CHAPTER XXIX

_The Last of the Talbots_

It was with a sinking heart that Seymour rode up the hill toward Fairview

Hall a few days later. There had been a light fall of snow during the

preceding night, and the brilliant sun of the early morning had not yet

gained sufficient strength to melt it away. There was a softening touch

therefore about the familiar scene, and Seymour, who had never viewed it

in the glory of its summer, thought he had never known it to look so

beautiful. Heartily greeted as he passed on by the various servants of

the family, with whom he was a great favorite, he finally drew rein and

dismounted before the great flight of steps which led up to the terrace

upon which the house stood. His arrival had not been unnoticed, and

Madam Talbot was standing in the doorway to greet him. He noticed that

she looked paler and thinner and older, but she held herself as erect and

carried herself as proudly as she had always done. Grief and

disappointment and broken hope might change and destroy the natural

tissues and fibres of her being, but they could not alter her iron will.

Tossing the bridle to one of the attendant servants, Seymour, hat in

hand, walked slowly up the steps and across the grass plat, and stepped

upon the porch. She watched him in silence, with a frightful sinking of

the heart; the gravity of his demeanor and the pallor of his face, in

which she seemed to detect a shade of pity which her pride resented,

apprised her that whatever news he had brought would be ill for her to

hear, but her rigid face and composed manner gave no indication of the

deadly conflict within. Seymour bowed low to her, and she returned his

salute with a sweeping courtesy, old-fashioned and graceful.

"Lieutenant Seymour is very welcome to Fairview Hall, though I trust it

be not the compelling necessity of a wound which makes him seek our

hospitality again," she said, faintly smiling.

"Oh, madam," said Seymour, softly, yet in utter desperation as to how to

begin, "unfortunately it is not to be cured of wounds, but to inflict

them that this time I am come. I--I am sorry--that I have to tell you

that--I--" he continued with great hesitation.

"You are a bearer of ill tidings, I perceive," she continued gravely.

"Speak your message, sir. Whatever it may be, I trust the God I serve to

give me strength to bear it. Is it--is it--Hilary?" she went on, with

just a suggestion of a break in her even, carefully modulated tones.

"Yes, dear madam. He--he--"

"Stop! I had almost forgotten my duty. Tell me first of the armies of

my king. The king first of all with our house, you know."

Poor Seymour! he must overwhelm her with bad news in every field of her

affection. For a moment he almost wished the results had been the other

way. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead in spite of the

coldness, and he felt he would rather charge a battery than face this

terrible old woman who put the armies of a king--and such a king

too--before the fate of her only son! And yet he knew that what he had

to tell her would break down even her iron will, and reaching the

mother's heart beating warm within her in spite of her assumed coldness

and self-repression, would probably give her a death-blow. He felt

literally like a murderer before her, but he had to answer. Talbot's own

letter, General Washington's command, and the promptings of his own

affection had made him an actor in this pathetic drama. He had no choice

but to proceed. The truth must be told. Nerving himself to the

inevitable, he replied to her question,--

"The armies of the king have been defeated and forced to retire. General

Washington has outmanoeuvred and outfought them; they are now shut up in

New York again. The Jerseys are free, and we have taken upward of two

thousand prisoners, and many are killed and wounded among them,--on both

sides, in truth," he added.

"The worst news first," she replied. "One knows not why these things are

so. It seems the God of Justice slumbers when subjects rebel against

their rightful kings! But I have faith, sir. The right will win in the

end--must win."

"So be it," he said, accepting the implied challenge, but adding nothing

further. He would wait to be questioned now, and this strange woman

should have the story in the way that pleased her best. As for her she

could not trust herself to speak. Never before had her trembling body,

her beating heart escaped from the domination of her resolute will.

Never before had her mobile lips refused to formulate the commands of her

active brain. She fought her battle out in silence, and finally turned

toward him once more.

"There was something else you said, I think. My--my son?" Her voice

sank to a whisper; in spite of herself one hand went to her heart. Ah,

mother, mother, this was indeed thy king! "Is--is he wounded?--My God,

sir! Not dead?"

His open hand which he had extended to her held two little objects. What

were they? The bright sunlight was reflected from one of them, the

locket she had given him. There was a dark discoloration on one side of

it which she had never seen before. The other was his Prayer Book. O

God--prayer! Was there then a God, that such things could happen? Where

was He that day? She had given that book to him when he was yet a child.

"Dead,"--she whispered,--"dead," shrinking back and staring at him.

"Would God I had died in his place, dear madam!" he said with infinite

pity.

"How--how was it?" she went on, dry-eyed, in agony, moistening her

cracking lips.

"Fighting like a hero over the body of General Mercer at Princeton. His

men retreated and left them--"

"The rebel cowards," she interrupted.

"Nay, not cowards, but perhaps less brave than he. The British charged

with their bayonets; our men had not that weapon, they fell back."

"Were you there, sir?"

"Surely not! Should I be here now if I had been there then, madam?" he

replied proudly.

"True, true! you at least are a gentleman. Forgive the question."

"General Mercer and some of his officers sprang at the line. I had it

from his own lips. Some one cut the general down; Hilary interposed, and

enabled him to rise to his feet; they were attacked, fought bravely

until--until--they died."

Stricken to the death at least, but determined to die as the rest had

died, fighting, she drew herself up resolutely, and lifted her hand to

that pitiless heaven above her. "So--be--it--unto--all--the--enemies--"

When had he heard her say that before, he wondered in horror. She

stopped, her face went whiter before him, the light went out of it.

"Oh, my son, my son--O God, my son, my son--Oh, give him back, my son--my

son!" She reeled and fell against him, moaning and beating the air with

her little feeble hands. The break had come at last; she was no longer a

Talbot, but a woman. With infinite pity and infinite care he half led,

half carried her into the house, and then, after being bidden not to

summon assistance, he sank down on his knees by her side, where she lay

on the sofa in the parlor, crushed, broken, feeble, helpless, old. With

many interruptions he told her the sad story. He laid the long dark lock

of hair he had cut from her son's head in her hand. There was a letter

from George Washington which he read to her, in which, after many tender

words of consolation, he spoke of Talbot as "one who would have done

honor to any country." He told her of that military funeral, the kind

words of Cornwallis, the guard of honor, the soldiers of the king, and

then he put Talbot's own letter to him before her, and she must be told

of the loss of the frigate. Kate dead too, and Colonel Wilton. Alas,

poor friends! But all her plans and hopes were gone; what mattered

it--what mattered anything now!

"Oh, what a load must those unrighteous men bear before God who have

inaugurated this wicked war!" she cried; but no echo of her reproach was

heard in the houses of Parliament in London, or whispered in the

antechamber of the king, to whom, assuredly, they belonged.

And by and by he left her. It wrung his heart so to do, but the call of

duty was stronger than her need. His ship was ready, or would be in a

short time, and he had snatched a few days from his pressing work to

fulfil this task. His presence was absolutely necessary on the vessel,

and he must go. Saying nay to her piteous plea that he should stay, and

most reluctantly refusing her proffers of hospitality, after leaving with

her the letters and the pictures, he left the room. But in the doorway

he looked back at her. The tears had come at last. Moved by a sudden

impulse, he ran back and knelt down by her, and took her old face between

his hands and kissed her.

"Good-by, dear madam," he whispered; "would it had been I!"

She laid her thin hands upon his head.

"Good-by," she whispered; "God bless you. Oh, my boy--my boy!" She

turned her face to the wall in bitterness, and so he fled.

On the brow of the hill one could see, if he were keen-eyed, the Wilton

place. There was the boat-house. There she had said she loved him. He

struck spurs to his horse and galloped madly away. Was there nothing but

grief and sorrow, then, under the sun?

The lawyer and the doctor and the minister were with Madam Talbot all

that day, but it was little they could do. She added a codicil to her

will with the lawyer, submissively took the medicine the doctor left her,

and listened quietly to the prayers of the priest. In the morning they

found her whiter, stiller, calmer than ever. She had gone to meet her

son in that new country where none rebel against the King!

BOOK IV

A DEATH GRAPPLE ON THE DEEP

CHAPTER XXX

_A Sailor's Opinion of the Land_

It was a delightful morning in February. The Continental ship

Randolph, a tight little thirty-two-gun frigate, the first to get to

sea of those ordered by Congress in 1775, was just leaving the

beautiful harbor of Charleston, South Carolina, by way of the main ship

channel, on her maiden cruise, under the command of Captain John

Seymour Seymour, late first lieutenant of the Ranger. This was the

second departure she had taken from that port. Forced by severe

damages, incurred in an encounter with a heavy gale shortly after

leaving Philadelphia, to put into that harbor for needed repairs to the

new and unsettled vessel, she had put to sea again after a short

interval, and in one week had taken six valuable prizes, one of them,

an armed vessel of twenty guns, after a short action. After this brief

and brilliant excursion she had put back to Charleston to dispose of

her prizes, re-collect her prize crews, and land her prisoners.

There was another motive, however, for the sudden return. From one of

the prizes it had been learned that the English thirty-two-gun frigate

Carrysford, the twenty-gun sloop Perseus, the sixteen-gun sloop

Hinchinbrook, with several privateers, had been cruising off the coast

together, and the commander of the Randolph was most anxious to get the

help of some of the South Carolina State cruisers to go in search of

the British ships. The indefatigable Governor Rutledge, when the news

had been communicated to him, had worked assiduously to provide the

State ships, and the young captain of the Randolph speedily found

himself at the head of a little fleet of war vessels outward bound.

The departure of the squadron, the Randolph in the lead, the rest

following, and all under full sail, made a pretty picture to the

enthusiastic Carolinians, who watched them from the islands and

fortifications in the harbor, and from a number of small boats which

accompanied the war ships a short distance on their voyage. Besides

Seymour's own vessel, there were the eighteen-gun ship General

Moultrie, the two sixteen-gun ships Notre Dame and Polly, and the

fourteen-gun brig Fair American; the last commanded by a certain

master, Philip Wilton. They made officers of very young men in those

days, and mere boys often occupied positions of trust and

responsibility apparently far beyond their years,--even Seymour

himself, though now a commodore or flag officer by courtesy, was very

young for the position; and Governor Rutledge, moved by a warm

friendship of long standing for old Colonel Wilton, and upon Seymour's

own urgent recommendation, had intrusted the smallest vessel to young

Captain Philip. We shall see how he showed himself worthy of the trust

reposed in him in spite of his tender years.

All of these ships were converted merchantmen, hastily fitted out,

poorly adapted for any warlike purpose, and, with the exception of the

Fair American, exceedingly slow and unwieldy; but the heart of the

young commander filled with pride as he surveyed the little squadron,

which followed in his wake, looking handsome enough under full sail.

It was a great trust and responsibility reposed in his skill and

experience; doubtless it was the only fleet the country had assembled,

or could assemble, at that time; the ships were certainly not as he

would have desired them, but they were the best that could be got

together; and manned and officered by devoted men, they could at least

fight ships of their own size when the time came, and he trusted to be

able to give a good account of the enemy, should they be so fortunate

as to fall in with them. As for his own vessel, as his practised and

critical eye surveyed the graceful proportions of the new and

well-appointed ship, Seymour felt entirely satisfied with her. He

regarded with pleasant appreciation the decks white as constant

holy-stoning could make them, the long rows of grim black guns

thrusting out their formidable muzzles on either side, and the lofty

spars covered with clouds of new and snowy canvas. Everything was as

neat and trim, and as ready, as ardor, experience, and ability, coupled

with a generous expenditure from his own purse, could make them. He

was satisfied with his officers and crew too. Seymour's reputation,

his recent association with Paul Jones, the romantic story of his last

successful cruise, the esteem in which he was held by Washington, and

his own charming personality had conspired to render him a great

favorite, and he had had the pick of Philadelphia's hardy seamen and

gallant officers ere he sailed away. The three hundred and odd seamen

and marines who comprised the crew were as fit and capable a body of

men as ever trod the deck of a ship. Constant exercise and careful

instruction, and drill and target practice, had made them exceedingly

able in all the necessary manoeuvres, and in the handling of the guns.

Forward on the forecastle old Bentley was planted, surrounded by such

of the older and more experienced petty officers and men as he

permitted to associate with him on terms of more or less familiarity.

Not only the position he occupied, that of boatswain of the frigate,

gave him a vast importance with the men, but his age and experience,

his long association with the captain, as well as some almost

incredible tales of his familiar companionship with certain men of

awe-inspiring name and great renown, with various mighty feats of arms

in recent campaigns, vaguely current, conduced to make him the monarch

of the forecastle, and the arbiter of the various discussions and

arguments among the men, who rarely ventured to dispute the dictum of

their oracle.

"Well, here we are pointing out again, thank the Lord!" he said to his

particular friend and crony among the crew, the carpenter, Richard

Spicer, a battered old shell-back, like himself. "There is only one

place from which I like to see the land, Richard!"

"And where is that, bosun?"

"Over the stern, as now, mate, when we 're going free with a fair wind,

and leaving it fast behind. I feel safer then. A time since and I

felt as if I never wanted to see it again from any place. To think of

me, a decent God-fearing, seafaring man, at my time of life, turning

soldier!" It is not in the power of written language to express the

peculiar intonation of contempt which the old man laid upon that

inoffensive word, "soldier." No one venturing to interrupt him, after

staring at his particular aversion for a few moments, he went on more

mildly, and in a reflective tone,--

"Not but what I have seen some decent soldiers--a few. There was old

Blodgett, and young Mr. Talbot, ay, and General Washington too! Now

there 's a man for you, ship-mates. Lord, what a sailorman he would

have made! They tell me he had a midshipman's warrant offered him when

he was a lad once, and actually refused it--refused it! preferred to be

a soldier, and what a chance he lost! Might have been an admiral by

now!"

"I 've heard tell as how 't was his mother that prevented him from

goin' to sea--when he was ready an' willin' an' waitin' to get aboard,"

returned one of the men.

"May be, may be. The result's the same. You never can tell what

women, and 'specially mothers, will do. They 're necessary, of course,

leastways it's generally believed we all had 'em, though I remember

none myself, nor Captain Seymour neither, and he 's a pretty good sort

of a man--let alone me--but they've no place aboard ship. Now look

what this one did,--spoiled a man that had the makin's of a first-class

sailor in him, and turned him into a soldier!"

"But where would we be in this country of ours now, bosun, if it were

not for the soldiers? No, no, don't be too hard on this man, Captain

Washington; he 's done his duty, and is doing it very well, too, so I

'm told, accordin' to your own account, matey," replied the old

carpenter; "and soldiers is good too--in their places, that is, of

course," he went on deprecatingly. "There are two kinds of men, as I

take it, William, to do the fightin' in this world, sailormen and

soldiermen; each has a place, a station to fill, and something to do,

and one can't do t' other's work. Look at that there blasted marine,

aft there in the gangway, for instance; he's a good man, I make no

manner o' doubt, and he has got his place on this barkey, even if he is

only a kind of a soldier and no sailorman at all."

"Now I asks you, Chips, what particular good are soldiers, anyway,

leaving marines out of the question, for they do live on ships," said

the old sailorman. "What can they do that we can't? They can fight,

and fight hard--I 've seen 'em, but so can we," he continued, extending

his brawny arm; "and they can march, too,--I've seen their bloody

footmarks in the snow; but there were sailormen there that kept right

alongside of 'em and did all that they could do. Oh, I forgot one

thing--they can ride horses, that's one thing I could never learn at

all! You 'd ought to seen me on one of the land-lubberly brutes. A

horse has no place on shipboard, no more than a woman, and I 've no use

for either of 'em. But if this country would spend all its money

buying ships, and man 'em with real first-class sailormen, why, d'ye

see, King George's men could never land on our shores at all. We 'd

keep 'em off, and then there'd be no use for the soldiers; they could

all go a-farming. No, give me ships every time, they always win. I

know what I am talking about; I have been on the shore for a month at a

time until I thought I would turn into mud itself. No, 't is not even

a fit place to be buried in; 'earth to earth' won't do for me when I

die; I just want to be dropped overboard--there."

"There is one time ships didn't win," said the carpenter, persisting in

the argument, and pointing aft to the low mounds of sand backed by the

rudely interlaced palmetto logs, behind which the gallant Moultrie had

fought Barker's fleet six months before, until the ships had been

driven off in defeat.

"Those were British ships, man," said the old sailor, with contempt.

"I meant Americans, of course; it makes all the difference in the

world. But as for land--I hate it. It's only good to grow vegetables,

and soft tack, and fresh water, and tar, and timber, and breed children

to make sailormen out of--why, it's a sort of a cook's galley, a

kitchen they call it there, for the sea at best! Give me the sight of

blue water, and let me have the solid feel of the deck beneath my feet;

no unsteady earth for me!"

"Well, that's my own opinion, too, bo. But, after all, that's all that

ships is good for, anyway; just to sail from land to land and take

people and things from place to place. The sea's between like."

"You look at it the wrong way, mate. Certain of us men have sense

enough to live on the sea, and keep away from land, except for water

and provision. We go from sea to sea, and land 's between."

"And what would you do for a country if we had no land? You 're always

talking about lovin' your country, bosun."

"Ay, that I do," said the old man. "I look upon a country, that is a

land country, as a kind of necessary evil. My country 's this ship,

and yon flag, what it means and stands for. It means liberty, free

waters, no interference with peaceful traders on the high seas,

following their rightful pursuits, by British ships-of-war. Every man

that has ever been aboard of one of those floating hells knows what

liberty is not, well enough. No taxing of us by a Parliament on t'

other side of the world, neither. No king but the captain. Freedom!

So free that the lubberliest landsman on shore has a right to govern

himself--if he can--subject to discipline and the commands of his

superior officer, of course; and, besides, it's like a man's wife; if

he's got to have one, he may beat her and abuse her, perhaps, but

nobody else shall. No! Land's a pretty poor sort of a thing in

general, but that aft there is the best there is going, and it 's our

own. We 'll die for it, yes, for love of it, if it comes to that, even

if we do hate it, on general principles mind, you understand."

There was evidently a trace of Irish blood in the old sailor, it would

seem, and so saying, with a wave of his hand, which brushed aside

further argument, he turned abruptly on his heel and walked aft. In

spite of all his words, which only reflected the usual opinion of

sailors, in those days at least, he yielded to no man in patriotism and

devotion to the cause of liberty and the land that gave him birth. And

no man in all Washington's army had done better service, marched more

cheerfully, or fought harder than this veteran seaman. The men on the

forecastle generally agreed with him in his propositions, but the

obstinate old carpenter, with the characteristic tenacity of the

ancient tar, maintained the discussion forward, until the sharp voice

of the officer of the deck sent all hands to the braces. The ship was

brought to the wind on the starboard tack, a manoeuvre which was

followed in succession by the other vessels of the squadron, which had

been previously directed to keep, though still within signal, at long

distances from each other during the day, closing up at night, in order

to spread a broad clew and give greater chance of meeting the enemy.

The young captain paced the quarter-deck alone--no man is ever so much

alone among his fellows as the commander of a ship--a prey to his own

sad thoughts. Those who had known him the gayest of gay young sailors

in Philadelphia were at a loss to account for the change which had come

over him. He had become the gravest of the grave, his cheery laugh was

heard no more, and the baffled young belles of Charleston had voted him

a confirmed woman-hater; though his melancholy, handsome face, graceful

person, distinguished bearing, and high station might have enabled him

to pick and choose where he would. But there was room in his heart for

no more passions. Even his love of country and liberty had degenerated

into a slow, cold hate for the British, and a desperate resolve to do

his duty, and make his animosity tell when he struck. A dangerous man

under whom to sail, gentleman of the Randolph, and a dangerous man to

meet, as well. He could not forget Kate, and, except in the

distraction of a combat, life was a mere mechanical routine for him.

But because he had been well trained he went through it well--biding

his time.

CHAPTER XXXI

_Seymour's Desperate Resolution_

Six rather uneventful days passed by, during which prizes to the number

of five fell to the lot of the squadron, one loaded with military

stores, and another with provisions of great value. The lively little

Fair American, being far to windward of the fleet, had also a smart

action with a heavily armed British privateer, which struck her flag

before the others could get within range, and was found to be loaded

with valuable portable goods, the siftings of a long and successful

cruise. Young Wilton had manoeuvred and fought his ship well, and had

been publicly complimented in general orders by Seymour for skill and

gallantry. The fleet had been exercised in signals and in various

simple evolutions, the weather was most pleasant, the men in excellent

spirits, and all that was necessary to complete their happiness was the

appearance of the looked-for squadron of the enemy. The eager lookouts

swept the seas unweariedly, but in vain, until early in the afternoon

of the sixth day, the fleet being in Longitude 58 degrees 18 minutes

West, Latitude 14 degrees 30 minutes North, about forty leagues east of

Martinique, heading due west on the starboard tack, it was reported to

Seymour, who was reading in the cabin, that the Fair American, again

far in the lead and somewhat to windward, had signalled a large sail

ahead. A short time should make her visible, if the vessels continued

on the present course, and, after having called his fleet about him by

signal, Seymour stood on for a nearer look at the stranger. An hour

later she was visible from the deck of the Randolph, a very large ship,

evidently a man-of-war under easy sail. The careful watchers could

count three tiers of guns through the glass, which proclaimed her a

ship of the line. From her motions, and the way she rose before them,

she was evidently a very speedy ship, capable of outsailing every

vessel of Seymour's little fleet without difficulty, except possibly

the brig Fair American. It would be madness for the squadron of

converted and lightly armed merchantmen to attack a heavy ship of that

class,--all who got near enough to do so would probably be sunk or

captured; yet the approaching vessel must be delayed or checked, or the

result would be equally serious to the fleet. Seymour at once formed a

desperate resolution. Signalling to the four State cruisers and the

six prizes to tack to the northeast, escape if possible, and afterward

make the best of their way back to Charleston, he himself stood on with

the little Randolph to engage the mighty stranger. At first the older

seamen could scarce believe their eyes. Was it possible that Captain

Seymour, in a small thirty-two-gun frigate, was about to engage

deliberately and wilfully in a combat with a ship of the line, a

seventy-four!--the difference in the number of guns giving no

indication of the difference in the offensive qualities of the two

ships, which might better be shown by a ratio of four or five to one in

favor of the ship of the line. It was like matching a bull terrier

against a mastiff. The men half suspected some wily manoeuvre which

they could not divine; but as the moments fled away and they saw the

rest of the fleet and the prizes slipping rapidly away to the

northeast, the Fair American lagging unaccountably behind the rest of

the fleet, while they still held their even course, they began to

comprehend that they were to fight to save the fleet, and Seymour meant

to sacrifice them deliberately, if necessary, in the hope of so

crippling the enemy that his other little cruisers, and the prizes,

might escape. They were not daunted, however--your true Jack is a

reckless fellow--by the daring and desperate nature of the plan; quite

the contrary!

In a few moments the familiar tones of Bentley's powerful voice,

seconded by the cheery calls of his mates, rang through the frigate,--

"All hands clear ship for action--Ahoy!"

The piercing whistling of the pipes which followed was soon drowned by

the steady and stirring roll of the drums, accompanied by the shrill

notes of the fifes, beating to quarters. The old call, which has been

the prelude to every action on the sea, ushering in with the same

dreadful note of preparation every naval conflict for twice two hundred

years, went rolling along the decks. At the first tap of the drum the

men sprang, with the eagerness of unleashed hounds before the quarry,

to their several stations.

In an instant the orderly ship was a babel of apparently hopeless

confusion; the men running hastily to and fro about their various

duties, the sharp commands of the officers, the shrill piping of the

whistles, and the deep voices of the gun captains and the boatswain's

mates, made the usually quiet deck a pandemonium. Some of the seamen

stowed the hammocks on the rail to serve as a guard against shot and

splinters, others triced up stout netting fore and aft, as a protection

against boarders. The light and agile sail-trimmers rove extra slings

on the yards, and put stoppers on the more important rigging, and

tightened and strengthened the boats' gripes. The cabin bulkheads were

unceremoniously knocked down and stowed away, giving a clean sweep fore

and aft the decks. The pumps were rigged and tried, and hose led along

the deck. Arm chests were broken out and opened, and cutlasses and

pistols distributed, and the racks filled with boarding-pikes.

Division tubs filled with water were placed beside the guns, and the

decks sanded lest they should grow slippery with blood. The magazine,

surrounded by a wetted woollen screen to prevent fire, was opened, and

grape and solid shot broken out and piled in the racks about the

hatchways near the guns, the heavy sea lashings of which were cast

loose by the different crews, after which they were loaded and run out

and temporarily secured, the slow matches having been carefully

examined and lighted. The oldest quartermasters took their places near

the helm, and others, assisted by a small body of men, manned the

relieving tackles below, to be used in case, as frequently happened,

the wheel should be shot away. The officers, many of whom put on

boarding caps of light steel with dropped cheek pieces, and covered

with fur, fastened on their arms, looked to the priming of their

pistols, and then hastened to their various stations.

Most of the watch officers, under the direction of the first lieutenant

or executive officer, were to take charge of the different gun

divisions in the batteries; though one of them remained aft near the

captain, to look after the spars and rigging, command the

sail-trimmers, and see that any order of the captain touching the

moving of the ship was promptly carried out. The surgeon and his mates

went below into the gloomy cockpit, spreading out the foreboding array

of ghastly instruments and appliances, ready for the many demands

certain to be made upon them. Some of the ubiquitous midshipmen

commanded little groups of expert riflemen in the tops, which were well

provided with hand grenades; others assisted the division lieutenants;

and several were detailed as aids to the commanding officer. The

little company of marines, under its own officers, was drawn up on the

quarter-deck to keep down the fire of the enemy's small-arm men, and be

ready to repel boarders, or head an attack, if the ships should come in

contact. In that case grapnels, strong iron hooks securely fastened to

the ends of stout ropes or slender iron chains, were provided at

convenient intervals along the bulwarks, ready for catching and lashing

the two ships together.

The men, their other duties performed, gradually settled down at the

guns, or about the masts, or in the tops, in their several stations,

many of them naked to the waist, and their deep voices could be heard

answering to their names as they were mustered by the officers. In an

incredibly short time the whole was done, and the impressive quiet was

broken only by the excited voice of the first lieutenant, Nason--a

young officer, and this his first serious battle--reporting to the

gloomy captain that the ship was clear and ready for action.

Seymour had of course taken personal charge of the deck himself. Oh,

he thought, after scanning closely the approaching ship with great

care, if he had only a ship of the line under his command, instead of

this little frigate, how gladly would he have entered the coming

conflict! Or if his own small vessel had been, instead, one of those

heavy frigates which afterward did so much to uphold the glory of

American arms, and exhibit the skill and audacity of American seamen,

in their subsequent conflict with Great Britain, he might have had a

better chance; but none realized more entirely than he did himself the

utter hopelessness of the undertaking which was before him. At the

same time he was determined to carry it through, seeing, as few others

could, the absolute necessity for the sacrifice, if he were to effect

the escape of his fleet. Calling the men aft, he spoke briefly to

them, pointing out the necessity for the conflict, and the nobility of

this sacrifice. He entreated them, in a few brave, manly, thrilling

words, to stand by him to the last, for the love of their country and

the honor of their flag. As for him, he declared it to be his fixed

purpose never to give up the ship, but to sink alongside rather,

trusting before that happened, however, so to damage his mighty

antagonist as to compel her to relinquish the pursuit. The men, filled

with the desire for battle, and inspired by his heroic words, were

nerved up to the point where they would cheerfully have attacked not

one line-of-battle ship but a whole fleet! They answered him with

frantic cheers, swearing and vowing that they would stand by him to the

bitter end; and then, everything having been done that could be done,

in perfect silence the taut frigate boldly approached her massive enemy.

CHAPTER XXXII

_The Prisoners on the Yarmouth_

It is usually not difficult for an individual to define the conditions

of happiness. If I only had so and so, or if I only were so and so,

and the thing is done. Each successive state, however, suggests one

more happy, and each gratified wish leads to another desire more

imperative. Miss Katharine Wilton, however, did not confine her

conditions to units. There were in her case three requisites for

happiness,--perfect happiness,--and could they have been satisfied, in

all probability she would have come as near to the wished-for state as

poor humanity on this earth ever does come to that beatific condition.

She certainly thought so, and with characteristic boldness had not

refrained from communicating her thoughts to her father.

The astonishing feature of the situation was that he was inclined to

agree with her. There was nothing astonishing in itself in his

agreement with her, for he usually did agree with her, but in that her

conditions were really his own. For it is rare, blessedly so, that two

people feel that they require the same thing to complete the joy of

life, and when they parallel on three points 't is most remarkable.

Even two lovers require each other--very different things, I am sure.

Stop! I am not so sure about the third proviso with the colonel. I

say the third, because Miss Wilton put it number three, though perhaps

it was like a woman's postscript, which somehow suggests the paraphrase

of a familiar bit of Scripture,--the last, not will be, but should be,

first!

Here are the requisites. One: The flag floating gracefully from the

peak of the spanker gaff above them, in the light air of the sunny

afternoon, should be the stars and stripes, instead of the red cross of

St. George! Two: The prow of the ship should be turned to the wooded

shores of Virginia, and the Old Dominion should be her destination

instead of the chalk cliffs of England! Three: that a certain

handsome, fair, blue-eyed, gallant sailor, who answered to the name of

John Seymour, should be by her side instead of another, even though

that other were one who had once saved her life, and to whose care and

kindness and forethought she was much indebted. Her present attendant

was certainly a gentleman; and to an unprejudiced eye--which hers

certainly was not--quite as handsome and distinguished and gallant as

was his favored rival, and boasting one advantage over the other in

that he bore a titled name--not such a desideratum among American girls

at that time, however, as it was afterwards destined to become; and in

a girl of the stamp of Miss Katharine Wilton, possibly no advantage at

all.

But, could the heart of that fair damsel be known, all talk of

advantage or disadvantage, or this or that compensating factor, was

absolutely idle! She was not a girl who did things by halves; and the

feeling which had prompted her to give herself to the young sailor,

though of sudden origin, had grown and grown during the days of absence

and confinement, till, in depth and intensity, it matched his own. She

was not now so sure that, among the other objects of her adoration, he

would have to take the second place; that, in case of division, her

heart would lead her to think first of her country. Insensibly had his

image supplanted every other, and with all the passionate devotion of

her generous southern nature she loved him.

Lord Desborough had ample opportunity for ascertaining this fact. He

had seen her risk her life for Seymour's own. He could never forget

the glorious picture she made standing across the prostrate form of

that young man, pistol in hand, keeping the mob at bay, never wavering,

never faltering, clear-eyed, supreme. He would be almost willing to

die to have her do the like for him. He could still hear the echo of

that bitter cry,--"Seymour! Seymour!"--which rang through the house

when they had dragged her away. These things were not pleasant

reminiscences, but, like most other unpleasant memories, they would not

down. In spite of all this, however, he had allowed himself--nay, his

permission he vowed had not been asked--to fall violently in love with

this little colonial maiden, and a country maiden at that! Not being

psychologically inclined, he had never attempted to analyze her charm

or to explain his sensations. Realizing the fact, and being young and

therefore hopeful, he had not allowed himself to despair. Really, he

had some claims upon her. Had he not interfered, she would have been

murdered that night in the dining-room. He had earned the gratitude

then and there of her father, and of herself as well; and he had earned

more of it too when he had shot dead a certain brutal marauding

blackguard by the name of Johnson, at the first convenient opportunity,

having received incidentally, in return for his message of death, a

bullet in his own breast to remind him that there are always two

persons and two chances in a duel. A part of the debt of the Wiltons

had been paid by the assiduous and solicitous care with which

they--Katharine chiefly, of course--had nursed him through the long and

dangerous illness consequent upon his wound. It was his interest which

had prevented further ill treatment of them by the brutal and tyrannous

Dunmore, and, had Katharine so elected, would have secured her freedom.

She had, however, to Desborough's great delight, chosen to accompany

her father to England, where he was to be sent as a prisoner of high

political consequence.

After waiting many weary days at the camp of the fugitive and deposed

governor at Gwynn's Island, they had been separated from Desborough,

and unceremoniously hustled on board the frigate Radnor, which was

under orders for England. They had stopped long enough at Norfolk to

witness Dunmore's savage and vindictive action in bombarding and

burning that helpless town; and from that point Katharine had been

enabled to send her letter to Seymour, through a friendly American spy,

just before taking departure for their long voyage across the seas.

The orders of the Radnor had been changed at the last moment, however,

and she had been directed to go in pursuit of Jones and the Ranger,

which it was currently reported had got to sea from the Delaware Bay,

bound for Canada and the Newfoundland coast. No vessel being ready for

England at that time, the two prisoners had been transferred,

fortunately for them, to a small ship bound to the naval station at

Barbadoes; and thence, after another weary dreary wait, had been sent

on board his Britannic majesty's ship Yarmouth, Captain John Vincent,

bound home for England. The first lieutenant of this ship happened to

be a certain Patrick Michael Philip O'Neal Drummond, Lord Desborough,

son and heir to the Earl of Desmond! He congratulated himself most

heartily upon his good fortune.

Providence had, then, thrown a lover again at Katharine's feet. Not

that there was anything unusual in that. She might not regard it in a

providential light, however; but he, at least did so, and he had

intended to improve the shining hours of what would be a long cruise,

in the close association permitted by the confined limits of the ship,

to make a final desperate effort to win the heart which had hitherto so

entirely eluded him that he could not flatter himself that he had made

the least impression upon it. His success during the first three or

four days of the cruise had not been brilliant. She had been

unaffectedly glad to see him apparently, and gentle and kind in her

reception,--too kind, he thought, with the circumspection of a

lover,--but that was all. To add to his trials, he soon found himself

not without rivals nearer at home than Seymour. Judging by present

results, Washington, if he had a few regiments of Katharines, could

carry consternation to the whole British army! For the captors had,

apparently, taken the oath of allegiance to the captured, and the whole

ship's company, from that gruff old sailor Captain Vincent down through

all the other officers to the impudent and important little midshipman,

were her devoted slaves. Even Jack forward, usually entirely

unresponsive to the doings aft on the quarterdeck, put on an extra

flourish or so, and damning his eyes, after the manner of the

unsophisticated sailorman, gazed appreciatively upon her beauty,

envying those fortunate mortals privileged to radiate about her person.

Vincent might be the captain, but Katharine was certainly the queen of

the ship. Colonel Wilton, too, shone, not altogether by reflected

lustre either; and the considerate officers had done everything

possible to make him forget that he was a prisoner.

Early one afternoon in the beginning of February, the Yarmouth, being

under all plain sail with the wind two or three points abaft the beam,

was bowling along under a fresh breeze about a day's sail east of

Martinique. The weather was perfect, and because of the low latitude,

in spite of the winter season, there was no touch of sharpness in the

air, which was warm and delightful. All the necessary drills and

exercises having been concluded earlier in the day, the whole ship's

company was enjoying a period of unusual relaxation and idleness. The

men at the wheel, the lookouts kept constantly at the mastheads, the

marines doing sentry duty, with the midshipmen of the watch and the

officer of the deck busily pacing to and fro, were the only people, out

of the six hundred and odd men who made up the ship's complement, who

presented any appearance of activity whatever. The men of the watch on

and the watch off, dinner being over, were sitting or lounging about in

all sorts of easy attitudes,--some of them busy with their needles;

others overhauling their clothes-bags, to which they had been given

access that afternoon; others grouped about some more brilliant

story-teller than the rest, eagerly drinking in the multifarious

details of some exciting personal experience, or romantic adventure, or

never-ending story of shipwreck or battle, or mystery--technically,

yarns! Colonel Wilton was standing aft with Captain Vincent in the

shadow of the spanker. Miss Wilton, with Chloe, her black maid, behind

her chair, was sitting near the break of the poop-deck, looking

forward, surrounded by several lieutenants; Desborough being at her

right hand, of course, feeling and looking unusually gloomy and morose.

One or two of the oldest and boldest midshipmen were also lingering on

the outskirts of the group, as near to their divinity as they dared

come in the presence of their superior officers. The conversation

happening to turn, as it frequently did, upon the subject of the

present war between England and the colonies engaged in rebellion

against the paternal power, was unusually animated.

CHAPTER XXXIII

_Two Proposals_

"Oh, you know, Miss Wilton, if the colonies--" began one of the

officers, vehemently.

"Pardon me, Mr. Hollins, that is hardly the correct term. The _late_

colonies would be better," interrupted Katharine, with much spirit.

"Oh, well, you know, I am merely anticipating, of course; we 'll have

them back fast enough, after while. Now, if they--"

"Pardon me again, sir, but that is another contention I can hardly

admit. You 'll never have them back,--never, never!"

"Oh, come, Miss Wilton," said another, "you surely do not think the

colonies--oh, well, the late colonies, if you will insist upon it--can

maintain a fight with the power of Great Britain, for any length of

time! Why, madam, the English spirit--"

"Well, sir, what else have we but the English spirit? What other blood

runs in our veins, pray? Just as you love and prize your liberty, so

too do we, and we will not be dominated and ruled over, even by our

brothers. No, no, Mr. Beauchamp, or you, either, Mr. Hollins; it is no

use. We are just as determined as you are; and there is but one way to

win back the colonies, as you call them, to their allegiance."

"And how is that, pray?"

"Why, by depopulating them, overwhelming them, killing the people, and

wasting the land. Only a war of extermination will serve your purpose."

"Well," said Hollins, doggedly, "if they must have it, they must--let

it be extermination! The authority of the king and the power of

Parliament must be upheld at all hazards."

"Ah, that is easy enough to say," replied Katharine, "but three

millions of English-speaking liberty-loving people are not to be

blotted out by a wave of the hand; they are not so easily exterminated,

as you will find. Besides, it is easy to speak in general terms; but

thousands and thousands are young and helpless, or old and

feeble,--grandsires or women or children,--how about them? As long as

there is a woman left or a child, your task is yet unfulfilled. Make a

personal application of it; I am one of them. Do you wish to

exterminate me, sir?" she said, looking up at him brilliantly, with her

glorious brown eyes.

"Oh, you--you are different, of course," said the lieutenant,

hesitatingly, not liking to face this intensely personal application of

his intemperate remark.

"Not I! I am just like the rest--"

"Treason! I won't hear it," said Desborough, softly. "There are no

others like you on earth."

"Just like the rest," she continued emphatically, unheeding the

interruption, which the others had hardly caught, "and I will tell you

that never again will that flag at the gaff there be the flag of

America. You have lost us for good."

"Oh, don't say that. Make a personal exception of yourself at least,

Miss Wilton, and give us room to hope a little."

"No, no," she laughed. "You have lost us all--me included."

There was a chorus of expostulation and argument immediately, but Miss

Wilton was not to be overborne.

"Father!" she called quickly to the colonel, who, followed by the

captain, at once joined the little group of officers. "These gentlemen

seem to doubt me when I say their sometime colonies are gone for good.

Won't you help me to state the point so they will understand it?"

"Gentlemen," said the old colonel, slowly and impressively, "the

colonies were the most loyal and devoted portion of the king's dominion

at one time. I have been up and down the length and breadth of them, I

know the feeling. I was for years a soldier of the king myself,--with

your fathers, young sirs,--and I can bear witness that no part of the

kingdom responded with such alacrity to every legitimate demand upon it

by the home government. Never did men so readily and willingly offer

themselves and their goods for the service of the king. But it is all

changed now. The change came slowly, but it came inevitably and

surely, and you could no more change the present conditions than you

could turn back the sun in its course. England has lost her colonies--"

"Her late colonies," corrected Katharine, softly.

"Yes, yes, of course, her late colonies, that is, beyond possibility of

recovery. We will not be taxed without representation."

"But suppose that we gave you the representation for which you asked,

colonel. How then? Would not there be a general return to allegiance

in that event?" queried the captain.

"Sir," replied the colonel, proudly, "the child who has once learned to

walk alone does not afterward go back to creeping and crawling, or

stumbling along by the aid of his mother's hand. We have tasted our

independence, enjoyed it, and now we mean to keep it."

"Splendid, sir! splendid, father!" cried the delighted Katharine.

"There speaks the spirit of Runnymede, and Naseby, too, gentlemen!"

"Hush, hush, my child!" chided the colonel, half amusedly; "it is only

the spirit of a plain man who has learned to love liberty by studying

the history of his ancestry and his people."

"Ah, but, colonel, how are you going to get that liberty without

fighting for it?" asked Beauchamp, with rash temerity. "Howe and

Cornwallis, for instance, have been pursuing Washington for six months,

and could never get near enough to fire a shot at him, so they say."

"Fight, sir, fight!" exclaimed the colonel, in astonished wrath; "why,

God bless me, sir, I am willing to stand out now and show you how they

can fight!"

But Miss Katharine sprang to her feet: "And Bunker Hill, Mr. Beauchamp,

and Long Island!" she cried impetuously.

Beauchamp backed away precipitately from before her in great confusion,

which invoked much mocking comment from the laughing officers round

about him.

"Here is one time the English forces are routed by a rebel!" said

Hollins.

"Yes," added Desborough, "but then Beauchamp is no worse off than the

rest of us would be, if Miss Wilton were opposed to us."

"Well," continued another, coming to the rescue, "we won both of those

engagements, you know, Miss Wilton, after all."

"Won! Who said anything about winning, sir? Anybody can win, if they

have men enough or strength enough and money enough--we were talking

about fighting, sir."

"But really, you know," went on Beauchamp, recovering, and returning to

the charge, "Washington's army haven't fought since those days you

speak of, and they must be wiped out of existence by now, I should

suppose."

"Not if George Washington is still alive," interrupted the colonel, his

anger at the inconsiderate officer having somewhat abated. "I know him

well. I have known him from a boy,--met him first when I used to go

shooting with Lord Fairfax out at Greenway Court. I knew his family;

his brother Lawrence too, I was with him at Cartagena,--where I met

your father, Lord Desborough, by the way,--and the world does not yet

know the quality of that man. If he retreats, it is because he

absolutely has to; and you will see, he will turn and strike Howe and

Cornwallis some day such a blow as will make them reel. I should not

wonder if he had done so already. 'T is six long weeks since we have

heard any news from home. Trust me, gentlemen, the Americans will

fight; and if there is a God of justice, they will win too."

"I would fight myself, had I but the opportunity," said Katharine,

resolutely. "And there are hundreds of other women with the same

feeling."

"Oh, Miss Wilton, you would find no enemies here to fight. We are all

captives of your bow and spear now, and crave your mercy," said

Desborough, meaningly.

"True, Mistress Katharine. I hardly know now who commands this ship,

you or I!" said the captain, smiling at her.

"Alas, you do, Captain Vincent; were I the commander, we would be going

that way," she replied, pointing off over the quarter, and gazing

wistfully over the cool, sparkling water, the white-capped waves

breaking beautifully away in every direction. "Oh, my poor, poor

country, when shall I see you again?" she murmured; "when--"

"Sail ho!" floated down from the foremast head at this moment, and the

idle ship awoke again.

"Where away?"

"Right ahead, sir."

Holmes and Beauchamp walked forward to get a look at the stranger, and

the captain and the colonel stepped across to the weather side of the

deck. Chloe was sent below to procure a wrap for her mistress, and

Katharine was left alone for a few moments with Desborough. It was his

first opportunity.

"Have you no curiosity as to the sail reported, Lieutenant Desborough?"

"No, Mistress Katharine, none whatever. I take no interest in anything

but you. No, please don't go now," he went on in humble entreaty. "I

wish to speak to you a moment. When you came aboard I hoped to see you

often, to be with you alone--to win you--" His voice sank to a

passionate whisper.

"My lord, my lord! it were best to go no further," she interrupted

gravely. "'T is no use; you remember."

"Yes, yes, I remember everything,--everything about you, that is. I

shut my eyes and feel the soft touch of your cool hand on my fevered

head again, as when I had that bullet in my breast. Oh, it thrills me,

maddens me! I 'd be wounded so again, could I but feel those hands

once more-- Listen to me, you must listen! It cannot hurt you to hear

me, and I am sure one of the others will be back in a moment; you are

never alone," he said, detaining her almost forcibly. "I love you; you

must know that I do. What is that land, or any land, beside my love?

You are my country! I can give you lands, title, rank, luxury-- Be

pitiful to me, Mistress Katharine. What can I do or say or promise?

You shall grace the court of the king, and be at the same time queen of

my heart," he went on impetuously, his soul in his eager whisper. She

turned and walked over to the lee rail, whither he followed her.

"I 'd rather be in that land off yonder than be the king himself. I

hate the king, and I could not love the enemy of my country! No, no,"

she replied, "it cannot be--it can never be!"

"Pshaw! Your country,--that's not the reason; you love him still," he

went on jealously, "that sailor."

"Yes, 't is true; I love a sailor--you are not he."

"But he is dead! You left him lying there on the floor in the hall,

you remember, and since then have heard nothing. He is surely dead."

"It is cruel of you to say it," she went on relentlessly, "but I shall

love his memory then. No, 't is useless--I respect you, admire you, am

grateful to you, but my heart is there!" and she pointed away again.

"Won't you let me try to win you?" he persisted. "Don't say me nay

altogether, give me some hope. If he be dead, let me have a chance.

Oh, Katharine Wilton, I would give up anything for--"

A midshipman touched him on the arm. "Captain wants to see first

lieutenant, sir!" he said with a wooden, impassive face, saluting the

while.

With a smothered expression of rage, Desborough sprang across the

deck,--for such a summons is not to be disregarded for an instant; even

love gives way to the captain, on shipboard at least. The little

midshipman was a great favorite with Katharine, and, grateful for the

interruption, she accordingly laid her hand lightly and affectionately

on the shoulder of the Honorable Giles Montagu, aged thirteen, one of

the youngest and smallest middies in the ship; but he stood very

straight and rigid, the personification of dignity, and endeavored to

look very manly indeed.

"Thank you, Mr. Montagu," she said, somewhat to his surprise.

"Don't mention it, nothing at all, madam--orders! Got to obey orders,

you know."

Katharine laughed. "You dear sweet child!" she said, and suddenly

stooped and kissed him. The Honorable Giles turned pale, then flushed

violently and burst into unmanly tears.

"Why, what is it? Don't you like to have me kiss you?" she said,

amazed.

"It is n't that, Miss Wilton. I 'd rather kiss you than--than

anything; but you call me a boy, and treat me like a child, and--and I

can't stand it. I--I 've challenged all the men in the steerage about

you already," alluding to the other little fellows of like rank; "they

call me a baby there, too, because I 'm so little and so young. But I

'll grow. And--I love you," he went on abruptly and determinedly,

choking down his sobs and swallowing his tears, while fingering the

handle of his dirk, and furtively rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

"Oh, madam, if you would only wait until I got a frigate! Won't you?

But no! You don't treat me like a man," he exclaimed bitterly,

stamping his foot and turning away.

"Well, I never!" cried the astonished and abashed Katharine, completely

overawed for the moment by this novel declaration. "What next?"

Truly, they made men out of boys early in those days. The next moment

the hoarse cries of the boatswain and his mates, and the beating drums,

called all hands to clear the ship for action and startled everybody

into activity at once. The Honorable Giles, the manly if lachrymose

midshipman, sprang forward to his station as rapidly as his small but

sturdy legs could carry him.

CHAPTER XXXIV

_Captain Vincent Mystified_

While the big ship was rapidly and methodically being stripped for the

possible emergency, the captain was engaged in busy conversation with

the colonel. They had steadily drawn near the reported sail until the

lookouts could plainly make out a small fleet of small ships. Never

dreaming that they could be American ships, Captain Vincent had his

ship prepared for action, more through the habitual wariness of an

experienced sailor than from any premonition of an impending battle.

But as the two forces drew near, the actions of the opposing fleet

became suddenly suspicious; all but one of them tacked ship, and stood

off to the northeast, in a compact group in close order, under all

possible sail, though one, the smallest and a brig, it was noticed,

lagged behind the rest of the group in a way which bespoke either very

slow sailing qualities or deliberate purpose of delay. The remaining

ship, the largest of them all, stood boldly on its original course.

This latter, it was plain to see, was a small frigate, possibly a

twenty-eight or a thirty-two. Taking into account the respective rates

of speed, the frigate, whose course made a slight angle with that of

the ship of the line, would probably cross the bows of the latter

within range of her battery. None of the opposing vessels showed any

flags as yet, and their movements completely mystified Captain Vincent.

"Certainly a most extraordinary performance going on there!" he said,

after a long look through his glass, which he then handed to the

colonel. "They show no flags, but I cannot conceive of their being

anything but a squadron or a convoy of ours. What do you make them

out, Colonel Wilton?"

Now, the colonel was morally certain that they were Americans, or, at

least, that the first and nearest one was an American ship. He had

been one of the naval committee which had taken charge of the building

of the men-of-war ordered by Congress in '75; he had seen the Randolph

frequently on the ways and after she was launched, and was entirely

familiar with her lines. Perhaps the wish also was father to the

thought, for the old soldier was not sufficiently versed in nautical

affairs to detect at that distance the great disparity in force between

the two ships, to which for the moment he gave no thought, or he would

not have entertained hopes for a release from confinement by

recapture,--a patent impossibility to a seaman. So he answered the

captain evasively, returning the glass and pleading his ignorance of

nautical matters to excuse his indefinite opinion.

"It must be the Carrysford, with Hythe's squadron; she is a thirty-two.

But why they should act this way, I cannot see. He must know what we

are now, as there are no ships of our size in these waters, except our

own, and why should he send the rest of them off there? They are

leaving us pretty fast, except that brig. Now, if it were a colonial

convoy, I should say that this frigate was going to engage us in the

hope of so crippling us as to effect the escape of the rest; but I

hardly think that your men are up to that yet."

"Think not?" said the colonel indifferently, violently repressing an

inclination to strike him. "It may be as you say, Captain Vincent;

still, I think we are up to almost anything that you are."

"Oh, colonel," laughed the captain, good-naturedly, "you are not going

to compare the little colonial forces with his majesty's navy, are you!

Now, I am morally certain that is a king's ship. See the beautiful set

of her sails, the enormous spread of the yards; notice how trim and

taut her rigging and running gear stand out, and then, too, see how

smartly she is handled. Only English ships are thus. Hythe is a

sailor, every inch of him," he went on in genuine admiration for the

approaching vessel. "See! He has the weather gauge of us now, or will

have. Not that it matters anything. We could afford to let him have

it even if he were an enemy; but what he means by this sort of

performance, I don't understand. However, we shall know in half an

hour at least."

"Well, sir?" he said, turning toward Lieutenant Desborough, who at that

moment stepped on the poop in fighting uniform, sword in hand.

"Ship's ready for action, sir!"

"Very good. Keep the people at their quarters, and stand on as we are.

Ah, Mr. Montagu, will you step below and fetch me my sword out of my

cabin. What do you think of her, Desborough?"

"We think she is an American, sir," said Desborough.

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, I think she is one of ours. No American

would dare to lead down on us in that way! We can blow him out of the

water with a broadside or two, you know, but we 'll give him a hint all

the same. Fire a gun there, to leeward, and hoist our colors."

As the smoke rolled away along the water, the stops were broken, and

there flew out from each masthead the splendid English flag. It was

answered soon afterward by a small English flag at the gaff of the

approaching ship, which apparently mystified the captain more than

ever, though it confirmed him in his previous opinion.

"Oh, father," whispered Katharine, clinging to the colonel, "what do

you think it is? See that English flag!"

"Kate, I 'm morally sure that it is an American ship; it is just the

plan and size of those ordered by Congress in '75. One of those ships

should be in commission by now. If I am right, this should be the

Randolph. I saw her a dozen times in Philadelphia; and if that's not

she, I shall never pretend to know a ship again."

"But did you hear what Captain Vincent said?" continued Katharine; "how

many guns would the Randolph carry?"

"About forty, and most of them small ones at best," answered the

colonel, with a sigh.

The two ships were much nearer now, and their disparity in force was

apparent even to the most unskilful eye.

"The little ship can't fight this great one, father, can it?"

"No, my dear; that is, not with any chance of success. But I fear--or

hope, rather--that they mean to engage us, and sacrifice themselves in

order not to allow us to capture the little fleet, probably prizes, off

yonder. The man who commands her is a hero, certainly."

"Just what Mr. Seymour would do. Oh, if it were he!" she exclaimed,

clasping her hands, her eyes filling with tears at the possibility.

"Well, it may be, of course. He was certain to be posted captain soon,

and 'tis like him truly. But, Kate, the ships are drawing nearer every

moment. You must go below in case of action, my dear."

"Yes, Miss Wilton," said Desborough, who had at that moment approached

them, looking very handsome, having heard the last words of the

colonel; "we have arranged a safe place for you and your maid, in the

cable tiers, way below the water-line, and out of the way of shot,

though I hardly expect much of it from that fellow. Will you allow me

to conduct you there? Perhaps you too, colonel, would be safer if you

would--"

"Pardon me, sir, unless force is used, I shall remain on deck. The

idea of me, sir--skulking in the hold during an action! Why, sir,--"

"And the idea of me, either, doing the same thing!" said Katharine

defiantly, in a ringing voice in which there was a clear echo of her

father's determination.

Both men looked at her smiling.

"Oh, you are different, Miss Wilton," said Desborough.

"No use, Katharine: you must go," added her father.

"Oh, please!"

"My daughter--"

"Oh, father, let me stay just a little longer--there is no danger yet.

Take Chloe down, if you will, Mr. Desborough, and have a place ready

for me. I 'll go down when the battle begins--indeed I will, father!"

she continued entreatingly.

"Well," said the colonel, uncertainly, "let her stay a little longer,

my lord."

"Very well, sir," replied Desborough, bowing and turning forward.

"Here, you Jack, take this girl below and stow her away in the cable

tiers by the main hatch," he said, pointing to Chloe, who was led

unresistingly away, her teeth chattering with undefined but none the

less overwhelming terror. The colonel stepped forward beside Captain

Vincent, and Desborough descended to the main-deck to superintend the

fighting of the batteries, while Katharine, grateful for the respite,

and determined not to go below at all, stepped aft in the shelter of

the rail, her heart already beating madly, as the two ships approached

each other in silence.

CHAPTER XXXV

_Bentley Says Good-by_

The men on the Randolph were in excellent spirits, and as they drew

nearer and nearer became more and more anxious for the fray.

"She's a big one, ain't she?" said one young seaman, glancing over a

gun through a port-hole forward; "but we ain't afraid of her, mates.

We 'll just dance up and slap her in the face with this, and then turn

around and slap her with t' other side," laying his hand at the time on

one of the long eighteens which constituted the main battery of the

frigate.

"Yes, and then what will she do to us? Blow us into splinters with a

broadside, youngster! Not as I particularly care, so we have a chance

to get a few good licks at her with these old barkers," said an older

man, pointing, like the first, to a gun.

"That's the talk, men," said Seymour, who was making a tour of

inspection through the ship in person, and who had stopped before the

gun and heard the conversation. "Before she sinks us we will give it

to her hard. I can depend upon you, I know."

"Yes, yes, your honor."

"Ay, ay, sir--"

"We 's all right, sir--"

"We 's with you, your honor--" came in a quick, strong chorus from the

rough-and-ready men, and then some one called for three cheers for

Captain Seymour, and they were given with such a will that the oak

decks echoed and re-echoed again and again.

"Pass the word to serve out a tot of grog to each man; let them splice

the main-brace once more before they die," said Seymour, grimly, amid a

chorus of approving murmurs from the sailors, as he walked slowly along

the lines, greeting men here and there with plain, bluff words of

cheer, which brought smiles of pleasure to their stern, weather-beaten

faces.

"Now, ain't he a beauty?" whispered the captain of number two gun to

his second. "Blow me if 't ain't a pleasure to serve under sich a

officer, and to die for him, too! Here is to a speedy fight and lots

of damage to the Britisher," he cried loudly, lifting his pannikin of

rum and water to his lips, amid a further chorus of approval.

Old Bentley was standing on the forecastle forward, looking earnestly

at the approaching ship, when Seymour came up to him. The rest of the

men, mindful of the peculiar relationship between the two,

instinctively drew back a little, leaving them alone.

"Well, Bentley, our work is cut out for us there."

"Ay, Captain Seymour. I 'm thinking that this cruise will end right

here for this ship--unless you strike, sir."

"Strike! Do you advise me to do so, then?"

"God forbid! Except it be with shot and these," said the old man,

lifting an enormous cutlass, ground to a razor edge, which he had

specially made for his own personal use in battle. "No, no; we 've got

to fight him till he 's so damaged that he can't get at the rest. Do

you see, sir, how the brig lags behind them?" he went on, pointing out

toward the slowly escaping squadron. "The boy's got her luffed up so

she makes no headway at all!"

"I know it. I have signalled to him twice to close with the rest--he

can sail two feet to their one; but it is no use,--he pays no

attention. He should n't have been given so responsible a command

until he learned to obey orders," said Seymour, frowning.

"Let the boy alone, Master John; he 'll do all right," said Bentley;

"he's the makings of a good sailorman and a fine officer in him. I 've

watched him."

"Ha! there goes a shot from the liner," cried Seymour, as a puff of

smoke broke out from the lee side followed by the dull boom of a cannon

over the water, and then the flags rippled bravely out from the

mastheads. "Well, we did not need that sort of an introduction. Aft

there!" cried the captain, with his powerful voice.

"Sir."

"Show a British flag at the gaff. That will puzzle him for a while

longer. Well, old friend, I must go aft. It's likely we won't both of

us come out of this little affair alive, so good-by, and God bless you.

You 've been a good friend to me, Bentley, ever since I was a child,

and I doubt I 've requited you ill enough," he said, reaching forth his

hand. The old sailor shifted his cutlass into his left hand, took off

his hat, and grasped Seymour's hand with his own mighty palm.

"Ay, ever since you were a boy; and a properer sailor and a better

officer don't walk the deck, if I do say it myself, as I 've had a hand

in the making of you. But what you say is true, sir: we 'll probably

most all of us go to Davy Jones' locker this trip; but we could n't go

in a better way, and we won't go alone. God Almighty bless you, sir!

I--" said the old seaman, breaking off suddenly and looking wistfully

at the young man he loved, who, understanding it all, returned his

gaze, wrung his hand, and then turned and sprang aft without another

word.

The ships were rapidly closing, when Seymour's keen eye detected a dash

of color and a bit of fluttering drapery on the poop of the

line-of-battle ship. Wondering, he examined it through his glass.

"Why! 't is a woman," he exclaimed. Something familiar in the

appearance made his heart give a sudden throb, but he put away the idea

which came to him as preposterous; and then stepping forward to the

break of the poop, he called out,--

"My lads, there is a woman on yon ship, on the poop, way aft. We don't

fight with women; have a care, therefore, that none of you take

deliberate aim at her, and spare that part of the deck where she stands

in the fight, if you can. Pass the word along."

"Well, I 'm blessed," said one old gun captain, _sotto voce_, "be they

come out against us with wimmen!"

The Randolph had the weather-gage of the Yarmouth by this time; and

Seymour shifted his helm slightly, rounded in his braces a little, and

ran down with the wind a little free and on a line parallel to the

course of his enemy, but going in a different direction. He lifted the

glass again to his eye, and looked long and earnestly at the woman's

figure half hidden by the rail on the ship. Was it--could it

be--indeed she? Was fate bringing them into opposition again? It was

not possible. Trembling violently, he lifted the glass for a further

investigation, when an officer, trumpet in hand, sprang upon the rail

of the Yarmouth forward and hailed.

CHAPTER XXXVI

_The Last of the Randolph_

"Pass the word quietly," said Seymour, rapidly, to one of his young

aids, "that when I say, 'Stand by to back the maintopsail,' the guns

are to be fired. Bid the gun captains to train on the port-holes of

the second tier of guns. Mind, no order to fire will be given except

the words, 'Stand by to back the maintopsail.' The men are to fire at

the word 'topsail.' Do you understand? Tell the division officers to

hold up their hands, as a sign that they understand, as you pass along,

so that I can see them. Lively now! Quartermaster, standby to haul

down that flag and show our colors at the first shot."

The frigate was now rapidly drawing near the ship of the line, until,

at the moment the officer hailed, the two ships were nearly alongside

of each other. The awful disparity between their sizes was now

painfully apparent.

"Ship ahoy! Ahoy the frigate!" came down a second time in long hollow

tones through the trumpet from the officer balancing himself on the

Yarmouth's rail by holding on to a back-stay. "Why don't you answer?"

"Ahoy the ship!" replied Seymour at last through his own trumpet.

"What ship is that?"

"His Britannic majesty's ship of the line, Yarmouth, Captain Vincent.

Who are you? Answer, or I will fire!"

The flying boom of the Randolph was just pointing past the Yarmouth's

quarter, and the two ships were abreast each other; now, if ever, was

the time for action.

"This is the American Continental ship, Randolph, Captain Seymour,"

cried the latter, through the trumpet, in a voice heard in every part

of the ship of the line.

At least two hearts in the Yarmouth were powerfully affected by that

announcement. Katharine's leaped within her bosom at the sound of her

lover's voice, and beat madly while she revelled in thought in his

proximity; and then as she noticed again the fearful odds with which he

was apparently about to contend, her heart sank into the depths once

more. In one second she thrilled with pride, quivered with love,

trembled with despair. He was there--he was hers--he would be killed!

She gripped the rail hard and clenched her teeth to keep from screaming

aloud his name, while her gaze strained out upon his handsome figure.

Pride, love, death,--an epitome of human life in that fleeting

moment,--all were hers!

On the main-deck of the frigate the name carried consternation to

Lieutenant Lord Desborough. So Seymour was alive again! Was that the

end of my lord's chance? No. Joy! The rebel was under the guns of

the battle-ship! Never, vowed the lieutenant, should guns be better

served than those under his command. Unless the man surrendered, he

was doomed. So, he spoke eagerly to his men, bidding them take good

aim and waste no shot, never doubting the inevitable issue. These

thoughts took but a moment, however. Beauchamp, who had done the

talking, now stepped aft to Captain Vincent's side, and replied to

Seymour's hail by calling out,--

"Do you strike, sir?"

"Yes, yes, of course; that's what we came down here for. We'll strike

fast enough," was the answer.

A broad smile lighted up Captain Vincent's face; he turned to the

colonel, laughing, and said with a scarcely veiled sneer,--

"I told you they were not up to it. The cad! he might have fired one

shot at least for the honor of his flag, don't you see?"

The colonel with a sinking heart could not see at all. Cowardice in

Seymour, in any officer, was a thing he could not understand. The

world turned black before Katharine. What! strike without a blow! Was

this her hero? Rather death than a coward! In spite of her faith in

her lover, as she heard what appeared to be a pusillanimous offer of

surrender, Desborough's chances took a sudden bound upward, while that

gentleman cursed the cowardice of his enemy and rival, which would

deprive him of a pleasing opportunity of blowing him out of the water.

Most of the men at the different guns relaxed their eager watchfulness,

while sneers and jeers at the "Yankee" went up on all sides.

"Heave to, then," continued Beauchamp, peremptorily and with much

disgust, "and send a boat aboard!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

Oh, it was true, then; he was going to surrender tamely without--

"Stand by!" there was a note of preparation in the words in spite of

Seymour's effort to give them the ordinary intonation of a commonplace

order,--a note which had so much meaning to Katharine's sensitive ear

that her heart stopped its beating for a moment as she waited for the

next word. It came with a roar of defiance. "Back the maintopsail!"

But the braces were kept fast and the unexpected happened. In an

instant sheets of flame shot out from the muzzles of the black guns of

the Randolph, which were immediately wreathed and shrouded in clouds of

smoke. At the moment of command Seymour had quickly ordered the helm

shifted suddenly, and the Randolph had swung round so that she lay at a

broad angle off the quarter of the Yarmouth. The thunderous roar of

the heavy guns at short range was immediately followed by the crashing

of timber, as the heavy shot took deadly effect, amid the cheers and

yells and curses and groans and shrieks of the wounded and startled men

on the liner, while three hearty cheers rang out from the Randolph.

The advantage of the first blow in the grim game, the unequal combat,

was with the little one.

"How now, captain!" shouted the colonel, in high exultation. "Won't

fight, eh! What do you call this?"

"Fire! fire! Let him have it, men, and be damned to you! The man 's a

hero; 't was cleverly done," roared the captain, excitedly. "I

retract. Give it to him, boys! Give it to the impudent rebel!" he

roared.

Katharine, forgot by every one in the breathless excitement of the past

few moments, bowed her head on her hands on the rail, and breathed a

prayer of thankfulness, oblivious of everything but that her lover had

proved himself worthy the devotion her heart so ungrudgingly extended

him. There was great confusion on board the Yarmouth from this sudden

and unexpected discharge, which, delivered at short range, had done no

little execution on the crowded ship; but the officers rallied their

men speedily with cool words of encouragement.

"Steady, men, steady."

"Give it back to them."

"Look sharp now."

"Aim! Fire!"

And the forty-odd heavy guns roared out in answer to the determined

attack. The effect of such a broadside at close range would have been

frightful, had not the Randolph drawn so far ahead, and her course been

so changed, that a large part of it passed harmlessly astern of her.

One gun, however, found its target, and that was one aimed and fired by

the hand of Lord Desborough himself: a heavy shot, a thirty-two, from

one of the massive lower-deck guns of the Yarmouth, which the pleasant

weather permitted them to use effectively, came through one of the

after gun-ports of the Randolph, and swept away the line of men on the

port side of the gun. Some of the other shot did slight damage also

among the spars and gear, and several of the crew were killed or

wounded in different parts of the ship; but the Randolph was

practically unharmed, and standing boldly down to cross the stern of

the Yarmouth to rake her. But the English captain was a seaman, every

inch of him, and his ship could not have been better handled; divining

his bold little antagonist's purpose, the Yarmouth's helm was put up at

once, and in the smoke she fell off and came before the wind almost as

rapidly as did the Randolph, her promptness frustrating the endeavor,

as Seymour was only able to make an ineffectual effort to rake her, as

she flew round on her heels. The starboard battery of the Yarmouth had

been manned as she fell off, and the port battery of the Randolph was

rapidly reloaded again. The manoeuvre had given the Englishmen the

weather-gage once more, the two ships now having the wind on the port

quarter. The two batteries were discharged simultaneously, and now

began a running fight of near an hour's duration.

Seymour was everywhere. Up and down the deck he walked, helping and

sustaining his men, building up new gun's crews out of the shattered

remains of decimated groups of men, lending a hand himself on a tackle

on occasion; cool, calm, unwearied, unremitting, determined, he

desperately fought his ship as few vessels were ever fought before or

since, imbuing, by his presence and example and word, his men with his

own unquailing spirit, until they died as uncomplainingly and as nobly

as did those prototypes of heroes,--another three hundred in the pass

at Thermopylae!