morning. A great line-of-battle ship, with the red pennant flying at her
fore, indicating that she was taking on powder, lay out in the
foreground. An admiral’s barge at the gangway of a handsome black
frigate showed that she had distinguished company on board, and the
sound of the band playing on the quarterdeck and the noise made by the
parading of the marine guard was distinctly borne ashore by the wind. On
every ship something was going on in the way of the orderly bustle of a
man-of-war.
On shore, too, the morning drill was taking place, and the regiments of
redcoats made a brilliant splash of color in the sombre tones of the
ancient town. The scene was charming in itself, but to Jack Bell and
Dicky Stubbs nothing was more disheartening than the evidences of the
might of England.
Presently the advancing frigate, which was trotting along briskly, came
near enough for Jack Bell to recognize her.
“That’s the Diomede, sonny,” said Jack dolefully, as if the arrival of
another British ship filled his cup of woe to overflowing. “That’s Cap’n
Forrester on the bridge—a mighty fine man he is, if he is a Britisher.”
Dicky agreed with this as with everything else that Jack Bell advanced.
As the frigate rounded to, in her usual grand style, Jack’s eyes kindled
although he sighed. “It do a sailor man’s heart good for to see a ship
anchored that way. I’ve knowed the Diomede ever since she slid off the
stocks, and she never was counted on bein’ no great sailer—but the
sailin’ qualities of a ship depends on the cap’n—d’ ye mind that,
youngster; and Cap’n Forrester, he knows how to handle a ship, d’ ye
see, boy? But I’m a-wishin’ she warn’t flying that ’ere flag at her
peak. If ’twas only the American flag now!”
“Yonder ’tis,” said Dicky, pointing across to Narragansett Bay, where he
fancied he could see it flying in the blue air.
“Maybe you can see it,” answered Jack reflectively as he gazed over the
blue water.
“How I wish I were fighting under it!” cried Dicky, whose patriotic
ardor increased rather than abated by living under British rule.
“I dessay,” remarked Jack slyly, who was much given to “pulling a leg”
at Dicky’s expense, “if our people over yonder knowed about you, they’d
be most as distrested as they are about Gineral Lee bein’ held by the
British—’twould take a major-gineral to exchange for Gineral Lee, but
maybe they could git you for a major or a colonel, p’r’aps. What a pity
they ain’t never heard on you!”
Dicky at this turned very red, and giving a vicious kick to a stone sent
it skimming across the water.
“Anyway,” said Dicky presently in a low voice, looking around to be sure
they were completely alone on the rocks, “I did the best I could. I took
three letters to Tiverton and back—and I knew what they was meant for
too.”
“True for you, boy,” said Jack, slapping him on the back; “and now tell
me, what do you think I fetched you down on these rocks for?”
“Dunno.”
“Well, then,” said Jack very softly, “sumpin’ ’s up to-night. I’ve
knowed it for more ’n a week, and I tell you because we want your
valuable sarvices.” Jack could not refrain from giving Dicky this little
dig. “And I’ve pledged my word, as you are a safe boy and ain’t a-goin’
to blow the gaff.”
“You’re right there, Mr. Bell,” answered Dicky proudly. “I ain’t the
sort to blow the gaff.”
“Well, then, listen to me and come close, so I can speak easy. There’s a
plot on hand to-night to bag Gineral Prescott. He’s a long-headed old
feller, although he is mighty proud, treatin’ quarterdeck folks like
they was foremast people. But he knows more ’n most of ’em what to do,
so that’s w’y the patriots is hankerin’ arter him. At nine o’clock
to-night a boat is goin’ to be pulled acrost the bay, and Cap’n Barton
with twenty men’s goin’ to sneak up to the Overing House, where the
Gin’ral is stayin’, while they’re fixin’ reg’lar headquarters for him.
They’re goin’ to take the house by boardin’—I dunno what the soldiers’
word is for ketchin’ him with a rush—and they’re goin’ to put him in the
boat and take him back to Providence Plantations. Now the redcoats is
monstrous keerless about standin’ watch round the Overing House—they’ve
got a sentry or two that marches up and down and then goes and stands in
the corner o’ the house by the chimney—but Cap’n Barton wants some one
to give him the word about twelve o’clock to-night when the coast is
clear.”
“And I’m to give the word,” cried Dicky, jumping with delight.
“Not if you act that a-way,” answered Jack severely. “When sailor men
has got work in hand they don’t go bawlin’ out and jumpin’ like a lizard
over it. They says ‘Aye, Aye, sir,’ and then they goes and does it.”
Dicky, quite crestfallen, awaited Jack’s next words.
“I’d give the word myself, for I ain’t under no promise to Cap’n
Forrester. He just told me the redcoats would see that I didn’t git
away—and they do watch me pretty sharp—so most likely I’d be the very
one they’d suspect. So I says to Squire Stavers: ‘There’s that little
tow-headed Dicky Stubbs that I knows has got a head on his shoulders and
a pair of eyes as is worth sumpin’—and he kin hang round the house and
won’t nobody think it’s nothin’ but stayin’ out ag’in his mother’s
orders’—and you’re that chap,” said Jack Bell, giving Dicky a friendly
thwack that nearly sent him head foremost into the sea.
Dick’s face was a picture—it was fairly beaming with delight.
“To-night!” he whispered excitedly; “twelve o’clock; to keep a bright
lookout round the Overing House!”
“Purcisely,” answered Jack Bell; “the boat will be down at the cove, and
when you see a man comin’ along the ravine through the woods from the
cove, with one hand raised up this way—you’ll slip up and let him know
if the coast is clear; and if the gineral is in bed—as they wants him to
be—you kin tell by the blowin’ out of his candle in the room in the
nor’west corner where he sleeps. So now, go along with you, and don’t
come a-nigh me to-day, ’cause folks might be wonderin’ what we was
a-talkin’ about. And I’ll tell your mother some time to-day, as you will
be out p’r’aps all night—but you won’t be doin’ any harm. And if they
catch you, mind you, set up a mighty howl, like a great baby, and tell
’em you’re afraid your mother’ll give you the cat—so they’ll think
you’re too young to know anythin’—and now be off with you.”
Dicky, with a beaming face, ran off. The first thing that occurred to
him was: “If they do nab the British general, what a fine song it will
make!” for he had by no means given up his ambition to write a song, and
a rebel song at that.
CHAPTER VII.
GENERAL PRESCOTT’S CAPTURE.
Dicky sang very industriously that day, and was lucky, having nearly
four shillings to take home to his mother. Jack Bell did not come to the
kitchen that evening as usual, but he had been there during the day.
After Dicky got his supper he lay down on the settle before the fire and
said knowingly to his mother:—
“Please, ma’am, wake me up at ten o’clock.”
“I will,” said Mrs. Stubbs quietly to this uncommon request. She knew
well enough what was meant.
Dicky fully intended taking merely a cat nap, but when ten o’clock came
his mother had to shake him and pound him and drag him nearly all over
the floor to wake him up. However, once waked up he knew in an instant
what was required of him, and he put on his shabby greatcoat and hat
quickly enough.
“Good night, mother,” he said. “Don’t fret about me—I’ll be home by
daylight.”
“Good night, my boy,” said the Widow Stubbs in her calm way. “Be sure
you act like a boy of sense.”
“I will,” answered Dicky sturdily as he made for the door.
The night was murky, and as Dick glanced out upon the dark bosom of the
bay he could only tell the position of the British ships by the lights
twinkling dimly at their mastheads, while the huge bulk of their black
hulls made only a deeper shadow in the half-darkness. Dicky trudged
along the straggling streets of the town and presently he found himself
in a country lane that led toward the Overing House, a comfortable old
tavern convenient to the cantonments of the troops, and where General
Prescott had established himself temporarily.
The house was not fully alight, as people went to bed earlier in those
days and ten o’clock was considered quite late. The kitchen where the
host and his humble friends gathered was perfectly dark, but in the
northwest corner of the house a light still burned. This was in General
Prescott’s room.
Dicky crept close to the fence that surrounded the house. Everything was
perfectly quiet—even the housedog slept peacefully on the kitchen steps.
After looking about very carefully, he saw a path leading into the
underbrush toward the ravine.
He slipped across the yard and into this path, and after what seemed to
him a long, long wait, he saw advancing noiselessly through the gloom a
man with one hand held up, as Jack Bell had described. Dicky went up and
whispered:—
“Everything is quiet. The dog is asleep on the back steps, and General
Prescott’s room is directly at the front door.”
In a minute more twenty men had silently appeared, as if out of the
ground, and among them was a burly negro known as Sam Ink, from his
jetty blackness.
They crept through the fence and noiselessly surrounded three sides of
the house, the dog meanwhile sleeping peacefully, as they were careful
not to go near enough to rouse him. Almost as soon as their preparations
were completed the light in the northwest room was put out. Dicky
wondered what means they would take to open the front door, which
according to the custom of the time was no doubt barred as well as
locked. He was quickly enlightened, though, for as soon as the
preparations were complete Sam Ink backed off about twenty yards, and
then, starting on a run, he lowered his head and made straight for the
door, and the next minute the crash of splintered wood was heard and
Sam’s head had gone through the panel of the door.
It was only the work of a second then to undo the lock and take down the
bar, and as the sound of shuffling feet in various parts of the house
was heard General Prescott himself opened the door of his room to see
what was the matter. He had no time to strike a flint, but one of the
Americans, who had a dark lantern, suddenly flashed it on the group and
then twenty stalwart arms seized the British officer and dragged him out
of the door and made a rush for the path through the woods.
Dicky had watched it all, having crept up on the porch, and seeing in
the one flash of the lantern that General Prescott had on only his
nightclothes, Dicky darted in the room, grabbed a pile of clothes that
lay upon a chair, and flew after the party in the boat.
They had already made much headway, and as it was some minutes before
the people in the house had been able to get a light from the slow
process of the tinder box or raking over the kitchen fire, the Americans
had a good start. They changed their direction soon after entering the
ravine, and half an hour’s rapid walking, and carrying the British
officer, brought them to their boats.
Dicky had expected to hear a loud protest from General Prescott, but
when he had followed the party to their boats he saw the reason of the
general’s silence. A long horse pistol had been held to his head every
step of the way. General Prescott broke silence for the first time as he
was being hustled into the boat.
“I have no breeches on,” he said.
“Here they be,” cried Dicky in an excited but subdued voice, and he
threw a bundle of clothes into the boat.
Desperate as their circumstances still were, the Americans could not
help laughing at this; the more so when Sam Ink, his head uninjured by
being used as a battering ram, said politely:
“Lem me be your vally, suh. I’se used to bein’ great men’s vally, suh.”
“Thank you, my good man,” coolly replied General Prescott as Sam with
more haste than elegance hustled the general’s clothes on.
The boats then put out for the other side of the bay, and Dick quickly
turned and ran toward home. A general alarm had been given by that time,
but everybody supposed that the kidnappers were somewhere in the woods
near by, or possibly in some deserted quarter of the town. Soldiers were
running about, the drum was beating, skyrockets had been sent up, and
the alarm had been conveyed to the guardship in the harbor, which sent a
boat ashore to find out the cause of the commotion.
Dicky got on all right until just as he reached his mother’s door in the
narrow street where they lived, when he ran full tilt into the arms of a
sergeant with a searching party. Remembering that he had to play the
part of a small and frightened boy, Dicky, who was not frightened in the
least, screwed his face up and broke out into a frightful howl as the
sergeant caught him by the collar of his jacket.
“Oh! O-o-o-ooh!” yelled Dicky. “Let me go—let me go! Please, sir, let me
go! I know my mother will give me a whipping for bein’ out so late!”
“See here,” cried the sergeant gruffly, “have you seen anything of the
gang that has carried off General Prescott?”
The door opened just then and the Widow Stubbs appeared with a candle in
her hand.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Oh, it’s you, Dicky. Very well, very
well. A pretty time of night it is for you to be out. Just hand him over
to me, sir,” said the artful Mrs. Stubbs to the sergeant, “and I’ll
promise you he won’t be going around the streets at this disreputable
hour of the night for a good while.”
Dicky, at this, who could hardly keep from roaring out laughing, opened
his mouth and wailed louder than ever, until the sergeant nearly shook
the breath out of him.
“Shut that potato trap of yours,” cried the sergeant, “and listen to me.
Have you seen a gang of men carrying an officer off into the woods? for
that is what has just happened.”
A bright idea struck Dicky.
“A tall, fine looking man, as I’ve seen going in and out of the Overing
House?” he whimpered.
At this Mrs. Stubbs turned pale, thinking Dicky meant to turn traitor;
but the sergeant answered him eagerly:—
“Yes, yes.”
“Well, sir,” said Dicky, stammering and hesitating, “I see a crowd o’
men carryin’ somebody off, and they was on horseback—gallopin’ along.
The officer was tied to the saddle”—Dicky here remembered about the
pistol. “They had a pistol to his head, and they took the main road
through Tiverton, sir. The officer was on a white horse, sir. I seen
that, though it was so dark.”
It was impossible not to believe this circumstantial account. The
sergeant and his men doublequicked it back to the barracks to send
mounted scouts out on the Tiverton road. And meanwhile the Americans had
rowed with muffled oars across the bay and had landed their prisoner on
the opposite shore.
Dicky went into the house, and his mother securely locked and barred the
door and put out the light; and when safe in darkness and silence she
caught Dicky in her arms and cried:—
“My brave lad! My sensible boy!”
Dicky never felt in all his life so proud and happy before. And at that
moment, they heard Jack Bell, marching up and down the streets, and
roaring out, at the top of his lungs,—
“Two bells, and Gineral Prescott is tooken!”
CHAPTER VIII.
DICKY’S NEW SONG.
The sensation in Newport for a day or two was tremendous. It was not
lessened when a flag of truce from the American commander announced that
General Prescott was in his hands, and he would be pleased to exchange
the British officer upon parole for an American officer of equal rank,
suggesting Major-General Henry Lee, of the Light Horse Brigade. In a
short time the exchange was effected, and General Prescott returned to
Newport as a paroled prisoner.
The British officers were deeply chagrined at the boldness and success
of the attack. Much sympathy was felt for General Prescott. He was a
brave and capable officer, although a stern martinet, and the ridiculous
circumstances of the affair leaked out and were much laughed at on the
sly.
No two souls were more delighted at the outcome than old Jack Bell and
Dicky Stubbs. Dicky’s ambition to have a song about it did not seem
likely to be gratified, so he and the old sailor conceived the daring
design of composing the song themselves. This was done in the long
winter evenings sitting before the kitchen fire and by the light of a
single tallow dip.
Jack Bell’s accomplishments in the reading and writing line consisted of
the ability to spell out the paragraphs of “The Newport News Letter” and
to write with much time and trouble, in a large round hand, “Jno. Bell.”
Dicky, however, was quite expert with the pen, although his poetic
faculty was not nearly so well developed. After a month’s hard work, and
with infinite pains and labor, the song was composed. An air was found
for it, and Dicky found himself possessed of the most popular song in
Newport.
He dared not sing it where there was a chance of redcoats being around,
but at tavern gatherings, with the doors and windows securely fastened,
“The Capture of Prescott” was sure to be called for, and when trolled
forth the boy’s sweet and thrilling treble always brought down a roaring
chorus of laughter and cheers and more shillings than pennies. It was
not of a very high order of poetic merit. Dicky was no embryo Milton or
Shakespeare, but it touched the pride of the Americans, and that was
enough.
Whenever this ditty was being sung Jack Bell’s face was a study. He
leaned forward in his chair, his hands on his knees, and his deep,
cavernous eyes glowing with delight, and at intervals his great
hobnailed boots would come down on the floor with a loud thwack of
approval. Dicky, perched upon a table and swinging his legs, as he
cocked his chin in the air, would trill it out with all the pleasure in
his life, and was naturally enormously proud of his literary as well as
his artistic success.
One night about three months after the capture and exchange, and while
General Prescott was on board the Diomede frigate waiting for a fair
wind to set sail for England, a farewell dinner was given on board to
the officers of the army and navy then at Newport.
Now, what poor Dicky Stubbs, the widow’s son, had to do with this dinner
Dicky himself would have been puzzled to tell, and he was a much
astonished and slightly frightened boy when about dusk a corporal of
marines knocked at his mother’s door and demanded Dicky’s presence. Jack
Bell was sitting in the kitchen, as he usually was at that hour, and
both he and the Widow Stubbs were certain that the authorities had heard
of the boy’s rebel songs and had come to arrest him.
As for Dicky, although a very courageous boy in the main, he thought it
prudent to retire under the bed in the next room. The corporal, though,
having seen him rush in and disappear, all except a pair of tell-tale
heels, caught him by the leg and dragged him out.
“Come out o’ here!” cried the corporal gruffly but not unkindly.
Dicky, finding himself in the hands of the enemy, recovered his
self-possession and stood up quite coolly and unconcernedly.
“Are you the little feller that goes about and sings?”
“Oh, my poor boy!” cried the Widow Stubbs, for once losing her courage.
“Y-y-yes, sir, I am,” stammered Dicky, expecting the next moment to be
put in double irons and carried to headquarters.
“Then,” said the corporal, “you’re to come aboard the Diomede frigate
with me to sing for the officers at a big jollification they’re havin’
to-night, and you wash your face and comb your hair and put on your best
jacket.”
This sounded reassuring, and Dicky proceeded to make his toilet with his
mother’s help. The marine meanwhile entered into conversation with Jack
Bell in the kitchen.
“Seems to me,” said the corporal, “I’ve seen you at Gibralty on the old
Colossus ’long about ’70.”
“Gibralty? Gibralty?” meditatively replied Jack Bell. “Now where in the
world is Gibralty?”
“Come,” said the marine, laughing, “we knows all about you—and it was a
deuced lucky thing for you that you saved that officer’s life. Men has
been shot for deserters afore this.”
“Now you’re jokin’!” exclaimed Jack earnestly; “you marines is allust
pullin’ a leg with we poor sailor men, and we never knows when you’re
jokin’ and when you ain’t. Gibralty—ain’t that somewheres nigh to the
Arches of Pelago, close by Villy Franky?”
“You’ve got it uncommon mixed up, but I reckon you know more ’n you’d
let on,” answered the marine, still laughing. And Dicky’s toilet being
completed by that time, the marine rose to go.
“Don’t you worrit about this ’ere youngster, ma’am,” he said politely to
the Widow Stubbs. “He’s just a-goin’ to sing to the officers after
dinner, and I’ll fetch him home before ten o’clock.” With which the
marine walked out, with Dicky trudging after him. They soon made the
boat and were pulled to the Diomede.
The marine took him to the fok’sle, Dicky staring with all his might at
everything he saw. In a few minutes an orderly appeared from the ward
room, and Dicky followed him aft.
When they reached the cabin door and Dicky got his first peep inside, it
literally took his breath away. Such lights, such gorgeous uniforms,
such splendor his simple eyes had never beheld.
Around a long table glittering with glass and plate and wax candles sat
thirty or forty officers all in uniform. Most of them wore the dark blue
and gold of the navy, but there were many in blazing scarlet. Dicky
recognized Captain Forrester, and his eyes fell upon one directly facing
the door—a tall, handsome, stern-looking man of middle age, in a
brilliant uniform of scarlet, a gold-hilted sword, and with his breast
covered with medals. The other officers addressed him as “General.” All
were in a jovial humor and a rollicking chorus was dying away as Dicky
and the orderly appeared at the door.
“Oh!” cried Captain Forrester at the head of the table, “this is our
sweet-throated thrush from the town of which we have heard so much. This
lad, gentlemen, is said to be the very finest singer hereabouts, and we
have sent for him to add to our jollity this evening.”
Dicky blushed at this compliment to his powers and shuffled from one
foot to another in his embarrassment.
“Now,” continued Captain Forrester to him, “pipe up, sir; do your best,
and give us a new song. Something that we have never heard before.”
Dicky reflected for a moment or two and then, coloring and stammering,
said:—
“If you please, sir—if you please, the only new song I’ve got is a
patriot song, what you calls a rebel song, sir—and—and”—
“Very well, very well,” cried the officers, laughing. “Give us a rebel
song, then. Come, my little man, pipe up.”
Dicky still hesitated between fear and bashfulness, when the “General”
in scarlet spoke up:—
“Give us that song, you young rebel, or I’ll see that you get the cat,
sure!”
Thus admonished, while much merriment prevailed among the officers at
the notion of the rebel song being sung, Dicky cleared his throat and in
the midst of a dead silence began to sing in his clear, sweet, boyish
voice:—
’Twas on a dark and stormy night,
The wind and waves did roar;
Bold Barton then, with twenty men,
Went down upon the shore.
And in a whaleboat they set off
To Rhode Island fair,
To catch a redcoat general,
Who then resided there.[5]
As soon as Dicky began the song he had noticed that it seemed to create
great amusement, and many sly looks were directed toward the general.
When Barton’s name was mentioned the fun became contagious, and at the
last line of the second stanza it became uncontrollable. Shouts and
roars of laughter resounded, in which the general joined heartily, and
it was some minutes before Dicky could proceed.
All this time he looked, as he was, perfectly innocent, and could not
for the life of him imagine what the laughter was about. Dicky’s
seriousness seemed to increase the hilarity, which grew steadily as he
kept on.
Through British fleets and guard boats strong
They held their dangerous way,
Till they arrived unto their port,
And then did not delay.
A tawny son of Afric’s race
Then through the ravine led,
And entering then the Overing House,
Found the general in his bed.
But to get in they had no means,
Except poor Cuffee’s head,
Who beat the door down, then rushed in
And seized him in his bed.
“Stop, let me put my breeches on,”
The general then did pray.
“Your breeches, massa, I will take,
For dress we cannot stay.”
Then through the stubble him they led,
With shoes and breeches none,
And placed him in their boat quite snug,
And from the shore were gone.
Soon the alarm was sounded loud,
“The Yankees they have come
And stolen Prescott from his bed,
And him they’ve carried home.”
At the mention of General Prescott’s name a perfect hullabaloo of
laughter, stamping, shouts, and cheers broke forth, none joining in more
heartily than the general, and it suddenly dawned upon Dicky that it was
General Prescott himself who was present.
At the bare idea of this the boy grew ashy pale and looked as if he
would drop to the floor, but this only increased the rapture of their
amusement. And in the midst of the terrific noise General Prescott’s
voice was heard shouting,—
“Go on, you little rascal—tell the whole story.”
[Illustration: “THE YANKEES, THEY HAVE COME AND STOLEN PRESCOTT FROM HIS
BED.”]
Thus admonished, Dicky managed to continue his song in a quavering
voice, every moment interrupted by shrieks of laughter from his
delighted audience.
The drums were beat, skyrockets flew,
The soldiers shouldered arms,
And marched around the ground they knew,
Filled with most dire alarms.
But through the fleet with muffled oar,
They held their devious way,
Landed on Narragansett shore,
Where Briton had no sway.
When unto the land they came,
Where rescue there was none,
“A right bold push,” the general cried,
“Of prisoners I am one.”
Never was there such a scene witnessed on board a ship as at the
conclusion of this song. So wild was the noise of the stamping on the
floor and pounding on the table that the people below thought the deck
would come through. Yells of laughter and enthusiastic cheering mutually
tried to drown out the other. Officers threw themselves on the table,
convulsed with laughter, while tears streamed down their cheeks.
Others leaned their shaking sides up against the wall and yelled with
laughter. In the midst of it General Prescott, who had laughed until he
was almost in hysterics, threw Dicky a bright gold guinea, crying,
“There, you young dog, is a guinea for you!”
Dicky caught the guinea as it spun toward him and, pulling his forelock
as he ducked his head, exclaimed: “Thanky, sir!” and then turning made a
bee-line for the fok’sle.
A boat was just leaving—he scrambled into it, and in a few minutes he
was trotting up the narrow street toward his home, a very happy but
somewhat frightened boy. He dashed into the kitchen where the Widow
Stubbs sat peacefully knitting, while Jack Bell occupied his usual seat.
“That’s for you, mammy!” shouted Dicky, throwing a gold guinea in his
mother’s lap.
“Land sakes!” cried the widow, “where did you get it from?”
“From General Prescott,” answered Dicky with twinkling eyes; and then he
told the story of the song. The Widow Stubbs laughed until she cried,
and Jack Bell roared like a bull with merriment.
“W’y,” he chuckled, “that beats the speckled Jews!”
“It does indeed,” answered Dicky as he thrust his tongue knowingly into
his cheek; “but I’ll say hooray for one British officer—hooray for
General Prescott!—and I’m glad I give him his breeches!”
CHAPTER IX.
DICKY ENLISTS.
A time came, though, when Newport was evacuated by the British—and on
that glorious day there were no happier souls than Dicky Stubbs and Jack
Bell. Among the great events was the sailing in to Newport of the small
squadron which made the beginning of the American navy. To Jack Bell’s
patriotic eyes they were the handsomest ships he had ever seen in his
life.
Jack and Dicky stood on the highest point of the rocky shores of Newport
and watched with rapture the coming of the little squadron of five
vessels which, though small and lightly armed, were yet to give a noble
account of themselves.
“Boy!” shouted Jack Bell as he gripped Dicky by the collar, “d’ye see
them ships? They ain’t big, and they ain’t got nothin’ in ’em heavier ’n
a twelve pounder—but they’ve got hearts of oak—and let me tell you, boy,
it’s the kind of heart you’ve got, as mostly settles whether you’re
goin’ to take a lickin’ or give one, in a fight.”
Dicky showed his appreciation of this sentiment by bawling out “Hooray!”
as loud as he could—but as he had been “hooraying” pretty steadily for
forty-eight hours past, his voice was somewhat cracked. Dicky, however,
was still capable of making a good deal of patriotic noise.
The shores were black with shouting crowds, and the American sailors and
soldiers received a greeting that made them sure of their welcome. Dicky
ran about all day long, sang all his rebel songs to listening crowds,
and refused to accept a penny for his singing. At night when he reached
home, tired, hungry, sleepy, and hoarse, but perfectly happy, he said to
his mother as he marched in: “Mammy, I ain’t got any money for you—I
couldn’t take it on a day like this—and I’ve sung the Bunker Hill song
and the General Prescott song and all the patriotic songs I know—and I
never had such a good time in my life!”
“I know it, my boy,” said the Widow Stubbs, “and I’m glad you didn’t
take any money for singing on this glorious day.”
The very next morning the inevitable occurred. Dicky announced that he
meant to enlist as a seaman apprentice in the American navy. His mother
turned a little pale but said no word. She was a brave woman and a
sensible one, too; and she saw that Dicky’s taste for a sea life was so
strong that, if balked of it, he would probably never be of much account
in any other calling. Jack Bell gave him one of those friendly thwacks
that almost knocked him down.
“Right, youngster,” said he. “The navy’s the place for a lad as wants to
make his forting. I don’t mean a forting in money—there’s fortings and
fortings; I means in carackter, and bein’ stiddy and faithful, and in
havin’ lashin’s o’ fun when your cruise is up.”
“But I thought,” said the Widow Stubbs timidly, “there were some hard
characters in the navy, Mr. Bell?”
“Mighty few—mighty few,” answered Jack, shaking his head gravely. “When
a landsman and a sailor man gits to fightin’, it’s allus the landsman’s
fault. And if it warn’t for them meddlesome marines, the sailor men
never would git into no trouble. But all the wuthless rapscallions in
creation is arter sailor men—and if they warn’t jest as stiddy and
k’rect as they can be, ’taint no tellin’ the mischief they’d git into.
There ain’t no peaceabler folks in the world nor sailor men, if they is
jest let alone and ain’t balked of their will.”
The Widow Stubbs thought this was true of some other people besides
sailor men.
Among the small American squadron, the Raleigh, a smart little frigate
armed with twelve pounders, was easily the best; and Jack Bell, having
examined her all over, determined that Dicky should enlist on her. No
bright, capable boy was likely to be refused, and Captain Thompson, her
commander, would have been glad to get Jack Bell, too, of whom he had
heard something. The day that Jack took Dicky aboard, to enlist him,
Captain Thompson asked to have the old sailor sent down in the cabin.
Jack went down and found a very dashing young continental officer, proud
of his ship and anxious to do something for his country.
“Well, my man,” said he to Jack; “I have had the lad you brought aboard
put on the ship’s books, and I would like very much to have you, too. I
know all about you, and such a man is valuable among the foremast
people.”
“And I’d like mightily to come, sir,” answered Jack respectfully, “but I
was give my choice, by Cap’n Forrester of the Diomede frigate, of
promisin’ I wouldn’t enlist or of bein’ h’isted up at the yardarm. You
see, sir,” continued Jack, coming a little nearer and putting on a
knowing look which Captain Thompson understood perfectly well. “Cap’n
Forrester had got it into his head that I were one Jack Bell who sarved
forty year in the British navy. But when the war broke out, that there
Jack Bell thought as how he’d be a villian to fight ag’in his own
country, so he up and deserted. Now, sir, supposin’ Cap’n Forrester had
said I were that man? Why, sir, ’twouldn’t ha’ taken a court martial two
hours to string me up at the yardarm. So Cap’n Forrester said as how he
wouldn’t mention his suspicions to nobody, if I’d promise him I wouldn’t
enlist in the American army, navy, or marine corps—and as you see, sir,
not bein’ a officer, the only thing for me to do was to promise—so
that’s how it lays.”
“I understand,” answered Captain Thompson. “Nothing else could be
expected of you; but I am sorry. You can assist me though by bringing me
recruits,—men that you know are steady and reliable,—and in that way you
may be of almost as much use to me as if you were on the ship.”
“Thankee, sir; I’ll do it,” responded Jack with alacrity. Meanwhile
Dicky had been inducted into the fok’sle as drummer boy and helper to
the Jack o’ the dust. He found plenty of work to do, and a boatswain’s
mate after him to see it well done; and the fare was hard and the pay
small. But Dicky was like everybody who has found his real place in
life, perfectly satisfied. Every day Jack Bell came on board to see him,
and every day Dicky saw that the old sailor became more and more
despondent because he, too, could not serve his country. One day after
Jack had very dolefully left the ship, Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate on
board, said:—
“If this was England now, we could send out a press gang and get that
man.”
Now, Dicky knew very well what a press gang was—a body of sailors who
went ashore at night with an officer and authority to seize and press
men into the naval service. This set Dicky to thinking, and he began to
wonder if Jack would not be very well pleased if he were seized and
forcibly taken on board the Raleigh and made to work and fight. The very
next night Dicky got his first liberty on shore, and going to his
mother’s cottage found Jack there, as usual, smoking his pipe.
The Widow Stubbs was delighted to see her boy, and he looked so clean
and smart and bright in his sailor’s rig that she could not but see that
he had improved in the little while that he had been aboard ship. Jack
showed his usual interest in everything that happened on the Raleigh,
but Dicky saw that the old sailor was much depressed.
“Mr. Bell,” said Dicky after a while, “Mr. Jenkins, the boatswain’s
mate, says, as if there was a press gang ’lowed in the American navy, we
could get some mighty good men; we’d like to have—you, sir, for one.”
Jack shook his head forlornly.
“There ain’t no press gang, more’s the pity. If there was, and they
knowed there was a able-bodied sailor man like me ’round about, I’d ha’
been nabbed long ago; and Cap’n Forrester couldn’t say as how I’d broke
my word when I was took by force aboard a American ship and made to
jine.”
“Well,” persisted Dicky, “would you be glad or sorry if there was a
press gang and you was took?”
“Boy,” said Jack sorrowfully, “you’re axin’ me a mighty foolish
question. In course I’d be glad. I’d run the risk of bein’ swung up if
we was captured and I was found out—but there ain’t no chance at all.
I’ve give my word to Cap’n Forrester, an’ I can’t break it; and it ain’t
likely that I’ll be lucky enough to be took by force.”
Dicky said no more, but an idea had evidently taken possession of his
mind. His eyes began to sparkle, he whispered to himself as he sat in
the chimney corner, and his mother saw that something was up. Jack Bell
saw nothing, but sat and smoked gloomily. The widow gave Dicky a good
supper, and a basket of apples to take on board with him; and about
eight o’clock he started to leave. He motioned to his mother to come
outside with him when he left.
“Mammy,” said he, “don’t you be scared if a gang from the Raleigh busts
in on you some night. I won’t tell you what it’s for, but you needn’t
think I’ve been in any harm; so just don’t you be scared about me;” and
without another word Dicky dashed down the rocky path to where he was to
meet the boat.
Next day, after the men had had their morning exercise, Dicky went and
stood by the mast as he had seen men do who wished to speak to the
officer of the deck. The officer, Lieutenant Dobell, advanced to speak
with him. Dicky had rehearsed exactly what he meant to say to the
lieutenant, but when he was actually to say it, his tongue clove to the
roof of his mouth. At last, though with much stammering and stuttering,
he managed to get out that “Mr. Bell could be took.” At first Mr. Dobell
could not make head or tail of Dicky’s meaning, but in a little while it
was cleared up. Mr. Dobell, too, had heard of Jack Bell, and the idea of
having such a steady, reliable man-o’-war’s-man on board was very
agreeable to him. He merely told Dicky, though, to say nothing of what
he had told, and he would think over the matter.
CHAPTER X.
AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER.
About a week after this Dicky was told by his friend Jenkins, the
boatswain’s mate, that he would be needed that night to pilot the way to
his mother’s cottage. Dicky grinned with delight and could hardly wait
until night came. At last, after the longest day he ever spent, eight
o’clock arrived. Jenkins called him and, in company with eight sailors
and Mr. Dobell, they dropped into one of the ship’s boats alongside;
and, pulling with a steady man-’o-war’s stroke, soon reached a lonely
spot on the shore near the Widow Stubbs’ cottage and silently took their
march up the rocky path, Dicky leading to show them the way.
Arrived at the cottage they peered through the window and saw Jack Bell
sitting alone and dismally before the fire, smoking as usual. The Widow
Stubbs was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Dobell, noticing Jack’s brawny figure
and hale and hearty countenance, was more than ever in favor of having
him among the Raleigh’s crew. He directed Dicky to knock at the door,
and Jack opened it, whereupon Mr. Dobell and Dicky walked in, leaving
the eight sailors to watch outside.
Jack Bell recognized Dicky at once by the light of the spluttering pine
logs, and after a moment of hesitation rose and saluted Mr. Dobell.
The officer returned the salute and then said in a jovial voice:—
“Do you want to know what we came for? Well, I’ll tell you. We know that
you are a first-class sailor and a good man, and we want just such brave
fellows on the Raleigh; and, as I hear you promised Captain Forrester
not to enlist in the American navy, we concluded we’d get you by other
means. So come along quietly with me, or I’ll call in eight men I have
outside and take you.”
For a minute Jack Bell’s face was a study. He saw the whole scheme, and
the struggle between his delight and his sense of duty to his promise
was plain. After a moment he spoke, saluting again as he did so.
“Sir,” said he, “I’m a uneddicated man, and maybe that’s why it is I
don’t always know what my duty is—but I want to do it if I can find it
out. Now, I don’t go for to say as I don’t want to be took—God knows I
do—but I hadn’t oughter give in without a fight—and if you’ll jist let
me square off and make a fight agin them eight chaps ’twould make me
easy in my mind.”
“You won’t stand much of a show, my man,” replied Mr. Dobell, laughing
at Jack’s simplicity but respecting it, “so you might as well give in.”
“One moment, sir,” asked Jack. “I don’t like to have no fightin’ in a
respectable widder woman’s house like this ’ere”—
“Can’t help that,” said Mr. Dobell, still laughing; and stepping to the
door he motioned to the men outside and eight stalwart sailors marched
in.
“Boys,” said Jack, “I ain’t sayin’ you won’t git me, but I think it’s my
duty to give you all the trouble I can, so I’ll just take this poker”—
Jack reached forward and was about to seize the poker, when Dicky, as
active as a cat, whisked it out of the way. The next weapon at hand was
a stool, but before Jack could get hold of it Mr. Dobell gave it a kick
which sent it flying. The sailors closed in with a rush, but Jack, with
his stout arms swinging around like a Dutch windmill, laid more than one
of them low before he was overpowered. The struggle was short and sharp,
and in a minute or two Jack’s arms were pinioned by a couple of grinning
sailors, while two that he had floored were scrambling to their feet.
“Sir,” said Jack to Mr. Dobell, “I calls you to witness that I made a
fight for my promise, and I axes you to give me your word in writin’ as
how I was took by force.”
“I will,” answered Mr. Dobell, “and I think you have barked the shins
and blacked the eyes of two of my men, so come along. You, boy, remain
here until your mother comes to explain affairs to her.”
Jack was carried on board the Raleigh and in due course of time was
offered his choice by Captain Thompson of enlisting or being put in
irons.
“If you please, sir,” said Jack respectfully, “now as you’ve took me
I’ve got to sarve, but I’d ruther not be on the ship’s books.”
“Of course,” answered Captain Thompson, “I would enlist you under
another name.”
“’Tain’t that, sir,” said Jack. “I’m willin’ to sarve for my vittles and
does, but I don’t want no pay and no prize money, because I want to let
Cap’n Forrester know some day as I didn’t break my word and I didn’t
make nothin’ out of bein’ took, and I ax you to make a note in writin’
and give it to me.”
This the captain agreed to do, and Jack, with his testimony from Mr.
Dobell and that from the captain stored away in his ditty box, took his
place among the ship’s crew with a goodwill and the happiest heart in
the world. Captain Thompson, moreover, to ease Jack’s mind still
further, gave orders that he was to be watched and on no account to be
given liberty to go ashore, so that even had he wished to run away he
would have found it impossible; and within a week the Raleigh had
tripped her anchor and was off for a cruise along the southern coast.
Never were there two happier human beings than Jack Bell and Dicky
Stubbs. Dicky, it is true, occasionally felt down-hearted when he
thought how lonely his mother must be, but he chose rather to think of
the joy of meeting her again, and determined to try meanwhile and lead
the life his mother would wish him to lead. Jack kept a sharp eye on him
and if he showed any slight inclination to do what was not perfectly
correct, or to shirk his work, Jack would bring him up with a round
turn. So, what with a naturally good disposition and a wholesome
restraint and discipline Dicky was both a good and a useful boy. His
singing made him universally popular on board, and he was often sent for
in the long evenings to sing to the officers in the ward room and even
to the captain in the cabin. As for the fok’sle, Dicky could easily have
got all of his work done in exchange for his singing, which was a great
diversion, particularly when one of the petty officers taught him to
scrape a little on the violin. But Jack Bell was always at hand to make
him do his full share and more of all there was to do—in which Jack
proved himself to be Dicky’s best friend. The story of the song about
General Prescott had got abroad in the ship and Dicky was incessantly
chaffed about it.
Jack had been a signal man for many years in the British navy and amused
his leisure time while cruising by making a tolerably complete set of
signal flags to use in an emergency. Dicky, who would much rather have
been singing and fiddling than sewing, was nevertheless made to help
Jack, and the two passed many hours sitting together on the gun deck
stitching away industriously.
“I wonder what mammy’ll say when she finds I can play the fiddle,” Dicky
would ask with boyish conceit.
“Dunno,” Jack would answer, slyly chaffing Dicky, “but I reckon she’ll
be mightily pleased when she finds you can sew up a pair o’ breeches as
good as any tailor man as ever set cross-legged.”
“But I ain’t a-goin’ to do no sewin’ when I’m ashore,” cried Dicky, his
dignity much wounded. “I only do it now because I’m obliged to, and
mammy won’t ask or expect me to sew up my own breeches at home.”
“P’raps not,” Jack would answer diplomatically.
They had cruised now for some weeks and had captured several small
merchant ships, but Captain Thompson was looking for a warship to
engage. On a bright September evening they sighted a large fleet of
merchantmen which they hoped might be convoyed by a ship of war.
There was a good breeze, and the Raleigh being an excellent sailer both
on and off the wind laid her head for the fleet. To divert suspicion and
to appear like a merchantman, Captain Thompson hoisted the British
ensign, lowered his ports, and had his guns on deck covered with
tarpaulins. He sent the men below with instructions at the first tap of
the drum to go to quarters, and Dicky as drummer boy was ordered to
bring his drum on deck, where he hid it behind a gun and covered it with
his jacket.
It was late in the afternoon before the ships had been seen and it was
near sunset when the Raleigh, flying British colors, sailed boldly in
among the fleet. There were sixteen or seventeen vessels, somewhat
widely separated, and one large ship, considerably to windward, whose
squareness of rig and generally fine appearance induced Captain Thompson
to think she might be a heavy British frigate. But if so her commander
had disguised her so effectually that her real character could not be
known until the Raleigh got considerably closer than she was then.
When the Raleigh got within signaling distance of the fleet, Captain
Thompson sent for Jack Bell, who, with Dicky Stubbs to help him, spread
out his signal flags. All of the officers were on deck except Mr.
Dobell, the first lieutenant, who was ill in his berth, just recovering
from a sharp attack of rheumatism. The second lieutenant, therefore, was
to superintend the signaling. The large ship was plainly visible on the
horizon when the sun was sinking in a blaze of glory. As soon as Jack
Bell caught sight of her he said to the lieutenant very respectfully:—
“Axin’ your parding, sir, but that ’ere ship is a seventy-four. I sarved
forty year in the British navy, and I can tell one o’ them ships as fur
as I can see ’em.”
“I think you are mistaken, Bell,” answered the young officer, who did
not know as much about the run and rig of a seventy-four as Jack Bell.
“No doubt there is a warship somewhere about convoying the fleet, but it
is not that large ship off the quarter; but I will speak to the
captain.”
Captain Thompson agreed with his second lieutenant that the ship was not
a seventy-four. Jack said no more, and the twilight coming on, the ship,
although she grew larger as they approached her, also grew less distinct
in her character and outlines.
Captain Thompson then sailed boldly into the fleet of merchantmen and
signaled, “Where is your convoy?”
The signal was evidently understood, as the nearest vessel promptly hung
out several signal flags in reply. But in the dusky evening, it was
impossible to read them. However, the American captain thought it
prudent to act as if he had read them, and signaled back, “We have
orders to find your convoy.”
The impudence of this tickled the Americans, and the officers with
difficulty suppressed a cheer from the men. Dicky Stubbs laughed so loud
that Jack Bell gave him a whack in good earnest, which caused Dicky to
be perfectly quiet afterward.
Meanwhile the big ship was evidently edging off, which made the sanguine
Americans certain that she was a merchant ship.
“Maybe she is—and maybe she’s waitin’ until we gits under her
broadside,” mumbled Jack Bell to himself.
“She’s shy, my men,” cried Captain Thompson, who was young and brave and
rash, pointing to the ship, which continued to edge off. “We will signal
her and see what account she will give of herself,” continued the
captain.
The little Raleigh had now lessened the distance nearly one half between
herself and the big ship, which showed not a single porthole and seemed
to be keeping off most determinedly. Accordingly the Raleigh signaled,
“Where is your convoy?”
A faint moon showed its shimmering disk over the horizon, and those on
the Raleigh could plainly read the stranger’s answer:—
“We have none.”
The Raleigh then made this bold assertion:
“We have your superior officer aboard.”
By that time the Raleigh had gained on the big ship, which still showed
a disposition to get away. Nevertheless it signaled back: “We think you
are mistaken.”
By that time both ships were running free on the same tack, under a good
working breeze. Suddenly the stranger luffed short around; her whole
starboard side seemed to fly open; a double row of heavy guns were run
out, as if by magic, and the whole broadside of a seventy-four roared
out and raked the American from stem to stern. Fortunately the men had
been kept below, in the effort to disguise the Raleigh, and by extreme
good fortune, although several of the few officers and men on deck were
wounded and all were thrown to the deck, none were killed. But the
destruction on the ship was frightful. Many of her guns were dismounted,
her masts and spars were so wounded that she became for the time
unmanageable, and it was plain that she could not survive another such
broadside.
Captain Thompson, with blood streaming down his face, soon regained his
feet—but one glance showed him the state of affairs. The Raleigh had
lost her leeway and swung around with her head to the wind, perfectly
helpless under the guns of her huge antagonist. The seventy-four
meanwhile, shortening sail with the utmost quickness and precision, was
in a few minutes ready to repeat her performance.
“We will give her one round for the honor of the flag, if we go to the
bottom for it,” cried Captain Thompson. “Sound your drum, boy, as loud
as you can!”
Dicky at this began a tremendous tattoo, at the first sound of which the
men rushed from below, and running to their quarters every gun on the
Raleigh’s port side, which lay toward the seventy-four, thundered
out—and, immediately after, the American ensign was hauled down, as
resistance was useless. In another moment a boat was lowered from the
seventy-four and pulled toward the Raleigh. The officers, with Captain
Thompson at their head, stood at the port gangway to receive the
boarding officer.
It had passed so quickly that Dicky was stunned by it all. He saw as in
a dream the British officer come aboard, Captain Thompson offer his
sword, which was courteously declined—and he, with the other officers,
taken off to the British ship, which turned out to be the Ajax, one of
the finest seventy-fours in the British navy. Not a murmur was heard
against Captain Thompson, whose rashness had brought the Raleigh’s
company to that evil pass. He had made a frightful mistake, but it was
the mistake of a brave man, duped by a skilful enemy.
CHAPTER XI.
THE ENEMY OUTWITTED.
A prize crew was immediately thrown on board the Raleigh, but with the
contempt for the American navy which the British naturally felt at the
time, it was thought enough to send a young lieutenant, a midshipman,
and twenty men to take charge of the American ship. The crew were all on
deck, about to be mustered by their captors, when Jack Bell, finding
Dicky Stubbs, pale and awed, standing next him, whispered very softly:—
“Has you seen Mr. Dobell anywheres about?”
“No,” answered Dicky just as softly, “he ain’t able to move hardly yet.”
“You slip below, then,” Jack continued hurriedly but impressively, “and
tell him there ain’t but twenty men and two officers aboard—and they
thinks they has got all the officers—and if he kin manage to git into
the men’s quarters and git a suit of sailor’s clo’es on him, they won’t
never suspect we has a officer among us; but if we has an officer, we
can git the ship back before they knows it. Now, can you remember that,
boy?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Dicky—and in the confusion he easily managed to get
below. With his heart in his mouth he ran to Mr. Dobell’s room. The
lieutenant, much disabled by rheumatism, had yet managed to crawl as far
as his door. He surmised only too well the state of affairs above, and
when Dicky in an agitated whisper gave Jack Bell’s message, Dobell saw
at once what was meant. Only twenty men and two young officers! He
balanced rapidly in his own mind the chances he took, not forgetting the
parole that he might expect as an officer, and the imprisonment he might
suffer if he assumed the character of an ordinary seaman—but he saw the
opportunity opening before him, and he also knew how level-headed and
experienced Jack Bell was in spite of his humble position and want of
school education. Nor did Mr. Dobell forget that although in the
excitement of the moment he might have been overlooked for a little
while, that very soon he would be inquired after and searched for—but a
plan instantly suggested itself to him on that point. Picking up his cap
he hobbled, with Dicky’s assistance, down to the men’s quarters. Nearly
all the lights had been put out by the shock of the Ajax’s broadside,
but by Mr. Dobell’s instructions Dicky put out every one in their wake
that remained. He then told the boy as they passed the carpenters’
quarters to look around for a grindstone that he could lift. Dicky got
hold of one that he could lift very handily, as he was a strong boy.
“Now,” said Mr. Dobell hurriedly, “get some sailor togs on me; then put
my officer’s clothes up in a bundle and hide them until I can get a
chance to throw them overboard; and next throw the grindstone overboard,
with my cap after it, and rush up shouting, ‘Man overboard!’ and they
will think it is I—but tell Bell privately that I am here.”
By that time they were in the sickbay, where there were two or three men
ill, and in a minute or two Mr. Dobell was in a hammock, looking as ill
as any of them. Dicky ran back and by almost superhuman efforts managed
to get the heavy grindstone overboard and threw Mr. Dobell’s cap after
it. A loud splash was heard, and Dicky rushed up on deck shouting, “Man
overboard!”
This added to the commotion prevailing on deck. The boarding boat was at
the gangway, and the young midshipman jumping in, the boat’s crew pulled
toward the bow of the boat, where the splash had been heard. They saw an
officer’s cap floating near by and it was picked up, and for half an
hour they pulled back and forth over the place where the grindstone had
gone down, upon the chance of saving the supposed unfortunate officer.
On deck Jack Bell, by some occult means, had passed the word around
among the Americans that something was up and they must be on their
guard. When the boat returned with the officer’s cap, it was at once
identified as Mr. Dobell’s by the initials in it, and on looking into
his room it was found empty. The British lieutenant thought he had
conclusive proof that the first lieutenant had either fallen or jumped
overboard; and Jack Bell propounded a plausible theory that Mr. Dobell,
being unable to get on deck, had managed to lean out of the cabin window
so far, in his effort to see what was happening above, that he lost his
balance and fell overboard. “And he were a good officer, were Mr.
Dobell,” said Jack with much feeling; “and he must ha’ felt awful bad
when he knowed he couldn’t lift his hand to help the poor Raleigh.”
Jack’s theory was shared by the British officers, and when they found
two or three sailors in the sickbay it did not occur to them that the
one who appeared the most ill was the first lieutenant of the ship.
In a little while the ship was completely under the control of her
captors and nearly a hundred American prisoners were sent below the
hatches, while the damages to the ship were repaired as far as possible.
This was not finished until morning, when the Ajax and her prize parted
company, the Raleigh being directed to report at Philadelphia, which had
then fallen in the power of the British.
The melancholy news of Mr. Dobell’s supposed loss had been conveyed to
his old shipmates on the Ajax, and added to the distress they suffered.
The American prisoners on the Raleigh, although closely guarded, were
perfectly free to communicate with each other. A plan was formed to
seize the ship as soon as Mr. Dobell was able to move about, which would
be shortly, as he was mending fast. A sentry, fully armed, always stood
at the hatchway, but if once he could be disarmed or thrown off his
guard, the Americans rushing up could get possession of the deck, and
the rest would be easy. Mr. Dobell had the management of the whole
scheme, and it was desired to carry it into effect before they reached
Northern waters which swarmed with British cruisers. Jack Bell was Mr.
Dobell’s righthand man; and after two or three days, when the lieutenant
was able to get about his cramped quarters fairly well, Jack took Dicky
aside and whispered to him: “When the officer comes down to inspect
to-morrow morning, do you be singing the prettiest song you have, and
fiddling, too, and maybe he’ll notice you; and then I’ll tell you what
to do.”
Next morning, therefore, when the officer came below, Dicky was singing
away like a thrush “When the Wind at Night Whistles Over the Deep,” and
playing his accompaniment on the violin. He stopped, as if caught by the
officer; but apparently the young British lieutenant had no ear for
music and passed on without noticing him. The British sailors, though,
had heard him, and as music was highly prized on board ship to break the
monotony, Dicky was soon asked for, to sing and play to the men in the
fok’sle during their leisure hours. Thus, he was often allowed on deck
for an hour at a time, and never failed to use his eyes very sharply and
to carry down the news to Mr. Dobell, whose character as an officer was
not in the least suspected by his captors. They had experienced contrary
winds, and although ten days had passed since the Raleigh’s capture,
they had not yet passed the capes of North Carolina.
On a certain day though, when Mr. Dobell was able to walk about with
comfort, Dicky had got his instructions, and with a beating heart but an
undaunted courage he went above, when he was called for. It was Sunday,
and the few sailors that could be spared were sitting around the fok’sle
smoking and spinning yarns. Dinner had been served to them and directly
afterward the hatches would be opened to send the prisoners’ dinner down
to them. Dicky was permitted to go as far as the main hatchway. It had
just been opened and two cooks descended, followed by two sailors armed
with pistols and cutlasses. As they disappeared below a slight noise, as
of scuffling bare feet, was heard. The sentry, with his piece at his
shoulder, advanced, and at the same moment Dicky, rushing at him from
behind, pulled his legs from under him and he fell sprawling down the
hatchway. In another minute the Americans came rushing up on deck headed
by Mr. Dobell who, although unable to take any active part, yet
commanded with skill and coolness. They had the pistols and cutlasses of
the two sailors they had disarmed below, and they had seized the musket
and pistols of the sentry. In another moment the sailors sitting around
the fok’sle were overpowered before they had a chance to make any
resistance, and Mr. Dobell, directing pistols to be leveled at the heads
of the lookouts, they came down with alacrity. All this was done with
surprisingly little noise, as the Americans had been ordered to act as
quietly as possible and had left their shoes below.
Fifteen out of the twenty men had been captured, and it was now
determined to bag the two officers. Mr. Dobell, who had become
wonderfully active under the influence of excitement and success,
quickly and noiselessly descended the cabin hatchway. The cabin door was
open, and the lieutenant, with his back to it, sat at the table calmly
enjoying his dinner; while the young midshipman, leaning on the transom,
craned his neck far out of a porthole to see what caused the faint but
strange noises on deck.
Mr. Dobell signaled to two brawny young Americans who walked abreast
with him, and the next instant a stout arm encircled the lieutenant’s
head, across his eyes, and a pair of equally stout arms pinioned him
behind. The lieutenant uttered a loud yell, but the midshipman with his
head out of the port did not hear it. He felt, though, someone dragging
him backward, and the next thing he knew he was gracefully seated on the
floor and the cabin was full of Americans. By that time the five
remaining British sailors had been overpowered and the ship was in the
hands of the Americans.
The lieutenant struggled violently for an instant, when Mr. Dobell
spoke:—
“Remove your arm from his eyes.”
The sailor who had covered the officer’s eyes took his arm away. The
young lieutenant gave one quick glance around and became perfectly
quiet.
“Sir,” said Mr. Dobell, “this ship is in possession of the Americans,
and to show you that it is, you shall be freed from personal restraint.”
The sailor who held him let go, and the lieutenant rose and looked about
him.
“At all events,” he said coolly, “there is no commissioned officer among
you, and it is not likely that any of you foremast people can navigate a
ship.”
“I beg your pardon,” answered Mr. Dobell politely, “but I am Lieutenant
Dobell of the Continental navy, and I feel altogether capable of taking
this ship anywhere I wish. It was not I, but a grindstone, that fell
overboard the night of the capture. I felt that with an officer to
direct them our men could get the ship back, and for that reason I chose
to spend my time below the hatches. Now, however, I promise myself the
pleasure of your company in the cabin.”
The lieutenant, not to be outdone in politeness, answered with admirable
self-possession: “When you have made your dispositions on the ship I
should be pleased to have your company at dinner, for I conceive myself
the host at this one meal at least.”
“Thank you,” responded Mr. Dobell. “I will not keep you longer than I
can possibly help, for I acknowledge that the fare and table service
under the hatches has not been altogether to my liking.”
Mr. Dobell then went on deck, and directing the prisoners to be
mustered, they were marched below and occupied the late quarters of the
Americans. No bad blood was shown on either side, but a philosophic
acceptance of a change of conditions. Mr. Dobell had his plans so well
made and easily carried out that within half an hour he rejoined the
lieutenant in the cabin and ate the first good meal he had enjoyed for
ten days; while the Raleigh, once more an American ship, bounded along
under a freshening breeze to the music of three thundering cheers, given
by the Americans as soon as they had leisure to celebrate their
adventure.
Dicky Stubbs was the happiest little soul imaginable. He had been the
only one among all the Americans allowed on deck, and the news he had
carried below, and his achievements in pulling the sentry’s legs from
under him, made Dicky a considerable hero in his own eyes. But Mr.
Dobell, after seeing the boy every day in the time of their
imprisonment, had concluded that he was a remarkably brave, sensible,
and reliable boy, and had determined to interest himself in Dicky’s
future welfare.
Mr. Dobell decided to make for Newport. They had favoring breezes all
the way and passed many British cruisers, to all of which the Raleigh
showed British colors and signaled that she had been taken from the
Americans. But whenever a disposition was shown to speak her, she always
made off with a swiftness that caused many an angry captain to promise
himself the pleasure of reporting her to the admiral as wanting in the
first principle of that courtesy which should prevail upon the seas.
The melancholy news that the Raleigh had been captured by the Ajax was
brought to Newport one day by a trader from New York; and there was no
sadder heart in Newport than that of the Widow Stubbs. She spent no
time, however, in useless lamenting, for she had given her boy to her
country cheerfully and knew what the sacrifice meant. And she consoled
herself by thinking that it was after all but a temporal misfortune, not
comparable to what might have been had Dicky been caught lying,
stealing, or playing the rascal in any way. But she could not refrain
from crying a little when, about sunset on the day the bad news came,
she looked out of the window of her little house and thought that was
the time that Dicky had been wont to come home jingling his pennies in
his pockets with a vast air of importance before throwing them into her
lap, and then demanding his supper as if he owned the earth. But—strange
sight!—there lay a handsome little frigate at anchor in the harbor that
looked astonishingly like the Raleigh; and—oh, happy miracle!—there was
Dicky himself rushing up the path, followed by Jack Bell on a dog trot;
and then the door burst open and Dicky, grown about a foot taller and
broader, jumped into his mother’s arms, and Jack Bell marched in and
began sawing her arm up and down. The Widow Stubbs was so amazed,
astounded, and delighted that she was quite beside herself; and Dicky
poured out a rigmarole, his tongue going like a millwheel, all about
knocking the sentry down, and playing the fiddle, and what Mr. Dobell
was going to do for him.
“What does he mean, Mr. Bell?” asked the Widow Stubbs helplessly, after
having hugged and kissed Dicky twenty times over.
“The brat means, ma’am,” responded Jack as he solemnly cut a large quid
of tobacco and placed it in his cheek, “as how he’s did his duty—no more
and no less—but, like all brats, he’s makin’ a big hullabaloo over jest
a-doin’ of his duty, like ’twas sumpin’ extryordinary. I don’t go for to
say as he ain’t a smart chap—but he’s had adwantages, bein’ took young
into the navy, where most of the smart men is found, ma’am—and I think
he’ll live to be a credit and a comfort to you, ma’am.”
“He will, if he only does his duty just as it lies before him,” said the
widow softly, and kissing Dicky’s freckled nose.
“I’ll try to, mammy,” answered Dicky sturdily.
And he kept his promise very faithfully. The day came, when the war was
over and America was free, that his mother saw him captain of a fine
ship and able to give her a better house to live in than she had ever
known in all her life. Jack Bell took possession of the little cottage,
where he spent many happy years, and always pointed to the brave,
bright, and successful Captain Richard Stubbs as a monument of what
“bein’ ketched young and put into the navy” would do for a man.
FOOTNOTES
[1]The sailors’ name for a marine.
[2]Citizen.
[3]The appliance for hanging men at the yardarm.
[4]The songs in this book are not original.
[5]This song is not original, but is taken from an old naval song book,
very popular in the last century. The incidents concerning this song
and General Prescott’s words on the occasion are historically
accurate.
Transcriber’s Notes
--_Two_ illustrations listed in the Table are missing from the book.
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
End of Project Gutenberg's Quarterdeck and Fok'sle, by Molly Elliot Seawell