A BATTLE ON A SMALL SCALE
"On deck!" shouted the lookout at the foremast head. "Light on the
starboard bow!"
"Silence, all!" cried the commander, as soon as he heard the hail from
aloft. "Go forward, Mr. Pennant, silence the hands, and direct the
lookout to hail in lower tones."
The third lieutenant sprang forward to obey the order, and Christy
followed him at a more moderate pace, consistent with his dignity as
the officer highest in rank on board. It was not so much a question
of dignity, however, with him as it was the intention to preserve his
self-possession. A light had been reported on the starboard bow; but
Christy had no more means of knowing what it meant than any other person
on deck. It suggested a blockade runner, a battery, or a house near the
shore where he did not expect to find one.
The captain went on the bridge; but he could not see the light. He
descended to the deck, and then mounted the fore-rigging. The lookout
saw him, and said he could not see the light any longer; it had been in
sight a couple of minutes, and then had disappeared. It was useless to
look for it if gone, and Christy returned to the bridge, where Mr.
Pennant was attentively studying the compass.
"In what direction is the head of the steamer pointed, Mr. Pennant?"
he asked as he joined the lieutenant.
"Exactly north-east, sir," replied Mr. Pennant.
"Then the report of the light on the starboard bow places it directly to
the eastward of us," added Christy. "That is about where the entrance to
St. Andrew's Bay ought to be, if my calculations were correct. We have
been running to the eastward since we left the blockaders' station off
Pensacola Bay. My ruler on the chart gave me that course, and Mr.
Galvinne followed it while he was in charge. We could not have got more
than half a mile off the course in coming about twice. The shoaling of
the water also indicates that we are all right."
The body of the fog evidently lay near the water, and the lookout had
probably seen the light over the top of the bank, as it could not be
made out on the bridge. Christy expressed his belief that the sun would
burn the fog off soon after it rose. No variation of the drift lead had
been reported, and the Bronx was not even swinging at her anchor. For an
hour longer entire silence was preserved on the deck, and the lookout
made no further report.
"There is some sort of commotion among the men on the top-gallant
forecastle," said Mr. Pennant, while Christy was still studying the
situation, and one of the men was seen in the act of hurrying aft.
"I heard men's voices off to the eastward," said this man, when he had
mounted the bridge, and touched his hat to the officers there; and he
spoke in a whisper, in conformity with the orders given.
"Could you hear any slapping of a paddle wheel, or other noises that
sound like a steamer?" asked Christy in the same low tone.
"No, sir; nothing but the voices; but I think the speakers must be in
a vessel of some sort, for the sound since I first heard it, and could
hardly make it out, comes from farther south," replied the man.
"Take a force of twelve men, with pistols and cutlasses, Mr. Pennant, in
the first cutter, and pull down to the south-east. Whatever you find in
the shape of a vessel or a boat, capture it, and return to the Bronx.
Get off with as little noise as possible, and muffle your oars."
Silently Mr. Pennant selected his crew for the boat, saw them armed, and
had the cutter lowered into the water. In a very short space of time the
boat was off. The commander did not believe that anything very serious
would result from this boat expedition, for he was confident there was
no vessel of any size near the Bronx. The men in the cutter pulled very
quietly, and hardly splashed the water with their oars, for they had all
been trained by Christy himself to pull without noise when he was
executive officer.
This was the first responsible position Mr. Pennant had been called
upon to fill, and he knew that his future depended in a large measure
upon the skill and fidelity with which he obeyed his orders. His crew
believed in him, and they were very painstaking in their efforts to work
in silence. He had stationed quartermaster Vincent in the bow of the
boat as the lookout, and he was industriously peering out into the gloom
of the fog and darkness to discover a vessel or a boat. He had heard the
sounds himself, and he knew there was something there. When the boat had
pulled about fifteen minutes, Vincent raised his hand up into the air;
this was a signal which the third lieutenant understood, for he had
arranged several of them with the quartermaster.
"Stand by to lay on your oars," said Mr. Pennant in the lowest tones
that could be heard by the crew. "Oars!"
At the last order the men levelled their oars, feathering the blades,
and remained like eight statues in their seats. Vincent listened with
all his ears in the dead silence which prevailed.
"I hear the voices again," he reported to the lieutenant in the stern
sheets, in a voice just loud enough to reach him; "they are more to the
southward."
"Stand by!" added Mr. Pennant, who had been duly trained in boat service
at an oar. "Give way together! No noise!"
The boat went ahead again, though only at a moderate speed consistent
with the least possible noise. The quartermaster in the bow continued to
gaze into the fog bank, though by this time there was a little lighting
up in the east, indicating that the day was breaking. For half an hour
longer the cutter continued on its course. Occasionally Vincent had
raised his hand over his head, and then dropped it to his left,
indicating to the officer in command that the sounds came from farther
to the southward, and the cockswain was directed to change the course.
In another half hour the noises could be distinctly heard by the third
lieutenant, and he directed the course of the cutter without the need of
any more signals from the bow. His first move was to make a more decided
course to the southward. Then he hastened the crew in their work.
"Sail, ho!" called Vincent, who had not abated his vigilance on the
lookout; and he pointed with his right hand in the direction he had seen
the craft.
Mr. Pennant concluded that the sail could not be far off, or it could
not be seen, and it would be useless to maintain the dead silence, which
was painful to all in the boat. He stood up in his place, and, after
looking for a couple of minutes, he made out the sail himself. So far as
he could judge from what he saw, the craft was a small sloop of not more
than thirty-five feet in length.
"Give way now, lively!" said the third lieutenant, in his ordinary
tones. "I make her out, and she is a small sloop. We shall not have much
of a brush."
Under the vigorous pulling of eight stalwart men, the cutter leaped
forward at a speed that would have won an ordinary boat race, and in ten
minutes more, the sloop could be distinctly made out, the cutter running
across her bow. She was close-hauled, with the wind from the south-west,
and very little of it. On board of her were at least ten men, as the
quartermaster counted them, and there might have been more in her cuddy
under the hail-deck forward.
"Boat, ahoy!" shouted a man on the forecastle of the sloop.
"On board the sloop!" replied Mr. Pennant, standing up in the stern
sheets. "What sloop is that?"
"The Magnolia, bound to Appalachicola," replied the spokesman of the
craft. "What boat is that?"
"The first cutter of the United States steamer Bronx! Heave to, and give
an account of yourselves," hailed the officer in command. "Stand by to
lay on your oars!" he added in a lower tone to his crew. "Oars!"
But the boat seemed to be running too far away from the sloop, though it
was near enough for the lieutenant and quartermaster to see that there
was a decided commotion on board of her.
"Hold water!" added the lieutenant. "Stern all!"
The momentum of the cutter was checked, and the boat placed in a
convenient position for a further conference with the sloop. Either by
intention or carelessness the skipper of the sail-boat had permitted her
to broach to, probably because he was giving too much attention to the
boat and too little to the sloop. When the cutter lost its headway, it
was not more than fifty feet from the sloop.
"Hold the sloop as she is, and I will board you," said Mr. Pennant,
as he saw the skipper filling away again.
"Keep off, or we will fire into you!" shouted the man on the forecastle,
who appeared to be the principal man of the party.
"See that your pistols and cutlasses are ready for use," said the third
lieutenant, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the crew only.
"We are all private citizens," added the sloop's spokesman.
"No matter what you are; I propose to overhaul you and judge for myself
what you are," answered the officer in command of the cutter. "Let go
your sheet, skipper!"
Instead of obeying the order, the boatman hauled in his sheet, and the
sloop began to fill away. Mr. Pennant could form no idea of what the
party were. It was possible that they were private citizens, and
non-combatants; if they were, they had only to prove they were such by
submitting to a further inquiry.
"Stand by, my men! Give way together, lively!" shouted the lieutenant as
though he intended that those on board of the sloop should hear him as
well as his own crew.
The cutter darted ahead; but she had not advanced half the distance
before the men on board of the sloop fired a volley with muskets at the
approaching boat. Mr. Pennant dropped his left arm very suddenly, and
the stroke oarsman went down into the bottom of the boat.
"Come aft, Kingston!" called the third lieutenant to the nearest man in
the bow, and the one indicated crawled aft with all the haste he could
make. "Take Hilton's oar!" added Mr. Pennant, as with his right arm he
drew the wounded man back into the stern sheets.
The progress of the boat was hardly interrupted by the volley, and in
less than a minute after the discharge of the muskets, her stem struck
the bow of the sloop, though not till the lieutenant had checked her
headway, and ordered the men to stand by to board the rebellious craft.
The quartermaster made fast to the sloop, and then grasped his cutlass.
"Lay her aboard!" shouted Mr. Pennant; and Vincent led the way, leaping
directly into the midst of the eight men in the standing room.
"Do you surrender?" asked the lieutenant of the principal man on the
forecastle as he came alongside of him.
"I don't see that we can help ourselves," replied the spokesman in
a surly tone; for the prospect before him was not very pleasant,
especially as a volley had been fired from the sloop, presumably by his
order, for he was the one who had made the threat in the first place.
"Don't strike, my men; they have surrendered," continued Mr. Pennant
with a gesture to his men.
"This is an outrage," said the man on the forecastle, who could not help
seeing that the whole party were in a fair way to be annihilated if they
made any further resistance.
"I dare say it is, my friend," replied Mr. Pennant blandly, for he had
been in the navy long enough to adopt the characteristic politeness
which distinguishes its officers. "Take possession of all the muskets
and other weapons you can find, Vincent, and put them in the cutter."
This order was promptly obeyed. Before it was fully carried out an
elderly gentleman crawled out of the cuddy, and stood up in the standing
room; he was a man of dignity, and evidently of importance.