The Noank's Log: A Privateer of the Revolution

"All right!" was the hearty reply from the Noank. "Now, Taber, we must keep company if we can for two or three days, at least. Our two batteries, worked together, 'd be an over match for any o' the lighter king's cruisers. We could knock one o' their ten-gun brigs all to flinders."

"I a'most hope we'll come across one," said Taber, "soon as that there thirty-two yonder'll swing on its pivot."

Two armed vessels may not make what is called a "squadron." Captain Morgan, therefore, had not suddenly risen from the rank of first mate to that of commodore, but both the old East Indiaman and the schooner were undoubtedly safer because of their ability and readiness to help each other.

Captain Taber's cruiser, when he came to examine her, was a curious affair, according to later ideas of ship-building. She had been constructed solidly, and had a large carrying capacity. Her sides "tumbled home," or slanted inward, nobody knows what for. Her stern was very high, as if a kind of fort were needed, rising to hold up her quarter-deck. In this, on either side, were her nine-pounders, and it might account for their shot flying above the Noank's hull. She was lower in the waist, and she piled up again, forward. Her tops were cups like those of a man-of-war, and might hold sharp-shooters in a close fight. It is the rule to laugh, at that old style of naval architecture, but when the Lynx had been the Burrumpootra she had battled well with the terrible gales and seas of the Indian Ocean, and there were legends of the way in which she had beaten off Chinese and Malay pirates. There were not only good ships but good seamen as well in the old-fashioned days, and all the world was discovered and opened by them to commerce and civilization.

Up-na-tan considered himself the surgeon of the Noank, and he was a good one, so far as cuts and bruises were concerned. He and Coco held consultations over Guert, and there was no danger but what he would be well attended to. He was a general favorite with the sailors, and their opinion of him had been lifted tremendously by his conduct at the taking of the Lynx. They all declared that he had in him the making of a good sea-captain, – as good, it might possibly be, as Lyme Avery himself, although that was a great deal to say.

That day went by, and the next, and the next, and all in vain did either Captain Ellis or his captors scan the horizon for any speck that looked like war. There were distant sails, truly, but this pair of privateers was inclined to let well enough alone. The fourth day found them well away upon the Atlantic before a ten-knot breeze, slipping along finely, with all the wounded doing well. Guert's pike-thrust in the leg was his worst hurt. It caused him much pain at intervals, and a great deal of fever. The cutlass blow at his shoulder had been broken of its force by the handle of his pike. The wooden shaft had been cut in two as he parried with it, while drawing it back from his successful thrust at Captain Avery's antagonist. The English swordsman had been a strong one, for his blade went on down to make a gash which might be slow in healing. It would probably have been a death stroke but for the tough pikestaff.

"You'll be out on deck, my boy, in a week or two," he had been told by Captain Morgan, "and you're lucky it's no worse."

There was no use in fretting over it. He could lie there and dream of old times in New York, and of ships and fleets and armies. There was no book on board for him to read, however, unless he should wish to take up his study of navigation. There he was lying in the afternoon of the fourth day, not tossing around much, for fear of hurting his wounded leg or shoulder. He was feeling lonely, sick, impatient, discontented.

"Hullo!" he suddenly exclaimed. "What's that? Are we in a fight? I want to go on deck! – There! I guess that was pretty nearly a spent shot!"

It was too bad, altogether. Right through the port-hole window of the cabin had passed a round shot from so far away, apparently, that it hardly shattered the door-post upon which it then struck. It had been well aimed, it had hit the schooner, but it had not done any harm.

"There goes Up-na-tan's gun," said Guert, the next instant. "I don't hear the broadside guns. I guess that other firing is from the Lynx. She was close by us, they said. This is awful!"

He could now hear the distant, dull roar of other guns, and he said: —

"That's the British! It sounds as if we were fighting a man-of-war. Can it be we are going to be captured by 'em this time?"

He might well be nervous about it, but his guesses and fears were only about halfway correct. Not many minutes earlier, the Noank and the Lynx had drawn toward each other, into long hailing distance, for a sort of council of war. Questions and answers had gone hurriedly back and forth, until Captain Morgan had shouted: —

"We'll take her, Taber. We can spare men enough for one more prize crew. She's a big one."

So she was, that tall three-master, floating the British flag, and she was evidently not a frigate of King George. Most likely, they said, she was a supply ship on her way to his armies in his rebellious colonies.

About went the two eager privateers, and there seemed to be no reason to doubt their ability to outsail and outfight their victim. She was carrying a cargo so full and heavy that it pulled her down, and she was logging along clumsily. Both of the American vessels were flying the stars and stripes. The Lynx was somewhat nearer to the Englishman, and Captain Taber deemed it time to fire a shot across her bows as a signal to heave to.

The sound of that first gun was what had really awakened Guert, but he had not at once understood it. Captain Morgan was on the point of following Captain Taber's example, when the big, peaceful-seeming British ship swung around a few points, and a lot of hitherto closed ports along her side sprang open. Every one of these ports had an ugly, metallic nose in it, and from each of these jumped a sheet of fire, followed by thunder. At the same moment a band of brass music on the after deck began to play "God save the King," while a long procession of men in red uniforms streamed up from below to join a lot of others like them who were already on deck.

"Eight ports!" exclaimed Captain Morgan, staring through his glass. "She may carry more guns than that! She's a British merchant ship of the largest size, turned into a troop-ship, and armed, I'd say, with long twelves. Thunder! We haven't anything to do with her! Starboard your helm, there! I'll signal Taber to keep away."

There was no need of that at all. The first heavy broadside of the stranger had hurtled toward the Lynx, and several of the half-spent shot had struck her. Her commander had taken warning instantly, and was already wheeling away, so to speak, when the second British broadside went so dangerously well toward the Noank.

"One such dose is just as good as two," remarked Captain Morgan. "I'm glad Taber has good sense. We don't want to be crippled jest now. We can't afford to risk a stick. We'll get away out o' range, quickest kind!"

So he did, and so did Taber. But they would by no means have done so if it had not been for a reason that was getting an explanation in the furiously angry exclamations of the British sailor in command of that pugnacious troop-ship. He had rapidly grown red in the face, and now he seemed ready to burst.

"Lost 'em! Missed 'em!" he roared, as he stamped up and down the deck. "I had 'em both trapped! I let 'em come near enough before I fired a gun. I'd ha' sunk 'em or sent 'em in. It's the fault o' that rascally thief at the navy-yard. He supplied us with that worthless, condemned contract powder. It won't pitch a shot worth tuppence. He ought to be hung! I'll report him!"

The mystery of so many cannon-shot being practically spent at a fair practice distance was completely explained. No doubt he was wrong in declaring that his ammunition was no better than so much sea-sand, but it was not the stuff to send twelve-pound balls of iron through oak or teak bulwarks, and his cunning trap to catch the two American privateers was a lamentable failure.

It was an hour of their best running before these were again within hail of each other. Then their two commanders held a brief speaking-trumpet conversation, congratulating each other upon having gotten out of so serious a scrape without injury.

"Morgan," said Taber, at last, "the far northerly course, if it suits you. I think we'd better shape it as if we were bound for Halifax, and keep well away from every sail we sight."

"That'll do," replied Morgan. "That there Nova Scotia garrison needs supplies, you know. We're jest the boats to bring 'em all they want. If we come up with another supply ship, though, and if she hasn't quite so many guns, we may persuade her to go as far as Boston with us."

"No, sir! I'd say not!" called back Taber. "I feel uneasy 'bout Boston jest now. I'd ruther not try any home port but New London, and we'd better make our run in there by night."

"All right!" said Captain Morgan. "Home it is! Heave ahead!"

Guert Ten Eyck, in his bunk, received from his friends a full account of that day's curious adventure. The port of his cabin was quickly mended, and he could once more lie quiet and wait for his own mending. On deck there was especial matter for general discussion arising from the fact that all had seen a troop-ship.

"More soldiers to conquer America," they said. "It looks bad for us. The king is sending over British and Hessians, army after army. They are all well armed, well clothed, well fed, and there are more to follow. What can our own used up, half-armed, half-starved, badly beaten Continentals do against such awful odds? The truth is, we may not find a safe port to run into."

"They can't have taken everything so soon as this," was the conclusion of Captain Morgan. "We'll feel our way in, when we get there. If all things have gone wrong we can sail away somewhere, or we can beach the ships and burn 'em, and take to the woods."

CHAPTER XX

ANCHORED IN THE HARBOR

There came a very black night toward the beginning of winter in the year 1777. A light wind blew in from the sea, carrying an unpleasant, chilly feeling among the people of the town of New London. They had previously been somewhat uncomfortable, for, during several days, there had been British men-of-war hovering along the coast. None of these had ventured in far enough to exchange shots with the forts, but there was a rumor, nobody knew where from, that the British had determined to seize the port and put an end to its notable services to the cause of American independence. The harbor forts were believed by their commanders to be in good fighting condition, and their garrisons at once received small reinforcements. The thing most to be feared, it was said, was the landing of a strong body of troops, for in that case the town itself would be assailed, as well as the forts.

In short, military men foresaw and predicted precisely such an attack as was so destructively made at a later date by the king's forces under Arnold.

Very dark was the night. Wakeful and watchful were the sentinels and guards at every battery. Moreover, boats were out, silently patrolling hither and thither, ready to run in and report whatever signs of danger they might discover. The sea-scouts could not be everywhere, however, nor could they see everything. Somehow or other, an exceedingly important arrival passed by them all in the darkness.

A little before midnight a solitary musket shot rang out at the seaward bastion of Fort Griswold, and the officer of the guard, with a party of soldiers, hurried to the spot to ascertain its meaning.

"Officer of the guard," responded the sentry to the formal hail, "two American lights, seaward. Flash, flash, and cover. There they are again."

One of the soldiers was an old sailor, and he exclaimed: —

"Captain Havens, jest let me watch that there signal a minute."

"Watch!" said the captain.

Again the seaward flashes came, as if they were asking questions.

"What is it – "

"Captain Havens!" shouted the old whaling man, excitedly. "That there was Lyme Avery's private signal. The Noank has come home! The other light was Joe Taber's, I guess. I've whaled it with both of 'em."

"Hurrah!" burst from the captain. "Signal back, if you know how."

"Shall we fire a gun, sir?" asked an artilleryman.

"No," said the captain; "we won't stir up the town. And we won't send any information to the British cruisers, either. See Hadden work his lantern."

The sailor was swinging the lantern given him, – this way, that way, up and down, and he was speedily replied to from the sea.

"Two craft comin' in together," he explained. "I guess it's the Noank and a prize."