BOB, THE POWDER-MONKEY.
"Their flag is but a rag,
Ours is the true one;
Up with the Stars and Stripes!
Down with the old one!"
Tempest tore himself away from the side of Bertha and leaped on deck.
He saw a sloop of war, flying the English ensign, between the
_Caroline_ and the shore.
Quickly exchanging signals with the _Lively Bee_, a course of action
was agreed upon.
They must put out to sea.
The flight was attended with danger, for they might fall in with larger
war ships; the only chance they had was to escape in the darkness of
night.
"Stand by to get under way!" shouted John Tempest. "The wind is rising,
and methinks the _Caroline_ can show her heels as well as the _Lively
Bee_."
The order was obeyed with alacrity, for the men loved a fight, even
though the odds were against them, and they believed ere morning dawned
they would smell powder.
The breeze ruffled the surface of the water around the _Caroline_,
breaking into myriads of little waves, which leaped and danced and
sparkled as the last rays of the sun fell upon the ocean.
The sloop-of-war had signaled the _Caroline_ and _Lively Bee_ to lay
to, but no notice was taken.
Then the Britisher fired a gun, and Tempest ordered the starry ensign
to be dipped three times by way of salute.
It was galling to the Englishman, and our young Yankee intended it
should be.
The sails were spread to the breeze; the jib which extended along the
bowsprit was hoisted, and the good ship _Caroline_, bending low before
the wind, moved along with increasing velocity.
The sloop gained upon them.
"Set the gaff-topsails, and hoist away the spencer!" shouted Tempest,
and the men answered with a ready obedience.
The spencer, with three small, triangular sails stretched from the
topmast, were now spread to the wind, giving additional speed to the
vessel.
Straining through every joint, the _Caroline_ parted the green waves
before her, flinging the foam in feathery showers around her bows.
The sloop was gaining even then, and Tempest saw that they were in for
a fight, unless darkness came on suddenly.
He heard his name called, and knew that Bertha was awake.
He hastened down the companionway.
"What was that report, John?" she asked.
"A gun was fired."
"At this ship?"
"No, it was a signal."
"What for?"
"Bertha, it is as well that you should know. We are putting out to sea."
"Then you deceived me?"
"No, Bertha; but a man-of-war is chasing us."
"And we shall all be killed."
"I hope not. We shall have to fight."
"Not with me on board?" she asked, with a little frightened scream.
"Seeing, my dear Bertha, that if you get off you will be drowned, I am
afraid you will have to endure the annoyance."
"But why go out to sea? Have I not had enough sea?"
"My dear Bertha----"
"Don't dear Bertha me!" and the little beauty stamped her foot. "You
ought to get to land as quickly as you can, and not fly into greater
danger."
The heavy boom of a gun startled her.
"Take me back to America, won't you, Mr. Tempest?"
"I would like to; but there is some fighting before us, I am afraid."
He went on deck, not waiting to hear what new objection she would
raise, or fresh obstacle interpose.
To his great joy he found that there was a likelihood of a very dark
night, and neither British nor American would care about a night
engagement at sea.
"Shall we reply, sir?" asked Scarron.
"No; we cannot reach the sloop, and we cannot afford to waste powder
and shot."
"I found twenty kegs of powder in the hold, sir."
"You did? That is great!"
"So I thought, sir, and there are more shots than powder on the _Lively
Bee_, and we have a lot of nails on board."
"I see; if you get at close quarters you would fire nails?"
"Why not, sir? They would kill a man just as well as lead."
"You are right, but I don't want to fight at all if I can help it."
"I understand, sir. I guess we shan't do much until morning."
"Have everything in readiness."
"Yes, sir."
The darkness increased so rapidly that it was impossible to do any
effective fighting, and as the _Lively Bee_ and _Caroline_ would have
to contend against a well-equipped man-of-war, it seemed the height of
imprudence to attempt a surprise.
A boat was lowered from the _Caroline_, but no sooner did it strike the
water than a gun was fired from the English vessel.
This was warning so significant that the boat did not proceed on its
trip, and yet Tempest wanted to communicate with the _Lively Bee_.
"I tell you, sir, only a good swimmer could reach the privateer
safely," said Scarron.
"But who could swim that distance?" asked Tempest.
"There is Bob, the powder-monkey."
"Do you think----"
"That he would go? Why, sir, Bob would let his head be used as a rammer
for a cannon if he thought he could serve the Republic."
"Send him to me."
"Ay, ay, sir."
A few minutes and a boy some fifteen years of age stood before
Lieutenant Tempest.
"Bob, are you a good swimmer?" asked the officer.
Bob's face lighted up with a smile, a smile which quickly developed
into a grin, which threatened to extend from ear to ear.
He did not answer, but pulled his forelock.
Bob had no other name, for he was a foundling. One night Scarron had
discovered a wee might of humanity on the doorstep of a deserted house
in New York.
He picked up the child, told the constables of his find, and they very
good-naturedly declared that "those who find should keep," so Scarron
kept the boy, called him Bob, and educated him in all the learning of
the gutter.
Bob profited so well that before he was ten years old he could swear
like a trooper, fight like a pugilist, climb a flagpole with the
smartest, swim like a fish, and do a very great many other physical
feats.
He could not read. He had never tried to write except in his own
peculiar manner, which no one else could understand.
His moral faculties were not overbright, but he believed in some power;
he had been taught that unless he told the truth and acted honestly,
God would take him to some dungeon where the light of day never entered.
He was as faithful as any dog, and had an intense love for Scarron,
and secondarily for the starry banner, which he fancied had some magic
power for good.
Bob was not handsome; in fact, it would be very difficult to find a
plainer, or, to use very expressive language, uglier, boy in a week's
search.
Tempest looked at him, and asked again:
"Can you swim a mile?"
Had the officer said a knot, or so many fathoms, he would have
understood, but a mile was very vague.
"Is it a mile from York to Staten Island?" asked Bob.
"Yes, over five miles."
"Then I can do it, for I've swum to the island and back without
stopping."
"Bob, listen to me. I want to send a message to the _Lively Bee_; I
dare not send a boat, for the English gunners would sink it. Could you
carry it to Captain Vernon?"
"Is it heavy?"
"What?"
"The thing you want me to carry."
Tempest laughed.
"It is a letter."
"Yah, I can do it."
"I wish you would."
"Are we going to fight in the morning?"
"Perhaps so. I'd like to know how many guns that vessel has."
Tempest spoke to himself, and had no idea that Bob heard him.
The letter to Vernon was written and placed in a well-corked bottle to
prevent its destruction.
This was tied around Bob's waist, and the boy lowered himself
noiselessly into the water.
The _Lively Bee_ was about half a mile from the _Caroline_, and Bob was
not many minutes in covering the distance, for he was an expert swimmer.
The letter was read, and an answer prepared and placed in the bottle.
Once more Bob was in the water, but not swimming.
He lay on his back and floated, for he wanted to think.
Thinking, with him, was a difficult operation and required considerable
scratching of his head.
To do this in the water was not the easiest thing, and Bob took longer
than usual to think.
"He'd like to know how many guns that skunk has, would he? Well, I
guess I can find out."
Bob arrived at this conclusion after five minutes' thought.
The Britisher was distant a mile, the three vessels forming a triangle.
Bob swam to the war ship, and waited to make sure he was not discovered.
He caught hold of the chains and climbed up until he could see the deck.
So silently did he move that not one of the men on deck heard him.
He crawled along in the shadows, waited in hiding until the watch
passed, and then moved on again.
Bob knew more about a man-of-war than many a commodore, and his steps
were guided by his instinctive knowledge.
He stood examining a gun which was longer than any he had ever seen,
and his curiosity betrayed him.
One of the officers of the watch saw him.
Bob knew it, but was not afraid.
He turned quickly and seized the astonished officer by the throat.
The fingers were like iron. They closed tightly on the Englishman's
throat, preventing him from crying out.
Two minutes and the officer was dead. Bob knew that by his weight.
Letting the man down gently, he pulled a tarpaulin over him, and
resumed his search as calmly as though nothing had disturbed him.
He was lowering himself into the water when he accidentally saw the
English flag still flying at the stern.
"That ain't the right flag," he muttered, as he looked at the Union
Jack. "Blow me crazy, but if I'd got the Stars and Stripes I'd put it
there. Anyhow, that thing shan't stay."
Bob could move about with the silence of a mouse. He was barefooted,
and so no footfall was heard.
Quietly he drew the halliards and lowered the flag.
The darkness aided him, or he would have failed.
He unfastened the flag and wound it around his body.
A piece of the halliard was cut off to tie the flag securely.
Bob was not yet satisfied.
He knew the direction of the captain's cabin, and he must pay his
respects.
Placing his thumb to his nose, he extended his fingers and muttered:
"That's for you, cap'n."
One of the seamen was approaching, and Bob must escape.
He clambered over the bulwarks and reached for the chains, but missed
them.
He fell into the water with a loud splash.
"Man overboard!"
The cry was taken up by the deck watch.
Lanterns were lowered over the side, and an object could be seen
floating on the water a few yards away.
"Fire!"
Three muskets were leveled at the swimmer, but Bob was not going to be
in the track of the shot.
He dived, and when he arose again to the surface he was a good many
points to the east, and was out of range of their vision.
A new sensation diverted the attention of the crew.
"Murder!" shouted one of the watch, as he stumbled over the dead body
of the murdered officer.
The crew gathered around.
Captain Scott looked at the lieutenant's body and asked:
"Who has done it?"
"I found him there, sir," answered the man.
"I'll find out who has done this, and he shall pay for it. Beat to
quarters and let the roll be called."
The drums were beaten, and the men tumbled out of their hammocks,
expecting to be called upon to fight.
The middies called the rolls, and every man answered.
When this was reported to the captain, he glared with savage wrath.
"Who, then, was that who leaped overboard?"
The mystery was greater than ever. Every man on board believed the
lieutenant to have been murdered by one of the crew, who, to save
himself from death by hanging, had trusted himself to the waves, hoping
to reach one of the American vessels and be received as a deserter.
"What now, fellow?" roared the captain, as one of the deck watch spoke
excitedly to his officer.
"Captain, this man tells me," said the middy, "that the flag has been
lowered and the halliards cut."
"Death and fury! I'll give every man of the night watch a dozen lashes
at the triangle in the morning. Zounds! who could have lowered our flag?
"Find out, sir!" addressing the chief officer, "or I'll report you as
well. Fury! Has some Yankee boarded the _Monarch_, and none know of it?"
Captain Scott, of his majesty's sloop-of-war _Monarch_, was the
angriest man in those waters that night.