essel in
the darkest night than in the thick gray fog that enveloped all
objects like a blanket. One of the strangest of all the pranks played
by the fog occurred in December, 1863, in Charleston Harbor. A wary
blockade-runner was creeping out of the harbor, within easy range of
the great guns of the fleet, and all hands were trembling, lest at any
minute should come the flash of a gun, and shriek of a shell, bearing
a peremptory command to heave to. Suddenly the flash came, and was
followed by the bang! bang! of great guns from all quarters of the
fleet. But the fire seemed pointed in another direction; and the
runner made the best of her way out to sea, thinking that some less
fortunate vessel, trying to come in on the other side of the fleet,
had been captured or blown out of the water. It turned out that a
small fog-bank had taken the form of a gray steamer moving swiftly
over the water, and had been fiercely cannonaded by the whole Federal
fleet. This occurrence gave the Confederates an idea; and they began
sending out dummies to engage the fleet, while the true
blockade-runners would slip out unobserved in the excitement. One
night as the tide was running out with great force, an old hulk was
cut adrift from a wharf, and drifted down rapidly upon the Federal
fleet. It was just after the exploits of the "Merrimac" had made
Confederate rams famous, and the naval officers were a little nervous.
The hulk drifted quite into the midst of the fleet before being
observed; and when she was hailed she bore down on the largest of the
men-of-war as though she were a powerful ram, steered by a commander
of desperate bravery. The great gunboat's deck rang with the bo's'n's
whistle, as the crew were piped to repel boarders, and to their
quarters at the guns. A fierce fire was poured on the hostile craft,
that came on sullenly, as if scorning to make reply. One by one the
other vessels of the fleet drew near, and concentrated their fire on
the wretched lumber schooner. It was too much for her; and she gave up
the unequal combat, and sank to the bottom. For days after, the
gallant tars of the squadron blockading Charleston rejoiced in the
destruction of a "Rebel ram;" but none of them knew, that, while they
were engaged in the desperate contest, two great blockade-runners,
heavily laden with cotton, had slipped out of the harbor, and were
well under way for Nassau.

Stories of adventure and of desperate pluck and dash abound in t