BEARDSLEY BETRAYS HIMSELF.
Never before had the hours hung as heavily upon Marcy Gray's hands as
they did at the period of which we write. There was literally nothing he
could do--at least that he _wanted_ to do. He did not care to read
anything except the newspapers, and they came only once a day; he had
never learned how to lounge around and let the hours drag themselves
away; he very soon grew weary of sailing about the sound in the _Fairy
Belle_ with the boy Julius for a companion; and so he spent a little of
his time in visiting among the neighboring planters, and a good deal
more in "pottering" among his mother's flower beds. Visiting was the
hardest work he had ever done; but he knew he couldn't shirk it without
exciting talk, and there was talk enough about him in the settlement
already.
To a stranger it would have looked as though he had nothing to complain
of. He was cordially received wherever he went, often heard himself
spoken of as "one of our brave boys" (although what he had done that
was so very brave Marcy himself could not understand), and visitors at
Mrs. Gray's house were as numerous as they ever had been; but Marcy and
his mother were people who could not be easily deceived by such a show
of friendship. Some of it, as they afterward learned, was genuine; while
the rest was assumed for the purpose of leading them on to "declare"
themselves. It was a mean thing for neighbors to be guilty of, but you
must remember that, like Rodney Gray when he wrote that mischievous
letter to Bud Goble, they did not know all the time what they were
doing. Of course the high-spirited Marcy grew restive under such
treatment; and when, after long waiting, the postmaster handed him a
letter from Captain Beardsley, ordering him to report on board the
_Osprey_ without loss of time, he did not feel as badly over it as he
once thought he should. On the contrary, he appeared to be very jubilant
when he showed the letter to Allison and half a score of other young
rebels who were always to be found loafing around the post-office at
mail time.
"I'm off to sea again," said he. "Now the Yankees had better look out."
"It must be an enjoyable life, Marcy," replied Allison. "You see any
amount of fun and excitement, draw big prize-money in addition to your
regular wages, and, better than all, you run no sort of risk. It may
surprise you to know that I have been turning the matter over in my mind
a good deal of late, and have come to the conclusion that I should enjoy
being one of a privateer's crew. What do you think about it?"
"I am not acquainted with a single fellow who would enjoy it more,"
answered Marcy, who told himself that Allison was just coward enough to
engage in some such disreputable business. "You are just the lad for it.
It is such fun to bring a swift vessel to and haul down the old flag in
the face of men who are powerless to defend it."
Sharp as Marcy Gray was, his strong love for the Union and his intense
hatred for the business in which he was perforce engaged, sometimes led
him to come dangerously near to betraying himself. Allison looked
sharply at him, but there was nothing in Marcy's face to indicate that
he did not mean every word he said.
"I am heartily glad I am going to sea again," continued the latter; and
he told nothing but the truth. The companionship of the ignorant
foreigners who composed the _Osprey's_ crew was more to his liking than
daily intercourse with pretended friends who were constantly watching
for a chance to get him into trouble.
"Do you think I could get on with Captain Beardsley?" inquired Allison.
"You might. The crew was full when I left the schooner, but I will speak
to the captain, if you would like to have me."
"I really wish you would, for I am anxious to do something for the
glorious cause of Southern independence. When do you sail?"
"I don't know. About all the captain says in his letter is that he wants
me to report immediately."
"Does he say whether or not the _Hollins_ has been sold yet?"
"Oh, yes; he speaks of that, and congratulates me on the fact that I
have eight hundred and seventy-live dollars more to my credit on the
schooner's books than I did when I left her at Newbern."
"W-h-e-w!" whistled Allison. "How long did it take you to make the
capture?"
"Four or five hours, I should say."
"Eight hundred and seventy-five dollars for four or five hours' work!
Marcy, you have struck a gold mine. You will be as rich as Julius Caesar
in less than a year."
"How long do you suppose Uncle Sam will allow such--such work to be kept
up?" exclaimed Marcy.
"Oh, no doubt he would be glad to stop it now if he could; but when he
tries it, he will find that he's got the hardest job on his hands he
ever undertook. There never was a better place for carrying on such
business than the waters of North Carolina. Our little inlets are too
shallow to float a heavy man-of-war."
"No matter how big the job may be, you will find that these small-fry
privateers" (it was right on the end of Marcy's tongue to say "pirates")
"will be swept from the face of the earth in less than a year; so that I
shall have no chance to get rich. But I'll have to be going, for I must
start for Newbern this very night. I suppose you will all be in the army
by the time I get back, so good-by."
Allison and his friends shook hands with him, wished him another
successful voyage, and Marcy mounted and rode away, his filly never
breaking her lope until she turned through the gate into the yard, and
drew up before the steps that led to the porch. His mother met him at
the door and knew as soon as she looked at him that he had news for
her.
"Yes, I've got orders from Beardsley," said the boy, without waiting to
be questioned. "And if Jack were only here, and I was about to engage in
some honorable business, I should be glad to go. Mother, on the day we
captured the _Hollins_ we robbed somebody of fifty-six thousand
dollars."
"Oh, Marcy, is it not dreadful!" said Mrs. Gray.
"It is, for a fact. We're having a bully time now, but the day will come
when we'll have to settle with the fiddler. You will see. Yes, the
vessel and her cargo sold for fifty-six thousand dollars. Half of it
went to the government, and half of the remainder was divided among the
three officers, Beardsley getting the lion's share, I bet you. The
sixteen members of the crew get an equal share of the other fourteen
thousand, the difference in rank between the petty officers and foremast
hands being so slight that Beardsley did not think it worth while to
give one more than another; but he hints that he has got something laid
by for me."
"My son, it will burn your fingers," said Mrs. Gray.
"I can't help it if it does. I'll have to take all he offers me, but, of
course, I don't expect to keep it. Now, mother, please help me get off.
The longer I fool around home the harder it will be to make a start."
Marcy wanted to caution his mother to look out for Hanson while he was
gone; but he did not do it, for he well knew that she had enough to
trouble her already, and that the mention of the overseer's name would
awaken all her old fears of spies and organized bands of robbers. He
sent word to Morris, the coachman, to have the carriage brought to the
door, loitered about doing nothing while his mother packed his valise,
and in twenty minutes more was on his way to Newbern, which he reached
without any mishap, not forgetting, however, to send a telegram on from
Boydtown informing Beardsley that his orders had been received, and that
the pilot was on his way to join the _Osprey_.
"And I wish I might find her sunk at her dock, and so badly smashed that
she never could be raised and repaired," was what he thought every time
he looked out of the car window and ran his eyes over the crowds of
excited people that were gathered upon the platforms of all the depots
they passed. "But, after all, what difference does it make? If I don't
go to sea I shall have to live among secret enemies, and I don't know
but one thing is about as bad as the other. If any poor mortal ever
lived this way before, I am sorry for him."
Although Marcy was almost a stranger in Newbern, he had no difficulty in
finding his vessel when he got out of the cars. He walked straight to
her, and while he was yet half a block away, the sight of her masts told
him that she was still on top of the water. She would soon be ready to
sail, too, for her crew were rushing her stores aboard, while Captain
Beardsley walked his quarter-deck smoking a cigar and looking on. His
face seemed to say that he was a little surprised to see his pilot; but
if he was he did not show it in his greeting.
"Well, there, you did come back, didn't yon?" said he, extending his
hand.
"Of course I came back," replied Marcy. "What else did yon expect me to
do? I was on the road in less than two hours after your order came to
hand."
"That's prompt and businesslike," said the captain approvingly. "But I
didn't look for you to appear quite so soon. How's everybody to home?"
"All right as far as I could see; and Allison wants to join your crew."
"The idea!" exclaimed Captain Beardsley. "Well, he can just stay where
he is for all of me, hollering for the Confederacy and doing never a
thing to help us gain our independence. His place is in the army, and I
won't have no haymakers aboard of me. See any Union folks while you was
to home?"
"I saw and talked with one man who said he was for the Union," answered
the young pilot. He was prepared for the question, and positive that if
he managed the matter rightly, Beardsley would soon let him know whether
or not he was concerned in that little plot, as Marcy believed he was.
But, as it happened, no management was necessary, for keeping a secret
was the hardest work Beardsley ever did.
"Did, hey?" he exclaimed, throwing the stump of his cigar over the stern
and looking very angry indeed. "I always suspected that man Hanson. You
discharged him, of course."
"No, I didn't," replied Marcy. "It wouldn't have been safe. I told
Kelsey that if the colonel and his friends desired that he should be run
off the place, they could attend to the matter themselves. I wouldn't
have the first thing to do with it. I was given to understand that there
were many Union men in the settlement, and I didn't care to give them an
excuse for burning us out of house and home."
"That was perfectly right. And what did Shelby say?"
"I didn't hear, for he sent no message to me."
"Did you say anything to Hanson about it?"
"I did, and told him that as long as he attended strictly to his
business he would have no trouble with me."
Marcy had purposely avoided speaking Colonel Shelby's name and Hanson's,
preferring to let Captain Beardsley do it himself. The latter walked
squarely into the trap without appearing to realize that he had done it,
and the young pilot was satisfied that his commander was the man who
needed watching more than anybody else.
"I can't say that I hope Beardsley will be killed or drowned during the
cruise," thought Marcy. "But I do say that if he was out of the way I
would have less trouble with my neighbors."
"Never mind," said Beardsley, after a little pause. "When I get home I
will ask Shelby and Dillon to tell me all about it; and if that overseer
of yourn is really Union, perhaps I can make him see that he had better
go up to the United States, where he belongs."
The captain took a turn or two across the deck, looked up at the
topmasts as he might have done if the schooner had been under way and he
wanted to make sure that everything was drawing, and then he leaned up
against the rail.
"Oh!" said he, as if the thought had just come to him, "what do you
think of your good fortune? Eight hundred dollars don't grow in every
boy's dooryard. I tell you. And, Marcy," he went on in a lower tone,
"I've got as much more laid by for you. I told you I would do the fair
thing, and I meant every word of it. You're pilot, you know."
"Thank you, sir," replied the boy--not because he felt grateful to
Captain Beardsley for giving him nearly nine hundred dollars of
another's man's money, but because he knew he was expected to say it.
"Seventeen hundred dollars and better will keep your folks in grub and
clothes for quite a spell, won't it?" the captain continued. "But law!
what am I saying? It ain't a drop in the bucket to such rich people as
you be."
Marcy listened, but said nothing. He thought he knew what Beardsley had
on his mind.
"Some folks pertend to think we're going to have the very toughest kind
of a war, but I don't," said the latter. "The Yankees don't come of
fighting stock, like we Southern gentlemen do; but if a war should come,
I suppose your folks are well fixed for it?"
"About as well fixed as most of the planters in the settlement,"
answered the pilot. "You know we've had the best of crops for a year or
two back."
"But I mean--you see--any money?" inquired the captain cautiously--so
very cautiously that he thought it necessary to whisper the words.
"Oh, yes; we have money. How could we live without it?"
"That's so; how could you? I reckon you've got right smart of a lot,
ain't you?"
"Mother has some in the bank at Wilmington, but just how much I don't
know. I never asked her."
The young pilot's gaze was fastened upon the men who were at work
getting the provisions aboard, but for all that, he could see that
Beardsley was looking at him as if he meant to read his most secret
thoughts.
"I don't believe there's no money in that there house," was what the
captain was saying to himself.
"Sly old fox," thought Marcy. "I knew he would betray his secret if I
only held my tongue and gave him a chance to do it." And then he asked
the captain when he expected to get the schooner ready for sea, and
whether or not any prizes had been brought into port during his
absence.
"There's been one prize brought in worth ten thousand dollars more'n
our'n, dog-gone it all--there she is right over there--and there's been
three blockade-runners went out and two come in," was the captain's
answer. "I didn't see why they should call 'em blockade-runners when we
didn't think there was a blockade at all, excepting the paper one that
appeared in Lincoln's proclamation; but seeing that the brig _Herald_
ain't been heard from since she run out of Wilmington, I begin to
mistrust that there's war vessels outside, and that the _Osprey_ may
have a chance to show her heels. If that happens we'll make the best
time we know how for Crooked Inlet, and trust to you to bring us
through."
"You won't need any help from me," was what the boy said to himself.
"I'll bet my share of that prize-money, that if we get into trouble with
a Union cruiser you will take command of the schooner yourself and sail
her through Crooked Inlet as slick as falling off a log."
"The folks around here and Wilmington have been hoping that the _Herald_
might be captured, and that the United States people will have the
backbone to hold fast to her," added Captain Beardsley.
"Why do they hope for any such bad luck as that?" inquired Marcy,
considerably surprised.
"May be it wouldn't be bad luck. You see she is a Britisher, the
_Herald_ is, and her cargo was consigned to an English house all fair
and square. A blockade, to be legal and binding upon foreign nations,
must be effectual," said the captain, quoting the language his agent had
often used in his hearing. "A paper blockade won't do; and if the
Yankees can't send ships enough here to shut up our ports completely,
any Britisher or Frenchman can run in and out as often as he feels like
it, and the Yankees dassent do a thing to him. If the _Herald_ has been
captured she will have to be given up."
"But suppose Uncle Sam won't give her up?"
"We are hoping he won't, for that will get the British folks down on
him; and between the two of us we'll give him such a licking that he'll
never get over it. See?"
Yes; Marcy saw, now that the situation had been explained to him, but it
was something he had never thought of before. Almost the first lesson he
learned in history was that England had no love for the United States,
and if she took a hand in the war that was surely coming, why then----
"Why, then, France may help Uncle Sam," exclaimed Marcy. "She has always
been friendly to us, and didn't she send troops here during our
Revolutionary war to help us whip the English?"
"She did; but what was the reason she sent them troops over here?"
demanded the captain, who had heard this question discussed a good many
times while Marcy was at home on his leave of absence. "Was it because
she had any love for republican--republican--ah--er--institutions? No,
sir. It was because she wanted to spite the English for taking Canady
away from her. France won't lift a hand to help the Yankees if we get
into a row with them."
Beardsley took another turn about his quarter-deck, lighted a fresh
cigar, and became confidential.
"Something tells me that this business of privateering ain't a going to
last long, and so I think some of dropping it and starting out in
another," said he. "Any idea what it is?"
Marcy replied that he had not.
"Well, it's trading--running the blockade."
"To what ports?" asked the boy.
"I can't rightly tell till I get some word from them vessels that's just
went out," was the answer. "But it'll be Nassau or Havana, one of the
two. I'll take cotton out--cotton is king, you know, and must be had to
keep all them working people in England from starving--and bring
medicine back. Medicine is getting skurse and high-priced already. And
percussion caps. They're the things you can make money on. Why, I have
heard it said that there wasn't enough gun caps in the Confederacy to
fight a battle with till Captain Semmes made that tower of his through
the Northern States, buying powder and bullets, and making contracts
with the dollar-loving Yankees to build cannon to shoot their own kin
with. But I want to see how the land lays before I go into the business
of running the blockade. If there's big risk and little profit I ain't
in."
"What port will you run out of?" was Marcy's next question; and when the
captain said it would probably be Wilmington, the boy was delighted, for
he expected to hear him announce that after he gave up privateering and
took to blockade-running he would no longer need the services of a
pilot. But if such a thought came into Beardsley's mind he did not speak
it aloud. Just then he was called to another part of the deck and Marcy
picked up his valise and went below.
"Beardsley doesn't mean to let me go," he soliloquized, as he tossed the
valise into his bunk and opened the locker in which he had stowed his
bedding for safe-keeping. "He's got me fast, and there's no chance for
escape as long as the _Osprey_ remains in commission. Well, there's one
comfort: Beardsley is not a brave man, and he'll make haste to lay the
schooner up the minute he has reason to believe that it is growing
dangerous outside."
Marcy went on deck again, and having nothing to do with the loading of
the vessel, sauntered around with his hands in his pockets. He fully
expected that Beardsley would have something more to say about the money
that was supposed to be hidden in Mrs. Gray's house; but he didn't, for
the captain had almost come to the conclusion that there was no money
there. If there was, Marcy could not be surprised into acknowledging the
fact, and so Beardsley thought it best to let the matter drop until he
could go home and hold a consultation with the overseer.
Bright and early the next morning the privateer cast off her fasts and
stood down the river, reaching the sound in time to catch the flood tide
that hurried her up toward Crooked Inlet. It was now the middle of July,
and the Union and the Confederacy stood fairly opposed to each other.
The Confederate Government, having established itself at Richmond, had
pushed its outposts so far to the north that their sentries could see
the dome of the Capitol across the Potomac. There were nearly eight
hundred thousand square miles in the eleven seceded States, and of this
immense territory all that remained to the Union were the few acres of
ground enclosed within the walls of Fortress Monroe and Forts Pickens,
Taylor, and Jefferson. Loyal Massachusetts men had been murdered in the
streets of Baltimore; battles of more or less importance had been fought
both in the East and West, and on the very day that Marcy joined the
privateer, the future leader of the Army of the Potomac won a complete
victory over the rebel forces at Rich Mountain. The Richmond papers had
very little to say about this fight, except to assure their readers that
it was a matter of no consequence whatever; but they had a good deal to
say concerning the "gallant exploit" that Captain Semmes had performed a
few days before at the passes of the Mississippi. Well, it was a brave
act--one worthy of a better cause--to run the little _Sumter_ out in the
face of a big ship like the Brooklyn and when Marcy read of it he
recalled what his Cousin Rodney had once said to him while they were
talking about sailor Jack, who was then somewhere on the high seas:
"He may never get back," said Rodney. "We'll have a navy of our own one
of these days, and then every ship that floats the old flag will have to
watch out. We'll light bonfires on every part of the ocean."
That was just what Captain Semmes intended to do, and history tells how
faithfully he carried out the instructions of the Richmond Government.
Somewhat to Marcy's surprise, Captain Beardsley turned the command over
to him when the schooner reached Crooked Inlet, and Marcy took her
safely through and out to sea. If there were any war ships on the
coast--and it turned out that there were, for the brig _Herald_ had been
captured and taken to a Northern port--they were stationed farther down
toward Hatteras Inlet, and the schooner's lookouts did not see any of
them until she had been some hours at sea. At daylight on the morning of
the third day out the thrilling cry from the crosstrees "sail ho!"
created a commotion on the privateer's deck, and brought Marcy Gray up
the ladder half dressed.
"Where away?" shouted Captain Beardsley.
"Broad on our weather beam and standing straight across our bows," was
the encouraging response from aloft.
"Can you make her out?" asked the captain, preparing to mount to the
crosstrees with a spy-glass in his hand. "You're sure she isn't a
cruiser?"
"No, sir. She's a brig, and she's running along with everything set."
"Then we must cut her off or she'll get away from us. Put a
fifteen-second shell in that bow gun, Tierney! Stand by the color
halliards, Marcy!"
These orders were obeyed with an "Ay, ay, sir," although the brig was
yet so far away that she could not be seen from the deck; but as the two
vessels were sailing diagonally toward each other, she did not long
remain invisible. The moment Marcy caught sight of her top-hamper, and
while he stood with the halliards in his hand waiting for the order to
run up the Stars and Stripes, Captain Beardsley began swearing most
lustily and shouting orders to his mates, the sheets were let out, the
helm put down, and the privateer fell off four or five points. Marcy
knew the meaning of this before the excited and angry Beardsley yelled,
at the top of his voice:
"The rascal is trying to dodge us. He's got lookouts aloft. Run up that
flag, Marcy, and see if that won't quiet his feelings. Them war ships
down to Hatteras have posted him, and if we don't handle ourselves just
right we'll never bring him within range."
Marcy lost no time in running up the old flag; but if the master of the
brig saw it he was not deceived by it. He showed no disposition to run
back to Hatteras, and put himself under protection of the war ships
there, as Marcy thought and hoped he would, but put his vessel before
the wind, squared his yards, and trusted to his heels. It looked to
Marcy like a most desperate undertaking, for you will remember that the
schooner was far ahead of the brig, and that the merchant captain was
about to run by her. It didn't seem possible that he could succeed, but
the sequel proved that he knew just what his vessel was capable of
doing. She came up at a "hand gallop," and finally showed herself from
water-line to main-truck in full view of the privateer's crew. Her
canvas loomed up like a great white cloud, and her low, black hull, by
comparison, looked no bigger than a lead pencil. She went like the wind,
and Marcy Gray told himself that she was the most beautiful object he
had ever seen.
"I hope from the bottom of my heart that she will get away," was the one
thought that filled his mind.
Perhaps the wish would have been even more fervent if he had known who
was aboard that brig.