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Title: In ship and prison
        A story of five years in the Continental Navy with Captain Samuel Tucker

Author: William P. Chipman

Illustrator: Arthur de Bebian

Release date: August 14, 2024 [eBook #74251]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Saalfield Publishing Co, 1908

Credits: Peter Becker, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by the Library of Congress)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN SHIP AND PRISON ***


[Illustration: “Mark you, if you miss the craft, you shall receive
forty blows.”

                                        (p. 214)]




  IN SHIP and PRISON

  A Story of Five Years in the Continental
  Navy with Captain
  Samuel Tucker

  [Illustration]

  By WILLIAM PENDLETON CHIPMAN
  Drawings by ARTHUR DE BEBIAN

  THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.

  NEW YORK    AKRON, OHIO    CHICAGO




  COPYRIGHT, 1908
  BY
  THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.

  MADE BY
  THE WERNER COMPANY
  AKRON, OHIO




CONTENTS


  Chapter                                                       Page

      I I Go In Search of Captain Tucker                           9

     II In Which I Defy the Captain                               22

    III Left on the Brig                                          38

     IV A Dastardly Trick                                         51

      V An Unfortunate Remark                                     67

     VI In Which I Have My First Taste of a British Prison        84

    VII I Meet a New Friend                                       99

   VIII Our First Prize                                          113

     IX An Astonishing Offer                                     127

      X We Capture a Frigate                                     146

     XI A Distinguished Passenger on Board                       166

    XII To Halifax Prison                                        180

   XIII On Board a British Frigate                               194

    XIV I Rejoin the _Boston_                                    208

     XV In Which We Capture the _Pole_                           223

    XVI To the Defense of Charleston                             237

   XVII Taken Into the British Camp                              251

  XVIII The Beacon House Light Expedition                        266

    XIX We Board a Cartel Ship                                   283

     XX Charleston is Taken                                      299

    XXI “The Cruise of the Nine”                                 313

   XXII Captured by the _Hind_                                   327

  XXIII The Escape                                               345




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                Page

  “Mark you, if you miss the craft, you shall
    receive forty blows”                              _Frontispiece_

  “What I want is a second mate”                                  82

  “Master Dunn, you are my prisoner”                             158

  He soon came upon the shore, where a boat and
    four men were evidently awaiting him                         270




AUTHOR’S NOTE


“Of those heroic men who were distinguished in the American Revolution
on land or sea, the far greater part have been depictured by able pens.
Monuments have been erected, biographies have been written, and the
elegant historian has adorned their memory with unfading wreaths. * * *
But there is one man of no mean rank in the day of struggle--a pioneer
of our infant navy--who took more prizes, fought more sea fights, and
gained more victories than, with a very few exceptions, any naval hero
of the age.”--From Shepard’s _Life of Captain Samuel Tucker_.

“He did his part, and did it nobly, while our navy was in an embryo
state, and only consisted of a few armed sloops and schooners, and yet
performed such essential service in supplying the destitute army of
Washington.”--From _American Almanac_, 1835.

“It is well enough to bring the body of Paul Jones across the ocean
and bury it in American soil with appropriate honors. But the nation
should not forget that another man--Captain Samuel Tucker--lies in a
neglected grave today; yet no man captured more prize ships, or did
more to feed and clothe the army of Washington than he.”--From _The
Herald_, editorial, 1905.

The incidents of this book are taken largely from the log-book of
Captain Tucker, and are intended to picture the stirring times in which
he lived, and the thrilling adventures in which he engaged. Midshipman
Arthur Dunn, one of Captain Tucker’s officers, is the narrator, and his
story covers the five years during which his commander played no small
part in naval affairs. It is hoped the narrative will arouse in the
heart of every reader an admiration for the brave Captain, and rescue
from oblivion the name of another of our Continental heroes--the man
who did so much to keep the land forces of our Revolutionary struggle
supplied with ammunition and stores at the expense of the enemy.

                                                     WILLIAM P. CHIPMAN.




IN SHIP AND PRISON




CHAPTER I

I GO IN SEARCH OF CAPTAIN TUCKER


I cannot remember the time when I did not love the sea, nor is that
strange. I was born in sight of the ocean. My father, and, as for that
matter, his father before him, was a sailor. My first recollections
are of boats and oars, of vessels and ropes and sails. At fourteen I
had made a trip to the Great Banks on a fishing smack and at sixteen
my knowledge of the Atlantic coast reached from Newfoundland to
Charleston. Tall for my age, strong and hardy from constant toil and
exposure, and familiar with all sorts of sailing craft from a shallop
to a ship, I counted myself an able-bodied seaman. I now had one
ambition--to voyage to foreign ports.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the single cable which bound me to the homeland
was severed. My mother--the only parent I can remember, for my father
was lost at sea while I was still a babe--died. I left her in usual
health for a voyage to Norfolk. On my return I found her dead and
buried. In caring for a neighbor, who was sick with typhus fever,
she fell a victim to the disease. A small cottage with its scanty
furniture, a few dollars in the care of Squire Sabins, the village
lawyer, and her dying message--these were my legacy. It was the message
which changed the course of my life, and sent me away from my native
town for years. It read:

  “My dear Boy:--

  But for you I should rejoice over what the doctor just told me--that
  I have but a few hours to live--for it means a reunion with your
  dear father, though a separation from you. It is but a change from
  the presence of one loved one to the presence of the other. Sixteen
  years I have been with you, fifteen years away from him. Now I go to
  be with him, and leave you to the care of Him who has promised to be
  with the fatherless. He will keep you in all your ways.

  Doubtless you know that there is no tie to keep you near home, and
  will carry out your long cherished wish of visiting other lands. You
  have my free consent. I was a sailor’s daughter and a sailor’s wife.
  I believe ‘it is as near to heaven by sea as by land,’ and have no
  objection, as you long have known, to a sailor son. I only suggest
  that you go to Marblehead and find Captain Samuel Tucker. He was a
  friend of your father, and will be your friend and adviser. Possibly
  he may be willing to give you a berth in his own ship; if not, he may
  be able to secure a place for you with some other captain as good and
  trustworthy as himself. This much I am sure he will be willing to do
  for you for your father’s sake. Never forget the great truths you
  have learned at my knee, and, living by them, you shall some day join
  your father and me in heaven. With my best love and a kiss,

                                             Your dying mother,
                                                        ELIZABETH DUNN.”

Squire Sabins, who had been appointed my guardian, though himself
averse to the sea, offered no opposition to my plans, and a week later,
with a new sailor’s kit and as fine an outfit as a lad of my age ever
had, I left for Marblehead to look up Captain Tucker--a man whom I had
never seen, but about whom I had heard from childhood, for, as the
sole survivor of my father’s wreck on the coast of France, he had been
the one to bring the tidings of that unfortunate event to my mother.
I arrived at the village in the evening, and was left by the stage at
Mason’s Inn, where I passed the night. Early the next morning, while I
waited for the breakfast hour, I went out on the street for a stroll.
Of almost the first person I met, an old fisherman on the way to his
nets, I inquired for the residence of the man I was seeking.

“Capt’n Samuel, I ’spose you mean, seein’ how thar ain’t but one Capt’n
Tucker here,” he responded. “That big, gabled house, standin’ thar all
by itself on Rowland Hill, not far from the bay shore, is whar he lives
when to home. But he hain’t thar now. He sailed yisterday from Salem
for Lisbon.”

“You are sure of that, sir?” I asked with much chagrin at the thought
that I had lost by a single day the man I was anxious to see.

“I orter be,” he answered good-naturedly, “seein’ how my Bill went with
him, rated as an able seaman for the fust time, an’ I was over thar to
see them off. Bill will make a capt’n yit, ye see if he don’t, for he’s
with the smartest skipper that sails from these parts, who’s promised
to do the square thing by the lad.”

I was in no state of mind to dispute his assertion, or to listen
further to a recital of his family affairs, which he seemed disposed
to make. Thanking him for his information, though it had not been to
my liking, I turned abruptly and went back to the tavern, where the
disagreeable news I had received was confirmed by the inn-keeper while
I was at breakfast.

I arose from the table out of sorts with myself and uncertain what
course I had better follow. I knew I could go back to my native town
and reclaim the place I had given up on the coasting schooner. But
I did not want to do that, now that I had bidden farewell to all my
friends there with the expectation that I should not see them again
for months, perhaps not for years. I could not afford to wait, without
employment, until Captain Tucker returned. Could I find some other ship
in the harbor, or over at Salem, on which I might secure a berth?

Debating this question with myself, I tramped about the town for
several hours, visiting the cliffs, the beach, the wharves, the old
powder house and Sewall fort. Occasionally I made inquiries about the
seventy vessels of various kinds which I could count in the harbor, but
while I found several opportunities to ship on a fisher or coaster,
I did not find a single vacancy on a vessel bound across the ocean.
Towards noon I reached Red Stone Cove, where there lay, stranded
and broken in two, a long boat, perhaps once belonging to an East
India-man. On the stern part of this disabled craft I at length sat
down and soliloquized:

“Evidently there’s no chance for me here, and after dinner I’ll hire a
boat and row across to Salem, and try my luck there. Perhaps I shall
be more fortunate. If not, I can come back here, and take a berth on a
fisher until Captain Tucker comes home.”

Little thinking the latter was the wiser course for me to follow by all
odds, I arose to retrace my steps to the inn. As I did so I noticed
that a yawl had rounded the opposite point, and was coming into the
cove, apparently crossing over from Salem. It occurred to me that here
might be a chance for me to secure a passage over to that town in the
afternoon, so I waited the arrival of the boat. Soon it was near enough
for me to see that it was pulled by two men in sailor garb, while
a third, whose dress and appearance suggested he might be a ship’s
officer, sat in the stern. In another moment the light craft touched
the beach, and the last-named gentleman stepped ashore. As I went
forward to accost him, I heard him say to his companions:

“Remain here, lads, until I return. I shall not keep you waiting long
if I have good luck in finding the man I am after.”

“Aye! Aye! Capt’n,” they replied. “You’ll find us here when you get
back.”

Those words gave directions to the form of my salutation, as I reached
his side. Touching my hat, I said:

“I beg your pardon, Captain, but are you just over from Salem?”

“Yes,” he answered, a little gruffly, I thought, “but what is that to
you?”

“Do you know of any vessel over there that will soon sail for Portugal?”

I added that last word to my query, for it had suddenly occurred to me
that, if I could reach that country, I might join Captain Tucker over
there as well as on this side of the ocean.

“I do,” he admitted, “but why do you ask?” and for the first time he
looked me carefully over.

“I’d like to ship on her,” I cried joyfully. “Will you kindly tell me
her name, and where I can find her captain?”

“I happen to be her master,” he responded affably. “Ebenezer Weston,
of the brig _Young Phoenix_, bound from Salem to Oporto within a few
hours,” he added with growing politeness. “Now tell me who you are and
why you wish to go to Portugal.”

I promptly did so, without a single interruption or word of comment
from him until my story was finished. Then he remarked:

“Arthur Dunn, son of Captain Thomas Dunn, and seeking for a place with
Captain Samuel Tucker. That’s all in your favor, young man. Now tell me
what experience you have had as a sailor--what do you know of a brig
and the handling of her?”

Modestly I told him, saying I hoped to be rated as an able seaman on
the vessel which shipped me.

We had been walking up the beach as we talked, and were now out of the
hearing of the sailors who remained by the yawl, a fact Captain Weston
was careful to note before he spoke again.

“I can do better than that for you, Arthur Dunn,” he then said, “if
you think you can fill the place. What I want is a second mate. I came
over here to look for a young fellow whom I know slightly and whom I
believed would answer for the berth. He may be here, and he may not.
He might be willing to ship with me and he might not. What is more
important, you are here, and are ready to go. Now why can’t we strike a
bargain?”

“I would do my very best, sir,” I stammered, hardly believing it
possible the man could be in earnest in his proposal.

“You are rather young for the position, I admit,” he said more to
himself than to me, “but you have had more experience at sea than the
man I was after, and the stock you came from, as I happen to know, is
excellent. Your father and grandfather were born sailors, and I believe
it will prove so in your case. Anyway, I’m willing to take the risk,
and will tell you what I’ll do. If you will sign for the voyage over
and back, and not join Captain Tucker until he’s home again, which will
be about the same time we heave into port, I’ll rate you at forty-eight
shillings as a starter. How will that do?”

“I certainly shall accept the offer, and thank you for it, too,” I
answered heartily. “When and where shall I report to you?”

He thought a moment; then replied: “There’s hardly room in the yawl
for you and your traps, and it would be something of a job to tote
the latter down here. So you’d better go back to the tavern, get your
dinner, and take the afternoon stage over to Salem. Let the driver
leave you at Long Wharf. I’ll have a boat there for you. This completes
my crew, and we’ll sail on the morning tide.”

“I’ll be on hand, sir,” I promised, and turned towards the village.
Before I reached the bank above the beach, however, he called out:

“Hey there, Master Dunn, I’m usually pretty close mouthed about my
affairs, especially here in this town, so you needn’t say anything to
anyone about whom you have shipped with. Just get your luggage and come
over to the brig.”

“Very well, sir,” I answered, thinking little then about the
strangeness of this request.

A rapid walk of ten minutes took me back to the tavern, where I got
dinner, settled my bill and clambered onto the top of the huge coach
that soon rattled up to the door.

“When shall we see you again?” asked the courteous inn-keeper,
following me out to the stage, with an evident desire to learn more of
me and my visit to the town than he had yet been able to ascertain.

“When I come back with Captain Tucker,” I retorted, little knowing how
true were my words. “I’ve decided to go over the ocean after him.”

“Your business with him must be important, then,” he muttered as the
great vehicle drove away.

Something more than an hour later I was on Long Wharf where I found
Captain Weston had been as good as his word. The two men who had been
with him at Marblehead were waiting for me with the yawl, and, loading
in my kit, they took me swiftly out to as trim a brig as I had ever
seen. Mounting to her deck I was warmly greeted by the man whom I, at
that moment, counted my best friend, but who was to prove my greatest
enemy before that voyage was over.




CHAPTER II

IN WHICH I DEFY THE CAPTAIN


“Here you are safe on board the brig, Master Dunn, and in good season,”
Captain Weston said as he grasped my hand. “I’m glad of it, for I’ve
changed my mind since I left you, and we’ll heave anchor and be off
tonight. First of all, however, let me introduce you to my first mate.
Master Thomas Marshall, this is our second officer, Master Arthur Dunn.”

As he spoke, a young fellow, who looked scarcely older than myself,
though I learned later that he was just over twenty-one, stepped
forward and offered me his hand.

“I’m glad to see you, Master Dunn,” he said in a hearty way that quite
won my heart, “and I welcome you on board the _Young Phoenix_.”

Possibly my face revealed my surprise at finding the executive officer
of the vessel but a stripling, for as I took Master Marshall’s hand,
the Captain remarked: “Yes, it’s the _Young Phoenix_--young in name and
young in age, for she is only three years old, and what is more fitting
than that she should have young mates? Ha! ha! ha!” and he laughed
quite boisterously over his attempt at pleasantry.

For myself, I thought his laughter unseemly, and for some reason,
though I could not then have told why, it grated on my ears. But the
irritation I experienced was forgotten or overlooked the next moment,
for, turning to two sailors who stood near, Captain Weston directed
them to take my luggage down into the cabin. Then, speaking to me, he
added:

“And come right along yourself, Master Dunn. I’ll show you your
quarters, and have you sign the ship’s articles, and explain to you
about the watches. Then we’ll be ready to get under weigh.”

In five minutes these preliminaries were attended to, in ten minutes
more the anchor was hoisted, and, with all sails set, the brig was
standing out of the harbor. The breeze was a good one, the vessel
proved herself a good sailer, and before sundown we were out of sight
of land.

I do not imagine there was ever a more complacent lad than myself when
I took the second watch at eight bells, and found myself for the time
in sole command of the vessel. The night was a beautiful one; the stars
showed bright and clear in the deep vault over my head; the wind--a
west one--bore us rapidly along our course; the brig responded to every
touch of the wheel like a thing of life; and my own feelings were in
keeping with my surroundings.

I walked the quarter-deck with a slow and dignified tread, occasionally
pausing to direct some member of my watch to tauten a rope, or ease up
a sail, or to keep a sharp lookout forward. Perhaps these commands
were not always necessary, but I issued them partly to impress my men
with the feeling that I, though young, was equal to the place I had
been called to fill, and partly that I might test the working of the
vessel and familiarize myself with her peculiarities. For, though you
may not know it, each ship has her own whims and moods, and only he who
is thoroughly acquainted with them can have full mastery over her.

So the minutes rolled away, each new discovery about the brig
increasing my complacency and giving shape to my thoughts. Here it was
less than forty hours since I had left home, and, though I had not
found Captain Tucker, I was in a better berth than he would have been
likely to give or find for me, thanks to my fortunate meeting with
Captain Weston. My quarters on the vessel were all I could ask; the
meal I had eaten at dusk had revealed the fact that the captain was a
good provider; the first officer, Master Marshall, appeared to be a
good sort of a fellow and one I could easily get along with. On the
whole, I was better off than I had even dared to hope or expect.

So I mused, and among my musings was one that took the form of
a resolve: Captain Weston should have no occasion to regret the
confidence he had put in me. I would do all that was possible to win
his approbation, until I had been advanced to the position of first
officer. From that it would be an easy step to the command of some
vessel--and when that place was reached I could go back to my native
village with pride and elation. Anyway, no more forecastle for me. I
was in the cabin, and there I would stay until I was Captain Dunn.

I make mention of these thoughts here, for I was soon to learn the
lesson that there is a vast difference between an idle fancy and
the stern reality. In fact, my complacency received a rude shock
almost immediately. Walking along to Bill Howard, the oldest and most
experienced sailor on board the brig, who was taking his trick at the
wheel, I asked:

“How does she handle, Bill? Does she mind her helm readily?”

“I’ve seed them that does better,” he growled.

“I don’t know about that, Bill,” I retorted. “I call this a pretty fine
craft.”

“She’s well ’nough, I ’spose,” he admitted with some show of
reluctance. “At the same time Bill Howard wishes he wasn’t on board of
her.”

“Why, what’s the trouble?” I persisted. “It can’t be they don’t give
you enough to eat. I saw the supper sent down to you tonight. You don’t
often get better on shipboard.”

“I wants no better, if it only continues,” he replied.

“What makes you think it won’t, Bill?” I questioned, thinking he might
have been along with Captain Weston on a previous voyage and had some
revelation to make. I had known of skippers who always fed their crews
well until they got them out to sea. It might be this that would
prove to be the weak point of the man with whom I had shipped so
unceremoniously. But his reply was a question.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but have you sailed on the brig afore?”

“No, Bill, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Never, sir! and I can’t find anyone from fust mate to cabin-boy that
has.”

He paused a moment, as though giving me time to take in the assertion;
then he continued:

“You’s young, sir, but I can see you are a sailor. Now let me ax you
a question. Does it look well for a Capt’n when goin’ out of his
home port to have to ship all new men? Bill Howard says no, an’ he’d
never shipped on the brig had he knowed it. Mark my word, sir, I’m no
croaker, but I’ll bet ye a month’s pay we’ll both wish we were ashore
’fore we make port again. An’ ’twon’t be the craft, sir; ’twill be the
ol’ man.”

“Oh! I guess it won’t turn out as bad as that, Bill,” I replied with a
laugh, and walked away.

But the conceit had been knocked out of me by his words. I was not
so sure that I had been wise to jump so quickly at Captain Weston’s
flattering offer. I was not so certain I wished to remain on the brig
longer than for that voyage. And I built no more air castles during
that watch.

A few minutes before the time for the watches to change Master Marshall
came on deck. Surprised at his early appearance, I went forward to meet
him. As I reached his side, dark as it was, I could readily detect that
he was troubled about something.

“Master Dunn,” he began immediately, “may I ask if you are well
acquainted with Captain Weston? Do you know anything about his habits?”

“No, sir,” I answered with a sinking heart. “I never saw him or heard
of him until about three hours before I put my foot on the brig.”

“Then I’m not the only fool on board,” he remarked quickly, and I
thought he said it with considerable satisfaction. “My acquaintance
with him isn’t twenty hours old.”

He was silent a moment, and then as though some explanation was
necessary went on:

“I belong in Eastport, Maine. My last berth was as second mate on a
brig in the West India trade. We were wrecked a week ago, and a Salem
craft picked us up and brought us in there. I’d hardly stepped ashore
when I met Captain Weston. He called me by name, said he knew of me,
and, being in want of a first officer, would give me the place if I
could arrange to sail at once. Like yourself, I’m ambitious to get
ahead; it seemed too good a chance to lose, and, as he was willing to
advance enough for my outfit, I promptly accepted the offer. In two or
three hours I made my purchases, mailed a letter home, telling of my
good luck, and came aboard. As soon as I was settled in the cabin, the
Captain went over to Marblehead after you.”

“Not after me,” I interrupted, and then I explained how I came to be
shipped on the vessel as second mate.

“It looks bad,” he remarked when I was done. “Captains don’t usually
pick up their officers that way. But doubtless some of the crew are old
hands, and we can learn from them about the Captain.”

“No,” I declared, and then I told him of the conversation I had just
held with Bill Howard.

“It’s worse than I thought!” he ejaculated. “New officers and new men
throughout!”

“Why, what have you discovered?” I inquired, coming at last to the
question which I had for some time been eager to ask.

“You’ll see for yourself when you go below,” he replied, “though I
don’t mind telling you. He’s down there drinking like a fish, and is
already so he can’t tell whether he’s afloat or ashore.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s no worse than that,” I said with a sigh of relief,
“for I’m sure you and I can manage the brig.”

“It isn’t that that troubles me,” he responded quickly. “But you see
he’s captain whether drunk or sober, and you can never tell what freak
a drunken man will take. No, Master Dunn, we are in for it, and must
stand together so far as we can for our own protection and for the
protection of the crew.”

“You may count on me,” I promised, and as the watches were now changing
I started for the cabin.

Once there, I found Master Marshall had not overstated the situation.
The room was filled with the odor of rum, and a glass and bottle, both
empty, sat upon the table, while the skipper was lying on the floor,
now entirely overcome with the liquor he had drunk; and there he still
lay four hours later when I again went on deck.

It was not, in fact, until the next day at noon that he came on deck,
and I never knew a greater change in the appearance of any person
within the same length of time than there was in him. From the neatly
dressed, affable gentleman who had received me as I stepped on board
the brig, he had now become the ill-kept, blear-eyed, irascible sot.
Ignoring Master Marshall and myself, though both of us were near the
wheel, he walked rapidly down to the galley, where the cook was issuing
food to the men. Confronting that personage just as he came through the
door of the caboose, his hands full of dishes, he angrily demanded:

“Who told you to give all that grub to those land-lubbers?”

“You did, sir,” stammered the man in great alarm. “Indeed, sir, I
haven’t given them a single thing more than you told me.”

“Take that for your impudence,” the irate officer cried, and with his
huge fist he struck the fellow a blow which sent him sprawling down the
deck, while the dishes he carried rolled to the opposite rail.

“Now, sir,” he shouted as the unfortunate cook regained his feet, “hear
me! You are to give the men just one-half what you’ve been doing until
further orders, and mark! if I catch you adding a single pound to that,
I’ll tie you to the mast and give you twenty lashes with the cat.”

“I’ll do just as you say, sir,” the man meekly promised, as he began
to pick up his stray utensils.

That was the beginning of the brutal incidents we were called to
witness or experience through the remainder of our voyage. I have no
heart to write them out in detail here. But let me say I have followed
the sea for well nigh sixty years now, sailing on all kinds of vessels
and with all sorts of masters, but I never saw the equal of Captain
Weston for meanness or brutality. The men were starved and beaten and
worked nearly to death. I am sure there would have been more than one
fatality but for the courage and tact of Master Marshall. When the
captain was in his drunken stupors, he would issue extra food to the
men on his own responsibility, and so make up to them in a measure that
from which they were unjustly deprived. In more than one instance,
when the commander in some ugly mood had ordered a sailor to the lash,
he would contrive to put off the punishment until later, and, on the
skipper’s returning once more to his cups, the man was allowed to
go. But there were scores of times when he could do nothing, for the
Captain liked to do the lashing with his own hands.

For a wonder I escaped any direct altercation with the Captain until
we had sighted the Bayona islands off the coast of Spain. It was early
morning, the sky was overcast, and a heavy wind was blowing from the
north-east. I was in charge of the deck and had sent Bill Howard up the
mainmast to belay a rope which had broken loose. He completed his task,
and started on his return to the deck. Just then a sudden gust of wind
took off his tarpaulin, and sent it scaling toward the cabin hatch. It
reached there as the Captain poked his head out for a squint at the
weather, and struck him in the face with a force that must have stung
him severely. With an oath he leaped to the deck, and, discovering Bill
bareheaded, he turned upon him with the fury of a maniac.

“You low-lived cur,” he hissed. “I’ll teach you better than to throw
your hat at me! Here, Master Dunn, tie the villain to the mast, and
I’ll give him forty blows with the cat.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, it was the wind that took off Bill’s hat,” I
started to explain.

“So you will excuse his devilish trick, hey?” he shouted even more
furiously. “Well, let me tell you he shall be whipped, and what is
more, you shall give him the blows yourself. Here, men, tie that fellow
to the mast there.”

The last words were addressed to two sailors who stood near him and
they sullenly obeyed.

“Bring me the cat,” the angry officer commanded when poor Bill, with
his back stripped bare, had been bound to the stick.

One of the sailors soon appeared with the ugly lash, and the skipper,
turning to me, remarked with a satanic grin:

“Here, take this, Master Dunn, and for every blow you give that does
not draw blood on yonder fellow’s back, you yourself shall receive two.”

My blood boiled within me, but I answered him calmly enough:

“Never, sir! You may lash me, kill me, as you please, but Bill is
innocent and not a blow will I strike.”

There was an instant hush, as the sailors, aghast at my temerity, held
their breath, and the wind itself lulled as though anxious to know the
outcome of my defiance. Then with the roar of a maddened bull, Captain
Weston leaped toward me.




CHAPTER III

LEFT ON THE BRIG


Clenching his fist as he came, he struck at me with all his tremendous
strength, and, had he hit me, I am certain I should have been killed,
but I was on the alert, and jumped to one side in time to avoid the
blow. At the same instant the wind came again with great violence,
the brig suddenly lurched, and my assailant pitched headlong against
the starboard rail, striking his head with a force that knocked him
senseless. The fact that he was attacking me did not prevent my
hastening to his assistance. But quick as I was, another was before
me. It was the first mate. He had come on deck in time to witness the
skipper’s fall, and was already kneeling over the unconscious man when
I reached his side. Tearing open the Captain’s waistcoat, he placed his
hand over the heart, announcing a moment later:

“He’s only stunned, Master Dunn. I’ll have him taken down below, and do
all I can for him. But you’d better keep out of his way for a while,
and he may forget the whole affair.” Then rising, he directed two of
the sailors to carry him down into the cabin. “Liberate Bill,” he added
as he turned to follow them.

I was not slow to obey that order, and as I assisted the old tar in
putting on his shirt and jacket, he said:

“I’m obleeged to ye, sir, for what ye’ve done, but I fear ye haven’t
seen the last of it, an’ I’d rather ben flogged than got ye into
trouble.”

“It’s all right, Bill,” I assured him. “Come what may, I shall never
whip an innocent man. I should have done the same for any of the crew.”

“I knows it, sir, but Bill Howard won’t forget ye’ve done it for him,
as ye’ll see,” and he went back to his station.

A half-hour later Master Marshall returned to the deck, saying:

“He wasn’t hurt any to speak of. There’s a big swelling on the top of
his head, and he’s a little dazed over what has happened. But it don’t
prevent him from going back to his rum. He’s pouring it down again as
if it were water, and in a short time will be drunker than ever. I only
hope he’ll keep so until we are in port. Then you can light out for
Lisbon and join Captain Tucker. It will be safer than to stay here and
face his anger when he does come to himself.”

“I won’t do that unless I have to,” I answered stoutly. “I’m as ready
to do my full duty by Captain Weston as ever, but I won’t aid him in
abusing innocent men,” and I explained how it was that Bill Howard had
aroused the skipper’s wrath.

“I knew it was something of the kind,” he returned warmly, “for I was
on deck in time to hear what you said. But you never know what freak
a drunken man will take. He may forget this whole affair, as I have
intimated, or he may hold the whole matter against you until he’s had
his revenge. My advice is to leave the brig as soon as we are in port.”

“Why cannot we appeal to the consul?” I questioned. “Surely he will
take our word against that of a drunken captain.”

“He may not give us the chance to make any complaint against him,” he
replied, “but we’ll see. I only fear he will vent his anger in some way
on you before we can make any move to prevent it.”

I tried to think that he was altogether too apprehensive of coming
trouble, though I confess I finished my watch with much heaviness of
heart. Then, having determined to face the worst immediately, I went
down to my quarters as usual for a much needed rest. No sooner had I
entered the cabin, however, than I found for the present at least I
had nothing to fear, as the captain lay in a drunken stupor.

Throwing myself into my berth, I tossed about for some time, thinking
over the incidents of the last hour or two. It seemed therefore as
though I had scarcely closed my eyes when there came a call: “All hands
on deck!”

I leaped to my feet, ran quickly to the ladder, noticing as I ran that
the captain was still lying there in the same condition in which I had
found him on entering the cabin, and clambered to the deck. A single
glance told me why we had been called. The storm, which was brewing
during my last watch, now raged in full force and the brig, under
shortened sail, was staggering along before it, while the huge waves
were chasing her and threatening to engulf her.

Master Marshall met me at the hatch.

“How’s the Captain?” he inquired somewhat anxiously. “Is he of any use
to us?”

“Not the slightest,” I replied. “He don’t even know that I have been
into the cabin.”

“Then, Master Dunn, we shall have to fight out the storm for
ourselves,” he declared. “That is why I have called you to the deck.
You must share the responsibility with me. What more would you do than
I have done?”

I ran my eye over the craft. All her top-sails were taken in, but she
still carried her mainsail, her foresail, and her jibs. Under these she
dove her bow into the waves. It was evident she was too heavy forward
to ride easily under the gale, so I said promptly:

“I’d take in every stitch of canvas but the jib and mainsail, sir, and
reef those down to just enough to keep her steady. Then I’d ease her
off a point or two from her course; it’ll keep her from diving into the
seas that are threatening to swamp her.”

“It’ll keep her off shore and give us more sea room,” he admitted, “and
as neither of us is acquainted in here, it isn’t a bad idea;” and then
he gave the orders necessary to put my suggestions into execution.

For hours we kept on under the reefed canvas, the storm scarcely
changing in its violence. Drenched to the skin, chilled to the bone,
hungry from long fasting, we were in poor condition to meet the night
which was now fast approaching. Since noon our hatches had been lashed
down, and we knew nothing of what was going on in the cabin. If the
skipper had aroused sufficiently to realize we were struggling with the
tempest, he gave no signs of it.

We looked for no help from him. Still, assistance was to be
providentially furnished us.

“Sloop ahoy!” shouted the forward lookout.

“Where away?” asked Master Marshall, hastening towards the bow.

“Two points off our larboard, and bearing straight down this way, sir,”
was the reply.

“She’s a pilot boat, sir,” Bill Howard declared a moment later to me.
“I’ve seen ’em too many times in here to be mistaken.”

He was right, for within five minutes she had run near enough for her
commander to hail us in English and ask if we wished him to send a man
on board.

“Yes, sir,” responded Master Marshall at the top of his lungs. Then he
said to me in lower tones: “This is a Godsend, Master Dunn, though I
don’t see how he can put a man aboard of us. No boat can live in this
sea.”

But the Portuguese commander was equal to the occasion. Working up
under our lee, he tossed a rope to our deck, the other end of which
had already been made fast to the waist of the man he was going to
send over to us; and no sooner did this fellow see we had caught the
line than he plunged into the sea and swam vigorously for us. We
speedily pulled him on board, well drenched but none the worse for his
voluntary bath. He could speak enough English to make us understand we
were only about thirty miles out of Oporto, into which he could take
us, notwithstanding the darkness and storm. Greatly relieved, Master
Marshall surrendered the command of the brig to him, and under his
orders we were soon headed for that city.

Slowly the hours wore away, and as they passed the wind decreased
somewhat in its violence, and the sea became less boisterous. It was
evident the storm was abating, and new hope filled the hearts of all.
Then when the pilot at length declared we were approaching the outer
harbor of our desired haven, a cheer broke from the lips of the worn
and weary sailors. Five minutes later, however, the newborn hope was
suddenly changed to the gravest anxiety.

“Breakers!” called out the bowman, and the pilot himself ran forward at
the cry.

“It’s long reef, off harbor,” he said a minute later in his broken
English. “Drifted too far south; I soon clear them though.”

But he could not keep his promise. An adverse current as well as an
adverse wind was against us, and soon he declared our only hope was to
anchor until morning, when with a flood tide and daylight to guide us,
we might sweep over the reef. So we cast over our anchor, took in all
sail, and anxiously waited for the morning.

But it was not an easy place for a vessel to ride, and before long we
discovered we were dragging our anchor, and making straight for the
breakers.

“Must take boats--only hope,” the pilot announced.

Before Master Marshall could issue a single order, however, there came
a loud rap on the cabin hatch near which I was standing. Throwing off
the fastenings, I pushed the cover back and out stepped Captain Weston.

In the darkness we could obtain little idea of his appearance, but his
voice sounded out loud and clear, as he asked:

“What’s the trouble? Where are we? Why have I not been called?”

It was a rather embarrassing situation, but ignoring the last question,
I replied:

“We are drifting on the long reef off Oporto harbor, and the pilot says
our only hope is to take to the boats.”

“The pilot says so? Where is he? How came he here?” the skipper next
demanded.

Master Marshall kindly, saved me from further reply.

“Here he is, Captain Weston,” he said, bringing the Portuguese forward.
“He’ll tell you all about our situation.”

Confronted by the pilot, and, apparently now recognizing the danger the
brig was in, the captain made no further allusions to our neglect of
him, but listened attentively to what the fellow had to say.

Though dumbfounded that he was now for the first time brought face to
face with the real commander of the vessel, the pilot made a short and
straight explanation of the situation, ending:

“No time to spare, Capt’n, we soon be on reef.”

Captain Weston had but to listen to understand the force of these
words. Already above the howling of the wind could be heard the noise
of the waves dashing on the rocks, and every moment the sound grew
louder.

“Clear away the boats!” he commanded. “Master Marshall, you and your
watch may take the first one. Let the pilot go with you. Master Dunn,
see that the second one is made ready for you and your men. I’ll go
with you.”

His words were calm and dignified, and I felt sure that in the common
danger that threatened us he had forgotten any animosity he might have
felt towards me. So I sprang to my station, and saw that our yawl was
lowered into the tossing sea.

Master Marshall was first off, clearing from the brig’s side without
mishap, and then my men tumbled into their waiting craft.

“Ready, sir,” I reported to the skipper, who still stood near the cabin
as though loath to leave his vessel.

“All right,” he responded pleasantly, coming promptly over to the rail.
“You are younger and sprier than I, Master Dunn, and so I’ll swing down
first, and you may follow.”

“Certainly, sir,” I answered, and watched him as he disappeared in the
darkness down the rope. I even took hold of the line to steady it, for
it was swaying violently with every heave of the boat.

A moment later I knew he had reached the yawl in safety, for the cord
was relieved of his weight, and so I swung myself over the rail to
follow him. The next instant the rope parted below my feet and I was
left dangling in the air. For a minute I knew not what to do, then
thinking if the line had given away at the stern of the craft, her bow
was probably still holding fast, I drew myself up as best I could to
the deck, and hurried over to the other fastening. Swinging for the
second time over the rail, I endeavored to lower myself down to the
yawl, but as I did so I became aware of two things: this rope was also
loose, and someone else as well as myself was clinging to it. Before I
had recovered from my astonishment at these discoveries, the voice of
Bill Howard cried out just below me:

“Go back, sir! For God’s sake, go back, sir! The Capt’n has cut you
loose!”




CHAPTER IV

A DASTARDLY TRICK


It was neither the time nor the place to question this astounding
announcement, so I drew myself back to the deck of the brig as best I
could, and the next moment Bill Howard landed beside me.

“What is it you say, Bill?” I now demanded. “The Captain cut me loose?
Then how come you here? Tell me all about it,” for though I knew
Captain Weston was angry with me, I could hardly believe he would vent
his spite in an act which imperiled my life.

“It’s jest as I tell ye, Master Dunn,” the old sailor began. “I was
a slidin’ down the bowline when I heerd him tell ye to let him go
fust. Now ’tisn’t nateral for a Capt’n to leave a stranded ship ’fore
his men, an’ I smelt mice ’t once. So when my feet touched the boat I
stayed right thar, holdin’ on to the rope. His feet hadn’t more than
struck the stern when I felt that end of the craft swingin’ off, an’
I knew what he was up to, an’ ’spected to hear ye go chunk into the
water. I let go the line an’ leaned over the side of the boat ready to
grab ye when ye struck. But ye didn’t come, an’ then I knew ye’d gone
back to the deck an’ would come down the other rope. So I rose to my
feet to catch hold of it agin, an’ jest then the Capt’n calls out: ‘We
are all here, lads, clear away.’ Jack Slade was next to me, an’ hearin’
the command, he whips out his knife an’ cuts the line ’fore I could say
a word. I caught it though, an’ tried to hold the boat thar till ye
could climb down, but the waves swept her out from under me quicker’n a
flash, an’ all I could do was to tell ye to go back.”

I grasped the honest fellow’s hand, saying with much emotion:

“It was kind of you, Bill, to try to thwart the Captain’s purpose, but
you have lost your only chance of escape by it. You’d better left me to
my fate.”

“Not by a long way!” he retorted emphatically. “I told ye Bill Howard
wouldn’t forget your kindness, an’ I’ve come back to help ye out of
this scrape.”

“How?” I asked incredulouslv. “We are drawing nearer the reef every
moment, and once we strike, it will be all up with the vessel and with
us.”

“We hain’t goin’ on any reef tonight,” he persisted. “I thought it all
out while holdin’ on to that line. Thar’s another anchor in the hold.
We’ll get it out an’ down, an’ ’twill hold us till high tide. Then
we’ll cut the cables an’ go straight over the reef into the harbor. A
vessel did it here much as ten years ago. I heerd ’em tell ’bout it
when I was here on the _Sally Ann_ from New Bedford.”

They say a drowning man will catch at a straw, and I certainly was
given new hope by my companion’s words. Together we went forward, got
off the hatch, and with much difficulty hoisted out the anchor, though
we shipped considerable water while at the job. To bend on a cable and
carry it astern, where we had decided to put it out, was an easier
task. But as we were about to throw the iron into the sea, I suddenly
let go of it, crying out:

“Look quick, Bill. We are no nearer the reef than we were a half-hour
ago. I believe the anchor we already have out has caught and is
holding.”

He glanced toward the reef, and then, letting go his own hold on the
spare anchor, answered joyously:

“Ye are right, Master Dunn, an’ we can keep this iron to hold us after
we are over the reef.”

Five, ten minutes, we stood there watching, ready to put out the second
anchor if it were needed. The darkness was so dense we could not see
far away, but our ears helped where our eyes failed, and the sound of
the dashing waves grew no louder. At length convinced that the brig was
no longer drifting, we crept under the lee of the cabin, and waited
with what patience we could for the flood tide.

We had only one way of telling when it was safe for us to venture
across the reef--as the water grew in depth the sound of the breakers
lessened. When, therefore, their noise had practically ceased, we
crawled out of our retreat and went over to the stern rail.

“Will it do to cut loose now?” I inquired.

“I dunno,” Bill replied. “We want all the water under us we can get,
but won’t want to wait till the tide slacks. How long d’ye ’spose we’ve
been here!”

“Four hours,” I answered, making the best guess I could.

The old sailor did not question my estimate. “Then the tide won’t be
clear for two hours yet,” he responded. “We’d better wait a while
longer, I reck’n.”

We crept back to our shelter, and, in order to form some idea of the
passing moments, I counted slowly to myself. My comrade evidently
proposed to leave all the responsibility of deciding the lapse of time
to me, for he said nothing until I announced:

“An hour has gone by, Bill.”

“Then we’ll start,” he said. “If ye’ll take the wheel, I’ll go forward,
an’ cut the cable.”

I went aft, loosened the fastenings of the wheel, and stood ready to
head the brig for the reef as soon as she was free. The next minute,
like a race horse, she whirled to the larboard under a mighty gust of
wind, and dashed away. Before I could get her bow around we were on
the reef, and a grating sound told that her keel was grazing the rocks
below. It was only momentary, however, for a huge billow caught her,
and lifted her clear of the obstruction before she could pound a hole
in her bottom, and on and over the great barrier we swept unharmed.

By this time I had the craft headed for the harbor, and the creaking
of cords and the fluttering of canvas forward told me that Bill,
single handed, was trying to put sail enough on her to steady her to
her course. He must have succeeded for she soon became easy and sped on
before the wind straight for the town, the glimmer of whose lights I
could now faintly see.

My only fear now was that we might strike some sunken ledge, since I
knew nothing of the waters before me, or run aground on some shallow
bank. But of this fear I was soon relieved, for Bill came aft and on
reaching my side, said:

“Let me take her, sir. I’ve been in here afore, an’ reckon I can put
her where she’ll ride easy till mornin’.”

Gladly I gave up the wheel to him, and busied myself getting our
remaining anchor ready to throw overboard when we were in a place of
safety. Steadily the waters grew less boisterous, then the wind blew
less violently, and I knew we were getting behind the headlands which
enclosed the harbor. The lights of the city also gradually became
more distinct, and after a while we began to pass vessels which were
out-riding the gale in safety.

I turned to my comrade. “Had we not better anchor soon?” I queried.

“If you say so, sir,” he answered promptly, “but I’m sure I can take
the brig a mile nearer town.”

I made no objection to this, and ten or fifteen minutes later he handed
the wheel over to me, saying:

“I’ll go forward now, sir, an’ let down the jib. Then we’ll put over
the anchor.”

These tasks were soon accomplished, and then we went to the caboose,
built a fire, and got what might be called our supper and breakfast
in one, for we had eaten nothing since the previous noon. The meal
finished, I asked Bill to go into the cabin with me for a much needed
rest. But he flatly refused, saying:

“It’s no place for the likes of me, sir; I’ll just tumble into my old
berth, while ye take the cabin. I’ll call ye, if I wake fust.”

It seemed as though I had barely closed my eyes when he aroused me.
“It’s broad daylight, sir, an’ our boats are comin’ back to us,” he
explained.

I sprang up and followed him back to the deck. The storm had broken,
the sun was at least two hours high, and there, between us and the town
and coming down toward us, were our two boats with their crews.

Silently Bill and I awaited their approach. I do not know what his
thoughts were, but for myself I could not help wondering what would be
Captain Weston’s greeting. I hoped the saving of the brig would appease
his animosity, and we might now be friends. For the sake of peace I was
ready to overlook his base attempt to leave me on the stranded brig. In
this spirit I turned towards him, as he mounted the deck, and waited
somewhat anxiously his first words.

“So the brig drifted over the reef after all,” he remarked not
unpleasantly.

“We cut her loose at high tide, and sailed her over,” I answered, and
in a few more words acquainted him with our experiences during the
previous night.

“Lost her anchor, did you?” he commented when I had finished the tale,
and I thought his tones were growing sharp and crusty.

“We thought it better to lose that than to lose the brig,” I responded
as calmly as I could under the resentment which was welling up in my
heart.

“Hump!” he ejaculated. Then he turned to Master Marshall, saying: “Send
all hands to their quarters, sir, and give them their rations. Then
call me,” and he stalked away to his cabin.

The moment he was out of sight the first mate grabbed my hand. Wringing
it heartily, he said:

“You have done a big night’s work, Master Dunn. The whole city is
talking about it. But tell me how you and Bill came to be left on the
brig.”

“I think I’d better leave that for the Captain to explain,” I replied
drily.

But Bill Howard had no such notion, and at a look from Master Marshall
blurted out the whole story. As he proceeded the face of the mate grew
grave, and when the old sailor was done, he turned to me, declaring:

“This is a serious matter, Master Dunn. To desert you at such a time
was little short of outright murder. We must report it to the consul.”

“Let us wait a while,” I suggested. “If Captain Weston only treats me
fairly now, I am willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“I suppose that would be the easiest way out of the unpleasantness,” he
admitted, “but unless you are squarely dealt with, I am ready to lay
the matter before the consul. Remember this.”

Thanking him for his offer, I asked about his own experiences the night
before.

“There is little to tell,” he answered. “The pilot was able to direct
us somewhat, and after several hours of fighting with the wind and the
waves we reached the inner bay and were safe. Landing about midnight,
the old Portuguese took us to a sailor’s inn, where we were cared for.
Captain Weston had a harder time, and it was nearly morning before he
reached the shore, a mile or two below the town: Staying there until
light, he came to the city, where he finally located us. Scarcely had
he joined us when the pilot, who had left us to go to his own home,
ran back with the astonishing news that the brig was anchored in the
harbor. The captain wouldn’t believe it until his own eyes had rested
on the craft and then the way he ordered us to our boats and started us
off here would have made you laugh. I had, of course, learned that you
and Bill had been left on the vessel, but had supposed it was because
the second boat broke away from her side before you could board it.”

Two hours later the captain had the anchor weighed and the brig brought
within a few cable lengths of the pier, alongside of which he expected
in a few days to lay her. Then he went on shore, and was gone until
night.

I was in charge of the deck when he returned, and with a slight nod in
recognition of my presence he passed on to his cabin. He did not appear
again until about nine o’clock the following morning. Then he came over
to the rail where I stood looking off towards a British frigate which
was anchored a half mile farther off shore than the brig. There were
many signs of activity on board the man-of-war, and I was confident she
was getting ready to leave the harbor. The same thought had evidently
occurred to the skipper, for as he reached my side he asked:

“Do you think she is getting under weigh, Master Dunn?”

His tones were cordial, and as pleasantly as I could I responded:

“It looks like it, sir.”

“I must communicate with her captain before she goes,” he then
declared. “Will you take over a note for me?”

“Certainly, sir,” I answered with no thought of what the outcome was to
be.

“Get ready the yawl, and I’ll bring the missive at once. There is no
time to lose,” he said, and hurried away to the cabin.

The boat was lowered, and four sailors were at the oars when he
reappeared. Taking the letter from his hand, I swung down into the
craft, and gave the order:

“Heave away, lads!”

As we left the side of the brig, he called out:

“Deliver the letter to Captain Rawlins himself, Master Dunn.”

“Aye! aye! sir,” I responded.

We made quick time to the frigate’s side, and to my hail: “Ship ahoy!
I have a message for your captain,” an officer standing near the
starboard rail answered: “Boat ahoy! We are waiting for you. Come on
board at once.”

A little surprised at this greeting, I climbed up the ladder and was
received by a midshipman, who conducted me at once to the captain’s
quarters.

That officer sat at one side of a long table, and a sub-lieutenant, who
was evidently acting as his secretary, sat at the other. Saluting the
commander, I presented the note I had brought, and stood there waiting
for the reply which I supposed would soon be given. Slowly the captain
opened and read the note, and then glancing up at me, he asked curtly:

“Your name?”

“Arthur Dunn.”

“You are from Massachusetts Colony?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your age?”

“Nearly seventeen, sir.”

“You have put down these facts?” he inquired now of the young
lieutenant.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you have rated him as an apprentice?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well,” he remarked, and then turned to me, saying to my
astonishment:

“There you are, Master Dunn, duly shipped on His Majesty’s frigate,
_St. George_, and we hope to hear good things of you.” Then to the
midshipman, who had shown me to the cabin and who had all this time
been waiting, he said: “Take him forward, Midshipman Seymour, and see
that he is furnished with the usual outfit.”

By this time I had recovered sufficiently from my astonishment to
protest:

“But, sir, I did not come here to ship on the frigate. I came simply as
Captain Weston’s messenger.”

A look of surprise passed over the face of the captain as he glanced
again at the missive I had brought.

“You admit you are Arthur Dunn,” he then said, “and there can be no
mistake. Yesterday Captain Weston made full arrangements to place you
as an apprentice on board of this frigate. This note says he has sent
you here for that purpose. We will have no further words about it.
Master Seymour, take him forward as I have directed.”

I knew there was no appeal from this decision, and sick at heart at
this new and dastardly trick of my enemy, I turned and followed my
conductor to the deck.




CHAPTER V

AN UNFORTUNATE REMARK


It was perhaps natural that as I followed Midshipman Seymour from the
cabin I should try to think of some way by which I might release myself
from the unhappy situation in which I was now placed. But before I
reached the deck I had concluded there was little hope of any attempt
on my part proving successful.

I knew there was no appeal from the decision of the captain of the
frigate. His word was law not only on board of his vessel, but in the
port, on all matters that pertained to the government of his men. Even
the consul would hardly dare to interfere in any matter that had
arisen between him and one of his crew. The best he could do would be
to report the affair to the home government, and months might elapse
before it was considered, with a likelihood of its being summarily
dismissed as of too trifling a character to claim the attention of the
commissioners. A friendless American lad would stand little show in a
contest with a British naval commander.

To escape from the ship at that time by my own efforts was also out of
the question. The ship was already in motion. That meant my own yawl
had been sent away and so I was not surprised to behold it more than
half way over to the brig when I emerged into the open air. But had it
still been there by the ship’s side, it would have been of no service
to me. Admitted I could have evaded the officer who had charge of me
and reached the boat, to return to the _Young Phoenix_ in it would only
have been placing myself again in Captain Weston’s power, while to make
for the shore would have precipitated a pursuit in which not only all
the boats of the frigate, but every vessel near enough to read her
signal, would have speedily engaged. Furthermore, to attempt to escape
and fail would be to subject myself to the ill-will of both officers
and crew, and render my position on the frigate infinitely more
uncomfortable than I cared even to think of. No one loves a runaway. So
with the best grace I could muster I followed my conductor amidships,
where I was speedily given a sailor’s outfit; then I was taken forward
and assigned a berth.

“You belong to the main truck crew, and are in the fourth watch,”
Master Seymour now announced. “Put on your rig, and go to your place at
once,” and then he left me.

In fifteen minutes I had donned my uniform, stowed away my extra traps,
and was ready for the deck. As I came out of the forecastle, an officer
stepped towards me, possibly to point out my station, but I surprised
him and my station-master by walking over to my place without guidance,
and by the looks the latter gave each other, I knew I had made a
favorable impression on them.

The frigate, under full canvas, and with a piping breeze from the
north, was making straight out to sea. And if I do say it, she made a
pretty sight. There is to my mind nothing much handsomer than a fine
ship with all her sails set to a favorable breeze; and I could not help
a thrill of delight as I took in the scene.

Yet how strange it seemed to me to be a part of it! An hour before
there had not been the slightest thought on my part that I should ever
enter His Majesty’s navy. But here I was, wearing the royal uniform,
duly entered on the frigate’s roster, and starting out on a cruise
whose destination I did not even know. It might be a return to the
colonies, or a voyage to the far east. This did not much concern me.
The things which rankled me most were that I was there against my will,
and that in an instant I had been thrust out of the cabin and back to
the forecastle, which latter fact was especially galling to my pride.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, by a direct order from
Midshipman Seymour. The main sky sail had in some way loosened and
wound around its yard, marring the beauty and the symmetry of the
ship’s rig. Noticing it as he was passing me, the young officer called
out:

“Here, Dunn, hurry aloft there and straighten out that sail.”

I think he called me purposely to test the mettle in me, but I was
equal to the feat.

“Aye! aye! sir,” I answered, and, springing to the nearest ladder, I
ran up the mast without hesitation or fear. In another minute I was
astride the yard, and deftly releasing the canvas, I tautened it to its
place, returning to the deck amid the cheers of my station mates.

We were now outside of the great reef over which I had come in the
brig two nights before, and our pilot was preparing to leave us. I
had some time before noticed that he was the same man who had boarded
the _Young Phoenix_ the night of the storm, but had thought little of
the fact. Pilots come and go continually, and it was no more strange
that he should be hired to take the frigate out than that he had been
secured to take the brig into the harbor. But the cheers of the sailors
attracted his attention, and he glanced towards me as I swung off the
ratlines to the deck. He stared at me for a moment as though he could
scarcely believe his eyes, and then he turned to the officer of the
deck, and said something to him in his native tongue. The lieutenant
replied in the same language, and then with their eyes upon me they
engaged in an earnest conversation for a few minutes. Little knowing
how much it was to effect my future, I went back to my station.

Once out of the harbor, the bow of the frigate was turned towards the
south, and, somewhat anxious to know whither we were bound, I turned
to one of my mates, an old tar who had started the cheering which had
greeted me on my return from the maintopmast, asking:

“Say, mate, can you tell me what cruise we are on?”

He shook his head. “They don’t let the likes of us know,” he explained.
“We may be goin’ to the South Pole for all Pete Berry knows. Say,
youngster, who be ye? Ye’ve seen a ship afore, and know a bowline from
a rudder, that’s sartain.”

Thanking the old sailor for his compliment, without explaining how I
came to be on the frigate, I told who I was, and the main facts of my
sea-faring life.

“So yer name is Dunn,” he commented when I was through, “an’ ye’re no
greenhorn. I’m glad o’ that. We’ve got more’n sixty aboard now, an’
don’t need another.”

The disgust of the old salt as he announced this fact amused me and
we were soon chatting away like old chums. We talked of the ship,
of her rigging, and of her sailing qualities. Inadvertently during
our conversation I alluded to a few changes that I would make in the
adjusting of her canvas to bring out her best speed, and with a quick
discernment Pete asked:

“Have ye ever ben in the cabin, sir?”

“Yes, as mate,” I assented, my downfall coming vividly before me.

“I thought so,” he remarked curiously; “an’ wonder what ye’re doin’
here.”

Before I could reply we were piped to rations, and I was saved from
appearing rude by not answering him. The rest of the day was passed
in the usual routine of a man-of-war, and by night I had become
sufficiently familiar with my duties to perform them as readily and
handily as any of my mates. My deftness was no longer a surprise to
them, however, for Pete had quickly circulated not only the facts of
my sea experience, but the additional fact that I had been an officer
on the brig I had just left--though this was a shrewd guess on his
part, for I had not mentioned the vessel on which I had served as
mate. Greatly amazed that I should leave such a berth to enlist on
the frigate as an apprentice, they became certain there was a mystery
connected with the incident, which my good luck the following day
partially explained.

It came just after our morning rations had been issued. A midshipman
came forward, and, calling me by name, said I was wanted at once in the
cabin. Surprised at this summons I obeyed, and was ushered into the
presence of the Captain, who sat in the same place at the same table,
with the same sub-lieutenant opposite him as when I was there before.

“Good morning, Master Dunn,” was his greeting, and he spoke with a
heartiness I had not expected.

“Good morning, sir,” I replied politely.

“You were mate on the brig _Young Phoenix_?” he then asked.

“Yes, sir, second mate,” I admitted, wondering what was coming.

“Did Captain Weston abandon you when the vessel was off the great reef
during the night of our recent storm?”

“Yes, sir,” I assented, querying with myself how he could have learned
of the fact.

“Then you are that young officer who brought the abandoned craft over
the reef at flood tide, and sailed her safely into the harbor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know, young man, such a thing has only been done once before,
and that was ten years ago? Why, the whole town is talking about it!”

“No, sir, I didn’t know it,” I declared. “There was nothing about the
feat for them to be amazed over. Anyone left on the brig would have
done just as I did.”

He shook his head in dissent, and then continued:

“Tell me how you had offended your Captain so as to lead him to so far
forget his conduct as an officer as to desert you in a time of danger.”

I told him briefly the reason for Captain Weston’s wrath.

“I won’t attempt to justify you here for disobeying the command of a
superior officer, even if he was clearly in the wrong. Sometimes it
is not a safe thing to do. Of two evils you must choose the least,
letting another be responsible for his own mistake,” he remarked with a
smile, when I was done. “But I now understand what you meant yesterday
morning by protesting you had not come over to the ship with any
intention of enlisting. The whole thing was a dastardly trick on the
part of your captain which he played partly that he might gratify his
feeling of resentment towards you, but more because he dare not face
his owners with the report that you had saved a vessel which he had
himself abandoned. With you out of the way he can make any report he
pleases.”

This was a new view of the matter to me, but I could readily see now it
might have been the chief cause of Captain Weston’s action, so I nodded
my head in token of the fact that I accepted his explanation. Then the
commander continued:

“It must have seemed hard to you to be thrust in an instant out of the
cabin into the forecastle.”

“It did, sir!”

“Yet you made no fuss.”

“What good would that have done, sir?” I queried.

He laughed and was silent for a moment, then said: “Tell me, what
experience have you had at sea?”

I told him, and then he began to ply me with questions about the
frigate, about her sails, and her lines; how to handle her in
emergencies; and gave repeated orders, telling me to explain them.
There was nothing, however, I did not understand, and rapidly as he put
the questions, I as rapidly answered them.

“Very good, Master Dunn,” he finally remarked. “We have no midshipman
on board who could have passed a better examination. Unfortunately it
is too late for me to send you back to the brig--and perhaps that would
not be the wisest thing to do. But it is not too late for me to do you
what justice I can.” Then turning to his secretary, “Take the name of
Arthur Dunn from the list of apprentices, and place it upon the list of
midshipmen, dating the fact from yesterday.”

“I have done so,” the lieutenant announced a moment later.

“Very well; go now and call Midshipman Seymour.”

He obeyed, and soon returned with the young officer.

“Midshipman Seymour,” the Captain began sternly, “did you understand me
to say yesterday that this young man was rated as an apprentice?”

“Yes, sir,” he stammered, glancing apprehensively at me.

“Well, sir, someone has made a mistake. Mark! I do not say it was you.
It may have been myself. But it was a mistake, and must be rectified
at once, sir. He is a midshipman, and I want you to rectify the
mistake immediately. See that he is given a midshipman’s outfit, and
assigned to your own mess at once. Explain to your brother officers
that there was a mistake--for which Master Dunn himself is in no way
accountable--by which he was sent to the forecastle and he has proved
he has the first characteristic of a good officer--he can obey without
a murmur or complaint. Good morning, sir.”

“But let me thank you, sir, for this kindness,” I began. But he
interrupted me:

“It is simply justice, sir, and no man should be thanked for doing
right. Good morning.”

So for the second time within twenty-four hours I followed Midshipman
Seymour from the cabin, but with what different feelings in my heart!
The first time I was filled with bitterness and wrath, and almost ready
to curse my fate; this time I was overflowing with gratitude and could
even have thanked Captain Weston for his base act had he been there.

I shall not weary you with the details of my life on the frigate. I
have no complaint to make of the way I was treated. My relations with
my brother officers were for the most part very pleasant, and as I now
look back to that time I in no way regret the ten months I was with
them. Our cruise was up the Mediterranean, and the calls we made at the
different ports enabled me to become familiar with a portion of the
world I had long wanted to see. But the greatest value of those months
was the naval training I received. Though I knew it not, a Divine
Providence was in that way fitting me for my future career. But I am
anticipating.

In August, 1775, we reached Egypt, and after a brief stop at
Alexandria, turned our prow to the west. “Homeward bound!” my mates
declared. Homeward bound for them, but not for me. London, which we
reached in September, was as much a foreign place to me as any we had
visited. Still I never tired of its sights, and as often as possible I
obtained shore leave that I might wander through its streets, gaze upon
its churches, and visit its famous old Tower.

One day as I was going through Cheapside, on my way to Newgate Street,
I noticed a crowd gathered around a man in the uniform of a British
army officer, who was haranguing them in excited tones. Curious to hear
what he was saying, I went over to them. What was my astonishment to
find he was telling them of a great battle which had taken place at
Bunker Hill, Boston, in the previous June! With bitter invective he
denounced the colonists, and declared that His Majesty would soon send
troops enough over there to wipe the rebels off from the face of the
earth. Then he continued:

“And that is why, good people, I am here. As a recruiting officer for
the King I now offer you the shilling. Who will walk up, and taking it
in his palm, enter His Majesty’s service? Here is a shilling for each
one who is ready to cross the seas and avenge the comrades who have
been slain by the rebels! Walk right up, my friends!”

Then catching sight of me standing there in my naval uniform, he called
out:

“There is the kind of young men I am looking for! Do you notice how
fine he looks in his rig? I dare say he will soon be sailing across the
ocean to fight for his King. Won’t you, my lad?”

[Illustration: “What I want is a second mate.”

                                        (p. 18)]

But I was already heated to the boiling point by the tidings I had
heard, and, blazing with indignation that he should dare ask me, a
loyal colonist, such a question, I blurted out:

“I’ll see His Majesty hung first! Do you think I’ll fight against my
native country?”

“A rebel! A rebel! Right here among us! Seize him, comrades! Don’t let
him escape! His Majesty knows what to do with such fellows. Seize him!”
and he sprang towards me.

“Here he is, sir!” cried a stout teamster by my side, and he reached
out his hand to hold me. But I eluded his grasp, and, turning, darted
back down the street, with the whole crowd at my heels.




CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH I HAVE MY FIRST TASTE OF A BRITISH PRISON


Around the first corner and down to Watling Street I ran, taking the
nearest course to the river, though I had no intention of returning to
my ship. The startling news I had heard about the state of affairs in
the homeland had fired me with a patriotism before which all thought
of allegiance to the King vanished. I was inflamed with the desire
to cross the ocean at once and throw in my lot with my struggling
countrymen. For the present I would endeavor to escape my pursuers;
later I would find some way to return to my native land.

I came to this decision in the brief time it took me to reach St.
Paul’s church. Turning there, I crossed Carter Lane and Queen Street,
and came out upon the Thames near St. Paul’s pier. Here a glance behind
me showed that I had distanced my pursuers. Noting this fact with much
satisfaction, I sped out upon the wharf and darted through the open
door of the nearest warehouse. No one appeared to dispute my entrance
or to check my advance, and swiftly I glided between the barrels and
boxes to the farthest side of the room. Here I found another door. It
was closed but unfastened, and I had time to open it before the angry
mob that was following me appeared. Passing quickly into the next
apartment, I shut the door and rolled a huge cask of rum against it,
effectually barring it. Confident now that it would be some time before
my pursuers discovered my whereabouts, I proceeded leisurely through
the semi-darkness of the room to a place where great bales of cotton
were piled nearly to the ceiling. Among these I at length found an open
space which allowed me to crawl back of the outer tier, where I lay
down and waited.

So still was the immense building I could plainly hear the pursuing men
enter the other apartment in search of me. The persistence with which
they kept at their task told of their eagerness to find me. At length
two of them tried the door of the room in which I was hiding, and, on
discovering it was barred, one of them exclaimed confidently:

“He cannot have gone in there!”

“Where is he then?” asked the other doubtingly. “I certainly saw him
enter here. Where can he have gone?”

“Out of that open scuttle in the roof,” answered the first.

“But it is more than four and twenty feet to the ground,” objected the
second.

“What of that?” retorted his companion scornfully. “He’s a sailor and
can climb up or down these walls as easily as he would a mast. It’s
just as I told you, while we have been looking for him among these
boxes and barrels, he has made good his escape.”

The objector seemed to be convinced, for without another word he
followed his comrade down the room. The sound of their footsteps grew
fainter and fainter, and finally ceased altogether. Evidently the
search for me had been abandoned. Still I did not stir. I was safely
hidden, and would remain where I was until the hour for closing the
warehouse had come.

Opposite the opening through which I had crawled was an outside door,
one edge of which was warped enough to allow a few rays of light to
enter. I watched these, knowing that when they disappeared it would be
time for me to make a move.

How slowly the minutes passed! What a tumult of thoughts crowded
through my brain! The events since I had left the colony came trooping
in rapid succession. The life on board the frigate was lived over
again. With these bygone experiences came plans for the future. I knew
there were several vessels in the river hailing from American ports.
Once let their captains know of the battle at Bunker Hill and they
would hasten to sail for home. Doubtless on one of these crafts I could
find a berth. I resolved therefore, to visit them in turn under the
cover of the night until I had secured a place.

At length the light through the doorway grew so faint as to be
scarcely perceptible, and I crawled out of my hole, and went over to
the entrance. First gently, and then more vigorously I tried to open
the door. My efforts were useless, however, for it was fastened on
the outside. So I retraced my steps to the place where I had entered,
rolled the cask away from the door, and opened it. Stepping through
into the next room, I turned to close the entrance after me, when a
voice startled me.

“So you were there after all, my young bantam,” it exclaimed. “Tim
Waters thought so. You didn’t fool him, if you did the others; and it
has been worth while to wait for you too, for now the five pounds
offered for your capture is mine.”

A glance showed me that the speaker was a burly fellow, evidently the
porter of the warehouse. Doubtless he had known that the door between
the apartments of the building was not fastened, and finding it
secured, had quickly divined that I was within. So, stimulated by the
reward offered for my apprehension, he had patiently awaited my coming.

Scarcely had I surmised this fact when he sprang forward to seize me.
But quick as he was, I was quicker, and, eluding his grasp, dodged by
him. So confident was he that he was going to grab me, he had put his
whole force into his forward spring, and now, missing me, he also lost
his balance, and plunged headlong against the door. Startled by his
call, I had but partly closed it, and, swinging back as he came against
it, he was precipitated into the other room. The cask which I had used
as a barricade was only a few feet away, and striking upon this with
his head and shoulders on one side and his legs and feet upon the
other, he set it to rolling. I could scarcely refrain from a shout of
laughter as I saw him struggling to regain his feet, and by his very
efforts sending his unwieldy steed farther and farther down the room.
Not until the barrel fetched up against the pile of cotton bales did
it stop, and even then it was a moment or two before he could regain
an upright position. I only waited long enough to notice he was not
seriously injured, and then shutting the door, I fastened it on my side
by passing a piece of a box cover through the door handle.

In another minute I was in the open air, and finding the way clear, I
hastened through the fast falling darkness to the street. Keeping in
the shadows as much as possible, I went down the river bank to a point
nearly opposite the first American vessel. Here I undertook to reach
the end of an adjacent wharf, hoping there to find a boat in which
I could visit the brig. But I had hardly got a dozen feet down the
planking before a watchman confronted me, saying gruffly as he tried
to look me over in the darkness:

“Who are you? What do you want here? Are you that rebel midshipman
I have been told to look out for? Faith, I believe you are!” and he
seized me by the collar before I could do a thing to prevent him.

Then began a struggle which lasted for some minutes. We were about
equally matched in strength, but he had me at a disadvantage and I am
quite sure would have at length mastered me but for an accident. Coming
to a place where the flooring suddenly raised itself a few inches, he
stumbled and fell full length upon his back. I was pulled down upon
him, but he lost his hold upon me, and before he could recover it, I
regained my feet and was away.

I had no trouble in eluding him, or those he aroused by his cries, but
as I made off under the friendly cover of the night I must confess my
heart was filled with apprehension. It was very evident that the whole
water front had been guarded against every attempt on my part to board
a ship from the colonies. The offer of a reward for my arrest had,
moreover, put all the watchmen on the alert. If I escaped, therefore,
two things were clear: I must change my naval garb for one less
conspicuous, and I must make off across the country to some other port.
Having come to this conclusion, I left the river, and started towards
the rear end of the town. After going a mile or more the lights of a
second-hand clothing shop attracted me. Crossing the street, I glanced
in at the window. The store was evidently kept by an old Jew who was
alone, and I ventured in.

“Have you a second-hand rig you would exchange for this I have on?” I
briefly asked.

He glanced curiously at me, and then with a shrewd look in his eyes
remarked:

“Running away from your ship, are you?”

“Yes,” I admitted promptly, “but I am willing to give you a good
bargain, so what does that matter to you?”

He shook his head. “It might get me into trouble with the naval
authorities,” he replied. “It’s risky business.”

“I don’t see how,” I retorted. “You can tell them I claimed to have
surrendered my commission, or anything else you choose. They cannot
blame you for making a good trade when you had the chance.”

He came slowly around his counter and looked my uniform carefully over.
It was nearly new, and in excellent condition, and as he noted these
facts the look in his eyes changed to one of greed.

“It’s risky, risky,” he replied, “and I can’t allow you much for the
garments. But here is something I will give you for it,” and he led
the way to the other side of the shop. From a shelf he took what had
evidently been the suit of a farmer lad. It was of coarse material and
well worn, yet neat and clean.

“I took this a week ago from a youngster who ran away to sea,” he
explained; “now I’ll exchange with you to help you run away from the
sea,” and he laughed at his attempt at facetiousness.

The clothes were not worth half those I was wearing, but I did not
hesitate.

“I will do it,” I said. “Can I go into your back room and make the
change?”

He assented, and led me into the rear room, leaving me alone, as
another customer came in just then. I took the opportunity, while
changing my clothing, to look over the state of my finances, finding I
had five shillings and a sixpence. There was little likelihood of my
earning any more and this sum, therefore, must last me until I could
find a ship for home. So it was clear that whatever port I decided to
go to, I must walk, in order to husband my little store.

My first anxiety, however, was to put the city behind me, and with this
end in view, upon leaving the shop I struck off uptown at a brisk rate.
An hour later, in the outskirts, I stopped at an inn long enough to get
supper, and then resumed my tramp. All night long I kept it up, but as
dawn came on, finding myself near a small village, which I afterwards
learned to be Watford, I entered and made my way to its one tavern.
There I secured a room, to which I at once retired for a much needed
rest. Some hours later I was awakened by the inn-keeper, whom I found
sitting down on the side of my bed gazing long and fixedly at me.

“There is a squad of soldiers down stairs who are looking for a lad
about your size and build, I should judge.”

Though greatly alarmed by the tidings, there was something in the man’s
gaze which reassured me, and I waited for him to go on:

“They say he is a young rebel from the colonies, who has cursed the
King.”

Still I was silent.

“Tell me all about it,” he continued. “You have a friend in me.”

The man’s dealing with me proved that, so I frankly told my story.

“If that is all, I will protect you,” he declared. “I have a brother
over there, and my sympathies are with the colonies. I hope they will
win,” and he abruptly left the room.

Listening at the door, I heard him descend the stairs, and say to the
officer in charge of the troopers:

“I have no one here dressed as you say that young rebel was; but I’ll
tell you what I’ll do. If he comes this way, I’ll take care of him,”
a promise he literally kept. For he not only boarded me a week, long
enough, as he believed, to end all search for me, but on my departure
put money enough into my hands to pay my fare by stage to Liverpool,
where he advised me to go.

“You may regard all I have done for you as a loan,” were his parting
words, “and repay me when I come to America,” a thing I am glad to say
I was able to do.

I left Watford with little fear of detection, and enjoyed to the full
my ride across the country to St. Helen’s, a small town a few miles
out of Liverpool. The stage reached there just at dark, and, as I had
done a half dozen times before, I descended from its top and entered
the tavern to order supper and a room for the night. Two feet over the
threshold a hand was laid upon my shoulder and a voice I instantly
recognized said:

“Master Dunn, you are my prisoner.” It was the recruiting sergeant whom
I had heard in Cheapside, London, telling of the war with the colonies.

Resistance was useless, for behind the officer stood four soldiers with
their muskets ready for instant use, so I submitted to my arrest with
the best grace I could muster.

In a few minutes they mounted me upon a horse, surrounded me with a
squad of troopers, and hurried me off towards Liverpool. Reaching
the city, they hastened along its narrow streets to a huge stone
building on the river’s edge before which they stopped. Tumbling me
unceremoniously from the beast I rode, they led me through the heavy
portals, and along the dark corridors to a room in the rear, into
which they thrust me and swung to its stout door with a clang that
still echoes in my ears. I did not need to be told where I was--the
structure, its form, its appearance, its interior arrangements, spoke
louder than human words. It said in a silent but unmistakable language,
“You are in a British prison.”




CHAPTER VII

I MEET A NEW FRIEND


I will not attempt to describe my feelings as I stood there in the
darkness, with those stout walls shutting me from the liberty I
craved--craved that I might give myself to the service of my struggling
country. I am quite sure I could not at that time separate the
mingled feelings of chagrin, regret, and hopelessness that oppressed
me. One word alone can express the condition of my mind and heart
just then--despair. I could have shed tears if it would have been of
any use; it may be a sob did escape me, but if so it was speedily
checked, for a heavy voice spoke from the farthest corner of the room,
demanding:

“Who are you?”

I had supposed I was alone in the cell. Surprised now to find I was
sharing it with another, I nevertheless was able to answer promptly:

“An unfortunate prisoner like yourself.”

“Yes,” was the response, “but I mean are you British or American?” and
I thought I detected an eagerness, almost a suspense in the speaker’s
voice as he waited for an answer.

“American,” I replied.

“Thank God for that!” was the immediate ejaculation. Then I heard a
sound as though one was rising from a bed, and the next instant the man
came over where I was with rapid strides.

“I am Samuel Tucker, a sea captain from Marblehead, in the colony of
Massachusetts,” he announced much to my astonishment. “Now tell me who
are you?”

“Captain Tucker!” I cried, ignoring his question in my surprise and
joy. “Captain Samuel Tucker of Marblehead, and I came across the ocean
to find you! Who would have thought we should meet here--in a cell of
the Liverpool jail!”

“‘Came across the ocean to find me,’” he repeated, and I could not help
noticing the wonderment in his tones. “Pray tell me then who are you?”

“I am Arthur Dunn, the son of Captain Dunn, with whom you once sailed,”
I replied, and then rapidly, yet in fullest detail, I told my story,
beginning with my mother’s dying request, and ending with my arrest an
hour or two before.

“So you are in jail for the very same reason I am,” he remarked with a
slight laugh when I was done. Then he spun his own yarn.

He had made a quick voyage to Lisbon, discharged his cargo, taken
another, and returned to the colony. Then he had sailed for Marseilles,
France. There an agent of the English government had come to him,
desiring to charter his brig to go over to Gibraltar and convey a
company of soldiers to Liverpool.

“The rascal never told me why the regiment was hurrying home,” the
Captain explained, “or I would not have let him have my craft at any
price. But the pay was good, and I fell into the same trap that a half
dozen other Yankee skippers did. We went to Gibraltar and brought in
here a regiment which sailed the very next day after its arrival for
the colonies to fight our countrymen. When I learned the truth my
blood boiled within me, and I cursed the King and his government to
the agent’s face when he came to pay me the charter money. I might
have known what would follow; the confiscation of my vessel and my
incarceration here. But the fellow knew just what I thought of him and
the government,” he concluded with a chuckle.

“How long have you been in here?” I now asked.

“Two weeks,” he responded; “but come over here,” he added in a low
whisper, and, taking me by the arm, he led me down the cell to its
one narrow window, through which so little light came that I had not
noticed it until then.

Once at the aperture he raised my hands with his own to the window
frame, and then I became aware that he was removing it. Placing it
noiselessly on the floor, he carried my hand up to the iron grating,
which I soon found he was taking down bar by bar.

“There,” he said at length in a tone so low I could scarcely hear him,
“you see the way is clear for our escape. This is why I was so anxious
to find out if you were an American. I wanted no one here to thwart my
plans. We shall go at midnight, so you will not be long within these
walls, Master Dunn,” and again he chuckled.

“But is not the river outside this wall?” I questioned, “and some feet
below? How are we to get down to it?”

“With this,” he replied, and carrying my hand up to his bosom I felt
hidden inside of his shirt a coil of stout rope. “Oh! the preparations
are all made, and cannot fail,” he continued confidently. “A boat from
a Yankee ship in the river will come under this window at midnight, and
lowering ourselves into that, we shall be taken off to the vessel which
will sail before daylight. The only change in the plan is she will
carry two passengers instead of one. You see, you came just in time to
go home with me, Master Dunn.”

The confidence in his own tones inspired me. A half-hour before I had
been on the verge of despair; now I was nearly wild in my exuberance of
joy. I could scarcely wait for the hour to come when we should leave
our cell. Then I fell to wondering how Captain Tucker had been able
to arrange so completely his plan of escape and as though he divined
my thought, the captain told me, while we waited the coming of the
rescuing yawl.

“Anchored in the harbor, near my own brig, at the time of my arrest,”
he began, “was the ship _Rebecca Morris_ from Philadelphia. Her captain
is an old friend of mine, and I knew if I could manage to communicate
with him he would do all in his power to help me escape. Under the
pretext of sending a message to my family in the colonies I asked the
turnkey who came to my cell daily to take a letter off to Captain
Allen. At first the fellow, demurred, but when I offered him my watch,
a valuable one, in return for the favor, and let him see the note I
had written, he yielded. Unbeknown to him, however, I substituted a
second note for the first one, in which I described the situation of my
cell, and suggested a way in which my friend could aid me. That night a
boat came under my window, bringing the things I had asked for--a file
and a stout rope. Meanwhile I removed the sash with my pocket knife,
and unraveled one of my stockings to obtain the string I needed. With
the latter I pulled up a stouter cord, and then the file and the rope
from the yawl. I knew it would take me several days to cut through the
bars, and so sent down a note requesting the boat to return here for me
tonight. When the cord came back, there was a line from Captain Allen
himself assuring me he would be here without fail.”

As the moments passed I could not help growing anxious lest for some
reason the friendly captain should fail us. On the other hand, Captain
Tucker was as cool and undisturbed as it was possible for a man to be.

“I know Christopher Allen,” he declared again and again, “and he will
be here as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow morning. All the guards
on the river cannot stop him. He’ll find a way to outwit them and
rescue us.”

At length there came the yowl of a cat from somewhere on the river.
Captain Tucker leaped to his feet (for we had been sitting on the edge
of the bed while we waited), exclaiming in a suppressed whisper:

“What did I tell you, Master Dunn? He is almost here.”

Again the yowl sounded nearer, and as though the animal was floating on
the tide down by the jail. Then it came the third time directly under
our window-sill.

My companion had already drawn the coil of rope from his bosom, and was
making one end fast to a piece of the iron grating. Placing this across
the narrow aperture, he threw out the cord, and turned to me, saying:

“All is ready, Master Dunn, and you shall go first. Tell Captain Allen,
however, that I’m right behind you.”

“Nay, sir,” I remonstrated, “you should go first, as the plan is yours
and--” but I did not finish.

“I am in command here,” he interrupted with an authority I could not
dispute, “and you are to go now.”

With the words he lifted me in his brawny arms and thrust me feet
foremost through the opening. I caught the rope in my hands and in
another moment was gliding swiftly down it. The distance was not so
great as I had expected, and it seemed but an instant before stout
hands seized me and set me gently down in the boat.

“You are not Captain Tucker,” a voice then whispered in my ear.

“No,” I admitted in the same low tone, “I am Arthur Dunn, a fellow
prisoner whom Captain Tucker insisted should come down first. He is
right behind me.”

The swaying of the rope confirmed my words, and, pushing me to one
side, the same brawny arms caught the captain as he came down. The next
minute the light craft darted off down the river as swiftly as four
oars could pull it.

I had been given a place in the bow, while Captain Tucker sat with
Captain Allen in the stern of the boat. What passed between them on our
way to the ship I never knew, but when we were in her cabin her skipper
turned to me, and putting his hand in mine, said:

“I have had a double pleasure tonight, Master Dunn. Instead of plucking
one patriot out of the hands of the enemy, I have taken two. I knew
your father. I believe he has in you a son worthy of him. You are
welcome to a place among us.”

I thanked him as best I could, and went to the berth assigned me with
a heart full of gratitude to the overruling Providence that had so
wonderfully cared for me and given me such kind friends.

But I was destined to find a more powerful friend before that voyage
was finished. This was Master Robert Morris, the owner of the vessel,
and a member of the Continental Congress, who was on board as a
passenger. Either Captain Tucker or Captain Allen must have told him
who I was and how I came to be on board the ship, for when I went on
deck the next morning, he came up to me, and having congratulated me on
my escape from the British prison, said with a smile:

“We ought to hear good things from you and Captain Tucker. You both
have early shown that you are loyal to the colonies.”

Having no desire to be a drone on the vessel, I went to the captain
after breakfast and offered my services in any place he could use me.

“It is commendable in you, Master Dunn, to make this offer,” he
replied, “and I will say I rather expected it of you. It is your father
all over again. But there is no place I can put you except with the
sailors. Captain Tucker has already made a similar offer, and I can
hardly put the best skipper that ever sailed out of a New England port
out of the cabin, so I have created the berth of a third mate in order
to use him. You can hardly expect me to arrange for a fourth mate much
as I should like to keep you with us. But if you care to go to the
forecastle, I will enter you on the ship’s roster as an able seaman.”

“I had rather go there than be idle,” I answered promptly, and, having
been assigned my watch and station, I went forward. Though I did not
know it then, my act greatly pleased Master Morris, who was already
furtively watching both Captain Tucker and myself for proofs of our
seamanship.

Before the voyage was over he had the opportunity to see us in
positions which tested to the full our qualities as sailors, for ere
a week had passed we encountered one of the severest gales I ever
experienced. For three days it raged, carrying away our shrouds and
yards as if they were tow, racking the ship until her seams opened,
and she was in great jeopardy. What was even worse, the Captain was
stricken down by a falling spar, and both of his limbs were broken.

In this emergency Captain Tucker stepped forward and offered to take
charge of the vessel. To this Master Morris and the mates readily
assented. The new commander’s first act was to assign me to his own
position as third mate, and his second to assure the men he would save
the vessel, if they would only promptly obey his orders. Then he went
to the wheel, and, taking the helm into his own hands, guided the ship
all that night through the storm.

His orders, issued from the wheel, were promptly executed by the
sailors who had taken on new courage and when dawn came and the tempest
abated, there was not a single soul on board but what was ready to own
that it was to his skill and knowledge the ship and the crew owed their
preservation.

This deed was the link in the chain that secured the fast friendship of
Master Morris. Grateful for the saving of his vessel, upon our arrival
in port, he introduced Captain Tucker to some of the other members of
the Continental Congress, and before he left Philadelphia for home he
had the promise of a captain’s commission in the Continental Navy.

Nor was I forgotten. Master Morris spoke a kind word for me, and I was
assured that I should have a midshipman’s commission in return for the
one I had lost.




CHAPTER VIII

OUR FIRST PRIZE


Our arrival in Marblehead created quite a sensation. Tidings of Captain
Tucker’s imprisonment and the confiscation of his vessel had already
reached there, while his escape was unknown. His sudden appearance in
the streets of the village therefore brought him almost an ovation, and
men, women, and even the children crowded around him, hoping to hear
how he had escaped the enemy’s hands.

A few of the townspeople remembered my visit to the place several
months before in search of the Captain, and when it became known that
I had also been thrown into jail for defying the King, I came in for my
own share of public attention; so for some days we both knew what it
was to be famous.

Then the excitement subsided, and we were permitted to move among the
people in a commonplace sort of way, and unmolested to attend to the
daily tasks that fell to us. At the Captain’s request I made my home
with him while we awaited our commissions, and, save for a brief visit
to my native village early in January, I did not leave him.

It was January 20, (1776) when I returned from my visit. As I had only
a small bundle with me, I left the stage at the door of the tavern, and
started to walk to the house I now called my home. I had gone but a
few yards when I heard the clatter of a horse’s hoofs behind me, and,
turning, I saw a man in martial costume and adorned with the trappings
of rank riding in hot haste towards me.

His coming had already aroused much curiosity on the part of the
villagers, for they were gathering at the windows and on the streets
and wharves, to gaze at the trooper as he galloped along. He dashed by
me, and took the nearest road to Captain Tucker’s residence on Rowland
Hill. Suspecting he was a messenger from the Congressional Committee, I
quickened my steps and came in sight of the house in time to witness an
amusing scene.

Captain Tucker was out in the yard chopping wood. The gaily decked
officer rode up and dismounted. Seeing a person dressed in ordinary
garb--a tarpaulin hat slouching over his face, a pea jacket and red
waistcoat covering his body, brown breeches on his legs, and a flaming
bandanna waving about his neck--he, naturally perhaps, thought he must
have come to the wrong place, and so called out roughly:

“I say, fellow, I wish you would tell me if the Honorable Samuel Tucker
lives hereabouts!”

“Honorable? Honorable?” questioned the Captain with a shrewd look at
the stranger. “There is not any man of that name in Marblehead. He must
be one of the family of Tuckers in Salem. I am the only Samuel Tucker
here.”

The trooper took his packet from his pocket, looked at it again and
again. “Lives in a house, two stories, gable-end, standing by itself
on a hill, not far from the bay shore, a piece of woods near it,” he
read out slowly. “Surely this must be the place,” he commented, looking
sharply around him; and then eying the chopper from head to foot, he
continued:

“Captain Glover at Cambridge told me that he knew Master Tucker
well, and that he lived in Marblehead, and described his house for
me--‘gable-end, on the sea-side, none near it.’ Faith, this looks like
the very place.”

The parley, however, soon came to an end, for the messenger was not
slow to notice the gallant look and noble appearance of the man before
him, and knew he could not be mistaken.

“You yourself must be Captain Tucker,” he declared, handing the packet
to the man before him, “and here is your commission as a Captain in the
Continental Navy. I also have a midshipman’s commission for Arthur
Dunn. Can you tell me where I may find him?”

“He’s right behind you, I reckon,” remarked the captain, taking his
packet and waiting for me to take mine. Then he invited the stranger to
come into the house and take a rest and refreshments before he returned
to Cambridge--an invitation which was gratefully accepted.

With the commissions were our assignments to the frigate _Franklin_,
carrying sixteen guns, and stationed at Beverly. The Captain was also
directed to get her in readiness at once for a cruise.

Busy days followed. The stores were shipped, the ammunition was placed
on board, and in a week we would have been ready for sea had our outfit
of small arms arrived. After three days delay Captain Tucker grew
impatient, and, going over to Salem, he purchased the weapons with his
own money and had them sent on board. As he saw them arranged in their
racks, he turned to me, who had been directing the work, and remarked
with satisfaction:

“There! we’ll get off tomorrow morning, Master Dunn.”

He went over to Marblehead that evening and when he returned he carried
a huge bundle in his arms. To his executive officer, Lieutenant
Fettyplace, he explained:

“It’s a banner my wife has been making for us. Tomorrow, before we
sail, we’ll break it out from the masthead.”

Naturally curious to see it, Master Fettyplace, Lieutenant Salter, the
second officer, and myself, who stood near, waited for him to show the
flag to us. But he did not do it. It was not until my own hands pulled
the cord the next morning which unfurled the banner from the frigate’s
peak that we saw the beautiful piece which Mistress Tucker had wrought.

There it floated on the gentle breeze: a white field, a green union,
made in the form of a pine tree, with the motto beneath it: “An appeal
to heaven.” And under that flag we fought until Congress had adopted
the stars and stripes.

Ten minutes later with every foot of the ship’s canvas stretched to
the north-west wind, we were standing out to sea. Once out of the
harbor, our bow was turned towards Cape Cod, and a man was sent to the
cross-trees to be on the lookout for prizes. We found not one, but two,
much sooner than we expected. The circumstances as near as I can recall
were these:

Just before dark, hearing a loud cannonading on our left, and
apparently some distance away, we directed our course thither. Before
the night fairly shut down, we came near enough to see four vessels
engaged in conflict. Two of these, a ship and a brig, were flying the
British flag, while the other two were schooners, and clearly American
privateers.

Not wishing to take the English vessels from those who had first
discovered them, and who had the first right to them as prizes if they
could capture them, we refrained from entering into the engagement. But
when the enemy beat off our friends, and sailed away towards Boston, we
immediately gave chase. The Britishers and our own ship were evidently
faster sailers than the privateers, and soon we had left them behind.
At nine o’clock they were out of sight, and the chase was all our own.
Then the wind nearly failed, and for an hour or two we drifted along a
mile behind our prey.

About this time our lookout reported another sail some distance away
off our starboard. It was too dark to make her out, and Captain Tucker
immediately ordered out a boat, and putting me in charge, directed me
to go over and reconnoitre the strange vessel.

“Take a dark lantern with you, Master Dunn,” he said, “and, if she
prove to be an English cruiser, suspend your light near the edge of the
water as a signal of your immediate return. We’ll be on the lookout for
you. If, however, she be an American vessel, then elevate your light in
the air, and we’ll come down, pick you up, and speak with her.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” I responded, and descending to the yawl, I gave the
order to pull away.

When near enough for the sound of our oars to be detected, we muffled
them, and cautiously advanced, seeking to get under the stern of the
craft without being discovered. At length we were near enough to
discern through the darkness that she was a trim schooner carrying ten
guns, and that her course showed she was trying to overhaul the British
vessels. This fact made me a little suspicious of her character, for it
seemed to me a daring attempt for her to be following up two vessels,
each larger than herself, with an idea of attacking them. I called the
attention of our boatswain, Joseph Lewis, to this circumstance, asking
in a low tone:

“Does it not seem to you, Master Lewis, that she must be a Britisher, a
consort of the ship and brig, and is endeavoring to overhaul them?”

“Two things are agin that, sir,” he replied in the same cautious way.
“Fust, thar’s her build. She came from Yankee stocks as sure as my name
is Joe Lewis. Then thar’s the flag she carries. I can’t jest make it
out, sir, but it ain’t the English colors. As for her followin’ two
vessels larger than herself, that doesn’t signify. We’ve got Capt’ns
who’d do it with half her guns, hopin’ to find a way to cut out one or
t’other of them. I’m sure, sir, we’ll find she’s a friend. I’m ready to
risk runnin’ right up to her.”

“I hardly think we’ll do that,” I answered. “But we’ll work up under
her stern, and make sure who she is.”

“I beg yer pardon, sir,” he continued, “but if ye’ll order all the men
to lie low in the boat, an’ git down yerself, an’ let me have an oar,
I’ll scull her up under the schooner in no time without their ’specting
we’re thar.”

I gave the necessary command, and, stooping as low as he possibly
could and yet work an oar, he sent our yawl noiselessly forward in the
wake of the stranger. Five minutes later he touched my arm. I looked
up and he made a quick upward gesture. I understood, and opened my
dark lantern enough to send a single ray of light on the stern of the
schooner which was now just above our heads. With a thrill of delight
I read her name--_Katy_--and her port--Providence in the Rhode Island
Plantations.

Dropping behind her far enough to make it safe to signal our frigate,
we raised our light high in the air with an oar, and waited. It was not
long, light as the breeze was, before the ship was alongside of us,
and, picking us up, she went on after the schooner. In ten minutes we
spoke with her, and her captain, Abraham Whipple, came on board.

Captain Tucker and he speedily came to an agreement to join forces
and attack the English vessels, and since Captain Tucker held his
commission from the Continental Congress, it was arranged that both
of the Yankee crafts should be under his command. These preliminaries
completed, we hastened on as fast as the light wind would permit us
after the enemy. It was clear by their course that they were striving
to make Boston harbor; and equally clear after an hour or two of
watching that all four vessels were about equally matched in speed.

As we drew near Long Island clouds overcast the dim stars, shutting
out what light we had, and we were uncertain whether the ships we were
pursuing took the east or west channel. So Captain Tucker signalled the
_Katy_ to go up the east side, while he went up the west side of the
island. It was our good fortune to speedily overtake the transports
which, running too close to the flats, got aground.

Clearing away our guns, we ran abreast the Britishers and poured in
a broadside. They both responded from their starboard batteries, the
only ones they could use. Our shots were low and did great havoc among
the troops and crew of the enemy. On the other hand, their guns were
aimed too high and the balls passed above our heads, riddling our sails
and doing much damage to our spars and rigging; then they swept on,
endangering the Rhode Island schooner, which lay on the other side of
the island, becalmed, in range of the English cannon, and unable to
change her position or to render us any assistance.

For a half-hour the battle raged until the commander of the British
ship was slain, when she struck her colors, and her consort quickly
followed. I was with Lieutenant Fettyplace when he boarded the larger
craft, finding her to be the _George_, from Glasgow, Scotland.
Lieutenant Salter went off to the brig, and reported her to be the
_Annabella_ from the same Scottish port. Each vessel carried a large
cargo of ammunition, clothing and stores for the British army, while on
the latter were two hundred and fifty Highland soldiers, under command
of Colonel Archibald Campbell, and belonging to General Frazer’s corps.

In the conflict we had not lost a man, nor had any of the ship’s
company been seriously wounded. In short, our only damage was to our
sails and rigging. But the enemy had suffered greatly. More than two
score men were more or less injured, while thirty-six, including the
captain of the _George_, lay dead.

One of the saddest sights I remember in all my naval experience was
that of the next day, when we buried the dead Scotchmen on the island.
It was heartrending to see the women, who had accompanied the troops,
weeping with loud lamentations, and to hear the bag-pipes play the
funeral dirge.

The hours before the sad burial had been spent in floating the prizes,
and transferring our prisoners to the _Franklin_. A stiff breeze from
the south-west had enabled the _Katy_ to rejoin us. So the funeral once
over, prize crews were placed on the captured vessels, and we sailed
for Lynn.

There we turned them over to the Continental agent, and had the
satisfaction of knowing that their cargoes--save one item--went to
Washington’s army at Cambridge. The exception was the store of canvas
we found among the prize goods. This was used to furnish us with a new
set of sails, and we were soon off to sea again.




CHAPTER IX

AN ASTONISHING OFFER


Our first voyage had been of three days duration, and we had captured
two prizes of considerable value. Standing near Lieutenant Salter, as
we left the harbor for our second cruise, I remarked:

“A short and successful trip was ours before, Lieutenant Salter. What
think you our fortune will be this time, sir?”

He smiled. “Who can tell, Master Dunn? This search for prizes is much
like a lottery. We may quickly make a fine draw, as we did before, or
we may get a blank. It’s even possible that we may cruise around for
weeks, yes, this entire voyage, and yet return to port empty-handed.”

“It’s not Captain Tucker’s luck to do that,” I protested stoutly.
“He’s always made successful voyages, and I believe this will be
no exception. We shall not go many days before we capture a craft.
Remember what I tell you.”

“I presume you would like to see them coming so fast the Captain would
find it hard work to make up prize crews for them,” he responded
banteringly. Then he continued more earnestly: “I agree with you. I
believe Captain Tucker sails under a lucky star, and have no idea our
trip is to be a fruitless one.”

He proved a true prophet. The very next day we took a prize--a sloop
from Halifax, laden with dried fish, and bound for Boston. Though not
of great value, it was in no sense to be despised, and to my own mind
it was not unimportant. It meant so much less food for the enemy, and
so much more for our brave troops. With this thought predominant I
raised a cheer as Boatswain Lewis, with a crew of four men, started for
port in charge of her--a cheer which our entire ship’s company joined
in heartily.

Then the prizes followed in rapid succession until we had nine to our
credit, and our number had been reduced three score to furnish crews
for them. Among these were several of great value.

It was just two weeks since we left port when we captured our tenth
vessel, the brig _White Swan_, from the Western Islands for Boston,
with a cargo of fruit and wine. I speak more particularly of this, for
my own personal fortunes were more intimately connected with it.

We sighted the craft at early dawn, and immediately gave chase--and it
was a long one. Heavy laden as she was, and with less than two-thirds
of our spread of canvas, yet she was well nigh a match for us in
sailing. We overtook her by inches. The sun was about to set when we
sent a shot across her bow, and it had gone down when I returned from
boarding her and reported her sailing port, her destination, her cargo,
and the additional facts that she had a crew of twelve, and carried one
passenger--a Master George Rollins.

Captain Tucker kept her by the frigate all night. At daylight he
transferred to her a score of prisoners that we had taken from other
vessels, and, placing me in command with a crew of ten, he directed me
to take her into Lynn. Master Rollins at his own request remained upon
her, and with her captain shared the cabin with myself and Midshipman
Thomas Blinn, who was my executive officer.

We cleared from the _Franklin_ about nine o’clock and started on our
voyage of two hundred miles with high hopes. The brig was a staunch
one, and, as I have already intimated, a fast sailer. Her cargo was
valuable, and I felt what perhaps may be termed a natural elation to be
given the task of taking her into port. It is true I had a large number
of prisoners between the decks, and two men under parole in the cabin,
but I anticipated no trouble from them, and felt myself competent to
fulfill the task assigned me faithfully.

The day was clear and cold. The wind was a favorable one, and we went
ahead at a pace which would have delighted any sailor’s heart. In ten
hours I estimated that we had covered nearly one-half the distance to
port. Let the breeze only keep up and we should reach our haven before
noon on the morrow. With much satisfaction I turned the watch over to
Midshipman Blinn and went below.

Inadvertently the room I occupied was between that of Captain
Williamson and Master Rollins, while Midshipman Blinn had one on
the other side of the cabin. I had fallen asleep, but was awakened
by someone trying to open my door. Fortunately, as it proved, I had
fastened it on entering, and discovering this fact the intruder passed
on and gave a light tap at the door of Master Rollins. The next
instant, as though the newcomer was expected, the door opened gently,
and the man quietly entered.

I suddenly remembered that when I stored my kit under my berth I had
noticed a crack in the partition between the staterooms, and stepping
noiselessly out upon the floor I stooped down, pushed my bag to one
side, and crawled in beside it. Placing my ear to the crack I was able
to distinguish much that passed between Master Rollins and his visitor,
though they conversed in whispers.

He was Captain Williamson, as I had suspected, and had evidently
announced his failure to enter my room, for his companion was saying:

“It is too bad, Captain; so the first part of your plan fails.”

“Yes, and now I’ll try the second,” was the response.

“You’ll need to proceed with great caution, for if discovered they’ll
be likely to put you down with the other prisoners,” Master Rollins now
warned him.

“Yes,” the captain admitted, “but it’s worth the risk. If I can only
crawl along to the hatch and open it, the vessel is ours again.
What we lack in weapons we shall make up in numbers, and can easily
overpower the half dozen men on deck. Then Master Dunn down here and
the men in the forecastle can be taken care of at our leisure.”

“I shall stand by my agreement if you succeed, Captain Williamson, and
add a hundred pounds to the one I am to give you when you land me on
the cape.”

“I have no fear about that, Master Rollins. You have done always just
as you promised, but I think this time I shall have earned it,” the
officer commented, and turned to go.

I waited until I had heard him pass my door, and ascend the ladder to
the deck; then I slipped out of my room and hurried after him. But the
moment my head was above the hatchway I knew that his second plan had
failed, for Midshipman Blinn had been on the alert, and detected his
presence on deck.

“What does this mean, Captain Williamson?” he was demanding. “You know
as well as I do that you were not to come on deck during the night
hours. I must insist that you return to the cabin immediately, or I
shall have to put you in the brig with your men.”

For answer the captain did the most foolish thing he could have done
under the circumstances. He sprang upon the speaker, doubtless with
the intention of throwing him down, and passing over him to the middle
hatch. Perhaps he thought that with a quick rush he could reach it and
let out the prisoners before the watch could prevent him.

But he had underestimated the quickness and strength of Master Blinn.
Leaping to one side, the Midshipman avoided his antagonist, and himself
became the attacker instead of the attacked. Grappling the Englishman
by the waist, he called loudly for his men to come to his aid. I sprang
forward to assist him, but two of the watch were before me, and when I
reached his side, the burly Captain was subdued. Two minutes later he
was in the hold with the other prisoners.

I quickly acquainted my executive officer with what I had seen and
heard in the cabin, and so explained how I came to be on the deck so
promptly. Then I said warmly--forgetting all titles in my appreciation
of Master Blinn’s good work:

“But I hardly was needed here, Tom. You were too alert for the Captain.
No one could have done better. I shall make a full report of your part
in this affair to Captain Tucker.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” he replied heartily, dropping into the same
familiar strain. “But shall I go down after Master Rollins and put him
in the brig?”

“No, I think not, at least at present,” I replied. “I judge he is one
who leaves the risky part of his schemes for someone else to do, and so
we have nothing to fear in that direction. Still, we’ll keep a sharp
eye on him, and put him under arrest the moment we see any reason for
doing so. Now I’ll go back to my room and finish out my watch below.”

I lay awake some time after reaching my berth, and heard our passenger
moving uneasily about his room. Once he cautiously opened his door, and
looked out into the cabin, but he made no other attempt to investigate
into the captain’s whereabouts, so I went to sleep.

At breakfast, however, he ventured to inquire if Captain Williamson was
sick.

“No,” I answered, “he was foolish enough last night to try to liberate
the prisoners, but Midshipman Blinn was on the alert, and put him into
the hold with them.”

He ate uneasily after that, and soon after, excusing himself, went back
to his stateroom. Two hours later he sent for me, and, wondering what
this move on his part meant, I slipped a pistol into my pocket, and
went down to see him.

He closed the door of his room as soon as I was in it, and pushing a
stool towards me, remarked politely:

“Sit down, Captain Dunn, I wish to have a little talk with you.”

“Very well,” I responded shortly.

“I have a proposal to make,” he went on blandly, “one that will be of
great advantage to you personally.”

I bowed, and waited for him to go on.

“I have reasons,” he continued smoothly, “for not wishing to land in
any New England port. So I had arranged with Captain Williamson to
put me ashore in some retired spot on Cape Cod. I was to give him one
hundred pounds in gold for doing this. The capture of the brig by
your frigate has of course made it impossible for him to fulfill his
contract. But if you will render me the same favor, I shall be glad to
give you the same compensation.”

I thought a moment. There certainly was something strange in the
man’s statement. It was clear he did not care to face the Continental
authorities, and I could easily understand how there might be good
reasons for that. But why he was equally anxious to avoid a port like
Boston where the British were in control, for which the brig was making
before her capture, I could not understand. Puzzle as I would over it
I could not explain that. Hoping to draw him out, however, I now said:

“Why not offer me the other hundred pounds you were going to give
Captain Williamson if he recaptured the vessel?”

He stared at me in sheer amazement. Evidently how I came to know of
this fact perplexed him. But he finally replied:

“Well, I will do it. Land me in a retired spot anywhere below Boston,
and you shall have the two hundred pounds.”

I laughed. “I couldn’t think of it for that amount,” I declared.
“Captain Williamson could do it, and it was none of his crew’s business
why he put you ashore in one place rather than in another. But here
with me is another officer and ten seamen, any one of whom could report
my act to Captain Tucker. I must have enough to buy their silence.”

I said this to ascertain to what extent he was willing to go in order
to secure his release, though I had no idea of accepting any terms he
might propose.

“True,” he responded hopefully. “I never thought of that. Well, you
shall have one thousand pounds in gold for setting me ashore, and you
may divide it up with your men as you please.”

I was absolutely startled at this offer. Evidently the whole matter was
a more serious one than I had imagined. Whoever Master Rollins was, he
was too important a personage to be allowed to go. But to keep up the
farce a little longer I managed to query:

“But how do I know you have got so much money at your command? That is
a big sum, Master Rollins.”

His face flushed--in anger, I thought, at my insinuation that he might
not be able to pay me the sum named. If so, he conquered himself, for
in an instant he said haughtily:

“I forget that you do not know me, Captain Dunn. But you shall see for
yourself,” and pulling out two small leather cases from under his berth
he threw them open, removed a few garments, and then exclaimed:

“Look!”

I did look with bulging eyes. In one were coins of gold--guineas,
nobles, sovereigns--hundreds of them; in the other there were coins of
silver--crowns, half-crowns, and farthings even more numerous.

“I have five thousand pounds there,” he declared, and I did not doubt
him.

But who was this strange man? An army paymaster? No, or he would have
been glad to have gone into Boston--_unless he was absconding with
the money which was to pay the wages of the British soldiers_. Like a
flash the thought came to me. The usual place for a paymaster was on a
frigate, surrounded by a force that could convey him to his destination
beyond all question. But if he was trying to make off with the money,
what was more natural than for him to take passage from England to the
Azores, and from there to America where he would wish to avoid both
British and Continental authorities. In fact, the more quietly he could
slip into the country, the better. I was sure I had found the true
explanation why he made his strange proposal--his tremendous offer. But
that was a matter the Continental authorities could settle. My duty
was clear. It was to guard the man and his money every moment until we
reached port and I had turned him over to the proper tribunal. This
decision reached, I said quietly:

“I am satisfied, Master Rollins. Close up your boxes, and put them back
under the berth.”

He did so, and then remarked: “You see I can pay you the amount
promised, Captain Dunn, large as it is.”

“Certainly, sir,” I admitted, “but come now with me.”

Without hesitation he followed me into the cabin.

“Close and lock your door,” I now directed, and he complied, but in a
way that showed he was a little puzzled by my commands.

“Now come in here,” I continued, throwing open the door of what had
been Captain Williamson’s room, and stepping back to allow him to
enter first. He did so reluctantly, and no sooner was he well within
the room than he turned upon me asking:

“What does this mean, Captain Dunn?”

“This,” I explained, drawing my pistol from my pocket and holding it
so it was ready for instant use. “You are evidently too important A
personage to be allowed to escape in any way, Master Rollins. I shall
keep you in here under guard until we are safe in port, and you have
been turned over to the Continental authorities. They shall decide who
you are, and to whom your gold and silver rightly belongs. Meantime
you have the satisfaction of knowing it is locked up and the key is in
your pocket. It shall not be touched until you yourself open the door
for the men to whom I am responsible.” And with these words I stepped
back into the cabin, and closing the door locked him in. Five minutes
thereafter an armed sailor stood before the door, nor was it without a
guard for a single moment until we reached Lynn.

With strict instructions to Midshipman Blinn to take good care of
Master Rollins until I returned, I hurried on shore and visited the
Continental agent. Reporting the prize, I then acquainted him with
the astonishing discovery I had made, and my own surmise about the
mysterious passenger.

“We will soon know,” he declared after hearing my story, “and let me
add, too, Midshipman Dunn, you have handled this whole matter with much
discretion and have proved that your love of country is superior to
British gold,” and he shook my hand warmly.

He returned with me to the brig. First, he had an interview with Master
Rollins, who soon broke down under his sharp questioning, and made a
full confession.

He was Major Ralph Walker, and a paymaster in the British army.
Entrusted with the five thousand pounds to pay off the soldiers in
Boston, he had run away with the money and sailed for the Azores. There
he had secured passage on the brig, and made his arrangements with
her captain to slip quietly into the colonies, where he hoped under an
assumed name to enjoy his ill-gotten wealth.

His confession finished, he willingly opened the door of his stateroom,
and delivered all his personal effects to the Continental official.
Among his baggage were found papers fully substantiating the story he
had told.

The decision of the agent was quickly given. The circumstances under
which the man had been apprehended made no difference. He was a British
officer, and therefore a legitimate prisoner of war; the money he
carried was British property, and therefore a legitimate prize; an
opinion sustained by the entire naval committee a few weeks later. So
the five thousand pounds sterling, added to the value of the brig and
her cargo, made her capture the most valuable prize our frigate had yet
taken.

I never saw Master Rollins, or Major Walker, as I should call him,
again. But I heard some months later that he had been liberated on
parole, and had disappeared. Probably he went to some part of the
colonies where he was unknown, and there began life anew, though in
poverty instead of in wealth as he had planned.




CHAPTER X

WE CAPTURE A FRIGATE


My orders had been to remain in port with my crew until the _Franklin_
arrived, as Captain Tucker, at the time I left him, expected to bring
in his next prize. He did, but it was two weeks before he came. The
prize he brought was a good one, however, and well worth his fortnight
of waiting. It was a brig from Cork, Ireland, bound to Boston with a
cargo of beef, pork, butter and coal. There had been a little rumor
connected with her capture, which Lieutenant Fettyplace told me about
soon after his arrival.

The vessel was sighted just before she entered Massachusetts Bay,
and a chase began. But no sooner did she find our frigate was after
her than she turned and came down to meet her. When near enough she
signalled that her captain would like to come on board but had no boat,
all having been swept from the deck in a recent gale, as was afterwards
explained. So Captain Tucker sent a yawl after him.

He soon arrived, a short, fat, jolly Irishman. Bowing low before our
commander upon reaching our deck, he began:

“Faith, yer honor, I’m glad to see ye. I’ve been standin’ off an’
on here for two weeks now lookin’ for the likes of ye. I’m Jeremiah
O’Brien, Capt’n of the brig _Blackfriar_, from Cork for Boston, with
vittles for the British army. But I’ve got me pay safe in me pocket,
sir, an’ not a snap cares I if me whole cargo falls into your hands.
Nor is that jest the truth, yer honor. I do care. I’d rather ye
Yankees, as ye are called, would ate the vittles while every mother’s
son of those red-coated spalpeens in Boston go hungry. So, if ye please
to tell me where ye wish me to sail, me men and I’ll become a prize
crew an’ take the brig into port. Or if ye’re ’fraid to trust me, pint
ye own craft for the harbor, an’ we’ll follow in yer wake. What’s the
course, sir?” and with another low bow he waited for Captain Tucker to
speak.

“This is most extraordinary, sir,” our skipper said coldly. “Pray may I
ask what you expect for this betrayal of your trust?”

“There’s no betrayal of trust, yer honor,” he returned somewhat hotly.
“I told me ship-owners I wouldn’t sail the brig over to the colonies
for them without my pay straight down for the entire voyage, an’ that
I was no coward an’ shouldn’t run away from any armed vessel that gave
me chase, however big it was, but that they must run the risk of my
capture. I’m a man of my word, sir. Ye began to chase me, an’ not a bit
did I run from ye. Here I am standing boldly on your deck, though at
the risk of losin’ me brig. What’s the odds, sir? If I don’t give ye
the vessel, ye’ll take her, so she’s yours under either circumstance.
An’ do ye ask what I expect? It’s the privilege of enlistin’ in yer
navy soon as I’m in port, sir, where I can do my best to feed yer
Yankee soljers by capturin’ just such craft as that,” and he waved his
hand towards the _Blackfriar_, while our men broke into a cheer.

The outcome of this singular interview was that Captain O’Brien and his
crew actually sailed the brig into Lynn, following in the wake of the
_Franklin_; and soon after she arrived there her commander entered our
navy as a lieutenant and did loyal service for the colonies.

The frigate sailed again within a few days, but we did not go with
her. By “we” I mean Captain Tucker and myself. Two or three days
after his arrival in port the Captain was notified that he was to be
transferred to the _Hancock_. He was kind enough to request that I also
be transferred, a request that was promptly granted.

This transfer was for both of us a promotion, at least we so regarded
it; a promotion for Captain Tucker, for the _Hancock_, though schooner
rigged, was larger than the _Franklin_, and carried eight more guns and
fifty more men; a promotion for myself, for though I still held only a
midshipman’s commission, I was the senior officer in my rank, and on
the new vessel was assigned to the duties of a third lieutenant, and
received a third lieutenant’s pay. Our first officer was Lieutenant
Richard Stiles, and our second Lieutenant Nicholas Ogilby.

We left port May 9th (1776), and ran up the coast for our first cruise.
For a time the good fortune that had attended us when on the frigate
seemed to desert us. Instead of running in with a prize immediately
we sailed north as far as Cape Race without even catching sight of
one. In fact it was not until we had turned our bow homeward that we
discovered anything to chase. Then we ran in with the ship _Peggy_
which eventually became ours, and proved to be the most valuable vessel
and cargo we had taken. I say eventually became ours, for there were
circumstances connected with her capture as singular as interesting.

We sighted her in the latitude of Halifax--just after she had left port
as it afterward proved--and sailed down towards her. Soon we were near
enough to see she carried eight guns, and had a score or more of men
on her deck. While we watched a flag was run up to her peak, and under
the glass we made out that it was similar to the one flying at our
masthead--at least there was a pine tree upon it.

“She must be an American privateer,” remarked Lieutenant Stiles when
Captain Tucker announced this fact.

“Then why does she set so low in the water?” the Captain queried.
“There must be a heavy cargo between her decks for her to settle down
like that.”

“Perhaps she has taken some prize and for some reason transferred its
cargo to her own hold,” suggested Lieutenant Ogilby.

“It is possible, of course,” admitted Captain Tucker. “We will run up
and speak with her.”

She was so heavily loaded we had no difficulty in overhauling her, and
to Captain Tucker’s hail: “On board ship! Who are you?” there came
the prompt answer: “American privateer _Peggy_, from Machias, Captain
Edward Saunders. Who are you?”

“Continental schooner of war _Hancock_, Captain Samuel Tucker, on a
cruise.”

“I have heard of you, Captain Tucker, and am now glad to see you,”
shouted the skipper of the _Peggy_. “Wish I was near enough to shake
hands with you. Hope you are having your usual good luck in securing
prizes.”

“Thanks! but we have run in with nothing on this cruise,” said our
commander. “But judging by the draught of your vessel, Captain
Saunders, you have had a better fortune.”

“Yes,” was the response. “We captured a brig yesterday. But the shot we
meant to send across her bow struck her in the water line. We had only
time to transfer her cargo to our own hold, when she went down. We are
now in no condition for a chase and so are homeward bound.”

“A safe voyage home!”

“The same to you!”

And then we sheered off and ran out to sea, while the privateer kept on
down the coast. Two days later we were below the Seal Islands when our
lookout reported a sail dead ahead of us.

“What does she look like!” asked Lieutenant Stiles, who at that time
was in charge of the deck.

“Blast me, sir! She looks all the world like that ship _Peggy_,” was
the old salt’s ejaculation. “Only whoever she is, she’s flying the
British flag.”

I was sent aloft with my glass to see if I could make her out, but
could only confirm the report of the lookout.

“Keep your eye on her, Master Dunn,” the lieutenant directed. “We’ll
run down nearer to her.”

In a half-hour I called out:

“She is certainly the ship _Peggy_, but she is carrying the English
colors. No! there she runs them down, and is hoisting the Pine Tree
flag in their place. Can it be she has changed them because she has
discovered we are following her?”

“It looks that way, Midshipman Dunn,” the officer assented. “I’ll
report the matter to Captain Tucker.”

He immediately came on deck, climbed up to the cross-trees, and, taking
the glass from my hand, looked long and searchingly at the distant
sail, and then said:

“There is something strange about this, Master Dunn. She is far south
of her home port. We’ll overhaul her again, and look at her papers.”

In another hour we were in hailing distance, and Captain Tucker shouted:

“Ahoy, there, privateer _Peggy_! How comes it we find you down here?”

“We have decided to run down to Portsmouth,” the voice of Captain
Saunders answered.

“Heave to! I must have a look at your papers,” our commander then
announced.

“That’s all right. I’ll bring them over at once,” was the ready
response.

Then the _Peggy_ hove to; a boat was put out, mid Captain Saunders came
over to us. Greeting him politely, Captain Tucker led him down to the
cabin. Then his visitor handed his papers to him. The Captain passed
them on to me as his secretary, saying: “Look them over, Midshipman
Dunn;” then entered into conversation with his guest.

I went carefully through the documents. They were regularly made out,
and there was not the slightest reason for doubting the _Peggy’s_ claim
to be an American privateer.

“The papers are all right, sir,” I announced, “though I would rather
you would pass judgment upon them.”

He smiled, and taking them glanced at them. Then he said to Captain
Saunders:

“Pardon me, sir, for putting you to all this trouble. But you know the
enemy is now using all sorts of means to deceive us, and we have to
follow out our merest suspicions if we do not want to be outwitted.”

“That is so, Captain Tucker,” his visitor responded. “I know something
about that myself. You don’t feel very well to find they have made a
fool of you. But you are a sharp one, Captain. It will take a smart man
to get the best of you. No apology, however, is necessary for delaying
me. Really, I’m glad to have made you this brief visit,” and he arose
to depart.

In a few minutes the vessels for the second time parted company.

“I wonder why the Captain did not ask him about his flying the English
flag,” I remarked to Lieutenant Ogilby, to whom I had been relating
what had occurred in the cabin.

“He must have forgotten it,” that officer said.

“Oh, the papers being straight, he doubtless thought it none of his
business,” chimed in Lieutenant Stiles, who joined us at that moment.

Three days later we were off Cape Cod when our lookout again called
out:

“Ship in sight, sir, two points off our starboard quarter.”

“Not the ship _Peggy_ this time is it, Jake?” inquired Lieutenant
Stiles, for again he happened to be in charge of the deck, while the
same old salt was in the cross-trees.

“Yes, sir,” was the unexpected response. “Ship _Peggy_, that is what
she is, sir; and she has the British flag at her peak, and is sailin’
to round the cape. Guess she’s goin’ to New York this time, sir.”

Lieutenant Stiles went up the mast at a bound, and gazed at the sail
through his glass for some minutes. Then he came down as rapidly as he
had gone up, and said to me as he passed on his way to the cabin:

“It’s she, Master Dunn, and she’s changed her flag again now that she
has discovered our approach.”

He returned in a moment with Captain Tucker, who was as excited as
himself. The look on my face as I glanced at him led him to stop
abruptly and ask: “What do you think of her, Master Dunn?”

“That she is a British merchantman, bound for New York, with a cargo so
valuable she is taking extraordinary means to prevent capture. She has
double papers, sir, and has shown only the false ones to us.”

“I think you have struck the nail on the head this time,” he declared.
“But if we again overhaul her, she won’t outwit us again.”

Possibly her captain was of a similar opinion, for he did his best
to keep out of our clutches. It was clear he did not relish a third
interview with Captain Tucker.

It was, however, inevitable. Gradually we came up with the craft, and a
shot from our bow-chaser brought her to.

[Illustration: “Master Dunn, you are my prisoner.”

                                        (p. 97)]

“Take the yawl and ten men with you, Lieutenant Stiles, and send
Captain Saunders over here, no matter how much he may protest, while
you remain there and make a thorough search of his cabin. Find
everything you can to throw light on the ship’s real character,” was
Captain Tucker’s command.

“Aye, aye, sir,” the officer responded in a tone that showed he
relished the order; and I confess I almost envied him his assignment.

In fifteen minutes Captain Saunders was on our deck, angrily declaring
that Captain Tucker’s procedure was an outrage. At that moment my arm
was pulled by Bill Nye, an old sailor.

“I ax yer pardon, sir,” he said in a loud whisper, “but that ain’t
Capt’n Saunders, it’s Captain John Linscot of Halifax. I’se sailed with
him more’n once to the West Indies.”

“Come with me, Bill!” I said, leading him aft.

Reaching the two captains I announced:

“Captain Tucker, here’s a man who wishes to throw a little light on the
question you are trying to settle.”

“What is it, Bill?” the Captain inquired, while his prisoner suddenly
stopped talking and stared at the old sailor.

“I only wishes to say, sir, that I know that man. I’se sailed more’n
once with him. He’s Capt’n John Linscot of Halifax.”

“Man, you are mistaken,” thundered the discomfited skipper.

“We shall soon know,” Captain Tucker remarked quietly. “Lieutenant
Stiles is returning.”

A minute or two later the yawl touched the schooner’s side, and the
executive officer, leaping to her deck, crossed over to where the
captain was standing. Saluting him he reported:

“I find, sir, that yonder ship is not an American privateer, but an
English merchantman from London to Halifax, where she changed captains
and then sailed for New York. She has a cargo of muskets, pistols,
ammunition, and army supplies inventoried at fifteen thousand pounds
sterling.”

As he closed his report the English captain laughed.

“I admit it, Captain Tucker. I knew you were cruising off our coast,
and prepared those privateer papers to outwit you, and succeeded
twice. I could hardly expect to do it a third time. I congratulate you,
sir, on taking the finest prize that is likely to be on these seas this
season.”

“I can afford to be as magnanimous, and confess that you are the
smartest Englishman I ever met,” our commander responded.

“I told you at our last interview that it took a smart man to outwit
you,” the Britisher retorted, “but I don’t feel as smart as I did then.”

A hearty laugh followed and the rival captains shook hands. Then a
large prize crew was put on board the _Peggy_, and, under the escort
of the _Hancock_, for she was too great a treasure to send into port
alone, she sailed for Lynn.

In a week we were at sea again, and a rich series of captures followed.
Between that time and the next spring we took forty vessels, many of
them with valuable cargoes.

Then came a prize, the thought of which makes my blood tingle even to
this day. We had been into Salem with prizes. Soon after getting out to
sea we caught sight of a distant sail. On approaching her we discovered
by her tier of guns that she was an English frigate--much larger than
the _Hancock_. Undismayed, Captain Tucker turned to his executive
officer, saying:

“Crowd on all sail, Lieutenant Stiles. The sooner we can close in with
that fellow the better.”

When this command had been obeyed, he continued:

“Have the drum beat all hands to quarters. I wish to address them.”

When we were in place, he said:

“Men of the _Hancock_! I suspect yonder frigate is the _Fox_, which for
some weeks has been scourging our shores. As you see, she is larger
than we are, and carries twelve more guns. I shall not therefore enter
into a cannon duel with her. I shall put our vessel alongside of her
and board her. The moment we touch sides I wish three different
parties to be ready to leap upon her deck--one forward, one aft, and
one amidships. Midshipman Dunn is to lead the first, Lieutenant Ogilby
the second, and Lieutenant Magee, commander of the marines, the third.”

Noticing that the latter officer seemed to hesitate, as though he would
decline the desperate office, he turned to him, saying with a smile:

“If you prefer, sir, you may take my place here, and I will lead the
boarders, for she must be taken.”

“No,” replied the gallant young officer, “I will go and do my best, and
if I fall, will you send these to my only sister?” and he handed the
captain a ring, a watch, and a miniature.

In a few minutes, by a sudden and rapid change of the helm--for in
nautical manœuvering Captain Tucker was unsurpassed by any officer in
the infant navy--he laid our vessel alongside of the frigate, gun to
gun, and before a shot could be fired, or a piece of ordnance brought
to bear upon us, he threw his grappling irons upon her gunwale, and
our boarding parties poured down upon her deck.

I can give you little idea of the terrific hand-to-hand conflict that
now took place. I was a part of the battle, not a spectator of it. But
I know that the intrepid Magee fell in the onset. Heading his band of
marines, he leaped the bulwark, but scarcely had his feet touched the
deck of the enemy before he was assailed by numbers and a sword pierced
his breast.

But his death was not unavenged. Captain Tucker, seeing him fall,
leaped like a lion into his place, and with his stalwart arm cut down
all before him. Having made an open way across the deck for his men, he
rallied them into two lines, back to back, and fought his opponents in
both directions, forward and aft.

Meantime I had reached my position with my division and we drove all on
the bow back to meet the dauntless Captain, while Lieutenant Ogilby and
his men, charging the quarter-deck, drove the enemy forward against our
commander’s second line drawn up to receive them. In this way we soon
swept the deck, and the frigate struck her colors. Three rousing cheers
from our brave men proclaimed the victory.




CHAPTER XI

A DISTINGUISHED PASSENGER ON BOARD


I come now to an incident about which I love to write. It was the
Christmas present given Captain Tucker the following December (1777).
This was the brand new frigate _Boston_. She was presented to him in
Boston, and named for that town. She carried twenty-four guns and one
hundred and seventy-five men, beside her company of marines, and in her
equipment surpassed any other vessel in commission at that time.

But not only was the vessel given the Captain; he was also given the
privilege of selecting all of his commissioned officers. It took
him a month to complete the list. Our three lieutenants were Henry
Phips, Hezekiah Welch and Benjamin Bates, ranking in the order they
are named. We had five midshipmen, of whom I held the senior rank. The
second was Thomas Blinn, who had been with us on the _Franklin_ and
who was appointed to the new frigate at my request. The other three
were new men to us, but gallant fellows who had given a good account of
themselves on other vessels. They were William Day, Edward Eades, and
Thomas LeMoyne.

Our master of arms was William Baker from the _Hancock_; and one of our
boatswains was also an old friend, Joseph Lewis from the _Franklin_.
I believe all the rest of our officers and crew were new men. We had
a chaplain, Rev. Benjamin Balch, and a surgeon, Dr. Thomas Burns. The
officers of our marines were Captain Seth Boxter, First Lieutenant
Jeremiah Reed, Second Lieutenant William Cooper, and Sergeant Benjamin
Newhall. I speak of these different officers here so that when they
are hereafter alluded to in this narrative the reader may have a clear
idea of their place on shipboard.

From the hour we went on board the _Boston_ we had the feeling that she
was to be assigned to some important mission. No one had said so, yet
among the officers and crew alike there was a feeling of expectancy.
Perhaps it was the newness of the vessel, her fine equipment, the
special care taken in selecting her men and putting in of her stores
that gave rise to this impression.

We went on board of the craft December 27th. The new year came, a month
passed, but still we waited. The first of February an incident occurred
which led us to believe the time of our sailing was drawing near. A
new banner arrived for the frigate--the flag adopted by the American
Congress and destined to be known ere long the world over as the emblem
of liberty--the stars and stripes. Amid the cheers of our men it was
unfurled from our masthead, and as in the case of the Pine Tree banner
on the _Franklin_, so now it was my own hand that pulled the rope that
set the bunting free.

Nine days later Captain Tucker was summoned before the Chairman of the
Naval Committee. I now know what took place at that interview, and will
relate it here.

“Sir,” the official said, “you are directed by the American Congress to
receive the Honorable John Adams upon your frigate and convey him as a
special envoy to France. I am also instructed to add that in some way
the object of this mission to France has become known to the enemy and
they have already sent a British seventy-four and two other frigates up
from Newport to keep watch over this harbor and prevent if possible the
departure of the vessel which is to carry the envoy. To escape a force
so vigilant and formidable, and to avoid the numerous men-of-war which
infest the track across the Atlantic, requires an officer of consummate
skill and intrepidity. Congress has full confidence in you, and for
that reason has chosen you commander of the vessel which is to perform
this mission. In this document are your orders in detail, which we
shall expect you to execute to the letter,” and he handed the paper to
the Captain, who, receiving it, replied:

“I assure you, sir, and the other members of the Naval Committee, that
I appreciate the honor conferred upon me, and shall endeavor to the
best of my ability to merit the confidence you repose in me. If for
any reason I fail to reach the assigned port with my distinguished
passenger, it will not be because I have been unfaithful to my trust.”

On the 16th day of the month Master Adams was received on board of the
_Boston_ with all the honors of his high position; and on the 17th, at
seven P. M., we weighed anchor at the Nantasket Roads, and proceeded to
sea, with the stripes and stars waving to a fine northwestern breeze,
and with the firing of a salute of seven guns.

At the beginning of the log-book of that voyage, which now lies before
me, are the words written in Captain Tucker’s own hand: “Pray God
conduct me safe to France, and send me a prosperous voyage.” This brief
but all inclusive prayer was granted, but not without some mishaps, and
some occasions for doubt and fear.

Our departure at nightfall had been purposely arranged to slip by
the watching frigates at the mouth of the bay under the cover of the
darkness. Without a light we moved swiftly down the harbor, and when
below Long Island were able to make out the lights of the three English
vessels, a mile or two apart, and sailing to and fro in a way to
intercept any craft that might attempt to leave the haven by the usual
routes.

The seventy-four was farthest north, and her great draught prevented
her from running within two miles of the shore. Captain Tucker, who
stood near the helm, was quick to notice this fact, and gave orders
to sail the _Boston_ between the great frigate and the land. Possibly
the Britisher was not expecting a vessel so large as the _Boston_ to
take this course, and so kept no special lookout in that direction; or
it may be that the absence of lights rendered our ship invisible at
that distance in the darkness. For some reason we made the passage in
safety, and in an hour were well out to sea.

In some way, however, the enemy must have learned of our departure for
on the 19th at six P. M., we saw three large ships to the east of us,
bearing the British flag and concluded that they were the ones watching
especially for us. Captain Tucker at once gave orders for our frigate
to haul away to the south-west, and so far as we were able to detect in
the darkness we were not pursued. Early the next morning the captain
called all of his commissioned officers into consultation, and, as the
enemy were nowhere in sight, it was decided to return to our original
course. We had run but an hour to the northward, however, when we
caught sight of two of the pursuing frigates--one of twenty guns, the
other, like ourselves, of twenty-four guns. But almost immediately the
man at the masthead called out:

“Ship of war on our weather quarter, sir!”

In a short time we were confident it was the English seventy-four. This
settled the fact that our enemies were both persistent and vigilant,
and would intercept us if they could.

Another consultation was therefore held to which Master Adams was
invited, and our situation was freely discussed. Not knowing how fast
the _Boston_ would sail, it was concluded to stand away again for
the south-west, and at ten A. M., we wore ship and proceeded in that
direction. The three Britishers promptly changed their courses, and
pursued us.

At noon we had lost sight of the smaller vessel; at two o’clock we set
our fore and maintop mast steering sail, and soon found we were leaving
the other vessels behind. At six we had lost sight of them in the
darkness.

An anxious night followed. We were running at the rate of seven knots
an hour, and we had reason to believe that the other vessels were
making as good a pace. Would they continue on their present course
throughout the night? If so, could we not by dropping off a point or
two throw them off our track? These and similar questions arose in the
mind not only of our commander, but also in the minds of all of our
officers.

Double watches were kept on the deck. Captain Tucker never left it.
For three hours we held to the course we had been following before
nightfall. Then we fell off a little, though it reduced our speed to
six knots. We ran on the new course for another three hours, and then
to our chagrin our lookout reported the lights of a large ship almost
directly ahead of us. It was evident that while we had shaken off the
smaller frigate, the seventy-four was still on our trail.

We could not weather her on our present course, so we hove in stays and
stood to the westward. She followed us. For an hour or two we held to
the new direction, then we suddenly hove in stays again, and passed her
to the windward, and about four miles off.

But she detected the movement, and changing her own course, continued
to chase us. Again tacking ship, we soon had the satisfaction of
knowing we had at last struck a course in which the _Boston_ was
distancing her enemy, and when morning dawned she was out of sight, and
we saw no further trace of her.

But barely had we escaped one danger when we ran in with another. A
north-east gale swept down upon us, and for nine days we battled with
wind and rain and sleet and snow, and were compelled at times to heave
to, and at other times to sheer around and run before the storm. I do
not think we gained a hundred miles on our way during the tempest.

Then came gentle breezes from the south, the temperature moderated, the
snow and ice that had encased us disappeared, and we made fair progress
towards our destination.

One day during this spring-like weather, we sighted a vessel to the
south-east, which was standing to the west. We changed our course to
intercept her, and in a short time were able to make out that she was
a large merchantman, carrying twelve guns.

There was no question but that she also saw us; and seeing us, she
must have known that we were larger than she, and mounted two guns to
her one. Yet she made no attempt to escape us, or, for that matter,
to come up with us. She simply kept on her way. When a little nearer,
however, we noticed that her plucky commander was preparing himself for
an attack. All hands had been piped to their stations. His guns were
being shotted, and made ready for firing. His attitude said as plainly
as words: “Let me alone, and I’ll let you alone. But if you attack me,
you’ll find me ready. I shall defend myself to the best of my ability.”
Though we had not yet spoken a word with him, he inspired us with a
feeling of profoundest respect.

Had we been without our distinguished passenger, we should have
hastened to the attack. But our first duty was to care for his safety,
though there had been nothing in Captain Tucker’s orders to prevent
him from taking a prize if she fell in his way. Confident that the
ship ahead of him must contain a valuable cargo, or she would not be so
heavily armed, our commander felt it would be a grave mistake to allow
her to pass unmolested. Yet he would not assume the responsibility
of attempting her capture alone. He therefore called Master Adams
and his officers into council, frankly stating his wish to seize the
magnificent ship now in sight.

Master Adams was the first to speak when he had stated the case:

“If I were not here, Captain Tucker,” he said, “you would not hesitate
at all in making the attack, would you?”

“Not an instant,” acknowledged the captain.

“Then consider that I am not here, and go ahead,” continued the brave
envoy. “I agree with you that yonder vessel must have a fine cargo,
or she would not take along twelve guns and at least two score men to
protect it. If so valuable to her government, it is more valuable to
us. We should not miss the opportunity to make it ours.”

That settled the matter, and instantly the frigate was alive with
activity. The men were drummed to their stations; the reefs were shaken
out of our top-sails; the guns were made ready for action; the marines
were drawn up amidships ready to rake the deck of the enemy with their
muskets; and away we dashed in pursuit of the craft.

Having executed my last order, I paused a moment to glance about me.
What a fine appearance the frigate made when ready for battle! How
earnest and reliant our men seemed! For an instant I was lost in
admiration of the scene, and then my attention was diverted. I saw
Master Adams seize a musket, and take his place with the marines.
Evidently he was going to take part in the fray. But the Captain
discovered him a little later, and stepping up to him and placing his
hand on his shoulder, he said with a voice of authority:

“Master Adams, I am commanded by the Continental Congress to deliver
you safe in France, and you must go below, sir.”

Master Adams smiled, and went down to the cabin, but with such evident
reluctance our men broke into a cheer.

By this time we were well up with the ship, and our skipper by one of
those quick manœuvers for which he was noted put his own vessel into
the position he desired. His guns were ready, his men were at their
posts, the match stocks were smoking and yet he hesitated to give the
order to fire. At this delay the crew grew impatient, and, seeing so
fine a chance to strike a fatal blow passing, they began to murmur.
Then Captain Tucker cried out in a loud voice:

“Hold on, my men! I wish to save that egg without breaking the shell!”

Nor were they compelled to hold on long, for the commander of the
merchantman, plucky as he was, saw the advantageous position our
frigate was in, and how desperate his own chance was, and so he struck
his colors without our firing a gun.




CHAPTER XII

TO HALIFAX PRISON


Ten minutes after her flag was run down I was upon her deck with a
prize crew. Midshipman Blinn was with me, and I soon sent him back
to the frigate with a report that gave both officers and crew much
satisfaction. The prize was the ship _Martha_, Captain Peter McIntosh,
bound from London to New York with a cargo of provisions, stores,
and merchandise, valued at eighty thousand pounds sterling. The
crew consisted of thirty-nine officers and men, and there were five
passengers, making a total of forty-four.

Master Blinn returned in a short time with an order from Captain
Tucker, putting me in temporary charge of the vessel, and directing me
to first send her crew and passengers to the _Boston_ for safe keeping,
and then, since it was nearly night, to tack ship and follow the
frigate on her course until morning.

At dawn a change was made in my ship’s company. Midshipman Blinn was
recalled to the _Boston_, and Midshipman LeMoyne was substituted in
his place, to act as my executive. Philip Mohyes, a quartermaster, was
also sent over to be my second officer. With him came six new men,
increasing my crew to fifteen. Master LeMoyne brought with him the
following letter:

                                         “On board the _Boston_ Frigate.
                                               March the 11th, 1778.

  To Midshipman Arthur Dunn:

  Gentleman--You are now appointed to the command of the ship _Martha_.
  I desire you would make the best of your way to Boston, running
  up your longitude in 37° north as far as 68° west. Be careful to
  avoid all vessels you may see, keeping a man at the masthead from
  daybreak until dark, and if you should be so unfortunate as to be
  taken, destroy my letters with your signals. If you go safe, lodge my
  signals at the Navy Board, not showing them to your nearest friend.
  Be very certain of your lights--to show none in any respect. When
  you arrive, acquaint the Honorable Board of every instance that has
  happened in my passage, and I desire you would be as attentive to the
  ship in port as at sea. Keep regular orders, as you would at sea,
  and the men under the same subjection. Other orders are to yourself
  discretionary in defending the ship.
                                               Your well-wisher,
                                                       SAMUEL TUCKER,
                                                            Commanding.”

As rapidly as possible I made my arrangements for a departure, and
soon signalled the frigate that I was ready to sail. A salute of seven
guns was fired, and then with every stitch of canvas set I bore away
west-north-west to reach the latitude assigned me, and along which I
was to make my way home.

Three days passed without special incident. We reached the
thirty-seventh parallel, and proceeded westward. Once or twice we
caught sight of distant sails, but if they saw us they did not think we
were worth the chasing. So when the sun went down on the third night
after we had parted from the frigate our log showed we had made four
hundred knots and all was well.

All was well when the sun set; all was not so well when the sun
arose; for there, not over two miles away, was an English frigate of
thirty-two guns, and a few minutes of watching revealed that she was
fast overhauling us.

I could not then, nor can I after all these years, discover any reason
why we were to blame for the dilemma in which we now found ourselves.
I had strictly obeyed the orders which Captain Tucker had given me. We
had carried no lights during the night, and it could not therefore have
been these that had attracted the attention of the enemy, and led him
to pursue us. It was clearly one of those cases of happen so, over
which we have no control. The Britisher had happened to be cruising in
that locality; the dawn had disclosed our proximity, and she had given
chase.

But whatever the circumstances, they could not change the fact that
we were pursued by a foe so formidable that, should she overhaul us,
it would be folly to resist her. Our only hope was to keep out of her
clutches, and even this I confess was not at that time very reassuring.
Still we did all we could to distance her. I gave orders to spread
every sail, and to put the ship on a course where I knew she would do
her best. An hour passed, and so far as we could detect, our pursued
was no nearer than when we had discovered her. Our hopes brightened.
Could we only hold our present rate of speed throughout the day, we
might with the coming of the night elude her.

Noon came. The frigate was nearer us than in the morning, but still
too far away to reach us with her cannon. The rate she was gaining on
us made it doubtful that she would come within firing distance before
sunset. Every man on our ship breathed easier.

At four o’clock she fired a shot, but it fell fifty fathoms short of
us--far enough away to escape us, yet too uncomfortably near to be
pleasant. It was disagreeable to feel that a gain of three hundred feet
would allow the ball to drop on our deck.

I had already resorted to nearly every device I could conceive of to
increase the speed of our craft. One remained--the wetting of our
sails--but the low temperature had prevented me from trying that. It
would not only mean cold work for us, but also an icy deck and sails.
Still, anything was preferable to our falling into the hands of the
enemy, and I therefore turned to Master LeMoyne, and asked him the
advisability of making the experiment.

“Do you notice how the jibs are bellowing?” he responded. “Why not try
the water on them? It will enable them to hold the wind, and may be
sufficient to keep the ship out of the Britisher’s reach until dark.”

I accepted the suggestion, and in five minutes had our brave men
dashing the icy water on the canvas. It was not long before the effect
was noticeable. We actually gained upon the frigate, and at sundown she
was over a mile away.

The night came rapidly on, but not so dark as we could wish. Still I
hoped that with no lights set we might get beyond the vision of the
pursuer, and then, changing our course, elude her. Anxiously we waited
for the moment to come when it would be safe for us to make the attempt.

It was long in coming, for the man-of-war did not hesitate to put out
her own lights, and was therefore plainly invisible to us, while it
made it difficult for us to decide whether she could see us or not.
Not far from nine o’clock, however, I concluded we could not discern
the frigate were it not for her lights, and reasoned that she could no
longer perceive us. So I ordered our course changed to due east. Two
minutes later our pursuer altered her own course and followed us. It
was clear she could still make us out notwithstanding the darkness.

After a half-hour’s run to the eastward I became convinced that we were
losing ground, and resumed our former course. The English craft as
promptly swung in behind us.

“They have good eyes on board yonder frigate,” I remarked to
Quartermaster Mohyes, who stood near me.

“That they have, sir,” he assented, “and unless we get a cloudy sky
before morning I fear we shan’t shake them off at all, sir.”

It was a fear that kept every one of us on the deck that night--a fear
that grew more and more into a certainty. Ten times I changed our helm;
ten times the pursuing vessel took our trail--and morning came with her
less than a half mile behind us.

To add to our discomfiture the stiff breeze of the last twenty-four
hours died away to an occasional puff. Under the light wind with our
heavy cargo we scarcely moved, while the frigate, of lighter draft,
crept steadily down upon us.

At seven o’clock a shot from her bow gun carried away our maintopmast,
and sent sails and spars tumbling to the deck. This crippled us and
enabled her to gain rapidly upon us, and soon she was where she could
pour a broadside in upon us.

“Heave to, or we’ll sink you,” her commander shouted out, and with a
heavy heart I gave the order to heave to the ship; then I hastened
below, where, mindful of Captain Tucker’s command, I destroyed the
record of his signals, and his letter to me.

When I came out of the cabin a boat from our capturer was at our side.
An instant later the officer in charge mounted to the deck and called
out in per-emptory tones:

“What craft is this? And who is in command of her?”

“The ship _Martha_, a prize of the Continental frigate _Boston_,
Midshipman Arthur Dunn with a crew of fifteen in charge, and bound for
Boston,” I replied with the best grace I could assume.

“Show me the ship’s original papers,” he demanded.

Having anticipated such a request I had the papers with me, and now
handed them to him. He looked them over, and then began to laugh
uproariously. Finally he managed to say:

“This is rich. Thought you’d got a fine prize, didn’t you? Planned to
carry this cargo into Boston to feed your Yankee soldiers? Well, let me
tell you ‘there’s many a slip between the cup and lip,’ and they’ll be
a hungry lot before they ever eat of these stores. Captain Watson will
see that they are sent to New York where they were designed to go. I’ve
got a brother there to whom I shall write the whole story. Won’t he and
his comrades laugh when they hear how we took the bread right out of
the mouth of your fellows!”

I made no reply, perhaps because I was not in sympathy with his
hilarity. Then he called a half dozen of his men to the deck and put
the ship in their care, while he went back to the frigate to report to
his commander.

Something in his report, or else the long chase I had led him, had
ruffled the captain’s temper, for he made quick work in disposing of
us. In fifteen minutes we were transferred to the man-of-war, and
confined in her brig.

The hatch that imprisoned us shut the _Martha_ from our view, and
we thought we had seen the last of her. Some of us had, but it was
my privilege to see her again some months later and to learn her
remarkable history.

The frigate put a strong crew upon her, and ordered her to sail in her
wake to Halifax, the nearest British port. During the following night
she in some way became separated from her consort, and before she could
rejoin her was captured by a Continental privateer, who took her into
Boston. So, contrary to the boast of the officer into whose hands I had
surrendered her, our Yankee soldiers did feed upon her stores.

Had we known this not only as we lay in the darkness of the hold of
the _Royal Prince_, but during the more trying days that followed,
I am quite sure our hearts would have been lighter. As it was, to
the sufferings we had to bear was added the chagrin of the loss of
the valuable vessel which had been entrusted to our care. At times I
wondered what Captain Tucker would say when the tidings reached him.
Would he blame us? Then I would think: “It matters little, for we shall
never meet again.”

Three days of darkness, of vermin, of filth and of scanty fare made
us ready to exchange our quarters in the frigate for any other--it
mattered not what they were or where. We knew they could not be worse.
So three days later when we heard the rattling of the chains which told
the vessel had come to anchor, and our hatch was opened and we were
bidden to come forth, we obeyed the summons with delight.

The bright sunshine, the fresh air, never seemed so good before, and as
we entered the waiting boats, and were taken ashore--in a town which
I at once recognized as Halifax--we were almost happy. Even when our
captors, after our landing, conducted us up the street to the massive
jail, we did not despair. There would at least be light there, even if
the filth and fare were the same we had experienced on shipboard, and
that would be something for the better. So with a firm tread and good
courage we passed through the massive portals, where we were thrust
into a room already overflowing with prisoners.

In five minutes we were ready to go back to the ship’s hold without
a murmur; and I hesitate to write the reason why lest the reader may
think I state an untruth. It hardly seems possible that the worst of
men could be guilty of so atrocious an act. Yet I am giving here the
simple fact. We had been put into a room where the smallpox was raging.
Nearly one-half of the score of men there were sick with the foul
disease, and yet without medical attendance of any kind.

The place reeked with filth; the air was poisoned with contagious
germs; the room was too small for the number of prisoners already
there; the condition of the place must have been known to the prison
authorities; yet into this pest-hole I was thrust with my fifteen men.
No foe could have perpetrated a more gross cruelty; no fiends in human
shape could have shown a greater malignity.




CHAPTER XIII

ON BOARD A BRITISH FRIGATE


It is impossible to give any adequate picture of the days which
immediately followed. The horror of them is still upon me as I write.
There are dangers which call out the best in man, which arouse all his
faculties to face and overcome them; there are others that paralyze the
arm and numb the brain and stupefy the soul. The danger before us was
of this latter class. For an hour after I entered that room and learned
the situation I sat dazed and stolid, and my men were in no better
condition. We were hopeless.

It is said you can become accustomed to anything. Possibly that is
why my companions at length began to stir and speak. It was their
reproaches that aroused me. “Why had we not fought the enemy on the
deck of the _Martha_, and ended our lives there, instead of foolishly
surrendering her, and dying here in this foul pen?” they were saying.
They did not hesitate to throw the blame on me. Stung to the quick,
I sprang to my feet. I threw off the lethargy I was in, and I said
resolutely:

“Comrades, do not be unreasonable. You know I acted for the best when I
surrendered the _Martha_. I did as any other wise commander would have
done under the same circumstances. Let us suppose we had fought; some
of us would have survived the conflict and been thrust in here to meet
the same foul conditions. Can we tell which of us it might have been?
Would we have been any better prepared to face the situation than now?
Here we are all well and strong. Let us arouse ourselves. Let us do for
these suffering men around us all we can do. Not every one who has the
smallpox dies with it. Let us face this foe as we would any other, and
endeavor to conquer it; and if we do go down before it, let us die as
we would on a ship’s deck--like men, doing our duty for ourselves and
others.”

I did not have to make a second appeal. A ringing “Aye, aye, sir!”
followed my speech, and then the lads crowded about me asking what they
should do.

“First, we’ll find who these suffering men are and how we can help
them,” I answered. “Then we’ll see if we cannot clean up this foul pen,
and make it more habitable. The disease will not rage so severely where
there is no filth, I’ve been told; and it may be I can prevail upon the
prison authorities to furnish us with clean beds and proper medical
attendance. Rest assured I’ll do all I can to bring about a better
condition of things here.”

“That you will, sir,” they responded, and turned with me to attend to
the sick ones about us.

As I had expected, we found them all Colonial prisoners. Some had been
there for weeks, others like ourselves were newcomers. Two weeks before
one of their number had come down with the smallpox, and the case had
been promptly reported to the prison officials. The only thing that
had been done by them, however, was to put a man in charge of the room
who was an immune, and to bury the dead--for four of their number had
already died from the disease.

I found the only thing we could do for the present was to place the
suffering men in easier positions, and moisten their parched lips with
the scanty supply of water at our command. But later, when the turnkey
came--an old fellow, deaf and gruff and indifferent to our condition--I
appealed to him to ask the superintendent of the jail to furnish us
with implements for cleaning up the room, and with clean clothing for
the sick, and with medical care.

He demurred, saying: “They won’t do nothin’ for ye. They’d rather ye’d
die here like rats in a hole.”

Then I grew angry. “Tell him,” I exclaimed, “that there is an officer
in here who is not going to die with the disease, and as sure as he
lives the home government shall know. Yea, the whole civilized world
shall know how he is treating men whose only fault is that they are
prisoners.”

There must have been something in my looks or tones that startled
him, for he shuffled away down the corridor, and going to the prison
officials made known my demands, repeating word for word what I had
said. The result was we were furnished with shovels, brooms, pails and
water in abundance, and before night our quarters were clean.

A week passed, however, without any of my other demands being met. Six
more men died, and were wrapped in their blankets, and carried away to
their burial. Ten more of the men had come down with the contagion. The
time was fast approaching when the disease might be expected to appear
among my own crew. We needed everything--beds, clothing, better and
more food, and medicine. In my desperation I grew cunning. From a piece
of wire I found in the possession of one of the men I manufactured a
key, with which I could unlock our door.

I knew it only allowed me to enter the outside corridor, but even that
circumstance I believed I could use to our advantage. Our turnkey was
in the habit of communicating with us by a small opening in the door.
In fact, the door had been thrown wide open but once since we had
entered the prison--the day we had cleaned the room, and then four
soldiers, all immunes, had stood in the passageway with loaded muskets
to prevent our escape. Usually, however, the attendant came to the door
alone.

With this fact in mind, near the noon hour I unlocked the door and
waited. As soon as I heard the footsteps of the old man outside, I
suddenly threw the door open, and sprang out upon him. He was so
surprised I had no difficulty in catching him by the shoulders.

“Now lead me to the office,” I demanded.

“But you mustn’t go there, sir,” he cried in alarm. “I’m told not so
much as to let you into the corridor. You’ll give the disease to the
officials and the other prisoners.”

“That is just what I propose to do,” I retorted, shaking him as a
terrier would a rat. “If we are not given clean beds and clothing and
medicine, we’ll tear this building down inch by inch; we’ll scatter the
germs of the smallpox on the air. Some of us may die in the attempt,
but not until we have infected the whole town. So lead on or I’ll
throttle you!”

My loud voice and his equally loud remonstrances reached the ears of
the superintendent, as I had intended they should, and he now peeped
into the corridor to see what the trouble was. Catching enough of my
words to comprehend both my demands and my threats, he called out:

“Don’t come down here, sir! Let the turnkey go, and I’ll do what you
say. The things shall be sent you at once.”

I looked doubtfully at him. “I don’t know whether to believe you or
not,” I then said slowly.

“I’ll keep my word. I’ll send men at once with the things, and they’ll
bring your old ones away, and burn them. Only go back into your room
and stay there.”

“I’ll try you this once,” I finally decided, releasing the turnkey.
“But mark you, if you fail me, there’ll be the hottest time in this
old jail you ever saw. We can get out of the room when we please, and
as I said, we may die in the attempt, but it will not be until we have
exposed lots of you to the foul disease from which we are suffering,”
and I went back into the room.

He kept his word in part. The clean beds and clothing were brought,
but we received no medical care or supplies, and so the next morning I
repeated that part of my demand.

“The superintendent told me to tell you that he was trying to find a
physician for you,” the attendant said tremblingly, “but so far every
one in town has refused to come here.”

Another week passed. Eight more of the lads had ended their sufferings,
and seven new cases of the disease had developed--among them three of
my own men: Midshipman LeMoyne, Quartermaster Mohyes, and Elias Bowden,
an old sailor.

Of the original prisoners--those in the room at our coming--there were
only six surviving, so terrible had been the ravages of the scourge
among them. Would there be as great a loss among my crew? I feared it,
and though at that time of my life I was not much given to prayer, I
now prayed:

“O, Lord, spare my men. Send us help in some way. We are in sore need.”

Over and over again I repeated the words, and in some way they gave me
great comfort. I felt the help was coming, but I acknowledge it came
in a way I little expected. The next morning there were hurried feet
along our corridor, then the door suddenly swung back, and the funniest
little Frenchman I ever saw popped in.

Short and fat, and dressed in the height of fashion, he bowed
repeatedly first to one, then to another of us, all the while talking
in a strange mixture of good French and poor English. Between it all we
made out that he was Doctor Jean Vignor, who had landed in the town the
previous day. Learning by the merest accident of our situation, he had
deemed it a great privilege to volunteer his services for our relief.
The prison authorities had consented, and there he was to take the
cases in hand.

“The leetlepox is nothing,” he declared with a majestic wave of the
hand. “I have the remedy to cure, and the remedy to stop it;” and then
he began to examine his patients.

He went from one to the other, nodding his head approvingly to some,
and shaking his head seriously at others, and administering medicine
to all. When the round was made, he came to me, whom he seemed to
recognize as chief, saying:

“I cure him, and him, and him, and him,” pointing out the men as he
spoke; “him and him and him I no cure.”

With a heavy heart I noticed that the three whom he had designated as
beyond the reach of his healing powers were my own comrades. He now
did what seemed to me a strange thing. He made every well man among
us march up before him, and lancing a place in the arm he rubbed in a
thick fluid which he took from a small vial in his case.

“You have not the pox now, or else have it light,” he explained. “My
friend Doctor Jenner of London is what you call experimenting with it.
Some day it will make him famous. He calls it vaccine.”

I now know he had vaccinated us--a common thing today, and a discovery
which, as the Frenchman predicted, has made Doctor Jenner’s name well
known the world over--but we had never heard of the process before, and
could not appreciate its value then as we did a little later.

So droll was our new friend that he cheered our hearts; so well did he
seem to understand the dread disease with which he battled that he
inspired our confidence; so strong was his influence with the prison
authorities that he secured from them whatever he felt his patients
needed; so completely did he transform our prison life that it seemed
as though the sun had come out from the thick clouds and was sending
its healing beams upon us. The only sadness that came to me while he
was with us was the death of the three comrades whose cases he had at
the very outset pronounced incurable. Even then he did all he could
to comfort me, and obtained permission from the officials for me to
accompany them to and mark their graves.

Of the remainder of our crew three did not have the smallpox at
all--William Goss, Richard Webber, and myself--due, Doctor Vignor said,
to the great sores which formed upon our arms. The others had the
disease, but so lightly they were scarcely indisposed.

“It’s the vaccine,” declared the physician.

“Then you should proclaim your remedy to the world,” I insisted.

He shook his head. “That is my friend’s work,” he explained. “He told
me of this, and I will not steal his honor. In due time he will give it
to the world.”[A]

In a month the last case of the disease had disappeared, and our room
had been thoroughly cleansed and fumigated.

“It’s time for me to go,” our good friend now announced, “and I wish I
could take you all with me.” Then lowering his voice he added:

“I go to your country to be a surgeon in your army. I’ll tell them of
you, and have them arrange an exchange.”

About the first of June I thought he had accomplished his desire, for
a British officer came to our room, and looking us all over, asked our
names, and the station in which we had served. Then he said:

“Arthur Dunn, William Goss, and Richard Webber are to come with me.”

“Are you sure that is all who are to go?” I questioned, reluctant to
leave a single man behind.

“It is all who are to go now,” he replied curtly. “The others may be
sent for later.”

Thus reassured we, the fortunate three as we thought, bade our comrades
good-bye, and with exultant hearts followed the officer from the room.
Once in the street, he led us down to the wharf where a yawl was in
waiting.

“Get in,” he commanded, and, still thinking that we were to be taken
to some vessel where our exchange was to be effected, we obeyed with
alacrity.

The men at the oars pulled us off towards a large frigate well out in
the harbor. Soon we were where I could obtain a good view of her.

“The _Saint George_!” I exclaimed, recognizing the frigate on which I
had served as a midshipman before the war with the colonies. Then, too,
like a flash it dawned upon me that my comrades and myself were not to
be exchanged; but were to be pressed into the English naval service.


  FOOTNOTE:

  [A] Dr. Jenner did this a few years later.




CHAPTER XIV

I REJOIN THE BOSTON


I glanced at my comrades and the expression on their faces showed that
they had recognized the significance of my exclamation, and like myself
had surmised the fate in store for us. But there was no time for us to
speak to each other or to protest with our captor for the next moment
we touched the side of the vessel, and received the per-emptory order
to mount to her deck.

I do not know what the thoughts of my companions were, but as for
myself I was wondering if there would be any of the old officers or
men on the frigate. If so, would they know me? And if I were recognized
what would be the outcome? Would I be regarded as a deserter, and
receive a deserter’s punishment? The thought was not a pleasant one,
and I confess that as I stepped over the railing of the craft I glanced
apprehensively about me.

The first man my eye fell upon was the officer of the deck, and who
should he be but my old acquaintance Midshipman Seymour, though he now
held the rank of a lieutenant. But if he recognized me he gave no sign
of it. Walking over to us as though he expected and had prepared for
our coming, he took a notebook from his pocket, and, referring to it,
called out:

“William Goss!”

“Here, sir,” the sailor answered, though with evident reluctance.

“You are assigned to the mizzen-top-mast crew, to the starboard gun,
number four, and are in Lieutenant Grant’s watch,” he announced,
referring again to his book. “You may go forward and report to the
officer there. He will see that you have your equipment, and are shown
your station.” Then he glanced at his notes again.

“Richard Webber!” he now called.

“Here, sir,” the owner of the name responded, because there was nothing
else to do.

“You are assigned to the fore-topmast crew, to the larboard gun, number
ten, and are in my watch. Go forward and report to the officer there.”

Before he called my name he stared hard at me, but I met his gaze
without flinching. Then he read:

“Arthur Dunn!”

“Here, sir,” I replied promptly.

“This is singular,” he remarked, and eying me again. “I never expected
to see you again on this ship, but the fates have ordered otherwise.
Your case is so remarkable, sir, I must take you to the captain,” and
he led me down to the cabin.

As I went I remember wishing that the commanding officer might not be
Captain Rawlins. He had been so kind to me when I first boarded the
frigate, and in fact during all the time I was upon her, I did not care
to receive my sentence from his lips. I preferred to have an entire
stranger pass judgment upon me.

My desire was gratified. A man I had never seen before sat at the
table, but as he turned his face towards me I knew I could expect no
mercy from his hands. Cold, stern, relentless, cruel--those were the
characteristics I read there, and with the feeling that I had again
fallen into a hard place, I paused before him.

“This is the young man I was to bring down to you when he arrived,
sir,” Lieutenant Seymour said.

The officer turned and stared at me.

“Your name?” he then demanded brusquely, and I knew that it was only a
matter of form.

“Arthur Dunn,” I confessed.

“You were once a midshipman on this frigate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And ran away to join the enemy?”

“I hardly think that is a fair way to put it,” I began, when he
interrupted me.

“Of course you don’t. No deserter ever did think his case was put
fairly,” he exclaimed with a sneer. “To my mind there is but one
thing to do with men of your stamp--it is to hang them to the nearest
yard-arm. And I would do it, were there not a special order out from
the Naval Board for you to be sent back to England if apprehended,
where you are to be made an example. So you are safe, so far as your
life is concerned, until you get there. But we’ll manage to make that
life as miserable for you as it well can be,” and he grinned as though
the thought was pleasing to him.

Then to the waiting lieutenant he said:

“Take him forward, sir, and see that he has half rations, double work,
and double watches. If he rebels, give him twenty blows with the cat;
and if that doesn’t tame him, give him forty,” and again he gave that
satanic grin. Master Seymour also laughed, and I knew he had received
an order he would delight to carry out to the letter.

In the forecastle I found quite a number of men I knew, but with the
exception of old Pete Berry they greeted me with jeers. It was clear
that they had no love for one whom they regarded as a deserter, and I
was confident that in them the captain would find the tools he desired
to make my stay on shipboard anything but agreeable.

I shall not weary the reader by relating here the many and repeated
insults I received, by telling the hard and disagreeable tasks to which
I was assigned, by recounting the lashes which without any provocation
on my part were put upon my back. I had not been on board the ship a
week before I knew my only hope was to escape from the clutches of my
tormentors. I simply abided my opportunity.

The following week an incident happened which at the time seemed to
me to close every opportunity I might have had to escape, but which
really proved to be the link in the chain which was to give me my
freedom.

The frigate had sighted and chased an American privateer. She was
apparently nearly overhauled, and our bow gun was ready for the firing.
Then I was brought forward, and the command was given me to aim, and
touch off the cannon.

“And mark you,” Lieutenant Seymour, who gave the order, continued, “if
you miss the craft, you shall receive forty blows from the cat.”

“Then you’d better give me the blows now,” I replied resolutely, “for I
will not aim or fire a gun at my countrymen, not if I die for it.”

There was no time just then to use the lash, so I was hurried off to
the brig, and confined there until the battle with the sloop-of-war
was over. They did not forget me, however, and possibly the escape of
the Continental vessel after a slight brush with them added to the
spite which was put into the blows I received. With back lacerated and
bleeding, and every part of my body quivering and aching in sympathy,
I was thrown back into the brig with the assurance that I should lie
there until the ship was in port.

The next morning I was delirious with the fever from my sores, and,
perhaps fearing I might not be in a condition to turn over to the home
officials when we arrived in London, the ship’s doctor was sent to me.
He took me in hand to such a good purpose that in a few days I was
myself again, save the scars on my back. But they still thought the
brig the best place for me, and left me confined there. It was then I
gave up all hope of effecting my escape, and began to speculate on what
would happen when I was handed over to the Naval Board.

Another week passed, and one night my guard was a marine named Blinn,
with whom I had scarcely spoken. I was surprised therefore when he
unlocked the door of the brig, and stepping quickly in closed it behind
him. His first words surprised me even more. He said in a low whisper:

“You know my brother, Thomas Blinn?”

“I rather think I do,” I answered. “He is one of my best friends--we
were midshipmen together on two vessels, the _Franklin_ and the
_Boston_. He is on the latter now, over in France, I presume.”

“Across in France, you mean,” he corrected, “as we are now in the
English Channel.”

“Well, across in France, if you prefer; it makes little difference,” I
replied.

“It makes lots of difference, if you wish to escape,” he went on
eagerly. “We are becalmed, in a thick fog, and there is a boat out.
It was put out this afternoon to fix something that was wrong in the
anchor chains. The men didn’t finish their job, and so the yawl was
left there, side of the vessel until morning. Pete Berry told me about
it, and he says you and I can slip into her, cut her loose, and cross
over to the French shore.”

Then, that I might understand better his reason for leaving the ship,
he added: “Like my brother, my sympathies are with the colonies, and
I have been trying for nearly two years to get away from the vessels
I have been on, but the opportunity has never come until now. Listen
while I tell you what you are to do.

“Go down this passageway to the farther end, where you will find a door
opening into the forecastle. You are to slip in there, and stay until
the watch changes. When the new watch goes on deck you are to go up
with them, and conceal yourself under the truck of the bow gun. Remain
there until Pete comes to you. He will tell you what to do next.”

“And where shall I find you?” I queried.

“I shall be in the boat before you are,” he answered confidently. “The
new guard will be here in a few minutes, and when I have placed my
musket in the rack, I shall go forward for a little turn in the fresh
air before I seek my hammock. Once on the bow I shall find a way to get
into the boat. Don’t worry about me, but do just as I have told you,
and in an hour we shall be free.”

Reasoning that I could be no worse off if I failed in the attempt,
I followed him out into the passage, and then crept softly down it.
Reaching the door, I opened it and entered the forecastle. Some of the
men were awake, but they took no notice of me in the semi-darkness,
and, throwing myself into an empty hammock, I waited for the next watch
to be called to the deck.

The summons came almost immediately, and unnoticed I clambered up to
the deck with the other sailors. It was so dark I could not see two
feet away, and thus favored I made my way forward to the bow-chaser
under which I quickly concealed myself.

The time I lay there seemed very long; in reality it was but a few
minutes. Then someone touched my arm, and I hastily arose to find Pete
Berry beside me.

“Come,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Silently I followed him, and he led me over to the starboard side of
the craft and put my hand on the rope which led down to the yawl.

“Go down,” he said again in the same low tone, “but wait two minutes
till I jine ye.”

It was the first intimation I had that the old sailor was going along
too; but I had a greater surprise when my feet touched the boat, for
I found there three men instead of one. The additional ones were my
comrades, Goss and Webber.

I could have hugged them in the ecstasy of my joy at this discovery,
for the one misgiving I had in the whole plan was whether it would be
right for me to run away and leave them behind. Putting off, however,
that joyous expression for a safer moment, I waited impatiently for
Pete to join us. He came in the specified time, bringing quite a large
package with him.

“It’s our rations,” he explained as he drew his knife and cut us adrift.

Rapidly the boat fell away from the frigate, and she was soon lost in
the fog. In a half-hour we deemed it safe to put out our oars. All
night long, by turns, we pulled away, and when morning dawned we
estimated that we had made at least ten miles.

As the sun came up the mist lifted enough for us to make out a brig
coming directly towards us, and at her masthead were the stars and
stripes. The moment I caught sight of that flag, I leaped to my feet,
waved my hands, and shouted at the top of my voice. My comrades
followed my example, and in a few minutes we had the satisfaction of
seeing that we had attracted the vessel’s attention.

Down she came and rounded to us. The next moment we were on her deck to
find she was the _Britannica_, a prize of the _Boston_, in command of
Midshipman Thomas Blinn, and bound for L’Orient, where she was to await
the coming of the frigate.

Our story, long as it was, was soon told, and then Master Blinn related
the history of the _Boston_ since I had left her. Her passage across
the ocean had been made without mishap, and on March thirty-first she
entered the river of Bordeaux. April first she weighed anchor and
ascended as far as the town Lavmoon, which she saluted with thirteen
guns, and where she lay until the next morning. She continued up the
river to within three miles of Bordeaux, where she landed Master Adams.
There the vessels had been thoroughly overhauled, and left for a cruise
across to the banks of Newfoundland, looking for prizes. A number had
been captured on the westward voyage and sent into Boston. Returning,
the _Britannica_, bound from Newfoundland to Oporto, and loaded with
seventeen hundred quintals of fish, had been taken. Midshipman Blinn
with a crew of six had been put on board, with orders to precede the
frigate to L’Orient.

We arrived at that port July third, and two days later the _Boston_
came in. I went on board at once, and made my report to Captain Tucker.
He was kind enough to say:

“I do not see how you are at all to blame, Master Dunn, for the loss
of the ship you commanded. An older and more experienced officer would
hardly have done differently under the circumstances. As for the
experiences which came later, they were beyond your control, and you
are in no way responsible for them--unless,” he added with a smile, “we
except your second runaway from the _Saint George_, and for that you
will doubtless have to answer to the British authorities, if they ever
catch you again.”




CHAPTER XV

WE CAPTURE THE POLE


During the month that now followed two interesting events took place.
The first was the sale of all the prizes which had been sent into
French ports, and the distribution of the money among our crew. I had
supposed that Masters Goss and Webber and myself would not share in
this distribution, as we had not been in the frigate when these vessels
were captured. But the decision was that every man on the ship’s
roster was entitled to his proportionate part, and so we, who had just
returned from captivity, each received a tidy little sum.

The other event was the re-organization of our crew. Our first
lieutenant had died from a wound he received by the bursting of a gun,
so Master Welch was now advanced to the first place, Master Bates to
the second, and Master Livingstone was sent down from Paris to fill the
vacancy thus made, that of a third lieutenant. A young man named Philip
Forrier was appointed midshipman in the place of Master LeMoyne, who
had died at Halifax.

There was a more radical change in our noncommissioned officers, and an
enlistment of a number of new men, including Master Blinn and old Pete
Berry, who had escaped from the _Saint George_ with me. This gave us a
total crew of one hundred and forty-six men and boys, exclusive of our
officers, and exclusive of our marines, of whom we had a full company.

The re-organization completed, on August first we put to sea again,
this time homeward bound. For three weeks we sailed on our course,
catching sight of but two vessels during the whole time, which were too
far away for us to overhaul. Then our fortune changed and during the
next week we captured a prize every day--all of which were manned with
prize crews, and ordered to follow in the wake of the frigate.

The fleet made a fine spectacle, if I do say it, and there was an
amount of prize money represented there to rejoice every sailor’s
heart. Yet with the most of us I do not think that was the first
thought. As good patriots we rejoiced that we were bearing home stores
which would help to sustain and clothe an army of as true and faithful
men as ever fought for home or native land.

I was put in command of the last prize, the brig _Sally_, bound
from London to Pensacola, and having a cargo consisting of one
hundred barrels of flour, two hundred bags of bread, one hundred and
thirty-nine tierces of beef, three hundred barrels of pork, seventy
firkins of butter and a large lot of liquors.

I am glad to be able to write that I took the craft safely into port,
and had but one incident out of the usual order. We were experiencing
quite a gale, and some of the sailors had been ordered aloft to reef
the top-sails. One of them, Richard Jones by name, in some way lost
his hold and came tumbling down head-first. As I saw him coming I was
confident he would strike upon the deck and be killed. But just before
he struck the brig lurched, and, clearing the larboard rail, he went
overboard.

Knowing he could not swim, I ordered Quartermaster William Atkins, who
was acting as my first officer, to heave to the vessel, and send out a
boat. Then, throwing off my coat and boots, I plunged into the sea.

Rising to the surface I looked around for Master Jones, and caught
sight of him a few fathoms away. He disappeared before I could reach
him, and treading water I waited for him to re-appear. He came up for
the last time, only a few feet away, and catching him by the collar I
struggled to keep him above the waves until the boat could arrive.

Night was fast falling; the storm was increasing in violence; and the
waves rolled so high that I was unable to see the vessel or the boat
which I was sure had been lowered. Master Jones was unconscious, and
hung a dead weight upon my arm. It was difficult to keep him and myself
on the surface, and already I felt my own strength was fast failing.
Unless the rescuers came soon we must both go down.

Then there came a faint shout across the water to cheer my heart, and
to which I responded in the loudest tones I could utter. I was heard,
and the yawl, which had been going in quite another direction, turned
and came towards me.

I kept crying out at intervals, and the lookout in the bow of the boat
answered, the double cries serving to nerve me to hold out on the
one hand, and to guide the craft to me on the other. At length they
were beside me, and, nearly exhausted, I was drawn on board with my
unconscious burden.

Then we tried to see where the brig was, but between the great waves
and the darkness she was concealed from our view. Taking the direction
we felt sure she was in, the four oarsmen pulled long and lustily
against wind and waves and yet she did not appear. We had about
concluded that we had lost her, when her lights suddenly appeared on
our starboard, and we were able to hail her. In five minutes we were
under her lee, and then were quickly drawn to her deck.

Dry clothing and a warm drink soon brought me to the place where I felt
as good as new; but they had to work over Master Jones for half an hour
before he came to consciousness, and he could not leave the forecastle
until the following day. I have related this incident here not to
glorify myself, but to say that it was the only act of mine that ever
received a reprimand from Captain Tucker.

“Your motive was all right, Master Dunn,” he admitted, “and your plunge
overboard to save one of your men was a grand exhibition of courage.
But what if you had lost your life, or your boat had failed to return
to the brig? She would have been left in a crippled condition, and
might not have survived the storm. Do always all that you can to save
a man who falls overboard without endangering your ship, but remember
that the ship and her cargo are solemn trusts, and the lives of many
are to be considered rather than the lives of the few.”

But if he did not appreciate the deed, there was one who did. When
Master Jones came on deck, he walked directly to me, and touching his
cap, said:

“I owe you my life, sir, an’ it’s yours. I not only thank ye for what
ye did for me, but I’ll do my best to make it good some day, sir,” a
promise he faithfully kept.

We reached Boston October fifteenth, and while the frigate was being
overhauled, the captain and I got a chance to run down to Marblehead
for a brief stay. Our coming created something of a sensation this
time, as it had on the occasion of our previous visit, though for
different reasons. The captain’s prowess had preceded him and his
fellow townsmen were proud to have him with them again; for myself,
they had heard I had died of the smallpox in the Halifax prison, and
were filled with curiosity to know how I came to be alive and well and
in my old place on the ship.

Before the month was over, however, we were off to sea again, and
during the next six months made such havoc among the enemy’s shipping
that a price was put on Captain Tucker’s head. If I recollect rightly,
we took a score of merchantmen with large and valuable cargoes, and two
frigates, the _Glencairn_ of twenty guns and the _Thorn_ of eighteen.

Early in June, 1779, we went on a cruise to the West Indies which
lasted until the following September. During this trip our prizes were
so numerous, the British admiral at New York selected the frigate
_Pole_, carrying thirty-two guns, and over three hundred men, and sent
her out for the special purpose of finding and destroying the _Boston_,
or as her Captain expressed it: “Of giving that rebel Tucker a sound
drubbing.”

We learned of this fact through the captain of the packet _Sandwich_,
which was captured off the Bermudas. Chagrined at the loss of his own
vessel, the moment he mounted to our deck, the officer exclaimed:

“Well, sir, you have taken my vessel, but let me tell you it will not
be many days before you yourself are captured.”

“Is that so?” Captain Tucker questioned with a smile. “Pray tell me who
is going to do it?”

“The frigate _Pole_,” he returned boastingly. “She has been fitted up
and sent out on purpose to look you up and give you a sound drubbing. I
heard her captain say he’d do it. She left New York four days ago, and
must be down in this region by this time. Your cable is pretty nearly
paid out.”

“Cannot you tell me more about her, so I may know her when I see her?”
asked our commander tauntingly. “I might want to run away.”

“That will do you little good,” the Englishman replied, taking our
skipper seriously. “She is bigger than you are, and carries eight
more guns. She also has twice as large a crew, all picked men, and in
addition a large body of marines. Besides that, she is the swiftest
sailer on this side of the ocean, and can run you down in no time.”

“It does look as though I’d find her more than a match, doesn’t it?”
our Captain remarked soberly. “She’s a good thing to avoid. I’m much
obliged to you for your information. One thing more, please. You are
quite sure she is somewhere between here and New York?”

The prisoner bit his lip. It had dawned upon him that possibly he had
been talking too much. His information might enable Captain Tucker to
escape capture. Finally, however, he answered:

“The frigate left New York, as I have said, four days ago; you must
judge for yourself where she is now.”

“I think we’ll run up that way and take a look at her,” was the
Captain’s comment.

Two days later we sighted a frigate, and Captain Tucker knew her at
once by the description he had received. Sending for the commander of
the packet, he pointed out the distant vessel, saying:

“There is your frigate. Now I want you to stand here, and see how I run
away from her. But mind, not a word from you to thwart my plans.”

Then he ordered the English colors hoisted, and ran down towards the
vessel. As soon as he had come within speaking distance, the English
captain hailed him:

“What ship is that?”

“Captain Gordon’s,” replied our Captain, for he knew that Captain
Gordon commanded an English ship, modelled and built much like the
_Boston_, and had been unusually successful in taking American prizes.

“Where are you from?”

“From New York.”

“We are from there also.”

“When did you leave?”

“About six days ago. I’m after the frigate _Boston_ to take that rebel
Tucker. I’ve sworn I’ll earn the price set on his head, and am bound to
carry him dead or alive into New York. Have you seen him?”

“Well,” rejoined Captain Tucker, “I have heard of him. They say he is a
hard customer.”

During all this conversation, he had been quietly manœuvering to bring
his ship into a raking position, so as to sweep the decks of the
English frigate. He had every man at his post, his guns shotted, and
his gunners with lighted matches in their hands all awaiting his orders.

But it happened that there was a man in the maintop of the _Pole_ who
had formerly known Captain Tucker, and he now cried out to the English
captain:

“That is surely Tucker himself, and we shall have a hot time here
directly!”

This was overheard by our commander, and having got his ship into just
the position he wished, and seeing that he was discovered, he gave the
order:

“Down with the English flag and hoist our own colors!”

Then he called out to the British captain in a voice of thunder:

“The time I proposed talking with you has ended, sir. This is the
_Boston_ frigate. I am Samuel Tucker, and no rebel. Either fire or
strike your flag!”

Observing that his antagonist had all the advantage of him, and that a
broadside would be fatal, the Britisher struck his colors. Not a gun
was fired.

Later, when the commander of the _Pole_ came on board of our ship, and
went below to the stateroom assigned him, he shed tears to think that
he had been captured by a vessel not so large as his own, and with only
half as many men, and eight less guns. It is also reported that on
his release and return to England he was tried and disgraced for this
surrender.

Quite in contrast with this was the treatment given our Captain on
his arrival in Philadelphia with his prize. Her capture added to his
prowess, he received a vote of thanks from Congress, and, owing to her
superior size and equipment, her entire value of one hundred and three
thousand pounds sterling was turned over to us as prize money.

Probably, however, the most disgusted man on board the captured frigate
was the captain of the packet _Sandwich_, who had given us our first
news about her, and who had boasted she would speedily capture us. He
had been a silent witness of her ignominious surrender. Then Captain
Tucker had sent him on board of her, with instructions that each day
while we were on our way to port, he was to be conducted all over her,
from bow to stern, and from lower hold to upper deck, and then he was
to be told:

“This, sir, is the vessel which was specially fitted up and sent out to
look up the frigate _Boston_, and give her captain a sound drubbing.”




CHAPTER XVI

TO THE DEFENSE OF CHARLESTON


After two weeks in port we sailed again, this time making a cruise to
the northward. We reached the neighborhood of Halifax before we found
a prize, and then captured a small brig. Learning that she was a part
of a convoy, consisting of the frigate _Elizabeth_ of twenty guns,
the brig _Observer_ of sixteen guns, and the sloop-of-war _Howe_ of
fourteen guns, and that there were under their protection two large
ships with cargoes of great value, Captain Tucker determined “to make
capital,” as he expressed it, and sailed to intercept them.

The next morning they were sighted, and hoisting the English colors we
sailed boldly into their midst. Selecting the heaviest armed ship, we
came up with her and hailed her:

“Are you the frigate _Elizabeth_, from Antigua bound to Halifax?” was
our Captain’s query.

“Yes,” was the answer. “What ship are you?”

Instead of replying directly, Captain Tucker answered:

“I’ll come on board.”

He had already laid his plans. Fifty men under the command of
Lieutenant Bates were in readiness to board her. To them and to the
helmsman a set of special signals was given, and specific directions as
to the part they were expected to play in the coming struggle. Then the
first signal was given, and as if by accident the _Boston_ ran afoul of
the _Elizabeth’s_ yards. Pretending it was the fault of the helmsman,
Captain Tucker called out:

“Brace about there, sir,” but at the same time he gave his second
secret signal.

The sailor at the helm saw it, and in obedience to that rather than to
the spoken command, only entangled the vessel with her antagonist more
and more, and soon was in close contact with her.

Seeing all was ready, our skipper gave his third signal, and a waiting
sailor ran down the English flag and hoisted the stars and stripes.
Then in stentorian tones came the command:

“Fire!”

But the English captain had now discovered our real character, and both
vessels fired a broadside at the same time. The moment the terrible
roar of the artillery ceased, however, the fifty picked men leaped on
board the _Elizabeth_. Like the rush of a whirlwind they swept her
deck, drove her crew down below, and hauled down her colors. These
movements were seen by the _Observer_, and she came down to attack us.
But Captain Tucker cried out in a threatening voice:

“We are ready for you, sir, two to one. Come on!”

Our men already had control of the _Elizabeth_, and turned with our
frigate to attack the newcomer. Finding she had got to face the guns
of two vessels instead of one, the brig thought discretion the better
part of valor, and attempted to run away. A broadside poured into her
quickly changed that plan, however, and she ran down her flag.

The sloop-of-war _Howe_, supposing her consort was going to fight, had
ranged up towards, and now fired upon us. Whereupon Captain Tucker
shouted:

“Captain Frazer, if you fire another broadside, I’ll blow you out of
the water. Surrender!”

The captain of the sloop evidently thought it prudent to do so, and
obeyed the command. It was an easy matter for us then to pick up the
two ships, and we took all five of the vessels safely into port.

In November we were back again in Philadelphia, where we received
orders to put our frigate into thorough order for a special service.
While this work was going on there was much speculation among us--the
younger officers of the ship--as to the character of this mission. But
we did not know until the beginning of the following month what was
really expected of us. Then Captain Tucker received this official order:

                                       “Philadelphia, December 15, 1779.
  To Captain Samuel Tucker,
       Commanding the frigate _Boston_.

  Sir:--You are hereby directed to put to sea in your ship at
  the earliest possible moment, and proceed with all despatch to
  Charleston, South Carolina, where your vessel will join the fleet of
  Commodore Whipple, now gathering there for the defense of that town.
  On your arrival there you will take all further orders from him.

                                          By order of
                                                   The Naval Committee.”

The reason for this order was already known to us. Sir Henry Clinton,
taking advantage of the withdrawal of the French fleet under the
command of Admiral D’Estang from Savannah, in the previous October,
to the West Indies for winter quarters, had despatched a large land
and naval force from New York to besiege that town. Rumors were
already multiplying that its fall was certain, and would be followed
by an immediate attack on Charleston. Hoping to save the latter place
Congress had directed General Lincoln, who was in command of the
Continental army in the south, to hasten to its defense, and meantime
was collecting a fleet there to aid the land forces.

In five days we were ready to sail, and on Christmas day entered
the harbor of Charleston. In order for the reader to understand the
events which transpired there during the next three months, it will be
necessary for him to have certain facts clearly in his mind. He should
remember that the town lies on a neck of low land, a peninsula, formed
by the junction of the Ashley and Cooper rivers, whose confluence makes
a harbor two miles wide, and seven miles long, facing south-east to the
ocean. The width of the Ashley river at its mouth is about twenty-one
hundred yards, and the width of the Cooper not far from fourteen
hundred. Down the harbor, and bounding it on its sea side, are the
Sullivan and James islands, the former being the site of Fort Moultrie,
and the latter that of Fort Johnson.

At the time of our arrival the British had not yet appeared, but
during the next five weeks they came in constantly increasing numbers,
until there was a land force of ten thousand men, and a naval force
consisting of a ship of fifty guns, two of forty-four guns each, and
four of thirty-two guns each, besides numerous transports and smaller
vessels, ranging from six to twenty-four guns.

To oppose these formidable forces General Lincoln could rely upon only
fifteen hundred regular troops, and such militia as could be drawn from
the surrounding country--in all less than four thousand men; while
the armed vessels numbered five: the schooner _Providence_, Commodore
Whipple’s flagship, mounting eighteen guns; the frigate _Ranger_,
Captain Thomas Sampson, carrying twenty-four guns; the frigate
_Boston_, Captain Samuel Tucker, with twenty-four guns; the frigate
_Queen of France_, Captain John Peck Rathbone, with twenty guns; and
the state brig, _Notre Dame_, with twelve guns.

To check the advance of the enemy up the harbor our ships were
stretched across the channel between Fort Moultrie and Fort Johnson,
while in the former garrison there was a force of three hundred picked
men, and in the latter one hundred.

Up to the first of February, though there had been some slight
skirmishing, the British still remained in the outer harbor, while
we held possession of the inner harbor and the town. But early in
that month active operations were begun to dislodge us, or compel our
surrender.

Early one morning our lookout forward noticed that all of the British
transports and some of the men-of-war were hoisting their anchors, and
preparing to sail. He reported his discovery to the officer of the
deck, who promptly notified Captain Tucker. He came up from the cabin,
and signalled the movement to the Commodore, who sent a man into the
cross-trees of the flagship to watch the enemy. When the departing
vessels had disappeared behind Morris island, Commodore Whipple ran
up a signal for the _Boston_ to send out a yawl to watch the mouth
of Wappoo creek, and in case the British attempted to land in that
vicinity to announce the fact by firing three swivel guns. He added:

“I will send a boat along with yours.”

I was put in command of the yawl from our frigate, and Lieutenant
Haines had charge of the boat from the _Providence_. His superior rank
made him commander of the expedition, and together we proceeded down
the creek to its mouth, and, lying to there, waited for the coming of
the English vessels.

Soon they appeared below Morris Island, but instead of rounding it, and
sailing up our way, they kept straight on down the coast.

“What does that mean?” asked Lieutenant Haines, turning to me.

I studied the situation for a moment or two before I replied. Then I
said:

“They are going farther down the shore to land. They know if they come
up here our vessels can put themselves into a position where, if they
do not prevent the landing, they can make it a terribly costly thing
to undertake. But dropping a few miles down the coast, they can land
without any interference from us. We haven’t a sufficient land force
to send a part down there to stop them. The ships they have left in
the lower harbor are enough to prevent our fleet from following them,
and there isn’t water enough for our craft to slip out this back way.
So they can take their time, and disembark the troops without fear of
being disturbed by us.”

“I believe you are right,” the lieutenant responded. “Sir Henry Clinton
has got his thinking cap on at last. Well, this is so different from
what our Commodore expected I will send you back to report. Meantime I
will follow the enemy down the shore.”

“And shall I return to you with the new orders?”

“Certainly, if there are any.”

Up the creek and down to the flagship I went as fast as a dozen stout
arms could pull the yawl. Commodore Whipple was at the railing when I
reached the side of the vessel, and returning my salute, said:

“Report right where you are, Midshipman. What have you discovered?”

“Lieutenant Haines presents his compliments, sir,” I began, “and
desires me to say that the British ships are going on down the coast,
and in his judgment are seeking a landing-place where we cannot follow
them or send down a land force to prevent them.”

“I surmised as much,” answered the Commodore with a smile. “It is what
I should do, if I were in charge of those forces. Has Lieutenant Haines
gone down the coast to keep watch of them?”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” I replied. “I should have reported that also,
and he wishes to know if you have any new orders?”

“Wait a moment,” he directed, “and I will send down to you a day’s
rations for the lieutenant and his men. Then you may go over to your
own frigate and provision your own boat similarly, and return down the
shore. When the enemy have effected a landing, one of your boats may
come back to tell me where it has been made. The other may remain to
watch the movements of the red-coats.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” I replied and gave my men the order to pull away.

In a short time I had secured the rations, and was on my way to rejoin
Lieutenant Haines. It was noon before I overtook him, or rather his
boat. I found that pulled on the north side of John’s Island, thirty
miles below Charleston, but the lieutenant was not with his men.

“The British are landing on the other side,” the boatswain in charge
explained, “and Lieutenant Haines is over there watching them.”

In about an hour he came back.

“Ah!” he said as he caught sight of me, “I thought it was about time
for you to be here, and they sent down our rations? I expected it.
We’ll have dinner right away, and while eating it I’ll tell you what I
have seen.”

Kindling a small fire on the beach, we made some coffee, and were soon
stowing away our food with the hearty appetites a keen air had created.

“The British are landing in a small cove almost opposite this, and not
over a mile away,” the officer said, between his mouthfuls of food.
“As soon as a regiment is landed, it crosses over to the main shore
and goes into camp. It will take them some hours to complete the task.
We’ll go over again after a while.”

Two or three hours later he announced that he was ready, and together
we made our way through the woods to the south side of the island.
Before we reached there we could plainly hear the sounds of the
disembarking, and my comrade remarked in a low tone:

“They are not through yet.”

We were soon where we could see all that was going on, and there we lay
for a long time watching the constantly changing scene. It was night
before the last company was landed, and the order was given for the
empty transports to return to Charleston harbor under the escort of the
attending men-of-war.

“We may as well return to our boats,” the lieutenant now said, rising
and leading the way back through the underbrush. When at the cove, he
continued:

“You made the first report. I will make this one, while you and your
men remain here to see what movement the red-coats make in the morning.”

“All right,” I assented, and then stood there watching until his yawl
had been lost in the darkness which was fast falling.




CHAPTER XVII

TAKEN INTO THE BRITISH CAMP


I stood there, as I have said, watching the disappearance of Lieutenant
Haines’s boat, but I was also listening. During my conversation with
him I was quite sure that I had heard a stealthy step in the woods back
of me. Doubtless someone from the camp of the enemy had discovered and
was now watching us. If so, they must be apprehended, but how?

Debating this question in my own mind without acquainting my companions
with my suspicions, I gave orders to prepare our camp for the night.
Our yawl was drawn out of the water, and carried a few rods up from
the shore. There it was propped up by stones some two feet above the
ground. Thus it furnished a good roof for a temporary cabin, whose
sides were constructed from brush brought from the edge of the forest.
In front of this we kindled a small fire and began our preparations for
supper.

While my men were completing these arrangements, I walked over and
stood under a huge tree, whose limbs overhung the beach. Ostensibly I
was overseeing the work that was going on in camp, but in reality I was
straining my ears to catch every sound which came from the woods behind
me. It was just there I believed I had caught the sound of footsteps,
and, if I was not mistaken, the intruder was still lying within a few
feet of me. My plan was to detect if possible his attempt to depart,
and then follow him.

I did not have so long to wait as I expected. Before the meal was ready
I heard the concealed man arise to his feet, and move softly back into
the woods. Quickly stepping over to where Boatswain Lewis was busy
directing the men, I explained to him in a whisper why I left the camp,
and then glided in among the trees in pursuit of the Britisher.

I had no difficulty in locating him. As soon as he had gone a few rods
away from the shore, he seemed to think he was beyond the reach of our
ears, and now moved on regardless of the noise he was making. Moreover,
instead of going across the island, he had turned and taken a short
cut for its west end. These circumstances enabled me to overtake him
rapidly, and I was soon dodging along from tree to tree close behind
him.

He soon came out upon the shore, opposite the British camp, where a
boat and four men were evidently awaiting him. To them he said in tones
loud enough for me to hear:

“I have found the rebels’ nest, my lads. But one boat with its crew has
escaped us, having gone back up the coast, to report the landing of
the troops, I presume. The other is there, and intends to stay until
morning to keep watch of Sir Henry’s movements. They are, however, too
many for us, and we’ll, have to cross over to the camp for help. Later
we’ll return and capture the whole bunch. Pull away.”

While he was talking his comrades had been getting the skiff ready for
their departure, and his last words were uttered as he took his seat
in the craft. Slowly it glided away towards the mainland, and, baffled
in my attempt to obtain a prisoner, yet thankful I had discovered his
design upon myself and men, I turned to retrace my steps to camp.

It was easy for me to conjecture the character of the departing men.
They were Tories who had probably seen our boats go down the coast,
and, suspecting our purpose, had followed. They would report our
presence to the British commander, and he would send over a force
before morning sufficient to capture us. It was clear that we must
change our camp immediately.

I therefore quickened my pace, and soon rejoined my men, to whom I
made known my discovery. Finding they had put off partaking of their
supper until my return, I now gave orders for the meal to be eaten.
Then we tore down our temporary structure, launched the boat, and
proceeded with muffled oars up the shore to the northwestern corner of
the island. Here we again landed, and simply carrying the boat up a few
feet above tide water, turned it over, raised one side a few inches,
and crawled under, making ourselves as comfortable as possible under
the circumstances.

I chose this place for our second camp for two reasons. It was but a
short distance above the spot where the force sent to capture us would
be likely to land, and I argued that it was, therefore, the last place
where the enemy would expect to find us; then, as it was on a narrow
point, curving to the west and south, it would enable us not only to
overlook the British encampment on the main shore, but to see the
crossing and landing of the red-coats when they came in search of us.
My choice, however, proved to be a disastrous one, at least for me.

It must have been near the midnight hour before we saw any movement
which indicated the enemy were coming our way. All my men, with my
permission, had gone to sleep except Boatswain Lewis, and it was he
who at length called my attention to a few lights moving slowly down
the edge of the narrow strait which separated us from the British
encampment. We watched them, and in the flicker of their lanterns
counted at least three score men as they embarked in four boats, and
put out from the shore.

“They are coming in strong force,” I remarked to my comrade in a low
tone. “They must count us desperate fellows.”

“We’d whip them now in a fair fight,” Master Lewis growled, “but to
have that number come down on us when we weren’t looking for them is
another thing. It’s lucky you discovered their plan, sir, and we got
out of their way.”

“Two of the boats are coming up the strait,” I announced a moment
later. “Can it be they are going to land here?”

“If so, we’ll have to run,” was the boatswain’s laconic comment.

All our attention was now given to these two boats, and in preparation
for their possible landing I aroused my men. Rapidly and almost
noiselessly the yawls came up towards us, but instead of attempting to
land, they rounded the point and went on down the north side of the
island.

Master Lewis nudged me. “See!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “They are
sent down to cut off our escape from the water side. The red-coats
don’t mean to give us a chance to get out of their clutches.”

“But look there, sir,” another of my men cried out almost aloud, and
before I could answer Master Lewis. “The land force has divided, and a
part of them are coming up this way!”

A single glance told me he was right. Upon landing, the enemy had
separated into two squads, one going down through the woods, doubtless
to approach our old camping place from the south and east sides; while
the other was following the shore, to make an attack from the west. I
immediately thought of Master Lewis’s declaration: “The red-coats don’t
mean to give us a chance to get out of their clutches.” They certainly
had planned to hem us in from all sides, and would succeed if we did
not move promptly. So I gave the command:

“Quick, lads! Launch the boat! We must get away from here at once.”

They knew this as well as I did, and obeyed with alacrity. The next
moment they had lifted the yawl and were carrying it down to the
water’s edge. The boats of the enemy were already below us, and could
we get off the shore before the land force discovered our proximity,
there was still a chance for us to slip away unnoticed in the darkness.
I believe we should have done it but for an accident.

It was quite dark, and in our haste we had no time to pick our way.
One of my men struck against an obstacle, and stumbling, fell to the
ground, pulling the boat and two or three of his companions down upon
him. The mishap not only made a noise which reached the ears of the
coming squad, but broke the unfortunate fellow’s leg. He struggled
vainly to regain his feet, and then sank back with a groan.

But he did not forget the danger we were in. Had he done so, the yells
of the red-coats as they quickened their steps to overhaul us, would
have reminded him of it. Heroically he cried:

“Leave me, sir! There’s time for you and your men to escape.”

But that was a thing I would not do, even if we were all captured; and
to their credit I will say there was not a man among us who would have
done it. Instead six, at my order, picked up the boat and hurried to
the water with it, while the others raised their injured comrade and
hastened after them. I closely followed.

The steps of the coming British sounded dangerously near, but we
worked calmly. The yawl was launched; the suffering sailor was laid
gently in her; the men took their places; and all but Boatswain Lewis
and myself had embarked.

“Step in, sir,” he said. “I’ll push the craft off.”

“No,” I commanded, “get in yourself. It is my place to be the last.”

I said this, for I knew the enemy were almost upon us, and hoped to
save my men, if not myself. He obeyed, just as a pair of stout hands
clutched my shoulders and their owner cried:

“Not so fast, my young gander; we’ll keep you with us a while longer, I
reckon.”

I did not attempt to resist him. I spent all my strength to push off
the yawl with my feet. A vigorous kick sent her gliding off from the
shore.

“Away, lads!” I shouted. “You know where to go and what to do,” and
then I was borne down to the ground, and at least a half dozen
red-coats held me down.

Several of the squad followed our boat into the water in their zeal to
capture it, but my men were too quick for them, and rowed it beyond
their reach. Then the Britishers hallooed for their own boats to
return, and give chase to ours. By this time they had allowed me to
regain my feet, and I again called out:

“Never mind me, lads! Make good your own escape, and finish the work I
have left undone.”

“Aye! aye! sir!” came the answer across the water, and I knew Boatswain
Lewis had heard and understood my command and would complete the task
assigned to me of reporting the movements of the British army.

I received a blow across my mouth from the officer in charge of the
squad for my act, accompanied with the surly words:

“Shut your mouth, you young puppy! But for your kick and bark we might
have captured your boat and crew. I only hope the General will regard
you as a spy and hang you to the nearest tree.”

His boats had come back up the shore, and now at his order went on in
the darkness, hoping to overhaul my comrades--a thing I am glad to
say they were not able to do. He then despatched a messenger down the
island to intercept and recall the other land force. These matters
attended to, he surrounded me with his men and marched off to the
place where he had landed. When the other squad rejoined him, he gave
the command to return to the camp. There I was placed in a tent, in
use as a temporary guardhouse, and surrounded with soldiers who kept
watch over me until morning. At an early hour they carried me into the
presence of General Clinton.

“So you are the Yankee spy my men captured last night?” he demanded
sternly.

“I hardly see how you can call me that, sir,” I answered as pleasantly
as I could. “I was not taken in your camp.”

“Do you deny that you were watching my movements in order to report
them to the commander of the rebel forces?” he asked.

“No, sir; I do not,” I replied, “but I have not been inside of your
lines, and have never intended to come inside of them. I am simply the
commander of a boat sent out by our Commodore to watch your landing--an
act I believe that makes me a prisoner of war now that I am so
unfortunate as to be captured, but not a spy.”

“Who are you?” he now questioned.

“Midshipman Arthur Dunn, of the frigate _Boston_,” I responded, knowing
of no reason why I should conceal my identity.

“Oh! ho!” was his quick ejaculation. “I believe there is another
frigate on board of which they will be glad to see you. Since you
have deserted her twice, you may not find it hard to recall her name.
She will be in New York by the time I get back there. I am told her
commander has an order from our Naval Board to hang you to the nearest
yard-arm. So I’ll keep you and turn you over to him. He can do what I
perhaps could not legitimately do.”

I was taken back to the guardhouse, where I was given a frugal
breakfast, and then put under the care of an officer and six men, who
were given strict commands to shoot me down at my first attempt to
escape.

The troops were already breaking camp, and all day long I marched with
them as they proceeded up the coast towards Charleston. At night, when
they again went into camp, I was remanded to the guard tent, where,
regardless of the number of men they put over me, I threw myself on the
ground, and, worn and weary, sunk into a deep slumber. I was too tired
to make any attempt to escape.

How long I slept I do not know, but I was awakened by hearing a voice,
which I felt sure belonged to Lieutenant Haines, demanding an immediate
entrance to my tent. His demand to my surprise was quickly granted,
and the next instant he stood before me, clad, as I could see by the
light which came through the doorway from an adjacent campfire, in
the uniform of an English officer. Holding up his hand to check the
exclamation which had risen to my lips, he said sternly:

“Young man, the General wishes to see you at once. Follow me!”

I arose and followed him out by the guards, who made no attempt to stop
us. Once in the open air, he quickly led me into the shadow of some
trees, and whispered in my ear:

“Not a word, now, sir. I’ll explain everything later. Put on these
clothes over your own,” and he took from the bosom of his own coat the
uniform of a British soldier. It took me but a minute or two to comply
with his request, and, having donned the disguise, I stalked along
after him towards the nearest outposts.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE BEACON HOUSE LIGHT EXPEDITION


I had supposed that my guide knew some unguarded spot along the edge
of the great forest beside which the camp had been pitched, and would
slip out unnoticed there. But instead he led me straight down to the
picket who held the outpost on the road leading up to Charleston. To
his per-emptory challenge he answered: “Friendly,” and at the command
gave the countersign: “King George.”

“It’s all right, Captain Aylesworth,” the man said. “I recognized you
at once, but I had to obey orders. I was told to let no one in or out
of the camp without the password.”

“And by it proved you were a good soldier,” the supposed captain
replied pleasantly. “This is the other attendant I told you I had
returned for. I find the special business I am on needs another helper.
I will vouch for him.”

So I was allowed to pass with the officer, and in a few minutes we were
beyond the reach of a recall.

“Tell me now, Lieutenant Haines, how you came to be here, and arranged
so successfully the plan that has given me my liberty,” I said.

“Not yet, Master Dunn,” he replied, turning into a side path which led
towards the sea. “Wait until we are safe in my boat.”

A half mile farther on we came out upon a small creek. A shrill whistle
from the lieutenant brought an answering whistle from down the stream,
and in a moment his yawl came up to the bank. As it reached us the
boatswain flashed out a dark lantern, and I noticed the craft held two
prisoners--one dressed in the lieutenant’s garb, and the other wrapped
in a blanket.

“Captain Aylesworth,” my conductor now said, addressing the officer,
“your uniform and that of your attendant have served my purpose well,
and my friend, as you see, is with me. We will now exchange our
clothing, and you and he are at liberty to return to your camp.”

The Englishman bowed stiffly, and without a word resumed his own
uniform. The soldier as quickly donned the garments I gave him, and
then the two hurried away by the path down which the lieutenant and I
had so recently come.

We did not stop to watch them, but, stepping into the yawl, glided
rapidly down the creek to its mouth. Once out on the ocean our bow
was turned to the north, and as twelve strong arms pulled us along,
Lieutenant Haines told his story:

“When your boat, under the impetus of your vigorous kick, glided away
from John’s Island, it was the intention of your boatswain to put in
somewhere along the main shore, and still keep watch of the movements
of the British army. But the sufferings of the injured sailor led him
to change his plan, and he decided to return immediately to the frigate.

“He arrived there in the morning, and his report of your capture filled
your captain with consternation.

“‘The lad will give his right name,’ he said, ‘and they’ll recognize
him as a runaway from the _Saint George_ and likely as not will hang
him; or else they will regard him as a spy, though he was not caught
within their lines, and string him up to the nearest tree. We must act
quickly, or we cannot save him.’

“So he took the boatswain and came right over to the _Providence_ to
see the Commodore. I was present at the interview, and assure you that
Master Lewis gave a glowing account of how you discovered the prying
Tory, learned his purpose, and planned to thwart it. He grew even more
enthusiastic when he related how you would not leave your injured man,
or allow him to be the last one on the boat, and, though captured
yourself, pushed him and his comrades out of the reach of the enemy.”

“Did he tell you what a fool I was to make my second camp at the head
of the island?” I interrupted. “If I had only gone over to the main
shore, as I should have done, I should not have made such a mess of the
affair as I did.”

“Your movement was a perfectly natural one, and such as I should have
made had I been there,” he returned warmly; “and, though the enemy
did come upon you in such overwhelming numbers, and surrounded you on
every side, you would have escaped but for the accident to your man--a
thing you could not help. That’s my view of the matter, and also the
Commodore’s for he said:

“‘A lad who can stand by his men like that, Captain Tucker, has the
making of a hero in him. He’s worth saving;’ and then he turned to me:

[Illustration: He soon came upon the shore, where a boat and four men
were evidently awaiting him.

                                        (p. 253)]

“‘Lieutenant Haines,’ he said, ‘get ready your boat and return to the
British encampment. Seek an interview under a flag of truce with the
British general. If you find he intends to hang the boy, assure him
that I shall hang two British officers in his place, one of whom
is his own nephew. If he is willing to make an exchange, tell him I
will give him two men of equal rank for the lad, or one of superior
rank--his nephew, if he wishes. We’ll let him know he cannot treat his
young prisoner lightly.’

“In fifteen minutes I was off. The British troops, as you know, had
moved up this way, and I reached them during their noon halt. Taking
two of my men with me under a flag of truce, I asked for an interview
with the commander. It was granted me, but I was never more coldly
received. To my proposition for an exchange the general said haughtily:

“‘Tell your commander I would not exchange the midshipman for himself.’

“To my threat he answered with a cruel laugh:

“‘I know who my prisoner is, and why you are making such an effort to
secure his release. Twice he has escaped our hands, but he shall not
again. I want the satisfaction of seeing him hung, and hang he shall,
though your commander strings up a dozen men in his place.’

“Of course, I knew nothing more could be done with so obdurate an
officer, and left the camp. But right here let me say if you ever again
fall into the hands of the enemy, don’t give your right name. There
seems to be a general order out for your apprehension, in both the army
and navy.”

“I know it,” I assented, “and for that reason I appreciate all the more
what you have done for me, Lieutenant Haines. But how did that come
about?”

“In the simplest way,” he continued. “Though I left the camp, I did not
leave the vicinity of the army. Going back to my boat, I kept along the
shore, moving about as rapidly as the troops did, and when they stopped
for the night, I ran into that creek where we found my boat. Again,
taking two men with me, I went up near to the outposts, looking for an
opportunity to rescue you. I was all the more determined to do this
because the General had declared you should not escape again.

“Well, the opportunity came sooner and in a better way than I had
anticipated. While my men and I were lying in a thicket waiting for the
darkness to fall, we heard voices. Soon two men came up the road, and I
heard one say:

“‘You are sure, Tom, that you know the way?’

“‘Never fear about that, Captain Aylesworth,’ the other replied. ‘I can
take you to Colonel Nutter’s plantation on the darkest night. It isn’t
over two miles from here, and we’ll be there in time for you to take
supper with his family.’

“I am, as you may know, a South Carolinian, and at once recognized the
name of Colonel Nutter as that of a rank Tory and a leader of the Tory
forces in this part of the colony. Doubtless he was a personal friend
of this Captain Aylesworth, who, finding himself near his residence,
was going to make him a visit.

“No sooner had I thought of this when there flashed into my brain a
plan by which I was certain I could secure your liberty. Motioning my
men to follow me, I kept on the trail of the two men until we were well
away from the camp. Then we sprang upon them. Taken by surprise, we had
no trouble in effecting their capture, and bringing them down to my
boat.

“There I made the captain change uniforms with me, and took that
of the soldier along for your use when I should find you. Then I
returned to the lines. As soon as it was dark enough to conceal my
face, I approached the nearest guard, with some misgiving I admit, yet
determined in some way to pass him. When he challenged me, I replied:

“‘I am Captain Aylesworth, who passed you an hour or two ago.’

“‘I remember,’ he answered, ‘but you had a man with you then.’

“‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘and I’ve got to have another, and so have returned
for him.’

“He allowed me to pass, but I was not a dozen feet away when he called
out abruptly:

“‘The password, sir. You’ll have to give that.’

“Here was a poser. I did not know what it was, but I did not want to go
back, so I started to parley with him.

“‘King George hasn’t a more loyal supporter,’ I began to say but had
only uttered the first two words, when to my delight he exclaimed:

“‘That’s it, sir; you may go on,’ and on I went.

“It took some time to locate the tent you were in, and the half dozen
men about it did not look very promising for your release. But again
bold effrontery served me well. Walking straight up to the guard at the
door, I told him the General desired another interview with you, and
had sent me to conduct you to him. The uniform I wore was his assurance
that my demand was genuine, and I was admitted to your presence. I am
now wondering what the General will say when he finds you are gone,”
and he finished his tale with a chuckle.

“It is useless for me to thank you for what you have done for me
tonight,” I began.

“That is what I think,” he responded with a laugh, “so I wouldn’t say
anything about it.” Then he added with intense feeling: “Arthur Dunn,
the red-coats have burned my home over the heads of my aged father and
mother; they have slain my only brother--a lad of your age, and of whom
you remind me. In return for this, I have sworn that I will do them
all the injury I can. I know of nothing that will provoke the British
authorities more than your escape, and that is all the compensation I
need.”

It was not yet midnight, and before the sun rose I was again on board
the _Boston_. As I went over the rail, my own watch was in charge of
the deck, and at sight of me they broke into three rousing cheers. The
noise awakened Captain Tucker, and learning the cause of it, he sent
for me. No father could have greeted me more warmly, and almost his
first words were those Lieutenant Haines had spoken a few hours earlier:

“If you again fall into the hands of the enemy, don’t give your right
name,” a bit of advice I had already made up my mind to follow.

At the close of the following day the British forces arrived at Wappoo
Creek, near James Island, and south of the Ashley River. Here they
began to throw up entrenchments and prepare themselves for a siege.
Their naval forces at the same time drew a little nearer the inner
harbor, and formed a line across its entrance so as to blockade it.
They also took possession of Beacon House Light, and put a small force
within it, and a frigate a few fathoms off shore to protect it with her
cannon. These movements were a part of the spiral which during the next
two months they wove about the town and which eventually hemmed it in.

From this time also there was continual activity on land and water
between our forces--now and then a pitched battle, more often a
skirmishing, frequently a naval duel, constantly an endeavor on their
part to advance, and no less constantly an effort on our part to check
them or to drive them back.

I shall write only of those incidents of which I was a part. Possibly
through Lieutenant Haines, who seemed to have taken a great interest
in me, I shared in some of the more dangerous undertakings, but I
would by no means have the reader think we were the only ones who
were doing anything. The fact is that every man on land or sea was in
service--every soldier and every sailor was instant in season and out
of season during the days and nights that now followed. I did not hear
of a single shirker, nor do I know of a case where anyone in those days
tried to favor himself. If there was ever an army of heroes, the men
under General Lincoln deserved that title. If there was ever a gallant
naval force, the officers and crews of our ships won the appellation
over and over again. The story never has been told--nor can it ever be
told--of what was endured and suffered and done by that little army
and smaller navy in their efforts to save the town.

Scarcely had the British ships moved up the outer harbor when
Lieutenant Haines paid me a visit. When we were alone in my mess-room,
he said in a low tone:

“Master Dunn, are you ready to go with me on what may prove a perilous
undertaking?”

“Yes,” I answered promptly, and waited for him to make such disclosures
as seemed wisest to him.

He smiled. “Your promptness does you credit,” he continued, “but let me
first tell you the nature of my mission. The enemy have, as you know,
captured Beacon House Light, and the Commodore has learned there was
a special reason for it. Some Tory friend has furnished the British
admiral with a chart of the harbor--its channels and its courses--the
Beacon Light serving as a center from which they take all their
bearings. If the Light can be destroyed now, their drawing, if not
rendered entirely useless, will at least not be so serviceable, and
so Commodore Whipple has asked me to undertake its destruction. I have
consented, and on the first favorable night shall make the attempt. I
shall take fifteen men with me, and, if you are ready to accompany me,
will ask you to take the same number.”

“I am as ready to go now as I was before you told me what we were to
do,” I declared.

Again he smiled. “I expected it, and yet let me state wherein our peril
lies. First, we must have a dark, stormy night for the enterprise or
else we cannot get through the British fleet, and we run the risk which
naturally comes to open boats in a raging sea. Then, should we pass the
fleet and overpower the men in the Light and succeed in destroying it,
we shall have an aroused enemy to escape on our return. I regard it as
about an even chance for us to go down to the Light undiscovered; but
to come back in safety the odds are all against us.”

“Still I shall go,” I asserted unhesitatingly.

“Commodore Whipple will speak to Captain Tucker, asking that you be
assigned to this work, and I will then give you further details of my
plan,” the lieutenant added as he arose to depart.

Two days later there came a storm from the south-east. Before sundown
the rain poured in torrents, and the wind blew in great gusts. As night
came on it became so dark one could not see a boat’s length away. It
was the favorable time for which we had been waiting, and I was not
surprised to receive word from Lieutenant Haines to be ready to start
at eight o’clock.

When the hour came I was in the ship’s cutter with my men awaiting the
signal from the _Providence_. My oars were muffled, and a dark lantern
was so arranged as to throw light only on the compass by which I was to
steer. Almost immediately the signal came--a light flashed three times
over the schooner’s rail. I knew that at that instant the lieutenant
left her side, but I could not make out his boat. It mattered little,
however; for by pre-arrangement, we were to run through the British
fleet in different courses, and, if the passage was successful, were
to meet at a little cove just north of the Light. If one boat failed,
the other was to carry out the assigned task. So I gave the command to
my crew:

“Pull away, lads!”

The next minute we dashed away through the rain and against the wind
and tide upon our perilous passage.




CHAPTER XIX

WE BOARD A CARTEL SHIP


In a short time I became convinced of two things. First, that we would
have no difficulty in running through the British fleet unnoticed. The
storm was so severe every patrol boat had been withdrawn; the darkness
was so heavy we could not be seen ten feet away; the wind and sea made
so much noise that whatever sounds came from us would pass unheard.
I dismissed therefore all apprehension on this point immediately.
The other matter was more serious, and soon became a struggle for
life. It was the battle with the storm. To pull against it took all
the strength of my men; to keep the yawl true to her course was an
impossibility; to prevent our craft from filling and sinking took the
united efforts of four of the crew.

We gained our way slowly. The lights of the British vessels showed
that. At length we were among the upper craft, and guided by them, I
strove to swing back to the course from which I had seriously deviated.
The combined strength of Boatswain Lewis and myself could not hold our
helm to its place. Twice we swung dangerously near the enemy’s ships.
Once we passed directly under the stern of a frigate but we were unseen
and unheard. At length we were clear of the fleet, and now the Beacon
House Light itself became our guide.

Two hours had been allowed in the arranging of our plans for us to
reach the little cove where we were to make our rendezvous; four had
elapsed before we reached there, only to find ourselves alone.

The agreement between Lieutenant Haines and myself was that whoever
arrived there first was to wait one hour for the coming of the other
party. But that had been on the supposition that two hours were ample
to make the passage to the cove even against the storm.

It was now midnight, an hour later than I would have waited had I
reached the rendezvous on time. Had Lieutenant Haines arrived there,
and, after waiting the allotted time, gone on to the light house? I
looked long and earnestly towards the beacon, but there was nothing in
the shadows behind, or the rays in front, to give me a definite answer.
I confess I was puzzled. I did not know whether to wait my hour there,
or to go on immediately to the tower. I finally decided on the former
course. I would obey my directions to the letter.

Slowly the minutes passed--so slowly that again and again I put
my watch to my ears to make sure it had not stopped. A half-hour;
another quarter had come and gone, and I was overhauling the materials
I had brought for the destruction of the Light in case the sole
responsibility devolved upon me, when my ear caught the faint sound
of oars. I listened, and the sound was more distinct, then the
lieutenant’s yawl came out of the gloom and touched the shore at my
feet.

“Did you reach here, Master Dunn, without capsizing?” were the
officer’s first words.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then you did better than I,” he responded, and as he stepped ashore
I saw he was as wet as a drowned rat. His men were also in the same
condition.

“Our rudder broke just after we ran through the fleet,” he explained,
“and before we could do anything to prevent it, the yawl broached to,
and shipping a ton or more of water, went over. We lost one man, and
the entire contents of the craft except some extra oars which were
fastened inside. With much difficulty we righted her, bailed her out
with our tarpaulins, and, crawling back into her, finally succeeded in
reaching here, but in a sorry condition to carry out our assigned task.
I am glad you arrived in better shape. How long have you been here?”

“Nearly an hour, sir. I was waiting out the allotted time before I went
on to the Light.”

“That was right,” he said heartily, “for it gives me a chance to share
in the work. Five minutes to one,” he added, glancing at his watch in
the light of my dark lantern; “not so late as I had feared. There is
still time to complete our job and get back to our ships.”

“We shall have the wind and tide with us, and can make our return much
more rapidly,” I suggested.

“Yes, if the enemy does not prevent,” he admitted. “But the moment the
beacon is in flames they will be on the alert for us, and having fresh
men at the oars may run us down. We took that chance, however, when we
decided to come here.”

We now took the powder and oil cans from my boat, and distributed them
among our crews to carry. Then ten of us with our hands free to use our
cutlasses placed ourselves at the head of the squad, and we began our
march across the point to the light house.

This was a huge structure, built partly of stone and partly of hard
pine logs. The door, fortunately for us, was on the rear side of
the building, and towards this we made our way. Reaching it without
discovery, we paused a moment to listen. The lantern at the top of the
tower shone brightly, but all the rest of the building loomed up darkly
above our heads. No sound came from within. The inmates, whatever their
number, were evidently asleep, save perhaps the single watchman to care
for the lantern.

My own plan, had I come alone, was to force open the door and seize
the men within before they could recover from their surprise. But
Lieutenant Haines had arranged to obtain by ruse what I should have
gained by force. Raising the hilt of his sword, he pounded loudly on
the door. Twice he was compelled to do this, and then a sleepy voice
asked:

“Who’s there? What do you want?”

“Our boat is ashore. We want shelter for the rest of the night,” the
officer answered as though he belonged to the British patrol.

“Aye! aye! sir,” came the response, “I’ll be there in a moment.”

There was a shuffling of feet and then the door was thrown wide open
for us. Springing in, we seized the attendant before he could make the
slightest resistance. There were six other men, all in their bunks,
and, though roused by our entrance, they had no time to get their
weapons before we had made them prisoners. Then the seven were taken
down to our boats under a strong guard, there to await our coming.

We were now ready for our work of destruction. Tearing out a half
dozen places in the foundation of the building, we placed canisters of
powder within them. From these long strings of oakum, well saturated
with oil, were carried to the center of the house. Here a huge pile of
combustibles was made, oil was spread on walls and floors and stairs,
the front windows were darkened to hide the flames from that side, a
rear window was left open for draft--and all was ready.

Sending the men off to the yawls, the lieutenant and I knelt down,
and with flint and steel started a blaze in the heap of combustibles.
Watching it until sure the fire was really kindled, we slipped out the
door and ran for the cove.

There we halted and fastened our eyes upon the burning building.
Through the rear door and window we could see the flames as they gained
headway. Across the floor, up the walls they ran, and streaming out
through the openings threw a great glare upon the dark curtain of the
night. It was clear our work had been well done, and the structure was
doomed. Then Lieutenant Haines turned to his prisoners, saying:

“Good sirs, we leave you here simply because we have no room for you in
the boats. Possibly the nearest frigate will send a boat for you; if
not, you will be no more exposed to the gale than we are. One word of
warning to you, however. We have placed six kegs of powder in yonder
walls. It will, therefore, be well for you to keep a long distance from
the fire. Good-night,” and with that he gave the order for us to embark.

Our plan for the return was to keep near the shore until opposite
Sullivan Island, then dash quickly to the south to enter the upper bay
through the passage between Morris and Sullivan Islands. This course
would enable us to run before the wind for a large part of the way,
would keep us out of the glare of the burning building, and would also
make it impossible for the enemy to follow us except in small boats.

For a short distance our boats kept together, probably because we were
all more intent on watching the fire than we were in making our escape.
Soon there came an explosion, followed in rapid succession by five
others. Stones and logs were tossed high in the air; the great tower
tottered and then fell with a crash which sounded loud above the storm;
sparks and embers flew in every direction; the flames burst out anew
as though they would devour everything before them.

“She’s destroyed!” I shouted, but if the lieutenant heard me he made
no answer. I glanced in the direction his boat had been but a moment
before, and saw that it had disappeared, lost in the darkness.

“Give way, my lads!” I said to my own men, and they obeyed with a will.

As we went up the bay I could see signs that the enemy were aroused.
Lights flashed to and fro on the decks of the frigates. The one nearest
the Beacon House fired a cannon, and then put out a boat which hastened
to the shore.

“They’ll soon know the fire was not an accident,” I remarked to my
boatswain, “and may attempt to follow us.”

“It will do them no good, sir,” he answered. “We have too long a start
for them to overhaul us. Our fear is yonder as we cross out to the
channel. If I mistake not, one of the ships has hoisted her anchor,
and is coming up this way.”

I looked in the direction he indicated, and saw by her rapidly moving
lights that one of the vessels had certainly cast off her moorings and
was running up the bay.

“We must reach and cross the channel before her,” I declared. “Heave
away, lads!”

“Aye! aye! sir!” they responded, and bent to their oars.

Without waiting to go higher up the bay, I had our helm changed to
carry us out towards Cumming’s Point. But fast as we went, the ship
came faster. It seemed also that she was shaping her course to head us
off.

“Run up under Sullivan’s Island,” I directed Master Lewis. “If
necessary, we’ll beach the boat and seek protection in Fort Moultrie.”

He promptly turned our bow that way, and the coming vessel changed her
own course just enough to follow in our wake.

“She must see us!” I now exclaimed in my surprise.

“It looks so, but I do not see how,” the boatswain admitted in a
puzzled way.

“Change again towards the point,” I ordered.

He did so, and again the ship turned. All the while she had been
gaining rapidly upon us, and now was so near I was anxious lest she run
us down.

“Port! Port your helm!” I cried, hoping in that way to swing clear of
her. But we were too late. I had only time to call to my men to save
themselves by springing upon her deck, as she cut our yawl in two.

Following the advice I had given my men, I leaped for her rail. She was
not so large nor so high out of water as she had seemed when farther
down the bay, and I caught the railing and pulled myself up on her
deck. Rising, I shook the water from my clothing, and then heard a
voice near me say:

“I’m right along with you, sir.” It was Boatswain Lewis.

“So am I,” another and then another voice exclaimed.

The same cry came from the larboard rail, and I was sure that half of
my men at least had escaped the disaster--but escaped into the enemy’s
hands. To my amazement, however, little attention was paid to us. Her
officers and men seemed too busy with the care of their ship for that.

Standing near her foremast with my men, I slowly took all this in, and
came to the conclusion that the craft had broken her anchor chains and
driven up the bay before the gale. All her courses had been due to
attempts to prevent her wreck, and to get back to her anchorage, and
not to her efforts to follow me. In fact, as I learned a little later,
she had not seen us at all, and had no idea we were in that locality
until she ran us down.

Soon an officer passed near us in the discharge of his duties.

“Where is your captain?” I asked.

“On the quarter-deck,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“One of the men you just ran down.”

“A Yankee officer?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the inner harbor?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.”

He led me aft to his commander, and in a few words explained who I was
and how I came there.

“He says he knows the upper bay,” the subordinate continued.

“I am Captain Jackson,” the skipper then said. “This is the cartel
ship, and we have lost our anchors, leaving us at the mercy of the
storm. There are a number of refugees on board, including several women
and children. For their sake the vessel must be saved. If you can put
us into the inner bay where we can ride out the storm, or beach the
craft in safety, I will give you charge of her.”

I thought a moment. Then I answered:

“I believe I can bring you near enough to our frigate for them to throw
us a hawser, sir, and you can then ride out the storm.”

“Do you suppose they will allow me to return when the gale is over, or
will consider me a prize?” he inquired.

“I cannot say what our commander will do, sir,” I responded, “but if I
were in command of our fleet the character of your ship would protect
you.”

“I must take the risk,” he concluded, and turned the wheel over to me.

I ran in behind Cumming’s Point for smoother waters, and then took
a straight course up the bay past Fort Johnson. I could now see the
lights of the _Boston_, and headed directly for her.

At my suggestion Boatswain Lewis was sent into our bow to hail the
frigate. In his powerful voice he called out to her as we drew near,
proclaiming our character, and asking for a rope. I had to luff to
under her stern in order to get it, but at length it reached us, and,
making ourselves fast, we held on there until morning.

I now took the opportunity to muster my men, and found that all but
four had succeeded in clambering to the deck of the cartel ship. The
missing four turned up the next day. They had clung to the broken boat
and drifted ashore on Sullivan’s Island. Lieutenant Haines reached the
_Providence_ without further mishap.

After consultation with Commodore Whipple the next day, Captain Tucker
was able to inform Captain Jackson that his vessel would be allowed to
return to the English fleet. He had to wait twenty-four hours before
the storm had abated sufficiently to permit him to sail, but when the
hour came for him to depart, he and his officers and passengers signed
and sent a letter of thanks to our commander for the kindness shown
them while in our lines.




CHAPTER XX

CHARLESTON IS TAKEN


I know that Captain Tucker greatly appreciated this act of Captain
Jackson and his friends, but he could not have been so elated as were
Lieutenant Haines and I over the thanks we received the day after the
departure of the cartel ship.

Master John Rutledge, the governor of the colony, sent for us to call
upon him at his residence in the town. When we were in his presence he
said:

“You, then, are the officers who were in command of the squad that
destroyed the Beacon House Light?”

We bowed our assent.

“I have requested you to call here today, my good sirs,” he continued,
“that I may extend to you personally my thanks for the very efficient
manner in which you performed your task.”

We hastened to assure him we had only done our duty.

“Admit that,” he responded with a smile, “you nevertheless did your
work so well you deserve this acknowledgment from me. I am glad one of
you is a native of this colony, and that the other is from the colony
of Massachusetts. It shows that the same intrepid spirit is to be found
in our patriots whether they come from the north or from the south. It
is the hope of our final success in this struggle for our independence.”

I know my own face flushed with pleasure at his words, and I am equally
sure that the face of Master Haines did.

“I called you here, however,” the governor went on, “not only to thank
you for what you have done, but to ask you to do something else.”

“We are ready,” we replied together.

“I wish you to destroy Fort Johnson,” he said, and paused to mark the
effect of his words upon us.

We looked at each other. Both of us knew why this request was made.
The entrenchment of the British at Ashley River and their erection of
batteries across Wappoo Creek had rendered the fortification untenable.
A three-sided fort, with parapets only on the north and east and west,
it left the south--the side on which the enemy had appeared--wholly
unprotected. So the commander had promptly withdrawn, bringing away,
however, his men, his guns, and his stores in safety.

But for some reason, possibly his haste, he had left the fortress
intact, and now the enemy were arranging to occupy it. Already a small
detachment of soldiers had been placed within it, and cannon were on
the way across the island to re-fortify it. Once furnished with an
armament, the red-coats would be able to drive our ships from their
present station, and protect their own vessels whenever they attempted
to enter the upper bay by the south channel. Its destruction meant a
continuation of our control over the entrance to the inner harbor.

It was a very different undertaking from our previous one--a place
easier to reach; a work harder to do; and one that would require a much
larger force of men.

Still, as I gazed into Lieutenant Haines’s eyes, I knew he was willing
to undertake it, and I was as willing to accompany him as I had been on
the night we destroyed the Beacon House Light. So we repeated together
the words we had already used:

“We are ready.”

“I will speak to Commodore Whipple about the matter, then, and you will
receive your orders direct from him,” and he dismissed us.

Within an hour, however, the official assignment reached us, and,
since the undertaking brooked no delay, we set about our preparations
at once. When night came we were ready. At ten o’clock eight boats,
carrying four score men, one-half of them armed with swords and guns,
the others bearing spades and bars and mattocks, swung clear of the
frigates, and pulled across the harbor. Landing a few rods above
the fort, our working force was left on the shore, while the others
advanced upon the unsuspecting garrison.

We reached its rear without challenge, and with a rush entered. Out
from the barracks came a dozen half-clad and unarmed men, followed
in a few minutes by a dozen more who had delayed to dress and arm
themselves. But at the sight of our overwhelming numbers they quickly
surrendered. The surprise had been complete.

It now fell to my lot to take a dozen men from our armed squad, and
proceed a half mile up the island, and form a picket line against any
possible surprise; while Lieutenant Haines brought up our working gang
and began the demolition.

The parapets were thrown down, the stones tumbled into the sea, the
timbers drawn over to the barracks for a general conflagration, the
dirt levelled. It was a long task, and a hard one, and the morning
hours were drawing near when the huge pile of combustibles was ready
for the flames. Then my men and I were recalled; the fire was kindled;
and we hastened to our boats.

We were not fifty fathoms from the shore when a body of horsemen came
tearing down to the burning ruins. Fearful, perhaps, that we might have
placed cans of powder in the pile, they did not attempt to stay the
flames. Instead they rode on down to the shore, where they fired their
pistols and sent after us their shouts of derision.

Baffled in their attempt to make use of the fort, the British now began
more vigorous efforts to hem us in. The land forces endeavored to cross
the Ashley River to the Neck.

This was no easy task, for General Lincoln had by no means been idle.
From the Ashley to the Cooper River he had thrown up a line of
redoubts, with a deep ditch in front; and every vulnerable point on the
shores and around the town was fortified with cannon and detachments
of soldiers. He stubbornly contested, therefore, every advance of the
enemy, and though they outnumbered his own troops nearly three to
one, it took them a month to obtain a footing on the north bank of
the river. But at last it was accomplished, and, to our chagrin, they
completed a parallel line of batteries within eleven hundred yards of
our own.

Had our ships been free to aid our land forces, I then thought, and
even now I believe the history of the siege would have been differently
written. But while Sir Henry Clinton was conducting his troops across
the river, the British admiral moved up the bay with the design of
attacking us from the water side.

A question arose on our part as to the best place to station our own
ships for this attack. Some of our officers favored our changing to
Five Fathom Hole, while others believed the better position was
between the islands. The matter was settled by sending Captains Tucker
and Rathbone to get the soundings from the bar to the hole. I was in
charge of one of our boats, and helped to frame the report which the
captains handed to Commodore Whipple. It was substantially as follows:

  “We find eleven feet of water in the channel from the bar to Five
  Fathom Hole. The Hole is three miles from the bar. Ships cannot
  anchor until they are at that distance from the bar. Off North
  Breaker Head, where the vessels can anchor, they will be one and a
  half miles from the shore.

  “It would be useless to place batteries there, for should the enemy
  make a retreat necessary, it would be impossible for us to cover that
  retreat, or to take the men away. It is clear, therefore, that our
  ships can do the most effectual service for the defense and security
  of the town by acting in conjunction with Fort Moultrie.

  “Our reasons are: that the channel is so narrow between the fort and
  the middle ground that they (the ships) may be moved so as to rake
  the channel and prevent the enemy’s troops from being landed to annoy
  the fort; and will also be in the best position to check the advance
  of the enemy’s fleet into the inner bay.”

This report prevailed, and our little fleet remained where it was--on
line with Fort Moultrie. This garrison was under the command of Colonel
Pinckney, an experienced and intrepid officer, and every one of the
soldiers with him was a picked man.

Scarcely was the advance across the Ashley begun by the troops when
the British ships began their advance up the bay. Arranged in the form
of an inverted V, the apex pointing up the harbor, they came on. The
moment it arrived within gun range, the leading vessel opened up a
brisk fire; the other vessels in turn followed her example. The fort
and our ships returned the fire, and the battle was on.

For an hour it raged. But wind and tide, as well as the number and
strength of the ships, was on the side of the enemy, and they at
length broke through our line, and were enabled to attack us from the
rear. To save our ships, therefore, we were compelled to withdraw to
the mouth of the Cooper River, while the English fleet anchored off the
ruins of Fort Johnson to repair their damages, which had been severe.

The position they now occupied made it useless for Colonel Pinckney
to remain in Fort Moultrie, so, abandoning it under the cover of the
night, he escaped with his men and his guns to the Neck.

To prevent the fleet from coming up the Cooper River and enfilading our
lines, on the next day we sank eleven vessels across the river’s mouth,
and stationed the _Ranger_ and two galleys north of the sunken craft.

The other ships were taken farther up the river and dismantled,
both men and guns being transferred to the shore to re-inforce the
batteries. There was also a further addition to our little army.
General Woodford arrived with seven hundred men, he and his brave
followers having made a forced march of five hundred miles in
twenty-eight days for our relief.

But however bright the ray of hope was which was awakened by their
coming, it shone only for ten days, for then the British were
reinforced by the arrival of two thousand fresh troops from New York.
About the same time also they completed their second line of redoubts
within three hundred yards of ours; their fleet advanced within cannon
shot of the town; and a heavy detachment of soldiers was thrown across
the north end of the Neck, completely hemming us in. It was now the
twentieth of April--a day long to be remembered by us, for on it we
received our first summons to surrender. To this demand the brave
Lincoln replied:

“As long as my men have food to eat, and sufficient strength to endure
the ceaseless toil and vigilance required of them, I have no intention
of surrendering.”

Distress through the scarcity of food was not, however, long in
coming. All supplies from the country were cut off; the amount of
stores on hand was not large; and it was not long before all classes
had to be put on an allowance, six ounces of pork and a little rice
being each one’s portion.

On May first famine stared us in the face; only rations enough for one
more week remained. Our hospitals were overflowing with the wounded;
our death roll--due to our constant skirmishing--had become frightfully
large; our men were becoming emaciated from their scanty supply of
food, and worn with their unremitting toil and vigilance. Still, to a
second demand from the British general for surrender, General Lincoln,
after consulting with his officers, returned a flat refusal.

Ten more days went by. The British troops were now within twenty-five
yards of our line. For several days hot shot from the ships in the
harbor and the batteries on shore had been thrown into the town,
setting houses on fire in several quarters. Our entrenchments were
shattered; our garrisons were weakened by their losses; our food was
gone; our men had hardly strength enough to make a firm stand against a
general assault, yet so intrepid was our leader he decided to undertake
one.

The last battle, the fiercest and most formidable during the invasion,
followed. Pouring out from our redoubts at an unsuspected moment, we
swept down and upon the first line of British batteries, striving
to dislodge the red-coats and drive them back to the second line of
entrenchments. It is not within my power to describe the onslaught, for
before I reached the batteries a ball from a musket struck me in the
breast, and I went down, to be trampled under the feet of my comrades
as they rushed on in their vain undertaking. For though the contest
raged long and fiercely, with terrible losses on both sides, superior
numbers finally told and we were driven back to our redoubts, beaten,
but not conquered.

As night came on our commander called his officers together again for
consultation. The general feeling was that it would be useless, yes,
an unwise sacrifice of precious lives, to fight longer, and so on the
following day General Lincoln secured terms of honorable surrender.




CHAPTER XXI

“THE CRUISE OF THE NINE”


I did not lie long there on the battlefield after the struggle was
over. Some of my comrades had seen me when I fell, and as soon as an
armistice for the burial of the dead and the removal of the wounded
could be arranged, they came to my help. I was carried to a large
storehouse near the Cooper River which had been turned into a temporary
hospital, and there Dr. Burns of our own frigate gave me his special
care. My wound, though serious, did not reach the danger point, and
within three weeks I was able to receive visitors. Captain Tucker was
the first, and when left alone for a few minutes, he bent over my cot,
and, lowering his voice, said:

“We have not been able to keep your whereabouts from the British
authorities, my lad.”

“I am not surprised at that,” I replied slowly, and wondering what else
he would tell me.

“They made a search for you at once,” he continued, “and happened to
question one of our men who was too dull to realize that the inquiry
meant any special danger to you, and so he told them you were wounded
in the last battle, and had been taken to one of the hospitals. It was
then easy for them to find you, and they have put the building here
under double guards until you recover, when they are going to send you
to New York.”

I merely nodded an assent, for the revelation, while not unexpected,
nevertheless took all the talk out of me for the moment.

“I have tried my best to arrange an exchange for you, but they will not
listen to it. So there is but one thing for us to do--it is to get you
out of here in some way before they know you are able to be moved.”

“Can it be done?” I asked eagerly.

“Dr. Burns, Lieutenant Haines, and I have been in consultation several
times,” he explained, “but we have not yet hit upon a way that seems
practicable. The Doctor, however, is making them believe you are much
worse off than you really are, and if he can keep them in ignorance of
your actual condition until you are able to walk, we still hope to do
it. Be of good courage, therefore, and get strong as fast as possible.
You have escaped them every time so far, and I believe you will now,”
and he left me.

I tried to be of good heart for I knew my three friends were all
ingenious and resourceful and would find a way of escape for me were it
possible. But, after all, it was not they, but the old sailor, Richard
Jones--whom I had rescued from the sea and who had declared he would
make good all I had done for him--who devised not only a way for my
escape, but also for putting an end to all further search on the part
of the British authorities for me. It came about in this way:

He saw me fall on the day of the battle, and turned at once to see if
he could do anything for me, but before he reached my side was himself
smitten by a bullet which laid him low. Taken to the same hospital as
myself, and put on a cot in the same ward, almost his first inquiry
when he came to consciousness was about me. From day to day as he grew
weaker he rejoiced to know that I was growing stronger. Then there came
a time when Dr. Burns had to tell him that he could live but a few
hours.

“I’ve ben waitin’ for that word, Doctor,” he replied. “Do ye think I
can hold out till night?”

“Yes,” the surgeon answered, “and perhaps until morning.”

“Then I’ve a favor to ax of ye,” the sailor continued.

“What is it, my good fellow?” Doctor Burns inquired kindly.

“That ye put me in Master Dunn’s bed, an’ let me die for him, while he
lives as Dick Jones,” he explained. “Then the red-coats won’t get him.”

Like a flash the physician recognized the possibility of the plan.
Owing to the scarcity of surgeons, since the surrender he had been left
in sole charge of that ward. On their tour of inspection the British
had numbered each patient, putting his name against the number. If he
died, his number was reported, and an order came for his burial. If
he recovered, his number was also reported, and an order came for his
discharge, and his return to the barracks of his company.

Jones was number seventy-two in that ward, while I was number
fifty-seven. The change could be made, and on the death of the old
sailor the report that patient number fifty-seven had died could be
sent to the British officer acting as superintendent of that building.
Doubtless he would simply issue an order for the burial without
visiting the ward as he had a score of times before, and in his
records would enter the fact that number fifty-seven, or Midshipman
Arthur Dunn, had died and was buried; while upon my discharge the same
records would show that number seventy-two, or Richard Jones, a sailor,
had recovered.

“It shall be done, Richard,” he promised in a low tone, “and God bless
you for thinking of it.”

That night, with the help of two Continental soldiers who were acting
as nurses, the surgeon had the change made without explaining to his
assistants why it was done. To me, however, he made known the whole
scheme, and cautioned me that I was to remember I was Richard Jones
until my exchange was effected.

The next morning the old sailor had joined the unseen majority, and
before night was buried under my number. We never knew what the effect
of the report was at the British headquarters. Probably they accepted
it as a fact, as no further inquiry was made concerning me so far
as we ever knew. Three weeks later, I left the hospital as number
seventy-two, or Richard Jones, to the British authorities--another fact
they never questioned.

Instead of joining my comrades in the barracks set apart for their use,
however, I went to a boarding-place which my friends had secured for
me, and where I was known by my assumed name.

But I was there only three days, for on June 26th Captain Tucker and
his crew were exchanged for Captain William Wardlow and crew, who had
been captured by the _Boston_ on the _Thorn_ twelve months before. As
Richard Jones, sailor, I passed unrecognized before the English officer
in charge of the exchange; and on the following day the Captain and I
started by the overland route for our home in Marblehead.

We were there only a month, however. Then Captain Tucker received
notice that he was to take command of the ship _Thorn_, at that time
in Boston harbor. With that notice came my own commission as a second
lieutenant, and an assignment to the same vessel. We left at once for
Boston, and boarded the frigate to find to our delight that she had
been put in thorough repair, furnished with a crew of one hundred and
twenty-five men and her armament increased to twenty-two guns.

We sailed the following day, making several cruises during the next
three months, running sometimes as far north as Halifax, and again
south as far as Jamaica. The wonderful success of Captain Tucker still
attended him, and we captured many prizes, some of which were of great
value.

Then came a cruise so remarkable that it has been exceeded by no naval
commander; so remarkable that I hesitate to tell of it here lest the
readers may think I exaggerate. Yet it is but a faithful recital of
facts.

We left port on a bright November morning, and before night sighted a
small brig, coming up from the south. We gave chase and overhauled her
without difficulty. At our first shot she hove to, and I went off to
her. She proved to be the _Lord Hyde_ from the West Indies and bound
for Halifax with a cargo of sugar valued at three thousand pounds. A
midshipman was put in command of her, and she was sent in to Boston.

We changed our course after parting with the prize and ran to the
eastward. The following morning we discovered a large ship a few miles
away, and as we approached her we found she carried sixteen guns. This
was suggestive of a valuable cargo, and as she showed a disposition to
fight, we cleared our decks and prepared for action. A broadside poured
into her, however, brought her to terms, and upon boarding her we found
she was the _Alliance_, from Liverpool to Charleston, with a cargo of
wine, brandy, and dry goods inventoried at forty thousand pounds.

The next day was a Sabbath, and proved to be on our part a day of rest.
But the following day made up for it, as it brought us two prizes. The
first was a letter of marque brig of fourteen guns, bound from Antigua
to Quebec laden with rum and molasses, and valued at seven thousand
pounds. The second was a sloop from Saint Eustatia to Halifax with
three hundred hogsheads of sugar worth six thousand pounds.

We cruised all day Tuesday to the west and south, and it was nearly
night before we sighted any sail. There was a bright moon, however, and
we could follow her almost as well as in the day time. Before midnight
we had captured her. She proved to be the brig _Venture_, from Madeira
to New York with one hundred and fifty pipes of Madeira wine and a
miscellaneous cargo, valued at ten thousand pounds.

Our next prize cost us a struggle, and the loss of several men. We had
run to the northward all the forenoon, when our lookout at the masthead
called out that there was a large armed ship on our weather bow. We
changed our course to overhaul her, and soon found she was nearly our
match as a sailer. For four hours we strove to come up with her, and
I do not know as we should have done so then had not the stiff breeze
carried away her fore-topmast.

Finding she could not escape us, she now prepared for a fight, and as
she carried twenty guns and a large crew, she was no mean antagonist.
Captain Tucker attempted several times to grapple with her, desiring to
throw a boarding party on her deck, but she avoided him every time, and
poured a broadside into us. We returned the fire, and both vessels had
received considerable damage when a mistake by the Englishman’s pilot
caused her to foul with us. Here was the opportunity for which we had
been looking, and in another minute our boarders poured over her rail
and down her deck.

The British commander was plucky, and not until a score of his men were
killed and he himself was wounded, did he strike his flag. We then
found the vessel was the _Dean Swift_, from London to New York, with a
cargo of dry goods which invoiced thirty thousand pounds, besides four
thousand barrels of provisions, and fifty puncheons of rum.

Thursday we had worked off to the southward and about noon ran in with
the brigantine _Boyd_, from Jamaica for Quebec, and laden with sugar,
coffee, and tobacco, and valued at fifteen thousand pounds.

Early Friday morning we found a brig not a mile from us. Like ourselves
she was becalmed, but our boats went off to her and captured her
without difficulty. She proved to be the brig _Patsey_, bound from
Liverpool to the West Indies with an assorted cargo worth eight
thousand pounds.

For Saturday there was reserved for us the crowning prize of the week.
We had again taken a course to the north, and were off Massachusetts
bay when we sighted her. Our lookout reported her as a large ship,
heavily laden, and carrying eighteen guns. We were not slow in giving
chase, nor were we slow in coming up with her. To our shot across her
bow she replied defiantly with her stern gun. So our men were drummed
to quarters, our guns were shotted, and our boarders were at their
station amidships. We were ready for what we expected to be a gallant
fight.

But the ship was so deep in the water she was unwieldy, while our own
frigate responded to her helm like a thing of life, and before she
could avoid us we had grappled with her and put thirty men on board.
Finding he could not shake us off, nor withstand the impetus of our
boarding party, her commander speedily surrendered. She was the ship
_Dolphin_, from London with supplies of all kinds for the British
troops--the invoice showing a value of more than seventy-five thousand
pounds sterling.

We had been out nine days and taken nine prizes, with a total value
of not less than two hundred thousand pounds. But our crew had now
become so depleted by the constant drain upon it, we were no longer
in a condition to continue our voyage. So we sailed for Boston where
we arrived safely; with the _Dolphin_, and where we found the other
eight prizes had preceded us. Quite a sensation was created by our
extraordinary luck, and not only among our own men, but in shipping
circles to this day they speak of it as “the cruise of the nine.”




CHAPTER XXII

CAPTURED BY THE HIND


There is an ebb in the current of fortune as well as in the deep. The
neap tides often follow the highest flood of prosperity. We set out
on another cruise, our tenth, and as I now attempt to write of it, it
brings to mind the old Roman adage: “The tenth wave surged.”

Our misfortunes began with a storm so severe and prolonged I even
now recall our experiences with dread. All day the clouds had been
gathering; the wind blew from the north-east, and there was that
peculiar sough in it, which through a long life at sea I have come to
recognize as the indication of an unusual tempest.

Towards sundown the temperature suddenly grew colder, and a fine sleet
began to fall. Soon deck and spars and sails were covered with an
icy garment which made it difficult to keep one’s feet and to handle
the shrouds and guys. Before midnight the wind had increased to such
violence the stiffened canvas could not stand before it, and cracked
and split and shivered to pieces like sheets of thin glass. We were
soon obliged to turn and run before the gale under bare poles, while
the great waves followed us like monsters seeking to devour us.

For four days there was no let-up to the storm, and our ship became
so top-heavy with its cargo of ice and snow we staggered along like
a drunken man. Then the wind suddenly changed to the south-east, the
temperature moderated, the snow and sleet turned to rain, and for
twenty-four hours we were driven to the north-west at a more furious
pace than that with which we had taken our southing. Spiteful as the
tempest was, however, it was not so disagreeable as the first. We were
saved the biting cold, and the ropes and sails could be worked more
readily and to better advantage.

We were just beginning to congratulate ourselves that the force of the
gale was spent when the wind whipped again into the north-east, and
the experiences of the first four days were repeated and prolonged to
nearly a week. In fact, we escaped the clutches of the norther only by
being driven so far south the icy hand that grasped us had to yield
before the warm breezes of the semi-tropics.

It took us another week to repair the damages we had suffered, to get
out and bend to their places our spare sails, and to regain the course
we were on when the storm first struck us.

Then followed a month during which we did not sight a vessel; it seemed
as though the gale had swept clean the surface of the ocean, and left
us the sole survivor of its fury.

The month of failure to discover a sail was succeeded by two weeks
during which every ship we sighted ran away from us, and when they
came to an end we had been eight weeks at sea without so much as the
ghost of a prize to cheer our hearts.

We now were off the mouth of the St. Lawrence, and the orders had been
given us to take a homeward course, when our lookout called out:

“Ship ahoy! Two points off our weather bow. She’s a large ship, and
carries the English colors.”

Hoping at last we had found a prize, so that we need not return to port
empty-handed, we changed our helm, and ran down towards her.

We had not gone a mile before the man at the masthead again called out:

“She’s a British frigate, a big one, sir, and she has headed down this
way.”

Lieutenant Barrows, our executive officer, sprang into the shrouds and
gazed at the ship through his glass for some minutes. Then he jumped
down, saying to me:

“It is the _Hind_, Sir William Young commander, and carrying fifty-four
guns. I’ve seen her too many times to be mistaken. Will you notify the
Captain, Lieutenant Dunn?”

Somewhat startled by his announcement, for I knew if he was right the
_Thorn_ was no match for so formidable an antagonist, I hurried away to
inform Captain Tucker.

He came to the deck and took a good look at the approaching frigate,
and then he said:

“I presume you are correct in your surmise about yonder vessel,
Lieutenant Barrows. She certainly carries more than double our number
of guns, and probably has a crew triple our own. So I have got to do
what I never did before, and what I do now with very bad grace, I
assure you--I must run away from a British ship. We are no match for
her.”

He gave the order to about ship and to spread every stitch of canvas we
could carry to the stiff breeze then blowing from the north-west. In
a few minutes the _Hind_ was under a similar cloud of canvas, and the
race which meant escape or capture for us was begun.

We were soon making ten knots, and for three hours the British frigate
did no better. The distance between the ships certainly had not
lessened, and we began to hope that we might shake off our pursuer. But
the ill-luck which so far had attended us during that voyage continued
to manifest itself. All at once, and without the slightest warning
our maintopmast snapped in two and came tumbling down to the deck. It
struck our first officer and two seamen, knocking the former overboard,
and injuring the latter so that they had to be taken down below and put
under the surgeon’s care. We hove to as soon as we could, and put over
a boat for the unfortunate officer. He was a good swimmer and managed
to keep afloat until we came up with him; but a half-hour had elapsed
before we were back on board the ship, and in that half-hour the _Hind_
had so gained upon us there were but two things we could do, and we
must take our choice between them: to fight or to surrender.

We chose the former, large as our foe was; so the drum beat our men
to quarters; our guns were shotted; and, with about as much hope of
victory as a bantam might have in a contest with a game-cock, we turned
to meet the enemy.

She was evidently surprised at our action, and was, therefore, not
ready for the fight quite so soon as ourselves. That gave us a slight
advantage, and we poured a broadside into her before she fired a gun.

But she soon made up for her delay, and for some minutes the unequal
contest waged. Great gaps were torn in our sides; our decks were swept;
our sails were riddled; a score or more of our men were killed or
wounded.

But the _Hind_ had also suffered. Our guns had been aimed largely at
her rigging, for it was the hope of Captain Tucker to so disable her
that she would be unable to follow him, and then he would continue
his flight. The time for that movement now seemed to be ripe, for her
foremast had been shot away, and the spars of her mizzen and mainmasts
sadly injured. So he gave the command to sheer off and sail away.

We were coming about when a well directed shot from the Britisher, who
had divined our purpose, struck our rudder, breaking it into splinters
and causing our frigate to spin around like a top. We were helpless,
and in another instant the _Hind_ had grappled with us, and poured a
large boarding party down upon our deck.

There was a short hand-to-hand fight, and then, overpowered by numbers,
Captain Tucker did the only thing he could do to save the remnant of
his men--he surrendered.

Only thirty-eight of our crew were able to line up on the deck of the
_Hind_ and answer to our names as they were called from the ship’s
roster; forty-five more of our men were alive but so severely wounded
they were under the surgeon’s care, while forty-two had been slain.

The Englishmen had not passed through the struggle unscathed, however.
More than one hundred of them had been killed or wounded, and it was
clear from the deference shown us by Captain Young that the battle we
had been able to put up with our small numbers had won his respect.

It seems to me now as I recall the fight that it was a singular
circumstance that both Captain Tucker and myself should have come out
of it unharmed. I know he was ever at the front of his men, and I am
not conscious that I in any way attempted to shield myself, yet it
remains a fact, unaccountable though it may be except on the belief
that an overruling Providence protected us, we had not received the
slightest injury.

Our brother officers had not fared so well. Lieutenant Barrows, saved
only a half-hour before from a watery grave, was one of the first among
us to be slain. Our third officer, and two of our five midshipmen had
been wounded, and one of our midshipmen killed. There had been even
greater havoc among our warrant officers, as all but four had given up
their lives in defense of the flag they loved so well, and the four who
survived were among the wounded.

Proud that his men had fought so well, yet grieved over the terrible
loss among them, Captain Tucker asked, after our names had been taken,
that we might be permitted to care for the injured--a request firmly
though courteously refused.

“It would be a departure from our usual custom,” Sir William said, “but
I promise you that they shall have the best care we can give them, the
care that such brave men deserve.”

For ourselves, men and officers alike, we were sent to the brig, where
we were closely guarded until the _Hind_ could reach port in the Isle
of St. Jean, now Prince Edward Island.

As I lay there in the darkness of the hold, I wondered over the fact
that when I had responded to the name of Lieutenant Arthur Dunn, the
officer calling the roll had manifested no surprise or seemed to attach
no special significance to it. It was so different from the treatment I
had been accustomed to receive when the name was given to the British
officials, I could not help calling the attention of the Captain to the
circumstance.

“It may be they think you are some other Dunn,” he suggested. “It is
not an uncommon name, and the higher rank here, and reported death at
Charleston may help to conceal your identity.”

“They may forget, too, that I am five years older now than when I first
left the _Saint George_,” I added, “and so are looking for a younger
person.”

“Possibly,” he acknowledged, “though I think the official record of
your death does more to prevent the recognition than all else. But
whatever the reason for this failure to identify in the lieutenant the
runaway midshipman, let us be thankful for it. It will doubtless save
us many anxious moments in the days that are to come.”

We were forty-eight hours in the _Hind_, and then she arrived at
Charlottetown, where we were transferred to the garrison and put under
the care of the commandant, General William Patterson, who was also the
governor of the colony.

Within the walls of the fort there was a huge log building used as a
prison, and in this we were confined. For some reason never known to
us, our officers were now separated from our crew, the latter being put
in the large room with the other prisoners, while we were given a small
room directly back of the office of the prison overseer. It may be the
authorities thought we would be safer where the superintendent could
keep his eye on us.

Our confinement was irksome, but nothing like what I had experienced
in the Halifax prison a few years before. We had a clean room, there
was plenty of fresh air, good water, and wholesome, though coarse food,
and there was no disease. As the hot months came on, however, the
tediousness of our confinement grew upon us. We became restless, and
one day the Captain put into words what for some time had been in the
thoughts of us all:

“We can’t stand this much longer, lads. We must find a way to get out
of here, and back to our homes. If we are ever to do it, this is the
time. When the cold weather comes on everything will be against the
attempt.”

From that day we talked of nothing else, planned for nothing else.

It was the Captain who finally hit upon a scheme which we hoped would
succeed. Our room was in the south-west corner of the prison, the west
side of the apartment forming a part of the rear of the building. This
we knew could not be far from the west wall of the fort, but as there
was no window on that side we could not tell exactly how far.

With a knife allowed us for cutting our food the Captain one day made
a small aperture between the logs which had been hewed so smoothly
as to fit tightly together. Placing his eye to this, he made his own
estimation of the distance to the wall, and then had each of us in turn
make his estimate. Comparing notes, we found we did not differ two feet
in our opinions of the distance--ten feet being the longest amount
guessed by any of us.

“Very well,” commented our leader, “we will now allow five feet for
the thickness of the wall, an ample allowance. That will make fifteen
feet from here to the outside--not a long distance, surely, and one the
six of us here ought to be able to tunnel in two or three weeks.”

“But to dig a tunnel we must get under the floor,” I objected. “How are
we to do that?”

Our berths were arranged in a double tier on the north side of the
room, the Captain occupying one of the lower ones and I the other. In
answer to my question he led us over there, and, removing the blanket
from his own berth, showed us how one of the bottom boards had cracked
in two under his weight.

“It broke just before I got up this morning,” he explained, “and when
I arose I took a look at it to see how serious the damage was. Then
I discovered this,--” as he spoke he bent the two ends of the board
downwards until they had parted several inches at the center, and we
all saw what he meant. The floor of the room did not extend under the
tier of berths, and we were looking down upon the bare ground.

Of course, the broken board did not give us an aperture wide enough
even for the smallest of us to crawl through, but with the knife that
had served to make the small opening between the logs we at length
succeeded in cutting out the entire bottom of the captain’s berth, and
then any of us could crawl beneath the building at his will.

Rude paddles were made from the pieces of boards we had removed, and
that night the tunnel was begun. I will not attempt to describe the
feverish anxiety with which we slowly dug our way down the passage that
we believed would finally give us the one thing we desired above all
others--our liberty.

We worked only through the night hours, carefully covering all traces
of our work during the day. First we sank a pit about four feet deep,
and large enough for us to turn around in. The dirt from this we
hoisted in a blanket and emptied it in the open space under the floor
of the building.

Then the real tunnel began. We made it big enough for the largest man
among us to crawl in and out easily. The dirt from this was pushed back
to the pit, from which it was removed to the open space under the floor.

The work went slowly. We gained only about twelve inches each night,
and therefore over two weeks elapsed before we had gone the fifteen
feet which we had estimated would carry us beyond the outer wall of
the fort. All was now ready for our last task, the making of the
opening from the tunnel into the open air. We reserved this for the
last night--the night we hoped to escape, and waited therefore for one
that would be favorable in every respect for the enterprise. It came on
the last night of July, at the end of the seventeenth day since we had
begun the digging, a rainy, drizzly evening when a dark pall hung over
the fort and all its surroundings.

Captain Tucker had asked that his own hands might do the last work, and
about nine o’clock he entered the tunnel for that purpose. Midshipman
Lawrence attended him to draw back the blanket as he filled it with
dirt. The rest of us gathered about the inner opening, waiting for the
word that should send us down the passage one by one--down the passage
to the outer world from which we had been shut off for weeks.

Three times Master Lawrence drew back the filled blanket for us to
empty. The third time he said:

“The Captain had one hand up through the surface when I started back
here. He says we are beyond the fort wall, and by the time we can come
out there one after the other, he will have the opening large enough
for us to pass through. So come on.”

The order of our going had been pre-arranged. I was to be the last.
One by one I saw my comrades go down the tunnel, and then I entered.
As rapidly as I could I crept along, touching now and then the heels
of the man in front of me. Then he rose to his feet, and I knew we had
reached the outlet. I could even feel the fresh air as it blew down
upon me. How good it felt! One quick spring and I would be free!

An exclamation from the man in front of me as he went out of the
opening--an exclamation quickly smothered as it seemed to me--reached
my ear. I wondered what it could mean, but there was no time now for
investigation, nor even for hesitation. So up I arose, placed my hands
on the firm ground, and leaped out of the hole into the arms of two
British soldiers who were waiting to capture me.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE ESCAPE


I struggled with my captors for a while, not so much because I
expected to escape from them, but in hopes that I would thereby aid my
companions in their flight. For I could neither see nor hear anything
of them, and believed I was the only one who had been seized by the
British guards. At length I ceased my efforts, and, yielding to the
inevitable, let them lead me away. They conducted me around the prison
to its front entrance and took me into the superintendent’s office,
where to my amazement I beheld all my comrades, each like myself in the
grasp of two soldiers.

There was a broad grin on the face of the prison overseer as he gazed
at us, and then addressing himself to Captain Tucker, he said:

“It was a neat little game, Captain, I admit that, and with some it
might have succeeded, but not with me. Why, sir, let me show you that I
have known of your scheme from the beginning. See here--” and turning
to the partition back of his chair, he pushed aside an old garment
that was hanging there, disclosing a small aperture, about the size of
a walnut on that side of the wall, but tapering down to a small point
on the side of our room. “With the coat hanging there to shut out the
light,” he continued, “you did not notice the tiny opening, and did not
suspect that many times each day I either had my eye upon you, or my
ear was where I could hear all you were saying,” and he glanced at his
prisoner with a complacent air which said: “I was more than a match for
you.”

Then he went on:

“Oh! I knew you were a shrewd fellow, Captain Tucker, and had
outwitted more than one of our officers before now, but I was
determined you should not outwit me. So I put you and your subalterns
in there where I could literally keep you under my eye. I saw you the
night you cut out the boards of your berth, and immediately suspected
your plan, but purposely allowed you to go on to the end. I was outside
the prison watching when your hand first broke through the surface.
Then I called my men, for I had arranged a little plan, too, and
captured each one of you as you came out of the tunnel, and marched you
in here. I assure you the joke is on you,” and he threw back his head
and laughed immoderately.

It was no laughing matter for us, however, and we were a crest-fallen
group as we stood there looking first at our captors and then at each
other, and realizing that our weeks of hard toil had availed us nothing.

But the worst was yet to come.

“Do you know what I am going to do with you?” the jailer asked when
his laughter was over. “Of course you don’t, so I will tell you.
I am going to put you right back into that room tonight, and leave
the passage open, and you are at liberty to go out if you wish. Only
remember twelve good men are to be stationed outside with orders to
pick you off as you come out of your hole like so many woodchucks,” and
again he laughed as though he had perpetrated another good joke.

Nor was he yet done.

“Tomorrow,” he added, “I shall have you fill up the hole you have taken
such pains to dig. It will be quite a job to put all that dirt back,
but since you thrived while digging it out, you doubtless will enjoy
putting it back. The additional exercise will be good for you,” and for
the third time he laughed heartily.

This is where the worst came in. He kept his word to the letter. Back
into the room we were marched and left to ourselves. There the opening
stared silently at us. We knew it led out into the open air, but not
one of us cared to make use of it; and the next morning under a guard
of soldiers we were forced to fill up the tunnel we had been so long in
digging.

The day after this enforced task was completed the overseer came to our
room. He looked us over quizzically, and then remarked:

“You look tired, gentlemen, and hardly as though you were in a good
condition for a long journey, and yet I am compelled to ask you to take
one. The governor seems to think you are going to be more of a burden
here than he cares to have on his hands, so he has decided to send you
down to Halifax. At sunrise tomorrow you will start, and I wish you a
pleasant journey, a safe arrival, and a long stay in the stoutest jail
we have in all the colonies,” and with mock politeness he bowed himself
out of our presence.

The sun was just peeping above the horizon the next morning when we
were taken down to the river and put on board an open boat, already
manned with an officer and ten men. The jailer himself had accompanied
us, and his directions to the lieutenant in whose care he placed us
were brief but to the point:

“Here are the prisoners, sir; and the governor says you are to deliver
them alive or dead to the governor at Halifax, and take a receipt for
them. It matters little the condition they are in--the point is to
deliver them, so you will know what to do if they attempt to make you
any trouble,” and the grin we had so often seen was again upon his face.

Then the ropes were cast off, the sail was hoisted, and the voyage
begun--a voyage destined to have an outcome very different from what
anyone in the boat, or even the watching official on the shore,
expected.

The wind was from the north, and we soon ran out of Hillsborough bay
into Northumberland Strait, which we crossed to Cape St. George, where
we went on shore for dinner.

The officer in charge of us did not mean to give us any opportunity
either to run away from him or to overpower himself and men, for the
moment the boat touched the shore he marched us up to a large tree not
far from the beach. There he made us sit down, and placed six men
with loaded guns around us with orders to shoot us down if we even
attempted to rise, a thing we should have been glad to do as the long
hours in the boat had cramped our limbs and rendered them stiff and
uncomfortable.

Under his direction, the other four men built a fire, cooked the
dinner, and with himself partook of it. The four fed soldiers then
changed places with four of our guards, who had their rations. The
remaining two were then relieved for their repast. When they were done
a small amount of food was brought to us, but there was no time during
our halt when we were not under the guard of at least six men, who had
their muskets ready for instant use.

During the afternoon we rounded the Cape, and going down St. George’s
Bay, passed through the gut of Canso to Chedabucto Bay, where we ran in
to the Isle of Madame for the night. Within the walls of the garrison
and under a strong guard furnished by the commander, we were kept
securely until the morning, when our journey was resumed.

So far there had been no opportunity for us to have a single word of
private conversation with one another, and if the same vigilance was
maintained by our guards, we certainly should not have one. No plan for
any concerted action towards our freedom could therefore be arranged by
us. Yet we all knew by the looks the Captain occasionally gave us that
he was watching for the moment when we might make such an effort with
some hope of success, and we were all on the alert to assist him when
such a move was made.

During the night the wind had whipped around, and now blew mildly from
the south. It took us some time, therefore, to beat out around Cape
Canso to the ocean, and when there what breeze there was left us. For a
long time we lay there, gently tossing on the ground swell with the hot
sun beating down upon our heads. The natural effect was for us to grow
drowsy, and after a while even the men holding the guns were nodding
sleepily.

When the lieutenant joined us in the morning he had the appearance
of a man who had been up a good part of the night at his cups, and it
now began to tell upon him. For a while he struggled to keep awake,
and then, handing over the tiller to one of his men whom he sternly
cautioned to keep a sharp lookout, he put himself in as comfortable a
position as possible, with his head on the gunwale for a nap.

The heat had a similar effect on us Yankees, but we had an inducement
to keep awake the red-coats did not have. By a glance at us Captain
Tucker gave us to understand that the favorable moment for our action
was close at hand, and with the prospect of our liberty before us we
had no difficulty in keeping our eyes open.

Soon after the English officer dropped asleep, Captain Tucker changed
his own position in the boat to one near the sleeping man. Here he
assumed an easy posture as though he too would take a nap, yet we knew
he was awake and was preparing to act.

That move came, however, sooner than we looked for it and in a way we
had not expected. Catching the lieutenant suddenly by the feet, he
tumbled him overboard, and so adroitly was it done that to all of his
nodding men it had the appearance of an accidental fall into the sea.

Captain Tucker’s next move also seemed to confirm this view. Springing
to his feet as though aroused by the splash, he called out excitedly:

“Quick, men! Put out your sweeps! You must save him! I’ll steer!”

He took the tiller from the bewildered soldier, and again cried out for
the men to get out their oars.

In the excitement that followed--an excitement increased by the
unfortunate officer’s calls for help, for his sword and pistols were
weighing him down--the red-coats dropped their guns and put out the
oars. They were awkward about it, however, and the Captain so managed
the tiller that we were a few minutes in coming up with the struggling
man. Those few minutes were enough for us, his comrades, to seize the
discarded weapons. Dropping overboard all but five, we so placed
ourselves that, when the British officer was drawn into the boat again,
we were in command of it.

Under the stern orders of Captain Tucker, enforced by our loaded
muskets, the discomfited soldiers pulled to the shore where they were
disembarked.

“It cannot be far across the point to Canso, where you will find
friends,” the Captain announced when they were on the beach. “Your boat
and your provisions we shall need. Good-by,” and with a bow as polite
as that the British jailer had given us a day or two before, he waved
his hand for us to pull the craft out to sea.

Early in the afternoon the breeze sprang up again, and we headed the
sloop down the coast, homeward bound, for after some discussion we
decided to run the risk of a voyage in the open boat to Boston.

In the month of August the sea is usually light and the weather serene
from Nova Scotia to Massachusetts Bay. We found it so now, and on the
seventeenth arrived in port without mishap.

Bidding good-bye to our comrades, the Captain and I repaired to
Marblehead, where we awaited the further orders of the Naval Committee.
But two months later Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, and the war
for the independence of the Colonies was over.

The navy, therefore, no longer needed us, and we resigned our
commissions to go back to the foreign trade. For several years the
Captain ran a large ship to French and Spanish ports, on which I served
as first mate. Then I was given command of a brig in the East India
trade and the Captain and I did not see each other for some years.

The War of 1812 sent us back to the navy in which he rose to the rank
of a Commodore, while I won a Captain’s commission. At its close he
retired to a farm he had purchased in Bristol, Maine, while I again
sailed for foreign ports.

It was never my good fortune to visit him in his new home but once;
but I have many times since stood by his grave and read the few lines
written on his tombstone, a just tribute to the man and his service:

         IN MEMORY OF
   COMMODORE SAMUEL TUCKER
          WHO DIED
       MARCH 10, 1833
  A PATRIOT OF THE REVOLUTION

To this I would personally add:

“And the truest friend I ever knew.”


THE END.




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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


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