The Noank's Log: A Privateer of the Revolution

"That cursed long gun o' theirs!" growled Tracy, fiercely. "Captain Syme told me, and I hardly believed him. That's what may play the mischief with us. I wish we were at broadsides with her."

That was precisely the advantage which Captain Avery did not intend to give him, right away, and the Arran, losing her bowsprit, was not by any means so difficult to keep away from or to outmanoeuvre.

Slowly, carefully, Up-na-tan had again sighted his gun and measured his distance. It was tantalizing to watch him as he doggedly refused to throw away a shot.

"Ugh! Whoo-oop!" he yelled, as his lanyard touched the priming of his gun. "Now see! Ole chief take 'em aft!"

"I wish he'd do as well for one end of her as he did for the other," muttered the captain.

"He's done it, sir!" exclaimed Guert, for he had borrowed the captain's telescope.

"That Indian's a gunner!" said Groot, with emphasis. "I never saw one to beat him. I've seen pretty good marksmen, too."

The peculiar accuracy of eye born in or acquired by the old red man was a disastrous gift for the British revenue brig. Almost too far aft did the shot hit her, but in it went, and all her rudder gear was useless in a second of time. She could no longer answer her wheel, and began to lurch about at the mercy of wind and wave.

Fierce indeed were the execrations of her helpless officers and crew. All their courage and seamanship were of no use, now. Their guns might as well have been made of wood, and their jaunty brig had become as clumsy and unmanageable as a raft. Moreover, the terrible American was speeding nearer, and only a few minutes went by before there came a loud-voiced demand for her surrender to the —

"United States armed cruiser Noank, Captain Lyme Avery."

"His Britannic Majesty's brig Arran, Lieutenant Tracy. We surrender, of course. You could sink us as we are now. All the luck's yours."

"We'll come alongside," said Avery.

"I wish I had a right to board him when he comes," growled Tracy, as his flag came down. "There'd be some satisfaction in that."

A few minutes later he had changed that opinion, for an unexpected torrent of men poured over his bulwarks from the Noank.

"'Pon my soul!" he exclaimed. "What a crew she has! They outnumber us two to one. It's no disgrace at all!"

All the British tars felt relieved in their minds after a good look at their victors. The result of the fight was not to be a discredit to them, they said, and the American sailors hailed them merrily. There had been no killing on either side, and there was no cause for bad temper. The best shots had decided the fight, and all true seamen could accept the consequences.

"Lieutenant Tracy," said Captain Avery, "we don't want your brig. We'll take out of her all that suits us, and then you can drift around till help gets to you. Or you can patch up and work your way into some port or other."

"I can manage it," said the Englishman, ruefully. "We captured a French smuggler yesterday, and now a deal o' that luck is yours instead of ours. You rebels are holding out wonderfully."

"So is England," laughed Captain Avery. "You won't give up, and we won't. I guess you'll have to, though, one o' these days."

"Never!" said Tracy, sturdily. "All the colonies'll have to come back under the king, sooner or later."

"You wait and see," said the captain.

The loyal-hearted lieutenant, however, had expressed no more than the almost undoubting faith of the great body of his countrymen. They were simply unable to believe that the Americans could succeed.

Down into the hold of the Arran had dashed the men of the Noank. Tackle had been quickly rigged at the hatches.

One of the commands given had related to a search for powder and shot, and the entire supply of the brig was now coming up, to be transferred to the schooner. It was a timely winning, for her stock had begun to run low.

"It's a good thing for us," said her captain and crew, as they secured it.

Anything and everything in the nature of arms and ammunition, furniture, cutlery, table goods, bales of woollens, and packages of silks taken from the French smuggler, more than a little tanned leather, lots of miscellaneous stuff not yet precisely known as to its character, made up the unexpectedly valuable plunder of the smuggler-capturing brig.

There was no time to transfer her cannon, and these were left behind, spiked. Her spare sails went, however, with a good yawl-boat and some extra light spars. Then the Noank cast off, and her crew gave their crestfallen British acquaintances three rounds of hearty cheers.

"Captain Avery," shouted Tracy, "you're a good fellow, but Fletcher and I hope we may meet you again, some day, with better luck to our guns."

"All right!" responded the captain. "May you command a forty-four and I another. Then the United States'll own one more prime ship that used to be the king's. Hurrah!"

CHAPTER XVIII

DOWN THE BRITISH CHANNEL

With the exception, it may be, of the Mediterranean Sea, there is no other water whereupon so much history has been manufactured as on the British Channel.

Away back beyond Cæsar's day and ever since, it has been cruised over by all sorts of vessels and fleets. Its first absolute rulers were the Norse-Saxon vikings. After them it has been Danish, Dutch, French, and English.

One of the later Dutch admirals once carried a broom at his masthead in a boastful declaration that he had swept the Channel clean of every opposing force. Not a great while afterward, the British sea-captains fell heirs to the Hollander's broom.

The Noank had not lain long grappled to the disabled Arran. There was danger in every hour of delay. The plunder obtained, although valuable, was not excessively bulky, and was rapidly transferred and stowed away.

There was no apparent danger but that the brig would speedily receive assistance, for there were other sails already in sight. Her first disability, as to any of these, was that she was no longer able to fire a signal-gun, and all her rockets and other explosives had been taken away. Her officers and crew were left to do whatever they could with flags in the daytime, or with lanterns by night.

"We're off," thought Guert Ten Eyck, as the schooner swung away, all her sails going out as she did so. "Captain Avery says he must capture one more prize, if it's only to take off some of our men. Then we're to streak it for home! Don't I want to get there?"

The cruise of the Noank had indeed become a long one. There were several ship reasons why it would be good for her to go into dock and be overhauled for repairs. Her crew, also, were more than willing to see their homes and families.

"My boy," said Groot, the Dutchman, as he came to sit down by his young friend, "you go home. I have no home. I must live on the sea. The land is not my place."

"I'll be glad to get there," said Guert, "if it's my own land. Do you know if we're to run into Amsterdam?"

"Not if the captain is wise," replied Groot. "There will be too many Englishmen looking after him, as soon as they hear of this affair."

"Well, I guess they won't like it," laughed Guert. "Up-na-tan is homesick."

The red man was standing within a few feet of them, and he answered as if he had been spoken to.

"Ugh!" he said. "Ole chief want to know 'bout he island. Want see Manhattan. Mebbe all lobster get away. Up-na-tan go see ole place. Fish in Harlem River."

That was what was the matter with him. Warrior he might be, sailor, pirate, or privateersman, but at that moment he was dreaming of the happiness of pulling in flounders and blackfish from the waters around his island.

Guert, on his part, was thinking of his mother. He wondered if she still were living at the Avery farm-house, and if his prize-money had been duly paid over to her to make her comfortable.

"Now, every man hark!" said Captain Avery to his crew, when, a little later, he had gathered them amidships. "We've a close race to run. If this wind holds, we shall be in the Straits of Dover at about daylight to-morrow morning. We are goin' to risk it and cut our way through. Three cheers for home!"

Vigorous, indeed, were the hurrahs that answered him, and on sped the schooner. Her sails that were torn by the shot of the Arran were being replaced by new ones, and skilful sail tailors were busy with the rents of the old. The damage to her bulwarks was of no importance and not a shot had penetrated her sides. The American sailors were in fine spirits, but not so were Lieutenant Tracy and the crew of the Arran. Hardly two hours went by before his hoped-for succor came, but he wished it had been a merchantman rather than a man-of-war. The sound of the cannonading had been borne by the wind to the line-of-battle ship. She had sailed toward it, as a matter of course, and here, now, was one of the boats at the Arran's side. On her deck was the seventy-four's first lieutenant, so hot with wrath that he could hardly listen to poor Tracy's report, while he himself rapidly inspected the damages done by Up-na-tan's well-sent iron.

"Help yourself?" he exclaimed. "Why, they made a log of your brig! What's the world coming to? They're prime gunners, my boy. We must make out to sink that rascal. I don't know exactly what to do with your craft."

He did know, nevertheless. Temporary steering-gear was fitting on her as rapidly as might be, and the pumps were going, for the Arran was leaking badly at the stern.