the fare from soft bread to hardtack, there was a small riot among the
prisoners, which, however, resulted in their obtaining their object by
breaking down the barriers and raiding the bread-room. This did not
increase Shortland's good humor, nor did the taunts levelled at the
soldiery tend to improve the feeling existing between them and the
triumphant sailors. On the sixth of the month, it was fine, clear
weather, and the prisoners were put in good spirits by the news that
Hays and his companions, the word of whose condition had reached higher
ears than Shortland's, had been liberated and had left the prison. From
all the various yards there was shouting and singing. The morning's
"Liberty Party," as the sailors called the lucky ones who were to start
for America, had been seen off, with rousing cheers. Those left behind
were trying to amuse themselves by games and horseplay. A score or more
were playing ball against the cross-wall dividing the barrack yard of
the soldiers from that of No. 7. In some way, the ball, thrown by a
careless hand, sailed across the barrier and fell almost at the feet of
a sentry on the opposite side.
"Hi, there, Johnny Bull! heave it back to us," requested one of the
men, through the iron grating. The sentry paid no attention, and soon
there was a clamoring crowd surrounding the opening, beseeching the
imperturbable red coat in all sorts of terms to "Be a good fellow, and
toss back the ball."
"Just heave it over, Johnny," called one. "Don't you think you're
strong enough?"
The sentry whirled angrily. "Come and get it, if you want it," he said.
"Can we?" shouted a half-dozen voices.
"I won't touch it," the sentry responded. With that, he resumed his
beat, cursing the ball players for "a lot of troublesome Yankee
blackguards."
Half laughing, the sailors had loosened one of the stones close against
the wall, and by luck found that the ground was soft and yielding. The
mortar, too, they were able to remove easily, and with such objects as
they could pick up to help them, they fell to burrowing like rabbits.
The sentry, who did not know what was going on, or how his words had
been taken up, was surprised when suddenly he saw a man's head and
shoulders appear at the base of the wall on his side.
"The prisoners are digging out!" he roared, firing his musket.
At once, the soldiers on the walls began firing, forming into squads
and keeping up a constant shooting as long as any prisoners were in
sight. Those in the central yard, known as the Market, not knowing the
reason for the fusilade, and wondering why the alarm bell was ringing,
did not retreat into their buildings; and the first thing they knew,
Shortland himself appeared, entering the big gate at the head of a
company of soldiers with fixed bayonets. They advanced at a
double-quick step, the prisoners were so crowded together that they
could not escape. Some, not seeing why they should be charged in this
fashion, stood their ground. Shortland had lost all control of himself.
"Halt! Aim!" And before the astounded victims knew what was going to
happen, he had given the word to fire.
A crashing volley sounded. When the smoke cleared away, wounded and
dying men filled the yard. The rest, panic-stricken, had retreated into
the buildings. Seven were killed and fifty-six were wounded! Poor
Abbott, who had been trying to urge his comrades to hasten, was among
the first to fall, shot through the lungs. As no one told of his
exchange of names, he was buried under the name he had assumed, Harvey
Rich. And what of the real owner of that name? Alas, he, poor fellow,
also, did not live to see his home in the New Hampshire hills, for he
died at sea not long after the cartel in which he was returning had set
sail. He was sent overboard in the sailor's canvas shroud, and the name
"George Abbott" was stricken from the list of liberated ones. Few knew
the truth, and, perhaps, few there were who cared.
[Illustration: The deadly volley.]
THE RIVAL LIFE-SAVERS
It was February, the year after the war. The month had been cold and
stormy. Frequent and sudden squalls had kept everybody on the alert.
For over two months the United States frigate _Macedonian_ (she once
had H.M.S. prefixed to her name, by the way) had been facing the bad
weather, that had ranged from the Bermudas as far to the eastward as
the Bay of Biscay. It was blowing great guns on this particular
morning, and blowing with that promise of thick weather that seamen
learn to recognize so readily. Not two miles away an English frigate
was seen coming grandly along as she shortened sail.
It did not require the aid of the falling barometer or the sight of the
thick black clouds gathering to the northeast, to prove that they were
in for it again.
Two men were on the _Macedonian's_ main topgallant yard. They were
trying to spill the wind out of the sail that was standing straight up
above their heads like a great balloon.
"Confound this business, anyhow," grunted the older man. "Did you ever
see such an evil-acting bit of rag in your life?" He pounded into the
struggling canvas, as if he could sink his blunt fingers in the folds
and obtain a better grasp. But the wind had firm hold on it, and had
filled it so taut that it was struggling and moving like the body of a
living thing.
"Hold hard!" suddenly exclaimed the younger man; "I see what's the
matter." Just the second before he spoke, the leech of the topgallant
sail had caught over the end of the yard arm. He lay out on the yard to
clear it, his loosened hair and his big collar flapping across his
face.
The elder man shouted something to him, probably in warning; but the
sails were making such a thunder of it that his words could not be
heard. When the leech was cast loose, the yard gave a heavy pitch, the
sail gave a jump that tore it from the hands of the men nearer inboard,
and the young fellow, whose balance was upset by the sudden movement,
lost his hold and fell back with a sudden cry of fright. He caught at
one of the beckets as he slipped; but it carried away, and down he
went, striking the water within a few feet of the frigate's side.
The officer of the deck, who had been roaring up angry imprecations to
the "lazy lubbers" on the yard to "make haste and get in that sail,"
jumped back toward the wheel. Carrying the press of canvas she was then
under, the _Macedonian_ was making not far from thirteen or fourteen
knots, and almost directly before the wind. It was no laughing matter
to bring her up all standing, as it were; and though men were jumping
here and there, hauling and heaving with the added strength that comes
from the dread cry "Man overboard!" it was almost five minutes before
the great ship had headed up, and during that time she had left the
spot where the poor lad had gone down, by a mile and more. The
Lieutenant, when he had given his first order, had thrown overboard one
of the boat's gratings, and this had been followed by one of the
chicken coops on the forecastle. With the squall coming down upon her,
and the stiff wind increasing every minute, the _Macedonian_ lurched up
and down, almost burying her nose in the roaring, tumbling sea. Every
one was on deck.
"'Tis no use trying to lower away a boat now, Mr. Edwards," observed
Captain Stewart. "'Twould be only risking the lives of brave men. Stand
by for a few minutes and keep sharp lookout." Although it was blowing
hard, the air was filled with a thick, gray mist, and the sky now
appeared to close down upon the water. It was a lonely, fearful place
for a man to be out there in the waste of the waters, fighting for his
life. It was a lonely, fearful feeling for men to have who must leave
him there. And they all knew him well; they liked him, for he was a
cheerful, laughing lad. The old sailor who had been on the yard arm
with him had descended to the deck. He was telling it breathlessly to
the men gathered about him.
"Why," said he, "I hollers to him to be careful when the sail fetched
away. It was just as if the yard tried to fling him off like that." He
snapped his fingers at arm's length.
A man who was standing on one of the anchor-flukes well forward
suddenly pointed out to leeward. The English frigate, that had been
last seen holding a course due west, was now, evidently, engaged in
making all snug for the coming blow. She had heaved to, and was now
lying with topsail aback, rearing and plunging,--sometimes pitching
down until her hull was completely hidden in the hollows of the seas.
The mist had blown away. A clear, shadowless, distance-killing light
succeeded it. It was hard to tell whether the frigate was two miles
off, or whether she was a little toy boat in the near perspective. But
the heaving water that lay between the ships, crossed with its lines of
white, rolling foam, was no toy thing. It had an angry, spiteful look.
It was pitiless, and yet had lost the dread that it held when hidden in
the treacherous half-gloom of the mist.
But why had the English frigate come up into the wind? All hands had
rushed to the side. It was almost as if they had forgotten the
frightful cause of their own delaying. Soon all was understood. There
was a tiny, white speck drifting to the southward of the English
vessel. It would heave to the top of a great sea and disappear again.
"One of their boats is out!" roared the man who was standing forward,
using his hands for a trumpet.
The officers on the quarter-deck had now sighted both the vessel and
the little object far astern of her. The First Lieutenant was squinting
through the glass and talking excitedly.
"Egad, sir, I can make it out; there's a man clinging to a cask or
something just to leeward of that cutter. There are eight good men in
that boat, I can tell you," he added, "but I think they have lost sight
of him."
The lashings of the whaleboat, which most American vessels carried, had
been cast loose some time before. The Captain touched the Lieutenant on
the arm.
"He's as near to us as he is to them; call away the whaleboat," he said
quietly; and then, turning to a young, boyish-looking officer,--one of
the senior midshipmen,--he said, "Mr. Emmett, you will go with her."
"Clear away the bowlines!" roared the Lieutenant. "Man the
after-braces! Be lively, lads--lower away!"
With a cheer, the men of the crew--picked oarsmen and ex-whalemen they
were--Nantucket and New Bedford fellows--jumped to the side. The long,
narrow boat was lowered with half her crew in her. The other half slid
down the falls. Mr. Edwards leaned over the side, holding his hat on
with both his hands.
"Mr. Emmett," cried he, "you bring back that man; don't let the
Britishers beat you!"
The midshipman looked up, touched his cap, and grinned.
The man handling the steering-oar was a grizzled, hawk-nosed
down-easter. Many a time had he brought his boat up to the side of a
whale when the seas were running high, and when it would have appeared
that a small boat could not have lived, much less fight the greatest,
strongest beast to be found on all this earth.
The excitement of the moment cut into the blood of the oarsmen. They
were going down with the wind, and they fairly jumped the boat from one
wave-crest to the other. But occasionally, as a heavier sea would come
up astern of them, they would race down and lag for an instant in the
hollow until lifted by the next.
The tall Yankee must have been reminded of the time when he raced with
the other rival boats in order to get fast with the harpoon first, for
he began encouraging in the old whaleman fashion:--
"Give way, my lads, give way! A long, steady stroke now! Do ye love
gin? A bottle of gin to the best man!" forgetting that he was no longer
the first mate of the old _Penobscot_. "Oh, pile it on while you have
breath! pile it on! On with the beef, my bullies!"
The men, with set teeth and straining backs, were catching together
beautifully, despite the fact that the wind threatened to twist the
oars out of their grasp. The little middy, sitting in the stern sheets,
had folded his arms; but he was swinging backward and forward to every
lift and heave, with the same strange grin upon his face. And now the
steersman caught sight of the English boat as she hove up to the top of
a great wave. It was plain that they had lost sight of the object they
were seeking. "Oars!" cried the steersman. The men ceased rowing, and
watched him with anxious and nervous eyes, waiting for the word to get
down to it again.
"There he is, Mr. Emmett! about a half a mile away there, sir, almost
dead ahead! And egad, they see him too!" for just as he had spoken the
English sweeps had caught the water with a plash.
Once more the boat-steerer's tongue was set awagging. It was a race now
down the two sides of a triangle; a fair race and a grand one.
"Every devil's imp of you pull! No talking; lay back to it! Now or
never!" yelled the steerer.
The heavy English cutter, with her eight men at the oars, had caught
the fever too, and the five rowers in the Yankee boat had work cut out
for them. The midshipman was now standing up, balancing himself easily,
with his legs spread wide apart.
"We'll have that man, my lads!" he shrieked. "Only think he's ours, and
there's no mistake, he will be ours! Give way, give way! Now we have
him!"
The man could now plainly be seen, clinging to the top of the chicken
coop.
"It's Brant, of the starboard watch, sir," said the steersman, leaning
over. "Harkee, he sees us."
It appeared as if both boats would arrive at the same moment, when
suddenly a most surprising thing occurred. The man waved his hand, and
leaving the small but buoyant raft that had supported him, he plunged
head first into the water and struck out for the whaleboat hand over
hand. The bow oar leaned over and caught him by the back of the shirt.
A quick heave, and he was landed between the thwarts.
[Illustration: "'Now we have him, lads!'"]
"I hated to spoil a good race, messmates," he panted, "or I'd come off
to you before."
The English cutter was now alongside. The men in the two boats were
looking at one another curiously.
"Thank you very much for your trouble," cried Midshipman Emmett, taking
off his hat, and having to shout his words very slowly and distinctly
in order for them to be heard.
"Nothing at all, I assure you, sir," came the answer from the young man
in the other boat. "We saw the whole thing happen, and would have been
glad to pick him up for you. This is Mr. Farren of the _Hebe_."
"This is Mr. Emmett of the _Macedonian_. Good day!"
"Good day!"
The stern way of the English vessel had carried her well to leeward of
the boats; the frigate had come about, and was slowly bearing down to
pick the whaleboat up. Amid great cheering she was hoisted in at the
davits. The hero of the occasion saluted the quarter-deck and walked
forward through the crowd, whose anxiety had now changed to merriment.
At last he saw the old sailor who had been on the main topsail-yard
with him.
"Bill," said he, "what was you sayin' when I left the yard to umpire
that thar race?"
RANDOM ADVENTURES
The newspapers published during the War of 1812, granted even that they
were vastly prejudiced of course, contained so much of thrilling
interest, and so much that is now forgotten, that a complete file, for
instance, of "Niles's Register" is a mine of wealth to a student of the
times. Every week a stirring chapter was added to the records of Yankee
ships and Yankee sailors. Fabulous sums were paid in prize money,
fortunes were made often in a single venture.
One of the luckiest cruises of the war, so far as rich returns are
concerned, was made by a little squadron of four vessels that sailed
from Boston on October 8th under the command of Commodore Rogers. It
consisted of the _President_, the _United States_, and the _Congress_
frigates, and the _Argus_ sloop of war. Five days after sailing the
_United States_ and the _Argus_ became separated from the others in a
gale of wind, and afterwards cruised on their own account. On the 15th,
the _President_ captured the British packet _Swallow_, having on board
two hundred thousand dollars in specie--a rich haul, indeed. On the
31st of the month, the _Congress_ captured a South Sea ship loaded with
oil that was being convoyed by an English frigate, the _Galatea_; the
latter made off and left her consort to her fate. The _President_, on
the 25th of October, captured the fine English frigate _Macedonian_,
and sent her safely into New London harbor. After taking one or two
smaller prizes, the _President_ and _Congress_ sailed into Boston the
last of December, having covered over eight thousand miles. The landing
of the money taken from the _Swallow_ and the other prizes was made
quite a function. It was loaded into several large drays, and escorted
from the Navy Yard to the bank by the crews of the frigates and a
detachment of marines, "drums beating and colors flying," as an
old-time account has it. The gold dust and specie amounted to the value
of three hundred thousand dollars, besides the value of the vessels
taken.
But the little _Argus_, under the command of Captain Sinclair, had
some adventures worth the telling, before she returned to port laden
with the fruits of war. After parting company with the squadron, she
laid her course for the coast of Brazil, then one of the most
profitable cruising grounds, although the waters swarmed with British
war vessels. From Cape St. Roque to Surinam she sailed and there made
two prizes; thence she cruised through the West Indies and hovered in
the vicinity of the Bermudas; afterwards she went as far north as
Halifax along the coast before she turned her head towards home.
The _Argus_ must have been a nimble vessel, for, according to her
logbook, she had escaped imminent capture a score of times, owing to
her speed and capacity for sailing close on the wind. Once she had
fallen in with a British squadron of six sail, two of them being ships
of the line. For three days and nights they pursued her closely. One of
the big fellows, proving to be a very fast sailer, outstripped the
others, and twice was almost within gunshot. On the fourth day the
_Argus_ came up with a large English merchant ship about sunset. The
wind had shifted so as to give her the windward gage of the pursuing
battle-ship. In full sight of her, and of the others that were distant
some ten or twelve miles, the _Argus_ captured the merchantman; and,
under cover of the dark, stormy night that shut down, she made her
escape with her prize. After a cruise of ninety-six days, she put into
the harbor of New York. The actual value of the prizes she had captured
amounted to upwards of two hundred thousand dollars--more than enough
to pay for her original cost three times over.
But to leave the deeds of the regular navy and take up those of a few
of the private armed vessels: less is known of their doings, of course;
they should be given a separate volume to themselves in writing the
history of our wars with England--and the volume is yet unwritten, but
some day it may be. Bravely they fought, often against odds, and more
than once they contributed to the defence of our coast in cooperation
with the regular navy and the land forces. Take operations of the
English blockading squadron under Admiral Warren that was sent to
close up the waters of the Chesapeake. Many were the times that the
privateers eluded his watch-dogs and sailed in and out through his
fleet, and more than once did he have a chance to test their metal. The
schooner _Lottery_, of Baltimore, mounting six guns and having a crew
numbering but thirty-five, in February, 1813, was attacked by nine
large British boats containing over two hundred and forty armed men.
For an hour and a half the privateer stood them off, and before she was
finally captured, she had killed more of the enemy than her own crew
numbered! The privateer _Dolphin_, also hailing from Baltimore, was
taken after the same heroic defence, and Admiral Warren must have found
such work to be rather uncomfortable experience. The United States
schooner _Asp_, three guns and twenty-one men, was pursued up a shallow
creek by a detachment of boats from the English fleet; and, after
beating off her pursuers for some time, she was taken by superior
numbers and upon her capture was set on fire. But the Americans, who
had retreated to shore, returned and succeeded in extinguishing the
flames and saving their vessel. A remarkable thing in connection with
the presence of the English fleet in the Chesapeake was the attempt to
blow up the flagship _Plantagenet_ with a torpedo. The news that
Americans were working upon such a line of invention had filled the
English with dread and horror, they declared that any one captured
while engaged in such a work would be hanged at once without a trial,
for they denounced such methods of warfare as "crimes against
humanity." But this did not deter an adventurous projector by the name
of Mix from trying to rid the bay of its unwelcome visitors. For a long
time he had been at work perfecting a "new explosive engine of great
destructive powers," and on the 18th of July, at midnight, he dropped
down with the tide alone in a small rowboat, and, when within forty
fathoms of the _Plantagenet_, he put his torpedo into the water with
the intention of having it drift with the tide athwart the flagship's
bows. But an alert sentry on one of the guard boats discovered him and
hailed; Mix drew his infernal machine into his boat and escaped. Every
night for a week the inventor tried his luck, but was spied before he
could complete his preparations, and was forced to draw off. But once
he so frightened the English officers that they made sail and shifted
their anchorage, and upon another occasion the flagship let go a
pell-mell broadside, and threw up rockets and blue lights to ascertain
the whereabouts of the lone adventurer.
On the night of the 24th Mix came very near to accomplishing his
purpose, and a contemporary printed account gives such a vivid
description of it that it is well worth quoting: "When within one
hundred yards the machine was dropped into the water, and at the same
moment the sentinel cried, 'All's well,' the tide swept it towards the
vessel, but it exploded a few seconds too soon. A column of water full
fifty feet in circumference was thrown up thirty or forty feet. Its
appearance was a vivid red tinged with purple at the sides. The summit
of the column burst with a tremendous explosion, and fell on the deck
of the _Plantagenet_ in torrents, while she rolled into the yawning
chasm below and nearly upset." Then the account shortly remarks, "She,
however, received but little injury." But this early attempt at waging
submarine warfare made the British exceedingly weary of anchoring in
our ports, which was to our advantage.
But to leave this digression and return to the privateers again:
justice has not been done them, as we have said. But to take the names
of a few and tell of their experiences is perhaps a good idea. Well
known were they to the public eighty odd years ago. For instance, the
schooner _Atlas_, of nineteen guns, that sailed from Philadelphia soon
after war was declared with England--she was famous! Her captain's name
was David Moffat, and he was a fearless commander and a "right good
seaman." The _Chronicle_ and the _Naval Temple_, published in 1816,
give each a short account of one of his encounters with the enemy; to
quote from the latter:--
"On the third of August at eight A.M., the _Atlas_ discovered two sail,
for which she bore away. At eleven o'clock the action was commenced
with a broadside and musketry. She continued engaged with both ships
till noon, when the smaller one struck her colors. The _Atlas_ then
directed the whole of her fire against the large ship, when the small
one, although her colors were down, renewed her fire on the _Atlas_,
which had to recommence firing on her; in a few minutes every man was
driven from her decks. Twenty minutes past twelve the large ship
struck. Possession was immediately taken of both of them. One proved to
be the ship _Pursuit_, Captain Chivers, of four hundred and fifty tons,
sixteen guns, and thirty-five men. The other was the ship _Planter_,
Captain Frith, of two hundred and eighty tons, twelve guns, and fifteen
men." They proved to be richly laden, and with both of them in her wake
the _Atlas_ started for home; she had lost but two men killed and five
wounded. The _Pursuit_ arrived safe in port on the same day as the
privateer, but the _Planter_ was recaptured off the cape of the
Delaware.