“Say, Bill, if this brig gets into blue water without a tussle I miss
my reckonin’,” dryly remarked one of the old sea-dogs to his companion,
as the two leaned on the ship’s rail next to the cat-head. “The coast
is swarming these days with lime-juicers and if we fall into their net,
we’d wish to have our grog sent down to Davy Jones’ locker, where we’ll
all be if Sammy Risk has a thing to do with it. He’d blow us all up
before he’d strike.”
“Look a’ here, Hank, you old growler, if Sammy Risk can’t show as
clear a pair of heels to them Britishers as ever vanished out of a
spying-glass,” replied old Bill Weathergage, “then I’ll take all the
jobs of slushin’ and swabbin’ that the boys ought’er do for a for’night
on the cruise.”
“Mind what ye’re sayin’, Bill.”
“I’ll do it, you old figger-head.”
The privateersmen were discussing probabilities as the Holker lay in
the stream below Philadelphia awaiting Captain Risk to fill out his
complement of sixty-five men. Roderick Barclugh had started on his
journey and the flour was all on board. The Holker stood up like a
church steeple with her cargo stowed away in her hold and hatches all
battened down, waiting for a passage outside the capes. Her armament
was three short six-pounders forward, and three long nine-pounders aft,
being the batteries on port and starboard; a long twelve-pounder bow
chaser and a long eighteen-pound quarter-deck stern chaser. A heavy
eighteen-pound swivel amidships completed the ship’s metal.
She was equal to many of the King’s cruisers in armament, and excelled
two-thirds of them in sailing qualities.
Word came up the river that a brace of the King’s cruisers were
standing off Cape May, ready to pounce upon any Yankee that chanced to
run the blockade.
The best chance was for Captain Risk to run the gauntlet in the dark,
so that the tenth day after Barclugh had left Philadelphia, he quietly
weighed anchor and slipped past the forts and stood off into the
roadstead, waiting for a chance to slip out.
The night came on dark and boisterous, so that word was passed to get
under weigh, as the weather looked nasty from the sou’-sou’east, and as
the enemy would have to stand off the coast for sea-room, Captain Risk
took advantage of the opportunity to make blue water.
Setting his foresail, main and fore-topsail, and reefing down for a
scud up the coast, Captain Risk jammed into the wind from the cover of
the river and made for the offing.
All lights were out and the binnacle was hooded. A double watch was
called on deck and the Holker tacked into the teeth of the gale until
the capes were fully two hours astern. The wind was moderating when
orders came to make her course nor’east by north. The yards were braced
in, and as the wind now came from abaft the beam, she was bounding
before the gale and scudding from wave to wave.
The moon was two hours high, and was peering through rifts in the
clouds. The sea was settling to a long swell. Every one on deck began
to feel that no danger was near, when the lookout sang sharply:
“Sail, ho.”
“Where away?” asked Captain Risk, as he stood on the port quarter,
glass in one hand, and the other on the main shrouds.
“Three miles on the lee bow. He is bearing down on the port tack, sir,”
returned the man aloft.
“That’s well. All hands!” commanded Captain Risk, as he turned to his
lieutenant, Mr. Ripley, saying with assurance:
“We have the weather and can keep him guessing.”
All hands were called and sent to quarters and both broadsides were
loaded with grape and round shot for close action.
When the enemy bore down within easy hailing distance, he asked through
his trumpet:
“What ship is that and where away?”
“This is the Privateer Holker, sir,” replied Captain Risk.
“You better haul down those colors, or I’ll blow you to smithereens,”
returned the man-o-war’s man.
“Not yet, my hearty. Fire away, Flannagan,” shouted Captain Risk to the
Englishman.
“Now then, let them have it, my lads!” commanded the privateersman
sharply.
The bright moonlight afforded good aim and the execution of the
broadside spread consternation among the enemy and cut into his
foreshrouds.
The enemy’s broadside flew high, and cut into the Holker’s rigging as
the ship rolled, with no serious damage.
The Holker’s crew now braced in their yards and shot under the stern
of the enemy, who had to come about on the starboard tack to ease his
injured shrouds.
Captain Risk now had the Englishman at his mercy. When under full
headway, he wore ship and brought the starboard battery into short
range, thus raking the cruiser from stem to stern.
Both ships were now on the starboard tack and the Holker in the weather
position. The Englishman came up on the port tack to cross the Holker’s
bow for a rake, but the foxy Risk brought his ship up for the port
tack, too, and filled away so fast that the broadside went astern.
The chance now came for Risk. The Englishman would have to wear ship,
to bring his starboard broadside into action. As quick as a flash, Risk
came about on the starboard tack, passed astern and raked the cruiser a
second time from stem to stern. The execution was so severe that every
one of the starboard main-shrouds was carried away and the Englishman
was thrown into utter confusion on his deck.
The Holker had the Englishman so that his only chance was to wear ship,
but his masts could not stand the strain. So the privateer came around
on the port tack and came booming alongside, within pistol range, and
delivered another broadside of grape that cut the crew to pieces and
sent a large part of them writhing on his deck.
But the cruiser’s crew was plucky, for now a running fight commenced.
The Englishman got in a telling broadside, that cut the binnacle from
under Captain Risk’s feet, and killed Mr. Ripley at his side. The
privateer, on account of her superior sailing qualities, had to tack
to bear up to her antagonist and keep from running out of range. The
fire of the cruiser was getting nervous and irregular and the privateer
delivered a terrific broadside that drove the men that were splicing
the shrouds, under the bulwarks. As the Holker was closing in to board
under cover of the smoke, a voice on the privateer’s foretop sang out:
“’Vast firing. She has struck.”
Captain Risk ordered his second lieutenant to board and find out her
name and the damage inflicted.
The ship was the General Monk, a brig of two hundred tons, commanded by
Lieutenant Churchill of His Majesty’s service. She carried sixteen long
nine-pounders and two long twelve-pounders for stern and bow chasers,
with a full complement of eighty men.
When the privateer’s crew boarded the General Monk, the decks were
literally strewn with dead and wounded, and the scuppers were running
blood. The grape at short range had killed fifteen and wounded twenty
more, among whom was Lieutenant Churchill. All the shrouds of the
foremast, and the head-sails were shot away. The foremast and bowsprit
were cut one-quarter through. The halyards and standing rigging were
shot adrift, and the running-gear was cut to pieces.
The Holker had lost the first lieutenant and six men killed, while
ten were wounded, and much injury had been done to the sails and
gear. A prize crew of fifteen were put aboard the General Monk, and
ordered back to Philadelphia, taking the prisoners and valuable stores
found aboard. The Holker had left, forty men effective for service,
and needed her rigging overhauled before making for the Long Island
rendezvous given by Barclugh. So Captain Risk thought best to put
into Egg Harbor for a short time to repair his rigging and get into
ship-shape for the run over to Long Island.
There seems to be a strange fatality among ships as well as among
men. In the height of success is the period of gravest fear of the
unexpected to occur.
The prize crew on the General Monk were busy setting up and splicing
rigging and fishing the spars as the prisoners were put below when
daylight stole upon the scene. The sound of the guns had borne down on
the other ship of the blockade. The crew of the Holker were tricing up
stays and shrouds in order to keep the Holker’s sticks from rolling out
of her, when about four miles, dead astern, loomed up a heavy frigate
under a cloud of canvas, making for the scene of action.
Captain Risk had to be served now by his wits rather than by his guns,
for, if he took to his heels, the prize would be left to the mercy of
the frigate.
Risk mounted his shrouds, trumpet in hand, and signalled his prize to
run before him on a course opposite to the Holker’s while he ordered
deliberately, in notes clear and strong:
“Ready, about!
“Mainsail haul!
“Raise tacks and sheets!
“Helm’s a-lee!
“’Vast bracing!”
The doughty little captain brought his ship over on the starboard tack,
and stood into the wind to draw off the stranger and try his speed.
Captain Risk now had his gear well cleared up and the shrouds well set
up to stand a run before the ten-knot breeze.
With sprightly bounds the crew of the Holker obeyed the commands:
“Stand by main and fore-tacks!
“Let her pay off!
“Man her weather braces!
“Haul!”
As she sheered off, the ship now staggered before the wind sooner than
the Englishman could realize the tactics of the brig.
The Holker had spirited away for half a mile before the lumbering yards
of the frigate could be trimmed to meet the Yankee’s course.
The chase was now on, for better or for worse. Nothing less than
heroic means could save the Holker. Her main-topsail, foresail, and
fore-topsail, were all set and she was laboring hard under her cargo
of flour; yet if Captain Risk could hold his own until he reached Egg
Harbor Inlet, he would show the frigate, Roebuck, the most devilish
piece of Yankee seamanship this side of Davy Jones’ locker.
On came the Roebuck with huge wings like a monstrous demon, yawing
wildly on each crest from the enormous stretch of her after-canvas, but
she was surely closing the gap between the ships. In another half-hour
she would be within short range of the Holker. A chance shot might
bring down the privateer’s topmast, and then all would be lost.
Captain Risk stood on the port quarter with glass in hand, watching
every rope and sail as he turned to his men and commanded sharply:
“Man that main-stay garnet, with a luff-tackle, bullies, and overboard
cargo with a will. No time to lose, my lads.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came from twenty throats, as every man jumped to his
station.
The hatches came off in a trice, and the flour came swinging out, two
barrels at a heave.
“No hell-hole of a British prison for us this day,” came out from the
heart of every privateersman when he swung on the cargo with might and
main.
A puff of smoke now appeared out of the bow of the Roebuck, which the
crew of the Holker watched with bated breath, until the eighteen-pound
shot fell three hundred feet astern.
A cheer rang from the watch on the Holker’s deck.
“Now, men, heave over the six-pounders!” ordered the unruffled Risk.
“Every inch of free board means our bacon saved,” continued Risk, as he
stepped to the wheel and ordered the helmsman to lighter ship.
Just then another puff of white smoke curled out of the frigate’s fore
bulwarks and an eighteen-pound shot came crushing through the captain’s
cabin, and buried itself among the flour barrels in the hold.
“That is close shavin’,” said Risk dryly. “Unbend that long tom and
we’ll try that lime-juicer’s topsail!” ordered the little captain
restlessly.
Six of the lads on deck swung on the watch-tackle, and the long tom
was trained astern for Captain Risk to sight a life-saving shot at the
Roebuck’s rigging. The little privateersman took off his coat and hat
and elevated the piece for a long shot. He took a careful squint while
he signalled with either hand to haul on the side-tackles and when the
mark was sure, he ordered:
“Fire!”
The gunner applied the match and the Holker quivered as the old
reliable tom dealt out its rebuke to the Englishman. Captain Risk
shaded his eyes with both hands as he watched for the results of his
gunnery. The shot rose in parabolic beauty of flight while instants
seemed moments to Captain Risk and his crew, but true to its aim the
eighteen-pounder cut the enemy’s fore-topsail and yard, both of which
went by the board.
“I’ll show that rapscallion that he’s not on a pleasure cruise,”
chuckled the proud Risk, as he rubbed his little chubby hands and
paced the quarter-deck nervously. The gleam of delight in the little
skipper’s eye had no bounds, for he had saved, for a time at least,
his heart’s desire, the Holker, from humiliation.
Now there was excitement on the deck of the frigate. The huge hulk
yawed up into the wind as her sails came aback after the head-sail
power was cut down, but the nimble jackies soon swarmed aloft and
cleared away the wreckage, and the other sails were trimmed for a fresh
run before the whole-sail breeze.
The Holker had not yet gained security by any means, for the captain
of the Roebuck was one of those thoroughbred English sea-dogs who had
earned his promotion from a middy’s berth to the command of one of the
fleetest ships on the English Admiralty register. Captain Risk must
earn his safety, if he were to save his ship.
Yet minutes meant precious advantage to the Holker, and while the
frigate was losing headway, the brig’s crew was heaving cargo overboard
and the privateer was leaping on the waves like a hound as she
staggered under every stitch of canvas that she could bear. The gain on
the enemy was perceptible as each inch of free board gave her life. She
rose on the huge waves with more ease and labored less on each crest.
The gale had begun to increase rather than fall, so that when the
frigate steadied up before it once more she had her courses all set,
her main-topsail and main-topgallant sail, and the fore-topmast
stay-sail to hold her head up. A mighty cheer went up as the frigate
leaped into the wind again in full pursuit of the brig.
“Just give us two hours more,” said Captain Hamilton of the Roebuck
to Lieutenant Nelson, “and we will have that devilish rebel under our
lee,” as the British commander took a long look through his glass at
the brig about five miles ahead.
“That’s well, sir, if we can catch him,” replied Lieutenant Nelson.
“But he seems to be making wonderful headway and I believe those
Yankees are charmed.”
“We had one, once, point-blank under our starboard battery on the Sir
John, but the rascal took to his heels and ran us out of sight too
quickly to tell about it. He came into the wind and shot under our
stern while we expected nothing but for him to strike; and before we
could bring our battery to bear, we had to wear ship, so he escaped
with only a few scattering shots. Lord Ralston cut off the grog for a
fortnight to get even with his chagrin and disappointment.”
Captain Risk now had one chance to evade the Roebuck. That was to
lighter his cargo enough to let his ship weather the bar at Egg Harbor
Inlet. The Roebuck would then be outside, pounding away in the deep
water, waiting for his prey to come out.
Extending along the Atlantic Coast from Sandy Hook to the Gulf of
Mexico, are numerous inlets or openings between low, sandy islands
back of which is deep water and safety; but only light-draught vessels
can enter these inlets. The ebb and flow of the tides keep a shallow
channel open, but the heavy seas of the ocean wash the sands into a bar
and the tide is not powerful enough to cut a very deep channel.
One of these sand-bars was at the entrance of Egg Harbor Inlet. A deep
channel led from behind the low-lying islands, until the outflowing
tide met the action of the sea-ways and there formed an eddy that
deposited the sands into the bar, which was about one hundred feet
wide, and on each side of which was deep water. The current was
deflected to the southward, outside the bar, so that the channel was
like the letter “L,” the bar being in the angle.
When steering into the inlet the pilot must approach for a considerable
distance, parallel to the beach and at the critical point turn sharply
to port, or else land high and dry on as ugly a beach as ever lured a
mariner.
But, driven like a fox seeking cover, Captain Risk made straight for
this hole at Egg Harbor Inlet. The seas were going over the bar and
breaking into foam at every wave; a mile of breakers roared on each
side of the thread-like channel from the deep water to the sandy beach
of the islands.
The Roebuck was now hauling grandly into the chase. Thirty minutes more
and the Holker would be under the batteries of a forty-four-gun ship.
“Now, lads,” remarked the little Yankee skipper, “if you heave out that
cargo with a will and nary an eyebolt lets loose, I’ll put the Holker
into that hole yonder or we’ll pound our lives out on the treacherous
Jersey sands,” as he stepped forward and took the wheel into his own
hands.
“All hands at stations!” was the last command after guns were lashed
and hatches battened down.
The seas were running fearfully high from the sou’east after the
all-night gale. The breakers could be seen for unlimited stretches
right ahead, rolling surge upon surge. The ship followed a streak of
blue water midst the white foam.
When the Holker struck the channel the ebb-tide was setting out, and,
instead of driving fast ahead, the Holker seemed to hold up and simply
rise and fall on the choppy seas.
The hearts of all were in their throats, for now the Roebuck loomed up
and everybody saw the Englishman luff and a broadside belched forth at
the struggling Holker. Down came her main-topsail, but as long as her
head-sails hung out she could keep before the gale, and try to weather
the bar.
The frigate was desperately near; another raking broadside might take
the Holker’s foremast, and then she would be a helpless wreck at the
mercy of the breakers.
But the smoke hid the Holker from the frigate for an instant, and the
valiant Risk held his ship right upon the bar. As a huge surge came
athwart the quarter to throw the brig upon the sands, the skipper put
the wheel hard up. The ship at once broached to on the crest of a
wicked sea and rolled on her beams’ ends. As the keel scraped on the
bar a burly seaman grasped the wheel with the captain, and by wonderful
dexterity the rudder was put hard over. The next surge saw the Holker
right herself before the wind and launch safely in the still water
beyond the bar.
When the Holker accomplished this daring feat of seamanship, the crew
of the Roebuck were so thrilled that they let out a lusty cheer for the
Yankee and bore off into the blue water to ride out the gale.
Now that the Holker was speeding in smooth water to a safe anchorage,
the crew were clearing away the wreckage and admiring the little
captain, who had saved them again from the horrors of an English
prison.