The _Chesapeake_ lay in the upper harbor in the still June twilight,
her lofty spars and rigging traced against the sky. The unlucky frigate
was all bustle and confusion.
Even at this late hour, with her antagonist cruising in the lower
harbor, fresh levies were being put aboard of her, and the old
_Constitution’s_ men shook their heads as they saw the dark-browed,
scowling Portuguese and the raw youths picked up at random to piece out
the crew.
But Lawrence had sent a taunting challenge to the _Bonne Citoyenne_,
and he could not afford to baulk a British ship of a fight at the
very gates of the Puritan mother-town. Down this harbor, in 1776, the
British fleet had sailed, bearing the last evidence of King George’s
power over the Massachusetts Bay Colony. It should never be said that a
Yankee ship had faltered when the meteor flag of Britain waved defiance
at the very mouth of the famous “tea-pot.”
“Then all cavaliers who love honor and me,” was the burden of the
gallant Lawrence’s song. Honor it was indeed to win; honor even to lose
in this duel on the sea.
Everywhere the officers were busy assigning men to the guns and
appointing temporary warrant officers. Cheever, an old hand, if
somewhat of a free lance, had been assigned to the mizzen-top under
Midshipman Berry, a handsome young fellow who would in less stirring
times have been playing “rounders” in the school-yard; but was now set
to command grown men in a desperate contest.
Before the fair-haired youngster were standing the foretop men, going
through a hurried setting-up drill and instruction in the use of the
musket. A lieutenant came up, followed by a young sailor.
“Mr. Berry,” said the officer, “here is a greenhorn to complete your
squad.”
The sailor saluted and took his place in the squad. As Berry handed him
a musket, Cheever looked at the newcomer from the corner of his eye,
and recognized his nephew. The boy looked up and caught his eye and
started as he saw who was looking at him.
“What has brought him here?” Cheever asked himself as he mechanically
obeyed the orders of the midshipman.
Presently the squad was dismissed and Cheever drew his nephew aside out
of the hurly-burly of warlike preparation.
“How now, lad!” he asked, “what does this mean? How come you here?”
The words came out with difficulty from his convulsed throat.
“I have been walking from Oldbury for the last two days. I--”
“You’re in trouble on my account. The silver,--tell me.”
“I returned it as I promised you.”
“You found it then under the lilac-bush?” asked Cheever.
James nodded assent.
“While I was putting it back upon the sideboard, the old man came down
from his chamber and fired at me with a pistol.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“I don’t know. As he fired, I heaved the heavy tankard at him, and it
hit him and he fell like a log.”
“Ay, that’s the ticket, lad,” said Cheever. “I have always said that.
I wouldn’t give a red cent for pistol in a fight. There’s not one
chance in five of hitting your man. Your hand will shake when you
are excited unless a cooler head than mine is on your shoulders. The
slightest tremor will make you lose your aim. But for accidental
killing, recommend me to the pistol. ’Twill always fail to meet your
expectation. If you think it is not loaded, it will be, and while it
will not protect you from your enemy, it will be sure to hit your
friend.”
“I ran out of the house as fast as I could and made right over the
hill, back of his house to the Boston turnpike.”
“You don’t know whether you really hurt him, then?”
“I think now that I could only have knocked him senseless. At the time,
though, I was chased by fears and walked all the rest of the night as
fast as I could. I had no idea except to escape from Oldbury--and my
father is lying there ill,” exclaimed the boy, with a sudden twinge of
conscience. “I have been on the road ever since, sleeping in haymows;
and I have eaten what the farmers’ wives would give me; but the weather
was fine, and if I could have shut out recollection, I should have
enjoyed it.”
“However did the whim to have the silver returned come into my head?”
said Cheever. “I would not have had this happen for the world, boy.
I seem to bring misfortune on all I touch--and your father ill. He
will have a big tally to put on my old score. But it may not be as
black as it looks. Perhaps the old Deacon’s crown is not cracked
and he will rejoice more over the return of his silver than he will
grieve over his bruises. But you shouldn’t have run away. That will
arouse their suspicions. They know that you have been at home, that
you are not there now, and that you have taken no place on any coach
leaving Oldbury. Hence, they will conclude that you have taken French
leave, and that, too, on the night of the breaking and entering of the
Deacon’s house.”
“I know all that,” replied James. “I have thought it over a thousand
times as I walked along the turnpike and keeping my eyes well out
for the Oldbury coach. But it is too late to turn back now. I am an
apprentice on a Yankee frigate and it’s the day before an action.”
“How came you to ship?”
“I had hardly been in Boston five minutes before my eye fell upon one
of the posters calling for sailors for the _Chesapeake_. I found the
officer willing enough to take me. Indeed, I was put on board within an
hour of my going into the shipping office.”
“And a bad lookout it is for us both. A half of the crew are good
hands, but there are mutinous Dagoes aboard, who care no more for the
Stars and Stripes than they do for an old sail, and the rest are a
pack of youngsters like you, full of pluck and anxious to fight, but
too green for much use. But the old man has his dander up, and by
to-morrow night there may be such happenings that I may as well arrange
my affairs decently and in good order to-night. We may both get out of
this alive or one of us may be killed. If it’s I, I wish to tell you
what to do. I have made a will which will give you all I have left.
Isaac Tenney, who keeps the Bell-in-Hand tavern in Boston, has all the
papers.
“I had rare luck in the privateering, James. Dame Fortune seems to have
wearied of turning the cold shoulder upon me, and during the last year
the sum which your father sent me has waxed as fast as a sailor’s wages
wane when he first strikes a port. It’s all deposited in the bank, and
that’s all for you if I don’t come out of the fight. If I do, you’ll
never be the better for it. Good luck won’t stick to me long, I fear.
I don’t know whether it would be good or ill fortune to be knocked on
the head to-morrow. The money might give me a chance again. Nearly ten
thousand dollars! What do you think of that for a man who had only a
slim leather bag a year ago when he came up from the brig _Tempest_ to
your father’s house?”
James was not listening to his uncle’s monologue. He was by his
father’s bedside and he was saying to himself, “I have brought his gray
hairs in sorrow to the grave.”
“The Deacon has started the hue and cry before this,” said James.
“When it is known that you were returning the silver, the charge will
drop to the ground,” replied Cheever.
“And the blow with the tankard!”
“That would never kill him, and, by the same token, he shot at you
first. You have, after all, done well in shipping on this frigate.
If we take the _Shannon_, we shall be the heroes of the day, and any
little faults will be forgiven.”
“And if they take us?” said James.
“Then most of us will be summoned before a Higher Court, my boy, and
will at least die fighting for our country. You’ve not forgotten where
to go if you come out alive? The tavern Bell-in-Hand.”
“For your money, uncle? I don’t want it.”
“It’s yours, my boy, whether I live or die. You have earned all you
wish to take of it. I have brought you into these toils and perhaps
ruined your life, and have exposed you to awful danger, and you a
minister to be. I was once to be a parson, too, and your grandfather
was proud of me. I was quick at my books, too. He kept a tight hand on
me, did your grandfather. On the surface I was pious; and I learned
my catechism and went to Sabbath-school and to prayer-meetings and to
church. They did everything for me that they could to make the holiest
of ministers, and I--”
He laughed a little bitter laugh.
“I was not all bad, though, my boy; nobody is. There are oases in every
desert, fresh, cool places where seeds grow to be plants and the birds
sing. I have a natural taste for making sermons, you see. I have heard
enough in my day. But the discipline was too rigid, and no allowance
was made for the devil in me.”
For human nature did not change when it crossed the Atlantic with our
Puritan forefathers, and it crops out even in ministers’ sons. “They
brought me up piously,” continued Cheever, “but they did not cast the
devil out. I went to church with due regularity, but the chances were
that I had been cock-fighting on the Saturday night before, and I went
to the tavern far oftener than I went to prayer-meetings. I was daft
when I took that silver. I was not naturally a thief, but I was weak
and owing money, and gave way to the temptation. I might as well have
stolen an old Revolutionary cannon. I could not dispose of the stuff
after I had possession of it. And I fled and lost everything.”
“As I have,” said James.
“No, you only run the risk of the fight. If you come out unhurt, you
will go back crowned with glory, and tell the town just what happened.
It’s not a serious crime to return a man’s property. You did it in an
odd way, and at a late hour, but you had no evil intent, and if you did
keel the old man over with the tankard, he had fired upon you first.
Oh, you will get into no trouble on that account. We will show the
British what a Yankee ship and a Yankee crew can do to-morrow, and you
will go home with your pockets full of prize-money.”
“Or not at all,” said James.
Cheever looked grave.
“We have opened the wine, James,” he replied; “it must be drunk. Write
your aunt now, tell her the whole story. Don’t mention that I am on
board here. Tell the truth; for that will hold together against the
world, and a lie is like a rat dead in a wall, sure to be found out
before long.”