Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812 Part 4

"_The New Bedford Chronicle_, by gos.h.!.+" exclaimed Captain Ezra, in astonishment, taking the soaked brown package. He spread it out on the rail.

"It's true, Cap'n Sammy, it's true," he continued excitedly. "Thar's a war; listen to this," and he read in his halting, sailor manner, the startling headlines: "The Frigate _Const.i.tution_ Captures the British Frigate _Guerriere_. Hurrah for Hull and his Gallant Seamen! Again the Eagle Screams with Victory."

There was much more to it, and Captain Ezra read every word. "Young man," he said at last, "I owe ye an apology. If ye'll come daown into our cabin, I kin mix ye a toddy of fine old Medford rum. Between lawful an' honest enemies there should be no hard feelin's, when the fate of war delivers one into the hands of 'tother. Cap'n Sammy," he observed as he reached the cabin, "if we had really knowed thar was a war, we'd a gone back and took that thar brig."

"Yaas," returned Captain Dewey, "we be summat behind the times."

His eyes twinkled as he glanced out of the cabin window. Still becalmed and almost hull down, H.M.S. _Badger_ was but a speck against the horizon.

The Englishman drew a long deep breath.

"Come, sir," spoke up Captain Ezra. "Don't get down hearted. 'Live an learn,' that's my motto. We're drinkin' your good health, sir, join right in."

When the _Blazing Star_ arrived in port, she turned over to the United States authorities an officer and twelve men, prisoners of war.

THE COWARD

He said that he had been impressed into the English service from the brig _Susan Butler_, of New York. But what grounds the boarding officer had taken in supposing him to be a British subject would puzzle most.

The c.o.c.ked-hats generally left a merchant vessel's side with the pick of the unfortunate crew. The qualifications necessary for a peaceable Yankee merchant sailor to change his vocation and become a servant of King George were plain and simple in 1810: ruddy cheeks--crisp curling hair--youth, health, and strength, why! of English birth and parentage most certainly! What use the papers stating that his name was Esek Cobb, or Hezekiah Brown? His home port or natal town Portsmouth, N.H., Bath, Me., or Baltimore? He spoke the mother tongue; he was an A.B. His services were needed to fight old England's enemies, and away he would go in the stern sheets of the press boat, bitter curses on his lips and irons on his wrists.

But this straight-haired, Indian-featured, narrow-shouldered half-man who stood there on the _Const.i.tution's_ deck, with his soaked, scanty clothes, clinging to his thin, big-jointed limbs, why in the name of the Lion or the Unicorn, or the Saint or the Dragon, for that matter, had they chosen him? He told his tale in a low, whimpering voice, with his eyes s.h.i.+fting from one deck-seam to another--Five years in the Royal British Navy!--Five years of glorious service of the one who rules the common heritage of all the peopled earth--Five years of spirit-murdering slavery.

Not six cable-lengths away, a dark shape against the lights of the town, lay the great s.h.i.+p from whose side he had lowered himself in the darkness to swim to the shelter of the smart, tall-sparred frigate, over whose taffrail he had watched his country's flag swinging in the sunlight, tempting him all the day. He had fought against the swiftly running tide until at last--just as his strength had left him--he had been hauled on board by the anchor watch, and now his one prayer was that they would not give him up. The men who stood about looked pityingly at his s.h.i.+vering figure. A middy, attracted by the commotion, had hastened aft to find the officer of the deck. The forecastle people murmured among themselves.

"Captain Hull won't give you up, lad," said one, laying his hand on the poor fellow's shoulder.

"This s.h.i.+p is not the _Chesapeake_," said another; "don't ye fear, man."

"Here's the Leftenant," put in another--"'tention!"

"What's going on here?" asked a low voice.

The sailor who had last spoken touched his cap.

"I was down making the running-boat fast to the boom, sir, when I hears a faint cry, and I sees a man in the water just alongside, sir. I lays hold of him, and thinkin' it's one of our crew, sir, we gets him quietly at the forechains; then we sees as how he ain't one of us, sir,--he says."

"That'll do; let him speak for himself. Where did you come from, my man?"

"From the _Poictiers_, yonder, sir. For the sake of mercy don't give me up!"

"Are you an American?"

"Yes, sir; G.o.d's truth, I am."

"Your name?"

"McGovern, sir."

"Where were you born, McGovern?"

The stern, matter-of-fact inquiry could scarce conceal the pity in the tone; but it was the officer-voice speaking.

"In Water Street, New York, sir, not far from the big church--Oh, for the love of----"

"You speak like an Irishman."

"My parents were Irish, your honor, but I was born in the little house fourth from the corner. You won't let them---- Oh, G.o.d help me!"

The st.u.r.dy rocking beat of oars near to hand off the port quarter caused an interruption. The fugitive gave a quick glance full of terror in the direction of the sound; then he dropped forward upon his knees; his whimpering changed to a hoa.r.s.e weeping whisper.

"Don't give me up; I'd rather die--save me--save me," he croaked.

One of the watch came hurrying aft. "There's a cutter here at the gangway," he said in a low voice, saluting the Lieutenant.

"Very good, my lad," responded the latter. "Take this man below, give him dry clothes and a place to sleep."

Two men helped the abject creature to his feet and led him sobbing to the forward hatchway. The Lieutenant stepped to the side.

"On board the cutter there," he called, "what do you want at this hour of night?" Well he knew, and he spoke as if the answer had been given.

"On board the frigate," was the reply. "We're looking for a deserter; he started to swim off to you; has he reached here?"

The Lieutenant disdained deception. "We fished a half drowning man out of the water a few minutes since," he replied quietly, leaning over the gangway railing.

"He's a deserter from my s.h.i.+p; I'll be obliged if you will hand him over.--This is Lieutenant Colson, of the _Poictiers_."

"Sorry not to grant Lieutenant Colson's request; the man claims protection as an American. Captain Hull will have to look into the matter.--This is Lieutenant Morris, of the _Const.i.tution_."

"I should like to see Captain Hull at once. In bow there, make fast to the gangway."

"Hold hard, sir. The Captain is asleep; I cannot waken him."

"I demand you do--you are in one of His Majesty's ports."

"I know that well enough--keep off the side, sir." There was a moment's silence, and then the same level tone was heard addressing some one on the deck. "Call the guard; let no one come on board the s.h.i.+p to-night."

There was the sound of some movement on the _Const.i.tution's_ deck; the fast ebb tide clopped and gurgled about the vessel's counter mirthfully. The Englishman, standing erect in the stern sheets of the little cutter bobbing against the frigate's side, hesitated.

"On board the frigate, there!"

"Well, sir, in the cutter!"

"Heark'ee! You'll repent this rashness, I can warrant you that, my friend; you will pay high for your d.a.m.ned Yankee insolence, mark my words. Shove off there forward" (this to the bowman)--"shove off there, you clumsy fool! Let fall!"