Marcy, the Refugee

"You don't say?" exclaimed Perkins. "What boat is he on, and what position does he hold?"

"He is a foremast hand on the Harriet Lane. I hope he will make himself known to his commander, for he is the best kind of a pilot for this coast."

"I am afraid he will not be of any use to us to-day, and that you will not shake hands with him this trip," replied Perkins. "That boat is not with us. She is outside, chasing blockade runners. Hallo! There goes our answering pennant. Now, watch the signal from the flag-ship – one, nine, five, second-repeater – Aw, what's the use of my reading off the numbers when I have no signal-book to translate them for me?"

"It is 'engage the enemy' probably," said his companion. "After we have answered it a few times more, perhaps we will recognize it when we see it."

"If that is what the signal means, why don't you go to your stations?" inquired Marcy, as they began walking leisurely toward the waist to leave the forecastle clear for the blue-jackets, who came forward in obedience to a shrill call from the boatswain's whistle, which was followed by the command: "All hands stand by to get ship under way." "You don't seem to be in any haste to do anything, you two."

"What is the use of being in a hurry to get shot at?" said Perkins. "Wait until you hear the call to quarters, and then you will see us get around lively enough. But we shall not have so very much fighting to do to-day. I heard Mr. Watkins tell the officer of the deck this morning that this battle will be merely preliminary. When the soldiers get a foothold on the Island you'll see fun, unless the rebels run away."

"Where is my station in action?" asked Marcy.

"Close at the old man's side, wherever he happens to be," replied the master's mate. "And I will tell you, for your consolation, that he always happens to be in the most dangerous place he can find. There he is on the bridge, and perhaps you had better go up to him."

The bridge was a platform with a railing around it, extending nearly across the deck just abaft the wheel-house, and when Marcy mounted the ladder that led up to it, he found himself in a position to see everything that was going on. The captain was standing there with his hands in his pockets, but he seemed more like a disinterested spectator than like a man who was about to take a ship into action, for he had not a word to say to anybody. He wore a canvas bag by his side, suspended by a broad strap that passed over his shoulder; and if Marcy could have looked into it, he would have found that it contained a small book whose cloth covers were heavily loaded with lead. This was the signal-book – one of the most important articles in a man-of-war's outfit. The captain always kept it where he could place his hands upon it at a moment's notice, and if he found that his vessel was in danger of being captured, he would have thrown it overboard rather than permit it to fall into the hands of the enemy.

For the first quarter of an hour or so Marcy Gray had nothing to do but keep out of the way of the captain, who walked back and forth on the bridge so that he could see every part of the deck beneath him by simply turning his head, and watch the gunboats fall into line one after another. The ease and rapidity with which this was done surprised him. The several commanders knew their places and got into them in short order, and without in any way interfering with the vessels around them. If the inanimate masses of wood and iron they commanded had been possessed of brains and knew what they were expected to do, they could not have done it more promptly or with less confusion. It was a fine and inspiriting sight, and Marcy Gray would have walked twenty miles to see it any day.

"The flagship is signalling, sir," said a quartermaster who was on the bridge with him and the captain.

Marcy turned about and saw a long line of different-colored streamers traveling up the Southfield's main-mast. When it reached the top and the breeze had carried the flags out at full length so that the captain could distinguish them, he took down the number they represented on a slip of paper, and turned to the corresponding number in his book to see what the signal meant. This he wrote upon a separate piece of paper which he held in his hand.

By the time the vessel was fairly under way several signals had been made from the commodore's flag-ship, and finally a rattle was sounded somewhere below; whereupon the blue-jackets came running from all directions, but without the least noise or disorder, and took their stand by the side of the big guns to which they belonged. When the command "cast loose and provide" had been obeyed and every man was in his place, the roll was called by the commanders of the different divisions, the sailors responding by giving the names of their stations thus:

"George Williams."

"First captain and second boarder, sir."

"Walter Dowd."

"Second loader and first boarder, sir."

"James Smith."

"Shotman and pikeman, sir."

When the roll had been called the various division commanders reported to the executive officer, who always has charge of the gun-deck in action, and he approached the bridge on which the captain was standing, saluted with his sword, and said:

"All present or accounted for, sir."

"Very good, sir," answered the captain, giving the officer the paper he held in his hand. "There is what the commodore had to say to us in one of his signals. Read it to the men."

Mr. Watkins went back to his station and took off his cap; and instantly the eye of every sailor on deck was fixed upon him.

"This signal has just been made from the flag-ship," said Mr. Watkins, holding the paper aloft. "Listen to the reading of it: 'This day our country expects every man to do his duty!' What have you men to say to that? Will you show the commodore that you know what your duty is by beating those fellows up there?"

The answer was a lusty cheer, in which the officers joined as wildly as their men. Then cheers began coming from all directions, showing that the reading of the signal had had the same effect upon other crews. When the Stars and Stripes, the vessel that was to lead in the attack, went by to take her station at the head of the line, her men were yelling at the top of their voices; and when their cheers died away everything became quiet, and the fleet settled down to business.

The first shot was fired at eleven o'clock. It was from a hundred-pounder on the leading vessel, and was directed against Fort Bartow. It was the signal for the opening of the contest, and was quickly followed by such an uproar that Marcy Gray could hardly hear himself think. He had always thought that a twenty-four pound howitzer made a pretty loud noise, but it was nothing to the deafening and continuous roar of the heavy guns that in a moment filled the air all about him. He thought he ought to be badly frightened, and he expected to be; but somehow he was not, and neither was he killed by the shell from Fort Bartow that struck the water close alongside and exploded, it seemed to him, almost under his feet. He was in full possession of his senses, and the hand with which he levelled his glass at the Confederate fleet was as steady as he had ever known it to be. He was particularly interested in the movements of that fleet, for he was acquainted with some of the sailors who manned it. As soon as the action was fairly begun it left its sheltered position under the guns of the fort and steamed down the channel. Its leading boats came on at such a rate of speed that Marcy thought they must know of some opening in the lines of obstructions, and that they intended to come through and demolish the Union fleet without aid from the guns on shore; but if that was their object they failed to accomplish it. Their heaviest ship, the Curlew, was whipped so quickly that her rebel commander must have been astonished; and so badly crippled was she by the solid shot that crashed through her sides, that it was all she could do to haul out of the fight and seek refuge under the guns of the nearest fort. In the end both the ship and the fort were blown up together.

About this time something happened that the young pilot might have expected, but which he had never once thought of. The smoke of battle settled so thickly about his vessel that his eyes were of little use to him; and, to make matters worse, Captain Benton shouted in his ear:

"Keep a bright lookout, and if you see us getting into less than fourteen feet of water, don't fail to let me know it."

"I declare, I don't know whether there are fourteen or fourteen hundred feet of water under our keel at this moment!" was the thought that flashed through Marcy's mind and awoke him to a sense of his responsibility. "I don't know where we are." Then aloud he said: "I can't see a thing from the bridge, Captain. I shall have to go aloft."

The boy did not know whether or not pilots were in the habit of going aloft in the heat of action, but he thought it was the proper thing to do under the circumstances. He went, and he did not go any too soon, either; for when he had climbed up where he could see over the thickest of the smoke, he found to his consternation that the vessel was heading diagonally across the channel far to the eastward of the position in which she ought to be, that she would be hard and fast aground if she held that course five minutes longer, and that her shells were exploding in the edge of a piece of timber where he could not see any signs of a fort or breastwork. It was the work of but a few seconds for Marcy to make Captain Benton understand the situation, and when the latter had brought his ship to her proper course by following the instructions the young pilot shouted down to him, he came up and took his stand in the top by Marcy's side. There they both remained as long as the fight continued, and their dinner consisted of a sandwich and a cup of coffee, which the cabin steward brought up to them at noon.

The first object of the bombardment was accomplished about five o'clock that afternoon, when a heavy smoke was rolling over Fort Bartow, caused by the burning of the barracks, which had been set on fire by a shell from the fleet, the defiant roar of its guns being almost silenced, and its flaunting banner sent to the dust by the shooting away of the staff that sustained it, and the enemy, all along the line, had been driven so far back that the transports could come up with the troops. It was at this juncture that the services of Mr. Daniel's black boy, Tom, came into play. He piloted General Burnside's launches and lighters into Ashby's Harbor, and, by midnight, ten thousand soldiers were landed in readiness for the real battle, which was to begin on the following morning. By this time the Confederates must have been satisfied that they were going to be whipped. Commodore Lynch knew that he had had all the fighting he wanted; for he retreated round Wier's Point, and was never seen afterward until Captain Rowan, with a portion of the Union fleet, hunted him up, and finished him at Elizabeth City. The battle was over shortly after dark (although the firing was kept up at intervals during the night), and the leading boats dropped back to allow others to take their places.

"We are not whipped, are we?" exclaimed Marcy, when he witnessed this retrograde movement.

"Oh, no," replied the captain, as he backed down from the top. "We have done just what we set out to do when we began the fight this morning, and, having won all the honors that rightfully belong to us, we must fall astern, and let somebody else have a show to-morrow."

Marcy followed the captain to the deck, and was greatly surprised by what he saw when he got there. There were wide openings in the hammock-nettings that he had not seen there in the morning, and the ports, through which two of the broadside guns worked, had been torn into one. Some of the standing rigging was not taut and ship-shape, as it ought to have been, but was flying loose in the breeze, and there were one or two dark spots on the deck which looked as though they had been drenched with water, and afterward sanded. Marcy's heart almost stopped beating when he saw these things, for they told him that the vessel had suffered during the fight, and that some of her crew had been killed or wounded, and he never knew it. But the sight of a flag which a gray-headed quartermaster was just hauling down from the masthead, drove gloomy thoughts out of his mind, and sent a thrill of triumph all through him. It was his own flag, and it had been floating over his head all day long. He took supper with Captain Benton, and afterward went below to see the poor fellows who had not come out of the fight as well as he did. Two of them were laid in the engine-room, covered with the flag in defense of which they had given up their lives, and four others were wounded. The sight was nothing to those that his rebel cousin, Rodney, the Partisan, had often witnessed on the field of battle; but it was enough to show Marcy Gray that there was a terrible reality in war.

The next day was the army's. The battle began at seven in the morning; and although the gunboats, Captain Benton's among the rest, did the work they were expected to do and succeeded in passing the obstructions shortly after noon, the heaviest of the fighting was done by the soldiers. The Confederate flag went down before the sun did, and twenty-five hundred prisoners, forty heavy guns, and three thousand stand of small arms fell into the hands of the victors. The Confederate fleet endeavored to escape by running up the Pasquotank river to Elizabeth City, Commodore Lynch thinking no doubt that he would there find re-enforcements, which could easily have been sent from Portsmouth; but if they were there they did not do him any good, for Captain Rowan followed him into the river the next day, and destroyed his entire squadron with the exception of one boat which was captured and transferred to the Union fleet. After demolishing a portion of the Dismal Swamp canal, Captain Rowan went to Edenton, Winton, and Plymouth, all of which were captured without resistance that amounted to anything, and garrisoned by troops from Burnside's army.

The historian says that the results of this expedition "in a military point of view, were considerable; but those of a political character did not answer the expectations of the Federal government." It was believed that the occupation of these points would not only be the means of stopping the contraband trade, which was kept up in spite of the blockading fleet, but that it would also "keep in countenance the partisans of the Union, who were thought to be numerous in North Carolina." When the capture of Newbern, Beaufort, and forts Macon and Pulaski, which followed close on the heels of the reduction of Roanoke Island, put all the coast north of Wilmington into the hands of the Federals, blockade running indeed became a dangerous and uncertain business; but Marcy Gray could not see that the native Unionists were in any way benefited. To begin with, General Burnside released all his prisoners after compelling them to take oath that they would never again serve against the United States. Does any one suppose that the prisoners had any intention of keeping that promise, or that the Confederate government would have permitted them to keep it if they had been so disposed? It is true that some of these rebel soldiers had had quite enough of the army, and vowed that they would take to the swamps before they would enter it again; but it is also true that the most of them, when they returned to their homes, became determined and relentless foes of all Union men. So the conquest of Roanoke Island gave Marcy Gray more enemies to stand in fear of than he had before; but it had a still worse effect upon his affairs.

It was night when the soldiers that were to take possession of Plymouth and garrison the place were sent ashore from the transports. Marcy stood on the bridge, watching them as they disembarked, and wondering how long it would be before Captain Benton would tell him that his services were no longer needed and that he might return to his home; and, while he watched and thought, he discovered a small party of men on shore with bundles in their hands or on their shoulders, and who acted as though they were waiting for a chance to come off to the fleet. He knew, as soon as he looked at them, that they were Union men who were about to take the opportunity thus presented to enlist under the old flag.

"That is who they are," thought Marcy, after he had kept his binoculars pointed at them for a minute or two. "They can't be anything else, for they are in citizens' clothes. Now, in trying to better their own condition, are they not making matters worse for their families, if they have any? I wonder if I am acquainted with any of them? I will soon know, for they are heading for this ship."

The boats belonging to Captain Benton's vessel had been engaged, with all the other boats of the fleet, in taking the soldiers to the shore, and when they placed their last load of bluecoats upon the bank and were ready to return to their ship, they brought the party of which we have spoken off with them. As the leading boat drew nearer to the side, so that Marcy could obtain a fairer view of the man who sat in the stern-sheets talking to the coxswain, he uttered a cry of surprise and alarm, and almost let his glass fall from his hand. The man was Aleck Webster.

CHAPTER XII.

HOME AGAIN

Marcy Gray waited until the boat drew a little nearer, and then looked again. There could be no mistake about it. The man in the stern-sheets with the coxswain was Aleck Webster, the one who had promised to have an eye on Marcy and his mother while Jack was at sea, and those who composed his party were men whom Marcy met at the post-office almost as often as he went there. If they were coming off to enlist, as Marcy thought they were, wouldn't that break up the band who held meetings in the swamp? And if that band should be broken up, who would there be to stand between his mother and the wrath of Captain Beardsley? These questions and others like them passed through the boy's mind, as he came down from the bridge and stepped to the gangway to meet Aleck and his friends when they came on board. Aleck was the first to get out of the boat and mount the ladder, and when he reached the top, where the officer of the deck was standing, he touched his hat and said:

"We want to ship, sir."

"Very good," was the answer. "Stand to one side, and some one will talk to you presently."

This gave Marcy the opportunity he wanted to speak to Aleck. He moved to his side at once, and was surprised to hear Aleck say, as if he had expected to find him there:

"I was little in hopes I should have a chance to say good-by to you, sir. Where's old man Beardsley, and have you seen anything of Mr. Jack?"

"Did you know I was here?" asked Marcy.

"I knew you were in the fleet, of course, for the darkies told us about the Yankees coming ashore and taking you and Beardsley away to act as pilots," replied Aleck. "But I didn't know you were serving on this ship, if that is what you mean. Yes; we're going now where we can fight for our principles. We are tired of living in the woods."

"But who will protect the Union families if you go away?" said Marcy.

"They'll not need any one to protect them now," answered Aleck. "I talked to some of the soldiers on shore, and they told me they were here to stay; and as long as they do stay, Beardsley and Shelby and among 'em will keep as still as mice. They won't dare to do or say anything to you while there is Union cavalry scouting around through the settlement every day or two. We left thirteen men in the swamp; and whether or not they will come out and show themselves as Union men, depends on the way things look after the fleet goes away."

Marcy was on the point of telling Aleck that Beardsley had been placed in irons by Captain Benton, who was master of the Mary Hollins at the time she was captured by the Osprey, but before he could open his lips a messenger boy came up and told him that the captain wished to see him in the cabin. Marcy went, and found the captain seated at his table holding a pen in one hand and something that looked like a blank sheet of paper in the other.

"Sit down," said he, pointing to a chair. "I suppose we are as near to your home as we shall go; and as we are about to start for Newbern, where you will not be of much service to us as a pilot, I propose to give you your release unless you have made up your mind to stay with us. I should be glad to have you do it, and will advance your interests in every way I can."

"But what would my mother do without me?" asked Marcy.

"I assure you I have not forgotten her, and so I do not urge you to remain," replied the captain. "Now, how can you get home in the easiest way?"

"By boat, if I had one."

"You can have three or four if you want that many. You know that we have captured every sort of craft we could find along the shore, and you can take your pick of any of those on deck. I don't know that this will be of any use to you," said the captain, shaking the sheet of paper he held in his hand, "but I think it would be a good plan for you to take it along, for there is no telling what may happen. You don't think there is anything on it, do you? Well, there is, and it is the strongest letter of recommendation I know how to write. We are going to leave garrisons scattered all through this region, and if at any time you find yourself in trouble with them, tell the first officer you can find to hold this paper before a hot fire and read the words the heat will bring out. The letter is written with sympathetic ink, and you don't want to use it until you have to, because, after the characters have once been brought out, there is no way that I know of to make them invisible again. I am deeply indebted to you, and wish there was some way in which I could serve you."

It made Marcy sad to have the captain talk to him in this way. Although he was impatient to get home, he did not like to take leave of the new friends he had made on board that ship, for the probabilities were that he would never see them again. After thinking a moment he replied that he did not know of anyway in which the captain could favor him, unless it was by taking a brotherly interest in Aleck Webster and his friends, who had come off to his ship for the purpose of enlisting.

"They are on deck now," said Marcy, in conclusion, "and I was sorry to see them come aboard. Of course they have a right to do as they please, but I had somehow got it into my head that they would stay on shore to protect those of us who are unable to protect ourselves. But Aleck thinks we do not need any one to protect us now that all these captured points are to be held by the Union forces."

"And that is what I think," replied the captain. "The commanding officer at Plymouth will not stand by and let your rebel neighbors impose on you. If they don't behave themselves, report them; that's all you've got to do."

"But you don't know how sly they are, and how hard it is to prove anything against them. The commodore as good as said that Captain Beardsley would be released."

"Of course; and Burnside probably released him at the time he paroled the prisoners we captured on the Island. When you get home you will probably find him there, but I don't think you have anything to fear from him. There's your letter, and here are a few copies of a joint proclamation by Burnside and Goldsborough, which I am instructed to scatter wherever I go," said the captain, placing a good-sized package in Marcy's hand and rising from his seat as he spoke. "Take them along, and put them where you think they will do the most good. I suppose the folks ashore think we are outlaws of the worst description."

Marcy replied that that was about the idea the people in his settlement had of Yankees, and added that he did not believe that a single article of value could be found in a plantation house within a circle of ten miles of Plymouth, everything that was worth stealing having been carried away and concealed in the swamps.

"Well, when you meet people of that sort, call their attention to the last paragraph of that proclamation," said the captain. "Now, we shall have to say good-by, for I expect to drop down the river in a few minutes."