THE CRUISE OF THE RANGER
It was a good two hours later when Ethan and the Irish dragoon finally
discovered their lodgings. Captain Jones was busy over some papers in
his room when Ethan knocked upon his door.
“Come in,” said the sailor. “I had just about finished.” He sealed up
some documents, and then went on, “Your search was longer than you
intended, was it not? and, I suppose, without much success.”
“Our search resulted in nothing,” returned Ethan. “But by sheer luck we
stumbled upon a most remarkable discovery.”
Then he related the main incident of the night, and Captain Jones
listened with the greatest attention.
“Quite remarkable,” commented he, as the lad finished. “But, really,
except for the fact that we now know where Siki expects to dispose of
the paper, we learned all this from Dr. Franklin’s judgment in the
matter. St. Mary’s Isle, eh,” he continued, musingly. “I know the place
well; and, who knows, perhaps I may touch there in the Ranger and look
into this matter.”
Not having had any definite instructions from Mr. Jefferson about when
he should return to America, Ethan had considered that he should remain
in France until the paper was recovered or proven to be lost for good
and all. He had had no notion of continuing the cruise with Captain
Jones, but now that the Ranger and the recovery of the dispatch seemed
linked, as it were, he eagerly asked to be allowed to go.
“The chances are,” he reasoned, “that the Lascar will slip through
their fingers. If you can land Longsword and me upon St. Mary’s Isle we
may be in time to do some good.”
“I shall be most glad to have you,” said the Ranger’s captain. “And
somehow it seems to me that a landing at St. Mary’s Isle is going to
lead to good of some sort. I sometimes get impressions like that, and
they usually point pretty close to facts in the end.”
Three or four days later John Paul Jones, Ethan Carlyle and Longsword
once more reached Nantes; and the former immediately set about getting
his ship ready for the voyage that was to strike terror to the hearts
of the British and fill those of the struggling Americans with delight.
Upon the trip across the Atlantic the prediction that the commander had
made to Ethan in Portsmouth harbor had been realized. Many defects and
weaknesses were discovered in the Ranger, and these he now set about
remedying as far as possible.
The ship’s trim was altered; her ballast was taken out and restowed;
her masts were shortened, also, by some feet. No man ever sailed the
ocean who knew more about the small details of seamanship than John
Paul Jones; after he had been in a vessel a few weeks it was an assured
thing that she had come to do all that there was in her. Many a cranky,
slow answering tub had been transformed, by his knowledge, into a
speedy, amenable ship.
After they had cleared the harbor the Ranger showed marked evidence of
improvement in her work.
“She’ll answer, now,” said her captain, with satisfaction.
Off Cape Clear a British brig was captured and sent into Brest, as was
the Lord Chatham, a ship out of London, which they took a little later.
While heading up the Irish channel one day during the first dog-watch,
Ethan and the commander were pacing the quarter-deck.
“Do you intend to head directly for St. Mary’s Isle?” asked the boy.
“No; I had thought of a plan by which an attempt might be made upon
Whitehaven. There is a great deal of shipping in the harbor there I
know; and if it could be destroyed it would be a damaging blow.”
“You are quite familiar with that port, are you not?”
“I sailed out of it upon my first voyage, and first saw the light of
day not many miles from it. Let me once get into the harbor with a fire
boat and I’ll forever put a stop to the burnings and ravagings that the
British are so free with upon our undefended coast. A blaze that would
sweep every hull from Whitehaven would show them that we have the power
to retaliate; and after that they would be more apt to hold their
savagery in check.”
“I think you are right,” agreed Ethan. “There is nothing like a swift
retaliation to teach a brutal and insolent enemy to be merciful.”
There was a strong wind blowing when the Ranger came in sight of
Whitehaven and beat up toward it. The boats had been lowered, manned,
and were about to be called away, when the wind suddenly shifted and
blew on shore. The position of the American was now most dangerous, so
the boats were promptly hoisted in once more and the Ranger beat out to
sea.
Off Carrickfergus they took a small fishing-boat. The skipper was a
hot-tempered little Celt, and he made a great ado about the matter.
“Faith, then, captain,” said he to the smiling commander of the
sloop-of-war, “I think it’s a shame, so I do, that an honest man can’t
cast his nests into the say for the bits of fish that do be swimming
about, widout being dragged on board a Yankee that he don’t want to get
acquainted wid.”
“Well,” replied Captain Jones, “we are not quite so discourteous. We
desired your acquaintance and went to some little trouble to make it.”
“Sure, then,” snapped the other, “if I carried the guns aboard of me
that the Drake do, as she lies there in Belfast Lough, you would not be
so ready to come near me, perhaps.”
“The Drake?” questioned Captain Jones, with interest. “You mean, I
suppose, the British ship-of-war of that name?”
“I do,” returned the fisherman. “And she is a fine vessel, for she
carries twenty guns and a hundred and fifty men.”
The commander of the Ranger turned to his first officer, briskly.
“I think, Mr. Simpson,” said he, “that we’ll change our course for
Belfast Lough and see what can be done with that vessel.”
“We are not out to engage warships,” growled Simpson, sullenly.
“We are out to engage anything that promises to injure the enemy,” said
the captain sharply. “You will please pass my order along.”
The lieutenant did as requested. It is noted of this insubordinate
officer that he seemed to regard the voyage of the Ranger more as an
enterprise for private gain than anything else; a rich merchantman
pleased him greatly; but he had little or no stomach for a fight with a
vessel that carried any weight of metal.
More sail was made upon the ship when she was brought into her new
course; in the mouth of the Lough she beat to and fro until night, then
she ran into the harbor.
The Drake lay well up in the harbor, and it was Captain Jones’
intention to lay the Ranger alongside her and board.
“When I give the word,” said he to the boatswain, who was in charge of
a group of men on the forecastle deck, “let go the bow anchors.”
Cutlasses, boarding-pikes and pistols were distributed, and the crew
stood ready. With a magnificent display of seamanship John Paul Jones
brought the Ranger up and laid her athwart the Drake.
“Let go the anchor,” he commanded in a low voice.
There was a scuffling and stumbling among the seamen in the bow;
the anchor-chain rattled, then stopped; the American sloop-of-war
drifted down past the lee quarter of the Englishman; at this point the
anchor fell with a loud plunge, and the Ranger lay directly under the
broadside of the Drake.
There was a stir among the watch upon the British ship’s deck.
“Ahoy, there, you blundering lubber!” yelled a voice. “What are you
about?”
“No harm done,” answered Captain Jones, promptly. “Anchor-chain
fouled.” Then in a low tone he added: “Cut that cable and let the
anchor go.”
Ethan Carlyle seized an axe from the rack, and with a deft, sure blow
severed the thick line; the Ranger drifted slowly out of her dangerous
position; as another attempt of the same sort could not be risked, sail
was clapped upon her and she raced out of the Lough like a hunted hare.
“It’s a rare good thing she took us for a clumsy merchantman,”
commented Ethan to Captain Jones, as they stood together upon the deck.
“She could have raked us from stem to stern as we lay there, and we
could not have brought a single gun to bear on her.”
“Fate seems to fight against us,” laughed Captain Jones. “Now for
Whitehaven once more, and let us hope for a favorable wind.”
They reached that port once more about eight in the evening upon the
twenty-second of the month; but the boats were not called away until
after midnight.
There were two of these, and were manned by crews of heavily-armed
volunteers. Ethan and Longsword had volunteered for the captain’s boat.
“I will advance and attack the forts,” said the commander to Lieutenant
Wallingford, who was in charge of the other boat. “Your share in the
enterprise is to get well in among the shipping and set fire to it.”
These were all the instructions given. Day began to dawn as they
reached the outer pier of the harbor.
“Take the north side,” directed Captain Jones, “and pull hard.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the third officer; his boat drew away from the
other and made into the harbor.
“There are the forts upon the south side, are they not?” asked Ethan.
“Yes,” said John Paul Jones, “and they are likely to be slimly manned.
I know the custom here, you see.”
“It reminds me of old times, faith,” whispered Longsword to Ethan, as
he sat in the stern with his great brass-hilted blade between his knees.
Captain Jones was right; the first fort was garrisoned by about a half
dozen heavy-eyed soldiers. Ethan, Longsword and a few of the more
daring seamen scaled the wall and overpowered these without trouble.
“Into the guard house with them,” ordered Ethan, “and fasten them in.”
When the gate was thrown open and Jones and the remainder of the boat’s
crew entered, the former said briskly,
“Spike the guns; we may have them roaring about our ears soon if we
don’t.”
Longsword drove the plugs of iron into the vents of the cannon with
swift and hearty blows.
“Now, Mr. Browne,” continued the captain, “station a few men to guard
the approaches from the town. Mr. Carlyle, come with me.”
While Browne, middy, was stationing the men, Ethan hurried away with
the captain toward the point where they had landed.
“That is Wallingford’s boat that I see advancing,” said the commander,
pointing to a craft slowly emerging from a wall of mist. “And I see no
indications from the harbor that he has carried out my orders.”
As a matter of fact there was no blaze among the shipping and Ethan saw
that the face of the commander was set and stern. Wallingford’s boat
touched and the lieutenant sprang ashore.
“Well, sir,” rapped out the captain.
“My lights went out, sir, just as I was about to begin work, and so I
could not carry out my orders.”
This was long before the day of “brimstone” matches. The two boats
carried lanterns in which were placed lighted candles, and to these
most uncertain things they had to trust for the success or failure of a
most brilliantly planned expedition.
“You will find lights in my boats there, I think,” said Captain Paul
Jones. “Take them and try once more; there may yet be time.”
His face was white with anger; he had worked hard and dared much for
success, and that such a trivial thing as this should threaten failure
almost made him lose control of himself.
Ethan bounded toward the captain’s boat to get the lights; but here,
too, the candles had guttered out, and all that was left was a smear of
tallow and the blackened end of a wick.
“Lights are out here, too,” he cried. Captain Jones drew in his breath
sharply.
“It seems that we are to have our share of misfortune indeed,” said he
with a mirthless laugh. “But lights must be had.”
“There is a house a little way below there,” volunteered Ethan. “I saw
it as we came along. It’s farther from the town than any other.”
“Tell Browne to give you a few men, and go there, then,” said the
commander instantly. “Knock and ask decently at first; but if they
refuse, or delay, beat down the door and help yourself.”
Ethan was back at the fort in a few moments’ sharp run. Longsword and
a seaman named Freeman were given him and they started toward the
house which Ethan had in mind. Now as it happened this Freeman was an
Englishman and the very worst man in the Ranger to be selected for the
work in hand.
The house proved to be a small public inn, and the young American
hammered upon the door loudly with the heavy butt of a pistol. As no
answer came Longsword dealt the door a brace of lusty kicks that made
the entire structure rattle.
“They seem to be sound sleepers,” said Freeman, who had remained very
quiet up till then. “Suppose I go around to the rear and see what can
be done.”
He did not wait for Ethan’s permission but at once disappeared around a
corner of the building. A nervous tremble in the man’s voice caused the
Irishman to instinctively suspect something. He also turned the corner
a moment later, and saw Freeman speeding away towards the town.
“Master Ethan,” roared the dragoon. “He’s off.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“The Englishman. There he goes, as fast as his legs can take him.”
“We’ll have the whole of Whitehaven here in short order now,” said
Ethan. “He’s gone to give the alarm.”
“Not if I can stop him,” shouted the ex-trooper. He threw up his pistol
with a quick, expert snap of the arm, and fired. Freeman half-halted,
tottered a little, but continued on toward the town almost as fast as
before.
“You got him,” said Ethan.
“But not enough,” grumbled Longsword. “It hardly cut the skin of him.”
“Try for him, once more, with this,” and Ethan offered Shamus his own
pistol. The Irishman was a wonderful shot with these awkward weapons;
but the range caused him to shake his head.
“Too late,” said he. “It’d take a musket to find a man at that
distance.”
The sound of the shot had the effect of arousing the house; a window
was thrown open above, a night-capped head was protruded, while a pair
of sleep heavy eyes blinked down at them in the pale light of the dawn.
“Hello,” cried the owner of the night cap in a husky sort of bellow.
“What’s wanted below there?”
“Arrah, come down wid ye and open the door,” requested Longsword with
great promptness.
“And have myself killed for my trouble,” said the man at the window.
“Ye’ll get yourself killed if you don’t do as you’re told, my friend,”
said Longsword with a reckless flourish of his empty pistol. The man
withdrew his head with a jerk; and though they continued to call to
him, he refused to show himself.
“Down with the door,” cried Ethan at last. And putting their shoulders
to it they sent it crashing inward. There now came a perfect storm of
screams and yells from the regions above.
They found themselves in a room in which a sea coal fire was burning;
after a short search Ethan found a couple of fat pine billets which he
stuck partly into the fire. While they awaited such time as the torches
should ignite, they stood in the broken doorway and looked earnestly
toward the town. The noises from the rooms above had died away; and now
a long, low murmur as of many voices was carried to their ears by the
wind, which was toward the harbor. With each moment the sound increased
in volume; it would rise sharply and then fall away, only to rise once
more.
“The town is up, sure enough,” said Longsword, grimly. “Freeman has
lost no time.”
Once more the murmur of the distant voices rose and fell; it had a
fierce intensity that came awesomely to the listeners as they shivered
in the chill of that spring morning. From far down the street a huddle
of people swept around a corner; in their hands they bore all sorts of
hastily snatched weapons; and by their gesticulations Ethan saw that
they were wrought up to a pitch of frenzy.
“We have no time to waste,” said the young American, rapidly. “In a few
moments more they will be here.”
He ran into the room and snatched the torches from the coals; the ends
were smoldering only, but he swung them about his head a few times and
they burst into a blaze.
“Now we are ready,” he cried. In a moment they were out in the road.
The shrill cries of the advancing townspeople sounded fiercer still;
the heavy tramp of their feet was swift and menacing.
“They mean business, sure,” cried Longsword. “Look out!”
Two or three bullets struck near them and the vengeful cries increased.
From the window of the inn the landlord was clamoring at the top of his
lusty voice.
“Come on,” shouted Ethan to the Irishman as he darted down the road.
Longsword followed close at his heels; now and then he flourished his
empty pistol and defied the crowd mutely.
John Paul Jones was awaiting them eagerly.
“Hah! You have the lights. Good! But what is that noise I hear? You
have injured none of the folks at the house, I hope.”
“No,” answered Ethan. “Freeman, the sailor whom we took with us,
slipped into the town and aroused the people. They are coming in
crowds.”
A frown wrinkled the commander’s brow.
“I had hoped that this would not happen, at least, until we had kindled
a good blaze. But we must do our best, as it is. Ahoy, there, into the
brig, and put the torch to her.”
There were a great number of vessels which had been taking in or
discharging cargoes; for the most part they lay close together, and a
fire started in one would probably mean the destruction of all.
The brig to which Paul Jones referred was one of the largest vessels
at hand, and a great quantity of combustible matter had been scattered
through her while Ethan had been securing the lights. Those set to
apply the torch did not perform that duty quickly enough for the
impatient commander; so he sprang forward, snatched a blazing brand
from one of them and leaped aboard the brig. Plunging below decks he
applied the torch; as he gained the deck once more he was followed by a
thick cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks.
The people of Whitehaven had, by this time, reached the entrance to the
wharf, though the sight of a number of heavily-armed seamen halted them
promptly. But with each passing moment their numbers increased, their
shouts and execrations filled the air; every now and then a flight of
missiles would patter about the Americans. Then the fired brig burst
into a fierce blaze; from every port and seam smoke and flame jetted
and curled; and as no more was now to be done, Paul Jones shouted:
“To the boats, men. But take your time. Show any evidence of haste, and
we’ll have all those people upon us.”
The men obeyed. With Lieutenant Wallingford’s eye upon them, they
climbed into the boats. Captain Jones, however, remained upon the pier.
Ethan was about to follow the others when he noticed this.
“All hands in the boats, sir,” said he.
“Very well,” answered the other coolly.
The fire in the brig had suddenly begun to die away, and he feared that
it was about to go out. Ethan realized that this was the cause of his
delay.
“It needs more draught, I think,” said the boy.
“If the hatches were all off it would have more chance,” said the
captain.
Without a word Ethan sprang to the vessel’s rail and climbed aboard.
As luck would have it an axe was at hand; and in a moment his sturdy
blows were ringing and crashing in the ears of the mob. This latter had
constantly grown larger; from every direction the people were hastening
to the scene. When the throng realized what the axe blows meant, a wild
howl went up from them.
“Down with the Yankee pirate,” came the cry.
“They are burning the ship!” shrilled a newcomer.
“Look,” shouted another; “there is only one man. Shall five hundred
loyal subjects of the king be braved by one American cut-throat?”
“Never!” roared the mob.
Like a fury Ethan hacked and hewed at the hatches until he had them all
cut away; he was delivering the finishing strokes when the press from
the rear of the crowd became so great that those in front were hurled
forward.
“Back!” cried the intrepid John Paul Jones, presenting his heavy
pistols in their faces. “Keep back!”
This ready action and the coolness of the man filled the angry mob with
fear. With cries of alarm they fled back to their former positions at
the head of the pier. The brig was now wrapped in a solid sheet of
flame; and as there was nothing that demanded the further detaining of
the Ranger’s boats, the captain sprang into one of them, followed by
Ethan, and they pushed off.
Immediately the crowd surged down the pier; some sprang to fight the
flames; others stood at the harbor’s edge and shrieked their threats
of vengeance; but the tars in the rapidly-receding boats only answered
by a derisive laugh. Some one released the guard at the fort; the
hastily-driven spikes were wrenched from one or two of the guns; and
they were loaded and trained upon the boats.
But by the time their sullen reports broke upon the morning air the
Americans were out of range; and in a very little while later the
dashing sloop-of-war, under a press of white canvas, had disappeared
beyond the vision of those upon the shore.