“WOULD you enjoy a little stroll about the grounds before seeking your
nest for the night, dearest?” asked Harold of Grace, speaking so softly
that the words reached no ear but hers.
“I think I should—with pleasant company,” she added, a twinkle of fun
in her eyes as she lifted them to his, so full of love and admiration.
“He who gives the invitation will do his best to be that,” he returned,
offering his arm as they both rose to their feet.
A few minutes later they were seated in the arbor on the edge of the
cliff overlooking the river—the very place where he had first told the
story of his love and she had acknowledged its return. Both remembered
that now, and the pleasant story was told again.
A little silence followed, broken presently by Grace.
“What a lovely scene this is! What a grand old river! I am always sorry
to leave it, though glad, too, to go home to our own place in the sunny
south.”
“Yes; a winter here would be too cold for my frail patient,” said
Harold, pressing affectionately the small white hand he held in his.
“For which reason, as well as others, I am glad we have homes in the
sunny south. I only wish that you and I might at once make another for
ourselves.”
“But father won’t allow that for several years to come; and as he lets
us be together as much as we will, don’t you think we ought to try to
be content to do as he says about—about the time for marrying?”
“Yes, dearest; and I really do try to be content.”
“Yonder lies our yacht. She looks lovely in the moonlight. I am so glad
that we can go home in her instead of by the public conveyances. It
is such a restful mode of travel, and we can all feel so much at our
ease.”
“Yes, I highly approve of it, especially for any patient of mine. I
hope we are going to have a speedy and pleasant little voyage. But now,
dearest, your doctor thinks it would be well for you to go and begin
your night’s rest, as a suitable preparation for it.”
“Yes,” she said, rising and taking his arm again, “and it is not hard
to say good-night, since we are to be together again in the morning.”
They found the porch deserted except by the captain and Lucilla, who
were taking their usual evening promenade.
“Good-night, father,” said Grace in a lively tone as she approached
him. “My doctor orders me off to bed, that I may gain strength for
to-morrow’s arduous journey.”
“Ah!” he returned, drawing her to him and giving her a fatherly
embrace. “I highly approve of that prescription, and hope you may
awake in the morning stronger and better in health than ever before.”
“Thank you, father dear; and I hope it won’t be very long before you
send Lu to join me,” said Grace, turning a smiling face toward her
sister.
“Oh, I dare say I’ll be up there before you get your eyes shut for the
night,” laughed Lucilla. “As we don’t any more sleep in adjoining rooms
when at home, I value the privilege of being near you at night while
here.”
“And it is well for you to be together, so that if one is sick the
other can call the doctor,” remarked Harold, regarding the two with a
pleased and amused smile.
The next morning found all ready and anxious to start upon their short
voyage. The yacht was in excellent condition, their trunks were all
packed, the cottage in condition to be left in charge of the usual
caretaker; so at a reasonably early hour they were all aboard.
It was a lovely day, warm enough for most of them to be very
comfortable on deck while the sun was shining. The older people sat
together chatting in a lively way while the children roamed the deck.
At length Elsie Raymond came and sat down beside her father.
“Tired, daughter?” he asked kindly.
“Not so very much, papa, but I think I’d like to hear a naval story—it
seems as if it would be suitable while we are here on a vessel, and I
feel sure you must know a good many of them.”
He laughed a little at that. “Perhaps I do,” he said, “and I suppose it
is natural for a naval officer’s daughter to crave naval stories. Shall
I tell you of the fight between the Wasp and Frolic—a fight that took
place during our last war with England?
“Oh, yes, papa,” she answered eagerly, at the same time beckoning to
the other children to come. They understood, hastened to gather about
the captain, and he began at once.
“Near the middle of October, 1812—you know we were then at war with
England—the American gun sloop Wasp, with Jacob Jones for captain,
and a crew of one hundred and thirty-seven men, left the Delaware and
sailed southeast to get into the tracks of the West India traders. On
the next day she met a heavy gale, in which she lost her jib-boom and
two men who were on it. By the seventeenth the weather had moderated
somewhat and she discovered several sail, which were part of a fleet of
armed merchantmen from Honduras, bound for England, under convoy of the
British eighteen-gun brig-sloop of war Frolic, of nineteen guns and one
hundred and ten men, and commanded by Captain Whinyates.
“Those vessels had been dispersed by the gale the Wasp had passed
through. The Frolic had spent the day in repairing damages, and by dark
six of her convoy had rejoined her. Four of them mounted from sixteen
to eighteen guns each.
“As Jones drew near he perceived that the British vessel was disposed
to fight, and was preparing to allow the merchantmen to escape during
the engagement. He at once put the Wasp under short fighting canvas,
and bore down toward the Frolic, which had lost her main-yard in the
gale; she now lashed her damaged yard on deck, carried very little
sail, and hoisted Spanish colors to decoy the stranger and permit her
convoy to escape.
“By half-past eleven the ships were not more than sixty yards apart and
began firing—the Wasp her port, and the Frolic her starboard battery.
The sea was rolling heavily under a stiff breeze. The Frolic fired very
rapidly, delivering three broadsides to the Wasp’s two, both crews
cheering loudly; as the ships wallowed through the water abreast of
each other the Americans fired as the engaged side of their ship was
going down, aiming at the Frolic’s hull, while the English fired while
on the crest of the sea, their shot going high. The water flew in
clouds of spray over both vessels, they rolling so that the muzzles of
the guns went under.”
“Then they couldn’t fire, could they, uncle?” asked Eric.
“Yes,” replied Captain Raymond; “in spite of that the firing was
spirited and well directed. In five minutes the Wasp’s main-top mast
was shot away. It fell with the main-top-sail, and lodged so as to make
the head-yards unmanageable during the rest of the battle. A very few
minutes later her gaff and main-topgallant-mast were shot away, and
very soon her condition seemed helpless.
“But the Frolic had been still more seriously injured in her hull and
lower masts. She had fired from the crest of the wave, the Wasp from
the trough of the sea, sending her shot through the hull of the Frolic
with destructive effect. There was a great slaughter among her crew,
but the survivors kept on with dogged courage.
“At first the two vessels ran side by side, but the Wasp gradually
forged ahead, throwing in her fire from a position in which she herself
received little injury.
“At length the bowsprit of the Frolic passed in over the quarter-deck
of the Wasp, forcing her bows up in the wind. This enabled the Wasp to
throw in a close, raking broadside with most destructive effect.
“They were so close together that the Americans struck the Frolic’s
side with their rammers in loading, and they began to rake the British
vessel with dreadful effect.
“When the vessels ran foul of each other the crew of the Wasp were
greatly excited and could no longer be restrained. With wild shouts
they leaped into the tangled rigging and made their way to the deck of
the Frolic, carrying dismay to the hearts of its surviving crew. All
of those who were able had rushed below to escape the raking fire of
the Wasp, excepting an old sailor who had kept his place at the wheel
during the terrible fight. A few surviving officers were standing on
the quarter-deck of the Frolic, most of them wounded. They threw down
their swords in token of surrender, when Lieutenant Biddle, who led the
boarding party, pulled down the British flag with his own hands.
“A great part of the Frolic’s men were killed or wounded; not twenty
persons on board had escaped unharmed. It was at a quarter past twelve
that Lieutenant Biddle hauled down the Frolic’s flag—just forty-three
minutes after the fight began. Her total loss of men was over ninety,
about thirty of whom were killed outright or died of wounds.”
“Were there as many killed and wounded on our vessel, the Wasp?” asked
Edward Leland.
“No,” replied the captain; “five of her men were killed, two in her
mizzen-top and one in her main-top-mast rigging, and five were wounded,
chiefly aloft. She, the Frolic, had been desperately defended; no men
could have fought more bravely than Captain Whinyates and his crew. On
the other hand, the Americans had done their work with coolness; the
accuracy with which they fired was remarkable, and, as the contest had
been mainly one of gunnery, they won the victory. When the two vessels
separated both masts of the Frolic fell, and tattered sails and broken
rigging covered the dead, with which her decks were strewn.
“Lieutenant Biddle was given charge of the prize, and the vessels
were about parting company when the British ship of war Poictiers,
seventy-four guns, Captain Beresford, appeared on the scene. Two hours
after Jones had won his victory his crippled vessel and more crippled
prize were recaptured by the Poictiers.”
“And all these brave men were made prisoners, weren’t they, papa?”
sighed Elsie.
“Yes; but they were soon exchanged, and Congress voted them prize money
for their capture, and promoted Captain Jones and Lieutenant Biddle.
The press lauded Jones. Delaware, his native State, voted him thanks,
a sword and a piece of silver plate. The Corporation of New York City
voted him a sword and the freedom of the city. Congress gave him the
thanks of the nation and a gold medal, and appropriated twenty-five
thousand dollars to Jones and his companions as a compensation for the
loss of their prize by recapture.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Elsie, with a sigh of satisfaction, “for I’m
sure they deserved it.”
“There were some stirring songs made to commemorate the Wasp’s battle
with the Frolic, were there not?” asked Grandma Elsie, sitting near.
“Yes, mother,” replied the captain; “they were sung everywhere, and
by boys in the street. I think I can recall a stanza of one given by
Lossing in his ‘Story of the United States Navy’:
“‘The foe bravely fought, but his arms were all broken,
And he fled from his death-wound, aghast and affrighted;
But the Wasp darted forward her death-doing sting,
And full on his bosom, like lightning, alighted.
She pierced through his entrails, she maddened his brain,
And he writhed and he groaned as if torn with the colic;
And long shall John Bull rue the terrible day
He met the American Wasp on a Frolic.’
“Caricature and satire were pressed into the service of history. A
caricature entitled ‘A Wasp on a Frolic; or, A Sting for John Bull,’
was sent out by a Philadelphia publisher.”
“Papa, didn’t Lieutenant Biddle get any presents for his brave deeds on
the Wasp against the Frolic?” asked Elsie.
“Yes,” returned the captain; “he shared in the honors of the victory.
The Legislature of Pennsylvania voted him a sword, and leading
citizens of Philadelphia presented him with a silver urn appropriately
ornamented and inscribed.”
The captain paused—there was a moment’s silence.
“That was a very nice story, papa; thank you for telling it,” said
Elsie.
“Yes, we are all obliged for it, uncle,” said Eric.
“And perhaps would like another one?” returned the captain inquiringly,
and glancing around upon them with his pleasant smile.
He was answered with a chorus of expressions of the great pleasure they
would all take in listening to another story of naval doings. So he
began.
“Just a week after the Wasp had won her victory a still more important
one was gained. In the middle of October, 1812, Commodore Rodgers
sailed from Boston on a second cruise. His flagship was the President,
forty-four guns, accompanied by the United States, forty-four, Captain
Stephen Decatur, and Argus, sixteen, Lieutenant-commanding St. Clair.
These vessels soon separated, the United States sailing southward and
eastward, hoping to intercept British West India-men.
“At dawn on Sunday morning (October 23), near the Island of Madeira,
the watch at the main-top discovered a sail. There was a stiff breeze
and heavy sea at the time. The vessel was an English man-of-war under
a heavy press of sail, and Decatur resolved to overtake and fight her.
“His vessel was a good sailer, and gained rapidly on the one she was
pursuing. Her officers and men were full of enthusiasm, and as their
ship drew near the British vessel they sent up shouts from their deck
that were heard on board the vessel they were pursuing; that was before
they were near enough to bring guns to bear upon each other.
“At about nine o’clock that morning Decatur opened a broadside upon the
British ship, but his balls fell short. However, he was soon so near
that a second broadside from the United States took effect. The two
vessels were on the same track, and now fought desperately with long
guns, the distance being so great that carronades and muskets were of
no avail.
“The shot of the United States told fearfully on her antagonist, and
she presently perceived that the only way to save herself from utter
destruction was to come to close quarters with her foe. So when the
contest had lasted half an hour, riddled and torn in hull and rigging,
she bore up gallantly for close action.
“Very soon her mizzen-mast was cut by the shot of the United States
and fell overboard. Then shortly after, her main-yard was seen hanging
in two pieces; her main and foretopmasts were gone; her foremast was
tottering, and no colors were seen flying. Her mainmast and bowsprit
were also badly shattered.
“The United States was yet unhurt. Decatur tacked and came up under the
lee of the English ship. The commander of that vessel was astounded by
the movement, for when the American vessel bore away he supposed she
was seriously injured and about to fly. The blaze of her cannon had
been so incessant that, seen through the smoke, the English captain
thought she was on fire. It seems his crew thought so also, for they
gave three cheers; but when the United States tacked and came up in
a position to do more serious damage the British commander saw that
further resistance was vain, struck his colors and surrendered.
“As the United States crossed the stern of her vanquished foe, Decatur
called through his trumpet, ‘What is the name of your ship?’ ‘His
Majesty’s frigate Macedonian,’ replied J. S. Carden, her captain.”
“Was she a nice ship, papa?” asked Ned.
“She was before the battle, a new ship and a very fine one of her
class. She was rated at thirty-six guns, but carried forty-nine. But in
this fight she was terribly bruised and cut up; most of her rigging was
gone, all her boats were shattered into uselessness. She had received
no less than one hundred round shot in her hull, many of them between
wind and water. Of her officers and crew, three hundred in number, many
were killed and wounded.”
“What did Decatur do with her, papa?” asked Elsie.
“He gave up his cruise and returned to New England with his prize. He
went into the harbor of New London, and Lieutenant Allen took the
Macedonian into Newport harbor about the same time. Soon afterward both
vessels sailed for the harbor of New York, where the Macedonian was
first anchored on New Year’s Day, 1813. One of that city’s newspapers
said of her, ‘She comes with the compliments of the season from old
Neptune.’
“A splendid banquet had just been given in that city to Hull, Decatur
and Jones, and all over the Union people were sounding their praises.”
“And what did the English think about it all?” asked Eric.
“They were filled with disappointment and unpleasant forebodings,”
replied Captain Raymond, “while all over the United States the people
were filled with exultation and hope.”
“Didn’t the Legislatures and Congress make those brave and successful
commanders some gifts to testify to the gratitude of the people—their
countrymen?” asked Lucilla.
“Yes,” replied her father. “Legislatures and other bodies gave Decatur
thanks and swords; the Corporation of New York gave him the freedom of
the city, and asked for his portrait for the picture-gallery in the
City Hall, where it still hangs; and Congress thanked him and gave him
a gold medal.”
“I’d like to see that,” said Elsie. “I wonder if the family have it
yet.”
“Very likely,” said Grandma Elsie. “Such a thing would be apt to be
highly prized and kept to go down from generation to generation.”
“Ah! whom have we here?” exclaimed the captain, rising to his feet as
at that moment Max drew near with Eva on his arm. “Eva, daughter, I am
truly glad that you feel able to join us.”
“And I am very glad to be able, and permitted by the doctor to do so,
father,” she returned, accepting the seat which he offered.
“Yes, it is high time you were allowed a little liberty,” he said, as
he and Max seated themselves with her between them. “Ah! here comes my
granddaughter,” as the nurse approached with the babe in her arms.
“Lay her on my lap, please, nurse,” said Eva. “I am quite able to hold
her.”
“And if you find her in the least burdensome, pass her over to her
father,” said Max.
The children gathered round, Ned saying:
“Now, Brother Max, make her talk.”
“I don’t want to. I’m too young,” came apparently from the baby lips,
and all the children laughed.
“It’s rude for big folks like you to laugh at a little one like me,”
she seemed to say in a hurt tone.
“No, it isn’t; but I don’t mean to do it again, though I am your aunt,”
laughed Elsie.
“Are you? Then you ought to be very good to me,” the baby voice seemed
to say.
“Yes, and I intend to be,” returned Elsie. “I love you because you are
a dear little soul, and my little niece—your father and mother being my
brother and sister.”
“Elsie isn’t your only relation here, though,” said Alie; “there are a
good many of us. I’m one of your cousins.”
“And I’m another,” said Eric, “and big Brother Edward is another, and
so is little Sister Vi. You have a good many relations; plenty of
them—such as they are.”
“I hope to get acquainted with them all after awhile,” returned the
baby voice, “but I’m tired talking.”
“Dear me! she gets tired sooner than some other folks,” laughed Edward,
turning away. “I guess she’ll not grow up into a gossip about other
folks’ matters.”
“I hope not,” said Eva; “but I see she is going to sleep now, so no
wonder she’s tired of talking.”