The Noank's Log: A Privateer of the Revolution

"You'd be of little good on her till after you'd served awhile," said the Dutchman, in his own tongue. "It isn't even every British captain that can handle a seventy-four as she ought to be handled."

Whoever was in charge of the Solway now, she was sailing faster than the Noank, and things were looking badly. So said one of his old neighbors to Captain Lyme Avery, only to be answered by a chuckle.

"Jest calc'late," he added, quite cheerfully. "A starn chase is always a long chase. They won't be gettin' into range for their best guns till about dark. Then I'll show ye. Vine, make a barrel raft! Sharp!"

Up from the hold came quickly a dozen or so of empty barrels, and these were carpentered together with planks so as to make a skeleton deck. In the middle of this was rigged a spar like a mast, and the raft was ready.

All the sailors believed they knew what was coming. It was an old, old, trick, as old as the hills, but it might be the thing to try in this case.

On came the stately line-of-battle ship, as the shadows deepened. She was slowly gaining in spite of the Noank having every inch of her canvas spread. She would soon be near enough to fly her bow chasers. If these were heavy enough, there would then be nothing left the American privateer but prompt surrender. The next half-hour was, therefore, a time of breathless anxiety.

"It's almost dark enough, now," said Captain Avery, at last, with a cloudy face. "Over with the raft, Vine; I'm goin' to try somethin' new."

Over the side it went and it floated buoyantly, with a large, lighted lantern swinging at the tip of its pretty tall mast. At the foot of that spar, however, had been securely fastened a barrel of powder, with a long line-fuse carried from it up several feet along the upright stick.

"If that light fools him at all," said the captain, "it'll gain us half an hour and five miles. If it doesn't, why, then we're gone, that's all. Now, Coco, due nor'west! Keep her head well to the wind. We shall pass that seventy-four within two miles."

It was a daring game to play, taking into account British night-glasses and heavy guns, to tack toward a line-of-battle ship in that manner.

On the Solway, however, there had been a feeling of absolute certainty as to overtaking the schooner. She had been in plain view, they said, up to the moment when her crew so foolishly swung out a lantern. It was a mere glimmer, truly, but it would do to steer by. It was many minutes afterward that an idea suddenly flashed into the experienced mind of the British commander.

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "No Yankee would have held up a light for us to chase him by. That's a decoy! Hard a-port, there! The rebels'd go off before the wind. They can't take in an old hand like me."

Precisely because the Noank had not gone off before the wind, her seemingly safest course, the Solway was not immediately following her. More minutes went by, and then there arose a storm of exclamations on board the seventy-four.

"Captain," asked an excited officer, "did she blow up?"

"No," he gruffly responded. "That's only part of the decoy."

Not all his subordinates agreed with him, however, and it was plainly his duty to carry his ship past the place of the now vanished light and of so tremendous an explosion. He did so grumblingly.

"I know 'em," he said. "It's only some trick or other. They're sharp chaps to deal with, on land or sea. They're a kind of Indian fighters, and they're up to anything. Do you know, I believe we've lost her!"

That was what he had done, or else Captain Lyme Avery had lost the seventy-four, for when the next morning dawned her lookouts could discover no sign of the Noank's white canvas between them and the horizon.

CHAPTER XIV

THE NEUTRAL PORT

A remarkable place, in the summer of the year 1777, was the old French harbor of Brest. A not altogether pleasant fame had gathered upon it, like drifted seaweed, from historically ancient days. It was said to have been a rendezvous for the old-time vikings of the northern seas, as it was at this day for the smugglers. All of the town that could be seen from the harbor wore a shambling, dingy, antiquated appearance. Its ill-paved, steep, and dirty streets swarmed with an exceedingly varied and not at all admirable population, although the better classes were represented.

Vessels of all sorts were there, as usual, one pleasant afternoon, going out, coming in, at anchor, or moored to the more or less tumbledown wharves and piers. The arrival or departure of one ship more was not an affair to attract especial attention.

One important feature of the character of the ancient port was that whatever might be the existing treaties between the kings of France and Great Britain, Brest was always more or less at war with England. English sailors were welcome enough, of course, particularly if they were willing to desert, or had recently been paid off, or were supposed to be engaged in smuggling.

Among the vessels at anchor were three French war-ships, one Dutch cruiser, undergoing repairs, and a smart-looking British corvette that was lying well out from shore. All of these were under treaty bonds to keep the peace with each other and with the world in general, but Brest was also distinguished as a port into which all navies at peace with France might bring their prizes for condemnation and sale, according to existing maritime law.

A little after the noon, the loungers on the piers might have taken notice, if they would, of a large schooner that was slipping in through the strongly fortified entrance channel under little more than her foresail. She either had a French pilot on board or was steered by a man who knew the harbor, for she went at once to the right spot to drop her anchor, and a boat shortly put out from her toward the shore.

"There's a French flag on a Yankee-built schooner," remarked an officer of the British corvette. "That's because we are here. I'd like to cut her out, but it wouldn't do. Our war with France hasn't quite begun. I'm going to see, though, if we can't manage to get some men out of her."

He was a burly, bulldog-looking person, and he made other remarks not at all complimentary to Americans in general, and to one Mr. George Washington in particular.

"According to the latest advices," he asserted, "Howe and Cornwallis are crushing out the Virginia fox's ragamuffins. Burgoyne will take possession of northern New York and all the New England colonies. Then the king will have his own again, and we shall see some rebels hung."

There was, indeed, an increasingly bitter feeling among loyal Englishmen, caused by what they deemed the needless prolongation of the war. According to their way of thinking, the rebels were unreasonable and should long since have given up their useless attempt to escape from under the rightful rule of the mother country.

On the deck of the schooner, whether she were French or American, only a few men were making their appearance, and she seemed to have a great deal of deck-cargo. It was concerning that, perhaps, that conversation was going on below, and here, at least, the population was even excessive.

"Their glasses'd tell 'em just what we are, Captain Avery," said one before the boat left, "if we swarmed up."

"They'll find out, anyhow," said the captain. "Our deck-load must get ashore at once, before they know too much. It's in the way, too."

From other remarks that were made, it appeared that the cargo to be disposed of had been taken from no less than four unfortunate British merchantmen, and that the schooner had been a long time in gathering it. Good reasons were also given why the ships themselves had not been seized as well as the goods.

The captain was now in the boat, and his face wore a very thoughtful expression.

"Groot," he said, "you talk French better'n I do. Keep close and watch."

"All the lingoes you ever heard of are talked in Brest," said the Dutchman. "I've been here for months at a time. You'll have a visitor from that British corvette, first thing. They won't mind sea law much, either. They never do, and the French never try to follow 'em up sharp."

"Now they've let us run in, I don't care," said the captain. "We've had pretty narrow escapes gettin' here. It was touch and go, along the coast."

Absolute disguise or secrecy was out of the question, perhaps, but when a boat from the Syren shortly afterward pulled to the side of the Noank there was no invitation given to come on board.

"What schooner's this?" roughly demanded the officer of the boat.

"Noank, New London," responded Vine Avery, at the rail. "Assorted cargo. We ran right in through a fleet of your sleepyheads. Do you belong to that clumsy corvette, yonder?"

"Shut your mouth!" snapped the officer. "We'll come for you, yet."

"Hurrah for the Continental Congress!" said Vine, maliciously. "If this 'ere wasn't a neutral port we'd board that tub o' yours and take her home with us. We want some more guns and powder anyhow!"

"You're a pirate!" roared the officer. "We've a right to take you out under the French law. You've no protection."

"Keep your distance," said Vine. "We'll be ready for you when you come."

Angry faces were beginning to show behind Vine. The British officer saw steel points like pikeheads, and he heard threatening exclamations, only half suppressed. As the representative of a man-of-war, he had an undoubted right to question the character of any merchant vessel whatever, and to make her commander exhibit his papers, if the meeting took place at sea. In harbor, however, under the guns of neutral forts, the case was different.

The Englishman had really obtained the information he came after, and he had no orders to go any further. He knew exactly the character of this schooner. Even the pike-heads could be read like good handwriting. He replied to Vine with hardly more than an angry growl and went back to report to his commander.

"Privateer, is she?" remarked that gentleman, after hearing him. "I supposed so. I'd lay the Syren alongside of her, if it wasn't for getting into hot water with the French and with the admiral. We'll try for some of her men, on board or on shore, and I'll have that schooner!"

The younger officer grumbled his readiness to cut out the rebel pirate that very night, but his wiser superior only laughed at him.

"There she is," he said, "with her head in the lion's mouth. We needn't shut our jaws on her till the right minute. Then it will be one good bite and we'll have her, men, cargo, and all."

The boat from the Noank reached a wharf, and it had not come there upon any mere pleasure trip.