DOWN THE BRITISH CHANNEL.
With the exception, it may be, of the Mediterranean Sea, there is no
other water whereupon so much history has been manufactured as on the
British Channel.
Away back beyond Caesar's day and ever since, it has been cruised over
by all sorts of vessels and fleets. Its first absolute rulers were the
Norse-Saxon vikings. After them it has been Danish, Dutch, French, and
English.
One of the later Dutch admirals once carried a broom at his masthead in
a boastful declaration that he had swept the Channel clean of every
opposing force. Not a great while afterward, the British sea-captains
fell heirs to the Hollander's broom.
The _Noank_ had not lain long grappled to the disabled _Arran_. There
was danger in every hour of delay. The plunder obtained, although
valuable, was not excessively bulky, and was rapidly transferred and
stowed away.
There was no apparent danger but that the brig would speedily receive
assistance, for there were other sails already in sight. Her first
disability, as to any of these, was that she was no longer able to fire
a signal-gun, and all her rockets and other explosives had been taken
away. Her officers and crew were left to do whatever they could with
flags in the daytime, or with lanterns by night.
"We're off," thought Guert Ten Eyck, as the schooner swung away, all
her sails going out as she did so. "Captain Avery says he must capture
one more prize, if it's only to take off some of our men. Then we're
to streak it for home! Don't I want to get there?"
The cruise of the _Noank_ had indeed become a long one. There were
several ship reasons why it would be good for her to go into dock and
be overhauled for repairs. Her crew, also, were more than willing to
see their homes and families.
"My boy," said Groot, the Dutchman, as he came to sit down by his young
friend, "you go home. I have no home. I must live on the sea. The
land is not my place."
"I'll be glad to get there," said Guert, "if it's my own land. Do you
know if we're to run into Amsterdam?"
"Not if the captain is wise," replied Groot. "There will be too many
Englishmen looking after him, as soon as they hear of this affair."
"Well, I guess they won't like it," laughed Guert. "Up-na-tan is
homesick."
The red man was standing within a few feet of them, and he answered as
if he had been spoken to.
"Ugh!" he said. "Ole chief want to know 'bout he island. Want see
Manhattan. Mebbe all lobster get away. Up-na-tan go see ole place.
Fish in Harlem River."
That was what was the matter with him. Warrior he might be, sailor,
pirate, or privateersman, but at that moment he was dreaming of the
happiness of pulling in flounders and blackfish from the waters around
his island.
Guert, on his part, was thinking of his mother. He wondered if she
still were living at the Avery farm-house, and if his prize-money had
been duly paid over to her to make her comfortable.
"Now, every man hark!" said Captain Avery to his crew, when, a little
later, he had gathered them amidships. "We've a close race to run. If
this wind holds, we shall be in the Straits of Dover at about daylight
to-morrow morning. We are goin' to risk it and cut our way through.
Three cheers for home!"
Vigorous, indeed, were the hurrahs that answered him, and on sped the
schooner. Her sails that were torn by the shot of the _Arran_ were
being replaced by new ones, and skilful sail tailors were busy with the
rents of the old. The damage to her bulwarks was of no importance and
not a shot had penetrated her sides. The American sailors were in fine
spirits, but not so were Lieutenant Tracy and the crew of the _Arran_.
Hardly two hours went by before his hoped-for succor came, but he
wished it had been a merchantman rather than a man-of-war. The sound
of the cannonading had been borne by the wind to the line-of-battle
ship. She had sailed toward it, as a matter of course, and here, now,
was one of the boats at the _Arran's_ side. On her deck was the
seventy-four's first lieutenant, so hot with wrath that he could hardly
listen to poor Tracy's report, while he himself rapidly inspected the
damages done by Up-na-tan's well-sent iron.
"Help yourself?" he exclaimed. "Why, they made a log of your brig!
What's the world coming to? They're prime gunners, my boy. We must
make out to sink that rascal. I don't know exactly what to do with
your craft."
He did know, nevertheless. Temporary steering-gear was fitting on her
as rapidly as might be, and the pumps were going, for the _Arran_ was
leaking badly at the stern.
"Tracy, my boy," said the lieutenant, "get her into any port the
wind'll help you to. We're away after that saucy privateer."
So surely and so powerfully would the fugitive be followed, not to
speak of any perils which might be hovering around the pathway before
her. The commander of the line-of-battle ship knew something
concerning at least a part of these. He listened to the report of his
first officer, on his return, angrily yet coolly, and he replied:--
"All right, Hobson. Tracy isn't to be blamed, I see. As for the
pirate, we'll chase her, but she's a lost dog already. The whole
Channel fleet is under orders to gather at Dover Straits. She is
running right in among 'em. She'll be overhauled before eight bells
to-morrow."
"Those Yankees are slippery chaps, sir," said the lieutenant, shaking
his head.
The hours went swiftly by, and Captain Avery remained on deck, pacing
thoughtfully to and fro. Midnight went by and still the wind held
good. It was a strong, northerly breeze, upon which he could have
asked for no improvement.
"Lights! Lights! Lights!" he was at last repeating, as he looked
ahead. "There's a reg'lar fleet of some sort. Our lanterns are all
right, I'd say, 'cordin' to the signal-book. Bad for us, though. All
those are British men-o'-war, not merchantmen. Port there, Taber; I
must be ready to speak this feller that's nearest. Groot, you and
Guert go to the rail. Up-na-tan, you and Coco must help. They mustn't
hear any English. Both of you can talk Dutch. Some of us'll chatter
French and Spanish."
There were, however, on board that man-of-war, men who could understand
Dutch. One of them was an officer who came to the rail to converse
with Groot, after hails had been exchanged.
"_Magdalen_, of Rotterdam?" he said. "Tell those monkeys to shut up
their jabber, there, so I can hear! From Copenhagen last? You spoke
the line-o'-battle ship _Humber_, coming this way? Did you hear
anything of that American privateer?"
Dutch and French again broke out upon the supposed _Magdalen_, and the
Englishman shouted back toward his own quarter-deck:--
"Hurrah! The _Humber_ reports the Yankee cruiser sunk by the revenue
cutter _Arran_, Lieutenant Tracy. Hurrah for him! Hard fight! The
Yankees fought to the last. Nearly a hundred prisoners. Heave ahead,
_Magdalen_! Good news!"
Loud Dutch shouts replied to him, and on went the _Noank_, while the
other vessels of the British Channel fleet received the welcome tidings
as it was passed along from ship to ship. Therefore there was no
longer any need that they should be on the watch for the impudent,
destructive adventurer from the other side of the Atlantic. She had
gone to the bottom!
"I feel kind o' queer," thought Guert. "I couldn't ha' done it myself.
I had to let Groot do the lying. I'm afraid I'll never do for war. I
don't mind a fight, out and out, but somehow I can't help speaking the
truth, Dutch or English."
Up-na-tan, on the other hand, was in great good-humor over the very
Indian-like manner in which the British were being defeated. The Dover
gathering of their war-ships was to him a kind of ambush through which
he and his friends were cunningly crawling by hiding their feathers and
war-paint.
They were not exactly crawling, either, for Captain Avery was calling
upon his schooner for all the speed she had.
"We mustn't lose an inch!" he said. "Their best racers'll be comin' on
in our wake in less'n an hour, maybe. I wish this night'd last all day
to-morrow."
The next morning had not arrived, indeed, when the _Humber_ herself
came within hail of one of her Dover assembly friends. Then, shortly,
there arose a more noisy jabber in English than had been heard in Dutch
and French on the _Noank_, for the genuine news had been told in place
of Hans Groot's invention. The actual outcome of the fight between the
_Noank_ and the _Arran_ did not call for any enthusiastic cheering.
Only a little later, the admiral commanding the fleet summed up the
whole affair.
"Gentlemen," he said, to a number of glum-looking officers, "we have
passed that American pirate right along through this fleet. I think
we've a right to go ashore, somewhere, and sit down. It was cleverly
done, though, 'pon my soul! Captain Coverley, select our three best
chasers to follow her. She mustn't be allowed to get away again!"
Each of the three vessels named was three or four times over a match
for the _Noank_, and her chances did appear to be unpleasantly small.
"There's jest one thing they won't count on our doin'," had been the
decision of Captain Avery. "We must put right out into the Atlantic,
aimed at nowhere. If it would only blow a gale, now!"
He was not to be gratified in that particular during the pleasant
autumn day that followed. Lighter became the wind, brighter the sky,
and stiller the sea.
"It's a schooner wind, Lyme," said his old friend Taber, now the second
mate of the _Noank_. "It gives us our best paces. We've run past
every keel that was on the same tack, thus far. It isn't really bad
luck."
"I hope it isn't," the captain gloomily responded. "But this 'ere sea
is a boat sea. They might come for us with a rigiment of their boats,
you know. It's a good thing for us that there isn't a man-o'-war in
sight, yet. I a'most feel as if there was blood on every mile we're
makin'!"
He was even low spirited. It seemed to him impossible that so long a
run of what seamen call good luck could be stretched out much further.
The sailors, on the other hand, were taking a different view of the
matter, very much more sensibly. Every man of them may have had a
superstitious belief in "luck," but they had also seen, in each
successive emergency, that they had a captain with a long head, and
that he knew exactly what to do with that schooner. They were in good
spirits, therefore, that sunny day. Perhaps they did not know all the
reasons he had for now and then shaking his head.
"There's no port for us, hereaway," he thought. "I don't know of one
that it would be safe for us to look into. It's a long v'yage home.
We're a good deal overcrowded. There's worse'n that to think of,
though. That feller Tracy told me our folks at home are gettin' ready
to give it up. He said we are beaten badly, all around. I may find a
British garrison in New London, when I get there. One in Boston, too.
Then my chance for a rope 'round my neck is a sure one. Things look
black, and no mistake!"
He should have been at his home that day instead of at sea. All over
New England, all over the other colonies, north and south, as far as
the news had been carried; from town to town, from village to village,
and from farm to farm, horsemen were riding, men and boys on foot were
running to tell of the surrender of Burgoyne. The great British
invasion and conquest of the northern half of the American rebellion
had broken down. The Six Nations had scattered to their wigwams and
council-fires. It would be many days yet before the tidings could
reach England or cross the Channel to astonish Continental Europe and
seal the alliance between the United States and France. It would be
longer still before it could be known by roving cruisers out at sea.
For all American keels, however, their home ports had been made secure
from British assailing until the generals and admirals of King George
should have time given them to consider the Saratoga affair, and make
up their astonished minds as to what it might be best for them to
undertake next.
"Anneke Ten Eyck," remarked Rachel Tarns, "thee wicked rebel! Has thee
no feelings for thy good king and his wise counsellors? Cannot thee
understand that their souls may be much disturbed by this untoward
event?"
"I wish their fleets were as badly whipped as Burgoyne's army is,"
replied Mrs. Ten Eyck. "Oh! it is so very long since I've heard from
Guert!"
"Trust thy son with thy God!" said Rachel, reverently. "Thee may think
of this, Anneke: our victory over Burgoyne hath cost much to hundreds
of mothers, as loving as thou art. Their sons lie buried at Stillwater
and Saratoga. No gallant ship will bring them home again."
"I know it! I know it!" sobbed Mrs. Ten Eyck. "They gave their lives
for liberty. Guert may have to give his as Nathan Hale did. He told
me he believed he could die as bravely, only he would rather it should
be in battle."
"That he may not choose for himself," said Rachel. "It hath come,
heretofore, to many of my own people, Quakers, thou callest them, to
die by the fire, and by the water, and by the hempen cord, because they
would not give up their freedom to worship God in their own way. I
think it was well with them. Let thy son die as it shall be given him
in the hour of his appointing."
Deep and solemn had grown the tones of the enthusiastic old Friend, but
Mrs. Ten Eyck dropped her knitting and went to a window to look out
long and wistfully toward the harbor.
"When will he come sailing in?" she thought. "Am I ever to see him
again? Oh! the war is so long, and the sea is so wide, and I love him
so!"
Very beautiful and very long-suffering was the patriotism of the
American woman of that day. Bitter indeed was the cup that many of
them had to drink. Costly as life itself were the sacrifices that they
were called upon to make. Well might such a son as Guert, keeping his
watch on deck at the end of that long, pleasant day, be thinking only
of his mother, rather than of the dangers that surrounded the _Noank_.
Groot, the pirate, came and sat down by him and asked him curious
questions concerning the way people lived in America.
"I can't get back to our old farm on Manhattan Island," Guert told him,
"until Washington's army marches in again. Up-na-tan and Coco came
away with me when we were beaten."
Groot asked then about the New York battles and about New London.
"I always believed," he said, "that I must always live on the sea, but
I've been thinking. I can never be safe afloat. I sail with a rope
around my neck, although I was never a pirate of my own free will. It
is growing in my mind that I had better find some kind of harbor on
shore. I shall have prize-money this time. I can make a start at
something. I believe I could go away back into one of your states and
live a new life."
"That's it," said Guert. "You could go among the Mohawk Valley
Dutchmen, if Manhattan Island is too near the sea. You'd be hidden
there, safe enough. Nobody would ever come for you."
"I'll think of it," said Groot. "No man knows how long he is going to
live, anyhow."
So there was rejoicing, with mourning also, and anxiety, upon the land,
and it was a time for serious thinking on the sea; but at this moment
the forward lookout startled all on board by the vigorous voice with
which he sang out:--
"Sail ahead! Close on the larboard bow! Big three-master! No light
showing!"
"All hands away!" roared Captain Avery. "Port your helm, there! Men!
If it's an armed ship, it's too late to get away. We must grapple and
board her, for life and death. Get the grapplings ready! Ship ahoy!"
The response was the report of a shotted gun and an angry shout:--
"We know you! Keep away, or we'll sink you! We can do it!"
"British trader," thought Captain Avery. "He's told us all we need to
know. He's a strong one, I guess, and he could maul us badly. Our
only chance is to close with him." Then he shouted to his crew:--
"Pikes and cutlasses! All hands be ready to follow me! Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" came wildly back, and the three guns of the schooner's
broadside, with the long eighteen, answered the stranger's challenge.
They were well enough directed, and so was the reply that came from
half a dozen English pieces, but these, quite naturally at so short a
range, were aimed too high. Down came both of the topmasts of the
_Noank_, while her hull and ship's company were unhurt. She was a
crippled craft in a moment, but she still had enough of headway to
carry her alongside of her bulky antagonist before her guns could be
reloaded.
"Throw the grapnels!" shouted Captain Avery. "Haul, now! All aboard!
Fore and aft, and amidships! Give it to 'em!"
Down he went the next instant, flat upon the deck of the English ship,
as he sprang over her bulwark. Down at his side fell the British
sailor by whose cutlass he had fallen, and over both of them sprang
Guert Ten Eyck with Up-na-tan and Coco reaching out to hold him back
and get in before him.
"I hit him!" shouted Guert, fiercely.
"Forward! Down with 'em! The ship is ours!"
Right here, amidships, the English crew had supposed to be the strength
of their assailants and they had rushed desperately to meet it. They
had not heard, however, the last command of Captain Avery, and his fore
and aft boarding parties went over almost unopposed.
"We are surrounded!" exclaimed the British captain, "They are four to
one! Hold hands, Americans! We surrender!"
It was time for him to do so, for fully a third of his crew were
already down. They had been completely surprised as well as
outnumbered.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Up-na-tan, as he lowered his pike and turned suddenly
toward Guert. "Boy hurt?"
"Coco catch him!" said the old black man, eagerly, as Guert sank upon
the deck. "Saw lobster cut him!"
"Never mind me!" yelled Guert. "See how Captain Avery is! Look at the
cut in his head!"
"Wors'n that!" came hoarsely from first mate Morgan, as he bent above
the fallen captain. "Taber, take charge of all for a moment! Lyme
Avery is dead! Shot through the heart! Send the prisoners below.
Look out for the wounded. All hands clear ship! Both ships! Make
sail at once! I'm in command of the _Noank_. Taber'll take this one."
The second mate was a Groton man, a grim old salt who had sailed in
many seas. He was a good man to lean on in such an emergency, and he
rattled out his orders while the men secured the prisoners. Morgan
slowly stood erect as the English commander came toward him.
"You are the American captain, sir? I know what your ship is. Mine is
the _Lynx_, British privateer, Captain Ellis. We were on the lookout
for you, or we thought we were."
"I'm Captain Morgan, now Lyme Avery is dead," was the somewhat sadly
spoken reply. "How is it that you're so short-handed?"
"We had only forty able men left, all told," said Ellis. "Thirteen
more sick or wounded. All the rest away in prizes or taken out of us
by the reg'lar men-o'-war. The prizes and the press-gangs turned us
over to you, sir. We took a Baltimore lugger, a bark from
Philadelphia, two schooners from Boston, and one from Providence. We'd
done right well, so far. You must ha' made a prime run, yourself."
He was evidently a privateersman all over, and his view of the matter
was that he had only met with a disaster in the regular line of his
business.
Morgan's thoughts were running in another direction.
"Your armament's heavier than ours," he said, after a sharp survey.
"Lyme was right, poor fellow! Our only chance was to board."
"Perhaps it was," said Ellis. "We've two nines and three sixes on a
side. Our pivot-gun's gearing broke, and she's no good. Thirty-two,
though. The _Lynx_ is an old Indiaman. She's a little heavy, but
she's a good sailer. We cut up your spars a little?"
The sailors of the _Noank_ were already examining her damages. Three
more of her crew had been killed and two wounded in the short, sharp
fight. Six Englishmen killed and seven more hurt out of forty told how
severely the odds had been against them.
During the first few moments of noise and confusion, while the other
sailors were rushing hither and thither upon their very pressing
duties, Up-na-tan and Coco had been kneeling by Guert.
A pike-thrust in his right thigh, a slight sword-cut on his left
shoulder, a bruise upon his head, told for him that he had been in the
very front of the fray.
"Both cut cure up quick," said Up-na-tan, as he bandaged the wounds.
"Boy no die. Ole chief glad o' that. Take him home to ole woman."
From the Ashantee came nothing but an apparently gratified chuckle.
Their first work was to get him back upon the _Noank_ and into a bunk
in Captain Avery's cabin, by Morgan's especial direction. All the
other wounded, on both sides, were well cared for. Then there was a
short, sorrowful hour given to sea funerals, and all the dead were
buried in the ocean.
Mate Taber, with more than half of the _Noank's_ company, was put in
charge of the _Lynx_. All of the prisoners, also, were left in her.
"Homeward bound, Taber," shouted Captain Morgan, as the ships parted
from their too close companionship. "Take your own course to New
London. The main thing is to get in."
"Ay, ay!" called back the old Groton sailor. "We'll get there. We'd
best keep within signal distance as long as we can, but the schooner's
riggin' needs repairs, and ours doesn't."
"All right," said Morgan. "Keep company!"