his powerful voice he called out to her as we drew near, proclaiming our character, and asking for a rope. I had to luff to under her stern in order to get it, but at length it reached us, and, making ourselves fast, we held on there until morning.

I now took the opportunity to muster my men, and found that all but four had succeeded in clambering to the deck of the cartel ship. The missing four turned up the next day. They had clung to the broken boat and drifted ashore on Sullivan’s Island. Lieutenant Haines reached the Providence without further mishap.

After consultation with Commodore Whipple the next day, Captain Tucker was able to inform Captain Jackson that his vessel would be allowed to return to the English fleet. He had to wait twenty-four hours before the storm had abated sufficiently to permit him to sail, but when the hour came for him to depart, he and his officers and passengers signed and sent a letter of thanks to our commander for the kindness shown them while in our lines.