VERNON'S SUCCESS.
Intoxicated with success, the crew of the _Lively Bee_ urged Vernon to
make one more voyage.
But he had given his word that he would retire, and though only to
himself, it was binding.
"I would like the _Lively Bee_ to make another cruise," he said, "and
if Lieutenant Tempest will take command I shall be delighted."
Tempest was still thirsting for glory, and accepted the offer.
"Go, my friend!" said Vernon, as the new captain of the _Lively Bee_
was leaving Baltimore to join the famous privateer--"go, bring back
prizes if you can, act with honor, as I know you will, but above all
remember that I would rather hear that the _Lively Bee_ was at the
bottom of the sea than that she was captured by the British."
A number of privateers were in the Chesapeake Bay at the time, and many
friends of the crews had assembled on the docks.
Those who heard the speech of Vernon cheered lustily.
"Never give up the ship!" cried one old salt.
"No, that I swear!" assented Tempest, solemnly.
Among those who watched the departure of the gallant privateersman
stood Bertha Tempest and Pauline Jones.
Bertha's eyes were red, for she had parted again with the husband she
so loved, while a glad light shone from the flashing orbs of Pauline.
Perhaps it was caused by the fact that Captain Harry Vernon--"Handsome
Harry," as he was called in Washington--was to return to the Capital
City with them.
Vernon was wealthy.
Not according to our ideas of wealth to-day, for we reckon riches to
mean away up in the millions, whereas a man with two hundred thousand
dollars in those days was looked upon as a veritable prodigy of wealth.
Harry Vernon had considerably over a hundred thousand dollars, and was
well content with his fortune.
The _Lively Bee_ had left the city, and was far out of sight.
In her track followed the _True-blooded Yankee_ of Boston and the
_Lovely Lass_ of Salem, both first-class privateers, and both with
records hard to beat.
Then came that fast-cruising schooner, _Jack's Favorite_, specially
commissioned to search for the _Essex_, which had not been heard from
for some time.
As Vernon saw them leave with all their wealth of canvas, a sigh
escaped him.
Already he was secretly planning again for life on the ocean wave.
But when he looked at the sweet face of Pauline Jones, he felt that
there was a harbor in which he would like to rest--a haven of peace if
she did but share it with him.
Intrepid in war, fearless in the angriest storm, he yet was a very
coward in her presence; for, although he loved her with an ardor
amounting almost to worship, he was too bashful to tell of his love.
Perhaps the story would never have been told had not Bertha helped him.
And when, with blushing face and almost stammering tongue, Pauline
admitted that Vernon was her ideal of bravery and courage, and that she
admired him, he was so elated that Washington did not seem large enough
for him to call his home.
But before the secret was known and Vernon's suspense ended, several
weeks had passed, and the year had ripened into spring, and the buds
and blossoms had developed into summer fruit and flowers.
No tidings had been received of the _Lively Bee_, and Bertha was
beginning to feel uneasy; her face was getting wan, her eyes were
losing their luster.
Great excitement was of daily experience; sometimes the news making the
people hilarious with joy, and at others plunging them into the depths
of despair.
Washington was in mourning for the loss of Lawrence, who, though
wounded, had shouted to his men:
"Never give up the ship!"
The _Chesapeake_ had been captured by the _Shannon_, and brave
Lawrence's dead body reposed in Canadian soil.
Then came the news of disasters on land, and the prospects were dark
for the young Republic.
The patriotic soul of Harry Vernon was chafing at idleness, and he had
almost resolved to fit out another privateer, but was persuaded to wait
a little longer for news of the _Lively Bee_.
Then came news of the _Essex_, and all the country was filled with the
praises of Captain Porter, who had captured so many British vessels.
But while according so much praise to Porter, they did not fail to mete
out their approbation of the courage of the young midshipman, Farragut,
who, though a boy in years, had been given the command of the captured
ship, _Barclay_.
All Washington was reading Farragut's letter home.
"I was sent as prize-master to the _Barclay_," he wrote. "This was an
important event in my life; and when it was decided that I was to take
the ship to Valparaiso, I felt no little pride at finding myself in
command, at twelve years of age. The _Barclay_ had been recaptured
from a Spanish _guarda costa_. The captain and his mate were on board;
and I was to control the men sent from our frigate, while the captain
was to navigate the vessel. When Captain Porter ordered us to proceed
to Valparaiso, the captain of the _Barclay_, a violent-tempered old
fellow, was furious.
"He told me that he should take the _Barclay_ where he pleased, but
never to Valparaiso.
"I considered that my day of trial had come, for I was a little afraid
of the old fellow, as every one else was. But the time had come for me
at least to play the man, so I mustered up courage and informed the
captain that I desired the topsail filled away.
"He replied that he would shoot any man who dared to touch a rope
without his orders; he 'would go his own course, and had no idea of
trusting himself with a nut-shell'--meaning me. And then he went below
for his pistols.
"I called my right-hand man of the crew, and told him my situation; I
also informed him that I wanted the main topsail filled.
"He answered with a clear 'Ay, ay, sir!' in a manner which was not to
be misunderstood, and my confidence was perfectly restored.
"From that moment I became master of the vessel, and immediately gave
all necessary orders for making sail, notifying the captain not to come
on deck with his pistols unless he wished to go overboard; for I would
really have had little trouble in having such an order obeyed."
We can readily understand how such a letter would arouse the people to
a frenzy of excitement.
And thus, in alternate enthusiasm and depression, the months passed
away.
The people had not realized what war meant, they had not yet faced the
dread monster, as in a few months they were destined to do--when the
British marched into their city and burned the Capitol and the White
House.
That was not dreamed of then, and the people feasted only on the news
of distant conflict.
"If the war does not end by the New Year," said Vernon to Bertha
Tempest, "I shall fit out another privateer."
"What would Pauline say?"
"Would she care?"
"Ask her."
"Bertha, you raise my hopes--why do you speak like that? You know
something--does she care for me?"
"Why not ask her?"
"If I did and was repulsed----"
"But if you were not!"
"I will ask her. I will be bold. I will go on my knees and say:
'Pauline, I love you, will you be my wife?' and then if she repulses
me, I shall--shall go to the war and not care what becomes of me."
"But if she says yes?"
Vernon was startled, for the question was asked by Pauline, who had
entered unobserved.
"You heard?" asked Vernon, half idiotically, for unless she had heard
she could not have asked him the question.
"Of course I heard what you said, you silly, conceited fellow!"
"And your answer?"
"Any one but you knew what it would be months ago."
"You mean it--you do love me?"
It is needless saying what answers were given to Vernon's questions.
Bertha had withdrawn and left the young people together, and the hours
slipped by, to them uncounted and unheeded.
When Bertha did re-enter the room, Vernon exclaimed, with all the
enthusiasm of a schoolboy:
"Bertha, we are to be married in two weeks; isn't it too bad that
Pauline wants to wait so long?"