Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
https://books.google.com/books?id=4D_NBMwcGQUC
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE GRIP OF HONOR
[Illustration: "It seems to be made out properly and duly signed and
sealed," said the captain, slowly.]
THE GRIP OF HONOR
_A Story of Paul Jones and the American
Revolution_
BY
CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY
AUTHOR OF "FOR LOVE OF COUNTRY," "FOR THE FREEDOM
OF THE SEA," ETC.
The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honor grip,
Let that aye be your border;
Its slightest touches, instant pause--
Debar a' side-pretences;
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.
Burns
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1908
_Copyright, 1900_
By Charles Scribner's Sons
_All rights reserved_
TO
COLONEL JOHN LEWIS GOOD, U. S. V.,
AND THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF
THE FIRST PENNSYLVANIA UNITED STATES VOLUNTEERS,
MY COMRADES IN THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR,
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
Note
The interests of the story require some slight variations from exact
history in the movements of the Serapis and the Bon Homme Richard
before their famous battle, for which the author asks the indulgence
of the reader. In all other respects it is believed the account of the
battle is sufficiently accurate to present a true picture of the most
famous single-ship action ever fought upon the seas.
Contents
Book I
THEY MEET AND PART
I A Stern Chase On A Lee Shore
II The Captor Captured
III A Gentle Pirate
IV Enter Major Coventry
V Swords Are Crossed On The Sand
VI The Master Player Takes A Hand
Book II
THEY MEET AGAIN
VII After A Long Time
VIII Lady Elizabeth Does Not Know The Marquis de Richemont
IX The Picture On The Wall
X Lady Elizabeth Will Keep Her Word
XI O'Neill Will Keep His Honor
XII Gentlemen All
Book III
ON THE VERGE OF ETERNITY
XIII A Desperate Move
XIV Almost The End
XV A Soldier and a Gentleman
Book IV
THE SELFISHNESS OF LOVE
XVI In the Line of his Duty
XVII Differing Standards
Book V
IN THE HELL OF BATTLE, ALL
XVIII The Boys in Command
XIX 'Tween Decks with the Men
XX The Indomitable Ego
XXI The Audacity of Despair
XXII Sinking, but Triumphant
Book VI
THE HAND OF GOD
XXIII On Board the Serapis again
XXIV Not Guilty, My Lord
BOOK I
THEY MEET AND PART
THE GRIP OF HONOR
CHAPTER I
_A Stern Chase on a Lee Shore_
"The wind is freshening; we gain upon her easily, I think, sir."
"Decidedly. This is our best point of sailing, and our best wind, too.
We can't be going less than ten knots," said the captain, looking
critically over the bows at the water racing alongside.
"I can almost make out the name on her stern now with the naked eye,"
replied the other, staring hard ahead through the drift and spray.
"Have you a glass there, Mr. O'Neill?" asked the captain.
"Yes, sir, here it is," answered that gentleman, handing him a long,
old-fashioned, cumbrous brass telescope, which he at once adjusted and
focused on the ship they were chasing.
"Ah!" said the elder of the two speakers, a small, slender man,
standing lightly poised on the topgallant forecastle with the careless
confidence of a veteran seaman, as he examined the chase through the
glass which the taller and younger officer handed him; "I can read it
quite plainly with this. The M-a-i-d--Maidstone, a trader evidently,
as I see no gun-ports nor anything that betokens an armament." He ran
the tubes of the glass into each other and handed it back, remarking,
"At this rate we shall have her in a short time."
"She is a fast one, though," replied the other; "it's no small task
for anything afloat to show us her heels for so long a time; let me
see--it was six bells in the morning watch when we raised her, was it
not, sir?"
"Yes, 'tis rather remarkable going for a merchant vessel, but we have
the heels of her and will get her soon unless she goes to the bottom
on those reefs round the Land's End yonder. It's a nasty place to be
tearing through in that wild way," he added thoughtfully.
"Shall I give her a shot, sir, from the starboard bow-chaser?"
"Not just yet; it would be useless, as we are not quite within range,
and she would pay no heed; besides, we shall have her without it, and
'tis hardly worth while wasting a shot upon her at present."
The brief conversation took place forward upon the forecastle of the
American Continental ship Ranger, between her captain, John Paul
Jones, and her first lieutenant, one Barry O'Neill, Marquis de
Richemont, sometime officer in the navy of his Most Christian Majesty,
the King of France. O'Neill was the son of a marshal of France, an
Irish gentleman of high birth and position, who had gone out as a mere
lad with the young Stuart in the '45, and whose property had been
confiscated, and himself attainted and sentenced to death for high
treason. Fortunately he had escaped to the Continent, and had entered
the service of the King of France; where, through his extraordinary
ability and courage, coupled with several brilliant opportunities he
had made and enjoyed, he had risen to exalted station and great
wealth. He had always continued more or less of a conspirator in the
cause of the royal Stuarts, however, and his son, following in his
footsteps, had been mixed up in every treasonable Jacobite enterprise
which had been undertaken, and was under the same ban of the British
throne as was his father.
When Paul Jones in the historic ship Ranger came to France, O'Neill,
moved by a spirit of adventure and his ever present desire to strike a
blow at King George, received permission to enter the American service
temporarily, with several other French officers. The Ranger was
already some days out on her successful cruise, when, early on a
morning in the month of April in the year 1778, they had sighted a
ship trying to beat around the Land's End. Sail had at once been made
in chase, and the stranger was now almost within the grasp of the
American pursuers.
"It seems to me, sir," said O'Neill to the captain, "that unless she
goes about presently, she won't weather that long reef over beyond
her, where those breakers are."
"Ay," said Jones; "and if she goes about, she's ours, and--" He paused
significantly.
"If not, sir?"
"She's God's!" added the captain, solemnly.
The wind was blowing at a furious rate. The Ranger had a single reef
in her topsails, with her topgallant sails set above them. The masts
were straining and buckling like bound giants, and the ship quivered
and trembled like a smitten harpstring, as she pitched and plunged in
the heavy seas. The wind roaring through the iron-taut rigging, and
the wild spray dashing over the sides, rendered conversation almost
impossible. The motley crew of the Ranger were gathered forward,
clustering on the rail and lower shrouds, keeping of course at a
respectful distance from their captain and his first lieutenant, and
some of the other officers grouped near them.
"She must tack, now," said Jones at last, "or she's lost. I know these
waters; I have sailed them many times when I was a boy. I doubt if
they can weather that reef even--By heavens! There's a woman on board
of her, too!" he exclaimed, as his keen eye detected the flutter of
drapery and a dash of color among a little group of men on the deck of
the Maidstone, evidently staring aft at her relentless pursuer.
"See everything in readiness for quick work here. Gentlemen,"
continued the captain, "to your stations all. Mr. O'Neill, remain with
me." The men hastened to their places at once, and a little silence
supervened.
"You may give her a shot now, Mr. O'Neill," said Jones at last; "it
may bring them to tacking and save them from wreck. Pitch it alongside
of her; we don't want to hurt the woman, and it's not necessary to
touch the ship."
"Clear away that starboard bow-chaser," called the lieutenant; and the
men, scarcely waiting for his word of command, cast loose the gun.
"Aft there, stand by to give her a touch of the helm!" he cried with
raised voice.
"Ay, ay, sir," came the prompt reply.
"Price," continued O'Neill to the captain of the piece, "you need not
hit her; just throw a shot alongside of her. Are you ready?"
"All ready, sir," answered the old seaman, carefully shifting his quid
and squinting along the gun.
"Luff!" shouted O'Neill, in his powerful voice. The quartermaster put
the wheel over a few spokes, and the Ranger shot up into the wind a
little and hung quivering a moment with checked way.
"Give her a touch with the right-hand spike, lads," said old Price.
"Steady, shove in that quoin a little; easy there, overhaul those
tackles! All ready, sir."
"Now!" cried O'Neill.
A booming roar and a cloud of smoke broke out forward, and the ball
ricochetted along the water and sank just under the quarter of the
chase.
"Let her go off again," cried O'Neill to the quartermaster, and a
moment later, as the sails filled and she heeled once more to the
wind; "very well dyce, enough off," he cried.
"A good shot, Master Price, and a glass of grog for you presently in
reward," said Jones, quietly "Ah! we shall have some answer, at any
rate."
At this moment a small red flag broke out from the gaff of the English
vessel.
"Show our own colors aft there, though they can scarcely see them,"
cried the captain; "he's a plucky one, that fellow. What's he doing
now? 'Fore Gad, he's got a gun over the quarter, a stern-chaser. Must
have arms on board."
The Ranger was rushing through the water again at a rapidly increasing
rate, almost burying her lee cathead in the foaming sea under the
freshening breeze, and was now very near the Maidstone, which at this
moment discharged the small stern-chaser which had been dragged
astern, the shot from which passed harmlessly through the bellying
foresail above their heads.
"Give her another, Price," said O'Neill, upon a nod from Jones.
"Into her this time, sir?"
"Yes, anywhere you like."
The Ranger luffed again, losing a little distance as she did so, but
weathering appreciably on the stranger, and this time the flying
splinters from the stern of the chase showed that the shot had met its
mark. There was a sudden scattering of the men upon her quarter, and
most of them disappeared, but the young girl could be seen holding on
to the weather spanker vang, and apparently looking defiantly at them.
O'Neill took up the glass and examined her.
"Faith, sir, she looks as pretty as she is brave. See for yourself,
sir," he added, as he handed the telescope to the captain, who took a
careful look at her through the glass.
"You have a good eye for the beautiful," he replied, smiling, "even at
a long range. Secure the bow-chaser, sir; we are within musket range
of her."
While this was being done, the Ranger had crept up on the stranger
till her bow began to overreach the weather quarter of the other
vessel. As they held on recklessly together, suddenly the speed of the
chase was diminished. Her helm was put down, and with sails quivering
and swaying she swung up into the wind.
"We have her now," said Jones, springing on the rail and leaning over
forward; "nay, it's too late. Missed stays! By Heaven, she's in irons!
She's doomed! Aft there! steady with the helm! Give her a good full."
In the next instant, with a crash heard above the roar of the storm
even upon the other ship, the ill-fated Maidstone drove upon the reef
broadside on. The shock of meeting was tremendous: her masts were
snapped short off like pipe stems; the howling gale jerked them over
the sides, where they thundered and beat upon the ship with tremendous
force. The girl disappeared.
"Breakers ahead!" on the instant roared out a half-dozen voices in the
forecastle.
"Breakers on the starboard bow!" came the wild cry from all sides.
"Down with the helm, hard down!" shouted O'Neill, with a seaman's
ready instinct, without waiting for the captain. There was a moment of
confusion on the deck.
"Steady with the helm, steady, sir!" cried Jones, in his powerful
voice, with an imperious wave of his hand. "Silence fore and aft the
decks! Every man to his station! Keep her a good full, quartermaster.
Keep that helm as you have it. Look yonder, sir," he added, pointing
to larboard to another danger. "Ready about, stations for stays! Aft
with you, Mr. O'Neill, and see that the helm is shifted exactly as I
direct. Make no mistake! Lively, men, for your lives!"
The eager crew sprang to their stations. There was another moment or
two of confusion; and as they settled down, the silence was broken
only by the wind and the waves. The water was seething and whirling
under the forefoot of the Ranger. The reefs upon which the Maidstone
had crashed were dangerously near. But the keen eye of the captain had
seen on the other side a slender needle of rock over which the waves
broke in seething fury as it thrust itself menacingly out of the angry
ocean. They were right among the reefs, and only the most complete
knowledge and consummate seamanship could save them. It was there.
To tack ship now and come up in the wind would throw them on the rocky
needle; to go off would bring them down upon the other reefs. Jones,
entirely master of the situation, perfectly cool in appearance, though
his eyes snapped and sparkled with fire, leaned out above the
knightheads and keenly scanned the sea before him. There was just room
for the Ranger to pass between the two reefs. A hair's breadth on
either side would mean destruction. As the captain watched the boiling
water he seemed to detect, through a slight change in the course, a
tremor in the hand on the wheel.
"Aft there!" he shouted promptly, "what are you about? Steady with
that helm! No higher--nothing off!"
"Ay, ay, sir," replied O'Neill, standing watchfully at the con; "I
will mind it myself."
The crash of the breakers, as they writhed their white-crested heads
around the ship's bows and on either side, was appalling to every one.
They were right in them now--passing through them. The rocky needle on
the larboard hand slipped by and drew astern. The wreck of the
Maidstone was lost sight of in the flooding waves and driving spray of
a rising gale. The ship was roaring through the seas at a terrific
rate; the strain upon everything was tremendous; a broken spar, a
parted rope, meant a lost ship.
"Very well dyce," cried the captain, casting a glance aloft at the
weather leech of the topsails shivering in the fierce wind, the
quivering masts and groaning yard-arms, the lee shrouds hanging slack,
the lee braces and head bowlines taut as strung wires, the tacks and
sheets and the weather shrouds as rigid as iron bars, the new canvas
like sheets of marble. The ship was heeled over until the lee channels
were almost awash, the spray coming in, in bucketsful, over the lee
cathead. She was ready if ever she would be; their fate was at the
touch.
"Now!" shouted Jones, in a voice of thunder "Down with the helm! Over
with it! Hard over!"
The old experienced seamen put the wheel over spoke by spoke, slowly
at first, then faster, until they finally hauled it down hard and
clung to it with all the strength of their mighty arms.
"Helm's-a-lee, hard-a-lee," cried O'Neill at this moment.
"Rise tacks and sheets," roared the captain.
The ship shot up into the wind, straightened herself as its pressure
was removed from the sails, lost headway, the jibs swinging and
tugging in the gale, as she began to swing to larboard away from the
reef on the starboard side. She worked around slowly until the wind
began to come in over the starboard bow.
"Haul taut!" shouted the watching captain; "mainsail haul!"
The great yards, with their vast expanse of slatting, roaring,
threshing canvas, whirled rapidly around as the nimble crew ran aft
with the sheets and braces. The Ranger fell off quickly and drifted
down toward the needle, the after-sails aback.
"Board that main tack there! Man the head braces; jump, men, lively!
Let go and haul!"
There was a frightful moment,--would she make it? She stopped-- Ah,
thank God, they gathered way again, slowly, then faster.
"Right the helm! Meet her--so. Steady! Get that main tack down now,
tail on to it, all of you, sway away! Get a pull on the lee braces,
Mr. O'Neill, and haul the bowlines. Ah! That's well done."
They were rushing through it again; the white water and the breakers
were left behind. A sigh of relief broke from the reckless men, and
even the iron captain seemed satisfied with his achievement as he
walked aft to the quarter-deck.
"Get a good offing, Mr. O'Neill," said the captain, "and then heave
to. First send the hands aloft to take in the to'gallant sails, and
then you may get a boat ready; we must see if there are any poor
creatures left on that ship yonder."
"Very good, sir," replied the lieutenant, giving the necessary orders,
when presently the ship, easier under the reduced canvas, was hove to
in the beating sea.
"Shall I take the weather whaleboat, sir?"
"Yes," returned the captain, "I think you would better try to board
under her lee if it be possible to do anything among that wreckage. I
doubt if there be anybody left alive on her, but we can't afford to
risk the possibility, especially in the case of that woman whom you
found so beautiful," he added with a smile.
"Ay, ay, sir," said the lieutenant, blushing beneath the bronze in
spite of himself, as he directed the boatswain to call away the
whaleboat, which, manned by six stout oarsmen, with himself at the
tiller, was soon cast into the heaving sea. Meanwhile the Ranger
filled away again and beat to and fro off the coast, taking care to
preserve the necessary offing, or distance from shore to leeward.
CHAPTER II
_The Captor Captured_
It was a long hard pull, and only the great skill of the officer
prevented their capsizing, before the whaleboat finally drew near the
Maidstone. The ship had hit the reef hard at flood-tide, and the waves
had driven her farther on. Every mast and spar was gone, wrenched away
by the storm and the waves. It was manifestly impossible to approach
upon the weather side without staving the boat, so O'Neill cautiously
rounded the stern of the wreck, and briefly considered the situation.
He did not dare bring the boat near enough to enable him to leap upon
the deck through some of the great gaping openings in the sides made
by the tremendous battering of the massive spars, and he finally
concluded that the only practicable access to the Maidstone was by
means of some of the gearing trailing over the side and writhing about
snake-like in the water. Intrusting the tiller of the whaleboat to old
Price, the veteran gunner, he directed that it be brought alongside as
close as consistent with safety; and at exactly the right moment, as
they rose upon the crest of a wave, he sprang out into the water, and
clutched desperately at a rope hanging over the side of the wreck.
The men swung the boat away from the ship instantly, and he found
himself clinging to a small rope wildly tossing about in the
tumultuous sea. He was dashed to and fro like a cork, the waves
repeatedly broke over his head, the life was almost buffeted out of
him, but he held on like grim death. Fortunately, the other end of the
rope was fast inboard.
With careful skill, and husbanding his strength as much as possible,
he pulled himself along the rope through the water until he drew near
the side of the ship. Then, though the operation was hazardous in the
extreme, as he saw no other method, he began to pull himself up hand
over hand on the rope along the side. In his already exhausted state
and with the added weight of his wet, sodden clothing, the effort was
almost beyond his strength.
He endeavored by thrusting with his foot to keep himself from being
beaten against the side by the waves, but without success, for when he
had hardly reached the rail, an unusually large breaker struck him
fairly in the back and dashed his head against a piece of jagged
timber, cutting a great gash in his forehead. Blood filled his eyes,
his head swam, a sick, faint feeling filled his breast, he hesitated
and nearly lost his grasp of the rope. The men in the tossing boat a
little distance away held their breath in terrified apprehension, but
summoning all his resolution to his aid, he made a last desperate
effort, breasted the rail, and fell fainting prone upon the deck of
the ship.
A few moments in the cold water which was flooding over it revived him
somewhat, and he rose unsteadily to his feet, and looked about him in
bewilderment. The change from the tossing boat to the motionless
rigidity of the vise-held wreck was startling. There was not a sign of
life on the ship. She was breaking up fast; rails were stove in, boats
were gone, three jagged stumps showed where the masts had been, and
only the fact that she had been driven so high on the reefs prevented
her from foundering at once. There was a dead body jammed under the
starboard fife-rail forward, but no other sign of humanity. In front
of him was a hatchway, giving entrance to a small cuddy, or cabin, the
roof of which rose a few feet above the level of the deck.
As he stood there, striving to recover himself, in a brief lull in the
storm he thought he heard a faint voice; it seemed to come from
beneath him. He at once turned, and with uncertain steps descended the
hatchway. Reaching the deck below, he stood in the way a moment,
brushing the blood from his eyes. As he gradually made out the details
of the cabin, dimly illuminated by a skylight above, he saw a woman on
her knees praying; she had her face buried in her hands, and did not
see him until he spoke to apprise her of his presence.
"Madam," he began thickly.
The woman raised her head with startled quickness, and gave him one
terrified glance. The glass had told him truly,--she was beautiful,
and young as well, scarcely more than a girl apparently; even the
dim gray light could not hide those things. As for him, he was an
awful-looking spectacle: wet, hatless, his clothing torn, a great red
wound in his forehead intensifying his pallor. He had a heavy pistol
in his belt and a cutlass swinging at his side.
She stared at him in frightened silence and finally rose to her feet
deathly pale and apparently appalled; he saw that she was a little
above the medium height. At the same moment, from an obscure corner,
there rang out shriek after shriek, and another woman rushed forward,
threw herself on the deck at his feet and fairly grovelled before him.
"Oh, sir, for God's sake, sir," she cried frantically, "good mister
pirate, don't hang us, sir! We never hurt nobody. Oh, sir, take us
away, we'll do anything, we--
"Silence, you coward!" commanded the other woman, imperiously. "Get
up! Prayers are of no avail with such as--
"Nor are they necessary, madam," replied O'Neill; "we are not pirates,
and I am come to save you and shall do it. Will you please come on
deck?"
"I had rather gone down on the ship," said the girl, defiantly,
evidently disbelieving him; "but you are here, and you are master.
Give your orders, sir."
"Very well," returned the lieutenant, calmly accepting the situation;
"you will go up on deck at once." The girl motioned him forward.
"After you, madam," he said, bowing courteously, and she stepped
haughtily up the companion-way, followed next by her shivering,
shrinking, terrified maid, and lastly by O'Neill.
"Are there any others left alive on the ship, think you, madam?" he
asked.
"No one," answered the girl; "many were thrown overboard or killed
when we struck on these rocks here, and the rest abandoned us--the
cowards," was the reply.
"Do you wait here a moment, while I take a look forward to assure
myself," said O'Neill, stepping rapidly across the raffle of rope
about the decks, and making a hasty inspection to make sure that no
unfortunate was left. Quickly satisfying himself that they were alone,
he returned to the quarter-deck where the two women stood. He looked
at them in some perplexity. It would be a matter of great difficulty
to get them back in the boat, but he promptly determined upon his
course of action; they would not like it, but that would be no matter.
Signing to the coxswain, old Price, the boat which had been riding to
a long rope from the ship was skilfully brought alongside again as
near as was safe. One end of a long piece of loose gear was thrown
over to the boat, where it was made fast. A bight of the rope,
properly stoppered to prevent undue constriction, was passed around
the waist of the maid, at which all her terrors were resumed.
"Oh, for God's sake, sir, for the love of Heaven, as you have a mother
or wife, do not hang us here! If we must die, let us drown on the ship
like good Christian people. Oh, please, good mister pirate--"
But O'Neill was in no mood to pay attention to such trifling, and he
summarily fastened the bight around her waist, and lifting her upon
the rail, bade her jump. She clung to him with the tenacity of
despair, crying and shrieking in the most frantic manner, until
finally her overwrought nerves gave way, and she fainted. That was
just what he wanted. Singing out to old Price to haul in on the line,
and having taken a turn around a belaying pin with his end of it, he
promptly threw the girl into the water. Of course she was dragged
under at once, but in a moment was lifted safely into the whaleboat,
where she was shortly revived from unconsciousness by the ducking she
had received.
"Now, madam, you see you need fear nothing," said O'Neill,
peremptorily, to the other woman. "I trust I shall not be compelled to
throw you in, too?"
"Not at all, sir," she replied trembling violently, but striving to
preserve her self-control; "I presume you reserve me for a worse
fate."
The young lieutenant started violently at the insult, and his face
clouded darkly at her suspicion.
"I--no matter, I came to save you," he said, as he stepped toward her
to assist her to make the leap.
"Please do not touch me," she answered disdainfully; "I am no fainting
fool. Give me the rope. What is it you wish me to do?"
"Pass it around your waist. Allow me. Now stand there, madam, and when
I say the word, jump!"
"Very well," she said, stepping upon the rail resignedly, where
perforce he was compelled to hold her to keep her from falling.
How glorious and splendid she looked, he thought, with her unbound
hair floating like golden sunlight in the wind against the background
of the gray day, while her sea-blue eyes looked boldly over the black
water from her proud, white, handsome face.
"Now!" he said, as the boat rose toward them. Without a moment's
hesitation, she leaped into the air, and after a swift passage through
the water she was hauled into the boat by the rough but kindly hands
of the old sailor. Making the end of the rope fast around his own
waist, O'Neill, watching his opportunity, sprang after; but he seemed
fated for misfortune that day, for a bit of timber torn that moment
from the wreck struck him in the head just as he touched the water,
and it was a fainting, senseless man Price hauled into the boat. The
old seaman laid his officer down in the stern-sheets where the young
girl was sitting with her maid crouching at her feet. Necessarily he
lay in a constrained position,--there was nothing to support his head
but a boat-stretcher.
She gazed upon his pallid face with its disfiguring wounds; he was a
murderous pirate, no doubt, and deserved it all, still he had saved
her life; the Maidstone was breaking up; he was so handsome too, and
he looked like a gentleman. She was a woman, well--then the womanly
instincts of the girl asserted themselves, and she finally moved her
position and lifted the head of the unconscious sailor to her knee.
Taking a handkerchief from her neck, she dipped it in the salt water
and bathed his head and then poured between his lips a few drops from
the flask of rum which Price handed her, after the old man had
insisted that she take a draught of the fiery liquid herself.
Under these pleasant ministrations O'Neill opened his eyes for a
moment, gazed up into her face with a smiling glance, and closing his
eyes immediately, lest she should release him, he lay quite still
while the men pulled away toward the Ranger, and in that manner they
reached her side. His heart was beating wildly; that look had been
enough. She was his prisoner--but her captor was captured!
CHAPTER III
_A Gentle Pirate_
Eager eyes on the ship had noted the every movement of the whaleboat
as she drew near the Ranger. Old Price saw that a whip and a
boatswain's chair had been rigged on the main-yardarm to swing his
passengers on board. The sight of the dangling rope awakened a fresh
fit of apprehension on the part of the timorous maid, and it was with
great difficulty that the amused seaman persuaded her that she was not
to be hanged outright. Entirely unconvinced, but resigning herself to
her fate, she finally sat down on the small board and was swung to the
gangway.
Her mistress gently laid the head of the prostrate officer against one
of the thwarts, and, leaving the handkerchief as a rest for it,
followed the maid. Then the old coxswain secured the lieutenant to the
chair, and when he had reached the deck, where he opened his eyes and
recovered consciousness with incredible promptness, the boat was
dropped astern, the falls hooked on, and she was smartly run up to her
place at the davits, and the Ranger filled away. O'Neill was at once
assisted below to his cabin, and his wounds, which were not serious,
were attended to by the surgeon.
When the young woman joined her maid on the deck, her glance
comprehended a curious picture. In front of her, hat in hand, bowing
low before her, stood a small, dapper, swarthy, black-avised,
black-haired man, in the blue uniform of a naval officer. He had the
face of a scholar and a student, with the bold, brilliant, black eyes
of a fighter. Surrounding him were other officers and several young
boys similarly dressed. Scattered about in various parts of the ship,
as their occupation or station permitted, were a number of rude,
fierce, desperate-looking men, nondescript in apparel. None of the
navies of the world at that date, except in rare instances, uniformed
its men. On either side of the deck black guns protruded through the
ports, and here and there a marine, carrying a musket and equipped in
uniform of white and green, stood or paced a solitary watch.
"I bid you welcome to my ship, madam; so fair a face on a war-vessel
is as grateful a sight as the sun after a squall," said the officer,
elaborately bowing.
"Sir," said the young woman, trembling slightly, "I am a person of
some consideration at home. My guardian will cheerfully pay you any
ransom if you spare me. I am a woman and alone. I beg you, sir, to use
me kindly;" she clasped her hands in beseeching entreaty, her
beautiful eyes filling with tears.
At this signal the fears of the maid broke out afresh, and she plumped
down on her knees and grasped the captain around the legs, bawling
vociferously, and adding a touch of comedy to the scene.
"Oh, sir, for the love of Heaven, sir, don't make us walk the plank!"
It would seem that the maid had been reading romances.
The seamen near enough to hear and see grinned largely at this
exhibition, and the captain, with a deep flush and a black frown on
his face, struggled to release himself.
"Silence, woman!" he cried fiercely, at last. "Get up from your knees,
or, by Heaven, I will have you thrown overboard; and you, madam, for
what do you take me?"
"Are you not a--a pirate, sir?" she answered, hesitating. "They told
me on the ship that you--"
"No pirate am I," interrupted the man, proudly, laying his hand on his
sword. "I am an officer, and, with these gentlemen, am in the service
of the United States of America, the new Republic--this is the
American Continental ship Ranger. You are as safe with us as you would
be in your own parlor at home. Safer, in fact; there you would be
surrounded by servants; here are men who would die to prevent harm
coming to you-- Is it not so, gentlemen?"
A deep chorus of "Ay, ay's" rang through the air. The captain
continued with sudden heat,--
"'Fore God, madam, I don't understand how you could insult me with an
offer of money!"
"Oh, sir," said the girl, visibly relieved, "they told me that you
were a pirate, and would murder us all. Are you not--"
"Captain John Paul Jones, at your service, madam," interrupted the
little officer, with another bow, thrusting his hand in his bosom.
"Yes," said the young woman; "they said it would be you. Why, every
news-letter in the land describes you as--as--"
"Pirate, madam, say it; you have not hesitated to speak the word
heretofore. A rebel--a traitor--a pirate," he said, throwing up his
head proudly,--"'tis a penalty which one pays for fighting for
freedom; but you, at least, shall be able to speak unequivocally as to
our character, for I pledge you my word you shall take no harm from
us, though I doubt not my young gentlemen here will be raked fore and
aft by the batteries of your bright eyes. Now will you vouchsafe me
your name and some of your story, that I may know with whom I have to
do?"
"My name is Howard, sir,--Elizabeth Howard," replied the girl,
brightening as her fears diminished. "I am the ward of Admiral Lord
Westbrooke, the governor of Scarborough Castle. I have no father nor
mother."
"Another claim upon our consideration, ma'am."
"Sir, I thank you. I was going to visit friends in Liverpool when that
unfortunate ship there was wrecked. Oh, what will become of me now?"
she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears again.
"Liverpool lies in our way, Mistress Howard, and 'twill give me great
pleasure to land you upon some convenient point on the coast in a few
days if the wind hold, and no mischance arise; and now may I present
my officers to you, since we are to be fellow-passengers all."
Upon receiving the desired permission from the grateful girl, in whose
pale cheek the color began to come again, the captain, who was a great
stickler for etiquette, brought forward the little group of officers
and introduced them one by one. There was much bowing and courtesying
on the quarter-deck, which even the seamen seemed to enjoy.
"This is all, I believe," said the captain, having stopped with the
smallest midshipman, who announced himself in his boyish treble, in
comical imitation of his elders, as, "vastly honored, madam."
"The gentleman who brought me here?" questioned the girl, blushing
faintly; "I trust he is not seriously injured?"
"Ah!" replied Jones, "my first lieutenant, Mr. Barry O'Neill, a
volunteer with us, and an officer in the service of his most Christian
Majesty, my friend, the King of France." On the ship O'Neill had
elected to sink his marquisate.
"He is not much hurt, Mistress Howard, only battered about a bit and
pulled down by the nervous shock and efforts he underwent--why, here
he is now! Did I not warn you, sir, to stay below?" said the doctor,
shaking his finger, as O'Neill, pale and languid, with his head bound
up, came slowly up the companion-way.
"Oh, I am all right, doctor," said the lieutenant, rather weakly, but
smiling with the audacity and gallantry of his race as he spied the
girl. "Who would stay below with divinity on the deck? The thought of
the presence of this lady above him would lift a crusader from his
tombstone."
"Allow me to present you in due form to Mistress Howard, Mr. O'Neill,"
said the captain, somewhat severely, evidently very desirous of
observing the proprieties now.
"Sir," said the young girl, looking gratefully at the Irishman out of
her violet eyes, "I have to thank you for a most gallant rescue, made
doubly hard by my perversity and foolish apprehension, which this
gentleman," bowing to the flattered captain, "has most kindly
removed."
"'Twas a pleasure to serve you, madam. May I continue to enjoy it. We
would sink another ship for such another chance," said the Irishman,
lightly.
"Now I propose to give up one of my cabins to Mistress Howard and her
maid," said the captain; "and I presume that she will need to rest
after the exciting incidents of the day until supper is served. If you
are able, Mr. O'Neill, I should like to have you join us there, with
Mistress Howard's permission, of course, since the ship is hers." He
smiled toward her, and when he smiled he was irresistible.
"I am honored, sir," replied the girl, graciously. "And I thank you.
Captain, I shall be delighted," continued the young lady, laying her
hand in his own, as he led her aft to the cabin door in the break of
the poop. Before she entered, she turned and made a graceful courtesy;
her glance swept toward the young lieutenant--O'Neill from that moment
was no longer a captive--he was a slave.
"Gentlemen, good-afternoon," she said, comprehending them in one
brilliant look, and smiling again--it was enough; that glance had
given O'Neill any number of rivals.
CHAPTER IV
_Enter Major Coventry_
Three days later the Ranger, under all plain sail, in a gentle breeze,
was slowly ploughing along through the Irish Sea, off the English
coast, near the mouth of the Mersey. The whaleboat, manned by six of
the smartest seamen, armed with cutlass and pistol, and dressed in
their best clothes, old Price being coxswain again, was just being
made ready. The ship was presently hove to, and a side ladder was
dropped overboard at the gangway where Miss Elizabeth Howard and her
maid were standing waiting for the lowering of the whaleboat, and
around which the officers of the deck speedily congregated.
They were a sorrowful lot of men, these impressionable sailors, for
O'Neill was not alone in his captivity. True to his promise, Captain
Jones had shifted his course, and was about to land his fair
passenger. He had chosen to put her ashore upon a rocky beach four or
five miles away from a fort at Birkenhead, which guarded the mouth of
the river which gave entrance to the harbor, not caring to venture his
ship in any closer proximity to the fortifications and the war-vessels
probably in the river. It was a risky performance at best, but he
trusted to the known speed of the Ranger and his own seamanship to
effect his escape in case the ship should be discovered and pursued in
force.
Once on shore, it would not be a difficult matter for the lady and her
maid to procure a conveyance to take them to the city a little farther
inland. The melancholy duty of landing the two women, by special
request, had been allotted to the first lieutenant, much to the
disgust of the various midshipmen who conceived that the matter of
taking charge of boats appertained more properly to one of their
number.
The farewells were soon spoken by the grateful girl to the officers,
who had done their very best in making the days pass pleasantly and
lightening the tedium of the voyage, and to the captain, who had been
kindness and consideration itself. The young lieutenant, still
somewhat pale from his adventure, had clothed himself in a handsome
full-dress uniform, and, with a splendidly jewelled sword swinging by
his side, came on deck from his cabin, the envy of all the others.
The ship had been hove to, the accommodation ladder shipped, the
whaleboat was lying at the gangway now, and the three passengers at
once took their places in the stern.
"See Miss Howard safely landed, Mr. O'Neill," said the solicitous
captain, leaning over the rail, "and assure yourself, as far as
possible, of her ability to reach the town without harm, and then
return at once; in any event, do not leave the beach. We will watch
you, sir."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered O'Neill. "Shove off--out oars--give way!" and
the little boat at once shot away from the side, and, under the
impetus given by the watchful men, dashed toward the not distant
shore.
Miss Howard should have been radiantly happy at leaving the Ranger,
and in her proximity to Liverpool, where she was about to meet not
only friends and family connections, but one who was destined to be
something more. This person was Major Edward Coventry, a gallant and
distinguished young officer, the son and heir of her guardian, Lord
Westbrooke, and to whom for many years--from infancy, in fact--she had
been betrothed. But an unaccountable tinge of sadness hovered over her
lovely face, though she strove to conceal it under an affectation of
lightness and gayety.
As for O'Neill, he made no effort whatever to hide his misery. The
impressionable young Irishman had fallen deeply in love with Elizabeth
Howard. He had fallen in love a thousand times before, but not in this
way; and the heart which had withstood the successful assaults of the
brilliant beauties of the gay court of France had literally succumbed
at the first sight of this beautiful English girl whom benignant
fortune had thrown across his path.
She, and she only, was his fate, then and thereafter. A new and
hitherto unknown feeling had been excited in his heart at the sight of
her. In that hour in the boat when he lay with his head upon her knee,
when he had looked up at her, heaven had opened before his gaze, and
to his disordered fancy she had seemed an angel. Each passing moment
discovered in her a new charm, and he loved her with the impetuosity
of a boy, the doting passion of an old man, and the consecration of a
devotee.
With the daring of his race, he had not hesitated to acquaint the girl
with his passion, either, though it was stale news to her; there is
nothing a woman discovers more quickly and more certainly than the
feelings of a man who loves her. That she had laughed at his ardor had
not in the least deterred him from persisting in his attentions, which
she had not found unwelcome, for he thoroughly understood the value of
determined pursuit. She had told him that they were like two ships
sailing the great sea, whose paths happened to cross for a moment.
They meet, nod to each other, and pass on; the deep swallows them up,
and they see each other no more forever.
He had vowed and protested that it would not be so; that England was a
little country and Admiral Westbrooke a great man; that she could not
be anywhere without attracting the attention of the world,--she could
by no means hide her light; that he would withdraw from the American
service, which he could honorably do at the expiration of the present
cruise, and search the whole island until he found her,--all of which
was pleasant for her to hear, of course, though it elicited no more
favorable reply. She was attracted to the young man: his handsome
person, his cultured mind, his charming manners were such that no
one--no woman, that is--could be indifferent to them; but she did not
love him, at least not yet.
Elizabeth Howard was a woman to make a man fall desperately in love
with her, and many men had done so. She was tall and graceful,
golden-haired, blue-eyed, and of noble presence. She was proud, she
was wise, she was witty, she was tender, she was contemplative, she
was gay, she was sad, she was joyous, in different moods. Days, years
even, could not exhaust the charms of her infinite variety, though far
down beneath the surface of her nature were the quiet deeps of
constancy and devotion,--what plummet could sound them, who should
discover them? There was about her that indefinable air of one born
for homage and command which speaks of generations to whom have been
accorded honor and place unquestioned.
It was not a long row to the land; and as they approached the
rugged coast, the young lieutenant eagerly scanned the shore for a
landing-place. Steering around a little promontory which hid them from
the Ranger, he discovered a stretch of sandy beach under its lee, and
the boat was sent in its direction until the keel grated on the soft
sand. It was a lonely spot, a little stretch of sand ending inland,
and on one side in precipitous rocks over which a wandering pathway
straggled unevenly to the heights above. The other end of the beach
gave entrance, through a little opening, or pass in the rocks, upon a
country road which wandered about inland, losing itself under some
trees a mile or so away.
On the rocky promontory back of, and at one end of the beach, there
was a small lighthouse; and several miles from the beach in the other
direction, at the end of the road probably, was a castle or fort, the
flag floating lazily from the staff indicating that it was garrisoned.
Springing lightly from the boat, O'Neill stepped recklessly into the
water alongside. Miss Howard rose to her feet and looked anxiously
about her.
"Allow me," said O'Neill; and then, without waiting for permission, he
lifted her gently in his arms and carried her to the shore. "Would
that all the earth were water, and that I might carry you forever," he
said, as he put her down upon the sand.
"You would not like heaven, then?" she replied, jesting.
"I find my present experience of it delightful, madam; but why do you
say that?" he asked anxiously.
"Because there, we are told, there will be no more sea!" she answered
with well-simulated gayety.
"'Tis a poor place for a sailor, then," he replied gravely, in no mood
for badinage, "and I fear few of them will get there."
Price, who had followed his officer's example with the maid, now
stepped up to him for his orders, necessarily interrupting the
conversation.
"Price," he said to that intrepid old sailor, "you may go back to the
boat and shove off, and keep her under the lee of that little point
until I call you. Keep a sharp lookout, too."
"Ay, ay, sir," said the old sailor, turning to fulfil the command.
"Now I suppose the time has come for me to say good-bye to Lieutenant
O'Neill," said Elizabeth.
"Oh, not yet, Miss Howard; I cannot leave you here alone until I know
that you are safe."
"But your duty, sir?"
"A gentleman's, a sailor's, first duty is always toward a helpless
woman, especially if she is--
"His prisoner, you would say, I suppose?" she said, interrupting
hastily. That was not at all what he had intended to say, but he let
it pass.
"You know who is prisoner, now and forever, Miss Howard."
"If you refer to Lieutenant O'Neill, I will release him now and
forever as well, at once, sir," she said archly.
"You cannot."
"As you will, sir," she replied; "but as I happen to see several
horsemen coming down the road yonder, I imagine you will not be
detained from your ship a very long time. Let us go forward to meet
them; perhaps they can give us some information."
The horsemen, evidently an officer and two orderlies who were
galloping toward the beach, at this moment noticed the boat party and
probably the Ranger itself. They reined in their horses at once, and
the officer apparently gave some directions to one of the others, for
he saluted, turned his horse about in the road, and galloped rapidly
back in the direction of the castle. The officer then trotted hastily
forward, followed by the remaining man, and looking intently ahead of
him until he reached the vicinity of the little group, he dismounted,
and handing the bridle to the soldier, bade him wait where he was. He
came forward fearlessly, with one hand on his sword, the other holding
a pistol which he had taken from the holster. He was a young and
handsome man in a new and brilliant scarlet uniform.
CHAPTER V
_Swords are Crossed on the Sand_
"Lady Elizabeth, you here?" he exclaimed, stopping short in great
surprise, when he was near enough to recognize them. "What is the
meaning of this?" He stood a moment as if petrified, and then came
nearer. "Who is this person?" he demanded imperiously. Elizabeth
started violently.
"Major Coventry! Edward!" she cried.
"Are you a 'Lady,' madam?" said O'Neill, in equal surprise, addressing
the astonished girl and paying no attention to the officer.
"For what else do you take her, sir?" interrupted the officer,
bristling with indignation.
"Faith, sir, I would take her 'for better or worse,' an I could,"
replied the Irishman, smiling.
"Unfortunately for you, that is a privilege I propose to exercise
myself," said the Englishman, sternly.
"The world will doubtless share my regret, sir," said the Irishman,
audaciously, a bitter pang in his breast at this unlooked for news.
"Now I wish to know who you are and how you come here and what you are
doing,--an explanation, sir!" asked the officer.
"I am not accustomed to give explanations save to those who have the
right to demand them," replied O'Neill.
"I have two rights, sir."
"They are?"
"First, I am betrothed to this young lady," said the officer. "Second,
this," laying his hand upon his sword.
"Either of these may be sufficient from your point of view, neither of
them from mine. As to the first, I refer you to the young lady
herself: I will have it from her own lips, or not at all; as to the
second, you will see I have a similar right of my own."
"Will you, Lady Elizabeth," said the young officer, addressing her
formally, "have the goodness to inform me how you came here and who
this person is, or shall I force the knowledge from him?"
"If you wish him to have the information, Miss Howard, you would, I
think, better give it him. Otherwise I do not see how he is to get
it," said O'Neill, grimly, his dark face flushing with anger.
"This gentleman," said the girl, faintly, pointing to the officer, "is
Major Edward Coventry, the son of my guardian, Admiral Westbrooke."
"And your betrothed, Elizabeth; you forget that," added Coventry.
"I almost wish I could," she replied sharply, gathering courage. "You
remind me of it too constantly for it to be pleasant, and at no time
so inopportunely as at the present."
The Englishman, in great astonishment and perturbation, opened his
mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the quicker Irishman.
"Why so, Mistress Howard?"
"Lady Elizabeth, if you please, sir," said Coventry.
"Lady Elizabeth, then. I thank you, sir, for the reminder," answered
O'Neill, suavely. "Your friends on the Ranger are all interested in
your welfare, and I am sure they are glad in my person to meet with
and congratulate the fortunate gentleman who aspires to your hand." He
smiled bitterly at her as he spoke.
"Will you tell me or not, Lady Elizabeth, who this person is and how
you came here?" said Coventry, impatiently, with mounting choler at
all this by-play.
"This is a lieutenant of the American Continental ship Ranger, Captain
John Paul Jones--
"The d----d, murdering pirate!" exclaimed Coventry, hotly.
"Stop!" cried O'Neill, stepping forward with his hand upon his sword.
"You shall neither swear before a lady, nor shall you in this
scandalous manner disparage the ship of which I have the honor to be
the first lieutenant, nor asperse the character of her captain.
Withdraw your words, or you shall answer to me with that which hangs
by your side."
"I fight only with gentlemen," said Coventry, coldly.
"My custom," replied O'Neill, promptly, "is in the main the same as
your own; but I sometimes make exceptions, which I am willing to do in
this instance. I require you immediately, instantly, to apologize to
me for your remarks."
"And if I refuse?"
"I shall strike them down your throat with my hand."
"'S death, sir! How dare you, a beggarly adventurer, talk thus to me,
an officer, a major in the army of his Gracious Majesty King George, a
Coventry, a Westbrooke!"
"If you were an angel from heaven 'twould make no difference to me,
for I would have you know, sir, that I am of as good a house as--ay, a
better than--your own, a descendant of kings--
"An Irishman, I infer?" said Coventry, sneering.
"You are correct, sir, and my people have been chieftains for thirty
generations."
"Ah, in Ireland?" The manner of the question made it another insult,
but O'Neill restrained himself under the great provocation and
answered coldly:
"Where else, sir, and where better? As for me, I am temporarily an
officer of yonder ship, the Ranger, flying the flag of the American
Republic, but I am a lieutenant in the navy of his Majesty Louis XVI.
My father is a marshal of France. Will you draw now?" he cried,
stepping forward impetuously.
"A brilliant array of titles surely; pity it lacks other confirmation
than your word. I scarcely comprehend the catalogue," replied
Coventry, coldly.
"I shall endeavor to enlighten you as to my credibility with this,"
said O'Neill, drawing his sword. "Now will you fight or not?"
"And if I persist in my refusal?" asked Coventry, who was playing for
time.
"At this juncture I shall be under the painful necessity of killing
you in the presence of your betrothed, so draw, my dear sir, if not
for honor, for--
"What?"
"Life!"
"On guard!" cried the Englishman, whipping out his sword.
"Stop!" cried Elizabeth, springing between their swords. "He saved my
life at the risk of his own."
"D--n him!" said the Englishman, grinding his teeth.
"Your condemnation comes too late, sir," said O'Neill, with bitter
emphasis, with an expressive glance at Elizabeth, who continued
impetuously:
"This gentleman treated me with the most distinguished courtesy."
"I wish that he had exhibited some of it here," interrupted Coventry
again.
"I have but followed your own example," retorted O'Neill, calmly.
"Will you hear me in silence, Edward? They are not pirates--"
"I call them so," said Coventry, stubbornly.
"Enough, Lady Elizabeth," said O'Neill, taking his share in the
conversation again. "Two lovers are sometimes an embarrassment of
riches. This seems to be one of the times. If you will stand aside, I
trust that a few moments will rid you of one or the other of them."
"I will not go!" said the girl, defiantly. "You shall not fight; you
have nothing to quarrel about."
"We have you, or rather he has," responded the Irishman.
"Withdraw, I beg of you, Elizabeth. This matter must be settled," said
Coventry, in his turn.
"I will not, I tell you!" persisted the girl, determinedly. "If you
fight, you will fight through me."
"We are doing that now," said O'Neill, savagely. "Will you withdraw,
madam?"
"I repeat it, I will not, and I wish to remind you that I do not like
your tone. You are not on the deck of your ship now, sir."
"Oh, am I not? Boat ahoy, there! Price," cried O'Neill, waving his
hand. A few strokes brought the whaleboat to the shore again. The crew
were eager to take a hand in the fray. "Coxswain, come here," said the
officer.
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the sailor; and while the other two stood
wondering, the veteran seaman rolled up to them and saluted his
lieutenant with a sea scrape. "Want us to take a hand in this yere
little scrimmage, yer Honor?"
"No. Take this lady and her maid to that clump of rocks yonder."
"That's easy; 'tain't no fightin' at all, that. Come along, yer
Leddyship," said the old man, in great disappointment, as the boat
shoved off again.
"You monster!" cried Elizabeth, stamping her foot on the sand. "You
are a pirate, after all!"
"As you say, madam. Stop, sir!" said O'Neill to Coventry, who made a
move to approach the sailor. "My man will do no harm to her Ladyship,
and you have other matters to attend to, unless you wish to shelter
yourself behind a woman's petticoats."
Coventry had been playing for more time, but this was more than he
could stand. "I think you have said enough, sir, and if you are
ready," he said, "we will talk in another fashion."
"At your service," said the Irishman, composedly. Two swords flashed
in the air simultaneously, and rang against each other with deadly
purpose a moment after. Both men were masters of the weapon. Coventry
had been thoroughly trained in the more direct English school; while
O'Neill was a master of all the graceful tricks of the subtle fence of
France and Italy. It was as pretty a play--parry and thrust--as one
could hope to see, and for a time the advantage was with neither one
of them. Elizabeth stood with clasped hands, her face pale with
emotion, her lips parted, eagerly watching. The maid as usual was
furnishing a comic side to the scene by her screams of "murder--help!"
while the sailors were deeply interested in the two combatants.
Finally, after one especially vicious thrust on the part of Coventry,
whose foot slipped a little, a clever parry, followed by a dashing
_riposte en quarte_, which was met and returned with less skill than
usual, O'Neill, with a graceful turn of the wrist, whirled the
Englishman's sword from his hand. It flew up into the air and fell
clanging on the rocks some distance away.
Coventry was unarmed and helpless before a bitter enemy. He was the
stronger of the two, and it flashed into his mind to spring upon his
antagonist suddenly, catch him in his arms, and overcome him by brute
force; but the glittering point of his enemy's sword, shivering in the
sunlight like a serpent's tongue, effectively barred the way. He had
played the game and lost. If he must die in the presence of his love,
he would do it like a gentleman, on the sword's point.
"Strike, sir!" he said hoarsely, with one quick glance toward Lady
Elizabeth, who stood perfectly motionless, looking on in terror. She
would have run forward had it not been for old Price.
"Oh, he will be killed, he will be killed!" wailed the maid.
"Sir Englishman, pick up your sword," said O'Neill, lowering his
point.
"Sir Irishman," said the other, bowing, "men may call you pirate--"
"Not with impunity, sir," interrupted the touchy O'Neill.
"That I grant you. I was about to add that, whatever they call you,
you fight like a gentleman; and it will give me great pleasure to
testify to your personal worth at every convenient season. Will you
permit me, though I do not know your name, to call you my friend?"
There is a great educational value in the point of a naked sword, and
it may account for the sudden change which came over Coventry.
"I shall esteem myself honored, sir. My name is O'Neill, Barry
O'Neill, at your service."
"I shall remember it. You have not only saved the life of Lady
Elizabeth Howard, but now you have given me my own."
"Thus am I the prince of match-makers," said O'Neill, bitterly. "I
would that I had lost mine in one of the savings!"
"Now, sir," continued Coventry, disregarding this last remark, "if you
would be advised by me, withdraw while you may yet do so in safety."
CHAPTER VI
_The Master Player takes a Hand_
At this moment, a number of red-coated soldiers clambered down the
path in the rocks, while a squad of cavalry came galloping upon the
beach by the road at the other end, and, at once dismounting, advanced
up the strand. The seamen in the boat, in obedience to a wave of
O'Neill's hand, swept her in toward the shore, jumped out, and moved
toward him, drawing their cutlasses and handling their pistols
threateningly; though they were greatly outnumbered, they would not
give up without a struggle. It was Coventry's opportunity now.
"I shall not be able to indulge your desire for the loss of your
life," he said, stepping back and picking up his sword, "but I fear
that duty imposes upon me the necessity of depriving you of your
liberty--I regret the necessity, believe me, 'tis a poor return for
your generosity, but I have no option."
"What mean you?"
"You are, by your own statements, a rebel against his Majesty. It is
my duty as commander of this post and a loyal servant of the king to
apprehend you. Indeed, I have been especially charged to look out for
you. I will promise you and your men the best of treatment, however,
and you liberty of action, if you will give me your parole."
"I am twice captured then, it seems," said the lieutenant, looking at
Elizabeth, who had come forward as soon as old Price, who had left
her, had sprung to his officer's side. As the girl drew near to him,
and Major Coventry turned away his head a moment to give an order, the
Irishman said to her:
"Why did you not call out to save your lover a moment since?"
"It was not necessary," she said, looking at him with eyes filled
with tears. "I knew what you would do." Delay was dangerous to
him,--Coventry was posting his men; he hesitated a moment, however,
and taking her hand bowed low over it.
"Thank you," he whispered gratefully. "This word, and you, I shall
remember."
"And I," said the girl, her eyes filling with tears, "will never
forget--"
"Come, sir," said Coventry, dryly, turning at this moment, having
finished his dispositions. "I think you overstep the privileges of a
parole; and if you will have your men lay down their arms, we will go
up to the castle. I have sent for a carriage for you, Elizabeth, which
will be here shortly."
"Do you know," said O'Neill, "that I have a mind to say to you that I
might as well die right here as at any place else, and I do not think
I shall go to that castle, after all. There are seven of us here--"
"Close in there!" sharply shouted Coventry to his soldiers, who obeyed
him promptly. "Make ready!"
"Handle your pistols, men," cried the other, whipping out his own; but
again Elizabeth interfered in the fray. She ran between the American
seamen and the English soldiers with outstretched hands.
"Stop!" she cried. "There must be no further fighting here. This
gentleman came to this spot to do me a favor, to set me free. My life
is his--"
"I give it back to you," cried O'Neill.
"And yours, Major Coventry, was his also," she added reproachfully.
"I give it to him as well; and if any more lives are wanted, anybody
can have mine for the taking," interrupted the sailor again.
"This must go no further," continued the girl.
"And it shall not, madam," cried a deep, clear voice, as one of the
cutters of the Ranger, filled to the gunwales with heavily armed men,
and with a swivel in the bow and a man standing over it with a lighted
match in his hand, came sweeping around the headland and dashing in
toward the shore. It was under the command of Jones himself, who had
grown impatient at the delay.
"I am sorry to interrupt a _tête-à-tête_, gentlemen," he cried.
"You are beaten again, Major Coventry," said O'Neill, calmly. "The
odds are in our favor now. Throw down your arms instantly, you dogs,"
he shouted to the English soldiers. "Back! Out of the way, Miss
Howard."
He sprang to her side, and clasping her around the waist as if she had
been a child, lifted her out of the line of fire. The jealous Coventry
noticed two things,--he did not release her, nor did she struggle to
get away. The sullen soldiers rallied about Coventry and presented
their arms threateningly; they had no mind either to yield without a
fight.
"Stand by!" shouted Jones to the marines in his boat and to the
gunners forward.
"Stop, for God's sake stop, Captain Jones! You have been good to me,"
cried Elizabeth, now struggling faintly to escape from the grasp of
O'Neill. "I know that you are a gentleman. That officer is my
betrothed. Withhold your fire. They will retire. There must be no
blood shed. You promised to set me free and in safety ashore and leave
me there. Go, I entreat you!"
"Steady, lads, steady!" cried Jones, stepping out of the boat. "And
you, sir," to the English officer, "will you withdraw quietly, taking
your lady with you, of course, if we engage to do the same? You are
outnumbered, and we can cut you to pieces. Take the word of an older
fighter, your honor will be safe, sir."
"You are right, sir, 'tis best. I must needs submit, I suppose," said
Coventry, resigning himself the more gracefully to the inevitable as
he could then receive his love again. "Come, Lady Elizabeth."
"Now, why didn't you protest when I was captured?" said O'Neill,
releasing her waist, but still holding her hand.
"Could it be because I wanted you to be with me?" she whispered,
caught off her guard in spite of herself, with a blush covering her
face.
"God bless you for that, and good-bye," he said, bowing over her hand.
"A year, give me a year--" he turned and walked away.
"Sir," said Coventry, sheathing his sword, and walking down to where
Jones stood upon the sand, "we have been misinformed concerning you. I
have had a little interview with your first lieutenant which has
convinced me that I was wrong, and this talk has added to my
knowledge. As an officer of the king, I offer you my hand. Whatever
your political or personal affiliations may be, I am glad to recognize
in you gentlemen of merit and distinction. I trust to be able to repay
the obligation you have laid upon me and my betrothed on some future
occasion. We are friends?"
"Sir," replied Jones, "I love a gallant foe. I shall remember you. I
thank you for your courtesy."
"And I as well," added O'Neill.
"It is not the practice of the American Navy," continued Jones, "to
force ships of war and bloody battles between loving hearts. Mistress
Howard, fare you well; the Ranger, her officers and crew, are yours if
you wish. If we should be met by another ship with you in command, we
strike to you without a blow."
"Elizabeth," said Coventry, magnanimously, "can you not bid your
friends good-bye?"
"I shall ever remember Captain John Paul Jones," said Lady Elizabeth,
stepping forward and giving the little captain her hand to kiss, "and
I shall never forget Lieutenant O'Neill."
"Will you wait one year for him?" he whispered as he bowed low over
her hand.
"Come and see," she answered, and turned away.
BOOK II
THEY MEET AGAIN