Last Summons to Richmond.—Demoralization.—The "Chameleon."—More trouble in Bermuda.—Another Narrow Escape.—Fall of Fort Fisher.—Maffitt's Escape, and Capt. S.'s Capture.—Another Hard Chase.—Failure to enter Charleston.—Return to Nassau.

Another, and a longer cruise, was then contemplated, and there was some prospect of prevailing with the Secretary of the Navy to fit out the ship for a cruiser, by giving her proper spars, providing the means of disconnecting the screws, and furnishing quarters for officers and men. But disasters to our arms were then following fast upon each other. General Sherman, after marching unopposed from Atlanta to the sea, and capturing Savannah, was preparing to continue his progress. Wilmington was threatened by a powerful sea and land force. The half starved and ill clad army of Northern Virginia was in the trenches around Petersburg, and the now contracting area of country available for supplies, had been so thoroughly drained, that it became a vital question how to provision the troops.

I was summoned again, and for the last time during the war, to Richmond. It was in the early part of December. There now remained to the Confederacy only the single line of rail communication from Wilmington, via Greensborough, and Danville, to Richmond. The progress of demoralization was too evident at every step of my journey, and nowhere were the poverty, and the straits to which the country was reduced, more palpably visible, than in the rickety, windowless, filthy cars, traveling six or eight miles an hour, over the worn out rails and decaying road-bed. We were eighteen hours in making the distance (about one hundred and twenty miles) from Danville to Richmond. As we passed in the rear of General Lee's lines, and I saw the scare-crow cattle there being slaughtered for the troops, the game seemed to be at last growing desperate. We were detained for perhaps an hour at the station where the cattle were being slaughtered. Several soldiers who were on the train, left us there; and as soon as they alighted from the cars, they seized portions of the offal, kindled a fire, charred the scraps upon the points of their ramrods, and devoured the unclean food with the avidity of famished tigers.

It was arranged in Richmond, that I should take command of the "Tallahassee," and proceed with all dispatch to Bermuda for a cargo of provisions; my late experience with the Governor of the island rendering it quite probable that he would prevent the Chickamauga from even discharging her cargo as a merchant vessel. That steamer (the Tallahassee,) of so many aliases, had just returned from a short cruise under Captain Ward of the Confederate States Navy. She was now christened again, and bore, thenceforward, the appropriate name of the "Chameleon." Her battery was dismounted, the officers and crew detached, and she was ostensibly sold to the navy agent at Wilmington. A register, and bill of sale, were prepared in legal form, the crew shipped according to the laws relating to the merchant service, and regular invoices and bills of lading made out of her cargo of cotton. The vessel, indeed, was so thoroughly whitewashed, that she subsequently passed a searching examination in Bermuda; but my recent experience there had convinced me of the necessity of adopting every precaution, and I was left to my own discretion with regard to all the details; the instructions under which I was acting requiring me only to bring in a cargo of provisions with all dispatch.

The "Chameleon" was in nearly all respects like the Chickamauga, only a few feet longer, and drawing a few inches more water.

On the afternoon of December 24th, the United States fleet opened fire upon Fort Fisher, the heavy cannonading continuing during the two following days. The booming of the heavy guns could be distinctly heard in Wilmington.

There was a complete panic there; the non-combatants moving away, and fright and confusion prevailing everywhere. The co-operating land forces, under General Butler, had almost completely invested the fort, and the communication between it and Wilmington was at one time interrupted, so that it was impossible to ascertain the condition of affairs below. In the midst of the turmoil, we cast off from the wharf, about two o'clock in the afternoon of December 26th, and anchored off Smithville after dark, the tide not serving for crossing the bar that night.

Next morning the "Agnes Fry," an inward bound blockade-runner, was discovered aground on the western bar. Towards evening two or three of the blockading fleet stationed off that bar steamed in, and opened fire upon her. The bombardment of the fort was still in progress. A little after dark, just as we were weighing our anchor, General Whiting, who was then in Fort Fisher, telegraphed to us that the United States land forces were embarking, the attack upon the fort having been abandoned. We were under way in a few moments, closely followed by the Hansa, Captain Murray, and parting from her just as we crossed the bar. I had known the captain for many months, under his assumed name, and it was quite generally known that he held a commission in the British Navy. While I was living in Nova Scotia, some years afterwards, the card of Captain A. commanding H. B. M. ship J—n was brought to me, and I was surprised to find in the owner of it, my old friend Murray. Several British naval officers of rank and high character, were engaged in the same exciting and lucrative occupation of blockade-running; among them the gallant Captain Burgoyne, who commanded afterwards the unfortunate ship "Captain" of H. B. M.'s Navy, and who perished together with nearly the whole crew when she foundered at sea.

We crossed the bar under such favorable circumstances, that we were not discovered; nor did we see any of the fleet until we had cleared the Frying Pan Shoals, when we easily avoided several vessels which had participated, no doubt, in the attack upon Fort Fisher, and were now about to take their stations off the western bar.

We made a rapid, though a very rough voyage to Bermuda, a stormy northwest gale following us nearly the whole distance. The Prussian Major Von Borcke, who had served on General Jeb Stewart's staff, and who afterwards published (in Blackwood's) his experience of the war, was a passenger. The Major was no sailor, and his sufferings from sea sickness were much aggravated by a gunshot wound in his throat. As the engines of the "Chameleon" would "race" in the heavy sea following us, and her whole frame would vibrate, he declared in military phraseology ("our army swore terribly in Flanders!") that he would rather encounter the dangers of a "stricken field" than voluntarily endure an hour of such torture.

We arrived at St. George's on the 30th of December; and our troubles immediately commenced. It was the 5th of January before permission was received to land our cargo of cotton; His Excellency, the Governor having called upon the law officers of the crown for aid in the dire dilemma. When the vessel's papers were at last pronounced correct, we discharged our cargo, and then arose the perplexing question of loading. I haven't the least doubt that the American Consul was sadly bothering His Excellency all this time; but permission was finally granted to us to take in provisions but no munitions of war. As we did not want "hardware," as munitions of war were then invoiced, we proceeded to load. But a great deal of time had been lost, and we did not take our departure for Wilmington till January the 19th; having on board as passengers General Preston and staff, returning from Europe.

Our voyage across was very rough, and the night of our approach to New Inlet Bar was dark and rainy. Between one and two o'clock in the morning, as we were feeling our way with the lead, a light was discovered nearly ahead and a short distance from us. As we drew closer in and "sheered" the Chameleon, so as to bring the light abeam, I directed our signal officer to make the regular signal. No reply was made to it, although many lights now began to appear looming up through the drizzling rain. These were undoubtedly camp fires of the United States troops outside of Fort Fisher; but it never occurred to me as possible, that a second attack could have been made, and successfully in the brief period of time which had elapsed since our departure from Wilmington. Believing that I had made some error in my day's observations, the Chameleon was put to sea again, as the most prudent course in the emergency. The night was too far spent to allow of any delay. Orders were therefore given to go at full speed, and by daylight we had made an offing of forty or fifty miles from the coast. Clear and pleasant weather enabled me to establish our position accurately—it was my invariable custom, at sea, during the war, to take my own observations—and early in the night we made the Mound Light ahead, for which I had shaped our course. The range lights were showing, and we crossed the bar without interference, but without a suspicion of anything wrong, as it would occasionally happen, under particularly favorable circumstances, that we would cross the bar without even seeing a blockader. We were under the guns of Fort Fisher in fact, and close to the fleet of United States vessels, which had crossed the bar after the fall of the fort, when I directed my signal officer to communicate with the shore station. His signal was promptly answered, but turning to me, he said, "No Confederate signal officer there, sir; he cannot reply to me." The order to wear round was instantly obeyed; not a moment too soon, for the bow of the Chameleon was scarcely pointed for the bar before two of the light cruisers were plainly visible in pursuit, steaming with all speed to intercept us. Nothing saved us from capture but the twin screws, which enabled our steamer to turn as upon a pivot in the narrow channel between the bar and the "rip." We reached the bar before our pursuers, and were soon lost to their sight in the darkness outside. Our supply of coal being limited, the course was shaped for Nassau as the nearer port, where we arrived without accident. A day or two after our arrival the news came of the fall of Fort Fisher.

Several narrow escapes, besides our own, were made. Maffitt, in command of the "Owl" crossed the Western Bar a night or two after the fall of Fort Fisher, and while our troops were evacuating Fort Caswell and other military stations along the river. Crossing the bar, and suspecting no danger, he continued on his way up to Smithville, where he anchored. He was boarded a few moments afterwards by a boat from our military post there. The officer in command of the boat informed him of the capture of Fort Fisher, and that our troops were then evacuating Fort Caswell; adding that several vessels of the Federal fleet had crossed the New Inlet Bar, and were at anchor in the river almost within hail of him. Maffitt was about to give the order to slip the chain, "not standing upon the order of his going," when his pilot begged for permission to go ashore, if only for ten minutes. He represented the situation of his wife, whom he had left ill and without means of support, in such moving terms, that Maffitt granted permission, upon condition that he would return speedily. The pilot was faithful to his promise, returning in fifteen or twenty minutes. During his absence, steam was raised, and the chain unshackled. As the pilot's foot touched the deck of the "Owl" again, the boat was hooked on and run up to the davits, the chain slipped, and the "Owl" on her way to sea again.

Another blockade-runner is said to have been not so fortunate. She had run the gauntlet safely, and come to anchor off Smithville. The tarpaulins had been removed from the hatches, the lamps lighted, and a cold supper spread upon the table, at which the passengers were seated, two or three officers of the British army among them. A toast to the captain had been proposed, and they had just tossed off a bumper in champagne to his health and continued successes, and he was about to reply to the compliment, when the officer of the deck reported that a boat was coming alongside. The captain received the officer at the gangway. The mail bag, according to the usual routine, was given to the latter for transportation to the shore; and the customary inquiries made after the name of the vessel, cargo, number of passengers, etc. The astounded captain was then informed that his vessel was a prize to the United States ship—then at anchor near him!

Charleston was now the only harbor on the Atlantic coast at all accessible, and that must evidently soon fall; but a cargo might be landed there before that inevitable catastrophe, and fully appreciating the exigency, I determined to make the effort. Even after the occupation of Wilmington by the United States troops, there would remain an interior line of communication between Charleston and Virginia. The facts of history prove that the importance of carrying in a cargo of provisions was not exaggerated, for the army of northern Virginia was shortly afterwards literally starving; and during their retreat from the position around Petersburg the country adjacent to their line of march was swarming with soldiers who had left the ranks in search of food.

But it was the part of prudence to ascertain, positively, before sailing, that Charleston was still in our possession. This intelligence was brought by the "Chicora" which arrived at Nassau on the 30th of January; and on February 1st, the "Owl," "Carolina," "Dream," "Chicora" and "Chameleon" sailed within a few hours of each other for Charleston.

The condition of affairs throughout the Confederacy was far more desperate than we, who were abroad, had any idea of. Despondency and demoralization had advanced with gigantic strides within the past two or three eventful months. Admiral Semmes, in his "Memoirs of Service Afloat, etc," gives the following account of an interview with General Lee: "As soon as I could command a leisure moment, I paid General Lee a visit at his head-quarters near Petersburg, and spent a night with him. I had served with him in the Mexican War. We discussed together the critical state of the country and of his army—we were now near the end of January, 1865, and I thought the grand old chieftain and Christian gentleman seemed to foreshadow in his conversation, more by manner than by words, the approaching downfall of the cause for which we were both struggling. I had come to him, I told him, to speak of what I had seen of the people, and of the army, in my transit across the country, and to say to him that unless prompt measures could be devised to put an end to the desertions that were going on among our troops, our cause must inevitably be lost. He did not seem to be at all surprised at the revelations I made. He knew all about the condition of the country, civil and military, but seemed to feel himself powerless to prevent the downward tendency of things, and he was right. It was no longer in the power of any one man to save the country. The body politic was already dead. The people themselves had given up the contest, and this being the case, no army could do more than retard the catastrophe for a few months. Besides, his army itself was melting away. That very night, as I learned at the breakfast table, one hundred and sixty men deserted in a body. It was useless to attempt to shoot deserters when demoralization had gone to this extent." A few weeks subsequent to the date referred to in the above extract, General Johnston was ordered to "drive back Sherman." He states in his "Narrative" in reference to accepting the command: "This was done with a full consciousness on my part, however, that we could have no other object in continuing the war than to obtain fair terms of peace; for the Southern cause must have appeared hopeless then to all intelligent and dispassionate Southern men."

We passed Abaco light soon after dark, and shaped our course direct for Charleston. At early dawn the next morning, while I was lying awake in my room on the bridge, I heard the officer of the deck give the quick sharp order to the helmsman "hard a-port!" The steering wheel in all of the blockade-runners was upon the bridge and immediately forward of the captain's state-room, and the officer of the deck kept his watch upon the bridge. As I never undressed at night, while at sea in command during the war, I was out upon the deck in a moment; and then I saw distant two or three miles and directly in our former course, a large side-wheel steamer. From her size and rig, I guessed her to be the "Vanderbilt;" and I was afraid that the Chameleon had at last found more than her match, for the Vanderbilt enjoyed the reputation of great speed. We wore round before we were discovered, but as the strange steamer's bow was pointed in our direction a few moments afterwards, it was plain that we would have to make good use of our heels, and that the race would be a trying one. The Chameleon was in fine condition for the ordeal, and the usual precaution of cleaning fires, and raising the steam had been taken before daylight. My staunch old quartermaster, McLean, who had been with me in nearly all the chances and changes of blockade-running, always took his place at the wheel on trying occasions. He had nerves of steel, and would have steered the vessel without flinching against a line of battle ship, if so ordered. Upon one occasion, after we had crossed the Western Bar, and were steaming at full speed along the coast, we suddenly discovered a long low blockader on our starboard bow, and at the same instant, distinctly heard the order from the stranger's deck, to "pass along the shell!" I called out to my old helmsman, "Port and run her down!" and if the strange vessel had not moved out of our way with alacrity, she would have been assuredly cut in two. We grazed her stern by a hair's breadth as we shot by her at the rate of thirteen knots. Before they had recovered from the confusion on board of her, we had passed into the darkness beyond, and the shell which they sent after us flew wide of its mark.

McLean was now placed at the wheel. It was a close race for hours, neither apparently gaining or losing a foot; but Providence again befriended us. As the day advanced, the breeze, which was very light from the northward at daylight, continued to freshen from that quarter. We soon set all of our canvas, and so did the chaser, but as the latter was square rigged, and we carried fore and aft sails, our sheets were hauled flat aft, and the Chameleon kept close to the wind by the steady old helmsman. I do not doubt that we would have been overhauled but for this favorable contingency. Head to wind our pursuer would certainly have overtaken us, and off the wind her chances would have been almost equally good. But she began to drop gradually to leeward as the wind continued steady, and by two o'clock in the afternoon, she was five or six miles distant on our lee quarter. Although we had not increased the distance between us much, if any, since the commencement of the chase, we had weathered upon the chaser until her sails had become useless about twelve o'clock when she furled them. As the snowy cloud of canvas was rolled up like magic, and the tall tapering spars were seen in its place, I supposed the cruiser was about to retire from the contest; but she still followed with the tenacity of a bloodhound. But apparently to no purpose till about two o'clock, when the chief engineer, Mr. Schroeder, appeared on the bridge with the report that the journals were heated, and it was absolutely necessary to stop to ease the bearings! This was a predicament, indeed; but when I looked down into the hold, and saw the clouds of vapor rising from the overheated journals, as a stream of water was being pumped upon them, I saw that Schroeder was right in the assertion, that unless the bearings were instantly eased, the machinery would give way. I had implicit confidence in Schroeder, and it had been justly earned, for he had served long under my command, and had always displayed, under trying circumstances, great coolness, presence of mind, and ability. He made every preparation for the work before him, taking off his own coat, and when everything was in readiness, the order to stop the engines was given. In a few moments, we lay like a log upon the water, and the chaser was rapidly lessening the distance between as, and the suspense became almost intolerable. Our fate was hanging by a thread; but in ten minutes the journals had been cooled off, the bearings eased, and the Chameleon again sprang ahead with renewed speed. The steamer in chase had approached nearly within cannon shot—probably within long range—but in the course of the next hour, we had gained so rapidly in the race that the pursuit was abandoned as hopeless; and as the stranger wore around, to resume her station under easy steam, we followed in her wake till dark, when we evaded her without difficulty, and continued on our course toward Charleston.

But another precious day had been lost, and subsequent unfavorable weather still further retarding our progress, we did not reach the coast near Charleston Bar till the fifth night after our departure from Nassau. The blockading fleet had been reinforced by all the light cruisers from the approaches to the Cape Fear River; and as we drew in to the land, we were so frequently compelled to alter the course of the Chameleon, in order to evade the blockaders, that we did not reach the bar till long after midnight, and after the tide had commenced to fall. I was tempted to force the pilot to make the attempt, but finally yielded to his assurances that access was impossible under the circumstances. As this was the last night during that moon, when the bar could be crossed during the dark hours, the course of the Chameleon was again, and for the last time, shaped for Nassau. As we turned away from the land, our hearts sank within us, while the conviction forced itself upon us, that the cause for which so much blood had been shed, so many miseries bravely endured, and so many sacrifices cheerfully made, was about to perish at last!