Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812
by James Barnes · English · Gutenberg #36136 · 343,084 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812
Author: James Barnes
Illustrator: Carlton T. Chapman
Rufus Fairchild Zogbaum
Release date: May 17, 2011 [eBook #36136]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YANKEE SHIPS AND YANKEE SAILORS: TALES OF 1812 ***
Produced by Greg Bergquist and the Online Distributed
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YANKEE SHIPS AND YANKEE SAILORS:--TALES OF 1812
[Illustration: "It was Lieutenant Allen!"]
Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors:--Tales of 1812
By
James Barnes
Author of "Naval Engagements of the War of 1812"
"A Loyal Traitor," "For King or Country," etc.
With Numerous Illustrations by
R. F. Zogbaum and Carlton T. Chapman.
New York
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1897
_All rights reserved_
Copyright, 1897,
By The Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped October, 1897. Reprinted November, 1897.
_Norwood Press
J. S. Cusbing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A._
_To my Brother_
PREFACE
In presenting this volume of "Tales of 1812" it is not the intention of
the author to give detailed accounts of actions at sea or to present
biographical sketches of well-known heroes; he wishes but to tell
something of the ships that fought the battles, whose names are
inseparably connected with a glorious past, and to relate incidents
connected with the Yankee sailors who composed their crews--"A Yankee
Ship and a Yankee Crew"--thus runs the old song; it is to exploit both
in a measure that is the intention of this book. Brave fellows, these
old-time Jackies were. Their day has gone by with the departed day
also, of the storm-along captains, the men who carried sail in all
sorts of weather, who took their vessels through dangerous passages
unmarked by buoys, with only the fickle wind to drive them, who sailed
into the enemy's cruising-grounds, and counting on the good Yankee pine
and live oak, had perilous escapes and adventures which fiction cannot
exaggerate. It stirs one's blood to read of these. Surely, it will not
arouse a hatred for by-gone enemies, to hark back to them.
The incidents made use of in the following pages are historical, or at
least authentic--some may perhaps come under the head of tradition.
Tradition is historical rumor; it may be proved by investigation to be
actual fact, or it may be accepted at its face value, on account of its
probability. To investigate, one is led to break open and dissect and
sometimes we destroy a wealth of sentiment in the proceeding; by
casting aside tradition that is harmless we destroy the color of
history; we may lose its side lights and shadows that give vividness
and beauty to the whole effect. It has not been a spirit of research
into the science of history, or a chance for deep delving into figures
and records, that has animated the author, although he has drawn upon
state papers for material, and all correspondence and important
references can be vouched for. He has endeavored to refreshen the
colors by removing the dust that may have settled. He has touched the
fragile bric-a-brac of tradition with the feather duster of
investigation. There is sufficient excuse for everything that is
written in this book. Facts are not lacking to prove much here to be
true. It will not confuse our historical knowledge to accept it thus.
We can draw accurate conclusions as to what kind of men these fine old
fellows were; how they looked; how they spoke and acted. Their deeds
are part of the nation's record, and their ships exist now in the shape
of a few old hulls. We can mark how carefully and strongly they were
constructed; we can imagine them swarming with men and quivering
beneath the thunder of broadsides. The author has tried to put the
sailor back upon his ship again. Here we have the old tales now retold;
retold by one who loves to listen to them, therefore to talk about
them. This is his prologue to the telling, and that is all there is to
it.
CONTENTS
Page
Allen, of the _Chesapeake_ 1
Reuben James, Able Seaman 23
The Men behind the Times 33
The Coward 51
The Scapegoat 87
The Loss of the _Vixen_ 109
In the Harbor of Fayal 125
The Escape of Symington 147
The Narragansett 171
Fighting Stewart 195
Two Duels 215
Dartmoor 235
The Rival Life-Savers 259
Random Adventures 271
List of Illustrations
Opposite Page
"It was Lieutenant Allen!" 18
"Reuben James sprang forward" 30
"'What d'ye mean by attackin' a peaceful whaler?'" 47
"Carefully he lowered away" 79
"'Stay here no longer--though I would have you with me'" 104
"Everything was done that good seamanship could direct" 120
"There was a figure crawling up below him" 141
"She came about like a peg top" 167
"Over fence and hedge" 190
"A discussion that grew more heated every moment" 212
"'I observed it,' said the Lieutenant" 225
"The deadly volley" 258
"'Now we have him, lads!'" 268
ALLEN, OF THE _CHESAPEAKE_
Give a ship an unlucky name, and it will last throughout the whole of
her career. A sailor is proverbially superstitious, and he clings
jealously to tradition.
It is told that when the frigate _Chesapeake_ was launched she stuck
fast on the ways, and did not reach the water until the following day,
which was Friday. Although she was a fine vessel to look at, she
grounded upon the bar upon her first attempt to sail, and, when once
free, behaved herself in such a lubberly fashion that those who
witnessed her starting out declared she was bewitched. Even after many
changes had been made in the length of her masts, in the weight of
spars, and the cut of sails, still she was considered by many a
failure. And, although her sailing qualities improved as time went on,
yet her bad name stuck to her, as bad names will.
Given this drawback, the unlucky captain of such a craft finds it
difficult to recruit a proper crew, and must often be content with
green hands, or the riffraff disdained by other ships' masters.
Commodore James Barron, who had been ordered to the _Chesapeake_, was a
brave officer. He had succeeded the peppery Commodore Preble in command
of the fleet that had so successfully negotiated the operations before
Tripoli, and there he had won for himself a name and reputation.
Nevertheless, he was not entirely popular with his officers. They
failed to find in him the graciousness of manner and deportment, the
strict adherence to the lines of duty, and yet the kindliness of
thought and conduct that distinguished young Captain Bainbridge; and
they missed, strange to say, the iron hand and stern rule of Preble,
the martinet.
Just before sailing from the Capes to relieve the _Constitution_ on the
Mediterranean station, the _Chesapeake_ had recruited, from Delaware
and Maryland, a green crew. Not above fifty of her complement were
men-of-warsmen. Perhaps one hundred more had seen service in deep-sea
craft, and had made long cruises; but the rest, numbering probably one
hundred and fifty, were longshoremen or landsmen. Lying inside the
mouth of Chesapeake Bay were several British men-of-war. As was usual
when in American ports, they were compelled to watch their crews most
closely, for the higher pay and the better treatment, which cannot be
denied, had tempted many an impressed seaman to leave his ship, and
take refuge under the American flag.
It was claimed by Vice-Admiral Berkeley in command of the English
fleet, that four British sailors had deserted from the _Melampus_,
and joined Barron's frigate. The following correspondence passed
between Robert Smith, the Secretary of the Navy at Washington, and
Commodore Barron, in relation to the matter. It explains in the best
way possible, how affairs stood at the outset.
WASHINGTON, April 6, 1807.
_To Commodore James Barron_:--
SIR: It has been represented to me that William Ware, Daniel
Martin, John Strachan, John Little, and others, deserters from a
British ship of war at Norfolk, have been entered by the recruiting
officer at that place for our service. You will be pleased to make
full inquiry relative to these men (especially, if they are
American citizens), and inform me of the result. You will
immediately direct the recruiting officer in no case to enter
deserters from British ships of war.
ROBT. SMITH.
To this letter Commodore Barron made haste to reply, and the following
is taken _verbatim_ from his note to the Secretary:--
"William Ware was pressed from on board the brig _Neptune_, Captain
Crafts, by the British frigate, _Melampus_, in the Bay of Biscay
(in 1805).... He is a native American, born at Bruce's Mills, on
Pipe Creek, in the county of Frederick, Maryland, and served his
time at said mills. He also lived at Ellicot's Mills, near
Baltimore, and drove a waggon several years between Hagerstown and
Baltimore. He also served eighteen months on board the U.S.
frigate, _Chesapeake_, under the command of Captain Morris and
Captain J. Barron. He is an Indian-looking man.
"Daniel Martin was impressed at the same time and place; a native
of Westport, in Massachusetts, about thirty miles to the eastward
of Newport, Rhode Island; served his time out of New York with
Captain Marrowby of the _Caledonia_; refers to Mr. Benjamin
Davis, merchant, and Mr. Benjamin Corse, of Westport. He is a
colored man.
"John Strachan, born in Queen Ann's County, Maryland, between
Centreville and Queenstown; sailed in the brigantine _Martha
Bland_, Captain Wyvill, from Norfolk to Dublin, and from thence to
Liverpool. He then left the vessel and shipped on board an English
Guineaman; he was impressed on board the _Melampus_, off Cape
Finisterre; to better his condition he consented to enter, being
determined to make his escape when opportunity offered; he served
on board said frigate two years; refers to Mr. John Price and ----
Pratt, Esq., on Kent Island, who know his relatives. He is a white
man, about five feet seven inches high.
"William Ware and John Strachan have protections.[1] Daniel Martin
says he lost his after leaving the frigate.
[1] Papers proving their American citizenship.
"John Little, _alias_ Francis and Ambrose Watts, escaped from the
_Melampus_ at the same time, are known to the above persons to be
Americans, but have not been entered by my recruiting officer."
The foregoing proves beyond all manner of doubt what ground Commodore
Barron had in taking the stand he did further on in the proceedings.
But Admiral Berkeley was a very proud, obstinate man. His feelings had
been hurt by the refusal of the Yankee commodore to give up his men,
and he bided his time.
On Monday, June 22, 1807, the _Chesapeake_ put to sea with her
ill-assorted and undisciplined crew. In the harbor of Lynnhaven lay the
British squadron under the command of Commodore Douglass, acting under
the orders of Vice-Admiral Berkeley. It consisted of the _Bellona_,
seventy-four, the _Triumph_, seventy-four, the _Leopard_, fifty, and
the _Melampus_, thirty-eight. Why it was that the _Leopard_ was
selected for the work which was to follow, is easy to surmise.
Vice-Admiral Berkeley had determined, at all hazards, to search the
American vessel to ascertain if she had in her complement those
"British seamen" who had deserted from the fleet. Barron's refusal to
allow a search made of his vessel while she was in port had been backed
up by the United States Government. This had exceedingly exasperated
the English commander, and he determined to wait until the _Chesapeake_
was at sea before putting his cherished project into practice. As soon
as the _Chesapeake_ set sail, the _Leopard_ was despatched to bring
her to. The _Melampus_ was not sent because she was too near the
_Chesapeake's_ armament, and resistance might be successfully made to
any attempt at high-handed interference. Nor did he take the trouble to
despatch one of his seventy-fours, which might have brought the
_Chesapeake_ under her guns, and compelled her to submit by the law
that "might makes right"; but the _Leopard_ was sent because she was
just large enough to insure success, and yet to humble the American
from the mere fact that he must inevitably yield to a vessel to which
he should by rights make some resistance.
It was a calm day with just enough wind to move the ships through the
water. The _Leopard_, that had really got under way first, overhauled
the smaller vessel, after a few hours' sailing. At three o'clock, when
forty-five miles off shore, she hove to across her bows, and the slight
wind that had wafted them from the Capes died away almost at the
moment. Hailing the American ship's captain, Humphreys stated that he
would like to send despatches by her--a privilege always accorded one
friendly nation by another.
On the _Chesapeake's_ deck, chatting with the officers, were two lady
passengers, who were bound with four or five gentlemen passengers for
the Straits. Part of the cabin had been allotted to the use of the
ladies and their maids. As they had come on board at a late hour, their
trunks and luggage were yet on the deck. Amicable relations existed
between America and England, and there was nothing especially
unfriendly in the attitude of the English frigate, although her action
excited much comment on board the ship, and gave rise to many surmises.
Captain Barron was on the quarter-deck, when news was brought to him
that the _Leopard_ had lowered a boat with an officer in it, and that
it was making for the _Chesapeake's_ side. The ladder was dropped,
the side boys were piped to the gangway, and Barron himself stepped
forward to greet the Lieutenant, extending his hand and welcoming him
graciously. Standing close by was Dr. John Bullus, a passenger, the
newly-appointed consul to the Island of Minorca, and the naval agent to
the United States naval squadron in the Mediterranean.
"Captain Humphreys' compliments," began the Lieutenant. "And he
requires the privilege of searching this vessel for deserters."
"What are their names, may I ask?" inquired Barron.
The officer replied, reading from a list he carried in his hand, but
describing the men as subjects of "His Majesty, King George."
When he had finished, Barron frowned.
"There has been a careful and full inquiry into the cases of these
seamen," he said at last, "and after a minute investigation into the
circumstances, the British Minister, Mr. Erskine, is perfectly
satisfied on the subject, inasmuch as these men were American citizens,
impressed by officers of the _Melampus_. This gentleman," turning
to Dr. Bullus, "our naval agent, is particularly acquainted with all
the facts and circumstances relative to the transaction. He received
his information from the highest possible source."
"From none less than the Honorable Robert Smith, the Secretary of our
Navy," put in Dr. Bullus, "and I am most willing to go on board the
_Leopard_ and inform your commander to that effect, Mr. Erskine----"
"I do not recognize Mr. Erskine in this business," interrupted the
young Lieutenant arrogantly. "Nor do I wish to talk with any one but
Captain Barron. There is much more to be said."
Barron took the doctor to one side. "You will pardon me for placing you
in a position to receive such an insult. I did not suppose it
possible."
"Make no mention of it," was the return; "I understand." With that the
agent walked away.
The Englishman could not have helped noticing the confusion upon the
American's decks. The crew were engaged under the direction of the
petty officers in coiling away the stiff, new running-gear and cables,
men with paint-pots and brushes were touching up the bulwarks and paint
work; others were polishing the brass; and it was altogether a peaceful
scene that struck his eye, even if the presence of the ladies had not
added the finishing touch.
On the quarter-deck, leaning carelessly against the railing, was a
young officer, Lieutenant William Henry Allen, third in rank. He was
but twenty-three years of age, a tall, boyish-looking fellow, with
beautiful features, clear eye and complexion, and ruddy cheeks. He
noticed the glance the English officer had given, and his face clouded.
He was near enough to hear what passed between Barron and the
Lieutenant.
"It is of such importance," went on the latter, continuing his previous
remarks, "that I should desire to speak to you in private, sir. If we
could but retire to your cabin----"
"With the greatest pleasure in the world," Barron returned, indicating
that the Lieutenant should precede him; and with that they disappeared
from view. Once seated at the cabin table, the Englishman broached the
subject without preamble.
"Commodore Douglass," he began, "is fully determined to recover the
deserters that are now harbored on board this ship. It is my desire to
warn you that it is best that you submit to a peaceable search, and in
return my commanding officer will permit you to do the same, and if any
of your men are found in our complement, you are welcome to take them
with you. This should bear great weight in helping you to form your
decision. Here is his letter."
Captain Barron took the paper, broke the seal, and read as follows:--
_The Commander of H.B. Majesty's ship, "Leopard," to the Captain
of the U.S. ship, "Chesapeake":_--
AT SEA, June 22d, 1807.
The Captain of H.B. Majesty's ship, Leopard, has the honor to
enclose the Captain of the U.S. ship, _Chesapeake_, an order from
the Honorable Vice-Admiral Berkeley, Commander-in-chief of His
Majesty's ships on the North American Station, respecting some
deserters from the ships (therein mentioned) under his command, and
supposed to be now serving as part crew of the _Chesapeake_.
The Captain of the _Leopard_ will not presume to say anything in
addition to what the commander-in-chief has stated, more than to
express a hope that every circumstance respecting them may be
adjusted in a manner that the harmony subsisting between the two
countries may remain undisturbed.
"As I before remarked," said the Lieutenant, noting that Barron had
finished the letter, "Captain Humphreys offers you the privilege of a
mutual search."
Captain Barron smiled. The idea that he should find any of his own men
serving on board King George's vessel was rather amusing.
"I have missed none of my crew," he said quietly, "and, while grateful
for the privilege, I do not desire to make use of it."
"And your answer?" broke in the Lieutenant.
"You will take this letter, that I shall write, to Captain Humphreys,
give him my best compliments, and of course inform him that I regret
that I can neither avail myself of his courtesy, nor with honor can I
permit a search to be made of my vessel."
"As you decide," returned the Lieutenant, sententiously.
For some minutes nothing was heard from the cabin. Barron was busily
employed in inditing the epistle, and when it was delivered, the two
officers came out together.
The following is a copy of the letter to Captain Humphreys:--
_To the Commander of His Majesty's ship, "Leopard":_--
AT SEA, June 22d.
I know of no such men as you describe. The officers that were on
the recruiting service for this ship were particularly instructed
by my government through me not to enter any deserters from H.B.
Majesty's ships. Nor do I know of any being here. I am also
instructed never to permit the crew of any ship under my command to
be mustered by any other than their own officers. It is my
disposition to preserve harmony, and I hope this answer to your
despatch will prove satisfactory.
J. BARRON.
The Englishman was escorted to the side, and once in his boat, his
crew, as if urged to special exertion, made all haste to gain their
ship.
Allen turned and spoke to Benjamin Smith, the First Lieutenant. "I do
not like the look of things," he said.
"Nor I," responded Smith, advancing toward the Captain, who had stopped
to speak to one of the lady passengers. He saluted his commander, and
speaking in a low voice, he suggested the propriety of asking the
ladies to retire below, and of clearing ship.
"Tut, tut," replied Barron, carelessly; "you are over-nervous, Mr.
Smith. My letter to Captain Humphreys will convince him that our
actions are perfectly proper and peaceable, while any movement to prove
to the contrary might lead him to suppose that I wished to precipitate
some trouble. Nothing will occur, I warrant you."
"Had we not better open the magazines, sir?" asked Captain Gordon,
coming up at this moment.
"It is not necessary," Barron returned, and once more joined the
ladies.
The keys of the magazine are always kept in the possession of the
ship's captain, and by him they are handed to the gunner, and are never
delivered to any one else. As was customary, the _Chesapeake's_
broadside guns were loaded and shotted, for a ship generally sailed
with them in this state of preparation; but they were not primed, and
but thirteen powder horns had been made ready, and they were locked
safe in the magazine. Around the foremast and in the cable tiers were
plenty of wads and sponges, and ready on deck, before each gun, was a
box of canister. But there were no matches prepared for service.
The peaceful work went on. The crew continued touching up the paint
work, and in the sunlight the brass shone brightly. From the galley
came the clatter of dishes, and from below came the sound of a
sea-song, chanted by one of the men off watch.
Barron called Captain Gordon to him on the quarter-deck. "Captain,"
said he, "I think that fellow yonder hailed us a moment since; I could
not make out what he said however. Perhaps we had better send the men
to their stations quietly."
"Very good, sir," returned the Captain, and he strolled forward
leisurely, for he, like Barron, suspected no surprise.
Allen had left the quarter-deck and had stepped forward to speak to Mr.
Brooks, the sailing-master. They stopped at the entrance to the galley,
which was in a caboose or deckhouse. Suddenly Lieutenant Smith looked
out across the water at the _Leopard_, that was swinging lazily
along at about the distance of a pistol shot.
Surely he could not be mistaken. The muzzle of one of the forward guns
was slewing around to bear upon the ship. Probably they were just
exercising; but there! another followed suit, and then three more, as
if moved by one command. His face blanched. What could it mean? But one
thing! He whirled and saw that Barron had gone below to his cabin.
Rushing to the ladies, he grasped them by the arms and having hardly
time to make explanations, he hurried them to the companionway.
"Below as far as you can go! Down to the hold!" he cried. "Don't stop;
don't talk!"
As he spoke he could scarce believe his eyes. A burst of white smoke,
with a vivid red dash of flame from the centre, broke from the forward
gun on the _Leopard's_ main deck. There was a crash just abaft the
break of the forecastle. A great splinter fully six feet long whirled
across the deck. The shock was felt throughout the ship. A man who had
been painting the bulwarks fell to his knees, arose, and fell again.
His shoulder and one arm were almost torn away; his blood mingled with
the paint from the overturned pot. He shrieked out in fright and agony.
"Beat to quarters!" roared Lieutenant Smith.
Up from below the men came tumbling. Barron ran from his cabin, with
his face as white as death. "To quarters!" he roared, echoing the
Lieutenant's order.
Everything was confusion. The men gathered at the useless guns. The
belated drummer began to sound the roll. Hither and thither rushed
officers and midshipmen. The green hands stood gawking about; some
overcome by fear and the suddenness of danger, plunged down the
companionway. Where were the matches? Where were the priming horns?
Barron turned to go to his cabin for the keys to the magazine. They
were locked in the drawer of his heavy desk, and now there came another
shot. It struck fair in the bulwarks, and the hammocks and their
contents were thrown out of the nettings. Three men were wounded by the
shower of splinters. And not a shot was fired yet in return.
"Matches! give us the matches!" roared some of the men at the guns, as
they tried to bring their harmless weapons to bear upon the Englishman.
A deadly broadside struck the helpless _Chesapeake_. Blocks and spars
fell from aloft. Suddenly from the entrance of the deckhouse ran a
hatless figure. Men made way for him. It was Lieutenant Allen! His jaws
were set and his eyes were glaring. Tossing between his hands, as a
juggler keeps a ball in the air, was a red hot, flaming coal.
"Here, sir!" cried one of the gunner's mates. "This one's primed, sir.
For God's sake, here, sir!"
Just as Allen reached forward, a shot from the _Leopard_ struck the
opening of the port. The man who had spoken was hit full in the breast.
Five of the eight surrounding the piece fell to the deck, wounded by
the murderous splinters. But Allen dropped his flaming coal upon the
breech of the gun, and pushed into place with his scorched and
blackened fingers.
It was the lone reply to the Englishman's dastardly gun practice! For
fifteen minutes the _Leopard_ fired steadily by divisions.
Covered with blood that had been dashed over him from the body of the
man the round shot had killed, Allen ran aft. The ship was full of
groans and shrieks and cursing. Forth from the cabin came Barron. He
looked an aged, heart-broken man. When he saw the young Lieutenant, he
stepped back a pace in horror. The scene of carnage on the deck
unnerved him.
"The keys! the keys!" shrieked Allen, almost springing at his
commander's throat. "Let us fight, if we must die!"
The thought that flashed through Barron's mind must have been the
uselessness of resistance, the terrible death and destruction, and the
inevitable loss that would be sure to follow. Almost resting himself
upon the group of officers, he raised both hands above his head, the
palms open and outstretched.
"Haul down the flag!" he ordered faintly.
A sailor, standing near by, caught the words and springing to the
halliards, down it came, tangling almost into a knot, as if to hide its
folds. The _Leopard_ ceased her murderous work; but the confusion was
great on board the _Chesapeake_. Men wept like babies. Wounded men were
being carried below. Curses and imprecations on the English flag and on
the distant ship rent the air. Many openly cursed their own commander.
"Tell him to come here, and look at this!" cried an old sailor,
pointing to one dead body on the deck. "Then will he lower the flag?
Give us a chance, for God's sake, to fight like men!"
Barron had hurried into the cabin.
"Send for the officers of the ship." They were all there to a man,
except the surgeon, who was busy down below. "Your opinions,
gentlemen," he faltered. There was not a sound. Captain Gordon was
silent. Tears were rolling down the First Lieutenant's cheeks. He tried
to speak, and could not.
"Sir, you have disgraced us!"
It was Allen speaking. To save his life he could not have helped
blurting out what he felt to be the truth. Barron spread out his arms
weakly, then dropped his head into his hands. It was then presumed that
he was wounded also, for blood was running down his wrists. They left
him there.
What use the rest of the story? The search was made, four men were
taken. All claimed to be Americans; they were prepared to prove it.
Captain Humphreys refused to accept the surrender of the vessel.
Barron, hitherto known as brave and capable, was dishonored and
relieved from all command, was sentenced to five years retirement
without pay. Oh yes, the British Admiral was sentenced also. Of course
the Board of Admiralty could not recognize such doings. They even made
apologies and all the rest of it, and returned two of the men, all
there were left, for one was hanged and another died. They sentenced
their Vice-Admiral with a smile of covert approval, and they promoted
him shortly afterwards.
The unfortunate officers who had been innocent parties to the surrender
felt keenly their position. They could not go through explanations to
every one. They became morbidly sensitive upon the subject. No less
then seven duels grew out of the affair, and Allen, who had fired the
gun, wrote to his father thus: "If I am acquitted honorably, if Captain
Barron is condemned, you may see me again. If not, never."--Poor Allen!
No disgrace shall ever be attached to his name. He died of wounds
received while bravely fighting on the deck of his own little vessel,
the _Argus_, some years later, and he was buried in foreign soil by a
guard of honor of his enemies, who appreciated his bravery and worth.
As for the _Chesapeake_, her bad name clung to her. And of her end,
there is much more to tell that will be told. But "Remember the
_Chesapeake_" became a watchword. This was the beginning, that was the
beginning of the end.
REUBEN JAMES, ABLE SEAMAN
This is a story that has oft been told before. But in history, if a man
becomes famous by one act, and be that act something worth recording,
it will stand being told about again. So if this be an old yarn, this
is the only apology for the spinning, and here goes for it:--
Reuben James may be well remembered by men who are yet living, for he
died but some fifty years ago. He was born in the state of Delaware, of
the good old "poor but honest" stock. Sailor boy and man was Reuben,
with a vocabulary limited to the names of things on shipboard and the
verbs to pull and haul. He went to sea at the age of thirteen years,
and in 1797, when only a lad of sixteen, although he had already made
three or four cruises of some length, he was captured by a French
privateer during the quasi-war between this country and the citizen
Republic of France. Upon his liberation, Reuben made up his mind to
serve no longer in the merchant service, but to ship as soon as
possible in the best frigate that flew our flag; and as his
imprisonment lasted but some five or six months, he soon found
opportunity for revenge. Upon returning to the States he was fortunate
enough to find the old _Constellation_ in port picking up her crew.
This was in the year 1799, and the old ship was then in command of the
intrepid Commodore Truxtun, and he was her commander when she gave such
a drubbing to the French frigates _Insurgente_ and _Vengeance_, which
taught the citizens a lesson, and brought to an end, as much as any
other thing, the ridiculous situation of two nations not actually at
war fighting one another at sea whenever they met. In these actions
young James distinguished himself. He was by nature fearless to the
verge of recklessness, and he was probably in trouble, on account of
his devil-may-care propensities, more than once. In 1804, he sailed in
the frigate _United States_ to the Mediterranean, and when young
Stephen Decatur sailed into the harbor and successfully destroyed the
captured frigate _Philadelphia_, which the Tripolitans had anchored
beneath their batteries, Reuben James was one of the first to
volunteer. He returned from the successful accomplishment of the
design, impressed with the young leader's courage and magnetism, and as
often is the case between a beloved officer and the man who serves
under him, there grew up in the young sailor's heart--he and Decatur
were about the same age--a wild desire to do something to prove his
devotion. The affection of brave men for one another leads to deeds of
noble self-sacrifice, and Reuben James's chance was to come. Every time
that he was assigned to boat duty in the many skirmishes and little
actions, before the harbor of Tripoli, Reuben succeeded in going in
Decatur's boat, and one day to his delight he was promoted to be
cockswain, which must have proved that Decatur's keen eye had noticed
him.
On the 3d of August, 1804, early in the morning, the orders were sent
throughout Commodore Preble's fleet to prepare for a general attack to
take place as soon as it was broad daylight. The American force
consisted of the _Constitution_ and a number of gunboats of the same
style and size as those composing the Tripolitan forces. Everything was
ready on time, but the lack of wind prevented the action from taking
place until late in the afternoon, when the _Constitution_, preceded by
three of the American gunboats, entered the harbor. There were nine of
the Bey's crack vessels, composing the eastern wing, waiting not far
from shore. The three Yankee gunboats bore down upon them without
hesitation, in gallant style. In slap-bang fashion, they sailed right
into the Tripolitans and captured, cutlass in hand, the three leading
ones. The other six fled and came plashing up the harbor, working their
heavy sweeps for all they were worth.
A few minutes after their retreat, one of the other vessels that, to
all appearances, had surrendered, broke away and started up the harbor,
scrambling along as fast as she could go. Decatur in his small boat was
not far away. There was a mist of battle smoke hanging over the water,
and for an instant he did not notice what was going on; but when he did
hear what had happened, all the fierce daring in his nature was
aroused, and mingled with the anger and desire for revenge, it
completely swept him away. He was told that the Tripolitan commander,
who had just made his escape, had treacherously risen upon the prize
crew sent on board of him, after he had struck his flag, and with his
own hands had killed Decatur's beloved brother James. When this news
reached him, Decatur did not falter.
"After him!" he cried to his crew. "Put me alongside of him!"
"We'll put you there, sir," said Reuben James, who was at the tiller.
And out of the smoke into the plain view of the guns of the battery and
also of the American captives, who had viewed the whole affair from the
window of their prison, the little boat started in the wake of the
felucca, whose force of men outnumbered hers by three to one. They
gained at every jump, and in a few minutes they had run their little
boat alongside, thrown down their oars, and to a man had scrambled on
board the Tripolitan. Decatur had set his eye upon a red-turbaned
figure that he knew to be the leader. This man had killed his brother!
Almost before the bowman had laid hold of the enemy's gunwale, he had
made a flying leap off it and gained the deck. Ignoring every risk,
scarcely pausing to ward off the many blows that were aimed at him, he
made straight for the man in the red turban. The pirate was armed with
a long spear and one of those deadly curved scimitars, sharp as steel
can stand it, capable of lopping off a limb at a single stroke; drawing
back he aimed a full-length thrust as soon as Decatur confronted him,
for he must have read his fate in the determined look on the latter's
face. Decatur dodged skilfully and tried to come to closer quarters;
but the Tripolitan by great agility succeeded in keeping out of the
way, and once more he lunged. This time as Decatur parried his
sword-blade broke off at the hilt; dropping it, he laid hold of his
enemy's spear, and in the wrestle for its possession, he succeeded in
tripping up the Turk, and both fell upon the deck. The red-turbaned
one, freeing one hand, drew a dagger from his waist-cloth, and just as
he was about to plunge it into the body of the young American, Decatur
managed to draw a small pistol, and lifting himself on his elbow, blew
off the top of his opponent's head.
Revenge was his. But what about our friend Reuben? The only reason that
Decatur had not been killed in the early part of the struggle by the
many blows that were aimed at him--for the American boarding party
numbered but twelve all told--was the fact that seaman Reuben James was
close behind him, warding off blow after blow. Disdaining to protect
himself, his right arm was rendered useless, so that he had to shift
his cutlass to his left hand. He was slashed seven times about the
body. A cut on the shoulder made him drop his weapon, and just at this
moment he saw that Decatur was lying upon the deck with his foeman over
him. Behind him a sinewy man was aiming a deadly blow directly
downward. Reuben James sprang forward. His right arm was useless and
his left almost so. There was nothing he could interpose between that
deadly blow and his beloved commander but his life! Trying weakly to
push back the Tripolitan, he leaned forward swiftly and caught the blow
from the scimitar on his own head. It fractured his skull, and he fell
insensible to the deck.
But a Yankee sailor is a hard man to kill--in three weeks cockswain
James was at his post again. His recovery was no doubt due to his
wonderful constitution and his youth.
[Illustration: "Reuben James sprang forward."]
As soon as the war with Great Britain was declared, Reuben made all
haste to join his old commander, and he served in the frigate _United
States_ when she captured the _Macedonian_, and afterwards in the
_President_ when she took the _Endymion_. In both actions he got as
near Decatur as he could, and in the last-named conflict he received
three wounds. Although suffering greatly, he refused to leave the deck
until after the _President_ had struck her flag to the squadron that
captured her, whereupon Reuben James was carried below weeping--not
from pain or anguish, but from sheer mortification and grief.
At Decatur's funeral he wept again, honest fellow, and whenever he came
to port he would visit his commander's grave. Reuben was in actual
service until the year 1836, when he arrived in Washington for the
purpose of obtaining a pension. He was suffering very much at this time
from an old musket-shot wound that had caused a disease of the bone of
his leg. It was exceedingly painful and becoming dangerous. After
consultation the doctors ordered amputation, and as he lay in the
hospital the decision was announced to him. With his old indifference
to danger, and his reckless spirit, Reuben replied in the following
words:--
"Doctor, you are the captain, sir. Fire away; but I don't think it is
shipshape to put me under jury masts when I have just come into
harbor."
The day after the operation Reuben was very low, and it was thought
that he had but a few hours to live. The old sailor himself declared
that he had reached the bitter end of his rope, appeared resigned to
his fate, and begged the surgeon to "ease him off handsomely while he
was about it."
"Reuben," said the doctor, "we have concluded that we will give you a
good drink and allow you to name it. What will you have, brown stout or
brandy toddy?"
"I s'pose I won't take another for a long time, sir," Reuben responded,
with a twinkle in his eye. "So just s'pose you give us both; which one
first it doesn't much matter."
He prided himself that he had been in ten fights and as many
"skrimedges," and as he was a favorite character, he was allowed to
celebrate each in turn as they came around, so his happy days were
many. There was one subject to which, however, no one could ever
refer--Decatur's sad and untimely end. Always in his heart Reuben bore
a deep and lasting love, and an ever-living admiration for the man
whose life he had saved; and those friends of the young Commodore
always treated the old sailor with the greatest of deference. Had
Decatur lived, it is safe to state that wherever he went Reuben would
have gone also, and if the latter had not walked bare-headed and
weeping at his officer's funeral; and had it been the other way about,
with Reuben being put to earth, Decatur would have been there, if
possible, hat in hand, to shed a tear of sorrow.
THE MEN BEHIND THE TIMES
Out of the north they came in their grimy, bluff-bowed ships--the men
behind the times! Three years away from home; three years outside the
movement of human government, of family life, ignorant of the news of
the world.
The years 1811 and 1812 were remarkable ones in the annals of the
whaling industry; vessels that had been cruising for months unrewarded
managed to fill their holds, and now, deep laden, they were returning
from the whaling grounds, singly or often in companies of a half-score
or more. They were ugly vessels, broad and clumsy, with heavy spars and
great wooden davits. They stenched of blubber and whale oil, and they
oozed in the warm sun as they labored southward, out of the realms of
ice and night into the rolling waters of the Pacific. They buffeted the
tempestuous weather of the Horn and climbed slowly northward along the
coasts of the Western hemisphere.
Sailing together homeward bound for New England in the fall of the year
was a fleet of these Arctic whalers--no matter their exact number or
their destinations. For the beginning, let it suffice that the vessel
farthest to the west was the good ship _Blazing Star_ of New Bedford.
Captain Ezra Steele, her skipper, had made a mental calculation, and he
knew exactly the profits that would accrue to him from the sale of the
barrels of sperm oil that now filled the deep hold of his ship. It was
his custom in fine weather to count these barrels and to go over all
these calculations again and again. He was a part owner of the _Blazing
Star_, and he had made up his mind exactly what he was going to do with
the proceeds of this cruise. He knew that just about this time of the
year, his wife and many other wives, and some who hoped to be, would be
watching for the sight of welcome sails. The Captain wondered if his
daughter Jennie would accept young Amos Jordan's offer of marriage. He
and Amos had talked it over. Amos was his first mate now, and the
Captain had been thinking of staying at home and sending the young man
out in command of the _Blazing Star's_ next cruise; but perhaps Jennie,
who had a will of her own, had married; or who knows what might have
occurred? It is now late October of the year 1812, and a great deal can
happen in three years, be it recorded.
Captain Ezra had all the sail that she could carry crowded on the
stiff, stubby yards of his vessel. He was anxious to get home again,
but the wind had been baffling for some days, hauling about first one
way, then another. Now, however, they were getting well to the north,
and the continued mildness of the air showed that probably they had
entered the waters of the Gulf Stream. The Captain was dressed in a
long-tailed coat and yellow cloth breeches thrust into heavy cowhide
boots that had become almost pulpy from constant soaking in the sperm
oil. He noiselessly paced the deck, now and then looking over the side
to see how she was going.
The old _Blazing Star_ creaked ahead with about the same motion and
general noise of it that an oxcart makes when swaying down a hill. From
the quarter-deck eight or ten other vessels, every one lumbering along
under a press of stained and much-patched canvas, could be seen, and a
few were almost within hailing distance. All were deep laden; every one
had been successful.
"Waal," said the Captain to himself, "if this wind holds as 'tis, we'll
make Bedford light together in about three weeks."
The nearest vessel to the _Blazing Star_ was the old _Elijah Mason_.
She had made so many last voyages, and had been condemned so many
times, and then tinkered up and sent out again, that it always was a
matter of surprise to the worthy gentlemen who owned her when she came
halting along with her younger sisters at the end of a successful
cruise. Her present captain, Samuel Tobin Dewey, who had sailed a
letter of marque during the Revolution, was a bosom friend of Captain
Steele. Many visits had they exchanged, and many a bottle of rare old
Medford rum had they broached together. As Captain Ezra turned the
side, he saw that they were lowering a boat from the _Elijah Mason_,
and that a thick, short figure was clambering down to it. So he stepped
to the skylight, and leaning over, shouted into the cabin.
"Hey, Amos!" he called, "Captain Dewey's comin' over to take dinner
with us. Tell that lazy Portugee to make some puddin' and tell him to
get some bread scouse ready for the crew. We'll keep 'em here for
comp'ny for our lads."
In a few minutes he had welcomed Captain Dewey, who, although almost
old enough to remember when his ship had made her maiden voyage, was
ruddy and stout in his timbers and keen of voice and eye. But by the
time that a man has been three years cooped up in one vessel, his
conversational powers are about at their lowest ebb; every one knows
all of the other's favorite yarns by heart, and so the greeting was
short and the conversation in the cabin of the _Blazing Star_ was
limited. It was with a feeling of relief that the captains heard the
news brought to them by a red-headed, unshaven boy of seventeen, that
there was a strange sail in sight to the northwest. The two skippers
came on deck at once. About four miles away they could make out a
vessel heaving up and down, her sails flapping and idle. For, a common
occurrence at sea, she lay within a streak of calm. Her presence had
probably been kept from being known before by the slight mist that hung
over the sea to the west and north. The long, easy swells were ruffled
by the slight wind that filled the sails of the whaling fleet, and were
dimpled to a darker color. But where the stranger lay there was a
smooth even path of oily calm. Beyond her some miles the wind was
blowing in an opposite direction. She lay between the breezes, not a
breath touching her.
"What d'ye make her out to be, Ezra?" asked Captain Dewey, his fingers
twitching anxiously in his eagerness to take hold of the glass through
which Captain Steele was squinting.
"Man-o'-war, brig," responded the taller man. "Sure's you're born,
sir."
"You're jest right," responded Dewey, after he had taken aim with the
telescope. "I'll bet her captain's mad, seein' us carryin' this breeze,
an' she in the doldrums. We'll pass by her within three mile, I reckon.
She may hang on thar all day long an' never git this slant of wind at
all. Wonder what she's doin aout here, anyhow?"
In about ten minutes Captain Ezra picked up the glass again. "Hello!"
he said. "By Dondy! they've lowered away a boat, an' they are rowin'
off as if to meet us. Wonder what's the row?" A tiny speck could be
seen with the naked eye, making out from the stretch of quiet water.
The crew of the _Blazing Star_ had sighted her also, and at the
prospect of something unusual to break the monotony, had lined the
bulwarks. Suddenly as the boat lifted into the sunlight on the top of a
wave, there came a flash and a glint of some bright metal. In a few
minutes it showed again. Captain Ezra picked up the glass.
"By gum!" he exclaimed; "that boat's chuck full of men all armed. What
in the name of Tophet can it mean?"
"Dunno--I'd keep off a little," suggested Captain Dewey.
The helmsman gave the old creaking wheel a spoke or two in response to
the Captain's order.
"She's baound to meet us anyhow," put in the lanky skipper. "What had
we better dew?"
"Got any arms on board?" inquired Dewey. "Look suspicshus. Think I's
better be gettin' back to my old hooker," he added half to himself.
Amos Jordan, the first mate, was standing close by. "I reckon we've got
some few," he said.
"Git 'em aout," ordered the Captain, laconically; "and, Cap'n Sam, you
stay here with us, won't ye?"
Amos started forward. In a few minutes he had produced four old
muskets, and a half-dozen rusty cutlasses. But there were deadlier
weapons yet on board, of which there were a plenty. Keen-pointed
lances, that had done to death many a great whale; and harpoons, with
slender shanks and heads sharp as razors. And there were strong arms
which knew well how to use them. The Captain went into the cabin and
came back with three great, clumsy pistols. One he slipped under his
long-tailed coat, and the two others he gave to Captain Dewey and Amos
Jordan. There were twenty men in the _Blazing Star's_ own crew. The
visitors from the old whaler added five more, and with the three mates
and the two captains, five more again. In all there were thirty men
prepared to receive the mysterious rowboat, and receive her warmly
should anything be belligerent in her mission.
"I dunno what they want," said Captain Ezra; "but to my mind it don't
look right."
"Jesso, jesso," assented Captain Samuel.
A plan was agreed upon; a very simple one. The men were to keep well
hid behind the bulwarks, and if the small boat proved unfriendly, she
was to be warned off the side, and if she persisted in trying to board,
then they were to give her a proper reception. The suspense would not
be long. The boat was now so close that the number of men in her could
be counted distinctly. There were eighteen in all, for the stern sheets
were seen to be crowded. The brig at this moment lay in her own little
calm, about two miles directly off the starboard beam. The rest of the
whaling fleet had noticed her, and had sighted the approach of the
armed cutter also. They were edging off to the eastward, evidently
hailing one another and huddling close together. But the _Blazing
Star_, with just enough wind to move her, held her course.
All was suppressed excitement, for the armed small craft was now within
a half a cable's length. "Ship ahoy!" hailed an officer in a short,
round jacket, standing up. "Heave to there; I want to board you!"
"Waal," drawled Captain Ezra, through his nose, "I dunno as I shall.
What d'ye want?"
There was no response to this; the officer merely turned to his crew:
"Give way!" he ordered, and in half a dozen strokes the cutter had slid
under the _Blazing Star's_ quarter. The man in the bow turned and made
fast to the main chains with a boat-hook. Captain Steele was smoking an
old corncob pipe. He looked to be the most peaceful soul in the world
as he stepped to the gangway, but under his long coat-tails his hand
grasped the old horse-pistol. Several heads now showed above the
bulwarks. The strange officer, who had evidently not expected to see so
many, hesitated. Captain Ezra blew a vicious puff of smoke from between
his firm lips.
"Better keep off the side," he said; "we don't want ye on board; who be
ye, anyhow?"
"Damn your insolence, I'll show you!" cursed the stranger. "On board
here, all you men!" He sprang forward. Captain Ezra did not pull his
pistol. He stepped back half a pace and his eye gleamed wickedly. The
unknown had almost come on board when he was met full in the chest by
the heel of Captain Ezra's cowhide boot. Now the Captain's legs were
very long and strong, and aided by the firm grasp he had on both sides
of the gangway, the gentleman in the round, brass-buttoned jacket flew
through the air over the heads of his crew in the boat below and
plumped into the water on the other side. One of the men in the boat
instantly drew a pistol and fired straight at the Captain's head--the
ball whistled through his old straw hat! But that shot decided matters.
It was answered by the four old rusty muskets, the last one hanging
fire so long that there was a perceptible time between the flash in the
pan, and the report. Two men fell over on the thwarts of the small
boat. The man who had fired the pistol sank back, pierced through and
through by the slender shank of a harpoon. But the crowning effect of
this attempt to repel boarders occurred just at this minute. A spare
anchor, that had been on deck close to the bulwarks, caught the eye of
Amos Jordan. "Here, bear a hand!" he cried, and with the help of three
others he hove the heavy iron over the bulwarks. It struck full on the
cutter's bows, and crushed them as a hammer would an eggshell. The
shock threw most of the occupants from off the thwarts; the boat filled
so quickly that in an instant they were struggling in the water--one
man gained the deck, but a blow on the head from the butt of Captain
Dewey's pistol laid him out senseless. One of the _Mason's_ crew hurled
a lance at one of the helpless figures in the water. It missed him by a
hair's-breath.
"Avast that!" roared Captain Ezra. "We don't want to do more murder!"
The officer who had been projected into the deep by the Captain's
well-timed kick had grasped the gunwales of the sunken boat. His face
was deathly white; thirteen of his crew had managed to save themselves
by laying hold with him. One of them was roaring lustily for some one
to heave a rope to him. To save his life, Captain Ezra could not help
grinning.
"Waal," he said, "this is a pretty howdy do. Ye kin come on board naow,
if ye want tew, only leave them arms whar they be." As if in obedience
to this order, a sailor in a blue jacket with a white stripe down each
arm and trimming the collar, unbuckled his heavy belt with his free
hand and cast his cutlass far from him. Two others followed suit.
"Naow," said Captain Ezra, "one at a time come on board, an' we'll find
aout what ye mean by attackin' a peaceable whaler with dangerous
weapons, who's homeward baound an' hain't offended ye."
The first man up the side was a red-cheeked, black-whiskered
individual, who mumbled, as he sheepishly gazed about him: "Douse my
glims but this is a bloody rum go."
"Tie 'im up," ordered Captain Ezra. The man submitted to having his
hands made fast behind his back.
"Now for the next one," said Captain Ezra, blowing a calm puff of smoke
up in the air, and watching it float away into the hollow of the
mainsail. In turn the thirteen discomfited sailors were ranged along
the bulwarks, and no one was left but the white-faced officer, clinging
to the wreckage of the boat that was now towing alongside, for one of
the crew had heaved a blubber-hook into her, at the end of a bit of
ratline.
"Spunky feller, ain't he?" suggested Captain Ezra, turning to Captain
Dewey, who, in the excitement had taken two big chews of tobacco, one
after another, and was working both sides of his jaws at once. "The
last t' leave his sinkin' ship. That's well an' proper."
The young man--for he was scarcely more than thirty--needed some
assistance up the side, for Captain Ezra's boot-heel had come nigh to
staving in his chest.
"Naow, foller me, young man," Captain Ezra continued, walking toward
the quarter-deck. He ascended the ladder to the poop, and the dripping
figure, a little weak in the knees, guarded by a boat-steerer armed
with a harpoon, obeyed and followed. As the Captain turned to meet him
he noticed that the man in uniform still had his side-arms.
"I'll trouble you for that thar fancy blubber-knife, young man," he
said, "an' then I'll talk t' ye." The officer detached his sword from
his belt and handed it over. He had not offered yet to say a word.
"Naow," said Captain Ezra, holding the sword behind his back, "who be
ye, an' what d' yer want? as I observed before."
"I'm Lieutenant Levison of His Majesty's brig _Badger_."
"Waal, ye ought to be ashamed of yourself," broke in Captain Ezra.
[Illustration: "'What d'ye mean by attackin' a peaceful whaler?'"]
"I am," responded the young man. "You may believe that, truly."
"Waal, what d'ye mean by attackin' a peaceful whaler?"
"Why, don't you know?" replied the officer, with an expression of
astonishment.
"Know what?"
"That there's a war between England and America?"
"Dew tell!" ejaculated Captain Steele, huskily, almost dropping his
pipe. He stepped forward to the break of the poop.
"Captain Dewey," he shouted, "this here feller says thar's a war."
"So these folks have been tellin'," answered the Captain of the _Elijah
Mason_; "but I don't believe it. They're pirates; that's what they be."
"Gosh, I guess that's so," said Captain Ezra. "I reckon you're
pirates," turning to the officer. "I hain't heard tell of no war."
"We are not pirates," hotly returned the young man. "Damn your
insolence, I'm an officer of His Britannic Majesty, King George!"
"Tush, tush! no swearin' aboard this ship. What was you goin' to do,
rowin' off to us?"
The officer remained silent, fuming in his anger. "I was going to make
a prize of you; and if I had you on board ship, I'd----"
"Belay that!" ordered Captain Ezra, calmly. "Ye didn't make a prize of
me, an' you're aboard my ship. Don't forgit it."
"Well," broke in the young man, angrily, "what are you going to do with
me?" Captain Dewey had by this time come up on the quarter-deck,
followed by the mates.
"I presume likely," said the skipper of the _Blazing Star_, rather
thoughtfully, "I presume likely we'll hang ye."
The Englishman--for all doubts as to his nationality were set at rest
by his appearance and manner of speech--drew back a step. His face,
that had grown red in his anger, turned white again, and he gave a
glance over his shoulder. The brig, hopelessly becalmed, lay way off
against the horizon.
As he looked, a puff of smoke broke from her bows. It was the signal
for recall. He winced, and his eye followed the glance of the stalwart
figure with the harpoon that stood behind him.
"For God's sake, don't do that!" he said hastily. "I tell you, sir,
that there is a war. There has been war for almost four months now.
Upon my word of honor."
The two captains exchanged looks of incredulity. Suddenly the
prisoner's face lit up. "I can prove it to you," he said excitedly.
"Here is a Yankee newspaper we took from a schooner we captured off the
Capes five days ago."
"_The New Bedford Chronicle_, by gosh!" exclaimed Captain Ezra, in
astonishment, taking the soaked brown package. He spread it out on the
rail.
"It's true, Cap'n Sammy, it's true," he continued excitedly. "Thar's a
war; listen to this," and he read in his halting, sailor manner, the
startling headlines: "The Frigate _Constitution_ Captures the British
Frigate _Guerriere_. Hurrah for Hull and his Gallant Seamen! Again the
Eagle Screams with Victory."
There was much more to it, and Captain Ezra read every word. "Young
man," he said at last, "I owe ye an apology. If ye'll come daown into
our cabin, I kin mix ye a toddy of fine old Medford rum. Between lawful
an' honest enemies there should be no hard feelin's, when the fate of
war delivers one into the hands of 'tother. Cap'n Sammy," he observed
as he reached the cabin, "if we had really knowed thar was a war, we'd
a gone back and took that thar brig."
"Yaas," returned Captain Dewey, "we be summat behind the times."
His eyes twinkled as he glanced out of the cabin window. Still becalmed
and almost hull down, H.M.S. _Badger_ was but a speck against the
horizon.
The Englishman drew a long deep breath.
"Come, sir," spoke up Captain Ezra. "Don't get down hearted. 'Live an
learn,' that's my motto. We're drinkin' your good health, sir, join
right in."
* * * * *
When the _Blazing Star_ arrived in port, she turned over to the United
States authorities an officer and twelve men, prisoners of war.
THE COWARD
He said that he had been impressed into the English service from the
brig _Susan Butler_, of New York. But what grounds the boarding officer
had taken in supposing him to be a British subject would puzzle most.
The cocked-hats generally left a merchant vessel's side with the pick
of the unfortunate crew. The qualifications necessary for a peaceable
Yankee merchant sailor to change his vocation and become a servant of
King George were plain and simple in 1810: ruddy cheeks--crisp curling
hair--youth, health, and strength, why! of English birth and parentage
most certainly! What use the papers stating that his name was Esek
Cobb, or Hezekiah Brown? His home port or natal town Portsmouth, N.H.,
Bath, Me., or Baltimore? He spoke the mother tongue; he was an A.B. His
services were needed to fight old England's enemies, and away he would
go in the stern sheets of the press boat, bitter curses on his lips and
irons on his wrists.
But this straight-haired, Indian-featured, narrow-shouldered half-man
who stood there on the _Constitution's_ deck, with his soaked, scanty
clothes, clinging to his thin, big-jointed limbs, why in the name of
the Lion or the Unicorn, or the Saint or the Dragon, for that matter,
had they chosen him? He told his tale in a low, whimpering voice, with
his eyes shifting from one deck-seam to another--Five years in the
Royal British Navy!--Five years of glorious service of the one who
rules the common heritage of all the peopled earth--Five years of
spirit-murdering slavery.
Not six cable-lengths away, a dark shape against the lights of the
town, lay the great ship from whose side he had lowered himself in the
darkness to swim to the shelter of the smart, tall-sparred frigate,
over whose taffrail he had watched his country's flag swinging in the
sunlight, tempting him all the day. He had fought against the swiftly
running tide until at last--just as his strength had left him--he had
been hauled on board by the anchor watch, and now his one prayer was
that they would not give him up. The men who stood about looked
pityingly at his shivering figure. A middy, attracted by the commotion,
had hastened aft to find the officer of the deck. The forecastle people
murmured among themselves.
"Captain Hull won't give you up, lad," said one, laying his hand on the
poor fellow's shoulder.
"This ship is not the _Chesapeake_," said another; "don't ye fear,
man."
"Here's the Leftenant," put in another--"'tention!"
"What's going on here?" asked a low voice.
The sailor who had last spoken touched his cap.
"I was down making the running-boat fast to the boom, sir, when I hears
a faint cry, and I sees a man in the water just alongside, sir. I lays
hold of him, and thinkin' it's one of our crew, sir, we gets him
quietly at the forechains; then we sees as how he ain't one of us,
sir,--he says."
"That'll do; let him speak for himself. Where did you come from, my
man?"
"From the _Poictiers_, yonder, sir. For the sake of mercy don't give me
up!"
"Are you an American?"
"Yes, sir; God's truth, I am."
"Your name?"
"McGovern, sir."
"Where were you born, McGovern?"
The stern, matter-of-fact inquiry could scarce conceal the pity in the
tone; but it was the officer-voice speaking.
"In Water Street, New York, sir, not far from the big church--Oh, for
the love of----"
"You speak like an Irishman."
"My parents were Irish, your honor, but I was born in the little house
fourth from the corner. You won't let them---- Oh, God help me!"
The sturdy rocking beat of oars near to hand off the port quarter
caused an interruption. The fugitive gave a quick glance full of terror
in the direction of the sound; then he dropped forward upon his knees;
his whimpering changed to a hoarse weeping whisper.
"Don't give me up; I'd rather die--save me--save me," he croaked.
One of the watch came hurrying aft. "There's a cutter here at the
gangway," he said in a low voice, saluting the Lieutenant.
"Very good, my lad," responded the latter. "Take this man below, give
him dry clothes and a place to sleep."
Two men helped the abject creature to his feet and led him sobbing to
the forward hatchway. The Lieutenant stepped to the side.
"On board the cutter there," he called, "what do you want at this hour
of night?" Well he knew, and he spoke as if the answer had been given.
"On board the frigate," was the reply. "We're looking for a deserter;
he started to swim off to you; has he reached here?"
The Lieutenant disdained deception. "We fished a half drowning man out
of the water a few minutes since," he replied quietly, leaning over the
gangway railing.
"He's a deserter from my ship; I'll be obliged if you will hand him
over.--This is Lieutenant Colson, of the _Poictiers_."
"Sorry not to grant Lieutenant Colson's request; the man claims
protection as an American. Captain Hull will have to look into the
matter.--This is Lieutenant Morris, of the _Constitution_."
"I should like to see Captain Hull at once. In bow there, make fast to
the gangway."
"Hold hard, sir. The Captain is asleep; I cannot waken him."
"I demand you do--you are in one of His Majesty's ports."
"I know that well enough--keep off the side, sir." There was a moment's
silence, and then the same level tone was heard addressing some one on
the deck. "Call the guard; let no one come on board the ship to-night."
There was the sound of some movement on the _Constitution's_ deck;
the fast ebb tide clopped and gurgled about the vessel's counter
mirthfully. The Englishman, standing erect in the stern sheets of the
little cutter bobbing against the frigate's side, hesitated.
"On board the frigate, there!"
"Well, sir, in the cutter!"
"Heark'ee! You'll repent this rashness, I can warrant you that, my
friend; you will pay high for your damned Yankee insolence, mark my
words. Shove off there forward" (this to the bowman)--"shove off there,
you clumsy fool! Let fall!"
There had been no reply from the bulwarks to the Englishman's burst of
temper; but Lieutenant Morris stood there drumming with his fingers on
the hilt of his sword, and looking out into the darkness. Then an odd
smile that was near to being scornful crossed his face, and he turned
quietly and began the slow swinging pace up and down the quarter-deck.
That Captain Hull would sanction and approve his conduct, he did not
have the least suspicion of a doubt; if not on general principles, on
account of a certain specific reason--to be told in a few short
words:--
It had happened that three days previous to the very evening, a steward,
who had been accused of robbing the ward-room mess of liquor, and
incidentally of drunkenness arising from the theft, was up for
punishment--somehow he had managed to take French leave by jumping
out of a lower port. He had been picked up by the running-boat of the
flagship. At once he had claimed to be a subject of King George, and,
needless to record, the statement was accepted without question--whether
he was or not bore little weight, and cuts no figure in this tale.
Suffice it: Captain Hull's polite request for the man's return was
laughed at, very openly laughed at, and the Admiral's reply was a
thinly veneered sneer--why, the very idea of such a thing!
Now here was a chance for that soul-satisfying game of turn and turn
about. Lieutenant Morris, as he paced the broad quarter-deck, felt sure
he had voiced Captain Hull's feelings, and then he began a little
mental calculation, and as he did so, slightly quickened his stride,
and came a few paces further forward until he was opposite the port
gangway. There he stopped and looked out at the swinging anchor lights.
Six hundred odd guns against forty-four! And then there were the land
batteries and the channel squadron probably outside. But actually, what
mattered the odds? On the morrow there was going to be something to
talk about, that was fact, and Lieutenant Morris smiled as brave men do
when they look forward to contest, and know they have right with them.
The poor, whimpering dog who had claimed protection was probably not
worth his salt, and was certainly not needed; but rather than give him
up, Isaac Hull would go to the bottom (in his very best, brand-new
uniform, Morris knew that well enough), and with him would go four
hundred sturdy lads by the right of their own manly choice.
"And egad they'd have company," Morris reasoned out loud, with that
strange smile of his.
Captain Hull heard the news and all about it at breakfast, and the only
sign that it interested him in the least was the fact that he rubbed
his heavy legs in their silk stockings (he generally wore silk in port)
contentedly together beneath the table, and disguised a wide smile with
a large piece of toast.
"Have the man given a number and assigned to a watch, Mr. Morris," was
his only comment to the Lieutenant's story.
That was simple enough. But the heavy, red-faced Commodore, although
prone to extravagant indulgence in expansive shirt frills, jewelry, and
gold lace, usually went at matters in the simplest manner and after the
most direct fashion. There did not appear to be any question on this
present occasion; he to all appearances dismissed the subject from his
mind; but Morris knew better--"Wait," said he to himself, "and we will
see what we will see." And although this is the tritest remark in the
world, it was more or less fitting, as will be shortly proved.
At nine o'clock a letter arrived from the English Admiral. It was
couched in the usual form, it was full of "best compliments," and
bristled with references to "courtesy and distinguished conduct in the
past," and it was signed "Obd't servant." But it said and meant plainly
enough: "Just take our advice and hand this fellow over, Captain
Hull,--right away please, no delay; don't stop for anything. He
deserves to be abolished for presuming that he has a country that will
protect him."
The word had flown about the decks that the English cutter was
alongside with a message from the flagship. The crew had all tumbled up
from below, and a hum of voices arose from the forecastle.
"Bill Roberts, here, he was on watch when they hauled 'im on board,
warent ye, Bill?--I seed him when they brought 'im below--he had the
shakes bad, didn't he, Bill?" The speaker was a short, thickset man,
who had a way of turning his head quickly from side to side as he
spoke. His long, well-wrapped queue that hung down his back would whip
across from one shoulder to the other.
"We thought it was one of yesterday's liberty party trying to get back
to the ship," responded the man addressed as Bill. "But when we got him
on deck we seed as how he warent one of us, as I told the First Luf.
Did you see his back, Tom, when we peeled his shirt off?"
"God a' mercy! I seed it."
Well those marks were known. Deep red scars, crisscrossed with heavy,
unhealed, blue-rimmed cuts, feverish and noisome.
"He was whipped through the fleet ten days ago. So he says. I don't
know what for, exactly; says he found a midshipman's handkerchief on
deck, and not knowin' whose 'was, put it into his ditty box--some such
yarn.--Jack here, he tells of somethin' like that, when he was
impressed out of the _Ariadne_ into the old _Southampton_, don't ye,
Jack?"
"Yes, but damn the yarn--this fellow--where is he now?" asked a tall,
light-haired foretopman, around whose muscular throat was tattooed a
chain and locket, the latter with a very red-cheeked and exceedingly
blue-eyed young person smiling out through the opening in his shirt.
"He's hidin' somewhere down in the hold, I reckon," answered a little,
nervous man; "nobody could find him this morning; guess he's had all
the spunk licked out of him."
"I've heard tell of that before," remarked the tall foretopman. "His
spirit's broke."
Just at this moment the English Lieutenant who had borne the message
from the Admiral hurried up from the cabin where he had been in
consultation with Captain Hull. His face was very red, and he gave a
hasty glance at the crowded forecastle, as if trying to enumerate the
men and their quality. Then he hastened down the side, and when he had
rowed off some dozen strokes he gave the order to cease rowing. Then
standing up he looked back at the frigate he had left, taking in all
her points, the number of her guns, and marking her heavy scantling
with a critic's eye. Then he seated himself again, and pulled away for
the flagship.
His departure had been watched by four hundred pairs of eyes, and this
last act of his had not been passed by unnoticed.
"Takin' our measure," observed Bill Roberts, cockswain of the Captain's
gig, turning to Tom Grattan, the thickset, black-headed captain of the
maintop. The latter grinned up at him.
"There'll be the Divil among the tailors," he said.
The tall foretopman, who was standing near by, folded his heavy arms
across his chest.
"We'll have some lively tumbling here in about a minute, take my word
for that, mates," he chuckled, "or my name's not Jack Lange"; and as he
spoke, Captain Hull, followed by all of his lieutenants, came up on
deck. The Captain turned and spoke a few words to Mr. Cunningham, the
ship's master. The latter, followed by three or four midshipmen,
hurried forward. Some of the men advanced to meet him.
"All of you to your stations," he ordered quietly. "Gunners, prepare to
cast loose and provide port and starboard main-deck guns. The rest
stand by ready to make sail if we get a wind off shore."
He gave the orders for the capstan bars to be fitted, and turning to
the ship armorer he told him to provide cutlasses and small-arms for
the crew.
Quietly boarding-nettings were made ready to be spread, the magazines
were opened, even buckets of sand were brought and placed about; sand
to be used in case the decks became too slippery from the blood. Down
in the cockpit the doctor had laid out his knives and saws on the
table. In five minutes the _Constitution_ had been prepared for
action. And all this had been accomplished without a sound, without a
shouted order or the shrilling of a pipe!
Captain Hull inspected ship. Silent, deep-breathing men watched him as
he passed along. At every division he stopped and said a few words.
"Lads, we are not going to give this man up upon demand. Remember the
_Chesapeake_. We are going to defend ourselves if necessary, and
be ready for it." He made the same speech in about the same words at
least half a dozen times. Then he went into his cabin and donned his
best new uniform, with a shining pair of bullion epaulets. This done,
he gave a touch to his shirt frills before the glass and went on deck.
Signals were flying in the British fleet, and now the forts were
displaying little lines of striped bunting. There was scarce breeze
enough to toss them in the air. The sleepy old town of Portsmouth
looked out upon the harbor. Soon it might be watching a sight that it
never would forget. Perhaps history would be made here in the next few
minutes, and all this time the fugitive lay cowering among the
water-butts in the mid-hold.
A breeze sprang up by noon, and the two nearest vessels of the fleet, a
thirty-eight-gun frigate, and a razee of fifty, slipped their moorings
and came down before it. A hum of excitement ran through the Yankee
ship. There was not sufficient wind to move her through the water; but
the capstan was set agoing, and slowly she moved up to her anchor. As
the smaller English vessel drifted down, it was seen that her men were
at quarters. It was the same with the razee. But without a hail they
dropped their anchors, one on each side of the _Constitution's_ bows,
at about the distance of a cable's length. There they waited, in grim
silence. The men made faces at one another, and grimaced and gestured
through the open ports. The officers, gathered in groups aft, paid no
attention to their neighbors.
There followed more signalling. A twelve-oared barge left the flagship
for the admiralty pier. From the direction of the town came the sounds
of a bugle and the steady thrumming of drums. A long red line trailed
by one of the street corners. Already crowds began to gather on the
housetops and the water-front. Some clouds formed in the west that
looked as if a breeze might be forthcoming. Hull watched the sky
anxiously.
The midday meal was served with the men still at their posts. There was
no movement made on either side. Toward evening the wind came. No
sooner had it ruffled the surface of the water than the _Constitution_,
whose cable had been up and down all the day, lifted her anchor from
the bottom, and with her main topsail against the mast, she backed away
from her close proximity to her neighbors. Then, turning on her heel,
she pointed her bow for the harbor mouth. It was necessary for her to
sail past every vessel in the fleet. Drums rolled as she approached.
Men could be seen scurrying to and fro, and as she passed by the
flagship, a brand-new seventy-four, her three tiers of guns frowned
evilly down, and a half-port dropped with a clatter. A sigh of relief
went up as the _Constitution_ passed by unchallenged.
There were but three vessels now to pass,--a sloop of war, a large
brig, and a forty-four-gun frigate that lay well to the mouth of
the harbor. The latter, apparently in obedience to signals, was
getting in her anchor and preparing to get under way; but before the
_Constitution_ had reached her the breeze died down, and before
twilight was over it was dead calm. Hull dropped his anchor, and close
beside him, the Englishman dropped his. He was at least two minutes
longer taking in his topsails. It continued calm throughout the early
watches of the night. At three o'clock in the morning there was a sound
of many oars. The officers were on the alert. "They are coming down to
attack us in small boats," suggested one of the junior lieutenants. But
soon it was perceived that such was not the intention, for in the dim
light the big brig could be seen approaching, towed by a dozen boat's
crews working at the oars. There was no reason for longer maintaining
any secrecy, and Hull called his crew to quarters in the usual fashion.
The sounds might have been heard on shore; but the brig, when she had
once reached a berth on the American's quarter, dropped her anchor
quietly.
With the gray of morning came a new wind from the westward, and with it
the _Constitution_ slipped out of port, the two vessels that had
menaced her all night long not making a movement to prevent her going.
Once well out in the channel, the feeling of suspense was succeeded by
one of relief and joy. The fugitive, soaked with bilge water, shivering
and hungry, emerged from his hiding-place as he felt the movement of
the vessel's sailing.
"How is that man McGovern doing?" asked Captain Hull of Lieutenant
Morris, who was dining with him in the cabin. "He ought to be of some
use after the trouble and worry he has caused us."
"I'm sorry to say he isn't," responded Morris, shrugging his shoulders.
"He isn't worth powder. Why, even the forecastle boys cuff him about
and bully him! He not only lacks spirit, but he is one of those men, I
think, who are somehow born cowards. But he has been a sailor at some
time or other, I take it, although he told me that he was only cook's
helper in the galley on board the _Poictiers_. That's his billet now on
board of us, by the way."
It was true: McGovern not only bore the name of a coward, but he looked
it, every inch of him. His shifty eyes would lift up for an instant,
and then slide away. His elbow was always raised as if to ward off a
blow. He acted as if he expected to have things thrown at him. He
invited ill treatment by his every look, and he received many blows,
and many things were thrown at him. And the unthinking made fun of all
this, and used him for their dirty work, and he did not resent it. He
took orders from the powder-monkeys, and cringed to the steerage
steward. As to the officers and midshipmen, he trembled when they
approached him, and after they had passed he would spring forward and
hide somewhere, panting, as if he had escaped some danger. The sight of
the boatswain deprived him of the power of speech. He acted like a cur
that had been whipped, and in fact he lived a dog's life. And yet for
this man, those who despised him would have gone to the bottom. Aye,
and cheerfully, for behind him lay the question soon to be cause enough
for the shedding of much blood.
When the _Constitution_ reached New York, McGovern disappeared.
* * * * *
It was early in the month of June, 1812. There was evidence of a
feeling of great uneasiness that prevailed throughout the length and
breadth of the country. In the coffee-houses and taverns, at the
corners of the streets, in the gatherings in drawing-room or kitchen,
there was but one subject talked about--the approaching war with
England. It was inevitable, naught could prevent it, was the opinion of
some; while others, more cautious, saw nothing in the approaching
strife but the dimming of the American star of commerce which had
arisen, and death to progress in arts and manufactures. Their flag
would be swept from off the sea; the little navy of a handful of ships
would have to be dragged up into the shallows, and there dismantled and
perhaps never be set afloat again. Little did they know of the glorious
epoch awaiting. The makers of it were the sailormen in whose cause the
country was soon to rise.
Jack Lange was hurrying along Front Street; he had been transferred
from the _Constitution_ to the _Wasp_. It was but a moment before that
he had landed. He had the tall water-roll in his gait. He was very
jaunty in appearance, with his clean, white breeches very much belled
at the bottom, his short blue jacket and glazed cap, and from the smile
on his face one could see that he was very well pleased with himself.
The half-fathom of ribbon that hung over his left ear would
occasionally trail out behind like a homing pennant. He was bound for
Brownjohn's wharf, where he knew he might fall in with some of his old
messmates and gather up the news. As he luffed sharp about a corner he
passed some one hurrying in the opposite direction. It was a man of
about thirty years of age. His arms were held stiff at his side, and
his face was twitching nervously. His eyes were rolling in excitement.
Jack Lange turned, and lifting one hand to the side of his mouth, he
shouted: "Ship ahoy, there!" The other man whirled quickly, and the two
stood looking at one another for an instant before either spoke. Then
the big sailor advanced.
"What's the hurry, messmate?" he said. "This is McGovern, isn't it?
Don't you remember me?"
"Sure I remember you," returned the other in a voice with a touch of a
rich brogue. "Have you heard the news?" he added suddenly, his hand
trembling as he touched Lange on the arm.
"What is it--about war?" asked Jack, eagerly.
"Aye, the war, d'ye mind that? There'll be great doings before long!"
"I suppose they'll lay the navy up in ordinary, and we poor fellows
will join the sorefoots with a musket over our shoulders."
"Not a bit of it; they're going to outfit and sail to meet 'em,"
responded McGovern. "I'm off to tell my folks."
The news was all about the town. People were running hither and
thither, clapping on their hats, women called to one another from the
windows of the houses, crowds commenced to gather. Suddenly Jack
hesitated. Surely it was a cheer, a rousing, sailors' cheer, off to the
left down the alley! He listened again, and giving a hitch to his
breeches, he started in a lumbering, clumsy gait, swinging his cap
about his head. "Hurray!" he bellowed at top lung as he saw in a crowd
gathered before one of the little taverns the uniforms of some of the
_Constitution's_ men, and recognized also Bill Roberts, and his old
messmate Grattan.
When the _Wasp_ sailed again, she carried between her decks as fine a
crew as ever hauled a rope or manned a yard. Some of the men who had
served on board the _Constitution_ now swung their hammocks in the
crowded forecastle of the little sloop.
Grattan and Roberts were in the same watch, the port, which was in
charge of young Lieutenant James Biddle. Jack Lange was in the other
watch, and with him were two of the _Constitution's_ men,--the little,
black-eyed gunner, and a heavy, thickset man, who at first glance
appeared to be too fat and clumsy ever to be a topman; yet he was, and
one of the best.
Lange was stowing away his hammock but a few hours after the _Wasp_ had
gotten under way, when the short, thickset man approached him.
"D'ye see who is on board with us?" he asked. He pointed forward.
There, sitting with his back against the bulwarks was the Coward, his
eyes staring straight before him, and his fingers and toes--for he was
bare-footed--working nervously. Soon there came an order to shorten
sail. There was a scramble to the shrouds, and among the first to reach
them was McGovern. Close beside him was the fat topman.
"Out of the way, you swab!" he cursed, striking out with his elbow.
"This is man's work," he added. "Out of the way, can't you!"
The hot blood rushed to McGovern's face. He hesitated. At that moment
some one pushed him from behind, and before he knew it he had been
hustled off the bulwarks to the deck. Without a glance behind him he
slunk down the hatchway. And so he went back to rinsing the dishes in
the galley.
Inside of three months the _Wasp_ was back in port again. Once more
McGovern disappeared. No one missed him, and no one thought about it.
On the 13th of October Captain Jacob Jones set sail again in his trim
vessel, but just before the _Wasp_ had left her moorings a boat rowed
with quick, nervous strokes put out from shore. The man at the oars was
doing his best to catch the sloop of war before she should gain
headway. In the stern sheets sat an old woman. Now and then she would
encourage the man pulling at the oars. There was a short, choppy sea,
and both figures in the little boat were soaked with spray.
Suddenly the topsails filled, the headsails blew out with a vicious
snap, and just as the sloop lurched forward, the little boat was
abreast the forechains. The man dropped the oars, and, springing
outboard, managed to catch the lower shroud; with agility he hauled
himself up arm's length and sprawled over the bulwarks, down on deck.
It was McGovern, and his strange coming on board had been observed by
many. He arose quickly and gaining the shrouds once more, he waved his
hand. "Good-by, mither!" he cried, and then he turned back to greet a
burst of laughter. But all hands were too busy with the getting under
way to pay much attention to him, and he disappeared below.
The next morning it blew a heavy gale, and for four days the wind
lasted, and even after the danger had passed the day broke with a heavy
swell on the sea and the weather yet boisterous. The _Wasp's_ previous
cruise had been uneventful. She had failed to fall in with the enemy,
and now this continued stress of weather made the sailors, ever prone
to find reasons in their superstitions, to think that they must have
aboard with them a Jonah; some one who brought ill luck, and why they
should have settled upon poor McGovern it would be hard to tell.
Perhaps he was ignorant of the reason for the new meaning of the looks
of dislike and suspicion that were cast at him, or perhaps he failed to
notice them. At any rate he made no comment.
Surely it was not his fault if the second day out, during the height of
the storm, the jibboom had carried away, and two of the starboard watch
went with it and were lost.
There was a great deal of excitement attending this particular
daybreak, the morning of the 18th, for the night before, after the
clouds had cleared away and the stars had shone brightly forth, several
large sails had been reported to the eastward. Captain Jones had laid
his course to get to windward of them, so as to have the weather-gage
when day came. The vessels had disappeared as the weather had thickened
a little, and now all hands had gathered on deck, and the sloop was
romping along through the slight drizzle, almost dipping her yard arms
at times in the heavy seas that raced past.
"There they are.--Sails off the lee bow, two points away!" shouted a
lookout from the forecastle. It had cleared a trifle, and there they
were, sure enough, seven vessels, and nearer to, was a trim man-of-war
brig. She was edging up slowly, taking in sail as she did so, and the
_Wasp_ swung off to meet her.
"English, begad!" exclaimed Captain Jones. "Have the drummer beat to
quarters, Mr. Biddle, as soon as you get down the topgallant yard and
shorten sail."
"Very good, sir.--Hello, she shows the Spanish flag."
"Never mind that; she's English, I'll bet a thousand."
Biddle bawled out the orders, and the usual helter-skelter rush, from
which emerges such careful work and such wonderful precision, followed.
But the first man to gain the weather shrouds this time was McGovern.
Since the news that the enemy had been sighted had been passed below,
he had been very much in evidence. Instead of his greasy scullion's
rags, he wore a clean suit of canvas. His white shirt was trimmed with
blue silk, and his long hair, that usually straggled down his cheeks,
was twisted into a neat queue down his back. He paid no attention to
the questions addressed to him, took no heed of the merriment (for men
will jest on strange occasions); but kept his eyes shifting from the
group of officers on the quarter-deck, to the oncoming vessel that was
plunging heavily in the great seas. When he had seen the Spanish flag,
his face had fallen; but Bill Roberts was standing close beside him.
"Never mind that, my lads!" he roared to those about him. "No one but a
John Bull or a Yankee would bring his ship along like that; take my
word for it, my hearties!" and then had come the order to shorten sail.
McGovern was across the deck like a shot, at least three feet in
advance of the next man, who, as luck would have it, was the short, fat
topman before referred to. Whatever he may have thought was McGovern's
proper sphere and natural instincts, it required but a glance to show
that he knew what he was about as he started clearing away the parel
lashings and then unreeving the running-gear. It requires but two men
at the masthead to make fast the downhauls and look out for the lifts,
and on this occasion there were two pairs of skilful hands at work. The
older seamen looked into McGovern's face wonderingly; but the latter
was going silently about his work, occasionally looking out across the
rolling white of the sea at the little brig that would soon be within
gunshot. He could plainly make out the red coats of the marines grouped
along the rail. "Sway away!" and the topgallant yards came safely down
to the deck. The men were at quarters now, and the matches were
lighted.
"Well done, McGovern!" exclaimed the fat sailor, with a shamefaced
smile. "Well done, McGovern!" called one of the midshipmen, grasping
him by the arm. "Here, take No. 2 at this twelve-pounder. Do you know
the orders, lad?"
"Yes, sir, yes," answered the Coward, excitedly. "I was captain of a
gun once, o' truth I was."
But a pistol shot's distance now separated the two vessels. Captain
Jones hailed through his trumpet. Down came the Spanish flag, and there
was the red cross of England! The brig let go a broadside; but just
before she did so, the sound of a cheer had come down on the wind.
There is no time to describe the details of the action. But few of the
_Wasp's_ crew had been in actual combat before. Soon there were deep
red spots on the deck; there were groans and curses, and much sulphur
smoke. Occasionally the muzzles of the guns would dip deep into the
water as the _Wasp_ hove down into the hollow of the surge. A sharp
crack aloft, and down came the main topmast, and with it fell the
topsail yard. It tangled in the braces, and rendered the headsails
useless. The Englishman was playing havoc with the rigging, braces,
and running-gear of the _Wasp_. Grape and round shot were mangling
everything aloft.
There had been a few men in the foretop when the action had commenced.
One of them was Roberts. Suddenly glancing up from his gun, McGovern
saw a sight that made him start and cry out, pointing. There was Bill
trying weakly to haul himself over the edge of the top. Blood was
running from a wound in his forehead, and his left arm hung useless;
his leg was hurt also. But he was still alive and dimly conscious. At a
sudden lurch of the vessel, he almost pitched forward down to the deck.
Then as McGovern watched him, he appeared to give up hope, and,
twisting his hand into the bight of a rope, he lay there without
moving. But no man could live there long! Splinters were flying from
the masts; blocks were swinging free and dashing to and fro; new holes
were being torn every second in the roaring, flapping sails. It may
have been that no one else had time to think about it; but McGovern did
not hesitate. He threw down the sponge and jumped into the slackened
shrouds.
[Illustration: "Carefully he lowered away."]
"Come out of that, you fool!" somebody shouted at him from below; but
he did not pause. A round shot whizzed by his elbow. A musket-ball
carried away a ratline above his head, just as he reached forward. He
felt as if a hot flame had licked across his shoulder, and in an
instant more his white shirt was white no longer, and was clinging to
his back. But it was nothing but a graze, and, undaunted, he kept on
ascending. He hauled himself into the top. There lay a dead marine,
shot through the temple. Now he bent over the prostrate sailor. Yes, he
was alive! Roberts was breathing faintly. Despite the interest and
excitement of the action men were watching him from below. But he must
work fast if he was to save a life--a bullet at any time might complete
the work already begun. He tried to lift the heavy figure on to his
shoulders, but found he could not. But good fortune! One of the
halliards had been shot away aloft, and hung dangling across the yard.
McGovern saw the opportunity. Passing the bitter end of it around
Roberts' body, close underneath the arms, he made it fast. Then passing
the rest of it through the shrouds he gave first a heave that swung the
prostrate figure clear of the blood-stained top, and then carefully he
lowered away until at last the body reached the deck.
Somehow the musket-balls had stopped their humming through the upper
rigging, and even the firing of the _Wasp_ had slackened, as McGovern,
reaching for one of the stays, rode down it safely and reached the
deck. And now occurred a thing that has been unchronicled, and yet has
had its parallel in many instances of history. A cheer arose, a strong,
manly cheer,--it came from across the water; it preceded by an instant
the roaring of the hoarse voices close about him. But McGovern's ear
had caught it.
"Hark!" he cried, pushing his way forward to reach his station. "Hark,
they're cheerin'! They must have thought we've struck. We'll show 'em!"
He picked up his sponge again.
Now the firing became incessant. Steadily as the blows of a hammer were
delivered the telling shots from the _Wasp's_ port divisions. The
flames of powder scorched the enemy's bows. All at once there came a
crash. The jibboom of the Englishman swept across the deck, tearing
away the shrouds and braces, and then with a heave and a lurch the
vessels came together, grinding and crunching with a sound of
splintering and tearing of timbers as they rolled in the heavy sea.
There was not a man on board the _Wasp_ that did not expect to see
the English sailors come swarming over the bow of their vessel, and
drop down to fight in the old-fashioned way, hand to hand and eye to
eye. But there must have been some delay. For an instant there was a
silence except for the ripping of the Englishman's bow against the
_Wasp's_ quarter. But the red-crossed flag was still flying.
Captain Jones saw his opportunity. The enemy lay in so fair a position
to be raked that some of the _Wasp's_ guns extended through her bow
ports. The men, who, without waiting for orders had caught up cutlasses
and boarding-pikes, were ordered back to their stations, and at such
close quarters the broadside that followed shattered the enemy's
topsides as might an explosion on her 'tween decks. Two guns of the
after division, loaded with round and grape, swept her full length.
But some of the more impetuous of the crew had not heard, or perhaps
had not heeded the order to return to their stations. Jack Lange had
made a great leap of it, and had caught the edge of the Englishman's
netting. As an acrobat twists himself to circle his trapeze, he swung
himself by sheer strength on to the bowsprit, and gaining his feet, he
stood there an instant, then he jumped over the bulwarks on to the
enemy's deck and disappeared. The handful of men who had sought to
follow his leadership had all failed their object, for a slant of the
wind had hove the two vessels so far apart that they were almost clear
of the tangle of shrouds and top-hamper that had made them fast. But
one man had made a spring of it and had caught the bight of one of the
downhauls that was hanging free. Hand over hand he hauled himself up to
the nettings, and after considerable difficulty--for he was all but
exhausted--he succeeded in getting his body half-way across the
bulwarks, and then with a lurch he disappeared. During all this, not a
shot had been fired. Every one had watched with anxiety the strange
boarding party of two. What would be the outcome of it? Suddenly, as
the sails that had been tearing and flapping, filled, and the noise
subsided, a strange sound came down from the direction of the other
vessel. It was like a great chorused groan--the mingling of many voices
in a note of agony! Then with a crash they met again, the English ship
fouling hard and fast in the _Wasp's_ mizzen rigging. Lieutenant
Biddle, followed by a score of armed boarders, jumped upon the bulwarks
and endeavored to reach the other vessel and be the first on board. In
this he would have succeeded had not little Midshipman Baker caught his
officers coat-tails and endeavored to emulate his eagerness. But at
last the Lieutenant and his followers gained the deck, there to be
witness of a wonderful sight.
There was a wounded man limply leaning against the wheel. Three
officers were huddled near the taffrail--but one was able to stand upon
his feet; the other two were badly wounded. Jack Lange and McGovern the
Coward had possession of the ship. But somehow, overcome by the sight,
they had not left the forecastle, and it was Lieutenant Biddle's own
hand that lowered away the flag.
His Majesty's sloop of war _Frolic_ was a prize. Frightful had been the
carnage! But twenty of the English crew were fit for duty. She was a
charnel ship. The _Wasp_ had lost but five men killed, and but five men
wounded. Among the latter was Bill Roberts. Although he was shot three
times, the surgeon declared that he would live.
To and fro the boats plied busily. The _Frolic's_ masts fell shortly
after she had been boarded, and now every effort was made to repair
damages and take care of the many wounded and the dying.
Every one talked about McGovern, he who had been the Coward; he who
had cringed to the loblolly boys, and who had taken orders from the
ward-room steward; who had washed dishes and dodged blows; _he_ was the
hero of the day. And how did he take all this new glory, the admiring
glances and the remarks of his messmates? Not as a vainglorious seeker
of reputation, not as a careless daredevil who had risked recklessly
his life for the mere excitement; but as a cool-headed, brave-hearted
man, who while there was yet work to do found no time to think of what
had been done. He was reincarnate, as if during the fire and smoke,
when the hand of death was everywhere, the spirit to do, and dare, had
been born within him. Forgotten had been the red scars of the
disgracing cat that seared his back. Here was his chance to show what
was in him; to even up matters with the power that had almost crushed
his soul. Every shot from the _Wasp's_ side made his heart beat with
joy. The born fighter had been awakened. He craved for more, and
animated by this feeling he went about his work with a half-delirious
strength that made him accomplish the task of two men. All eyes were on
him. His officers had marked him.
"Sail ho!" called down one of the men who was clearing away the
wreckage aloft. "Sail ho! off the starboard bow."
Driven by the strong breeze that had blown throughout the morning a
great sail was bearing down, looming larger and larger every minute.
The _Wasp_ cleared for action. The _Frolic_, aided by the little jury
masts that had been hastily rigged, was ordered to bear away to the
southward before the wind. The _Wasp_, wounded and bedraggled as she
was, bore up to meet the oncomer.
Slowly the great shape rose out of the water, sail by sail. A tier of
guns! another! and a third!--a seventy-four! With two ridges of white
foam playing out from her broad bow, she bowled along and passed so
close that her great yard arms almost overshadowed the little wounded
sloop. There came the sound of a single gun, and at this imperious
order the _Wasp's_ flag fluttered to the deck. It had not needed this
sight of the red cross curling and uncurling across the white expanse
of new sail to mark her as one of the great guard ships of old England.
English she was from truck to keelson, and long before she fired that
disdainful shot the gunners of the _Wasp_ had put out their smoking
matches.
And McGovern had watched her come with an ever-changing expression in
his eyes. His face, flushed with excitement and victory, had paled.
Once he had started as if to run below and hide. There was something
familiar in those towering masts and that gleaming white figurehead,
and as she sailed on to retake the little _Frolic_, McGovern was
compelled to hold fast to the bitts to prevent himself from falling.
The ports were crowded with jeering faces. The quarter-deck rail was
lined with laughing officers, in cocked hats and white knee-breeches.
Under her stern gallery he read the word _Poictiers_! From that he
glanced up at the main yard arm. Men had swung there at the end of a
rope--yes, he had once seen a convulsive, struggling figure black
against the sky. Men would swing there again! The maxim that 'a
deserter has no defence' recurred to him. He glanced about. Close by
was a chain-shot, two nine-pound solid shot connected by a foot of
heavy links. Like one afraid of being seen, he skulked across the deck
as he had skulked in the days before. He reached the side where part of
the bulwarks had been torn away, and crouching there he passed the end
of his heavy belt through a link of the chain, and without a sound
lurched forward, all huddled up, and struck sideways in the water.
THE SCAPEGOAT
It was a famous dinner party that Captain William Bainbridge, Commander
of the Charlestown Navy Yard, gave on the night of the 31st of May,
1813. In those days gentlemen sat long at a table; they knew good wines
when they tasted them, and if they drank a great deal at a sitting,
they sipped slowly.
The cloth had been removed, and upon the shining mahogany rested two
or three cut-glass decanters filled with the best Madeira. Captain
Bainbridge sat at the head of the table, in a high-backed oaken chair;
he was dressed in a blue uniform coat, with the gold-braided lapels
thrown back over his wide chest. In his snow-white shirt frill there
nestled a sparkling jewel given to him by the Sultan of Turkey, upon
the occasion when Bainbridge had brought the old frigate _George
Washington_ into the harbor of Constantinople and there for the first
time displayed the flag of the United States.
The candles had burned low in the candelabra, a silence had fallen upon
the company; it was evident that something had interrupted the easy
flow of wit and conversation. Captain James Lawrence, the guest of the
evening, was in full uniform, with epaulets and great gold buttons as
big as half-dollars. He sat opposite Captain Bainbridge, with both
elbows on the table, cracking walnuts and eating them as if to stave
off hunger; his face was flushed, and a frown was on his brow. A young
man of not more than twenty, with a gleaming mass of gold braid on his
left shoulder, the mark of the lieutenant, had the next seat to him; he
was nervously drumming on the table with his finger-nails. Occasionally
he would glance from Lawrence to Bainbridge, and then at the two other
officers who were sitting there in constrained silence.
Well did they all know how easy it was for the word to be spoken that
would fire the smouldering mine, and change what had been a jovial
gathering to the prologue of a tragedy. Men had to be careful how they
spoke in those days. There could never be any brawling or careless
flying of words; courtesy and gallantry limited their power of personal
offence; but epithets or implications once given expression could not
easily be withdrawn. Men who had been friends and who had fought for
the same cause would, with the stilted hat-tipping and snuff-offering
fashion of the time, meet one another in the gray of morning under
God's sky and do one another to the death.
At last Lawrence spoke.
"Are you not judging me harshly in this matter, sir?" he said. "You say
you doubt my caution." His gaze shifted from the brilliant jewel in
Bainbridge's breast to the frank, manly face above.
"Your caution; yes, Captain," was the return; "your courage, my dear
sir, never."
Lawrence cracked another walnut with a loud report. "Surely in my
little affair with the _Peacock_ you have granted that I used judgment;
and in regard to the distribution of prize money, which has not seemed
to suit our mutual views----"
Bainbridge interrupted him. "That is a question apart from our present
discussion, sir," he said. "I pray that you will postpone it. But I can
only say for the benefit of all concerned that I do not doubt an easy
adjustment. For what you decide must perforce be agreeable to me."
"You are my senior----"
"And for that reason I have taken the opportunity, as you have brought
up the subject, to express my opinions. I cannot order you; it is
outside my province or my wish. Before the company you have brought up
this matter, and for that reason I have discussed it. Every one must
agree that the Department authorities at Washington have treated you
most unhandsomely. Had you been given the command of the _Constitution_,
as was first intended and promised you, and were she in a condition
to put to sea, I should say nothing but what would encourage you to
exercise despatch."
"Ah, if I but had the _Constitution_ and her crew," put in Lawrence,
with a sigh; "if I but had them." Suddenly he brought his strong,
clenched fist down upon the table with a crash: "Then this English
captain would not be flaunting his flag at the harbor mouth, daring me
to come on and fight him; shaming us all here where we lie at anchor!
The _Chesapeake_ is ready!"
"Ah, but she is the _Chesapeake_," interrupted Bainbridge.
"True enough; but why not give me the chance to wipe the stain from off
her name?" He suddenly arose, and leaning across the table spoke
quickly and vehemently. "Order two hundred of the _Constitution's_ men
on board of her, and I will sail out and give battle to-morrow! I doubt
not, nor do I fear the consequences. I ask this of you as a proof of
friendship."
In his excitement, Lawrence upset one of the tall wine-glasses. It
tinkled musically, and, reaching forward, he filled it to the brim, and
Bainbridge waited until this had been done.
"I cannot grant your request, Captain Lawrence," he said quietly at
last. "Your ship is in no condition to go out and fight at the moment.
She has a green crew. Her running-gear has not been tested."
"Then let me go into the yard and call for volunteers!" Lawrence
interrupted hotly.
"I cannot prevent you taking men who are not busily employed; but I
shall not order men from work. 'Twould be sanctioning your action."
The mine was on the point of being fired; the fatal word was trembling
on Lawrence's lips. The boy lieutenant half rose from his chair; but
Lawrence controlled himself with an effort. He may have realized how
senseless it would have been to impute to William Bainbridge lack of
courage. He may have thought of the wicked consequence of such a
speech. But he was obstinate. His nature was not one to be thwarted
easily. Throwing back his shoulders and looking around the table, he
raised the brimming wine-glass to his lips.
"Then, here's to the success of the _Chesapeake_!" he blurted, and
drained it to the bottom. "I shall go out and fight this fellow
to-morrow," he added sullenly. "You gentlemen," turning to the others,
who were all officers of his luckless ship, "shall share with me the
honor." Turning, he walked to the side of the room and picked up his
cloak and heavy bullion-edged cocked hat.
"Sir, to you good evening."
Bainbridge was about to speak; but on second thought he remained silent
and bowed slowly. Without a word Lawrence, followed by three of his
officers, left the room. The young Lieutenant lingered. His face had
flushed when his captain had spoken the word "glory," and yet the calm,
dispassionate judgment of Bainbridge had appealed to him. He was a
beautiful lad, this officer, with long-lashed eyes like those of a
young girl. His light brown hair curled softly over his white forehead.
One would expect nothing but laughter and song from those lips, and it
needed the strong, square-cut jaw to give the note of decision and
character to his face. It redeemed it from being too classical; too
beautifully feminine. He loved James Lawrence, his commander, and truly
a boy's love for a man who excites his admiration is much like a
woman's in its tenderness and devotion. Lawrence had been a father to
him, or better, an elder brother, for the _Chesapeake's_ commander was
but thirty-two years of age.
Young William Cox had been much at Captain Bainbridge's house since the
_Chesapeake_ had dropped her anchor in the Charles River, and the
Commandant had watched with approval the mutual attraction that existed
between the young officer and the beautiful Miss Hyleger, who was the
sister of Bainbridge's wife. He probably knew what was going through
the young man's mind. As he followed after the others Bainbridge
stopped him.
"Good night, James; may God watch over you. You will do your duty; of
that I am well assured."
"Thank you, sir," the lad returned, flushing as he took Bainbridge's
hand in both of his.
When left alone, the Commodore sat there in his great armchair, and on
his face was a great shadow of sorrow.
Lawrence did not go on board his ship that night; but Lieutenant
Ludlow, Mr. White, the sailing-master, and Lieutenants Cox and Ballard
repaired on board at once to make ready for the approaching conflict.
All night long James Lawrence walked alone under the trees in the river
park, and at early dawn, still dressed in his resplendent uniform, with
his silk stockings and white knee-breeches, he made his appearance at
the Navy Yard. Some sixty men responded to his call. But the older
sailors wagged their heads. It was not necessary. Ah, that was it! Had
it been a case of do or die, there was not a man who would not have
thrown down his work and jumped at the chance to fight. But the
_Chesapeake_! she was an unlucky vessel. Sailors avoided her. Her crew
was riffraff in a measure; men not wanted on other ships; many of
foreign birth; Portuguese and Spaniards; a few Danes, and without doubt
some renegade servants of King George.
As the morning mist cleared away from the water, there in the offing
was the English frigate that had been hovering and flaunting her
challenging flag for the past three days.... Boston was all agog with
the news. The whole city had flocked to the water front. Before nine
o'clock the _Chesapeake_ was surrounded by a flotilla of small craft.
Men cheered themselves hoarse. Flags floated from the buildings, and
women waved handkerchiefs from the docks. But yet, some of the wise
ones wagged their heads.
The bulwarks and top sides of the _Chesapeake_ had been freshly
painted, and the paint was not yet dry. As her crew stretched out the
new yellow hempen running-gear, they smudged everything with the
pigment. There was no time to be careful; it was a hurly-burly haste on
every hand. The officers were reading the lists of the men at the guns.
They did not know them by name or sight, and were trying to impress
their faces on their minds at this short notice. There was bawling and
hauling and shouting and confusion. How different from the clockwork
methods on board the _Constitution_! But at last everything was as
ready as it could be. Lawrence, after his sleepless night, pale but
nerved to tension by excitement, came from the cabin. As he looked down
the deck, his spirits must have sunk. Things were not shipshape--at
this very instant he may have regretted that he had formed the decision
to go out and fight. But it was too late to withdraw! He gave the
orders, and, to the tune of Yankee Doodle, they began getting in the
anchor. The pilot was on board, standing beside the helmsman. Lawrence
went back to his cabin and wrote a letter that has only recently been
given to the public. It was addressed to James Cox, the uncle of young
Lieutenant Cox, of his own ship. The whole tone of the missive displays
the despondent attitude of mind under which Lawrence was now laboring.
The postscript that he added, after referring to the possibility of his
untimely end, reads as follows:--
"10 A.M. The frigate is in plain sight from our decks, and we are now
getting under way."
It was the last sentence he ever penned. As soon as he had sealed the
letter he came on deck and delivered it to the pilot, who left the ship
within half an hour.
Now came the ordeal. The small boats that had surrounded the vessel
were being left behind as she gained headway. But some of the faster
sailers among them managed to keep pace, and cheer after cheer sounded.
A crew of rowers in a whaleboat kept abreast of the _Chesapeake's_
bows, shouting words of encouragement to the crew. But the men did not
appear eager. The officers could not help but notice it, and the
impression must have been most heart breaking.
"Muster the crew," Lawrence ordered at last, turning to young Ludlow;
"I will say a few words to them." The men gathered in the waist,
whispering and talking among themselves.
"James," said Lawrence, to Lieutenant Cox, before he began to make the
customary address that a ship's captain in those days made before going
into action,--"James, I know that I can trust you--you will do your
duty." The young man at his side touched his cap. "You will find me
here, sir," he replied, "unless my duty is elsewhere." Lawrence stepped
a few feet forward.
"Men of the _Chesapeake_," said he, "it is our good fortune to be able
to answer the call that our country has made upon our honor. We will
answer it with our lives if necessary. Do your duty; fight well and
nobly. Your country's eyes are on you, and in her heart she thanks you
in advance. Yonder British frigate must return under our lee. Let no
shots be wasted. To your stations."
There was some low grumbling off to one side of the deck. A
black-visaged, shifty-eyed fellow came pushing to the front. A double
allowance of grog had been already served; but many of the men had been
imbibing freely, owing to the proximity of the shore and the ease with
which liquor could be obtained. The man strode out before the crowd and
stopped within a few paces of the Captain. He spoke in broken English.
Lawrence listened in anger and almost in despair. The man complained in
insolent tones that he and his messmates had not been paid some prize
money due them now a long time. Lawrence's hand sought the hilt of his
sword. He would have run the fellow through as he well deserved, did he
not see that among the crew he numbered many followers. Their surly
looks and gestures proved their evil temper. _The man declared that
unless he and thirty of the others were paid at once they would decline
to fight._
Here was mutiny at the outset! A fine state of affairs to exist on
board a vessel going to fight a battle.... There was nothing for it but
to acquiesce. He could not treat the cur as he deserved.
"Take these men to the cabin and pay them what they say is due them,"
said Lawrence, bitterly. There was not money enough on board the ship,
and he was forced to go to the cabin himself, and sign due bills for
the amount. And all this time the enemy was in the offing prepared and
eager.
The English frigate hauled her wind and put out to sea as she saw the
_Chesapeake_ approach. Her flag was flying, and now Lawrence unfurled
his. At the main and mizzen and at the peak he flew the Stars and
Stripes, while at the fore he displayed the motto flag: "Free trade and
sailors' rights." On the two vessels sailed over the bright, sunlit
sea. The day was almost without a cloud. One or two small sailing
vessels still followed in the _Chesapeake's_ wake. At four P.M. she
fired a challenging gun.
There were no seamen of the good old school that could not if they
had seen the English ship but admire her. With calm precision the
_Shannon_--for it was well known who she was--braced back her
maintopsails and hove to. In silence the two manoeuvred. At every point
the English vessel had the better of it. Which would fire first? There
was one moment when the _Chesapeake_ had the advantage. Owing to her
clumsiness more than to her agility, she came about within pistol-shot
distance under the enemy's stern. But her commander held his fire. A
minute more and they were on even terms, sailing in dead silence beside
one another, nearing all the time--who would have thought that they
were craving each other's blood? The orders on board one ship could be
heard on board the other. The word "Ready" was passed at the same
moment; but the discharge of the Englishman's broadside preceded that
of the _Chesapeake_ by a perceptible moment. How well those guns must
have been trained! Every one was double shotted and heavily charged.
The _Chesapeake_ quivered from the shock. In that second, in the time
it takes a man to catch his breath, the whole aspect of affairs had
changed. Mr. White, the sailing-master, was immediately killed; Mr.
Ballard, the Fourth Lieutenant, was mortally wounded. Ten sailors fell
dead to the decks. Twenty-three were badly hurt. The bulwarks were
crushed in, and the cabin was torn to pieces.
"Steady!" roared Lawrence. "Steady, boys, have at them!"
There was a marine with a musket in one of the Englishman's tops. He
was aiming at the resplendent figure in gold epaulets, carefully as one
aims at a target, and at last he pulled the trigger. Lawrence fell down
on one knee; but leaning against the companionway, he pulled himself
erect again. Not an expression or exclamation came from him; but his
white knee breeches were streaked and stained with red. Nearer yet the
two ships drifted. Their crashing broadsides scorched each other. The
Englishmen cheered, and the Yankees answered them--the volunteers from
the Charlestown yard were giving a good account of themselves. But
several times the _Chesapeake_ yawed and fell off her course as if she
had lost her head, like a man dizzy from a blow that deadens the brain.
And good reason why: three men in succession were shot away from her
wheel. The expert riflemen placed in the _Shannon's_ mizzentop were
doing their work well. A puff of wind took the American all aback, she
fell off and swung about. Her anchor caught in the _Shannon's_ after
port. And now not a gun could be brought to bear! Whole gun's crews
left their places and plunged down the companionway to the deck below.
But the _Shannon_ was taking advantage of her opportunity. Charges of
grape and canister raked and swept the decks.
Lawrence looked in despair at the frightful havoc. He knew what now
would happen. Every minute he expected to see the English boarders come
tumbling on board. Lieutenant Cox had been sent below to take charge of
the second division. Lawrence looked for an officer. The only one in
sight was Lieutenant Ludlow. Had it not been for his uniform no one
would have known him. He was blood and wounds from head to foot. He
could not stand erect, and was dragging himself about the deck, one
useless leg trailing behind him.
"The bugler! call the bugler!" thundered Lawrence. "To repel boarders
on the spar-deck! Where is the after-guard?"
Ludlow fell, better than clambered, down the main-hatch. "Pass the word
for the bugler!" he cried. "Boarders away!" But the bugler could not be
found. And good reason why. He was down in the deep hold hiding amid
the stores. Young Lieutenant Cox heard the order. "Boarders away!" he
shouted. As he started to rally his men and rush up from below, he was
met by the crowd fleeing from the terrible slaughter that was taking
place above. But at last he managed to work his way up the companion
ladder. He too was wounded and bleeding--a splinter had gashed him in
the neck and another in the shoulder. What a sight he saw! Lawrence,
his beloved friend, his idol, weakly holding fast to one of the
belaying-pins, still repeating his fruitless cry for the men to rally
on the deck. As Cox leaped toward him a second bullet from the
mizzentop struck the captain in the abdomen--Cox caught him as he fell.
Lawrence grasped his hand.
"Don't give up the ship!" he cried weakly. "Don't give up the ship!" He
placed one arm about the boy's shoulder. He was so young; he loved his
leader so much. He was faint from loss of blood. It was his first
action. Never before had he seen dying men, or listened to the groans
and shrieks of the wounded. Who would expect him to break away from
that last fond grasp that had not relaxed? He did not know that he was
now commander! Almost carrying his wounded leader, he staggered down
the ladder to where the surgeon and his mates were busy at their
direful work. He did not see, just as he left the deck, the English
boarders headed by their own Captain, the brave and gallant Broke,
spring over the railing. He did not know that he and the wounded Ludlow
were the only officers now left to handle ship.... As the surgeon
hastened to Lawrence's side, Cox knelt down upon one knee. He could not
control the tears of sorrow and bitterness. The whole scene of the
previous night flashed through his mind. Lawrence, his beloved, eager
for glory, now shattered with the hand of death upon him. The Captain
released the boy's hand.
"You are a brave lad, James," he said. "But stay here no longer, though
I would have you with me."
[Illustration: "'Stay here no longer--though I would have you with
me.'"]
There was more rushing and shouting from the decks above. Cox hastened
up as fast as his weakened limbs would carry him. It was hand to hand
now; cutlasses plying, men stabbing on the decks, growling and
grovelling in their blood like fighting dogs. There was a party making
an onslaught toward the bows. Cox drew his sword and joined them. The
first thing he knew, they were slashing at him with their heavy blades.
They were Englishmen! He did not know his own crew by sight. The firing
had stopped; the summer breeze was blowing the smoke away. But what a
sight and what a sound! The battered, reddened hulls, and the groans
that rose in chorus! Of the further details there is little to relate.
Poor Ludlow was killed at last by a cutlass in the hands of a British
sailor; for after the flag had been hauled down, a second action had
been started by a hot-headed boy firing at a British sentry placed at
the gangway. The English, by mistake, had hoisted the captured flag
uppermost, but it was soon discovered and hauled down again--the fight
was over. The _Chesapeake_ has been reckoned one of England's dearest
prizes.
The sorrowful news of her defeat was carried quickly into Boston. The
wise ones wagged their heads again. At the house of the Commandant of
the navy yard at Charlestown, Bainbridge paced the room alone, deep
lines of grief marking his rugged face, and on the floor above, a young
girl lay insensible, for the word as first brought was that with the
other officers James Cox had had his death. Captain Broke, the
Englishman, had fought a gallant, manly fight, all honor to him! He was
badly wounded, and, like poor Lawrence, it was thought that he would
die. The latter, when he had heard the firing cease, had said to the
surgeon:--
"Run to the deck. Tell them not to strike the colors! While I live they
shall wave!" Brave Lawrence! They were the last words he ever spoke.
Although he lingered four long suffering days, not a sound passed his
lips. Broke, on the contrary, was raving in a delirium, and these were
the words he kept repeating--words he must have spoken before the
action had begun:--
"See the brave fellow! How grandly he brings his ship along! How
gallantly he comes to action!"
Ah, how Halifax rejoiced when the _Shannon_ sailed in there with a
Yankee frigate under her lee. How the guns boomed, and how the city
went mad with joy! And how England rejoiced, and the "Thunderer"
thundered and the king clapped his hands! And how much they made of it!
How proudly they preserved every relic of the captured ship! How they
cherished her figurehead and exhibited her logbook! And they builded
her timbers into an old mill, where they can show them to you to-day,
scarred with cannon shot.
Yes, and how America lamented! Aye, and grew angry in her distress and
cried for vengeance! Many times during the trial which followed in the
investigation of the causes for the vessel's loss and capture, must
have young James Cox wished that he were dead, that it had been he the
British cutlasses and musket-balls had hacked to pieces. The navy had
lost a ship in single combat,--the press and the authorities did not
like that,--some one must suffer. What excuse was there that could hold
good? said they--the great public which clamored for a reason. And so
in the flush of the hot feeling he was sentenced by court martial;
sentenced and disgraced. The charge of cowardice was disproved. From
that he was exonerated--he had been wounded. But why had he not cut
down the men as they left their guns? (one man against fifty,
forsooth!) Why had he left the deck and gone below? Why had he stayed
for one moment's time at the side of his dying friend and leader? And
so he was made the scapegoat, although if he had been six men or ten,
he could not have prevented what had happened. What is the use of
"ifs"? The best ship had won. But when the trial was over, two hearts
were broken. The young officer was execrated by those that did not
know, and yet who talk and write. Could he dare just then to ask a
woman's hand?
The navy pitied him, the scapegoat of the _Chesapeake_. How he
petitioned to be given a chance to win back his fair name, and how
often it was denied him! The members of the court that sentenced him
wrote kindly letters almost without exception. But even the brave
Decatur did not dare to help him--public opinion is more formidable to
face than an armed ship. And so James Cox, maybe in the hope that an
honorable death would visit him, shouldered a musket and fought as a
common soldier in the ranks on land.
And when the war was over, he sought refuge in the new country of the
west, where perhaps they would not know. And there he lived and died;
died an old man, honored and respected by his neighbors. But those that
loved him marvelled at one thing; he never smiled. And even his
grandchildren (for he married late in life) knew not that he had once
been a gay young lieutenant with a shining epaulet on his left
shoulder. They never heard that he had started one fine June day to
find glory and fame; and that death had come near to him but passed him
by, which he had more than once regretted bitterly.
After he had been laid to rest letters and papers were found showing
that to the last he had been trying to have his name placed back upon
the navy lists. But if they were too angry to listen before in their
deep chagrin, they were too busy now; they had other things to think
about. And people who wrote history, aye and taught it in the schools,
did not search dispassionately for what had occurred to view the
facts. They took the feverish verdict of the times and applied
adjectives to his conduct that were out of place; some called it
"pusillanimous"--"cowardly." We can look at things differently now,
and judge them for their worth. There is proof enough to clear his
name, so be it cleared if these few words can help to do it.
THE LOSS OF THE VIXEN
On the 22d of October, 1812, at nine A.M., the United States brig
_Vixen_ crossed St. Mary's bar outward bound for a cruise to the
southward. It was not expected that she would be absent from home
waters for more than a month. Her commander was George W. Reed, a good
officer, although he had had little experience in actual warfare. The
hundred and ten men under his immediate command had trust in his
judgment and were all animated with a hope of coming in again with one
of the enemy under their lee, or at least they trusted that they should
be fortunate enough to make one or two rich captures and return with
prize money to their credit. As one of the _Vixen's_ crew wrote: "All
hands were in high health and spirits, and filled with the idea of soon
returning with some fruit of the consequence of the war."
Day after day the _Vixen_ sailed on and saw one sail after another; but
owing to her having been well to the leeward in every case she had been
unable to bring any to close quarters. On the tenth morning after her
departure a sail was descried, and this time it so happened that the
little brig was well to the windward. Setting every stitch of her
canvas, she made after the stranger. Judging from all reports, the
_Vixen's_ intentions must have been better than her powers of putting
them into practice; for if her legs had been faster, so to speak, the
expectations of her crew might have been answered, and this story
(which is nothing but a record of events, however) would never have had
a chance to be written. So it is safe to draw the conclusion that she
was not as fast as many of our little vessels were at this period of
our naval history.
While chasing the strange sail, another was perceived to be bearing
down from the northwest. This put another face on the matter. The
_Vixen_ hauled her wind and waited. As it was perceived the second
stranger was undoubtedly armed and was a large brig, Reed called his
men together as was the custom and made the following little speech:--
"Now, my lads, there she is; I expect every man to stand to his guns.
Don't fire a gun until you are within pistol shot; take good aim and
show her fair play."
As the vessel came on without raising her flag, she fired a broadside
of round and grape, which, however, served no other purpose than to
churn the water into foam some distance ahead of the _Vixen's_ bow.
The latter returned the compliment, and planted a double-shotted
eighteen-pound charge in her antagonist's hull, above the sternpost.
Again the stranger fired and missed, although at musket-shot distance.
Now, odd to relate, the unknown ran up signals, which, not
understanding, Captain Reed replied to with an assortment of grape. At
this the signals came down and the Spanish colors went up in their
place. Bitter was the disappointment; she was to be no costly prize,
after all. Seeing there was some difficulty on board of her, Captain
Reed lowered a boat, and ascertained that she was a Spanish brig of
fourteen guns from Havana, bound for Cadiz. Finding out that she only
had two or three men slightly wounded, Captain Reed went on his way,
after regretting that the "mistake" had occurred. However, in the log
there was entered on this day that "owing to the good chance for target
practice the morning had not been spent amiss."
For just one month everything seemed to run away from the poor little
_Vixen_. The men were getting discouraged. They would see a convoy,
most probably made up of rich merchantmen, somewhere off to leeward,
and then a fog would shut down, and when it cleared away nothing would
be seen but an expanse of empty horizon. With nothing done, and a sorry
and disappointed crew, she was within two days' sail of St. Mary's, in
the state of Maryland, when as luck would have it the man at the
masthead reported a sail on the starboard beam.
Much better would it have been for the little _Vixen_ if the fog had
closed down or a contrary wind had sprung up, or had she gone about her
business and made for home as soon as possible. It was just daylight in
the morning. Steering-sails were set on both sides as she was headed
out again to meet the stranger, who had evidently not observed her
presence. By six o'clock it was made out that the unknown was a frigate
and no less. This was more than the _Vixen_ had bargained for.
With all her canvas standing as it was, she tacked ship and hauled up
on the wind, which was extremely light. But the frigate proved herself
to be a good one at going; she had set all of her light canvas that she
could, and it was a caution the way she came down upon the little brig.
Although it is only a preliminary to the story, which has another side
than that of the amusing, one cannot read an extract from the _Vixen's_
log without feeling inclined to smile. Therefore to quote: "At ten,
finding the chase gained on us, increasingly, commenced starting water
out of the fore and main holds to lighten the brig. At eleven dead
calm; out sweeps and continued rowing without intermission until
twelve. Slow work; but we had now gained some advantage over the chase.
Then a breeze springing up we quickly lost it. In sweeps, and to
lighten the brig still more, hove every article, in and under the
boats, overboard. Stationed hands by the anchors to cut them away when
ordered. Half past twelve P.M., discharged all the shot from the racks.
At one, cut away both anchors. At two P.M., the chase still gaining,
hove two elegant brass nine-pounders after the anchors. Chase still
gained. Broached all the water in the casks, hove over all our
broadside guns, and everything that seemed to carry weight. Finding
that in despite of our exertions the _Vixen_ would not sail an inch
faster than her old gait, we now had the melancholy satisfaction of
knowing our capture was a certainty. But we were determined to use
every exertion to avoid it. Thus we commenced manoeuvring with the
sails, which kept the men on the jump and had only the effect of
putting off the capture for an hour or two. At three P.M., all her guns
were visible, at half past, coming up, hand over hand, she gave us a
shot which fell short. A few minutes later another was sent which went
between our foremast and mainmast. Answered by running up our colors
and firing a musket to windward. The chase having English colors up,
and as it would have been madness to engage her, we fired another shot
to leeward and hauled our colors down. At four P.M., she ranged
alongside."
And now, strange to say, all those on board the brig were astonished to
see that the frigate had the word "Constellation" painted on her stern.
The crew of the _Vixen_ looked at each other in astonishment. Had there
been another mistake? But there was something unmistakably English
about the cut of her jib, and the red coats of a party of marines who
were scrambling down into a boat which she had lowered plainly showed
her character. Besides this, Captain Reed knew well that the Yankee
_Constellation_ was aground in the mud-flats of the James River, where
she stayed during the war.
The officer, who was soon on board, with his seamen and marines,
informed Captain Reed and his lieutenants that the _Vixen_ was a prize
to His Britannic Majesty's frigate _Southampton_, thirty-six guns, Sir
James Lucas Yeo, commander. At once Captain Reed entered the English
boat and went on board the frigate. As he rode close under the stern he
saw that the word "Constellation" had been painted on a wide strip of
canvas, tacked neatly over the name "Southampton." He did not ask the
reason for this; it was easy to guess. If she happened to put in to one
of the small harbors along the coast, it would conceal successfully her
identity. Probably Sir James did not know that the real _Constellation_
was fast in the mud-flat.
Sir James was a gentleman and a nobleman by action as well as by birth,
and his very first doing proved it. He came forward to meet Captain
Reed and lifted his hat in a courtly salute; Captain Reed presented the
hilt of his sword in token of surrender.
"No, no, sir," spoke up the Captain of the _Southampton_. "I cannot
accept this from you; and I wish to commend you, sir, upon the skill
you displayed in endeavoring to save your vessel. My ship is a very
fast one."
"And mine a very slow one," put in Captain Reed.
"But I am sure you did everything that any one could do to get speed
out of her."
"We hove everything overboard but our top sides and scantlings,"
returned Reed.
The officers standing about smiled, for the _Vixen's_ frantic endeavors
to escape had been watched closely through the glass.
The kindness shown to the brig's commander was extended in every way to
the other officers and to the crew also. As the frigate was very
crowded, but seventy of the _Vixen's men_ were transferred to her. The
other forty were kept as prisoners on board their own vessel. Every man
was allowed to take his dunnage, and the prisoners on board the
_Southampton_ were given the run of the forward and main holds,
although the hatchways were closely guarded by armed sentinels.
Excepting for the confinement, which was absolutely necessary, of
course, and which was in direct accordance with the rules of war, the
prisoners suffered no inconvenience. Twice a day in details of twenty
they were permitted to be on deck to enjoy the fresh air. The
_Southampton's_ crew were already on short allowance, owing to their
having been at sea for some length of time, and the dole allowed the
Americans was almost, if not quite, equal to that given the Englishmen.
The officers were treated with the greatest of politeness and civility,
and Captain Reed dined daily with Sir James in the cabin. All hands
voted him a fine man and gentleman, and that he was a naval officer was
proved conclusively enough by his actions subsequently when at the head
of the British operations on the Lakes.
Five days after the capture the weather was fine, but a small sea was
running. The _Southampton_, under easy sail, was leading, and crowding
on all she could carry; the _Vixen_ managed to keep within signalling
distance of her. In three or four days every one expected to be
anchored safe in Jamaica.
It was about half past eleven on a bright starry night when the lookout
forward suddenly gave the cry, "Land ho!" A line of breakers could be
seen about two miles to the westward, and above them the shores of a
little island, at its highest point but twelve or fourteen feet above
the water. Evidently the sailing-master of the frigate was out of his
course. He probably had not allowed for the drift of one of those
strange Gulf currents which have caused the destruction of many a fine
ship.
The _Southampton_ was put about in a hurry, and as she was such a good
sailer and was so quick in manoeuvring, no danger was apprehended, and
she jogged along to the eastward to escape the proximity of the shoals.
The _Vixen_ was following her and taking in some of her sail as the
wind commenced to blow much fresher. At twelve o'clock the sky had
darkened, and it was difficult for one vessel to distinguish the other,
although in the early part of the evening, by the aid of the moon and
stars, everything had been visible. The mid-watch was just coming on,
when, with a sudden shock, the _Southampton_ struck on a sunken ledge
of rocks; but she slid over the first, tearing the sheathing from her
hull and wedging herself firmly in at the stern. Immediately a gun was
fired to warn the _Vixen_, that was following in the wake; and also to
be a signal of distress, as the greatest consternation prevailed now on
board the frigate--that was leaking badly. But the usual ill fortune of
the _Vixen_ pursued her. At first she hove to and shortened sail,
preparing to come to the frigate's assistance. Just as she was about to
heave to the second time and lower a boat, she struck with such a
vicious force that her bows drove high out of water, she was stove in
completely, and all the prisoners, who had been wondering what was
going on, now terrified and in great fear of immediate death, rushed up
on deck to see a strange sight. It was pitch dark; the waves were
breaking on every hand, and off the port bow the big frigate could be
seen hard and fast, signalling in great distress.
Her position, in fact, was much worse than that of the brig, for she
was filling and settling rapidly. Everything was being done that
knowledge and good seamanship could suggest or direct. The top-gallant
yards and masts were sent down, and top-masts were struck; and
notwithstanding the sea was very rough, two boats were lowered, and
although one was crushed against the vessel's side, the other set out
to search for a safe passage through the reef. On board the _Vixen_ the
boats had been called away, and the American and English crews were
mingled, but without confusion. A Yankee sat beside John Bull on a
thwart, and deeming that their own vessel was in no immediate danger,
but that the _Southampton_ was about to sink, they started to act the
part of life-savers and rescue as many of the frigate's crew as they
could. There was no thought of their being enemies, no observance of
the differences between prisoners and captors; all sought to act for
the cause of humanity and to save human life. But they had not
proceeded far from the side of the brig when they were called back in a
hurry. The _Vixen_ had slipped from her firm position on the jagged
rock and was surely sinking. So instead of being a rescue party to
others they found they had all they could do to save themselves. But
every man was taken off and brought on board of the _Southampton_.
[Illustration: "Everything was done that good seamanship could
direct."]
Daylight was waited for most anxiously, and when it came, a dreary
prospect was before the ship-wrecked ones. Not far away was a low
island that was pronounced at once to be the island of Conception.
Nothing but the topgallant masts of the _Vixen_ showed above the water,
as she had sunk during the night. The _Southampton's_ pumps had been
kept going for six hours. But she was so badly bilged, and the water
was gaining so fast, that her hours were numbered. With a rising sea
there was immediate danger of her going to pieces, and in her crowded
condition the consequent loss of life would have been too terrible to
think of. It was a row of about ten miles from the reef on which the
ship lay to the distant low-lying, sandy shore. All the boats were made
ready, a raft was built and floated alongside, and the boatswain,
obeying orders from the quarter-deck, began bawling: "Away there, you
Vixens, away!" So the prisoners were to go first; but since the vessels
had struck they had not been treated as prisoners at all. They had
obeyed Sir James's orders as though they were members of his own crew,
and they had not been shown the slightest evidences of bad blood or ill
feeling on the part of the ordinary seamen. Before the day was over all
the crew had been transferred to the island, and a boatload of
provisions had been safely landed. Sir James and his officers spent the
first night on board ship; but on the following morning, as she showed
all evidences of a speedy breaking up, a tent was made for him on
shore.
A strange life now followed. The great lack felt upon the island was
that of proper drinking-water. Conches and shellfish and land-crabs
there were in plenty. The four hundred odd men who now found themselves
marooned on this island far removed from the usual course of trade, and
but seldom visited, had to depend upon a small pond for their
drinking-supply. If this should be exhausted, their position would be
perilous in the extreme. Two boats had been despatched to summon aid if
possible. One to see if there were not some cruiser at Cat Island, with
orders to proceed to Nassau, and the other to make for the island of
Exhuma.
A little settlement composed of tents and wig-wams made from ship's
wreckage soon grew up. Friend and foe mingled together in hunting for
conches, or in sports to while away the time.
After a week a small vessel arrived from Cat Island, for the message
calling for help had been received, bringing eighteen sheep and a
quantity of meal, and the skipper showed where there was hidden a well
which the mariners had failed to discover. An empty hogshead was sunk,
and a sign-post erected on which was cut "The Southampton's Well,
November, 1812." For many years it stood there. The sheep did not last
long, and soon resort was had again to the conches. On the eighth of
December, three English vessels arrived, the _Caledonia_, a cutter,
_Rolla_, privateer, and the government brig _Rhodian_. Captain Sir
James Yeo made a speech to his crew and their "guests," which was the
term he used in referring to the Vixens, in which he thanked the latter
for their assistance, their cheerfulness and good behavior, and he
stated that he would do everything in his power to help get them
exchanged, or provide them with a cartel to take them to their own
country on their arrival at Jamaica, whither they were bound. Then,
forming into a ragged company, arm in arm, Yankee sailors and British
tars marched out from their little settlement, a fifer at their heads
playing The Girl I Left Behind Me. Leaving their little island to the
mercies of the half-breed wreckers whose small craft swarmed about,
they sailed away. The rescued "guests" were prisoners again.
IN THE HARBOR OF FAYAL
On the lake front at Chicago during the World's Fair, close by the
entrance to the long walk that led out to the marvellously constructed
imitation battle-ship, the _Illinois_, rested an old iron muzzle-loader.
It was a clumsy-looking piece of ordnance compared to the shining,
complicated bits of machinery that compose the batteries of a modern
war-ship. It looked very out of date and harmless, and people who did
not know its history passed it by with hardly a second glance. But yet
this old gun had taken more white men's lives in battle than all the
great modern breech-loaders on the fleets of Europe combined to-day.
It was but nine or ten feet long and threw a solid ball twenty-four
pounds in weight. A small inscription on a metal plate told the
inquisitive that the gun was the "Long Tom," from the privateer
_General Armstrong_, that had been sunk in the harbor of Fayal, in
September of the year 1814; that it had subsequently been raised and
presented by the Portuguese government to the United States. There
were some who knew the story, for it had been told many times, and
long years ago the country rang with it. Every one then knew the main
facts of the incident, and because of a long controversy in the courts
owing to claims that arose from the action for indemnity against the
Portuguese government, the matter was kept alive up to a very recent
date. But an unfamiliar story in connection with a well-known fact may
not be amiss, and this is a tale of the harbor of Fayal that perhaps
few have heard before.
But to get to the telling of it, it is necessary to recount a good deal
of what is recorded history.
The _General Armstrong_ was a privateer brig outfitted at New York. She
was owned in part by a New York merchant, a Mr. Havens, and in part by
her commander, Samuel C. Reid, and a better sailor never stood in
sea-boots. She was not a big ship; but her armament had been skilfully
chosen. Her crew of picked men had been drilled man-of-war fashion. She
mounted eight long nine-pounders, four on a side, and amidships she
carried the big twenty-four-pounder before referred to. Her First
Lieutenant was a Mr. Alexander O. Williams, a very young man, but a
thorough and practical seaman; her Second was named Worth; her Third
Lieutenant's name was Johnson; her crew, all Americans, numbered ninety
souls all told. Among them was an active, handsome fellow, named
William Copeland. He was down on the privateer's books as able seaman;
but before the _General Armstrong_ had been two weeks at sea, Copeland
was promoted for meritorious conduct in an action with a British armed
schooner, that was sent home as a prize, to be quarter gunner. It was
Reid and himself that squinted along the black barrel of the old Long
Tom, when she fought in the harbor of Fayal.
It was the 26th day of September that the _General Armstrong_ cast
anchor there. The weather had been very fine, and Captain Reid, very
proud of his vessel, had done everything to make her look smart and
tidy. Her rigging was all tuned up to concert pitch; her decks were as
white as sand and holystone could make them, and the men, contrary to
the habit of most privateers, were dressed in suits of white duck and
blue. The American Consul, John D. Dabney, felt a thrill of pride as he
saw the man-of-war fashion with which the _General Armstrong_ came to
anchor. As the long white gig came rolling up to the pier, and the men
boated their oars, Mr. Dabney recognized that the officer sitting in
the stern sheets was an old friend of his.
"Ah, Captain Reid," he exclaimed. "Glad to see you. My compliments to
you on the appearance of your vessel. I thought at first that she must
be one of the regular navy; in fact, I took her for the _Enterprise_."
"Well, I flatter myself that she is quite as shipshape," returned
Captain Reid. "And I have to work my crew pretty hard to keep from
showing how well satisfied I am with them. I tell you, Dabney, it isn't
every man that has had such a fine lot of fellows under him. As to my
success so far, it has been fair enough; but I'd really like to measure
distances and exchange a few shots with some of His Majesty's little
fellows."
"You have come to a good place to look for them," Dabney returned. "It
is seldom that a week passes without having one or more of them drop
anchor in the roads."
Chatting together in this friendly fashion, the two gentlemen went up
into the town. It was late in the evening before Reid came to the
water-front to signal for his boat. Dabney was still with him. They
walked down to the end of the pier, and Reid suddenly pointed:--
"By Jupiter!" he exclaimed, "here we come," and following his finger
Dabney saw three big vessels lazily moving along before the slight
wind, toward the harbor entrance. Their earlier approach had been
hidden by the headlands.
The harbor of Fayal is surrounded by hills, on the slopes of which the
town is built, and the bay extends in a semicircle with two
wide-reaching arms. The water runs deep into the shore. The sun was
setting in the calm evening sky, and there was scarce enough movement
on the surface of the bay to catch the red reflections. Dabney turned
to Captain Reid after the first long look.
"English, or else I'm much mistaken," he said quietly.
"Not the least doubt of it in my mind," Reid returned, "and if there
was more of a wind, by Jove, I'd try to get out of this.... Do you
think it is safe to stay?"
"It is a neutral port," Dabney returned, "and Portugal and England have
been such friends, that I do not think John Bull would take advantage
of his position here. In my opinion they will respect the neutrality."
"Well, they won't catch me napping," Reid returned, as he stepped into
the gig; and after requesting the Consul's presence at dinner on the
following evening, he gave the order to shove off, and pulled away for
his vessel.
Mr. Williams, the First Lieutenant, met him at the gangway. "You have
observed our friends yonder?" he asked, pitching his thumb over his
shoulder. "I wish we were out of here."
"So do I," Reid returned, "but we must make the best of it."
It was a beautiful sight to see the great square-rigged ships come to
anchor. Forward and aft all hands were on deck watching the English
men-of-war perform the manoeuvre.
"Well done!" exclaimed William Copeland, the quarter gunner, turning to
a group of his messmates. "It takes an Englishman or a Yankee to make a
vessel behave as if she were alive. By Davy's locker!" he exclaimed
suddenly, "I know that nearest ship; it's the _Plantagenet_, I'll bet
my prize money. Good cause have I to remember her; she picked me up in
the North Sea and I served three years in her confounded carcass. Three
wicked, sweating years, my lads."
"Where did you leave her, Bill?" asked one of the seamen standing near
him.
"At Cape Town, during the war against the Dutch. I'll spin the yarn to
you some day. My brother and I were took at the same time. The last I
seed of him was when we lowered ourselves out of the sick bay into the
water to swim a good three miles to the whaler--that was three years
ago."
"Do you reckon he was drownded, Bill?"
"Reckon so. Leastways I haven't heard from him, poor lad!"
Further talk was interrupted by an order from the quarter-deck calling
away the first cutter to carry a stream anchor in towards shore in
order to warp the brig close under the walls of the "castle" a little
battery of four or five guns that commanded the inner harbor. Captain
Reid's suspicions had been awakened by seeing a boat put off from the
shore, and noticing that one of the frigates was getting up her anchor
preparatory to drawing in nearer. In less than half an hour he was
moored stem and stern so close under the walls of the little fort that
he could have hurled a marline-spike against the walls from his own
quarter-deck. As it grew darker he could see from the flashing of
lights that the English vessels were holding communication with one
another, and occasionally across the water would come the sound of
creaking blocks or the lilt of a pipe. He knew well enough that such
goings on were not without some object, and calling all of his officers
aft they held a short consultation. It was exactly eight o'clock in the
evening. From shore there came a sound of fiddles and singing. Although
Captain Reid had promised the men liberty that evening, owing to the
position of affairs the order had been rescinded, but nevertheless
there was some grumbling in the forecastle; for if a sailor doesn't
grumble when he gets a chance, he is not a sailor.
"I'll be shot if I can see why the old man won't let us ashore,"
growled a sturdy young topman. "D'ye hear them fiddles, Jack? Can't you
see the senoritas adancin'? My heels itch for the touch of a springy
floor and my arm has a crook to it that would just fit a neat young
waist. Do you remember--"
"Stow your jaw, Dummer," broke in a heavy voice half angrily. "And you
too, Merrick, clap a stopper on it," turning to another of the
malcontents. "Hush now, listen all hands.... Oars! can't ye hear 'em?
And muffled too, by the Piper! Pass the word below; all hands!" With
that William Copeland ran aft to the quarter-deck. Captain Reid met him
at the mast.
"Their boats are coming, sir," Copeland whispered excitedly; "five or
six of 'em, I should judge."
"Are the broadside guns ready?"
"Aye, aye, sir, and double-shotted; two of them with grape and
canister."
"How's the Long Tom?"
"Ready to speak for himself, sir," Copeland replied with a touch of
pride, for the big gun was his especial pet.
The three lieutenants had now grouped close together. "See that the
magazine is opened, Mr. Worth, and Mr. Williams call the men to their
stations quietly. They will try to come in on the port hand most
probably. Gentlemen, to your stations. No firing until you get the word
from the quarter-deck, and stop all talking on the ship."
Even the sentry, patrolling his beat on the castle walls, did not hear
or notice anything extraordinary on board the privateer, so silently
were the orders followed out. The moon was struggling to pierce through
the thin, filmy clouds that obscured her light. It was one of those
nights when objects appear suddenly out of the invisible and take shape
with distinctness close to hand. But every one could hear the sounds
now.
"Thrum, thrum, thrum," the swing of oars; despite that the rhythm was
muffled and subdued.
Reid was leaning over the rail with a night glass aimed in the
direction of the frigate. A figure hurried to his side. It was
Lieutenant Williams. "We can see them from for'ard, sir," he said
breathlessly. "Everything is ready, and there's surely some mischief
afoot."
"Yes, I can see them now; four of them, chock a block with men," Reid
returned, closing the glass with a snap. "Now stand by, all hands, for
orders." Then raising his voice, he shot the following question out
into the semi-darkness: "On board the boats, there! There is no landing
here. Keep away from our side."
The rowing ceased; but it was only an instant and then it began again.
"I warn you to come no nearer!" shouted Reid. "You do so at your
peril."
Four dark shapes were now visible without the aid of any glass. The
plash of the oars could be heard as they caught the water. Reid just
noticed the figure of William Copeland bending over the breech of the
Long Tom, whose muzzle extended across the bulwarks.
"Keep off or I shall fire!" he warned for the third time. There came an
answer to this clear enough to be heard by every man standing at the
guns.
"Give way, lads, together."
"Fire!" roared Reid, in a voice that must have been heard distinctly
along the shore. The reply was a scarlet burst of flame and a crash
that sent the echoes up the hills. It stopped the fiddles in the
dance-house; it set the drums and bugles rolling and tooting in the
fortress, and the American Consul, sitting over his coffee on the
public square, jumped to his feet, and ran, followed by a clamoring
crowd, to the pier-head.
From the direction of the boats came a confusion of orders following
the broadside. Groans and shrieks for help arose from the darkness.
Some spurts of flame came quickly and several musket-balls whistled
over the _Armstrong's_ deck. Then the loud report of a heavy boat gun,
and a groan and cry followed immediately from the brig's forecastle.
All was silent now except for the sound of plashing in the water and
some groans and muffled cries. Reid was about to hail when he saw three
men hurrying aft with a heavy burden in their arms.
"It's Mr. Williams, sir; he's shot in the head, and Dummer, of the
forward division, sir, is killed," one of them said gruffly. Poor
Dummer! He would dance no more with the senoritas--there were to be no
more liberty parties for him.
Reid's intention of lowering away a boat faded from his mind. There
would be more of the same sort of work before long; that he knew well.
One of the boats had been sunk, for the wreck came drifting in close to
the brig's side. The other three could be heard making off to the
ships, their rowing growing fainter every minute. Lieutenants Worth and
Johnson came aft to report.
"We are in for it, gentlemen," said Reid; "but they won't cut this
vessel out without more discussion on the subject. The idea of such
treachery in a friendly harbor! They received their just deserts." His
anger got the better of him for an instant, and he could say no more.
"Poor Williams!" he murmured at last. "Is he badly hurt?"
"He is mortally wounded, sir, I am afraid," Mr. Johnson returned.
"A good friend and a fine officer gone," put in Lieutenant Worth. "So
much for this night's work."
"Do not fear; there'll be more of it, and we'll have our hands full,"
Reid continued. "Mr. Johnson, you will see that the boarding-nettings
are spread, and load the midship gun with lagrange and a star shot.
Have pikes and cutlasses ready."
"Are you going ashore, sir, to see the commander of the fort? He surely
should protect us?" asked Mr. Worth.
"We need count no longer on him," was Reid's rejoinder. "We will have
to do our own protecting. See that every musket and pistol is loaded
and laid handy and, stay," he added, "cut away the bulwarks just abaft
the gangway and bring two of those starboard guns across the deck. We
will need them all, to my way of thinking."
The crowds gathered on the shore could hear the sounds of preparation.
From the English squadron also came a babble of orders and movement.
The lights were doubled in number. Every port shone brightly. The moon
had now risen until objects could be seen quite plainly.
"They are preparing for an attack in force," Reid said, handing the
glass to Mr. Johnson, who had already seen that the boarding-nettings
had been spread above the railing. The men forward were busy setting
some spare spars to act as booms to keep the boats from gaining the
vessel's bows. Time passed swiftly. At twelve o'clock the oars began
again. But they were not muffled now! "Click, clock," they came onward
with a rush. Voices could be heard urging the rowers to more exertion,
as if they were racing crews out for a practice spin. Reid was
levelling the glass.
"Ten, twelve, thirteen, fourteen--fourteen boats loaded to the guards,"
he said. "God's love, there must be four hundred men: they mean to take
us if they can." He looked down at his own little deck. He had less
than ninety now; but they were ninety stout, good fellows who would not
flinch. In the rays of the battle lanterns and the pale light of the
moon, Captain Reid saw that they were ready to fight their last fight
maybe.
It was no time to make a speech; but the men could hear every word he
said without gathering nearer. "Lads," he said, "reserve your fire
until you get the word from me. Don't waste a single shot, and remember
this: aim low.... Copeland!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Cover that leading boat."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
A big pinnace or barge, holding perhaps eighty men, was heading the
flotilla by almost a hundred feet. The grinding of a handspike on the
deck broke the silence, as the Long Tom was slewed about to bear upon
her.
"Handsomely now, men," cajoled Copeland. "Handsomely; that's well."
The great boat was rowing in directly on that gun as if towed by a
line. She was heading on to death and destruction!
Consul Dabney, standing with the anxious crowd on the shore, held his
breath.
Was Reid going to submit to be taken without striking another blow? Not
much. With a long flare of flame that leaped from the _Armstrong's_
side, arose a great shout from the spectators.
The bow of the pinnace was stove in, and she pitched forward into the
water like an angry bull brought to his knees by a rifle shot. Men
absolutely boiled out of her. The moonlit water was dotted with black
objects; some threshing with their arms, others silent and motionless.
There came a rattling reply of small-arms from the boats, and the long
nines answered them. The action was on in earnest. No one can gainsay
the courage that was displayed by the attacking force. They were
Englishmen; it is not necessary to say more. The firing became
incessant. The men on the _Armstrong_ had scarce time to reload their
guns. They would snatch up a pistol here and a musket there and fire
out at the water that was crisscrossed with the red flashes of the
answering shots. More than once a boat had reached the side. On two
occasions men had sprung to the bulwarks, and clung to the
boarding-nettings until shot away. Every now and then the Long Tom
would let go a half-bucketful of grape and scrap iron, hurling death
into the boats. Every one of the privateer's crew seemed gifted with
four arms. From one point of attack to another they chased about the
deck. It seemed as if she numbered three times her complement. Bill
Copeland was fighting like a demon. Twice had he run along the top of
the bulwarks, exposed to every aim. Suddenly he saw that one of the
boats had worked around to the starboard side. Giving the alarm, and
followed by a half-score of the after-guard, he ran across to meet this
unexpected danger. One of the men who followed him caught up a
twenty-four-pound solid shot in his arms as he ran. Another followed
his example. Both shot crashed through the bottom of the boat, and a
volley was poured down into them. But three or four of the men had
already reached the chains.
[Illustration: "There was a figure crawling up below him."]
Copeland sprang to the bulwarks with his cutlass in his hand. There was
a figure crawling up below him. Leaning forward, he made a quick stroke
that would have severed the man's throat had he not leaned back
suddenly and avoided it. Again he drew back his sharpened cutlass for
the death blow, and then he saw that the fellow was unarmed. Something
stayed his hand; he bent still further forward, and just as the
Englishman was about to fall back into the water, he grasped him by the
wrist.
"My God, Jed!" he cried, and exerting all his strength he dragged his
prisoner over the rail on to the deck. Those who had time to witness
it, saw a curious sight. There was Bill Copeland holding fast to
another man, their arms on each other's shoulders.
"Jed, don't ye know me?" Bill was crying; "but, Lord love ye lad,
you're wounded." A shudder went through him as he realized how close he
had been to sending home that fatal thrust. The man with a pigtail down
his back leaned forward weakly.
"I'm hurted bad, Bill," he said. "But go on and fight; leave me alone;
egad, you've whipped 'em." Sure enough, the firing had now slackened.
Four or five of the boats had retreated beyond gun shot. _They were
all that could do so unaided._
"Cease firing!" ordered Captain Reid, hastening about the deck. "Cease
firing here! They have given up. Where is Mr. Johnson?" he roared,
pushing his way into a group of men who were about to reload one of the
nine-pounders. He had to cuff his way amongst them to make them desist.
"Where is Mr. Johnson?" he repeated.
"He's wounded, sir."
"And Mr. Worth is wounded too, sir," put in another man. "I helped him
below myself."
As suddenly as the action had begun it had ended. By the light of a
lantern Captain Reid glanced at his watch. It was forty minutes since
the first gun had been fired. He looked about his decks. Although they
were littered with loose running-gear, handspikes, cutlasses, and
muskets, at the sight his heart gave a great bound of joy. There were
no mangled figures or pools of slippery blood. It seemed hardly
possible.
But from the wreckage in the water came groans and cries. He looked
over the side. There lay, rocking, two broken boats filled with huddled
figures, some moving weakly.
"Here!" he shouted to some of the men. "Bear a hand; save all we can."
It was a sudden transition, this, from taking life to saving it; but
the men turned to with a will. In one of the boats twelve dead bodies
were found, and but seventeen of her crew had escaped with their lives,
and they were all badly wounded. Of the four hundred men who had
commenced that bold attack, only one-half returned to the ships unhurt.
Reid hurried down into the cockpit. It seemed past believing. _But two
of his men, including the brave Williams, had been killed, and but
seven wounded!_ This is history.
But a sight he saw attracted the Captain's attention. It was Bill
Copeland sitting on the deck, with his arms about a pale figure whose
head lay in Copeland's lap. The resemblance between the men was
striking.
"What have we here?" asked Captain Reid.
"My brother, sir," Copeland returned.
"Your brother!"
"Aye, sir; from the _Plantaganet_. He was the only one who got on board
of us!"
The man spoke with an accent of pride, and the wounded one opened his
eyes.
"Bill, here, he hauled me on board," he said.
When the surgeon found time to attend to Copeland's wounds, he
pronounced them not to be of a dangerous character, and the man was
soon made comfortable.
All night long, the _Armstrong's_ people slept beside their guns, but
there was no evidence of any further intention to attack on the part
of the British. The _Carnation_, which was the nearest of the vessels
to the privateer, had her boats out at daybreak. All day long they
kept carrying their dead on shore. From the _Rota_ there were seventy
funerals! But the _Armstrong_ was not left unmolested. At eight
o'clock the _Carnation_ began firing at close range. For a few
minutes, Captain Reid replied with some effect. But resistance was
useless, and at nine he ordered all hands into the boats, and made for
the shore, every one arriving there in safety. He had bored a large
hole in the _Armstrong's_ bottom, but before she sank, two boats from
the _Carnation_ rowed out to her, and the English set her on fire....
The inhabitants of the town, all of whose sympathies were with the
Americans, did everything in their power to assist the wounded, and
many were the indignant protests against the action of Captain Lloyd,
the English senior officer.
It now came to light that Mr. Dabney had complained to the commander of
the Castle as soon as the firing had begun the previous night, and that
the Portuguese commander had written a letter to Lloyd, but the
latter's reply had been only a menacing insult. So angry were the
English at the fearful drubbing they had received, that they insisted
upon the government officials delivering the crew of the _Armstrong_ up
to them, upon the ground that there were deserters among them. There
existed, between Portugal and England, a treaty that demanded the
return of prisoners accused of high treason, and Captain Lloyd, by
claiming that deserters were guilty of this crime, had a technical
right for examination of the American refugees.... But hearing the
danger they were in, Captain Reid and his men, after securing some
arms, barricaded themselves in a small stone church, back in the
country, where they dared the Englishmen to come and take them. It was
a difficult position for them to maintain. If Captain Lloyd's statement
was correct, then the Portuguese government was bound to hand them over
as deserters, or place themselves in a bad position with England. After
a long deliberation, Reid consented to have his men submit to an
examination. They were all arrested, and brought to town, and not a
single deserter was found among them!
But what of Copeland, the wounded prisoner? He lay hidden in one of the
houses of a friendly Portuguese, and his name was probably reported on
the _Plantagenet's_ books as "missing." On the 28th of the month, two
British sloops of war, the _Thais_ and _Clypso_, came into port, and
were immediately sent back to England with the British wounded. The two
Copeland brothers returned to the United States, with the rest of the
_Armstrong's_ crew, and both served in the navy for the rest of the
war.
The owners of the _Armstrong_ attempted for many years to obtain
redress for the loss of their ship. Again and again were they put off
and denied. But in this year, 1897, some money was received, and
strange to say, was paid to the widow of the owner, Mr. Havens. She
died but a short time ago, at the age of ninety-eight, at Stamford,
Connecticut.
THE ESCAPE OF SYMINGTON
Captain Myron Symington was a long-legged Yankee. There was no
mistaking him for anything else but an out-and-out downeaster. As to
the length of his underpinning, that was apparent also. When seated, he
did not appear above the average height; but when erect he stood head
and shoulders above the crowd, so of course it was in his legs.
Symington spoke English with a lazy drawl, and conversation ebbed from
him much after the manner that smoke issues from a tall chimney on a
perfectly still day--it rolled forth in slow volumes. But Symington's
French was very different; he could be clearly understood, for he spoke
it well; but he discharged every word like a pistol shot, and he paused
between each sentence as if he had to load and prime, and cast loose
for the next.
Since the beginning of the war Symington had not been to America. But
he had sent many messages thither; and although his headquarters were
at Brest when ashore, and the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay
when afloat, his name had become well known in the United States, and
he had done a thriving international business on his own account--which
may require some explaining.
The little privateer _Rattler_ (of which he was owner and commander)
had sent home no less than twenty vessels that had been snapped up when
almost under the guns of England's coastwise fortresses. Whenever he
needed provisioning or recruiting, Symington would make for one of the
French ports, run the blockade that the English had established the
whole length of the coast, drop his anchor in the harbor, and then get
anything he chose for the mere asking for it; for Symington's name was
as good and in fact better than the promise of some governments. Years
before the outbreak of the war Symington had commanded the fastest and
luckiest Yankee craft engaged in the European trade that sailed from
Baltimore or Boston. He was a good seaman, it was reputed that he was
immensely wealthy, and many believed also that he possessed some charm
or fetich that insured success. Certainly it had crowned his endeavors
to divert the direction of Great Britain's proper freight ships.
Symington was sitting at a table in one of the cafes off the Rue
Bonaparte in the city of Brest, and he had just finished a very heavy
noonday meal. Suddenly glancing up, he saw a man go past the door
leading from the hallway into the garden. Lengthening himself to his
full height by a succession of jerks, in a couple of strides he had
caught the man by the elbow and almost pulled him back into the room.
"Just back, ain't ye, Captain Edgar?" he drawled.
"Post haste," the man replied, "from Paris."
"Any news?"
"Well, I should say there was. By Hickey, Captain, Napoleon's jig is
up! Already the people are showing the white cockade, and those who yet
fly the tricolor have the other in their pocket."
"So!" exclaimed Symington, prolonging the syllable until it sounded
like a yawn; "then our friends the English will have a finger in the
pie in short order. It is a shame that they will have to break up such
a harmless and profitable business, this Channel cruising."
It was April of the year 1814. Europe had completed the humiliation of
the little great man who had come nigh to conquering her, unaided. And
as soon as the last of his ramparts were down, any one with common
sense could see what would be the outcome of it all. The exiled King,
Louis the Eighteenth, who had been hiding in London, would be placed
upon the throne! To Great Britain more than to any other power he would
owe his translation from debt, poverty, and seclusion to position,
affluence, and a crown. From being England's enemy, France would become
her ally. Could it be expected of her to continue to harbor in her
ports those ocean pests, the Yankee privateers, who had compelled
England to give the services of two-thirds of her fighting force to
convoying and guarding her merchant fleets?
Symington and his friend, the short man, seated themselves at a table
and continued the conversation.
"I'd put to sea to-morrow if I had enough of a crew to work the old
_Siren_," said the little Captain. "I had hard enough work getting
into port after manning all my prizes. But if I could get four more
good hands, I'd have enough."
"There are just fourteen men-o'-war and three battle-ships off the
harbor mouth, and what chance would ye have of gettin' through this
open weather?" grumbled Symington. "We'll have to wait until we get a
good blow out of the southeast; that'll scatter 'em, and then, by Hick,
we can make a try for it. Two weeks longer, and we'll probably have no
show."
"I'll be startin' for Boston town some dark night this week, Captain
Symington, just as soon as I get men enough to handle the _Siren's_
main sheet, as I told ye."
"And I, too, Captain Edgar, as soon as I get enough hands to get up the
_Rattler's_ anchor. But I'll choose my weather, sir!"
After a few words more the two skippers shook hands and left the cafe,
each bound to the waterfront by a different direction. It was certainly
a peculiar position that the Yankee craft found themselves occupying
about this time in European waters. Sometimes they would be in a port
where lay eight or ten half-dismantled frigates, and over twice as many
smaller cruisers and merchantmen belonging to the Empire, all cooped up
and kept in there by four or five English sloops of war, or perhaps a
guard ship of fifty or sixty guns patrolling up and down the harbor
mouth. On the other side of the water, however, the English had
succeeded in blockading but one American frigate, the _Constellation_,
early in the war. Afterwards for a few months they hemmed in the
_United States_, the _Macedonian_, and the little _Hornet_ in the
harbor of New London; but what would not the United States have given
to have possessed those thousands of idle guns that lay in the French
naval stations? She would have manned the helms, spread the sails, and
put those great hulks into motion. She might even have done a little
"fleet sailing" on her own account.
But there was some excuse for France. Napoleon had depleted his
seacoasts to fill his armies. There were not sufficient able seamen to
answer the demand, and besides, so long had the French run away from
the English at sea, that a thirty-eight-gun frigate of the Empire had
been known to escape a meeting with a British twenty-gun sloop by
turning tail and making off. The French flag was a rarity afloat. So
every time the Yankee privateers entered or left a port it was
necessary to run the blockade that the British had established at the
entrance. As this was the state of the home ports also, they had become
quite used to it. Seldom or never were they caught in the act.
But the day came, as the Yankee captains had agreed it would, when
Napoleon succumbed entirely. Out came the white cockades; the tricolor
disappeared. No longer was it "the Emperor," but "the King," and the
first request that England made was that the Yankee shipping in French
ports should be confiscated and the privateers detained. Great was the
consternation of the skippers; some who had crews sufficient in number
to man their vessels put to sea instanter and were taken in by the
Channel squadron forthwith. Others remained waiting for the weather to
thicken and trusting that King Louis would hesitate long enough to give
them a chance for life. But the order came at last. The privateers were
to be allowed to leave the harbor any time they found a chance to do
so; but before they left, the French King, who was holding fast to his
rickety throne, and was merely kept in place by the supporting arms of
England, Russia, and Germany, issued a decree. It was to the effect
that the vessels should sail unarmed; that their broadsides should be
taken from them, their cutlasses and small-arms removed, and thus shorn
of their teeth and claws, they should be allowed to depart. As every
merchantman, almost without exception, in those days carried at least
four or five guns handy on the spar deck, this decree was equivalent to
presenting them to any English vessel that might get range of them.
Before the order could be executed more of the vessels got to sea, and
not a few were gobbled up at once by the English cruisers; some were
forced to put back again, and only one or two ever reached the shores
of America.
The day the news arrived early in May, Captain Edgar was one of the
first to get his anchor in and make out past the headland as soon as
dusk had settled. In a few minutes Symington, also, although his vessel
was very short-handed, was getting up his mainsail, and he too would
have sailed no doubt, had there not suddenly arisen a sound of firing
from the offing. Of course there being now peace between France and
England, it was possible for the English ships to anchor beside the
Americans if they had chosen to do so, and in fact in some of the
harbors so penned in were the privateers, that, as one captain
expressed it, "they would have to sail across the deck of a
seventy-four to escape to sea." England had respected the neutrality of
the French ports thus far; but if an American vessel was seen preparing
to get under way, she would be watched carefully, and if not
accompanied by an English ship, her going out would be signalled to the
blockaders off the shore. As the cannonading was kept up for so long a
time, Captain Symington supposed, or at least hoped, that the _Siren_
had escaped her enemies. Perhaps the confusion that followed would be a
good moment for him to take advantage of, and he determined to sail out
at once.
But it was not to be; for hardly had he got under way when he was
boarded by a cutter filled with armed men, under the command of a
Frenchman, dressed in a voluminous coat and a huge cocked hat, who
described himself in a breathless sentence as "Monsieur le Capitaine
Georges Binda, Inspector of the Port for His Majesty, King Louis." But
a few months previously he had been at Napoleon's beck and call, having
been one of the recruiting officers of the district.
Captain Symington's expostulations were of no avail, although owing to
his peculiar manner of speech, they appealed to the whole harbor.
His long twelve-pounder was taken from him, and his neat little battery
of carronades, six on a side, were confiscated also. Before noon of the
next day the _Rattler_ had been changed from a tiger cat to a harmless
kitten.
The discomforting news also arrived that Captain Edgar had been blown
out of the water, after he had almost succeeded in getting past the
English line. This was most disheartening, and that very day many of
the Americans, despairing of ever getting free, attempted to dispose of
their ships by sale. But not so with Symington. He determined not to
give up until compelled to; to hold out until the very last minute.
The _Rattler_ was light in ballast, and in trim for fast sailing. There
were enough men now on board of her to handle her at a pinch, and she
could have shown a clean pair of heels to any one of the English
cruisers then afloat. Although not altogether a beauty to look at, for
she was a comparatively old vessel, she was marvellously quick in
stays, and came about like a sharpie. In pointing, too, she was a
marvel, and once given the windward gage she could choose her own
distance. No man could sail the _Rattler_ the way Symington could, and
no skipper ever knew the capacities or character of his craft better
than did the lank Yankee. She was his pet; why give her up to be sailed
by a lubberly Frenchman? The very first chance he saw he was going to
take. It arrived no later than the second evening after the despoiling.
The moon came up early in the morning; but about an hour or so before
the time for her appearance a soft gray fog blew in from the sea. At
first the great outline of a British troop-ship close alongside on the
_Rattler's_ port hand disappeared gradually. Then the numerous anchor
lights and the lanterns of the town that had been twinkling brightly in
the darkness became but hazy blurs of light through the thickening
mist. But when the moon began to cast her silvery light, a marvellous
thing happened that caused the second mate, who was on watch, to hurry
down into the cabin and call Captain Symington to the deck. The rays of
moonlight in the fog caused an opaque, impenetrable veil to surround
the ship. So thick was it, that the sensation was as if a white cloth
had been tied across the eyes. The masts disappeared a few feet above
the deck. If one turned around, it was impossible to tell in which
direction the vessel extended. The _Rattler_ lay but a few hundred
feet astern of a big French brig that was anchored with a stream anchor
over her side to keep her from swinging in toward a point of rocks
which was surmounted by a small battery. As soon as Captain Symington
reached the deck he stepped across to the bulwarks, and lowering
himself down as far as he could go by the chains he perceived what
often happens in thick weather: the fog was lifted some feet from the
surface of the water, and close to the water objects could be discerned
at some distance. There was not wind enough to sail; to use the sweeps
would have called down on him a fleet of armed small craft in an
instant! Well he knew that rather than see him escape, the transport
would go afoul of him and try to explain matters afterwards.
Now Captain Symington had a remarkably retentive memory. It was said
that he never had to look at a chart more than twice; that he could
take a vessel over shoals where he had been only once before, and that,
years previously. Now this gift stood him in good stead. Just ahead of
him lay the big French brig. Within a cable's length of her, a large
French man-of-war, but half dismantled; beyond, an English sloop; then
two more vessels. Once outside of them, and there was nothing to
prevent him from gaining the mouth of the harbor! How was it to be
done? The fog might last for two or three hours, and yet again it might
disappear at any moment. But Symington was not discouraged; a brilliant
idea came to him; the crew were called into the cabin, and there by the
dim light of a lantern Captain Symington explained his plan.
The men listened in astonishment. Many stories of wonderful escapes had
they heard, and many adventures had they been through; but such a bold
plan of action they had never heard proposed before.
When all hands returned to the deck, there was not a sound. Although
having almost to feel their way, a light new cable was brought up and
flaked neatly up and down the deck. Then Captain Symington took the end
of it into the stern sheets of his gig, which was silently dropped into
the water, and with four men pulling at the carefully muffled oars he
made off from beneath the bows, heading for the big French brig, the
cable noiselessly paying out into the water over the _Rattler's_ bows.
It did not take him long to make fast to the moorings of the brig. This
done, he waited anxiously.
"They are heaving away now, sir," whispered one of the men in the bow
of the boat. Sure enough, the cable had tautened under the strain that
was being put upon it. Symington at first feared that some attention
might be attracted on board the Frenchman; but there came no sound, and
he knew that his people on board the _Rattler_ had silently slipped
moorings and that she had way upon her.
On board the privateer's deck, barefooted men were walking away with
the cable over their shoulders and causing their light vessel to come
boldly along through the water. At a certain length from where the
cable was to be made fast, a bit of marline had been tied, and when
this came inboard the orders were to 'vast heaving, belay, and drop the
anchor that had been only "hove short"; that is, lifted from the sand.
Soon this point was reached. Symington, cast loose, came on board; a
second cable was prepared and spliced to the first, and off he started
to make fast to the next vessel lying farther out.
And thus did Symington warp himself beyond the mouth of the inner
harbor to a place where he considered it safe enough to get out his
sweeps. Manning these, for an hour and more he kept at it. But it was
dangerous work. The tides were going down, and although he kept the
lead going, he might run on one of the sand-bars at any moment. That he
was well out of the channel he knew to a certainty. So at last he
dropped anchor, silently, and patiently waited for the fog that had
saved him so far, to clear up enough for him to get his bearings.
Toward daylight a slight breeze sprang up, and to his alarm Symington
found that a stretch of low beach was under his lee, and it behooved
him well to work the _Rattler_ farther out. Getting sail enough up to
enable him to trip his anchor, he drew away from shore. Slowly the fog
closed down upon him again quite as thick as it had been some hours
previously; but all at once the First Mate, who was forward, cried out
in fright:--
"Starboard your helm! Hard a starboard!"
The _Rattler's_ bow fell off a few points, and at that instant there
came the shock of a collision, followed by a hail in good sea-faring
English, seemingly from up in the air.
"What are you doing there? What vessel is that?" Then there was some
bawling and much noise of movement and another hail in a voice that had
not yet spoken.
"On board that vessel! answer me, or I'll blow you out of the water!"
By this time Captain Symington was firing off his explosive French
sentences, which, as it is impossible to give their full force even in
the language in which they were spoken, we will translate.
"Who are you and what are you doing here? Answer."
"The _Cigalle_ of Havre. I try to get into the harbor here."
There came a laugh from the direction of the strange vessel. "Strange
sort of weather for a Frenchman to be sailing in, sir," some one
observed. "More than likely one of the Yankees trying to get out."
That was exactly what Captain Symington was trying to do, but the
collision with the stranger had carried away his port cathead, and with
it the anchor had gone to the bottom. By the effect of this unfortunate
accident, and the force of the tide, which was now against her, the
_Rattler's_ head was swung around again, and before anything could
prevent it, she once more went afoul of the big vessel, whose decks
towered higher than her cross-trees. There she hung, under the other's
lee, while the English commander, sometimes in French and sometimes in
English, was cursing Symington for a clumsy Frenchman and threatening
to send a shot on board of him.
It was daylight almost and the wind was freshening. Clearer and clearer
the outlines of the great vessel could be seen.
She was an English seventy-four, that, trying to make the harbor, had
been headed off by darkness and had anchored in the roads.
In ten minutes after the breeze began to blow, the air was free from
mist. There was no use in trying to indulge in any deception now. The
character of the small vessel had been discovered by the big one. A
crowd of laughing officers lined the rail, and on her gallery appeared
a number of ladies bound most probably for the new court of the new
King. The wind was off shore. From the shrilling of whistles and
babbling of orders it was seen that the battle-ship was getting under
way. A man in gold lace leaned out over the rail and said in an
off-hand manner:--
"On board the Yankee there! Keep under our lee and return to the
harbor, or we'll sink you instantly; play no tricks, if you value your
safety. Mark you that."
Why it was that the Englishman did not drop a boat and put a prize crew
on board the _Rattler_, it might be hard to guess. Symington feared
that this would happen, and, although he gave no answer to the
imperious order, he set about obeying it with every evidence of haste
and alacrity.
But such clumsy work had never been seen before on board a Yankee
privateer. Often in naval actions in the old sailing days, when orders
were blared through a speaking-trumpet, and not given by little
electric bells and signals, as now we have them, the "rule of contrary"
was passed in order to deceive the enemy who might overhear and thus
anticipate.
"Hard a port" meant "hard a starboard." A vessel that was supposed to
be on the point of luffing would bear away, sheets flying.
Now, on board the _Rattler_, although no such order had been passed,
the men had understood well enough the whispered word. It is a
well-known fact that the fore-and-aft rig was best understood in
America, where it had really been brought to perfection. The English,
after they had captured a vessel of the _Rattler's_ class, never
succeeded in getting the same sailing qualities out of her, and the
upshot of it was that they generally changed her rigging and cut down
her masts and sail plan. But no crew was ever clumsier than was the
privateer's on this occasion. They tumbled over one another, they got
the halliards twisted, they pretended to be breaking their backs in
getting in the anchor when they were not lifting a pound, and all the
time the First Mate was running hither and thither like the busy man at
the circus, chattering a jargon made up of scraps of Portuguese, Dutch,
and Spanish, while above all the confusion, Captain Symington's
explosive French adjectives rang out like snaps of a whip.
There had not been the least doubt in the English officers' minds a
moment since that the little vessel they were looking down upon was an
American; but now they were somewhat puzzled, and the whole scene was
so laughable that very soon the taffrail was lined again with a
tittering crowd, who discussed, in very audible tones, their varying
opinions.
But lazily the great ship was swinging about with a great creaking of
yards and flapping of sails. Soon she was moving through the water. A
few minutes later and the _Rattler_ was in her wake, and Captain
Symington, who certainly did not look French, despite his wonderful
vocabulary, made a proud and elaborate bow, and lifted his great beaver
hat to the ladies who were now on the quarter-deck enjoying the sight.
But if the English officers had been puzzled at first and amused
afterwards, there was one person on board H.M.S. _Ajax_ who had enjoyed
the same sensations in a more intensified fashion. He was looking out
of one of the stern ports on the lower gun-deck. A short, thickset man,
who did not belong to the battle-ship's company, for he was a prisoner.
It was Captain Edgar, and it was the _Ajax_ that had picked up the
_Siren_ in a sinking condition after she had sustained the fusillade of
two nights previously. But every foot the _Rattler_ sailed brought her
further into the harbor and lessened the ultimate chances for escape.
But that there was a plan in Captain Symington's mind, Edgar did not
doubt. He knew that the _Rattler_ was as handy as a whip, and he kept
his eyes open for any sudden development. He did not have to wait long;
there came an unexpected shift of the wind more to the southward just
as the _Ajax_ was slowly heaving about to go off on the other tack. It
caught her all aback; the great sails clattered, and her headway
stopped. She had missed stays.
It is no laughing matter for a big ship to have this happen to her when
approaching a harbor or nearing shallow water. At once the boatswain's
whistle began piping away; orders were shouted, and there was trouble
below and aloft.
[Illustration: "She came about like a peg-top."]
But what happened to the clumsily handled craft astern? She was
immediately under the port galleries, within half a cable's length,
doddering along under foresail and mainsail. At the first sign of what
had occurred to the battle-ship there ensued a transformation scene.
Have you ever seen an unwilling dog accompanying its master on a walk?
how he sneaks close at the heels, watching his chance when the
attention is not directed to him? How suddenly he turns tail, and after
a few cautious movements that bring him beyond the reach of stick or
arm, he breaks into a run at full speed, disdaining call or whistle,
and puts back for home? That is exactly what the _Rattler_ did.
Scarcely had the canvas of the _Ajax_ begun the ominous fluttering
that showed the change of the wind's direction, than the privateer
swung off to meet it.
Slowly at first and then with a rush she came about like a peg top.
Without an order being given, out broke the great foresail, the
topsails dropped from the gaskets and were sheeted home, and with a
lurch to leeward the _Rattler_ stretched out back over her course
for the harbor entrance, setting her flying kites as she bowled along!
So busy was everybody on board the three-decker, who had troubles of
her own to look after, that no one noticed the sudden manoeuvre of the
privateer; no one except one of the ladies who happened to be the wife
of the Admiral, for the _Ajax_ was a flagship. She, after a minute,
succeeded in attracting the attention of one of the lieutenants, who
with the rest had gone forward to the break of the poop and was
watching what was going on below and above him.
"The little ship," she inquired innocently, "where is she going?"
The officer turned and immediately had to beg the lady's pardon most
abjectly, for he broke forth into an oath.
"Tricked, after all!" he exclaimed, grasping one of his companions by
the arm and pointing.
But there was one other person who had noticed all these goings on. It
was the prisoner on the lower spar-deck.
"You can soak me for a squilgee if that weren't neat," he chuckled, and
then lifting his hands to his cheeks, he roared out something through
the port.
The _Rattler's_ Captain, who was at the wheel, had jumped as if the
_Ajax_ had suddenly whirled about and let fly a broadside at him, for
he heard the words as plain as could be.
"Good-by, Captain Symington! Give my regards to all at home!"
He recognized his old friend Edgar's voice, and it gave him a thrill of
pleasure to know that he was alive even if he was a prisoner.
The _Ajax_ was still in stays; but her commander found time to fire his
battery of stern-chasers, the balls whistling harmlessly past the
_Rattler's_ stern, missing her widely. In reply to this Captain
Symington again lifted his old beaver hat.
Far away to the leeward were the sails of the blockading squadron.
Attracted by the firing of the _Ajax_, they flew their little flags and
crowded on their canvas. But by this time the _Rattler_ had doubled the
point and was making out into the dancing waters of the Channel. And
who was going to touch her where she had sea-room? As if anxious to
have everything understood, Symington raised his ensign. The English
captain, who had been forced to boxhaul his great vessel in order to
avoid running on the shoals, cursed beneath his breath. One of the
ladies turned to the Admiral's wife.
"I wonder why we did not start after her, Madame?" she asked.
"Oh, because we couldn't turn round quick enough, I suppose," she
rejoined. Then turning to her spouse she asked:--
"Was not that it, Sir John?"
"Yes, my dear," responded the Admiral, grimly; "that was just it."
Down below, Captain Edgar had not yet recovered from his laughing fit;
and when he and Captain Myron Symington met again, as they did many
times afterwards, they used to laugh over it together.
THE NARRAGANSETT
"Twenty of those confounded Yankees give me more trouble than three
decks full of Fre
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