MARCY GRAY PRIVATEERSMAN.
"Wat, you're just the fellow I want to see," exclaimed Marcy, taking his
friend by the arm and leading him from the post-office. "When did you
get home?"
"Came last night to recruit after my arduous campaign, and to spread a
little enthusiasm and patriotism among you stay-at-home chaps," answered
Wat. "But, say," he added, in a lower tone. "I didn't expect to find you
in the service. You're Union."
"Who told you that?"
"I'll be switched if I know. It's all over the country and in
everybody's mouth. I reckon you're Union about as I am. I say that
secession is all wrong, that we would be better without it, and that the
people who are urging it on don't know what they are about. There's
Allison for one; and I'm heartily glad you gave him such a set-back.
He'll talk himself hoarse, but when it comes to shouldering a musket,
he'll not be there. He'll be a bully chap to stand back and holler
'St-boy'; but he won't take a hand himself."
By this time the two friends had perched themselves upon a low fence
where they could be alone and talk without fear of being overheard, and
Gifford showed his Yankee descent by pulling out his knife and looking
around for a stick to whittle.
"And is that the reason all our old friends have gone back on us, mother
and me--because they think we are for the Union?" asked Marcy.
"I believe that is the reason a good many have turned the cold shoulder
upon you," replied Gifford. "You asked me a fair question, and I have
given you a plain answer; but I am sorry to have to do it."
"It's all right," Marcy assured him. "I want to know where I stand--"
"And then you will know how to carry yourself," added his friend. "But
every one hasn't gone back on you; I haven't."
"You are the solitary exception."
"Well, you have taken the right course to show people that they were
mistaken in you," said Gifford. "I don't see but that you were well
enough treated to-day."
"And joining the privateer was what worked the change?"
"I think so. Where do you stand, any way? You need not be afraid to be
honest with me."
"I think as you do, only I go a little farther. The Constitution says:
'Treason against the United States shall consist in levying war against
them.' Did you fellows levy war against them when you fired upon Sumter?
If you did, you are traitors the last one of you."
"W-h-e-w!" whistled Gifford. "And you think we ought to be hanged?"
"I certainly hope you won't be, you especially, but you know as well as
I do that the penalty of treason is death."
"And you don't call yourself a traitor to your State, I suppose?"
"I don't, because I have made no effort to overthrow the legal
government of my State. Between you and me, I joined that privateer
because I did not think it would be safe to do anything else."
"There's where you showed your good sense," said Gifford earnestly.
"Judging by what I have heard, you took the only course that was open to
you. The people here are not half as crazy as they are in Charleston,
Wilmington, and Newbern, but they are none the less dead in earnest, and
you will find that after the State goes out, a Union man will not be
safe in this country. I think you have completely allayed suspicion here
in Nashville, but you want to look out for secret enemies near home.
Whatever you do, don't run Beardsley's schooner aground."
"What have I got to do with running the schooner?" asked Marcy, who was
surprised at the extent of his friend's information. He began to see
that he and his movements had been pretty thoroughly discussed.
"You're going to pilot her," answered Gifford. "That's what you've got
to do with running her, and I say again, don't run her aground."
"If I do accidentally, Beardsley will shoot me, I suppose."
"No, he won't. He hasn't the pluck to shoot a squirrel; but you never
could make him believe that it was an accident, and when he got ashore
he would do all he could to inflame the secessionists against you. He
seems to have something against you. I can't imagine what it is--"
"I can," replied Marcy, coloring to the roots of his hair. "He wants to
marry our plantation."
"Whew!" whispered Gifford. "That is a piece of news, I confess, but it's
safe, old boy. He'll not make it, of course. Then you have a most
implacable foe in Lon Beardsley. He is one of your secret enemies, and
that overseer of yours--what's his name, Hanson?--is another. They are
sworn friends, I have heard, and if your mother has any money stowed
away--Mind, I don't ask whether she has or not, because it is none of my
business. But I understand that before you came home she made several
trips about the country that could not have been made for nothing. If
she has any money, take all the precautions you can think of to keep it
from Hanson's knowledge. He's far more dangerous than Beardsley, because
he's right there on the place. I'll ride up and see you to-morrow or
next day, and then I will tell you more."
Just then the conversation was interrupted by the approach of a party of
young fellows who wanted to shake hands with the soldier who had faced
the Yankees in battle, and tell Marcy Gray that they were glad to hear
he had joined the privateer, and that they had been mistaken in him,
having supposed that he was for the Union and dead against secession.
Having discharged this duty, and promised the young pilot that they
would surely ride out and make him a visit before he sailed, they turned
to Gifford and demanded a complete history of the battle in Charleston
harbor.
"If it was a battle I hope I may never be in a worse one," replied the
soldier, who was not as proud of that affair as were some of those who
had no hand in it. "The South Carolina boys had everything their own
way. There were few outsiders in it, except some who, like myself, were
doing business in the city. Five thousand against fifty-one! Shucks!"
"But you heard the bullets whistle, and that's a thing to be proud of,"
said one.
"I didn't hear a single bullet, but I heard a shell or two, and saw the
old flag come down. That was something I was sorry for."
Gifford could talk in this strain as much as he pleased because he had
"been there"; but If Marcy Gray had ventured upon it, being under
suspicion as he was, beyond a doubt he or his mother would have suffered
for it. During the time he spent in waiting for the mail, he was never
alone for a single minute. All his old friends seemed desirous of
"making themselves square" with him, and not one left his side without
first telling him that somehow the mistaken idea had got abroad that he
was strong for the Union.
"And so I am," said Marcy to himself, as he mounted his horse and set
out for home, glad to get away from the people who so misunderstood him.
"I utterly despise this double life, but don't see any release from it
just now. I should like to show myself true to my colors, but what can I
do among a lot of ruffians who would burn the roof over my mother's head
if I gave them the slightest excuse for it?"
When Marcy rode into his own yard he was surprised to see two strange
carriages under the shed (a sight that had been common enough once upon
a time, but which he had not seen before since his return from
Barrington), and when he entered the room where his mother was sitting,
he found that those carriages had brought to the house a party of ladies
who had kept aloof from Mrs. Gray ever since she failed to celebrate
South Carolina's secession by displaying a "nullification" badge. These
ladies were as friendly and sociable as they had ever been, and a
stranger would not for a moment have suspected that they had thought it
advisable to drop Marcy's mother from their list of acquaintances. They
fairly "gushed" over the boy when they told him how delighted they were
to learn that he had enlisted under the banner of the Confederacy.
"But I haven't enlisted, and what's more I don't intend to," answered
Marcy, who was resolved that there should be no misunderstanding on that
point. "I've got to stay at home and look out for mother."
"But you and your brave comrades can run out once in a while and annoy
the enemy's commerce, and that will be the same as though you were
fighting in the army. Now is the time for every true son of the South to
show his colors."
"Then it's high time some of _their_ sons were showing their colors,"
said Marcy, after supper had been served, and the ladies had gone away
and he was alone with his mother. "There were four women in that party
who have sons older than I am. I saw them in town to-day; and although
they showed themselves to be blatant rebels, and talked loudly about the
good times we are going to have whipping the Yankees, they never said a
word about going into the army. Why don't those women preach their
doctrines at home instead of coming here to bother us with them?"
Then he told his mother what had passed between himself and Wat Gifford,
and said he hoped Wat would visit him as he promised, for he was anxious
to know what else his friend had to tell him. He had warned him against
two secret enemies, and Marcy was sure he would feel safer if he knew
who the others were. But it was a long time before he saw Wat Gifford
again. The latter rode up the very next day, but the boy he wanted to
see was on his way to Newbern in the privateer, to take on board the two
howitzers which Beardsley fondly hoped would be the means of bringing
him so much prize-money that he would not be obliged to do another
stroke of work the longest day he lived. Even while Marcy was talking to
his mother Captain Beardsley galloped into the yard with a smile on his
face and an official envelope in his hand, which he flourished in the
air when he drew his horse up at the foot of the steps. Marcy's heart
sank within him, and his mother turned away to conceal her agitation.
Beardsley had received his commission, and there was no backing out.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN BEARDSLEY BRINGS THE OFFICIAL LETTER.]
"Tain't nothing to turn white over, Mrs. Gray," exclaimed the captain
exultingly. "Seems to me that you ought to feel proud to know that your
boy has got the chance to strike a telling blow at the enemies of his
native State. That's the way it makes me feel, and, Marcy, we want to
get the schooner out as soon as we can, so as to catch the ebb tide to
take us down to Newbern."
"That means that you need him this very night, I suppose?" faltered Mrs.
Gray.
"Yes-um. That's what it means. The sooner he gets there to lend a hand,
the better I'll like it."
"Has that man Tierney been discharged?" asked Marcy.
"He discharged himself," answered. Beardsley. "He must have seen you
come into my yard and suspicioned what was up, for when I got to the
schooner, he wasn't there. And his partner couldn't tell me nothing
about him neither."
"I'll be along as soon as I can put a few clothes in a valise," said
Marcy; whereupon Beardsley said good-by to Mrs. Gray and rode out of the
yard.
"What was that man, whose name you mentioned, discharged for?" inquired
Mrs. Gray, who knew too well that Marcy was going away under command of
a man who would bring harm to him if he could.
"He was discharged because I didn't like his looks," replied the boy.
"He told me he was for the Union, but I did not believe a word of it.
Now, mother, I need everything I took when I went with Julius last
vacation to explore the coast. I wish now that I had stayed at home, for
then Beardsley wouldn't have thought of hiring me. Let us be as lively
as we can, for it will look suspicious if I hang back."
Although the mother's heart was almost ready to break, she exhibited no
sign of emotion. Like thousands of other women all over the land she
gave up her son, hoping almost against hope that the fates would be kind
enough to bring him back to her; but it is not to be supposed that she
called Heaven's choicest blessings down upon the heads of the secession
leaders who had made the sacrifice necessary. Marcy bustled about, doing
no good whatever, but just to keep from thinking, and in ten minutes
more there had been a tender farewell at the gate, a single kiss of
parting, and the pilot of the privateer was well on his way toward
Captain Beardsley's house. That gentleman saw him coming and waited for
him. Perhaps he had hoped that the boy would show the white feather at
the last moment. If so, he did not know Marcy Gray.
"We'll be short-handed going down," said he, as he led the way across
the road and into the bushes; "but we shall be all right the minute we
strike Newbern. When I got my commission out of the office this
afternoon I telegraphed to my agent telling him we would start to-night,
and for him to be sure and have a crew ready for us."
"Why, I thought your crew was already shipped," said Marcy. "You
certainly gave me to understand as much."
"So they were, but I don't much expect to find 'em when I get there.
They'll get tired of waiting and go out on the first ship that sails.
But we'll have a crew. Don't worry about that."
"Worse and worse," thought Marcy. "We'll get a crew undoubtedly; but
what sort of men will they be? Dock-rats and 'longshoremen, most likely,
such as a decent captain wouldn't have on board his vessel. If we get
into trouble and I run the schooner aground while trying to bring her
out, they will be just the sort to pitch me overboard."
As this thought passed through Marcy's mind he slipped his hand into his
pocket. Captain Beardsley saw the motion and inquired:
"Got a pop with you?"
"You wouldn't go on an expedition like this without one, would you?"
asked Marcy, in reply. "Have you bargained for any small arms for the
schooner?"
"I have, and know right where to get 'em. But I shall keep them locked
up in the cabin and give 'em out to the crew only when I think it
necessary."
"That's a good plan," observed Marcy. "Do you know anything about
gunnery?"
"No, but one of the men I expect to get does. He has served his time on
board an English man-of-war and knows all about howitzers, and such
things. We couldn't get along without a gunner, you know. If we didn't
have one, how would we bring the prizes to?"
Marcy wondered why the captain had so much to say on this point. He
asked the question merely out of curiosity, and the man answered it as
though Marcy had objected to having a gunner aboard. He learned more
about it after a while.
When they reached the bank of the bayou in which the schooner was
moored, Marcy found that Beardsley had acted promptly, and that the
vessel was ready to be towed into the river. He had stopped there on his
way home from the post-office to warn the ship-keeper, and immediately
on his arrival at his own house, he had sent a dozen or more stout
negroes to man the yawl with which she was to be hauled out.
"Come here, you mokes, and set us aboard," said Captain Beardsley to the
negroes who were waiting in the yawl. "Now, let go the fasts and stand
by to take a tow-line out for'ard." Then he said to the ship-keeper, in
a low tone, "Is Tierney aboard?" and the man replied by pointing toward
the deck, indicating, no doubt, that the man who had "discharged
himself" could be found on the berth-deck whenever his services were
needed.
By the aid of the negroes, who were handy with a boat, the schooner was
towed from the bayou into Seven Mile Creek and thence into the Roanoke
River a short distance above Plymouth. The jib and foresail were hoisted
before she got there, and when they began to draw and the schooner to
feel their influence, the darkies were commanded to cast off the
tow-line and make the best of their way to the plantation. Marcy went to
the wheel, not because there was any piloting to be done in that open
river, but for the reason that he happened to be nearest to it, and
Captain Beardsley came aft and spoke to him.
"When she gets clear of Plymouth we'll run up the mainsail and then
she'll go a-humming," said he, rubbing his hands gleefully together.
"This is the first time I was ever in command of a vessel sailing by
government authority, and I feel an inch or two taller'n I ever felt
before on my own quarter-deck. But this is a gun-deck now, aint it?" he
added, stamping his foot upon it to see how solid it was. "If we only
had aboard the howitzer that belongs here so that we could salute
Plymouth as we skim by--You aint listening to me at all. What you
looking at so steady?"
The captain faced about, and, following the direction of Marcy's gaze,
saw the man Tierney slowly climbing the stairs that led to the deck.
When he got to the top he turned around and came aft in the most
unconcerned manner possible.
"Well, there," exclaimed the captain, dropping both his hands by his
side and acting as if he were too astonished to say more just then. "If
he aint got back I wouldn't say so."
Marcy's first thought was to give the wheel a fling, spill the sails,
and demand to be put ashore at once; but he did not do it. As Dixon once
told the colonel of the Barrington academy, it was too plain a case.
Tierney had been aboard the schooner all the time, and Marcy might have
found it out if he had been sharp enough to look between decks.
"I'm glad he's come back, for he's the gunner I was telling you about,"
whispered the captain. "We couldn't get along without him, don't you
know we couldn't? Say," he added, as Tierney came up, "didn't you leave
word with your partner that you had discharged yourself and wasn't never
coming back any more? Aint you a pretty chap to show your face aboard my
vessel, and you talking of giving her up to the--"
"Oh, what's the use of keeping that farce up any longer?" cried Marcy,
in disgust. "You can't fool me. I don't know what Tierney's object was
in trying to bamboozle me the way he did--"
"Well, I'll tell you," the man interposed, "and I'll be honest with you,
too. I heard you were a Union man, and I did not want to sail with you
if you were."
"That's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," chimed
in the captain, nodding and winking at Marcy.
"Well, are you quite satisfied with the test you applied to me?"
inquired the pilot.
"I am. I know that you are as good a Southern man as any body in the
country."
"And you are willing to acknowledge that you and the captain talked the
matter over beforehand, and that when you came to me, to urge me to
seize the vessel and turn her over to the Yankees, you did it with his
knowledge and consent?" continued Marcy, controlling himself with an
effort.
"Course he is," exclaimed Beardsley. "I told him he would find you true
as steel, but he--"
"But I wouldn't believe it until I had proved it to my own
satisfaction," chimed in Tierney.
The man acted as though he had half a mind to extend his hand to Marcy
in token of amity, but if he had, he thought better of it, and in
obedience to the captain's order called the other ship-keeper aft to
assist in hoisting the mainsail.
"He didn't offer to shake hands, and that proves that he isn't as
friendly as he lets on to be," thought Marcy. "He and the captain are
playing into each other's hands. That story was all made up, and if I
don't keep my eyes open, they will spring another plot on me. This is a
lovely way to live; but I've got to keep suspicion down in someway, and
I don't know how else I can do it."
Nothing exciting or interesting occurred during the run to Newbern, for
there were no war-vessels inside the sandy bars which inclose the coast
of North Carolina and protect it from the fury of the Atlantic storms.
Aided by the strong ebb tide and the favorable breeze that was blowing,
the privateer made a quick passage along the low, swampy shores of
Albemarle, and finally entered Croatan Sound, which runs between the
eastern coast and Roanoke Island, and connects Pamlico with Albemarle
Sound. The forts, water-batteries, and Commodore Lynch's fleet, which
were afterward destroyed by Burnside and Goldsborough, were not in
existence now. Forts Hatteras and Clark were being built at Hatteras
Inlet, but the Confederates wasted time in their construction, for on
the 28th day of August Butler and Stringham captured them without the
loss of a man, and in defiance of a storm which twice compelled the
assaulting fleet to put to sea for safety. How Marcy Gray's heart would
have throbbed with exultation if he had known that the flag his
Barrington girl gave him was destined to float in triumph over the very
waters through which he was now sailing, and at the masthead of a
Federal vessel of war! That glorious day was only seven months in the
future, but the young pilot had some tight places to sail through before
it came around to him.
Marcy Gray had so little heart for the business in which he was perforce
engaged, that he hoped something might happen at Newbern to prevent the
schooner from sailing on her piratical mission--that the collector of
the port might find some fault with her papers; that the howitzers and
small arms might not be forthcoming; that it might be impossible to
raise a crew; or that anything, no matter what, would come at the last
moment to knock Beardsley's scheme in the head. But he was disappointed.
The collector could not find any fault with the vessel's commission, for
he himself had received it direct from the Confederate capital and
forwarded it to the captain; the agent had scarcely slept since he
received that dispatch from Nashville, and the result was that when the
schooner sailed up to her wharf, she found the howitzers, four cases of
muskets and sabers, and a crew of eighteen men, including two mates,
waiting for her. The patriotic agent unfurled a brand-new Confederate
banner as the schooner threw out a line by which her head could be drawn
into the pier, and jumped aboard with it the moment she touched.
"May it be the means of bringing you many an honest dollar," said he, as
he spread the flag upon the deck so that the captain could see it. "Are
your halliards rove? Then why not go into commission at once, while
there is a crowd on the wharf to holler for you? Come aboard, you
fellows," he added, waving his hand to the crew, who were already
tumbling over the rail, "and stand by to cheer ship when the banner of
the Confederacy is run up. Did your vessel take a new name with her coat
of new paint, captain?"
"Yes, I kinder thought I would call her the _Fish-Hawk._"
"Isn't that a queer name for a privateer?" asked the agent.
"Why is it?" inquired the captain, who was busy folding the flag and
getting it ready to be run up to the masthead. "Don't the fish-hawk get
her living from the water, and aint I going to get mine the same way?"
"That's true. Well, then, call her _Osprey._ That sounds a little
better, _I_ think, and it means the same thing."
"All right. _Osprey_ she is," answered the captain, as he hauled up the
flag which had been made into a little bundle. "You stand by to set 'em
going."
The crew, as well as the rapidly increasing crowd on the wharf, who
watched the little bundle as it traveled toward the head of the mast,
did not wait for the agent to "set them going"! When it reached the top,
and a slight jerk from one of the halliards loosened the flag to the
breeze, they yelled vociferously, and patted one another on the back and
shook hands as though they considered it a very auspicious occasion.
"Now, give three cheers for Captain Beardsley and his privateer
_Osprey_, who have so promptly responded to our President's call. May
they strike such terror to the hearts of the Yankee nation that they
won't have a ship on the sea in six months from this day."
Of course such talk as this just suited the crowd on the wharf, who
yelled longer and louder than before. Of course, too, Marcy had to join
them in order to keep up appearances, but he almost despised himself for
it, and made the mental prediction that in a good deal less than six
months' time the people of Newbern would cease to remember that such a
schooner as the _Osprey_ ever existed, although her arrival was loudly
heralded in all the city papers. Her "saucy air" and the "duck-like
manner in which she rode the waters," were especially spoken of, and one
reporter, whose penetration was both surprising and remarkable,
discovered in Captain Beardsley a man who would "do and dare anything
for the success of the glorious cause he had been so prompt to
espouse."
The rest of that day and all the succeeding one were consumed in getting
the provisions, ammunition, and arms aboard, mounting the howitzers, and
stationing the crew. When the work was ended late at night, Marcy
tumbled into his bunk between decks, heartily disgusted with the life he
was leading. The schooner was to run out with the last of the ebb tide
in the morning, so as to catch the flood tide, which would help her up
to Crooked Inlet.