The Noank's Log: A Privateer of the Revolution

"Bark Spencer, Captain McGrew. Porto Rico for Liverpool. Cargo. No passengers. Who are you?"

The answer settled his mind entirely, and in a few minutes more he had a boat's crew of American sailors on board.

"Captain McGrew," said Captain Avery, glancing around, "I'm glad you've no passengers. I'll find out, first, how many of your fellers I can leave on board with my prize crew, to handle her to New London. Some'd ruther work ship than be crammed under hatches."

The British sailors exchanged nods and glances, and their skipper responded: —

"All right! We're a prize, no doubt. We're insured, so far's that goes. 'Tisn't so bad for the owners. But you'd better tally four chaps that hid in the hold to keep from being 'pressed into the Tigress. They're not deserters, you know, but they'd as lief keep away from havin' to answer questions."

Four stalwart British tars at once stepped forward, and not one of them "peached" to McGrew that their names were already on the rolls of the frigate, so that they were much more than halfway deserters.

"Humph!" said Captain Avery, "I guess I can trust 'em. It saves me four hands. I'll pick out four more. Captain McGrew, you and the rest may come on board the schooner. I'll give you a free passage to France. Treat ye well, too. Hand over your papers. Sam Prentice, this is your trip home."

"All right!" almost roared Sam. "I'll carry her safe in. She and her cargo'll bring us a pile o' shiners. Lyme, she's our first West Injy luck!"

"Hurry up, Sam!" said the captain. "Then I'll try for that feller ahead that led us from Porto Rico. She's along the track, somewhere."

CHAPTER XIII

THE BERMUDA TRADER

There is a great deal of the humdrum and monotonous in the day after day life and work upon a ship at sea. Even if the ship is a cruiser and if there is a continuous watching for and study of all the other sails that appear, that too may grow dull and tiresome.

There were many days of such unprofitable watching from the outlooks of the Noank, after her first unexpected good fortune. She had somehow failed to overtake that sought-for Porto Rico merchantman. The gale had favored an escape, and so had the delay occasioned by the pursuit and capture of the Spencer. Since then, carrying all the sail the varying winds would let him, Captain Avery had sailed persistently on, hoping for that prize or for another as good. There had been topsails reported, from time to time, between him and the horizon, and from two, at least, of those, he had cautiously sheered away, not liking their very excellent "cut." There might be tiers of dangerous guns away down below them and he did not want any more guns, – heavy ones.

"I said," he remarked, a little dolefully, "that I'd foller that sugar-boat all the way to Liverpool, and I've only 'bout half done it. I'm goin' ahead. There's no use in tryin' back toward Cuba, now. We'll take a look at the British coast, pretty soon; France, too, and Ireland, maybe Holland. We'll see what's to be had in the channels."

Everybody on board was likely to be satisfied with that decision, especially the British prisoners from the Spencer. As for these, the sailor part of them were already on very good terms with their captors, not caring very much how or in what kind of craft they were to find their way back to England. They were a happy-go-lucky lot of foremastmen with strong prejudices, of course, against all Yankee rebels, but with thoroughly seamanlike ideas that they had no right to be sulky over the ordinary chances of war. They had not really lost much, and their main cause of complaint was their very narrow quarters on board the Noank. They had not the least idea that a change in this respect was only a little ahead of them, but a great improvement was coming.

Day had followed day, and the ocean seemed to be in a manner deserted. A feeling of disappointment seemed to be growing in the mind of Captain Avery, and he had half forgotten how very good a prize the Spencer had been.

"This 'ere is dreadful!" he declared. "I'm afraid we're not goin' to make a dollar. What few sails we've sighted have all been Dutch or French. I want a look at the red-cross flag again."

"Well, yes," thought Guert, "but I guess he doesn't want to see it on a man-o'-war. I feel a good deal as he does, though. I'll get Vine to lend me a glass. I've hardly had a chance to play lookout."

Vine let him have the telescope, of course, but Up-na-tan and Coco came at once to see what he would do with it. He pulled it out to its length and began to peer across the surrounding ocean.

"Ugh!" said Up-na-tan. "Boy fool! No stay on deck. Go up mast. Maintop. Then mebbe see something. No good eye!"

"Git up aloft, Guert!" added Coco. "Never mine ole redskin. Think he go bline, pretty soon. Can't see lobster ship."

That may have referred to the fact that they had served as lookouts, that morning, until they were weary of it, and Up-na-tan had lost his temper. They grinned discontentedly as they saw their young friend go aloft. He had now become well accustomed to high perches, and was beginning to regard himself as an experienced sailor for that kind of small cruiser. He felt very much at home in the maintop, and even Captain Avery glanced up at him approvingly.

"He must learn how," he remarked, as he saw Guert square himself in his narrow coop and adjust the telescope.

"Ugh!" suddenly exclaimed the Indian. "Boy see! Wish ole chief up there heself."

The others had not noticed so closely, and Guert was not apparently excited. He was gazing steadily in one direction, however, instead of hunting here and there, as he had done at first.

"Isn't a telescope wonderful?" he was thinking. "It brings that flag close up. I can see that her foremast is gone. That looks like another sail, away off beyond her. More than one of 'em. Maybe it's a fleet."

A lurch of the Noank compelled him to lower his glass and grasp a rope, while he leaned over to shout down his wonderful discoveries.

"Hurrah!" yelled Vine. "Good for Guert!"

"Hard a-lee, then!" roared Captain Avery to the man at the helm. "Ready about! Strange sail to looard! Up-na-tan, that long gun! Clear for action!"

It was all very well for him to shout rapid orders and for the crew to bring up powder and shot so eagerly, and get the schooner ready for a fight. It was also well for the captain to go aloft and take the glass himself. He could see more than Guert could. But what was the good of it all when the wind was dying?

There was hardly air enough to keep the sails from flapping. A schooner could do better than a square-rigged vessel under such circumstances, but that wind was an aggravating trial to a ship-load of excited privateersmen.

Captain McGrew had been permitted to come on deck, and Guert, as he reached the deck from aloft, was half sure that he had heard the Englishman chuckling maliciously, then heard him mutter: —

"The Bermuda ships never sail home without a strong convoy. These chaps'll catch it."

When Captain Avery himself came down and the opinion of the Spencer's captain was reported to him, he said: —

"From Bermuda, eh? That's likely. We're not far out o' their course, I'd say. Who cares for convoy? I don't. This feller nighest us is crippled and left behind. If it wasn't for this calm, my boy – "

There he became silent and stood still, staring hungrily to leeward.

Perhaps his manifest vexation was enjoyed by his English prisoner, but Captain McGrew very soon put on a graver face, for the sharp-nosed Noank was all the while slipping along, and the ship she was steering toward was almost as good as standing still. So must have been any heavier craft, warlike or otherwise.

An hour went by, another, and the deceptive British merchant flag still fluttered from the rigging of the Noank. The strange sail had made no attempt to signal her and there had been a reason for it. She had her own sharp-eyed lookouts, and these and her officers had been studying this schooner to windward of them.

"She's American built," they had said of her. "Most likely she's one of the Solway's prizes. The old seventy-four has picked up a dozen of them. She ought not to be coming this way though. She's running out of her course."

There was something almost suspicious about it, they thought. It might be all right, but they were at sea in war time, and there was no telling what might happen.

"She'll be within hail inside of five minutes," they said at last. "We've signalled her now, and she doesn't pay us any attention. It looks bad. Her lookouts haven't gone blind."

Not at all. Captain Avery was anything but shortsighted. His glass had recently informed him that a huge hulk of some sort, only the topsails of which had been seen at first, was steadily drifting nearer.

"Answer no hail!" he had ordered. "We must board her without firing a gun."

Not for firing, therefore, but for show only, the pivot-gun threw off its tarpaulin disguise, and the broadside sixes ran their threatening brass noses out at the port-holes, while the British flag came down and the stars and stripes went up.

"Heave to, or I'll sink you!" was the first hail of Captain Avery. "What ship's that?"

"Sinclair, Bermuda, Captain Keller. Cargo and passengers. We surrender!" came quickly back. "We are half disabled now. Short-handed."

"All right," said the captain. "We won't hurt you. We'll grapple and board."

The Sinclair was more than twice the size of the Noank. She carried a few good-looking guns, too. The grappling irons were thrown; the two hulls came together; the American boarders poured over her bulwarks, pike and cutlass in hand, ready for a fight. All they saw there to meet them, however, was not more than a score of sailors, of all sorts, and a mob of passengers, aft. Some of these were weeping and clinging to each other as if they had seen a pack of wolves coming.

"I'm Captain Keller," said the nearest of the Englishmen. "You're too many for us. We couldn't even man the guns. Five men on the sick list."

He seemed intensely mortified at his inability to show fight, and he instantly added: —