HOW TOM DEERING FOUGHT HIS FIRST FIGHT UPON THE SEA
WHEN the schooner was well beyond pursuit she dropped in close to
shore, and word was sent to the men who guarded the horses to take them
back to Marion’s camp. Then the vessel got under way once more; it was
no time to loiter, as the frigates might make sail after them at any
time.
Tom, sick at heart at his failure to rescue his father, had decided to
stick to the Defence until he saw Laura at least in safety somewhere;
and several others of his command were delighted at the prospects of a
cruise upon deep water. Next morning Tom approached his uncle upon the
subject of Laura.
“I’ve been running out of the port of Baltimore,” said Captain Deering,
“for a long time, and we have some folks at Baltimore. You don’t
remember your Uncle Ben’s family, I suppose? I’ve been to see them once
or twice during the last year, and a fine, healthy lot of boys and
girls they are, and Ben and his wife are as hearty as can be. Suppose I
run up the Chesapeake, and have Laura stop with them for awhile?”
“An excellent idea,” said Tom, much relieved. “And I’m glad you thought
of it, for Laura’s safety has been troubling me a great deal.”
The run along the coast up to the Chesapeake was enlivened by a number
of chases by British vessels; there was one, a sloop-of-war, of about
the same tonnage as the Defence and carrying not many more guns, which
Captain Deering ran from with great regret.
“I’d like to train Long Tom on her,” said the old sea-dog, patting the
long pivot gun, amidships; “but as I’ve got Laura on board, I suppose I
must show the sloop a clean pair of heels.”
When they reached Baltimore, after a narrow escape from a brig and two
fleet schooners which were cruising up and down at the mouth of the
bay, Tom and the captain saw Laura safely housed with Uncle Ben, who
was delighted to receive her; then, after many “good-byes” they once
more sought the Defence.
As it happened the harbor of Baltimore was in great commotion just
about that time; a great fleet of merchantmen, fifty sail in all, were
waiting for a chance to sail, but the British fleet outside kept up
such a vigilant watch that it seemed as though the time would never
come. A brave and resolute officer, Captain Murray, who had at one time
served in the land force and afterward in the infant navy, was engaged
by the merchants of the port for the post of commodore of the fleet.
His personal charge was a “letter of marque,” the Revenge, carrying a
crew of fifty men and eighteen guns. A few days before, Captain Murray
had signaled the fleet to make sail; but upon venturing into open
water he had encountered a greatly superior force and was compelled
with his entire fleet to run up the Patuxent for safety.
However, he had now received word that the enemy, grown tired of
waiting, had sailed, and he was making ready for another attempt.
Knowing that the Defence had lately entered the port he paid her a
visit next morning in his gig.
“Captain Deering, I believe,” said the commander of the letter of
marque.
“Yes, sir,” said the old sailor, who stood in the waist, overlooking
some repairs to the topsails, which had been badly torn by a discharge
of small shot from one of the British vessels.
“I am Captain Murray, of the Revenge,” said the visitor. “The fleet
which you see in the harbor is about to sail to-morrow; I have come to
you to know how conditions are outside.”
“There seems to be plenty of the enemy’s craft,” grinned Captain
Deering, “and they are mighty liberal with their shot, for witness of
which look at my topsails,” and he waved his horny hand toward the rent
canvas which some of the sailors were stitching and patching as they
sat with their backs to the bulwarks.
“I’ve been asking for delay,” said Captain Murray; “but the merchants
want their cargoes afloat, and will listen to nothing else but
immediate sailing orders, they having heard that the enemy had sailed.”
“I know what they are,” said the skipper of the Defence. “These
land-lubbers are never satisfied. If their old tubs are held back they
rave and tear; and if they are taken out in the face of the enemy and
are captured or sunk they go on worse than before. Tar my old hull,
captain, there’s no way of pleasing such swabs.”
“I see you’ve been in some such position as mine yourself,” said
Captain Murray.
“I have,” returned Captain Deering. “I convoyed a fleet out of
Charleston before the British took the town. They gave me no peace
till I got their old hookers out; and then when the enemy bore down
on us, six sail strong and mounting as many guns as I had men, they
scuttled here and there like a lot of ducks in a rain-storm. Result was
that about half of ’em was seized; and of course when I ran back with
the others the entire blame was put upon me.”
“Just so,” said the captain of the letter of marque. “I’m afraid that
is how it is going to be with me. When do you sail, Captain Deering?”
“At the next tide,” answered the other.
“Could you be prevailed upon to sail with the fleet?” inquired the
other anxiously. The trim look of the Defence, the bright, well-kept
guns and the brisk businesslike crew had taken his fancy. The schooner
would be no mean addition to his fighting force, and he awaited the
answer with interest.
“If the fleet,” said Captain Deering, “sails when I do, and means to
stand to its guns if the enemy is sighted, I’ll stick by you while I
have a shot in the locker.”
“I thank you,” said Captain Murray gratefully. “There is to be a
meeting of the captains, upon the Revenge, this morning. We are going
to arrange matters before sailing.”
Now, although the merchant fleet numbered fifty sail and some of
them were large vessels, very few of them carried guns. It was
plain, therefore, that even this great collection of craft would be
comparatively helpless under the fire of a few light, well armed, fast
sailing vessels of the enemy. It was to effect some sort of a system of
defence that the commodore had called the captains together, and the
meeting upon the Revenge ended in terms of agreement being entered into
by the armed ships, to support one another in case of attack. Signals
were agreed upon for the entire fleet, and then all retired to their
respective vessels to await the turning of the tide.
In the gray of the morning the boatman’s whistle sounded through the
Defence; all hands turned out to up anchor and make sail.
“This will be our first experience at deep-water fighting,” said Tom
to Nat Collins as they, with the remainder of the swamp-riders’ band,
stood in the stern, ready to lend a hand when required.
“You expect fighting, then?” said Nat.
“To be sure. You see how sharply we were pursued in running in? Well,
if they would exert themselves so much against a single schooner, it
stands to reason that they will double their efforts against a huge,
helpless fleet like this. The Chesapeake will see some gunnery this
morning, and before the sun gets very high, in my opinion.”
“And your opinion’s a good one, my lad,” said the gruff voice of Mr.
Johnson, the schooner’s mate, who was passing just then. “There are
some of the British lying outside there, ready and waiting for this
fleet of old pine planks; and they’ll dance with delight when we show
ourselves in open water.”
There was a great flurry and noise in the vast gathering of
merchantmen; their capstans clanked, their blocks and rigging creaked,
their seamen chanted as they hauled upon the ropes. Then one after
another they got under way; the Defence and the Revenge, followed by
the other vessels carrying guns, led, under easy sail; the fleet as
it passed down the bay and out into the Atlantic made an imposing
appearance.
The shore line had not yet been dipped under the sparkling waters,
when Mr. Johnson’s prophecy came true. A fleet of privateers suddenly
hove in sight, close under the land. The Revenge flew the signal for a
superior force, and ordered all unarmed vessels to return to port, and
the others to rally about her. The Defence promptly bore up in answer
to the signal, but, to the shame of the others, only one brig followed
her example; the rest ran for Hampton Roads.
The British fleet consisted of a large ship of eighteen guns, a brig of
sixteen and three schooners; and with one accord they stood in for the
body of the merchantmen.
“There will be a general capture if that is allowed,” said the skipper
of the Defence to his mate.
“Ay, ay,” growled Mr. Johnson. “It’s time for the Revenge to show her
teeth, if Murray expects to do anything.”
“And for the Defence, too,” said Captain Deering. “Ready the Long Tom,
Mr. Johnson; we’ll try a round shot at that nearest schooner; she’s too
saucy by far for the weight she carries.”
The long gun was charged and the captain himself sighted it.
“There is a long, slow swell,” said he to Tom, “and that’s the best
sort for gunnery afloat. You can time the rise to a fraction of a
second. The best gunners are going to win this fight, for everything is
in their favor.”
He ran his eye along the polished length of the pivot gun, then applied
the match. Long Tom barked sharply, the solid shot went skipping
across the waves like a heavy-winged bird; there came a quick crackling
sound upon the schooner fired into and her foremast, splintered close
to the deck, went, in a tangle of rigging and spars, over the side.
“Well aimed,” praised Mr. Johnson, admiringly. “She’s out of the fight
for awhile, anyhow.”
“There goes the Revenge,” cried Tom.
The letter of marque had put herself into a tight place; in order to
give his merchantmen time to escape, Captain Murray had awaited the
approach of the privateers, and in a short time he was between the fire
of the ship and brig. As Tom spoke the Revenge let go both broadsides
and she reeled trembling under the shock. As Captain Deering had
predicted, good gunnery was going to be felt in that long, slow swell;
the firing of the Revenge was almost perfect, and the damage done by
her broadsides and smaller guns during the next half hour was very
great.
[Illustration: _“WELL AIMED” PRAISED MR. JOHNSON_]
The two uninjured schooners bore up on the Defence and engaged her; the
American brig here entered the fight, with the brass carronades with
which she was armed. She took the attention of one of the schooners
from the Defence, and Captain Deering headed for the other with his bow
guns barking like vicious dogs and the powder-smoke almost covering
his vessel’s advance. The steering-gear of the privateer had been
damaged by a well-placed shot from the long gun early in the action;
so she could not manœuvre as she otherwise would have done; the result
was that the Defence laid herself alongside, and with a wild cheer
the seamen and swamp-riders, led by Tom and the mate, sprang over the
rail and rushed among her crew. These latter, apparently, were not
accustomed to this style of fighting, for after a weak resistance they
threw down their arms and cried for quarter.
Captain Deering directed that they should be driven down below and the
hatches battened down; then placing a half dozen men on board the
captured craft to manage her, he drew off. The American brig was still
engaged with the third schooner; the latter was the lightest armed and
manned, and as the brig seemed fully capable of providing her with
entertainment the Defence went about and bore up for the Revenge.
Captain Murray was fighting his vessel with desperate resolution; but,
by this time, his ammunition began to grow low, for they had been hotly
engaged for a full hour, and his fire had somewhat slackened. And now
the gallant officer’s heart leaped with delight as he saw the Defence
heading for the brig, upon his starboard; for with the attention of
this vessel attracted from him for a space he felt that he could deal
with the ship.
Tom Deering, who had sailed upon many coasting trips in the Defence
before the outbreak of the war, was at the helm; Captain Deering was
superintending the loading of his guns with canister and musket balls;
Mr. Johnson was mustering a boarding crew in the waist. As they neared
the brig, which greeted them with a scattering fire of small arms and a
broadside which did little or no damage, the captain shouted to Tom,
“Down your helm--hard!”
The signal had been arranged between them; the brig manœuvred to meet
the expected movement of the schooner; but Tom promptly threw his helm
up, and a swinging spar became entangled in the rigging of the Defence,
whose mate at once, with a body of seamen, sprang to make the tangle
secure. The schooner was now in a position from which she could rake
the brig from stem to stern.
“Fire,” cried Uncle Dick. The guns, loaded with the canister and musket
balls, swept the British ship’s decks, and in a few moments there was
not a man to be seen. Those who had not fallen by the fire had sought
safety below decks; Mr. Johnson was about to give the word to board,
when the lashings gave way, and the two vessels drifted apart.
The guns of the Defence were given time to cool and commander and crew
looked about them. The ship which had engaged the Revenge had hauled
off; the third schooner, after inflicting sufficient damage to the
rigging of the American brig to prevent pursuit, had also drawn away.
Then Captain Murray, whose vessel had suffered severely, having borne
the pounding of both British ship and brig for an hour, flew the signal
to cease firing. He knew that it would not be possible for them to take
the British vessels, so a continuation of the action would only be a
waste of ammunition.
Within a half hour the enemy had drawn together to make repairs;
then they hoisted what sail they could, and all five stood out to
sea, while the Revenge and Defence re-entered the harbor with the
crippled brig limping, as it were, in their wake. For this gallant
action the skippers and crews received the thanks of the merchants of
Baltimore. The Defence was somewhat damaged by the British fire; so
Captain Deering delayed long enough to refit; and there being no enemy
now to fear the merchant fleet sailed in safety to their different
destinations. One morning the Defence also slipped out of the bay and
was soon bounding swiftly over the sparkling waters of the Atlantic, on
her way south.