  Colonel William Lamb—A battery of Whitworth guns—Mrs. Lamb—A lovely Puritan maiden—An historical cottage—British naval officers—The Santa Claus of the war—Admiral Porter's fleet—Visit of General Curtis and Colonel Lamb to Fort Fisher—Identifying historic spots—Strict quarantine—Cheerful slaves—Open house on board the Banshee—Reckless loading—An impudent plan—The Minnesota—A simple manoeuvre—A triumphant success. It was now that I made the acquaintance—soon to ripen into a warm friendship—of Colonel William Lamb, the Commandant of Fort Fisher,—a man of whose courtesy, courage, and capacity all the English who knew him spoke in the highest terms. Originally a Virginian lawyer and afterwards the editor of a newspaper, he volunteered at the outbreak of the war, and rising rapidly to the grade of colonel was given the command of Fort Fisher, a post which he filled with high So much did we value his services and so grateful were we for them, that at my suggestion my firm subsequently presented him with a battery of six Whitworth guns, of which he was very proud; and good use he made of them in keeping the blockaders at a respectful distance. They were guns with a great range, which many a cruiser found to its cost when venturing too close in chase down the coast. Lamb would gallop them down behind the sandhills, by aid of mules, and open fire upon the enemy before he was aware of his danger. Neither must I forget his charming wife (alas, now numbered among the majority); her hospitality and kindness were unbounded, and many a pleasant social evening have I and my brother blockade-runners spent in her little cottage outside the fort. PORTRAIT OF COLONEL LAMB. To face page 56. In the fall of 1857 a lovely Puritan maiden, still in her teens, was married in Grace Church, Providence, Rhode Island, to a Virginia youth, just passed his majority, who brought her to his home in Norfolk, a typical ancestral homestead, where beside the "white folks" there was quite a colony of family servants, from the pickaninny just able to crawl to the old gray-headed mammy who had nursed "ole massa." She soon became enamoured of her surroundings and charmed with the devotion of her coloured maid, whose sole duty it was to wait upon her young missis. When the John Brown raid burst upon the South and her husband was ordered to Harper's Ferry, there was not a more indignant matron in all Virginia, and when at last secession came, the South did not contain a more enthusiastic little rebel. On the 15th of May 1862, a few days after the surrender of Norfolk to the Federals, by her father-in-law, then mayor, amid the excitement attending a captured city, her son Willie was born. Cut off from her husband and subjugated community, her father insisted upon her coming with her children to his home in Providence; but, notwithstanding she was in a luxurious home, with all that paternal love could do for her, she preferred to leave all these comforts to share with her husband the dangers and privations of the South. She vainly tried to persuade Stanton, Secretary of War, to let her and her three children, with a nurse, return to the South; finally he consented to let her go by flag of truce from Washington to City Point, but without a nurse, and as she was unable to manage three little ones, she left the youngest with his grandparents, and with two others bravely set out for Dixie. The generous outfit of every description which was prepared for the journey, and which was carried to the place of embarkation, was ruthlessly cast aside by the inspectors on the wharf, and no tears or entreaties or offers of reward by the parents availed to pass anything save a scanty supply of clothing and other necessaries. Arriving in the South, the brave young mother refused the proffer of a beautiful home in Wilmington, the occupancy of the grand old mansion at "Orton," on the Cape Fear river, but insisted upon taking up her abode with her children and their coloured nurse in the upper room of a pilot's house, where they lived until the soldiers of the garrison built her a cottage one mile north of Fort Fisher, on the Atlantic beach. In both of these homes she was occasionally exposed to the shot and shell fired from blockaders at belated blockade-runners. It was a quaint abode, constructed in most primitive style, with three rooms around one big chimney, in which North Carolina pine knots supplied heat and light on winter nights. This cottage became historic, and was famed for the frugal but tempting meals which its charming hostess would prepare for her distinguished guests. Besides the many illustrious Confederate Army and Navy officers on the wild sandy beach, ensconced among the sand dunes and straggling pines and black-jack, many celebrated English naval officers enjoyed its hospitality under assumed names:—Roberts, afterwards the renowned Hobart Pasha, who commanded the Turkish navy; Murray, now Admiral Murray-Aynsley, long since retired, after having been rapidly promoted for gallantry and meritorious services in the British navy; the brave but unfortunate Hugh Burgoyne, V.C., who went down in the British iron-clad, Captain, in the Bay of Biscay; and the chivalrous Hewett, who won the Victoria Cross in the Crimea and was knighted for his services as ambassador to King John of Abyssinia, and who, after commanding the Queen's yacht, died lamented as Admiral Hewett. Besides these there were many genial and gallant merchant captains, among them Halpin, who afterwards commanded the Great Eastern while laying ocean cables; and famous war correspondents—Hon. Francis C. Lawley, M.P., correspondent of the London Times, and Frank Vizitelli of the London Illustrated News, afterwards murdered in the Soudan. Nor must the plucky Tom Taylor be forgotten, supercargo of the Banshee and the Night Hawk, who, by his coolness and daring, escaped with a boat's crew from the hands of the Federals after capture off the fort, and who was endeared to the children as the "Santa Claus" of the war. At first the little Confederate was satisfied with pork and potatoes, corn-bread and rye coffee, with sorghum sweetening; but after the blockade-runners made her acquaintance the impoverished store-room was soon filled to overflowing, notwithstanding her heavy requisitions on it for the post hospital, the sick and wounded soldiers and sailors always being a subject of her tenderest solicitude, and often the hard worked and poorly fed coloured hands blessed the little lady of the cottage for a tempting treat. cottage on Confederate Point. The drowning of Mrs. Rose Greenough, the famous Confederate spy, off Fort Fisher, and the finding of her body, which was tenderly cared for, and the rescue from the waves, half dead, of Professor Holcombe, and his restoration, were incidents never to be forgotten. Her fox-hunting with horse and hounds, the narrow escapes of friendly vessels, the fights over blockade-runners driven ashore, the execution of deserters, and the loss of an infant son, whose little spirit went out with the tide one sad summer night, all contributed to the reality of this romantic life. When Porter's fleet appeared off Fort Fisher, December 1864, it was storm-bound for several days, and the little family with their household goods were sent across the river to "Orton," before Butler's powder-ship blew up. After the Christmas victory over Porter and Butler, the little heroine insisted upon coming back to her cottage, although her husband had procured a home of refuge in Cumberland county. General Whiting protested against her running the risk, for on dark nights her husband could not leave the fort, but she said, "if the firing became too hot she would run behind the sand hills as she had done before," and come she would. The fleet reappeared unexpectedly on the night of the 12th of January 1865. It was a dark night, and when the lights of the fleet were reported her husband sent a courier to the cottage to instruct her to pack up quickly and be prepared to leave with children and nurse as soon as he could come to bid them good-bye. The garrison barge, with a trusted crew, was stationed at Craig's Landing, near the cottage. After midnight, when all necessary orders were given for the coming attack, the colonel mounted his horse and rode to the cottage, but all was dark and silent. He found the message had been delivered, that she had fallen asleep and no preparations for a retreat had been made. Precious hours had been lost, and as the fleet would soon be shelling the beach and her husband have to return to the fort, he hurried them into the boat as soon as dressed, with only what could be gathered up hastily, leaving dresses, toys, and household articles to fall into the hands of the foe. The extraordinary circumstance occurred yesterday of a visit to Fort Fisher by General N. M. Curtis and Colonel William Lamb, who were pitted against each other in deadly strife at that historic spot on the occurrence of both the battles there during the civil war—the one commencing 24th December 1864 and the other 13th January 1865. Colonel Lamb was in Washington a few days ago, and made an engagement with General Curtis to visit the old fort. They consequently met in Norfolk last Thursday morning and came on to Wilmington, arriving here that night. Yesterday morning they took the steamer Wilmington at 9.30 o'clock and, accompanied by T. W. Clawson of the Messenger, the three were landed at the Rocks and were sent ashore in one of the Wilmington's small boats, the gangway and wharf having been swept away during the gale of 13th October. From the Rocks the party walked to Fort Fisher, and together the old heroes went from one end of the fort to the other, identifying Colonel Lamb's headquarters and locating the position of the batteries, the magazines, the salients, the sally-port, and other historic spots. General Curtis explained the route of his advance upon the fort at the last battle, when the fort was captured, and pointed out the portion of the parapet which he assaulted and scaled, and where the first flag of the invading army was planted on the ramparts. The batteries at which the the party walked over them, and General Curtis pointed out about the spot inside the works where he fell, desperately and almost fatally wounded by a piece of shell that struck him over the left eye, and carried away a large piece of the frontal bone and destroyed the eye. He was believed to be killed, and when some of his soldiers were ordered to take him to the rear, so that his body could be shipped North, they dragged his body over the rough ground for some distance, so that his clothing was torn and his back was bleeding from cuts made by such rough treatment. Orders had been given for a box in which to ship his body to his home in New York. Colonel Lamb, the hero on the Confederate side, who was in command of the fort at both battles, explained the positions held by the brave defenders of the fort, and also pointed out about the spot where he was shot down, a Minie ball having broken his hip, and also where General Whiting received his death wound. Strange to say, all three were wounded within a few yards of each other. Colonel Lamb's wound came within an ace of proving fatal, and, as it was, he was on crutches for several years. The old fort is now a heap of ruins, consisting of mounds of sand, where the batteries were stationed. In front of the land face from which the assault was made by the United States' troops under General Curtis, and right on the position held by his regiment, the recent storm has unearthed a great many bones of the brave fellows who fell in the battle. It is not known whether they wore the blue or the gray, but it is quite probable that they were some of General Curtis's troops. From the fort the party proceeded up the beach for a mile and a half, and visited the cottage which Colonel Lamb occupied with his family and made his general headquarters. It is now occupied by a fisherman. From Craig's Landing near by the party took a sail boat and were carried back to ashore it grounded in shallow water about fifteen feet from dry land, and the only alternative left was to strip shoes and foot-wear, and roll up pants and wade out. General Curtis, who is a man of powerful frame and sound health, soon stepped over the boat's side and into the water, and as Colonel Lamb's health made him cautious about going into the water, General Curtis offered to carry him on his back to dry land. The Messenger representative being a duffer of good frame and strength, and being the younger by half, interposed in relief of General Curtis, and so Colonel Lamb rode the scribe to the shore. The newspaper man then wanted to kick himself for not allowing Colonel Lamb to ride his "friend the enemy," for he could have witnessed the remarkable instance of a brave and distinguished Federal officer carrying on his back the illustrious Confederate who, in years that are gone, was raising old Harry with shot and shell to keep the General at a safe distance. These two men were heroes of the right stripe, and we can raise our hats in honour and admiration of them for the rich heritage which their manhood and bravery leaves to Americans. After accepting the hospitality of Mr. Henry Wood, a fisherman at the Rocks, who had prepared some coffee and oysters for the party, the Wilmington came in sight at 3 o'clock, and she was boarded for the return to Wilmington. On the trip down Colonel Lamb had bought a lot of fine fat coots to be cooked for lunch at the Rocks, but he forgot these, and they were left on the steamer. Imagine the happiness of the party when they got aboard to find that the courteous Captain John Harper had had the birds cooked and sent them in with some delightful bread. General Curtis and Colonel Lamb, after returning to the city, were hospitably entertained at the Cape Fear Club. General Curtis was a Colonel at the assault on Fort way, he was wounded in six places on the day the fort was captured. He served four years and eight months in the Federal army, having volunteered in April 1861. Wilmington (N. C.) Messenger. After this digression I must return to our movements on board the Banshee. Having obtained pratique (for the quarantine was very strict) and a local pilot, rendered necessary by the river being unbuoyed and strewn with torpedoes, we ran up at once to Wilmington. Here I found our agent Tom Power, who had an outward cargo ready for me, and the cheerful heartiness with which the slaves set about discharging our inward one was a pleasant surprise; if I hadn't been told they were slaves I should never have discovered it. Everything had to be done at high pressure, for it was important to get out as quickly as possible, so as to try another run while the dark nights lasted, and loading went merrily on. I therefore did my best to win the goodwill of the officials, on whose favour I was of course in a great measure dependent for a rapid turn round. Wilmington was already sadly pinched and war-worn. There never was too much to eat What a pleasure it was to see them eat and drink! Men who had been accustomed to live on corn-bread and bacon, and to drink nothing but water, appreciated our delicacies; our bottled beer, good brandy, and, on great occasions, our champagne, warmed their hearts towards us. The chief steward used to look at me appealingly, as a hint that our stores would never last out; in fact we were often on very short commons before we got back to Nassau. But we had our reward. If any special favour were asked it was always granted, if possible, to the Banshee, and if any push had to be made there was always some one to make it. Steele and I had hit on a plan for getting out that promised almost a certainty of success. Its security lay in its impudence, a cardinal In trying to pass the second, however, we were less successful, for we ran right across a gunboat; she saw us and at once opened fire; There still remained the danger at daybreak of the third cordon, and with anxious eyes the horizon was scoured as the darkness began to fail. A daylight chase with the Banshee in her present condition could not be thought of, but fortunately not a sign of a cruiser was to be seen. All that day, and the next and the next, we steamed onward with our hearts in our mouths, turning our stern to every sail or So ended my first attempt, a triumphant success! Besides the inward freight of £50 a ton on the war material, I had earned by the tobacco ballast alone £7000, the freight for which had been paid at the rate of £70 a ton. But this was a flea-bite compared to the profit on the 500 odd bales of cotton we had on board, which was at least £50 per bale. No wonder I took kindly to my new calling, and no wonder I at once set to work to get the Banshee reloaded for another run before the moonless nights were over. |
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