In Ship and Prison by William P. Chipman — Read

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 The storm was so severe every patrol boat had been withdrawn; the darkness was so heavy we could not be seen ten feet away; the wind and sea made so much noise that whatever sounds came from us would pass unheard.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.