_The Boatswain Tells the Story_
One or two other men were writing at a table, and another stalwart
officer of rank was sitting by the fire reading. None of the four men
coming into the room had seen the general before, except Talbot. As
the door opened, his excellency glanced up inquiringly, and,
recognizing the first figure, stepped forward quickly, extending his
hand, all the other officers rising and drawing near at the same time.
"What, Talbot! I trust you bring good news, sir?"
"I do, sir," said the young officer, saluting.
"The transport?" said the general, in great anxiety.
"Captured, sir."
"Her lading?"
"Two thousand muskets, twenty field-pieces, powder, shot, intrenching
tools, other munitions of war; ten thousand suits of winter clothes,
blankets, and shoes; and four officers and fifty soldiers; all bound
for Quebec, where the British army is assembling."
"Now Almighty God be praised!" exclaimed the general, with deep
feeling. "From whence do you come now?"
"From Philadelphia, sir."
"Ah! You thought best to take your prize there instead of Boston. It
was a risk, was it not? But now that you are there, it is better for
us here. Who are your companions, sir? Pray present them to me."
"Lieutenant Seymour, sir, of the navy, who brought in the prize."
"Sir, I congratulate you. I am glad to see you."
"And this is Philip Wilton, a midshipman. I think you know him,
general."
"Certainly I do; the son of my old friend the commissioner, Colonel
Wilton of Virginia, now unhappily a prisoner. You are very welcome, my
boy. And who is this other man, Talbot?"
"William Bentley, sir, bosun of the Ranger, at your honor's service,"
answered the seaman himself.
"Well, my man," said the general, smiling, "if the Ranger has many like
you in her crew, she must show a formidable lot of men. I am glad to
see you all. These are my staff, gentlemen, the members of my family,
to whom I present you. General Greene, General Knox; and these two
boys here are Captain Alexander Hamilton and the Marquis de La Fayette,
a volunteer from France, who comes to serve our country without money
or without price, for love of liberty. This is Major Harrison, this
Captain Laurens, this Captain Morris of the Philadelphia troop, our
only cavalry; they serve like the marquis, for love of liberty. I know
not how I could dispense with them." The gentlemen mentioned bowed
ceremoniously, and some of them shook hands with the new-comers.
"Billy," continued Washington, turning to his black servant, "I wish
you to get something to eat for these gentlemen. It's only bread and
meat that we can offer you, I am sorry to say; we are not living in a
very luxurious style at present,--on rather short rations, on the
contrary. But meanwhile you will take a glass of this excellent punch
with us, and we will drink to a merry Christmas. Fill your glasses,
gentlemen all. Your news is the first good news we have had for so
long that we have almost forgot what good news is. It is certainly
very pleasant for us, eh, gentlemen? Now give us some of the details
of the capture of the transport. How was it? You, Mr. Seymour, are
the sailor of the party; do you tell us about it."
Then, in that rude farmhouse among the hills on that bitter winter day,
Seymour told the story of the sighting of the convoy, and the ruse by
which the capture of the two ships had been effected, at which General
Washington laughed heartily. Then he described in a graphic seamanlike
way the wonderful night action; the capture of the Juno by the heroic
captain of the Ranger, the successful escape of that ship from the
frigate, and the sinking of the Juno. He was interrupted from time to
time by exclamations and deep gasps of excitement from the officers
crowding about him; even Billy bringing the dinner put it down
unheeded, and listened with his eyes glistening. And then Seymour
delivered Jones's message to General Washington.
"Wonderful man! wonderful man!" he said. "We shall hear of him, I
think, in the English Channel; and the English also, which is more to
the point. But your own ship--had you an eventless passage, Mr.
Seymour? And, gentlemen, you look as solemn as if you were the bearers
of bad news instead of good tidings, or had been retreating with us for
the past six months. Thank goodness, that's about over tonight. Fill
your glasses, gentlemen. 'T is Christmas day. Now for your own story.
Did you meet an enemy's ship?"
"We did, sir.--Talbot, you tell the story."
"No, no, I cannot; 't is your part, Seymour."
Here, in the presence of friends, and friends who knew and loved
Colonel Wilton and his daughter, neither of the young men felt equal to
the tale. Each day brought home to them their bitter sorrow more
powerfully than before, and each hour but deepened the anguish in their
hearts.
"Why, what is this? What has happened? The transport is safe, you
said," continued the general, in some anxiety. "What is it?"
"I can tell, if your honor pleases, sir," said the deep voice of
Bentley.
"Speak, man, speak."
"It happened this way, sir: we were off Cape Cod, heading northwest by
west for Boston, about a week ago, close hauled on the starboard tack
in a half gale of wind. Your honor knows what the starboard tack is?"
"Yes, yes, certainly; go on."
"When about three bells in the afternoon watch,--your honor knows what
three bells--Ay, ay, sir," continued the seaman, noting the general's
impatient nod. "Well, sir, we spied a large sail coming down on us
fast; we ran off free, she following. Pretty soon we made her out a
frigate, a heavy frigate of thirty-six guns, and a fast one too, for
she rapidly overhauled us. We cracked on sail, even setting the
topmast stunsail, till it blew away. Then we cut away bulwarks and
rails, flattened the sails by jiggers on the sheets and halliards until
they set like boards, pumped her out, cast adrift the boats, cut away
anchors, but it was n't any use; she kept a-gaining on us. By and by
we came to George's Shoal extending about three leagues across our
course to the southeast of Cape Cod. There is a pass through the
shoal; Lieutenant Seymour knows it, we surveyed it this last summer.
We brought the ship to on the wind on the same tack again, near the
shoal, and ran for the mouth of the pass. The frigate edged off to run
us down. Lieutenant Talbot broke out a field-piece from the hold and
mounted it as a stern-chaser, and used it too--"
"Good! well done!" said the general, nodding approvingly. "Go on."
"We came to the mouth of the pass. The frigate fired a broadside. One
shot carried away the mizzen topgallant mast; another sent a shower of
splinters inboard, killing the man at the wheel. The ship falls off
and enters the pass. I seize the helm. Mr. Seymour conned us through.
The frigate chased madly after us. She sees the breakers; she can't
follow us, draws too much water; she makes an effort to back off. It
is too late; she strikes. The wind rises to a heavy gale. We see her
go to pieces, and never a soul left to tell the story, never a plank of
her that hangs together. She's gone, and we go free. That's all, your
honor, and may God have mercy on their souls, say I," added the solemn
voice of the boatswain in the silence.
"A frightful catastrophe, indeed, and a terrible one! I do not wonder
at your sadness. But, young gentlemen, do not take it so to heart. It
is the fate of war, and war is always frightful."
"Did you find out the name of the ship, boatswain?" asked General
Greene.
"Yes, your honor; the Radnor, thirty-six."
"Could no one have been saved?" queried General Knox.
"No one, sir. No boat could have lived in that sea a moment. We could
n't put back, could do no good if we had, and so we came on to
Philadelphia, and that's all."
"No, general," cried Seymour; "it's not all. We will tell the general
the whole story, Talbot. You remember, sir, the raid on the Wilton
place and the capture of the colonel and his daughter?" The general
nodded. "Well, sir, before the Ranger sailed, I received a note from
Miss Wilton saying they were to be sent to England in the Radnor."
"You received the note? I thought she was Mr. Talbot's betrothed, Mr.
Seymour!"
"I thought so too, general; but it seems that we are both wrong.
Lieutenant Seymour captured her during his visit there with Colonel
Wilton," said Talbot, with a faint smile.
"I am very sorry for you, Talbot, and you are a fortunate man, Mr.
Seymour. But go on; we are all friends here. Did you say they were to
go on the Radnor?"
"Yes, sir. The pursuing frigate was recognized by one of my men who
had been pressed and flogged while on her, as the Radnor, the ship on
which they were. I heard the man say so just as we neared the reef.
To go through the pass was to lead the English ship to destruction and
cause the death of those we--of the colonel, sir," continued Seymour,
in some confusion. "To refrain from attempting the pass was to lose
the ship and all it meant for our cause. I could not decide. I say
frankly I could not condemn those I--our friends to death, and I could
not lose the ship either. This old man knew it all. He has known me
from a child. He spoke out boldly, and laid my duty before me, and
pleaded with me--"
"He did not need it, your honor. No, sir; he would have done it
anyway," interrupted Bentley.
The general took the hand of the embarrassed old boatswain and shook it
warmly; then, fixing his glowing eyes upon the two young men, said,--
"Continue, Mr. Seymour."
"I know not what I might have done, but the old seaman's appeal to my
honor decided me. I went aft with horror in my heart, but resolved to
do my duty. On my way there I took out of my pocket the little note
received from Miss Wilton; a gust of wind blew it to the hand of Mr.
Talbot. It was only a line. As he picked it up, he read it
involuntarily. We had some words. I drew on him, sir. It was my
fault."
"No, no, general, the fault was mine!" interrupted Talbot. "I said it
was my letter, refused to give it up, insulted him. He would have
arrested me. Bentley and Philip interfered. I taunted him, advanced
to strike him. He had to draw or be dishonored."
"Nay, general, but the fault was mine. I was the captain of the ship;
the safety of the ship depended on me."
"Go on, go on, Mr. Seymour," said the general; "this dispute does honor
to you both."
"The rest happened as has been told you. One of the splinters struck
Mr. Talbot's sword and swept it into the sea; the note went with it,
and then the frigate was wrecked, and Colonel Wilton and his daughter,
with all the rest, lost."
It was very still in the room.
"My poor friend, my poor friend," murmured the general, "and that
charming girl. Without a moment's warning! Young gentlemen," taking
each of the young men by the hand, "I honor you. You have deserved
well of our country,--for the frankness with which one of you admits
his fault, for it was a fault, and takes the blame upon himself, and
for the heroic resolution by which the other sacrifices his love for
his duty. Laurens, make out a captain's commission for Mr. Talbot.
Hamilton, I wish you would write out a general order declaring the
capture of the transport and her lading, and the sinking of the Juno
and the wreck of the English frigate; it will hearten the men for our
enterprise to-night. As for you, Mr. Seymour, I shall use what little
influence I may be able to exert to get you a ship at once; meantime,
as we contemplate attacking the enemy at last, I shall be glad to offer
you a position as volunteer on my staff for a few days, if your duties
will permit. And to you, Philip, let me be a father indeed--my poor
boy! As for you, boatswain, what can I do for you?"
"Nothing, your honor, nothing, sir. You have shaken me by the hand,
and that's enough." The old man hesitated, and then, seeing only
kindness in the general's face, for the old sailor attracted and
pleased him, he went on softly: "Ay, love's a mighty thing, your honor;
we knows it, we old men. And love of woman's strong, they say, but
these boys have shown us that something else is stronger."
"And what is that, pray, my friend?"
"Love of country, sir," said Bentley, in the silence.