displaying little lines of striped bunting. There was scarce breeze
enough to toss them in the air. The sleepy old town of Portsmouth
looked out upon the harbor. Soon it might be watching a sight that it
never would forget. Perhaps history would be made here in the next few
minutes, and all this time the fugitive lay cowering among the
water-butts in the mid-hold.
A breeze sprang up by noon, and the two nearest vessels of the fleet, a
thirty-eight-gun frigate, and a razee of fifty, slipped their moorings
and came down before it. A hum of excitement ran through the Yankee
ship. There was not sufficient wind to move her through the water; but
the capstan was set agoing, and slowly she moved up to her anchor. As
the smaller English vessel drifted down, it was seen that her men were
at quarters. It was the same with the razee. But without a hail they
dropped their anchors, one on each side of the _Constitution's_ bows,
at about the distance of a cable's length. There they waited, in grim
silence. The men made faces at one another, and grimaced and gestured
through the open ports. The officers, gathered in groups aft, paid no
attention to their neighbors.
There followed more signalling. A twelve-oared barge left the flagship
for the admiralty pier. From the direction of the town came the sounds
of a bugle and the steady thrumming of drums. A long red line trailed
by one of the street corners. Already crowds began to gather on the
housetops and the water-front. Some clouds formed in the west that
looked as if a breeze might be forthcoming. Hull watched the sky
anxiously.
The midday meal was served with the men still at their posts. There was
no movement made on either side. Toward evening the wind came. No
sooner had it ruffled the surface of the water than the _Constitution_,
whose cable had been up and down all the day, lifted her anchor from
the bottom, and with her main topsail against the mast, she backed away
from her close proximity to her neighbors. Then, turning on her heel,
she pointed her bow for the harbor mouth. It was necessary for her to
sail past every vessel in the fleet. Drums rolled as she approached.
Men could be seen scurrying to and fro, and as she passed by the
flagship, a brand-new seventy-four, her three tiers of guns frowned
evilly down, and a half-port dropped with a clatter. A sigh of relief
went up as the _Constitution_ passed by unchallenged.
There were but three vessels now to pass,--a sloop of war, a large
brig, and a forty-four-gun frigate that lay well to the mouth of
the harbor. The latter, apparently in obedience to signals, was
getting in her anchor and preparing to get under way; but before the
_Constitution_ had reached her the breeze died down, and before
twilight was over it was dead calm. Hull dropped his anchor, and close
beside him, the Englishman dropped his. He was at least two minutes
longer taking in his topsails. It continued calm throughout the early
watches of the night. At three o'clock in the morning there was a sound
of many oars. The officers were on the alert. "They are coming down to
attack us in small boats," suggested one of the junior lieutenants. But
soon it was perceived that such was not the intention, for in the dim
light the big brig could be seen approaching, towed by a dozen boat's
crews working at the oars. There was no reason for longer maintaining
any secrecy, and Hull called his crew to quarters in the usual fashion.
The sounds might have been heard on shore; but the brig, when she had
once reached a berth on the American's quarter, dropped her anchor
quietly.
With the gray of morning came a new wind from the westward, and with it
the _Constitution_ slipped out of port, the two vessels that had
menaced her all night long not making a movement to prevent her going.
Once well out in the channel, the feeling of suspense was succeeded by
one of relief and joy. The fugitive, soaked with bilge water, shivering
and hungry, emerged from his hiding-place as he felt the movement of
the vessel's sailing.
"How is that man McGovern doing?" asked Captain Hull of Lieutenant
Morris, who was dining with him in the cabin. "He ought to be of some
use after the trouble and worry he has caused us."
"I'm sorry to say he isn't," responded Morris, shrugging his shoulders.
"He isn't worth powder. Why, even the forecastle boys cuff him about
and bully him! He not only lacks spirit, but he is one of those men, I
think, who are somehow born cowards. But he has been a sailor at some
time or other, I take it, although he told me that he was only cook's
helper in the galley on board the _Poictiers_. That's his billet now on
board of us, by the way."
It was true: McGovern not only bore the name of a coward, but he looked
it, every inch of him. His shifty eyes would lift up for an instant,
and then slide away. His elbow was always raised as if to ward off a
blow. He acted as if he expected to have things thrown at him. He
invited ill treatment by his every look, and he received many blows,
and many things were thrown at him. And the unthinking made fun of all
this, and used him for their dirty work, and he did not resent it. He
took orders from the powder-monkeys, and cringed to the steerage
steward. As to the officers and midshipmen, he trembled when they
approached him, and after they had passed he would spring forward and
hide somewhere, panting, as if he had escaped some danger. The sight of
the boatswain deprived him of the power of speech. He acted like a cur
that had been whipped, and in fact he lived a dog's life. And yet for
this man, those who despised him would have gone to the bottom. Aye,
and cheerfully, for behind him lay the question soon to be cause enough
for the shedding of much blood.
When the _Constitution_ reached New York, McGovern disappeared.
* * * * *
It was early in the month of June, 1812. There was evidence of a
feeling of great uneasiness that prevailed throughout the length and
breadth of the country. In the coffee-houses and taverns, at the
corners of the streets, in the gatherings in drawing-room or kitchen,
there was but one subject talked about--the approaching war with
England. It was inevitable, naught could prevent it, was the opinion of
some; while others, more cautious, saw nothing in the approaching
strife but the dimming of the American star of commerce which had
arisen, and death to progress in arts and manufactures. Their flag
would be swept from off the sea; the little navy of a handful of ships
would have to be dragged up into the shallows, and there dismantled and
perhaps never be set afloat again. Little did they know of the glorious
epoch awaiting. The makers of it were the sailormen in whose cause the
country was soon to rise.
Jack Lange was hurrying along Front Street; he had been transferred
from the _Constitution_ to the _Wasp_. It was but a moment before that
he had landed. He had the tall water-roll in his gait. He was very
jaunty in appearance, with his clean, white breeches very much belled
at the bottom, his short blue jacket and glazed cap, and from the smile
on his face one could see that he was very well pleased with himself.
The half-fathom of ribbon that hung over his left ear would
occasionally trail out behind like a homing pennant. He was bound for
Brownjohn's wharf, where he knew he might fall in with some of his old
messmates and gather up the news. As he luffed sharp about a corner he
passed some one hurrying in the opposite direction. It was a man of
about thirty years of age. His arms were held stiff at his side, and
his face was twitching nervously. His eyes were rolling in excitement.
Jack Lange turned, and lifting one hand to the side of his mouth, he
shouted: "Ship ahoy, there!" The other man whirled quickly, and the two
stood looking at one another for an instant before either spoke. Then
the big sailor advanced.
"What's the hurry, messmate?" he said. "This is McGovern, isn't it?
Don't you remember me?"
"Sure I remember you," returned the other in a voice with a touch of a
rich brogue. "Have you heard the news?" he added suddenly, his hand
trembling as he touched Lange on the arm.
"What is it--about war?" asked Jack, eagerly.
"Aye, the war, d'ye mind that? There'll be great doings before long!"
"I suppose they'll lay the navy up in ordinary, and we poor fellows
will join the sorefoots with a musket over our shoulders."
"Not a bit of it; they're going to outfit and sail to meet 'em,"
responded McGovern. "I'm off to tell my folks."
The news was all about the town. People were running hither and
thither, clapping on their hats, women called to one another from the
windows of the houses, crowds commenced to gather. Suddenly Jack
hesitated. Surely it was a cheer, a rousing, sailors' cheer, off to the
left down the alley! He listened again, and giving a hitch to his
breeches, he started in a lumbering, clumsy gait, swinging his cap
about his head. "Hurray!" he bellowed at top lung as he saw in a crowd
gathered before one of the little taverns the uniforms of some of the
_Constitution's_ men, and recognized also Bill Roberts, and his old
messmate Grattan.
When the _Wasp_ sailed again, she carried between her decks as fine a
crew as ever hauled a rope or manned a yard. Some of the men who had
served on board the _Constitution_ now swung their hammocks in the
crowded forecastle of the little sloop.
Grattan and Roberts were in the same watch, the port, which was in
charge of young Lieutenant James Biddle. Jack Lange was in the other
watch, and with him were two of the _Constitution's_ men,--the little,
black-eyed gunner, and a heavy, thickset man, who at first glance
appeared to be too fat and clumsy ever to be a topman; yet he was, and
one of the best.
Lange was stowing away his hammock but a few hours after the _Wasp_ had
gotten under way, when the short, thickset man approached him.
"D'ye see who is on board with us?" he asked. He pointed forward.
There, sitting with his back against the bulwarks was the Coward, his
eyes staring straight before him, and his fingers and toes--for he was
bare-footed--working nervously. Soon there came an order to shorten
sail. There was a scramble to the shrouds, and among the first to reach
them was McGovern. Close beside him was the fat topman.
"Out of the way, you swab!" he cursed, striking out with his elbow.
"This is man's work," he added. "Out of the way, can't you!"
The hot blood rushed to McGovern's face. He hesitated. At that moment
some one pushed him from behind, and before he knew it he had been
hustled off the bulwarks to the deck. Without a glance behind him he
slunk down the hatchway. And so he went back to rinsing the dishes in
the galley.
Inside of three months the _Wasp_ was back in port again. Once more
McGovern disappeared. No one missed him, and no one thought about it.
On the 13th of October Captain Jacob Jones set sail again in his trim
vessel, but just before the _Wasp_ had left her moorings a boat rowed
with quick, nervous strokes put out from shore. The man at the oars was
doing his best to catch the sloop of war before she should gain
headway. In the stern sheets sat an old woman. Now and then she would
encourage the man pulling at the oars. There was a short, choppy sea,
and both figures in the little boat were soaked with spray.
Suddenly the topsails filled, the headsails blew out with a vicious
snap, and just as the sloop lurched forward, the little boat was
abreast the forechains. The man dropped the oars, and, springing
outboard, managed to catch the lower shroud; with agility he hauled
himself up arm's length and sprawled over the bulwarks, down on deck.
It was McGovern, and his strange coming on board had been observed by
many. He arose quickly and gaining the shrouds once more, he waved his
hand. "Good-by, mither!" he cried, and then he turned back to greet a
burst of laughter. But all hands were too busy with the getting under
way to pay much attention to him, and he disappeared below.
The next morning it blew a heavy gale, and for four days the wind
lasted, and even after the danger had passed the day broke with a heavy
swell on the sea and the weather yet boisterous. The _Wasp's_ previous
cruise had been uneventful. She had failed to fall in with the enemy,
and now this continued stress of weather made the sailors, ever prone
to find reasons in their superstitions, to think that they must have
aboard with them a Jonah; some one who brought ill luck, and why they
should have settled upon poor McGovern it would be hard to tell.
Perhaps he was ignorant of the reason for the new meaning of the looks
of dislike and suspicion that were cast at him, or perhaps he failed to
notice them. At any rate he made no comment.
Surely it was not his fault if the second day out, during the height of
the storm, the jibboom had carried away, and two of the starboard watch
went with it and were lost.
There was a great deal of excitement attending this particular
daybreak, the morning of the 18th, for the night before, after the
clouds had cleared away and the stars had shone brightly forth, several
large sails had been reported to the eastward. Captain Jones had laid
his course to get to windward of them, so as to have the weather-gage
when day came. The vessels had disappeared as the weather had thickened
a little, and now all hands had gathered on deck, and the sloop was
romping along through the slight drizzle, almost dipping her yard arms
at times in the heavy seas that raced past.
"There they are.--Sails off the lee bow, two points away!" shouted a
lookout from the forecastle. It had cleared a trifle, and there they
were, sure enough, seven vessels, and nearer to, was a trim man-of-war
brig. She was edging up slowly, taking in sail as she did so, and the
_Wasp_ swung off to meet her.
"English, begad!" exclaimed Captain Jones. "Have the drummer beat to
quarters, Mr. Biddle, as soon as you get down the topgallant yard and
shorten sail."
"Very good, sir.--Hello, she shows the Spanish flag."
"Never mind that; she's English, I'll bet a thousand."
Biddle bawled out the orders, and the usual helter-skelter rush, from
which emerges such careful work and such wonderful precision, followed.
But the first man to gain the weather shrouds this time was McGovern.
Since the news that the enemy had been sighted had been passed below,
he had been very much in evidence. Instead of his greasy scullion's
rags, he wore a clean suit of canvas. His white shirt was trimmed with
blue silk, and his long hair, that usually straggled down his cheeks,
was twisted into a neat queue down his back. He paid no attention to
the questions addressed to him, took no heed of the merriment (for men
will jest on strange occasions); but kept his eyes shifting from the
group of officers on the quarter-deck, to the oncoming vessel that was
plunging heavily in the great seas. When he had seen the Spanish flag,
his face had fallen; but Bill Roberts was standing close beside him.
"Never mind that, my lads!" he roared to those about him. "No one but a
John Bull or a Yankee would bring his ship along like that; take my
word for it, my hearties!" and then had come the order to shorten sail.
McGovern was across the deck like a shot, at least three feet in
advance of the next man, who, as luck would have it, was the short, fat
topman before referred to. Whatever he may have thought was McGovern's
proper sphere and natural instincts, it required but a glance to show
that he knew what he was about as he started clearing away the parel
lashings and then unreeving the running-gear. It requires but two men
at the masthead to make fast the downhauls and look out for the lifts,
and on this occasion there were two pairs of skilful hands at work. The
older seamen looked into McGovern's face wonderingly; but the latter
was going silently about his work, occasionally looking out across the
rolling white of the sea at the little brig that would soon be within
gunshot. He could plainly make out the red coats of the marines grouped
along the rail. "Sway away!" and the topgallant yards came safely down
to the deck. The men were at quarters now, and the matches were
lighted.
"Well done, McGovern!" exclaimed the fat sailor, with a shamefaced
smile. "Well done, McGovern!" called one of the midshipmen, grasping
him by the arm. "Here, take No. 2 at this twelve-pounder. Do you know
the orders, lad?"
"Yes, sir, yes," answered the Coward, excitedly. "I was captain of a
gun once, o' truth I was."
But a pistol shot's distance now separated the two vessels. Captain
Jones hailed through his trumpet. Down came the Spanish flag, and there
was the red cross of England! The brig let go a broadside; but just
before she did so, the sound of a cheer had come down on the wind.
There is no time to describe the details of the action. But few of the
_Wasp's_ crew had been in actual combat before. Soon there were deep
red spots on the deck; there were groans and curses, and much sulphur
smoke. Occasionally the muzzles of the guns would dip deep into the
water as the _Wasp_ hove down into the hollow of the surge. A sharp
crack aloft, and down came the main topmast, and with it fell the
topsail yard. It tangled in the braces, and rendered the headsails
useless. The Englishman was playing havoc with the rigging, braces,
and running-gear of the _Wasp_. Grape and round shot were mangling
everything aloft.
There had been a few men in the foretop when the action had commenced.
One of them was Roberts. Suddenly glancing up from his gun, McGovern
saw a sight that made him start and cry out, pointing. There was Bill
trying weakly to haul himself over the edge of the top. Blood was
running from a wound in his forehead, and his left arm hung useless;
his leg was hurt also. But he was still alive and dimly conscious. At a
sudden lurch of the vessel, he almost pitched forward down to the deck.
Then as McGovern watched him, he appeared to give up hope, and,
twisting his hand into the bight of a rope, he lay there without
moving. But no man could live there long! Splinters were flying from
the masts; blocks were swinging free and dashing to and fro; new holes
were being torn every second in the roaring, flapping sails. It may
have been that no one else had time to think about it; but McGovern did
not hesitate. He threw down the sponge and jumped into the slackened
shrouds.
[Illustration: "Carefully he lowered away."]
"Come out of that, you fool!" somebody shouted at him from below; but
he did not pause. A round shot whizzed by his elbow. A musket-ball
carried away a ratline above his head, just as he reached forward. He
felt as if a hot flame had licked across his shoulder, and in an
instant more his white shirt was white no longer, and was clinging to
his back. But it was nothing but a graze, and, undaunted, he kept on
ascending. He hauled himself into the top. There lay a dead marine,
shot through the temple. Now he bent over the prostrate sailor. Yes, he
was alive! Roberts was breathing faintly. Despite the interest and
excitement of the action men were watching him from below. But he must
work fast if he was to save a life--a bullet at any time might complete
the work already begun. He tried to lift the heavy figure on to his
shoulders, but found he could not. But good fortune! One of the
halliards had been shot away aloft, and hung dangling across the yard.
McGovern saw the opportunity. Passing the bitter end of it around
Roberts' body, close underneath the arms, he made it fast. Then passing
the rest of it through the shrouds he gave first a heave that swung the
prostrate figure clear of the blood-stained top, and then carefully he
lowered away until at last the body reached the deck.
Somehow the musket-balls had stopped their humming through the upper
rigging, and even the firing of the _Wasp_ had slackened, as McGovern,
reaching for one of the stays, rode down it safely and reached the
deck. And now occurred a thing that has been unchronicled, and yet has
had its parallel in many instances of history. A cheer arose, a strong,
manly cheer,--it came from across the water; it preceded by an instant
the roaring of the hoarse voices close about him. But McGovern's ear
had caught it.
"Hark!" he cried, pushing his way forward to reach his station. "Hark,
they're cheerin'! They must have thought we've struck. We'll show 'em!"
He picked up his sponge again.
Now the firing became incessant. Steadily as the blows of a hammer were
delivered the telling shots from the _Wasp's_ port divisions. The
flames of powder scorched the enemy's bows. All at once there came a
crash. The jibboom of the Englishman swept across the deck, tearing
away the shrouds and braces, and then with a heave and a lurch the
vessels came together, grinding and crunching with a sound of
splintering and tearing of timbers as they rolled in the heavy sea.
There was not a man on board the _Wasp_ that did not expect to see
the English sailors come swarming over the bow of their vessel, and
drop down to fight in the old-fashioned way, hand to hand and eye to
eye. But there must have been some delay. For an instant there was a
silence except for the ripping of the Englishman's bow against the
_Wasp's_ quarter. But the red-crossed flag was still flying.
Captain Jones saw his opportunity. The enemy lay in so fair a position
to be raked that some of the _Wasp's_ guns extended through her bow
ports. The men, who, without waiting for orders had caught up cutlasses
and boarding-pikes, were ordered back to their stations, and at such
close quarters the broadside that followed shattered the enemy's
topsides as might an explosion on her 'tween decks. Two guns of the
after division, loaded with round and grape, swept her full length.
But some of the more impetuous of the crew had not heard, or perhaps
had not heeded the order to return to their stations. Jack Lange had
made a great leap of it, and had caught the edge of the Englishman's
netting. As an acrobat twists himself to circle his trapeze, he swung
himself by sheer strength on to the bowsprit, and gaining his feet, he
stood there an instant, then he jumped over the bulwarks on to the
enemy's deck and disappeared. The handful of men who had sought to
follow his leadership had all failed their object, for a slant of the
wind had hove the two vessels so far apart that they were almost clear
of the tangle of shrouds and top-hamper that had made them fast. But
one man had made a spring of it and had caught the bight of one of the
downhauls that was hanging free. Hand over hand he hauled himself up to
the nettings, and after considerable difficulty--for he was all but
exhausted--he succeeded in getting his body half-way across the
bulwarks, and then with a lurch he disappeared. During all this, not a
shot had been fired. Every one had watched with anxiety the strange
boarding party of two. What would be the outcome of it? Suddenly, as
the sails that had been tearing and flapping, filled, and the noise
subsided, a strange sound came down from the direction of the other
vessel. It was like a great chorused groan--the mingling of many voices
in a note of agony! Then with a crash they met again, the English ship
fouling hard and fast in the _Wasp's_ mizzen rigging. Lieutenant
Biddle, followed by a score of armed boarders, jumped upon the bulwarks
and endeavored to reach the other vessel and be the first on board. In
this he would have succeeded had not little Midshipman Baker caught his
officers coat-tails and endeavored to emulate his eagerness. But at
last the Lieutenant and his followers gained the deck, there to be
witness of a wonderful sight.
There was a wounded man limply leaning against the wheel. Three
officers were huddled near the taffrail--but one was able to stand upon
his feet; the other two were badly wounded. Jack Lange and McGovern the
Coward had possession of the ship. But somehow, overcome by the sight,
they had not left the forecastle, and it was Lieutenant Biddle's own
hand that lowered away the flag.
His Majesty's sloop of war _Frolic_ was a prize. Frightful had been the
carnage! But twenty of the English crew were fit for duty. She was a
charnel ship. The _Wasp_ had lost but five men killed, and but five men
wounded. Among the latter was Bill Roberts. Although he was shot three
times, the surgeon declared that he would live.
To and fro the boats plied busily. The _Frolic's_ masts fell shortly
after she had been boarded, and now every effort was made to repair
damages and take care of the many wounded and the dying.