CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER X.WHERE THE HARD STREAK CAME FROM.THIS was Edmund Griffin, the proprietor of seven hundred acres of excellent land, a very large stock of cattle, and money besides—the strongest man in town (leaving out Lion Ben, who was an exception to everybody), now that Captain Rhines and Uncle Isaac were getting in years. He was not remarkably tall, being barely six feet in his boots, but of vast proportions. There was no beauty about Edmund; his hair was coarse as rope-yarn, inclining to red, and, where it was not confined by a cue, bristling; his waist was small in proportion to the great breadth of his shoulders and hips, his joints large, his lips and teeth very prominent, which gave him the appearance of coming at you. The whole expression of his face was extremely rugged, and would have been fierce, had it not been neutralized by the kindly expressionof a clear, mild eye. His voice, also, was rather loud and hearty than harsh in its tones. A skein of woollen yarn was tied round him for a belt, his breeches of dye-pot blue, and a flannel shirt that had once been bright red, but so bleached by the sun and perspiration as not to show any red save under the armpits and below the girdle, from a pocket in the breast of which stuck out the end of a purse made of a sheep’s bladder; his open collar revealed a finely-formed throat, and a breast covered with a thick mass of curling brown hair. This great, brawny man was possessed of remarkable mechanical genius. With those great fingers of his he could execute the nicest jobs, and he was constantly resorted to by the neighbors; and yet there was not a sled or cart on the premises that had a decent tongue in it; they were all made by cutting down a forked tree, and sticking in the fork with the bark on.“You’re getting fat, parson—fat as a porpoise; you don’t do work enough; you ought to have been in the woods with me this forenoon; ‘twould make the gravy run, and take some of the grease out of you.”“What are you going to do with those poles, Edmund?”“Make pike-poles to drive logs with, in the fall freshet.”Parson Goodhue was much attached to Edmund Griffin, who had grown up under him, and whom he had married when he was but twenty and his wife nineteen, and, though now surrounded by a large family, was in the very maturity of his strength; for he well knew that, though the outside was as rough as the coat of the alligator, there was a noble and generous nature within, and a kindly heart throbbed beneath that hairy bosom and faded shirt.For many a long year he had been seeking his good, and striving in vain to impress him with religious ideas; but it was like lifting a wet cannon ball; he eluded all his efforts; he could find no chink in his armor. He was always at meeting with his family, rain or shine, and an attentive hearer. Anything, everything he would do for Parson Goodhue, except listen to religious conversation;thathe would always avoid. He had no sympathy in that direction, nor his wife either, and the children naturally grew up with the same ideas. Even the old father, ninety years of age, and tottering on the verge of eternity, seemed tohave no notions beyond the present; and all his talk was about lifting, wrestling, and the Indian fights, in which he had played a most conspicuous part, and, though he could with difficulty get across the room, would, every few weeks, have his rifle brought to him, and clean and oil the lock.“Lizzy,” shouted Mr. Griffin, in a voice that might be heard a mile.This brought to the door a woman of a noble form, dark-brown hair, and one of the sweetest faces the eye ever rested upon, and, though evidently just from the cheese-tub, very neatly dressed.“Lizzy, here’s Parson Goodhue come to stay to dinner, and a fortnight longer, I hope.”“So do I,” was the reply of his wife, as she welcomed the visitor.“Let the mare go, parson; she knows the way to the barn; come, let’s go into the house.”“I rather think, Edmund, I had better hitch her to this stub; if she goes to the barn alone, she will certainly be in mischief;” but as the minister stepped forward, with the bridle in his hand, to execute his design, Griffin caught him by the shoulders, and exclaiming, “Bless me! where isthe man going?” lifted and set him aside, as though he had been a feather; at the same time dropping a stone upon the trencher of a bear trap, the great jaws sprung together with a clang that caused Parson Goodhue to jump clear from the ground in mortal fear.“Goodness, Edmund, do you set bear-traps for your friends?”“No, parson; I’m sorry for your fright, but you see, we caught a bear last night, and the boys have been playing with the trap, and left it set. If you had got into it, ‘twould have broken your leg.”What a contrast between the outside and the inside of the house, where Elizabeth Griffin held undisputed sway! Silver was not brighter than the pewter on the shelves, and white as the snow flake were dressers and the nicely-sanded floor of the best room into which the visitor was ushered, where, seated in his arm-chair, was Joseph Griffin, the grandfather, a vast ruin, the great bones and cords of the old Indian-killer standing out in bold relief through the shrunken flesh.“Father’s master hard of hearing, and his eyesighthas failed him a good deal,” said his son; “but otherways he’s just as bright as he ever was; knows all that’s going on, and all the young folks.”“Father,” he shouted, as they entered the room, “here’s Mr. Goodhue, come to see you.”“Glad to see him; give him a cheer.”“Good morning, Mr. Griffin,” said the minister, placing his chair close to the old gentleman; “you have been spared to a great age.”“Spared!I never spared myself. I allers took the but-end of a log, and the bunt of a topsail. Nobody can say that Joe Griffin ever spared himself. Young man (Mr. Goodhue was on the wrong side of sixty), when I was of your age, I had more strength than I knew what to do with.”“I said you had lived to a great age.”“Yes; I’ve been here a good while. I was through the French and Indian wars. I was at the takin’ of Quebec, in ‘59, but I was too old for this last one.”“I trust, sitting here alone so much as you do, and knowing that you are living on borrowed time, that you often think on your latter end, and endeavor to prepare for it.”“Leetle end; leetle end of what?”“I say, I hope you are prepared to go.”“I don’t go anywhere; I can’t for the rheumatics, only to town meetin’, and then they put me into Isaac Murch’s wagin; before he had that, they hauled me on an ox sled.”“I mean, I hope you are prepared to die, and meet your Maker.”“O, die, is it? I never killed nobody (except in fair fight), and nobody ever killed me. I never abused my neighbors, or the cattle, and I think it’s everybody’s duty to live just as long as they kin. It’s an awful thing to kill yourself; when anybody has sich thoughts, they ought to put ‘em right out o’ their minds.”“Do you think that is all the preparation you need?”“I allers kept up good line fence, and give good weight and measure. I s’pose the less we do, the less there’s charged to us.”Mr. Goodhue now relinquished the effort in despair; as Uncle Isaac would have said, he could find nothing to nail to. The old man had grown up, like the beasts he hunted, without culture, and could neither read nor write. But, althoughhe found great difficulty in hearing, he could talk fast enough, and however impervious to religious sentiment, was shrewd enough in other matters.The subject which at that period most divided the opinions and agitated the minds of the people, was the state of affairs in France, and our relations to that nation. That nation having dethroned their king, and proclaimed liberty and equality, naturally expected to receive fraternal sympathy and aid from this country, and from the people whom they had aided in their recent struggle for liberty.The members in Congress were divided in sentiment on the subject. The people at large, especially the mercantile portion of the community (who were very much embittered against England on account of the impressment of seamen and the right of search), felt that the movement in France was resistance to arbitrary power, a struggle for self-government against oppression, and a mere carrying out of the principles of our own revolution, that we owed it to the cause of liberty, and were obligated in gratitude to aid them to the extent of entering into an offensive and defensive alliance, and declaring war withGreat Britain. The party espousing these sentiments was large and influential, and a strong pressure was brought to bear upon the administration. To complicate matters still more, Genet, the French minister, a hot-headed, overbearing man, appealed to the prejudices and sympathies of the people, and, without the sanction or knowledge of the government, attempted to raise men and arms, and fit out privateers to prey on British commerce, and sell their prizes in American ports.On the other hand, Washington, and those of cooler heads and calmer judgment, shocked at the excesses of the French revolution, and having no confidence in the capacity of the French people for self-government, were as resolutely opposed to any interference. Old Mr. Griffin, in opposition to his son and the great majority of his neighbors, was of the latter party, and Mr. Goodhue was of the same opinion.“What’s that rapscallion’s name, parson, that’s come over here, and is kickin’ up sich a dust, and tryin’ to get us into a quarrel with the old country?”“Genet, the French minister,” replied Mr. Goodhue, rejoiced at the introduction of a topicin respect to which their sympathies were in unison.“A minister goin’ about tryin’ to stir up people agin their government, and to git up a war!”“He’s not a minister of the gospel, but a sort of ambassador.”“Wal, I wish my eye was as quick and my hand as steady as ‘twas once, and I had him within range of my rifle; I’d put an eend to his trampin’;” at the same time striking his cane violently on the floor. Captain Rhines was here t’other day, settin’ right where you set, and sayin’ we never should got our liberty, if’t hadn’t been for them are French; that one good turn deserved another; and all that. I ups and tells him, I does, says I, the French waited till they see how the cat was goin’ to jump, and that we were like to wear the old bull-dog out, and then comes in to bet on the winnin’ horse. I telled him the French were well enough, but it wasn’t so much for any love to us they come; England had took Canada, and robbed ‘em of their colonies, and now they wanted to pay her in her own coin, and help us get clear on ‘em; they’ll eny time send over troops to help the Irish when they undertake to rise.”“I think you are right in that, Mr. Griffin.”“If we should go into war with England now, it would make an eend of our leetle commerce; but if we go on as we’ve begun, in a few years we shall be able to fight our own battles, no thanks to eny on ‘em.”“I’m perfectly willing to abide by the judgment of General Washington, Hamilton, and those who have carried us thus far. I believe Washington was raised up and divinely appointed to carry us through the revolutionary war, as evidently as Moses was to lead the children of Israel to the promised land.”“That’s the talk, parson. I don’t know enything ‘bout Moses, and them old characters, but I know ‘bout Gineral Washington, cause I fought under him, when he was kernel; yes, I go in for the old horse that never balked at the steepest hill, but allus pulled, whether the load went, or whether other horses pulled or not.”“Yes, my old friend, the heart of the country rests safely on Washington.”“Then, parson, he’s a prayin’ man. Isaac Murch told me that; he said, that winter at Valley Forge, when the soldiers were barefoot, and sufferedso much, there was an hour at noon when he couldn’t be seen; if an express came, he wouldn’t be disturbed; it was allers thought and said among the men, that he was at prayer. I allers thought them are the sort of men to foller.”“Certainly; because in following them we may hope for the aid of Him by whom they are guided.”“There’s a great many in this place, parson, if you allow that there’s any good thing in an Englishman, cry out, ‘Tory’!”“That’s too much the case, I know.”“I don’t want to swaller an Englishman whole. I know they press our seamen, and are overbearin’; but, then, they press their own likewise, take a man from his own doorstep; but ‘tain’t the people, it’s the government, does that. They say this new man that’s come up—What’s his name?”“Bonaparte.”“That he’s goin’ to lick the English into shoe-strings.”“Then he’ll do what has not been done for the last two hundred years.”“I tell you it ain’t in ‘em, parson; it’ ain’t in the men that live on frogs and soup to lick the men that eat beef and pork, I don’t care whothey’re led by. When I was payin’ for my place, I follered the sea a good deal. I have been in English ports and French ports; fought side by side with Englishmen, and aginst Frenchmen; and I don’t care who knows it, I like an Englishman better’n a Frenchman eny day. When it’s good weather at sea, and everything goin’ well, an Englishman is a grouty chap; he’ll growl at the wind, the ship, the grub, and the usage; but let there come a gale of wind, a raal tryin’ time, the lee riggin’ hangin’ in bights, men three or four hours on a yard tryin’ to smother a sail, or the ship sprung a leak and like to go down, I tell you, John Bull is there. The harder it blows, the blacker it looks, and the tougher it comes, the higher his spirit rises; then they’re a Protestant people, and that’s a thing goes a good ways with me.”Our readers may suspect that the old gentleman was not so obtuse in relation to religious matters as he appeared; an idea of this kind seemed to cross the mind of Mr. Goodhue, for he instantly attempted to introduce a religious conversation; but the old man shrunk from it as speedily as a turtle draws his head into the shell when apprehensive of danger.When Edmund Griffin returned to the kitchen, he said, “Come, wife, ain’t you going to do something? There ain’t a speck of fire on the hearth.”“What of that? I’ve got baked beans, brown bread, pies, and an Indian pudding in the oven, and I must put this cheese in press.”“Baked beans!I want to kill some chickens, make a smother, and give the old gentleman a good tuck out.”“Well, then, make me up a fire; the boys are all in the field.”He brought in a great log, and threw it on the hearth; then, bringing in a huge armful of wood, the moment he was inside the door, let drive right into the middle of the room, at the same time kicking the door to with his feet. Proceeding to put on the log, instead of using the great kitchen shovel to rake forward the ashes from the back, he put in his foot, and, after scraping out a hole, flung on the log with such force that the coals and ashes flew all over the room.“Edmund, what a splutter you do make! Do go and get the chickens. I had rather make two fires than clean up after you.”Taking the mare’s bridle on his arm, he puther in the barn; returning with the bridle in one hand, and a dish of corn in the other, he threw it among the fowls; as they were busily eating, he brought down the bridle on the flock with such force as to prostrate half a dozen, and picking them up, cut off their heads, and soon transferred them to the kitchen table.“Why, Edmund,” cried his wife, looking them over, “what a careless creature you are! Half of these are old hens; and, as sure as I live, you’ve killed Winthrop’s setting hen. She was just ready to hatch. He will cry his eyes out. I do wish I’d gone myself; the chickens are all lost, and we shall have to throw the hen away. She’s all skin and bone.”“Never mind, wife; the boy can set another. Have you got everything you want now?”“No. I want you to wash yourself, and put on a clean shirt and clothes. They’re on the bed.”“What’s the use, wife? I’m well enough.”“I tell you, you shan’t come to dinner looking so!” she exclaimed, pushing him into the bedroom, and pulling the skein of yarn from his waist.With a groan he obeyed, and, making him sitdown on the edge of the bed, she combed out his cue, and tied it up with a black ribbon, instead of the eel-skin.Mr. Goodhue, who had a large family of his own, was very fond of children, and it was a curious sight to see Winthrop Griffin tugging the stately old minister by the hand, to see his fowl and playthings, his tame crow, and the woodchuck he had caught. The good man also sincerely sympathized with him respecting the loss of his hen and expected brood of chickens.Mrs. Griffin would have persuaded the minister to lie down after dinner; but as the boys were going to work in the field, he wished to read the Scriptures and have prayers before they went away, it being his constant custom. The parents and children all listened with the greatest respect and attention, but all attempts to engage the seniors in conversation of a religious nature were useless.After the evening meal, when Parson Goodhue prepared to depart, Dapple, true to her instincts, was found in a chamber over the stable where Griffin kept grain. She had gone up a flight of stairs, but all attempts to induce her to go down by the same were unavailing.“Look here, parson,” said Edmund; “let me knock her on the head, and take her for wolf bait—there’s a bounty on wolves,—and I’ll give you my roan colt, that’s worth a dozen of her.”But Mr. Goodhue entreated for the life of his beast. Griffin, then putting a great pile of hay on the stable floor beneath, took up the boards of the floor above, and forced her to jump down.“What a strange family,” said the good man to himself as he returned, his saddle-bags stuffed to their utmost extent. “I would be content with less respect and kindness shown to myself if they would only manifest some respect for my Master. How sad to see that old man so thoughtless! Well, the children are different. Joe is a good man,—there is certainly encouragement there,—and Walter takes after his mother; if she was anywhere else, she would be different.”In the course of the autumn, Dapple ended her eventful life; in trying to get over a fence with the fetters on, she got cast, and beat herself to death, thus dying as she had lived. Two days after, the parson, on going to his barn to feed his cattle, found a noble-looking roan horse in Dapple’s stall, a present from Edmund Griffin.In this slight glance at the Griffins, we have seen where the hard streak came from. That old grandfather’s was gradually diluted as it mingled with other and more kindly blood, till in Walter rudeness had become attempered to firmness, and nothing more.CHAPTER XI.RECONNOITRING.IT was an overcast night; there was no moon; the stars were bright overhead, but around the edge of the horizon they were obscured by thin clouds, through which a star occasionally shone.The brigantine, with all sail set, was running in for the land, the dark outline of which could be dimly seen in the distance. The French had put out the light on Planier Island, and removed all the buoys from the shoals and reefs, that they might not be of advantage to the enemy; but the lights of the English frigate could be seen far ahead, as she also stood in for the land, her commander not dreaming he was followed by the vessel, so nearly his prize, and which he supposed effectually frightened from that locality.“It would have been a very valuable prize to us, could we have taken her,” said the captain of the frigate to his lieutenant; (”and at one time I thought she was ours,) not merely as far as the value of her cargo was concerned; but we could have put a few guns aboard of her, and a crew, and she is so fast she would have taken everything on the coast; our prize-money would soon have amounted to something very handsome.”“Where did the Yankees learn to build such vessels? Before the war they couldn’t make their own mouse-traps.”“It was the war taught them; they wanted privateers to prey on our merchantmen and supply ships. They wanted sharp vessels to run into neutral ports, and escape our frigates, and they built them. Since they set up for themselves, they make rigging and duck, roll iron, and forge anchors, and there’s no telling where they will stop.”“We may catch her yet, if we could get her before the wind, where she could not run into shoal water, or have the good fortune to come across her in a calm.”“He’ll not come here again; he’s run too greata risk. He will be more likely to try Toulon; perhaps go round into the Bay of Biscay, to some of the ports on the other side.”The wind, which had blown very fresh all through the afternoon and first part of the night, had moderated to a good working breeze.As the watch on board the brigantine that brought twelve o’clock came on deck, a large rock was discovered right ahead; the topsail was hove to the mast, and the vessel became stationary. The captain, calling the whole crew aft, said to them, “Boys, I want to put a man on that rock, to watch this frigate and the sixty-four, see which way they stand in the morning, and where they go; also to look into the roadstead, and see what vessels are there, and how they lie; in short, to keep himself concealed, and get all the information he can. To-morrow night I’ll run in, and take him off. Who’ll volunteer?”Before the words were fairly out of his mouth, or any other could reply, Walter Griffin exclaimed, “I will go, sir.”Peterson had from Walter’s childhood cherished a great affection for him, and Walter loved the black with all his heart. It was at firsta childhood liking (as children care very little about color), which increased as he grew older; and Peterson, by reforming his habits, became deserving of respect.Peterson was not merely a finished sailor and first-rate calker, but was also exceedingly ingenious in making kites, windmills, boats, sleds, carts, squirts, popguns, sawyers, and all those things that children and boys want; and no one but Uncle Isaac could equal him in the manufacture of bows and arrows.Peterson lived not far from Walter’s father. Every leisure day Walter was there; everything he wanted Peterson made, and, as he outgrew kites and bows, instructed him in wrestling, making sailor knots, and built him a skiff; when, therefore, he came to be shipmate with him, he felt that the boy was in a manner committed to him, and under his protection, and instantly interfered.“Massa cap’n, dat boy no fit to go; he too young; s’pose come gale ob wind; vessel driben to sea; no get him off long time; boy be frightened, die, p’rhaps starve. Hab to show hisself; den English man-o’-war take him; nebber see his farder or mudder no more. Boy no ‘sperience to know what to look for; me go, meself.”Walter, however, insisted upon going; he had a right to go; the captain called for volunteers, and he had volunteered, and was going.“But you too young, chile, for such ting.”“Young,” replied Walter, in high dudgeon; “I shipped before the mast, and have a man’s wages, and can steer my trick, and do my duty.”“I can’t do withoutyou, pilot,” said the captain.Several others had also intended to volunteer, and now came forward; but Walter had been too quick for them, and claimed his right.“Captain,” said Fred Williams, as he took leave of Arthur Brown, “you’ll find one of our young men aboard, Walter Griffin (he’s not much more than a boy, but he’s a choice one); I know him through and through. He never should have left me if I could have helped it; but he seems one of those made to go to sea. Put him anywhere, trust him with any matter, and he will give a good account of himself. You will find him better, on an emergency, than many older persons; for he belongs to an iron-sided race, and what he lacks in experience he will make up in mother wit.”All that the captain had seen of Walter went to corroborate Fred’s statement, and he determined to try him.Little Ned now besought the captain to permit him to share the adventure with Walter, but he refused, telling him he had promised his mother not to expose him unnecessarily; that one was enough, and two would be more likely to attract attention.Ned turned away, with a tear in his eye, and walked forward. Flinging his arms round his friend’s neck, he said, “He won’t let me go, Walter. It’s too bad; we might have such a good time!”The boat was manned, and beef, bread, water, and raw pork put into her. The raw pork was in addition, as that could, on occasion, be eaten raw; and if the vessel should be blown off the coast, he might be left there a good while, and no fire could be made to cook, without attracting notice.The captain, after giving him his instructions, put into his hands a spy-glass. “There,” said he, “is a glass with which you can read letters three inches long a mile away.” He then shook hands with him at the side, bidding him take care of himself, and keep a bright lookout, while the tender-hearted black fairly shed tears.“Look out for de man-o’-war, sonnie. S’pose heketch you, Peterson chase you all ober de world but he git you.”“Good by, dear Walter,” cried Ned, throwing his arms around his friend’s neck, as he stood up in the stern sheets to step on the rock.“Good by, Ned,” said Walter, returning the embrace.The provision and water were landed, and the boat pulled rapidly away. Walter sat down upon the rock, listening to the sound of the oars in the rowlocks, and watching the phosphorescence of the water as it flashed on their blades. All these tokens of departure, of little moment on ordinary occasions, now possessed not a little interest. He marked the ring of the iron, as the hook of the davit-fall went into the ring-bolt, and heard the man say, “Hoist away,” the creak of the blocks, and the slat of the canvas, as the sails filled, then the low, rushing sound of the vessel’s bow as it parted the water. It was a lonely moment to the brave boy, when the last low sound betokening companionship was lost in the dash of midnight waves, the gleam of her white canvas faded from his view, and he was left on the wild rock alone. He had never been taught to breathe a petition forprotection, or to depend upon aught but himself. His conversation with Charlie by the brook constituted the only appeal of a religious nature ever made to his heart.He knew not the nature or extent of the rock on which he had been so unceremoniously deposited, and, clambering up to where he was above the flow of the tide, placed his provisions beside him, and determined to keep watch till the day broke, that he might have time to examine the place before he could be observed from any passing boat or vessel. Fearing, if he went to sleep, he might sleep too long, and finding a flat place on the rock, he paced back and forth, to keep himself awake.Little Ned, feeling very lonely in the absence of his watch-mate, attached himself to Peterson, between whom and Walter there was such a good understanding, in order that he might talk about Walter, Pleasant Cove, the Griffins, and all the people and boys he had become acquainted with there.The rock on which Walter was placed might have been, at low water, half an acre in extent, and irregular in its form, the eastern end risingin a high bluff, with deep water around and close to it; but the western end sloped into long, ragged ridges, honeycombed by the everlasting dash of surf, and terminating in long reefs, upon which the sea broke with a continuous roar. Between these ridges were openings or coves, quite wide at the extremities of the reefs, shoaling and narrowing as they ran up into the main portion of the rock, in such a manner that it was easy to enter them in a boat between the breaking points, and land, in good weather, with perfect safety.The heads of these coves were filled with those materials the sea usually flings up—sea-weeds, shells, barrel staves, chips, planks, and broken pieces of vessels.On the eastern end of the rock was a patch of turf extending from the edge of the bold cliffs along the heads of the coves, covered with bushes and scrub trees, dwarfed by the sea winds, and thickly matted together.The sun had risen clear, bringing with it a moderate easterly breeze. The English frigate before referred to is passing within musket shot of the eastern extremity of the rock. A close observer might have noticed the branches of a pine bushmove in a direction opposite to the wind, and in a few moments the head of a man is cautiously thrust through the branches. It is Walter Griffin. He watches with keen eyes the course of the man-o’-war, and, as she increases the distance between them, crawls to the shelter of a ledge, and, resting his glass over it, watches her till she disappears from view. From his position he can command a view of the roadstead, the men-of-war lying at anchor in it, the forts, and the entrance to the port.At the head of one of the coves, in which there was a little beach of white sand, a portion of the stern frame of a vessel had, by the conjunction of a high tide and a gale of wind, been flung high on the rocks, extending from one side to the other, leaving a space of several feet between it and the beach. Here Walter had bestowed his water and food.Having made all the observation possible, he retired to this place, and, with some dry sea-weed for a bed, lay down for a nap, as he had been up the entire night.When he awoke, he espied a French fisherman, fishing among the kelp for rock-fish. Lookingcautiously around, to be sure that no vessel was in sight, he, after a while, succeeded in attracting his attention, and prevailing upon him to row into one of the passages between the rocks, where he met him.“Who are you?” asked the fisherman, resting upon his oars, and surprised to be addressed in his own language by one who, he perceived, was of another nation.“An American.”“Have you run away from the man-o’-war?” asked the Frenchman, taking him for some impressed American seaman, who had swum off from a British vessel.“No; I was put ashore here last night from an American vessel, that is trying to run the blockade, to watch the fleet; she will stand in for the land again to-night.”“The vessel they were chasing yesterday?”“Yes.”“We thought you were gone.”“We thought so ourselves, till the wind came.”“Men sometimes swim ashore from the fleet. I thought you had swam to the rock. I’ve got an Englishman in my house now who ran away a week ago.”“Why don’t they take you prisoner?”“They don’t trouble the fishermen, and when they want fish, they pay for them; but our vessels and the Spaniards take ‘em without thanks or money.”“What time in the day is it?”“By the tide, about eleven o’clock.”“Could you take me ashore in your boat, so that I could have a good look at the fleet and harbor, and see the Englishman you spoke of, and bring me back after dark?”“I can take you ashore well enough, but bringing you back is another matter; the English have boats rowing around the roadstead in the night; if they saw me going out after dark, they would suspect something, and stop me.”“I would give a good deal to get inside the roadstead, and to see that deserter.”“I’ll do all I can to help you. I’ll take you along shore to one of the creeks where there is no watch kept, and set you off from there.”The Frenchman made Walter lie down in the bottom of the boat, covered him with sea-weed, and flung fish over him; he then put up his sail, and steered boldly into the roadstead. As hepassed one of the English ships, he was hailed and asked for a mess of fish; he went alongside, and flung the fish on the grating of the side ladder, and receiving his money, kept on.“If they had known who was under these fish,” said the fisherman to Walter, pulling the sea-weed off from him, as they came under the guns of the French castle, “it would have put an end to my fishing.”He now conducted Walter to the observatory, situated on very high ground, in which was a powerful telescope, and from which he could track the frigate and sloop of war as they ran along the coast, and see perfectly the position of the ships in the roadstead. He found the flag-ship lay the farthest in, just out of range of the forts, and so moored as to completely command the channel. Having taken careful note of all these things, and made a rough draft on paper, he went to the fisherman’s house, where he found the English sailor, who informed him of many particulars that were important, and among other things, that a supply ship was daily expected on the coast and was eagerly looked for, as provisions were growing short in the fleet.“What is her name?” asked Walter.“The Severn.”“Where has that frigate probably gone?”“To Toulon.”“And the sixty-four?”“Round the other side, to carry despatches.”“How big is the flag-ship?”“A hundred guns.”“Do they keep a keen lookout?”“Yes; it is no use to try to run by her at night; she wouldn’t leave you a stick to do it with.”CHAPTER XII.DID I BEAR IT LIKE A MAN, WALTER?IT was nearly one o’clock at night, when the brigantine hove to, off the rock, a boat put off, and the sharp voice of Ned, crying, “Are you there, Walter?” came over the waves. But it was now blowing fresh, the sky obscured by clouds, and no possibility of landing on the rock, which was white with foam, it being so small that the sea ran all round it. The boat, pulled by men who had been all their lives brought up among the surf, and accustomed to working around breakers, was backed in within two seas of the rock, and held there by the oars, while she stood almost on end.“Now, shipmate,” said Danforth Eaton, standing up in the stern sheets, with a coil of rope in his hand, “look out for the line, and jump for it.”Walter caught the line, and making it fast round his waist, flung himself into the surf, and washauled aboard, where he was joyfully received by Ned, to whom one day and a portion of two nights had seemed a week.When the young captain had received Walter’s information, he complimented him very much for the shrewdness he had manifested; and as all were equally interested (the profits of the voyage being divided in this manner, the vessel, that is, the owners, drew a certain proportion, the captain, mates, and crew another, according to their rank), he spread the whole matter before the ship’s company.Said the young captain to his crew, “The wind is fair, and plenty of it; the tide also is with us, and sets up the harbor; we should go like a shot; the frigate and sixty-four are out of the way; there is no moon, and it is overcast; if they fire at us, they will have to fire by guess, for they can’t sight over the black cannon; probably we shall not have so many things in our favor again. I am in for trying it to-night; but I want your opinions, for we must run the risk of their broadsides.”“I reckon,” said Danforth Eaton, “that when we shipped aboard this craft, we knew what we had to kalkerlate on; we expect to get our profit out of our risk; I’m for trying it now.”His opinion being assented to by the crew, the brigantine, with a spanking breeze and every sail set, was steered directly for the roadstead, a little over two miles distant. It seemed but a moment, so rapid was her progress, before the high lands of Marseilles were throwing their shadows before her path. Walter acting as second mate, his station was in his watch on deck, aft. He, however, still shared Ned’s berth, as the second mate was sick in his own. It was now his watch below; but in the present circumstances, no one felt any inclination to sleep, and he was, with all the rest of the crew, forward. At such a time, it is natural for those most acquainted to get together, and the men were divided into little knots, conversing in low tones. Walter, Enoch Hadlock, and Ben Peterson, having been schoolmates, and grown up together, formed one group, with Ned nestled close to the side of Walter.“Walter,” said Ben, “do you expect, if we make the run, and a heap of money, to have the second mate’s share, while he’s off duty?”“No, indeed; I have no right to it. He can’t help having a carbuncle. I wouldn’t take it if it was offered me. I wouldn’t be so mean.”“But if you’re doing second mate’s duty—”“The honor pays for that.”“Perhaps you think it is a stepping-stone. I hope it is.”“I don’t know about that.”“We shall soon see what our young captain is made of,” said Eaton, as the dark hull and long masts of the ship of the line began to appear; “I only wish we were well through it.”A man-o’-war cutter was now seen on the lee bow.“What ship is that?” was the hail.“The Severn, supply.”Thus boats and ships were passed, the night being too dark, and the brigantine going too quick to admit of a close scrutiny. The name of the expected store-ship being given, also completely disarmed suspicion. They were now rapidly nearing the flag-ship, of a hundred guns—the last and most fearful ordeal. A death-like stillness now pervaded the brigantine, broken only by the rushing of the vessel through the water, the straining of the cordage, and the moan of the wind through the rigging.“Walter,” whispered Ned, “do you feel afraid?”“No, Ned; do you?”“I guess not; but I feel as I never did before. I wish we were doing something, and it was not so dreadfully still,” said the boy, putting his arm round his companion’s waist, as they sat side by side on the windlass, gazing through the darkness at the lights of the man-of-war. “Kiss me, Walter.”He put his arms round his friend, and pressed his lips to his cheek. So dark was the night now grown, and so rapid the passage of the vessel, that the stern lights of the ship bore over the cat-head of the brigantine.The young captain now took the helm, when a hail came from the ship that thrilled the blood of every man on board.“What ship is that? Reply, or I’ll sink you.”“The Severn, store vessel.”The ports of the man-of-war were triced up, and by the gleam of the battle lantern, the gunners could be seen standing by their pieces.“Ay, ay. Come to, under the stern, and report on board at six o’clock in the morning.”“Ay, ay,” was the reply; and “Hard a-lee! Haul aft the main sheet!” were shouted, in loud tones, on board the brigantine.The officer of the deck, who could distinguish nothing, hearing these orders, was for an instant deceived—an instant that was the salvation of the brigantine, going twelve knots under the combined force of wind and tide. Perceiving immediately that it was a ruse, he gave orders to fire. The horizon was lit up by the flash of guns, and the midnight stillness broken by the roar of cannon. But so well had the brigantine improved her opportunity, that but one or two of the forward guns were brought to bear on her.As the iron shower came hurtling on, and passed, a groan was heard near the foot of the main-mast. It came from little Ned, who was struck as he came aft with an order from the pilot.“Bear it like a man, Neddie,” cried Walter, as he held him in his arms. “Are you hurt much?”“Yes, bad, Walter.” And he fainted.“Take care of him,” said the captain, “till the vessel is brought to.”For a few moments every one was exerting himself to the utmost, in order to bring the vessel, under such a press of sail, to anchor under the guns of the castle of St. Nicolas.She was somewhat disabled, a round shot havingcut off her main boom at the jaws to such an extent that it broke and fell on deck, carrying away the rail. Several shot had passed through the sails and bulwarks, one had cut off the tiller-head, and the mate had received a wound in the leg; so that the attention of the captain was fully occupied in taking care of the vessel.During this period, which, though really but a short time, seemed an age to Walter, he sat with his back against the main-mast, his arms around Neddie’s waist, and felt the warm blood oozing slowly through his fingers.The artillery now began to thunder from the castle at the boats of the fleet, which, enraged at the audacity and success of the enterprise, endeavored to follow and cut out the brigantine, but, finding the enemy aware of their designs, relinquished it.A boat was immediately sent to the castle for a surgeon, who, having restored Ned by stimulants, proceeded to examine his hurts, and ascertained that he had received a severe flesh wound in the thigh from a splinter, parts of which still remained in the wound. He had also received a musket ball in the groin, which, passing round the bodywithout breaking the bone, could be felt in the flesh of the back, near the spine. Being just beneath the skin, he pronounced neither of the wounds mortal.“Thank God for that!” exclaimed the captain.The surgeon wished to fasten him to the cabin table while he performed the operation; but Ned resisted this, declaring he could bear it if the captain would stand beside him, and Walter would hold his hand. The extraction of the splinters was more painful than even the cutting for the ball; but the little fellow bore it all with firmness, scarcely uttering a groan, and without aid from any of the means now in use to produce insensibility, they being at that period unknown.“Didn’t I bear it like a man, Walter?” asked Ned, when the operation was over.“Bravely,” answered Walter.The captain would not send Ned to the hospital, but hired a room for him in the house of Jacques Bernoux, the fisherman whose acquaintance Walter made on the rock, and sent Walter and Peterson alternately to take care of him, going daily himself to see him.Ned, who was as sweet-tempered as ambitious,had always been the pet of the crew, most of whom he had known while at Pleasant Cove; they were, therefore, always ready to watch of a night whenever needed, and there were so many of them that the duty was not at all burdensome.Boys of Ned’s age learn a language with great rapidity, and he soon began to pick up words, and talk with the people of the house. Nothing could exceed the kindness of Peterson to the little wounded fellow. He was so strong he could lift him easily, and, as he gradually recovered, made him many little messes (being a skillful cook) that were very grateful to the convalescent. Ned began to love his black friend dearly, and always called him James.To the surprise of all but the surgeon, Ned recovered a great deal faster than the first mate, Mr. Rogers, who was only wounded in the leg, the ball passing through. The wound continued to run, and seemed as if it never would heal, while Ned could walk across the floor with the aid of Walter.One day Ned was sitting in a chair, propped up with pillows, and eating, with the greatestrelish, a nice breakfast Peterson had prepared for him. “James,” said he, laying down his knife and fork, “I’m glad I was wounded.”“Glad you wounded! Glad you hab so much pain, be sick so long, make de cap’n so much trouble, all ob us feel bad! Nebber hear sich ting afore.”“I didn’t mean I was glad of that, or that I should want to be wounded again; but I’m glad, now it’s over, I’ve been through it.”“I know what you tink; you tink, when you git home to Salem, farder, mudder so glad cause you wasn’t killed; den, when you walks in de street, all de people say, ‘Dere Ned Gates; he one smart boy; he been shipwrecked, almost starve on a raft; been wounded two times runnin’ de blockade; see what dat boy been through.’ Den all de boys dey open dere eyes wide and stare, say notin’.”“That is it, James. Ihavebeen through a good deal—haven’t I, for a boy no older than I am?”“Dat de Lord; he carry you through dat cause you good boy.”“I ain’t a very good boy, James.”“What de reason? Cap’n say you good boy, mate say you good boy, eberybody say so.”The brigantine, as she lay under the guns of the fort, was recognized by the officers of the blockading fleet as the vessel they had chased, and so nearly taken, and they determined she should not escape them a second time, therefore kept incessant watch.The roadstead of Marseilles is exposed to severe gales, during which, the blockading fleet were compelled to run to sea. The captain of the brigantine had made too much money to run any unnecessary risk in getting home; he, therefore, determined to wait for a gale of wind that should drive his antagonists to sea, before he attempted to run out. This gave time for Ned to recover sufficiently to go in the vessel. As the mate, Mr. Rogers, was not well enough to do duty, Walter was put in his place, which offended the second mate very much, who thought, and said to the captain, that the place belonged to him; to which the captain replied, that Griffin had run some risk in volunteering to go on the rock; that it wasprincipally, if not entirely, due to his shrewdness in getting hold of the fisherman, and obtainingthe information he did from the English sailor, that their adventure succeeded, and they were not sunk by the man-of-war. He therefore considered promotion no more than a suitable reward, especially as the second mate, though a good seaman, was not a navigator. Thus Walter experienced at the outset the benefit of knowledge, as well as of pluck and principle.

CHAPTER X.WHERE THE HARD STREAK CAME FROM.THIS was Edmund Griffin, the proprietor of seven hundred acres of excellent land, a very large stock of cattle, and money besides—the strongest man in town (leaving out Lion Ben, who was an exception to everybody), now that Captain Rhines and Uncle Isaac were getting in years. He was not remarkably tall, being barely six feet in his boots, but of vast proportions. There was no beauty about Edmund; his hair was coarse as rope-yarn, inclining to red, and, where it was not confined by a cue, bristling; his waist was small in proportion to the great breadth of his shoulders and hips, his joints large, his lips and teeth very prominent, which gave him the appearance of coming at you. The whole expression of his face was extremely rugged, and would have been fierce, had it not been neutralized by the kindly expressionof a clear, mild eye. His voice, also, was rather loud and hearty than harsh in its tones. A skein of woollen yarn was tied round him for a belt, his breeches of dye-pot blue, and a flannel shirt that had once been bright red, but so bleached by the sun and perspiration as not to show any red save under the armpits and below the girdle, from a pocket in the breast of which stuck out the end of a purse made of a sheep’s bladder; his open collar revealed a finely-formed throat, and a breast covered with a thick mass of curling brown hair. This great, brawny man was possessed of remarkable mechanical genius. With those great fingers of his he could execute the nicest jobs, and he was constantly resorted to by the neighbors; and yet there was not a sled or cart on the premises that had a decent tongue in it; they were all made by cutting down a forked tree, and sticking in the fork with the bark on.“You’re getting fat, parson—fat as a porpoise; you don’t do work enough; you ought to have been in the woods with me this forenoon; ‘twould make the gravy run, and take some of the grease out of you.”“What are you going to do with those poles, Edmund?”“Make pike-poles to drive logs with, in the fall freshet.”Parson Goodhue was much attached to Edmund Griffin, who had grown up under him, and whom he had married when he was but twenty and his wife nineteen, and, though now surrounded by a large family, was in the very maturity of his strength; for he well knew that, though the outside was as rough as the coat of the alligator, there was a noble and generous nature within, and a kindly heart throbbed beneath that hairy bosom and faded shirt.For many a long year he had been seeking his good, and striving in vain to impress him with religious ideas; but it was like lifting a wet cannon ball; he eluded all his efforts; he could find no chink in his armor. He was always at meeting with his family, rain or shine, and an attentive hearer. Anything, everything he would do for Parson Goodhue, except listen to religious conversation;thathe would always avoid. He had no sympathy in that direction, nor his wife either, and the children naturally grew up with the same ideas. Even the old father, ninety years of age, and tottering on the verge of eternity, seemed tohave no notions beyond the present; and all his talk was about lifting, wrestling, and the Indian fights, in which he had played a most conspicuous part, and, though he could with difficulty get across the room, would, every few weeks, have his rifle brought to him, and clean and oil the lock.“Lizzy,” shouted Mr. Griffin, in a voice that might be heard a mile.This brought to the door a woman of a noble form, dark-brown hair, and one of the sweetest faces the eye ever rested upon, and, though evidently just from the cheese-tub, very neatly dressed.“Lizzy, here’s Parson Goodhue come to stay to dinner, and a fortnight longer, I hope.”“So do I,” was the reply of his wife, as she welcomed the visitor.“Let the mare go, parson; she knows the way to the barn; come, let’s go into the house.”“I rather think, Edmund, I had better hitch her to this stub; if she goes to the barn alone, she will certainly be in mischief;” but as the minister stepped forward, with the bridle in his hand, to execute his design, Griffin caught him by the shoulders, and exclaiming, “Bless me! where isthe man going?” lifted and set him aside, as though he had been a feather; at the same time dropping a stone upon the trencher of a bear trap, the great jaws sprung together with a clang that caused Parson Goodhue to jump clear from the ground in mortal fear.“Goodness, Edmund, do you set bear-traps for your friends?”“No, parson; I’m sorry for your fright, but you see, we caught a bear last night, and the boys have been playing with the trap, and left it set. If you had got into it, ‘twould have broken your leg.”What a contrast between the outside and the inside of the house, where Elizabeth Griffin held undisputed sway! Silver was not brighter than the pewter on the shelves, and white as the snow flake were dressers and the nicely-sanded floor of the best room into which the visitor was ushered, where, seated in his arm-chair, was Joseph Griffin, the grandfather, a vast ruin, the great bones and cords of the old Indian-killer standing out in bold relief through the shrunken flesh.“Father’s master hard of hearing, and his eyesighthas failed him a good deal,” said his son; “but otherways he’s just as bright as he ever was; knows all that’s going on, and all the young folks.”“Father,” he shouted, as they entered the room, “here’s Mr. Goodhue, come to see you.”“Glad to see him; give him a cheer.”“Good morning, Mr. Griffin,” said the minister, placing his chair close to the old gentleman; “you have been spared to a great age.”“Spared!I never spared myself. I allers took the but-end of a log, and the bunt of a topsail. Nobody can say that Joe Griffin ever spared himself. Young man (Mr. Goodhue was on the wrong side of sixty), when I was of your age, I had more strength than I knew what to do with.”“I said you had lived to a great age.”“Yes; I’ve been here a good while. I was through the French and Indian wars. I was at the takin’ of Quebec, in ‘59, but I was too old for this last one.”“I trust, sitting here alone so much as you do, and knowing that you are living on borrowed time, that you often think on your latter end, and endeavor to prepare for it.”“Leetle end; leetle end of what?”“I say, I hope you are prepared to go.”“I don’t go anywhere; I can’t for the rheumatics, only to town meetin’, and then they put me into Isaac Murch’s wagin; before he had that, they hauled me on an ox sled.”“I mean, I hope you are prepared to die, and meet your Maker.”“O, die, is it? I never killed nobody (except in fair fight), and nobody ever killed me. I never abused my neighbors, or the cattle, and I think it’s everybody’s duty to live just as long as they kin. It’s an awful thing to kill yourself; when anybody has sich thoughts, they ought to put ‘em right out o’ their minds.”“Do you think that is all the preparation you need?”“I allers kept up good line fence, and give good weight and measure. I s’pose the less we do, the less there’s charged to us.”Mr. Goodhue now relinquished the effort in despair; as Uncle Isaac would have said, he could find nothing to nail to. The old man had grown up, like the beasts he hunted, without culture, and could neither read nor write. But, althoughhe found great difficulty in hearing, he could talk fast enough, and however impervious to religious sentiment, was shrewd enough in other matters.The subject which at that period most divided the opinions and agitated the minds of the people, was the state of affairs in France, and our relations to that nation. That nation having dethroned their king, and proclaimed liberty and equality, naturally expected to receive fraternal sympathy and aid from this country, and from the people whom they had aided in their recent struggle for liberty.The members in Congress were divided in sentiment on the subject. The people at large, especially the mercantile portion of the community (who were very much embittered against England on account of the impressment of seamen and the right of search), felt that the movement in France was resistance to arbitrary power, a struggle for self-government against oppression, and a mere carrying out of the principles of our own revolution, that we owed it to the cause of liberty, and were obligated in gratitude to aid them to the extent of entering into an offensive and defensive alliance, and declaring war withGreat Britain. The party espousing these sentiments was large and influential, and a strong pressure was brought to bear upon the administration. To complicate matters still more, Genet, the French minister, a hot-headed, overbearing man, appealed to the prejudices and sympathies of the people, and, without the sanction or knowledge of the government, attempted to raise men and arms, and fit out privateers to prey on British commerce, and sell their prizes in American ports.On the other hand, Washington, and those of cooler heads and calmer judgment, shocked at the excesses of the French revolution, and having no confidence in the capacity of the French people for self-government, were as resolutely opposed to any interference. Old Mr. Griffin, in opposition to his son and the great majority of his neighbors, was of the latter party, and Mr. Goodhue was of the same opinion.“What’s that rapscallion’s name, parson, that’s come over here, and is kickin’ up sich a dust, and tryin’ to get us into a quarrel with the old country?”“Genet, the French minister,” replied Mr. Goodhue, rejoiced at the introduction of a topicin respect to which their sympathies were in unison.“A minister goin’ about tryin’ to stir up people agin their government, and to git up a war!”“He’s not a minister of the gospel, but a sort of ambassador.”“Wal, I wish my eye was as quick and my hand as steady as ‘twas once, and I had him within range of my rifle; I’d put an eend to his trampin’;” at the same time striking his cane violently on the floor. Captain Rhines was here t’other day, settin’ right where you set, and sayin’ we never should got our liberty, if’t hadn’t been for them are French; that one good turn deserved another; and all that. I ups and tells him, I does, says I, the French waited till they see how the cat was goin’ to jump, and that we were like to wear the old bull-dog out, and then comes in to bet on the winnin’ horse. I telled him the French were well enough, but it wasn’t so much for any love to us they come; England had took Canada, and robbed ‘em of their colonies, and now they wanted to pay her in her own coin, and help us get clear on ‘em; they’ll eny time send over troops to help the Irish when they undertake to rise.”“I think you are right in that, Mr. Griffin.”“If we should go into war with England now, it would make an eend of our leetle commerce; but if we go on as we’ve begun, in a few years we shall be able to fight our own battles, no thanks to eny on ‘em.”“I’m perfectly willing to abide by the judgment of General Washington, Hamilton, and those who have carried us thus far. I believe Washington was raised up and divinely appointed to carry us through the revolutionary war, as evidently as Moses was to lead the children of Israel to the promised land.”“That’s the talk, parson. I don’t know enything ‘bout Moses, and them old characters, but I know ‘bout Gineral Washington, cause I fought under him, when he was kernel; yes, I go in for the old horse that never balked at the steepest hill, but allus pulled, whether the load went, or whether other horses pulled or not.”“Yes, my old friend, the heart of the country rests safely on Washington.”“Then, parson, he’s a prayin’ man. Isaac Murch told me that; he said, that winter at Valley Forge, when the soldiers were barefoot, and sufferedso much, there was an hour at noon when he couldn’t be seen; if an express came, he wouldn’t be disturbed; it was allers thought and said among the men, that he was at prayer. I allers thought them are the sort of men to foller.”“Certainly; because in following them we may hope for the aid of Him by whom they are guided.”“There’s a great many in this place, parson, if you allow that there’s any good thing in an Englishman, cry out, ‘Tory’!”“That’s too much the case, I know.”“I don’t want to swaller an Englishman whole. I know they press our seamen, and are overbearin’; but, then, they press their own likewise, take a man from his own doorstep; but ‘tain’t the people, it’s the government, does that. They say this new man that’s come up—What’s his name?”“Bonaparte.”“That he’s goin’ to lick the English into shoe-strings.”“Then he’ll do what has not been done for the last two hundred years.”“I tell you it ain’t in ‘em, parson; it’ ain’t in the men that live on frogs and soup to lick the men that eat beef and pork, I don’t care whothey’re led by. When I was payin’ for my place, I follered the sea a good deal. I have been in English ports and French ports; fought side by side with Englishmen, and aginst Frenchmen; and I don’t care who knows it, I like an Englishman better’n a Frenchman eny day. When it’s good weather at sea, and everything goin’ well, an Englishman is a grouty chap; he’ll growl at the wind, the ship, the grub, and the usage; but let there come a gale of wind, a raal tryin’ time, the lee riggin’ hangin’ in bights, men three or four hours on a yard tryin’ to smother a sail, or the ship sprung a leak and like to go down, I tell you, John Bull is there. The harder it blows, the blacker it looks, and the tougher it comes, the higher his spirit rises; then they’re a Protestant people, and that’s a thing goes a good ways with me.”Our readers may suspect that the old gentleman was not so obtuse in relation to religious matters as he appeared; an idea of this kind seemed to cross the mind of Mr. Goodhue, for he instantly attempted to introduce a religious conversation; but the old man shrunk from it as speedily as a turtle draws his head into the shell when apprehensive of danger.When Edmund Griffin returned to the kitchen, he said, “Come, wife, ain’t you going to do something? There ain’t a speck of fire on the hearth.”“What of that? I’ve got baked beans, brown bread, pies, and an Indian pudding in the oven, and I must put this cheese in press.”“Baked beans!I want to kill some chickens, make a smother, and give the old gentleman a good tuck out.”“Well, then, make me up a fire; the boys are all in the field.”He brought in a great log, and threw it on the hearth; then, bringing in a huge armful of wood, the moment he was inside the door, let drive right into the middle of the room, at the same time kicking the door to with his feet. Proceeding to put on the log, instead of using the great kitchen shovel to rake forward the ashes from the back, he put in his foot, and, after scraping out a hole, flung on the log with such force that the coals and ashes flew all over the room.“Edmund, what a splutter you do make! Do go and get the chickens. I had rather make two fires than clean up after you.”Taking the mare’s bridle on his arm, he puther in the barn; returning with the bridle in one hand, and a dish of corn in the other, he threw it among the fowls; as they were busily eating, he brought down the bridle on the flock with such force as to prostrate half a dozen, and picking them up, cut off their heads, and soon transferred them to the kitchen table.“Why, Edmund,” cried his wife, looking them over, “what a careless creature you are! Half of these are old hens; and, as sure as I live, you’ve killed Winthrop’s setting hen. She was just ready to hatch. He will cry his eyes out. I do wish I’d gone myself; the chickens are all lost, and we shall have to throw the hen away. She’s all skin and bone.”“Never mind, wife; the boy can set another. Have you got everything you want now?”“No. I want you to wash yourself, and put on a clean shirt and clothes. They’re on the bed.”“What’s the use, wife? I’m well enough.”“I tell you, you shan’t come to dinner looking so!” she exclaimed, pushing him into the bedroom, and pulling the skein of yarn from his waist.With a groan he obeyed, and, making him sitdown on the edge of the bed, she combed out his cue, and tied it up with a black ribbon, instead of the eel-skin.Mr. Goodhue, who had a large family of his own, was very fond of children, and it was a curious sight to see Winthrop Griffin tugging the stately old minister by the hand, to see his fowl and playthings, his tame crow, and the woodchuck he had caught. The good man also sincerely sympathized with him respecting the loss of his hen and expected brood of chickens.Mrs. Griffin would have persuaded the minister to lie down after dinner; but as the boys were going to work in the field, he wished to read the Scriptures and have prayers before they went away, it being his constant custom. The parents and children all listened with the greatest respect and attention, but all attempts to engage the seniors in conversation of a religious nature were useless.After the evening meal, when Parson Goodhue prepared to depart, Dapple, true to her instincts, was found in a chamber over the stable where Griffin kept grain. She had gone up a flight of stairs, but all attempts to induce her to go down by the same were unavailing.“Look here, parson,” said Edmund; “let me knock her on the head, and take her for wolf bait—there’s a bounty on wolves,—and I’ll give you my roan colt, that’s worth a dozen of her.”But Mr. Goodhue entreated for the life of his beast. Griffin, then putting a great pile of hay on the stable floor beneath, took up the boards of the floor above, and forced her to jump down.“What a strange family,” said the good man to himself as he returned, his saddle-bags stuffed to their utmost extent. “I would be content with less respect and kindness shown to myself if they would only manifest some respect for my Master. How sad to see that old man so thoughtless! Well, the children are different. Joe is a good man,—there is certainly encouragement there,—and Walter takes after his mother; if she was anywhere else, she would be different.”In the course of the autumn, Dapple ended her eventful life; in trying to get over a fence with the fetters on, she got cast, and beat herself to death, thus dying as she had lived. Two days after, the parson, on going to his barn to feed his cattle, found a noble-looking roan horse in Dapple’s stall, a present from Edmund Griffin.In this slight glance at the Griffins, we have seen where the hard streak came from. That old grandfather’s was gradually diluted as it mingled with other and more kindly blood, till in Walter rudeness had become attempered to firmness, and nothing more.

WHERE THE HARD STREAK CAME FROM.

THIS was Edmund Griffin, the proprietor of seven hundred acres of excellent land, a very large stock of cattle, and money besides—the strongest man in town (leaving out Lion Ben, who was an exception to everybody), now that Captain Rhines and Uncle Isaac were getting in years. He was not remarkably tall, being barely six feet in his boots, but of vast proportions. There was no beauty about Edmund; his hair was coarse as rope-yarn, inclining to red, and, where it was not confined by a cue, bristling; his waist was small in proportion to the great breadth of his shoulders and hips, his joints large, his lips and teeth very prominent, which gave him the appearance of coming at you. The whole expression of his face was extremely rugged, and would have been fierce, had it not been neutralized by the kindly expressionof a clear, mild eye. His voice, also, was rather loud and hearty than harsh in its tones. A skein of woollen yarn was tied round him for a belt, his breeches of dye-pot blue, and a flannel shirt that had once been bright red, but so bleached by the sun and perspiration as not to show any red save under the armpits and below the girdle, from a pocket in the breast of which stuck out the end of a purse made of a sheep’s bladder; his open collar revealed a finely-formed throat, and a breast covered with a thick mass of curling brown hair. This great, brawny man was possessed of remarkable mechanical genius. With those great fingers of his he could execute the nicest jobs, and he was constantly resorted to by the neighbors; and yet there was not a sled or cart on the premises that had a decent tongue in it; they were all made by cutting down a forked tree, and sticking in the fork with the bark on.

“You’re getting fat, parson—fat as a porpoise; you don’t do work enough; you ought to have been in the woods with me this forenoon; ‘twould make the gravy run, and take some of the grease out of you.”

“What are you going to do with those poles, Edmund?”

“Make pike-poles to drive logs with, in the fall freshet.”

Parson Goodhue was much attached to Edmund Griffin, who had grown up under him, and whom he had married when he was but twenty and his wife nineteen, and, though now surrounded by a large family, was in the very maturity of his strength; for he well knew that, though the outside was as rough as the coat of the alligator, there was a noble and generous nature within, and a kindly heart throbbed beneath that hairy bosom and faded shirt.

For many a long year he had been seeking his good, and striving in vain to impress him with religious ideas; but it was like lifting a wet cannon ball; he eluded all his efforts; he could find no chink in his armor. He was always at meeting with his family, rain or shine, and an attentive hearer. Anything, everything he would do for Parson Goodhue, except listen to religious conversation;thathe would always avoid. He had no sympathy in that direction, nor his wife either, and the children naturally grew up with the same ideas. Even the old father, ninety years of age, and tottering on the verge of eternity, seemed tohave no notions beyond the present; and all his talk was about lifting, wrestling, and the Indian fights, in which he had played a most conspicuous part, and, though he could with difficulty get across the room, would, every few weeks, have his rifle brought to him, and clean and oil the lock.

“Lizzy,” shouted Mr. Griffin, in a voice that might be heard a mile.

This brought to the door a woman of a noble form, dark-brown hair, and one of the sweetest faces the eye ever rested upon, and, though evidently just from the cheese-tub, very neatly dressed.

“Lizzy, here’s Parson Goodhue come to stay to dinner, and a fortnight longer, I hope.”

“So do I,” was the reply of his wife, as she welcomed the visitor.

“Let the mare go, parson; she knows the way to the barn; come, let’s go into the house.”

“I rather think, Edmund, I had better hitch her to this stub; if she goes to the barn alone, she will certainly be in mischief;” but as the minister stepped forward, with the bridle in his hand, to execute his design, Griffin caught him by the shoulders, and exclaiming, “Bless me! where isthe man going?” lifted and set him aside, as though he had been a feather; at the same time dropping a stone upon the trencher of a bear trap, the great jaws sprung together with a clang that caused Parson Goodhue to jump clear from the ground in mortal fear.

“Goodness, Edmund, do you set bear-traps for your friends?”

“No, parson; I’m sorry for your fright, but you see, we caught a bear last night, and the boys have been playing with the trap, and left it set. If you had got into it, ‘twould have broken your leg.”

What a contrast between the outside and the inside of the house, where Elizabeth Griffin held undisputed sway! Silver was not brighter than the pewter on the shelves, and white as the snow flake were dressers and the nicely-sanded floor of the best room into which the visitor was ushered, where, seated in his arm-chair, was Joseph Griffin, the grandfather, a vast ruin, the great bones and cords of the old Indian-killer standing out in bold relief through the shrunken flesh.

“Father’s master hard of hearing, and his eyesighthas failed him a good deal,” said his son; “but otherways he’s just as bright as he ever was; knows all that’s going on, and all the young folks.”

“Father,” he shouted, as they entered the room, “here’s Mr. Goodhue, come to see you.”

“Glad to see him; give him a cheer.”

“Good morning, Mr. Griffin,” said the minister, placing his chair close to the old gentleman; “you have been spared to a great age.”

“Spared!I never spared myself. I allers took the but-end of a log, and the bunt of a topsail. Nobody can say that Joe Griffin ever spared himself. Young man (Mr. Goodhue was on the wrong side of sixty), when I was of your age, I had more strength than I knew what to do with.”

“I said you had lived to a great age.”

“Yes; I’ve been here a good while. I was through the French and Indian wars. I was at the takin’ of Quebec, in ‘59, but I was too old for this last one.”

“I trust, sitting here alone so much as you do, and knowing that you are living on borrowed time, that you often think on your latter end, and endeavor to prepare for it.”

“Leetle end; leetle end of what?”

“I say, I hope you are prepared to go.”

“I don’t go anywhere; I can’t for the rheumatics, only to town meetin’, and then they put me into Isaac Murch’s wagin; before he had that, they hauled me on an ox sled.”

“I mean, I hope you are prepared to die, and meet your Maker.”

“O, die, is it? I never killed nobody (except in fair fight), and nobody ever killed me. I never abused my neighbors, or the cattle, and I think it’s everybody’s duty to live just as long as they kin. It’s an awful thing to kill yourself; when anybody has sich thoughts, they ought to put ‘em right out o’ their minds.”

“Do you think that is all the preparation you need?”

“I allers kept up good line fence, and give good weight and measure. I s’pose the less we do, the less there’s charged to us.”

Mr. Goodhue now relinquished the effort in despair; as Uncle Isaac would have said, he could find nothing to nail to. The old man had grown up, like the beasts he hunted, without culture, and could neither read nor write. But, althoughhe found great difficulty in hearing, he could talk fast enough, and however impervious to religious sentiment, was shrewd enough in other matters.

The subject which at that period most divided the opinions and agitated the minds of the people, was the state of affairs in France, and our relations to that nation. That nation having dethroned their king, and proclaimed liberty and equality, naturally expected to receive fraternal sympathy and aid from this country, and from the people whom they had aided in their recent struggle for liberty.

The members in Congress were divided in sentiment on the subject. The people at large, especially the mercantile portion of the community (who were very much embittered against England on account of the impressment of seamen and the right of search), felt that the movement in France was resistance to arbitrary power, a struggle for self-government against oppression, and a mere carrying out of the principles of our own revolution, that we owed it to the cause of liberty, and were obligated in gratitude to aid them to the extent of entering into an offensive and defensive alliance, and declaring war withGreat Britain. The party espousing these sentiments was large and influential, and a strong pressure was brought to bear upon the administration. To complicate matters still more, Genet, the French minister, a hot-headed, overbearing man, appealed to the prejudices and sympathies of the people, and, without the sanction or knowledge of the government, attempted to raise men and arms, and fit out privateers to prey on British commerce, and sell their prizes in American ports.

On the other hand, Washington, and those of cooler heads and calmer judgment, shocked at the excesses of the French revolution, and having no confidence in the capacity of the French people for self-government, were as resolutely opposed to any interference. Old Mr. Griffin, in opposition to his son and the great majority of his neighbors, was of the latter party, and Mr. Goodhue was of the same opinion.

“What’s that rapscallion’s name, parson, that’s come over here, and is kickin’ up sich a dust, and tryin’ to get us into a quarrel with the old country?”

“Genet, the French minister,” replied Mr. Goodhue, rejoiced at the introduction of a topicin respect to which their sympathies were in unison.

“A minister goin’ about tryin’ to stir up people agin their government, and to git up a war!”

“He’s not a minister of the gospel, but a sort of ambassador.”

“Wal, I wish my eye was as quick and my hand as steady as ‘twas once, and I had him within range of my rifle; I’d put an eend to his trampin’;” at the same time striking his cane violently on the floor. Captain Rhines was here t’other day, settin’ right where you set, and sayin’ we never should got our liberty, if’t hadn’t been for them are French; that one good turn deserved another; and all that. I ups and tells him, I does, says I, the French waited till they see how the cat was goin’ to jump, and that we were like to wear the old bull-dog out, and then comes in to bet on the winnin’ horse. I telled him the French were well enough, but it wasn’t so much for any love to us they come; England had took Canada, and robbed ‘em of their colonies, and now they wanted to pay her in her own coin, and help us get clear on ‘em; they’ll eny time send over troops to help the Irish when they undertake to rise.”

“I think you are right in that, Mr. Griffin.”

“If we should go into war with England now, it would make an eend of our leetle commerce; but if we go on as we’ve begun, in a few years we shall be able to fight our own battles, no thanks to eny on ‘em.”

“I’m perfectly willing to abide by the judgment of General Washington, Hamilton, and those who have carried us thus far. I believe Washington was raised up and divinely appointed to carry us through the revolutionary war, as evidently as Moses was to lead the children of Israel to the promised land.”

“That’s the talk, parson. I don’t know enything ‘bout Moses, and them old characters, but I know ‘bout Gineral Washington, cause I fought under him, when he was kernel; yes, I go in for the old horse that never balked at the steepest hill, but allus pulled, whether the load went, or whether other horses pulled or not.”

“Yes, my old friend, the heart of the country rests safely on Washington.”

“Then, parson, he’s a prayin’ man. Isaac Murch told me that; he said, that winter at Valley Forge, when the soldiers were barefoot, and sufferedso much, there was an hour at noon when he couldn’t be seen; if an express came, he wouldn’t be disturbed; it was allers thought and said among the men, that he was at prayer. I allers thought them are the sort of men to foller.”

“Certainly; because in following them we may hope for the aid of Him by whom they are guided.”

“There’s a great many in this place, parson, if you allow that there’s any good thing in an Englishman, cry out, ‘Tory’!”

“That’s too much the case, I know.”

“I don’t want to swaller an Englishman whole. I know they press our seamen, and are overbearin’; but, then, they press their own likewise, take a man from his own doorstep; but ‘tain’t the people, it’s the government, does that. They say this new man that’s come up—What’s his name?”

“Bonaparte.”

“That he’s goin’ to lick the English into shoe-strings.”

“Then he’ll do what has not been done for the last two hundred years.”

“I tell you it ain’t in ‘em, parson; it’ ain’t in the men that live on frogs and soup to lick the men that eat beef and pork, I don’t care whothey’re led by. When I was payin’ for my place, I follered the sea a good deal. I have been in English ports and French ports; fought side by side with Englishmen, and aginst Frenchmen; and I don’t care who knows it, I like an Englishman better’n a Frenchman eny day. When it’s good weather at sea, and everything goin’ well, an Englishman is a grouty chap; he’ll growl at the wind, the ship, the grub, and the usage; but let there come a gale of wind, a raal tryin’ time, the lee riggin’ hangin’ in bights, men three or four hours on a yard tryin’ to smother a sail, or the ship sprung a leak and like to go down, I tell you, John Bull is there. The harder it blows, the blacker it looks, and the tougher it comes, the higher his spirit rises; then they’re a Protestant people, and that’s a thing goes a good ways with me.”

Our readers may suspect that the old gentleman was not so obtuse in relation to religious matters as he appeared; an idea of this kind seemed to cross the mind of Mr. Goodhue, for he instantly attempted to introduce a religious conversation; but the old man shrunk from it as speedily as a turtle draws his head into the shell when apprehensive of danger.

When Edmund Griffin returned to the kitchen, he said, “Come, wife, ain’t you going to do something? There ain’t a speck of fire on the hearth.”

“What of that? I’ve got baked beans, brown bread, pies, and an Indian pudding in the oven, and I must put this cheese in press.”

“Baked beans!I want to kill some chickens, make a smother, and give the old gentleman a good tuck out.”

“Well, then, make me up a fire; the boys are all in the field.”

He brought in a great log, and threw it on the hearth; then, bringing in a huge armful of wood, the moment he was inside the door, let drive right into the middle of the room, at the same time kicking the door to with his feet. Proceeding to put on the log, instead of using the great kitchen shovel to rake forward the ashes from the back, he put in his foot, and, after scraping out a hole, flung on the log with such force that the coals and ashes flew all over the room.

“Edmund, what a splutter you do make! Do go and get the chickens. I had rather make two fires than clean up after you.”

Taking the mare’s bridle on his arm, he puther in the barn; returning with the bridle in one hand, and a dish of corn in the other, he threw it among the fowls; as they were busily eating, he brought down the bridle on the flock with such force as to prostrate half a dozen, and picking them up, cut off their heads, and soon transferred them to the kitchen table.

“Why, Edmund,” cried his wife, looking them over, “what a careless creature you are! Half of these are old hens; and, as sure as I live, you’ve killed Winthrop’s setting hen. She was just ready to hatch. He will cry his eyes out. I do wish I’d gone myself; the chickens are all lost, and we shall have to throw the hen away. She’s all skin and bone.”

“Never mind, wife; the boy can set another. Have you got everything you want now?”

“No. I want you to wash yourself, and put on a clean shirt and clothes. They’re on the bed.”

“What’s the use, wife? I’m well enough.”

“I tell you, you shan’t come to dinner looking so!” she exclaimed, pushing him into the bedroom, and pulling the skein of yarn from his waist.

With a groan he obeyed, and, making him sitdown on the edge of the bed, she combed out his cue, and tied it up with a black ribbon, instead of the eel-skin.

Mr. Goodhue, who had a large family of his own, was very fond of children, and it was a curious sight to see Winthrop Griffin tugging the stately old minister by the hand, to see his fowl and playthings, his tame crow, and the woodchuck he had caught. The good man also sincerely sympathized with him respecting the loss of his hen and expected brood of chickens.

Mrs. Griffin would have persuaded the minister to lie down after dinner; but as the boys were going to work in the field, he wished to read the Scriptures and have prayers before they went away, it being his constant custom. The parents and children all listened with the greatest respect and attention, but all attempts to engage the seniors in conversation of a religious nature were useless.

After the evening meal, when Parson Goodhue prepared to depart, Dapple, true to her instincts, was found in a chamber over the stable where Griffin kept grain. She had gone up a flight of stairs, but all attempts to induce her to go down by the same were unavailing.

“Look here, parson,” said Edmund; “let me knock her on the head, and take her for wolf bait—there’s a bounty on wolves,—and I’ll give you my roan colt, that’s worth a dozen of her.”

But Mr. Goodhue entreated for the life of his beast. Griffin, then putting a great pile of hay on the stable floor beneath, took up the boards of the floor above, and forced her to jump down.

“What a strange family,” said the good man to himself as he returned, his saddle-bags stuffed to their utmost extent. “I would be content with less respect and kindness shown to myself if they would only manifest some respect for my Master. How sad to see that old man so thoughtless! Well, the children are different. Joe is a good man,—there is certainly encouragement there,—and Walter takes after his mother; if she was anywhere else, she would be different.”

In the course of the autumn, Dapple ended her eventful life; in trying to get over a fence with the fetters on, she got cast, and beat herself to death, thus dying as she had lived. Two days after, the parson, on going to his barn to feed his cattle, found a noble-looking roan horse in Dapple’s stall, a present from Edmund Griffin.

In this slight glance at the Griffins, we have seen where the hard streak came from. That old grandfather’s was gradually diluted as it mingled with other and more kindly blood, till in Walter rudeness had become attempered to firmness, and nothing more.

CHAPTER XI.RECONNOITRING.IT was an overcast night; there was no moon; the stars were bright overhead, but around the edge of the horizon they were obscured by thin clouds, through which a star occasionally shone.The brigantine, with all sail set, was running in for the land, the dark outline of which could be dimly seen in the distance. The French had put out the light on Planier Island, and removed all the buoys from the shoals and reefs, that they might not be of advantage to the enemy; but the lights of the English frigate could be seen far ahead, as she also stood in for the land, her commander not dreaming he was followed by the vessel, so nearly his prize, and which he supposed effectually frightened from that locality.“It would have been a very valuable prize to us, could we have taken her,” said the captain of the frigate to his lieutenant; (”and at one time I thought she was ours,) not merely as far as the value of her cargo was concerned; but we could have put a few guns aboard of her, and a crew, and she is so fast she would have taken everything on the coast; our prize-money would soon have amounted to something very handsome.”“Where did the Yankees learn to build such vessels? Before the war they couldn’t make their own mouse-traps.”“It was the war taught them; they wanted privateers to prey on our merchantmen and supply ships. They wanted sharp vessels to run into neutral ports, and escape our frigates, and they built them. Since they set up for themselves, they make rigging and duck, roll iron, and forge anchors, and there’s no telling where they will stop.”“We may catch her yet, if we could get her before the wind, where she could not run into shoal water, or have the good fortune to come across her in a calm.”“He’ll not come here again; he’s run too greata risk. He will be more likely to try Toulon; perhaps go round into the Bay of Biscay, to some of the ports on the other side.”The wind, which had blown very fresh all through the afternoon and first part of the night, had moderated to a good working breeze.As the watch on board the brigantine that brought twelve o’clock came on deck, a large rock was discovered right ahead; the topsail was hove to the mast, and the vessel became stationary. The captain, calling the whole crew aft, said to them, “Boys, I want to put a man on that rock, to watch this frigate and the sixty-four, see which way they stand in the morning, and where they go; also to look into the roadstead, and see what vessels are there, and how they lie; in short, to keep himself concealed, and get all the information he can. To-morrow night I’ll run in, and take him off. Who’ll volunteer?”Before the words were fairly out of his mouth, or any other could reply, Walter Griffin exclaimed, “I will go, sir.”Peterson had from Walter’s childhood cherished a great affection for him, and Walter loved the black with all his heart. It was at firsta childhood liking (as children care very little about color), which increased as he grew older; and Peterson, by reforming his habits, became deserving of respect.Peterson was not merely a finished sailor and first-rate calker, but was also exceedingly ingenious in making kites, windmills, boats, sleds, carts, squirts, popguns, sawyers, and all those things that children and boys want; and no one but Uncle Isaac could equal him in the manufacture of bows and arrows.Peterson lived not far from Walter’s father. Every leisure day Walter was there; everything he wanted Peterson made, and, as he outgrew kites and bows, instructed him in wrestling, making sailor knots, and built him a skiff; when, therefore, he came to be shipmate with him, he felt that the boy was in a manner committed to him, and under his protection, and instantly interfered.“Massa cap’n, dat boy no fit to go; he too young; s’pose come gale ob wind; vessel driben to sea; no get him off long time; boy be frightened, die, p’rhaps starve. Hab to show hisself; den English man-o’-war take him; nebber see his farder or mudder no more. Boy no ‘sperience to know what to look for; me go, meself.”Walter, however, insisted upon going; he had a right to go; the captain called for volunteers, and he had volunteered, and was going.“But you too young, chile, for such ting.”“Young,” replied Walter, in high dudgeon; “I shipped before the mast, and have a man’s wages, and can steer my trick, and do my duty.”“I can’t do withoutyou, pilot,” said the captain.Several others had also intended to volunteer, and now came forward; but Walter had been too quick for them, and claimed his right.“Captain,” said Fred Williams, as he took leave of Arthur Brown, “you’ll find one of our young men aboard, Walter Griffin (he’s not much more than a boy, but he’s a choice one); I know him through and through. He never should have left me if I could have helped it; but he seems one of those made to go to sea. Put him anywhere, trust him with any matter, and he will give a good account of himself. You will find him better, on an emergency, than many older persons; for he belongs to an iron-sided race, and what he lacks in experience he will make up in mother wit.”All that the captain had seen of Walter went to corroborate Fred’s statement, and he determined to try him.Little Ned now besought the captain to permit him to share the adventure with Walter, but he refused, telling him he had promised his mother not to expose him unnecessarily; that one was enough, and two would be more likely to attract attention.Ned turned away, with a tear in his eye, and walked forward. Flinging his arms round his friend’s neck, he said, “He won’t let me go, Walter. It’s too bad; we might have such a good time!”The boat was manned, and beef, bread, water, and raw pork put into her. The raw pork was in addition, as that could, on occasion, be eaten raw; and if the vessel should be blown off the coast, he might be left there a good while, and no fire could be made to cook, without attracting notice.The captain, after giving him his instructions, put into his hands a spy-glass. “There,” said he, “is a glass with which you can read letters three inches long a mile away.” He then shook hands with him at the side, bidding him take care of himself, and keep a bright lookout, while the tender-hearted black fairly shed tears.“Look out for de man-o’-war, sonnie. S’pose heketch you, Peterson chase you all ober de world but he git you.”“Good by, dear Walter,” cried Ned, throwing his arms around his friend’s neck, as he stood up in the stern sheets to step on the rock.“Good by, Ned,” said Walter, returning the embrace.The provision and water were landed, and the boat pulled rapidly away. Walter sat down upon the rock, listening to the sound of the oars in the rowlocks, and watching the phosphorescence of the water as it flashed on their blades. All these tokens of departure, of little moment on ordinary occasions, now possessed not a little interest. He marked the ring of the iron, as the hook of the davit-fall went into the ring-bolt, and heard the man say, “Hoist away,” the creak of the blocks, and the slat of the canvas, as the sails filled, then the low, rushing sound of the vessel’s bow as it parted the water. It was a lonely moment to the brave boy, when the last low sound betokening companionship was lost in the dash of midnight waves, the gleam of her white canvas faded from his view, and he was left on the wild rock alone. He had never been taught to breathe a petition forprotection, or to depend upon aught but himself. His conversation with Charlie by the brook constituted the only appeal of a religious nature ever made to his heart.He knew not the nature or extent of the rock on which he had been so unceremoniously deposited, and, clambering up to where he was above the flow of the tide, placed his provisions beside him, and determined to keep watch till the day broke, that he might have time to examine the place before he could be observed from any passing boat or vessel. Fearing, if he went to sleep, he might sleep too long, and finding a flat place on the rock, he paced back and forth, to keep himself awake.Little Ned, feeling very lonely in the absence of his watch-mate, attached himself to Peterson, between whom and Walter there was such a good understanding, in order that he might talk about Walter, Pleasant Cove, the Griffins, and all the people and boys he had become acquainted with there.The rock on which Walter was placed might have been, at low water, half an acre in extent, and irregular in its form, the eastern end risingin a high bluff, with deep water around and close to it; but the western end sloped into long, ragged ridges, honeycombed by the everlasting dash of surf, and terminating in long reefs, upon which the sea broke with a continuous roar. Between these ridges were openings or coves, quite wide at the extremities of the reefs, shoaling and narrowing as they ran up into the main portion of the rock, in such a manner that it was easy to enter them in a boat between the breaking points, and land, in good weather, with perfect safety.The heads of these coves were filled with those materials the sea usually flings up—sea-weeds, shells, barrel staves, chips, planks, and broken pieces of vessels.On the eastern end of the rock was a patch of turf extending from the edge of the bold cliffs along the heads of the coves, covered with bushes and scrub trees, dwarfed by the sea winds, and thickly matted together.The sun had risen clear, bringing with it a moderate easterly breeze. The English frigate before referred to is passing within musket shot of the eastern extremity of the rock. A close observer might have noticed the branches of a pine bushmove in a direction opposite to the wind, and in a few moments the head of a man is cautiously thrust through the branches. It is Walter Griffin. He watches with keen eyes the course of the man-o’-war, and, as she increases the distance between them, crawls to the shelter of a ledge, and, resting his glass over it, watches her till she disappears from view. From his position he can command a view of the roadstead, the men-of-war lying at anchor in it, the forts, and the entrance to the port.At the head of one of the coves, in which there was a little beach of white sand, a portion of the stern frame of a vessel had, by the conjunction of a high tide and a gale of wind, been flung high on the rocks, extending from one side to the other, leaving a space of several feet between it and the beach. Here Walter had bestowed his water and food.Having made all the observation possible, he retired to this place, and, with some dry sea-weed for a bed, lay down for a nap, as he had been up the entire night.When he awoke, he espied a French fisherman, fishing among the kelp for rock-fish. Lookingcautiously around, to be sure that no vessel was in sight, he, after a while, succeeded in attracting his attention, and prevailing upon him to row into one of the passages between the rocks, where he met him.“Who are you?” asked the fisherman, resting upon his oars, and surprised to be addressed in his own language by one who, he perceived, was of another nation.“An American.”“Have you run away from the man-o’-war?” asked the Frenchman, taking him for some impressed American seaman, who had swum off from a British vessel.“No; I was put ashore here last night from an American vessel, that is trying to run the blockade, to watch the fleet; she will stand in for the land again to-night.”“The vessel they were chasing yesterday?”“Yes.”“We thought you were gone.”“We thought so ourselves, till the wind came.”“Men sometimes swim ashore from the fleet. I thought you had swam to the rock. I’ve got an Englishman in my house now who ran away a week ago.”“Why don’t they take you prisoner?”“They don’t trouble the fishermen, and when they want fish, they pay for them; but our vessels and the Spaniards take ‘em without thanks or money.”“What time in the day is it?”“By the tide, about eleven o’clock.”“Could you take me ashore in your boat, so that I could have a good look at the fleet and harbor, and see the Englishman you spoke of, and bring me back after dark?”“I can take you ashore well enough, but bringing you back is another matter; the English have boats rowing around the roadstead in the night; if they saw me going out after dark, they would suspect something, and stop me.”“I would give a good deal to get inside the roadstead, and to see that deserter.”“I’ll do all I can to help you. I’ll take you along shore to one of the creeks where there is no watch kept, and set you off from there.”The Frenchman made Walter lie down in the bottom of the boat, covered him with sea-weed, and flung fish over him; he then put up his sail, and steered boldly into the roadstead. As hepassed one of the English ships, he was hailed and asked for a mess of fish; he went alongside, and flung the fish on the grating of the side ladder, and receiving his money, kept on.“If they had known who was under these fish,” said the fisherman to Walter, pulling the sea-weed off from him, as they came under the guns of the French castle, “it would have put an end to my fishing.”He now conducted Walter to the observatory, situated on very high ground, in which was a powerful telescope, and from which he could track the frigate and sloop of war as they ran along the coast, and see perfectly the position of the ships in the roadstead. He found the flag-ship lay the farthest in, just out of range of the forts, and so moored as to completely command the channel. Having taken careful note of all these things, and made a rough draft on paper, he went to the fisherman’s house, where he found the English sailor, who informed him of many particulars that were important, and among other things, that a supply ship was daily expected on the coast and was eagerly looked for, as provisions were growing short in the fleet.“What is her name?” asked Walter.“The Severn.”“Where has that frigate probably gone?”“To Toulon.”“And the sixty-four?”“Round the other side, to carry despatches.”“How big is the flag-ship?”“A hundred guns.”“Do they keep a keen lookout?”“Yes; it is no use to try to run by her at night; she wouldn’t leave you a stick to do it with.”

RECONNOITRING.

IT was an overcast night; there was no moon; the stars were bright overhead, but around the edge of the horizon they were obscured by thin clouds, through which a star occasionally shone.

The brigantine, with all sail set, was running in for the land, the dark outline of which could be dimly seen in the distance. The French had put out the light on Planier Island, and removed all the buoys from the shoals and reefs, that they might not be of advantage to the enemy; but the lights of the English frigate could be seen far ahead, as she also stood in for the land, her commander not dreaming he was followed by the vessel, so nearly his prize, and which he supposed effectually frightened from that locality.

“It would have been a very valuable prize to us, could we have taken her,” said the captain of the frigate to his lieutenant; (”and at one time I thought she was ours,) not merely as far as the value of her cargo was concerned; but we could have put a few guns aboard of her, and a crew, and she is so fast she would have taken everything on the coast; our prize-money would soon have amounted to something very handsome.”

“Where did the Yankees learn to build such vessels? Before the war they couldn’t make their own mouse-traps.”

“It was the war taught them; they wanted privateers to prey on our merchantmen and supply ships. They wanted sharp vessels to run into neutral ports, and escape our frigates, and they built them. Since they set up for themselves, they make rigging and duck, roll iron, and forge anchors, and there’s no telling where they will stop.”

“We may catch her yet, if we could get her before the wind, where she could not run into shoal water, or have the good fortune to come across her in a calm.”

“He’ll not come here again; he’s run too greata risk. He will be more likely to try Toulon; perhaps go round into the Bay of Biscay, to some of the ports on the other side.”

The wind, which had blown very fresh all through the afternoon and first part of the night, had moderated to a good working breeze.

As the watch on board the brigantine that brought twelve o’clock came on deck, a large rock was discovered right ahead; the topsail was hove to the mast, and the vessel became stationary. The captain, calling the whole crew aft, said to them, “Boys, I want to put a man on that rock, to watch this frigate and the sixty-four, see which way they stand in the morning, and where they go; also to look into the roadstead, and see what vessels are there, and how they lie; in short, to keep himself concealed, and get all the information he can. To-morrow night I’ll run in, and take him off. Who’ll volunteer?”

Before the words were fairly out of his mouth, or any other could reply, Walter Griffin exclaimed, “I will go, sir.”

Peterson had from Walter’s childhood cherished a great affection for him, and Walter loved the black with all his heart. It was at firsta childhood liking (as children care very little about color), which increased as he grew older; and Peterson, by reforming his habits, became deserving of respect.

Peterson was not merely a finished sailor and first-rate calker, but was also exceedingly ingenious in making kites, windmills, boats, sleds, carts, squirts, popguns, sawyers, and all those things that children and boys want; and no one but Uncle Isaac could equal him in the manufacture of bows and arrows.

Peterson lived not far from Walter’s father. Every leisure day Walter was there; everything he wanted Peterson made, and, as he outgrew kites and bows, instructed him in wrestling, making sailor knots, and built him a skiff; when, therefore, he came to be shipmate with him, he felt that the boy was in a manner committed to him, and under his protection, and instantly interfered.

“Massa cap’n, dat boy no fit to go; he too young; s’pose come gale ob wind; vessel driben to sea; no get him off long time; boy be frightened, die, p’rhaps starve. Hab to show hisself; den English man-o’-war take him; nebber see his farder or mudder no more. Boy no ‘sperience to know what to look for; me go, meself.”

Walter, however, insisted upon going; he had a right to go; the captain called for volunteers, and he had volunteered, and was going.

“But you too young, chile, for such ting.”

“Young,” replied Walter, in high dudgeon; “I shipped before the mast, and have a man’s wages, and can steer my trick, and do my duty.”

“I can’t do withoutyou, pilot,” said the captain.

Several others had also intended to volunteer, and now came forward; but Walter had been too quick for them, and claimed his right.

“Captain,” said Fred Williams, as he took leave of Arthur Brown, “you’ll find one of our young men aboard, Walter Griffin (he’s not much more than a boy, but he’s a choice one); I know him through and through. He never should have left me if I could have helped it; but he seems one of those made to go to sea. Put him anywhere, trust him with any matter, and he will give a good account of himself. You will find him better, on an emergency, than many older persons; for he belongs to an iron-sided race, and what he lacks in experience he will make up in mother wit.”

All that the captain had seen of Walter went to corroborate Fred’s statement, and he determined to try him.

Little Ned now besought the captain to permit him to share the adventure with Walter, but he refused, telling him he had promised his mother not to expose him unnecessarily; that one was enough, and two would be more likely to attract attention.

Ned turned away, with a tear in his eye, and walked forward. Flinging his arms round his friend’s neck, he said, “He won’t let me go, Walter. It’s too bad; we might have such a good time!”

The boat was manned, and beef, bread, water, and raw pork put into her. The raw pork was in addition, as that could, on occasion, be eaten raw; and if the vessel should be blown off the coast, he might be left there a good while, and no fire could be made to cook, without attracting notice.

The captain, after giving him his instructions, put into his hands a spy-glass. “There,” said he, “is a glass with which you can read letters three inches long a mile away.” He then shook hands with him at the side, bidding him take care of himself, and keep a bright lookout, while the tender-hearted black fairly shed tears.

“Look out for de man-o’-war, sonnie. S’pose heketch you, Peterson chase you all ober de world but he git you.”

“Good by, dear Walter,” cried Ned, throwing his arms around his friend’s neck, as he stood up in the stern sheets to step on the rock.

“Good by, Ned,” said Walter, returning the embrace.

The provision and water were landed, and the boat pulled rapidly away. Walter sat down upon the rock, listening to the sound of the oars in the rowlocks, and watching the phosphorescence of the water as it flashed on their blades. All these tokens of departure, of little moment on ordinary occasions, now possessed not a little interest. He marked the ring of the iron, as the hook of the davit-fall went into the ring-bolt, and heard the man say, “Hoist away,” the creak of the blocks, and the slat of the canvas, as the sails filled, then the low, rushing sound of the vessel’s bow as it parted the water. It was a lonely moment to the brave boy, when the last low sound betokening companionship was lost in the dash of midnight waves, the gleam of her white canvas faded from his view, and he was left on the wild rock alone. He had never been taught to breathe a petition forprotection, or to depend upon aught but himself. His conversation with Charlie by the brook constituted the only appeal of a religious nature ever made to his heart.

He knew not the nature or extent of the rock on which he had been so unceremoniously deposited, and, clambering up to where he was above the flow of the tide, placed his provisions beside him, and determined to keep watch till the day broke, that he might have time to examine the place before he could be observed from any passing boat or vessel. Fearing, if he went to sleep, he might sleep too long, and finding a flat place on the rock, he paced back and forth, to keep himself awake.

Little Ned, feeling very lonely in the absence of his watch-mate, attached himself to Peterson, between whom and Walter there was such a good understanding, in order that he might talk about Walter, Pleasant Cove, the Griffins, and all the people and boys he had become acquainted with there.

The rock on which Walter was placed might have been, at low water, half an acre in extent, and irregular in its form, the eastern end risingin a high bluff, with deep water around and close to it; but the western end sloped into long, ragged ridges, honeycombed by the everlasting dash of surf, and terminating in long reefs, upon which the sea broke with a continuous roar. Between these ridges were openings or coves, quite wide at the extremities of the reefs, shoaling and narrowing as they ran up into the main portion of the rock, in such a manner that it was easy to enter them in a boat between the breaking points, and land, in good weather, with perfect safety.

The heads of these coves were filled with those materials the sea usually flings up—sea-weeds, shells, barrel staves, chips, planks, and broken pieces of vessels.

On the eastern end of the rock was a patch of turf extending from the edge of the bold cliffs along the heads of the coves, covered with bushes and scrub trees, dwarfed by the sea winds, and thickly matted together.

The sun had risen clear, bringing with it a moderate easterly breeze. The English frigate before referred to is passing within musket shot of the eastern extremity of the rock. A close observer might have noticed the branches of a pine bushmove in a direction opposite to the wind, and in a few moments the head of a man is cautiously thrust through the branches. It is Walter Griffin. He watches with keen eyes the course of the man-o’-war, and, as she increases the distance between them, crawls to the shelter of a ledge, and, resting his glass over it, watches her till she disappears from view. From his position he can command a view of the roadstead, the men-of-war lying at anchor in it, the forts, and the entrance to the port.

At the head of one of the coves, in which there was a little beach of white sand, a portion of the stern frame of a vessel had, by the conjunction of a high tide and a gale of wind, been flung high on the rocks, extending from one side to the other, leaving a space of several feet between it and the beach. Here Walter had bestowed his water and food.

Having made all the observation possible, he retired to this place, and, with some dry sea-weed for a bed, lay down for a nap, as he had been up the entire night.

When he awoke, he espied a French fisherman, fishing among the kelp for rock-fish. Lookingcautiously around, to be sure that no vessel was in sight, he, after a while, succeeded in attracting his attention, and prevailing upon him to row into one of the passages between the rocks, where he met him.

“Who are you?” asked the fisherman, resting upon his oars, and surprised to be addressed in his own language by one who, he perceived, was of another nation.

“An American.”

“Have you run away from the man-o’-war?” asked the Frenchman, taking him for some impressed American seaman, who had swum off from a British vessel.

“No; I was put ashore here last night from an American vessel, that is trying to run the blockade, to watch the fleet; she will stand in for the land again to-night.”

“The vessel they were chasing yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“We thought you were gone.”

“We thought so ourselves, till the wind came.”

“Men sometimes swim ashore from the fleet. I thought you had swam to the rock. I’ve got an Englishman in my house now who ran away a week ago.”

“Why don’t they take you prisoner?”

“They don’t trouble the fishermen, and when they want fish, they pay for them; but our vessels and the Spaniards take ‘em without thanks or money.”

“What time in the day is it?”

“By the tide, about eleven o’clock.”

“Could you take me ashore in your boat, so that I could have a good look at the fleet and harbor, and see the Englishman you spoke of, and bring me back after dark?”

“I can take you ashore well enough, but bringing you back is another matter; the English have boats rowing around the roadstead in the night; if they saw me going out after dark, they would suspect something, and stop me.”

“I would give a good deal to get inside the roadstead, and to see that deserter.”

“I’ll do all I can to help you. I’ll take you along shore to one of the creeks where there is no watch kept, and set you off from there.”

The Frenchman made Walter lie down in the bottom of the boat, covered him with sea-weed, and flung fish over him; he then put up his sail, and steered boldly into the roadstead. As hepassed one of the English ships, he was hailed and asked for a mess of fish; he went alongside, and flung the fish on the grating of the side ladder, and receiving his money, kept on.

“If they had known who was under these fish,” said the fisherman to Walter, pulling the sea-weed off from him, as they came under the guns of the French castle, “it would have put an end to my fishing.”

He now conducted Walter to the observatory, situated on very high ground, in which was a powerful telescope, and from which he could track the frigate and sloop of war as they ran along the coast, and see perfectly the position of the ships in the roadstead. He found the flag-ship lay the farthest in, just out of range of the forts, and so moored as to completely command the channel. Having taken careful note of all these things, and made a rough draft on paper, he went to the fisherman’s house, where he found the English sailor, who informed him of many particulars that were important, and among other things, that a supply ship was daily expected on the coast and was eagerly looked for, as provisions were growing short in the fleet.

“What is her name?” asked Walter.

“The Severn.”

“Where has that frigate probably gone?”

“To Toulon.”

“And the sixty-four?”

“Round the other side, to carry despatches.”

“How big is the flag-ship?”

“A hundred guns.”

“Do they keep a keen lookout?”

“Yes; it is no use to try to run by her at night; she wouldn’t leave you a stick to do it with.”

CHAPTER XII.DID I BEAR IT LIKE A MAN, WALTER?IT was nearly one o’clock at night, when the brigantine hove to, off the rock, a boat put off, and the sharp voice of Ned, crying, “Are you there, Walter?” came over the waves. But it was now blowing fresh, the sky obscured by clouds, and no possibility of landing on the rock, which was white with foam, it being so small that the sea ran all round it. The boat, pulled by men who had been all their lives brought up among the surf, and accustomed to working around breakers, was backed in within two seas of the rock, and held there by the oars, while she stood almost on end.“Now, shipmate,” said Danforth Eaton, standing up in the stern sheets, with a coil of rope in his hand, “look out for the line, and jump for it.”Walter caught the line, and making it fast round his waist, flung himself into the surf, and washauled aboard, where he was joyfully received by Ned, to whom one day and a portion of two nights had seemed a week.When the young captain had received Walter’s information, he complimented him very much for the shrewdness he had manifested; and as all were equally interested (the profits of the voyage being divided in this manner, the vessel, that is, the owners, drew a certain proportion, the captain, mates, and crew another, according to their rank), he spread the whole matter before the ship’s company.Said the young captain to his crew, “The wind is fair, and plenty of it; the tide also is with us, and sets up the harbor; we should go like a shot; the frigate and sixty-four are out of the way; there is no moon, and it is overcast; if they fire at us, they will have to fire by guess, for they can’t sight over the black cannon; probably we shall not have so many things in our favor again. I am in for trying it to-night; but I want your opinions, for we must run the risk of their broadsides.”“I reckon,” said Danforth Eaton, “that when we shipped aboard this craft, we knew what we had to kalkerlate on; we expect to get our profit out of our risk; I’m for trying it now.”His opinion being assented to by the crew, the brigantine, with a spanking breeze and every sail set, was steered directly for the roadstead, a little over two miles distant. It seemed but a moment, so rapid was her progress, before the high lands of Marseilles were throwing their shadows before her path. Walter acting as second mate, his station was in his watch on deck, aft. He, however, still shared Ned’s berth, as the second mate was sick in his own. It was now his watch below; but in the present circumstances, no one felt any inclination to sleep, and he was, with all the rest of the crew, forward. At such a time, it is natural for those most acquainted to get together, and the men were divided into little knots, conversing in low tones. Walter, Enoch Hadlock, and Ben Peterson, having been schoolmates, and grown up together, formed one group, with Ned nestled close to the side of Walter.“Walter,” said Ben, “do you expect, if we make the run, and a heap of money, to have the second mate’s share, while he’s off duty?”“No, indeed; I have no right to it. He can’t help having a carbuncle. I wouldn’t take it if it was offered me. I wouldn’t be so mean.”“But if you’re doing second mate’s duty—”“The honor pays for that.”“Perhaps you think it is a stepping-stone. I hope it is.”“I don’t know about that.”“We shall soon see what our young captain is made of,” said Eaton, as the dark hull and long masts of the ship of the line began to appear; “I only wish we were well through it.”A man-o’-war cutter was now seen on the lee bow.“What ship is that?” was the hail.“The Severn, supply.”Thus boats and ships were passed, the night being too dark, and the brigantine going too quick to admit of a close scrutiny. The name of the expected store-ship being given, also completely disarmed suspicion. They were now rapidly nearing the flag-ship, of a hundred guns—the last and most fearful ordeal. A death-like stillness now pervaded the brigantine, broken only by the rushing of the vessel through the water, the straining of the cordage, and the moan of the wind through the rigging.“Walter,” whispered Ned, “do you feel afraid?”“No, Ned; do you?”“I guess not; but I feel as I never did before. I wish we were doing something, and it was not so dreadfully still,” said the boy, putting his arm round his companion’s waist, as they sat side by side on the windlass, gazing through the darkness at the lights of the man-of-war. “Kiss me, Walter.”He put his arms round his friend, and pressed his lips to his cheek. So dark was the night now grown, and so rapid the passage of the vessel, that the stern lights of the ship bore over the cat-head of the brigantine.The young captain now took the helm, when a hail came from the ship that thrilled the blood of every man on board.“What ship is that? Reply, or I’ll sink you.”“The Severn, store vessel.”The ports of the man-of-war were triced up, and by the gleam of the battle lantern, the gunners could be seen standing by their pieces.“Ay, ay. Come to, under the stern, and report on board at six o’clock in the morning.”“Ay, ay,” was the reply; and “Hard a-lee! Haul aft the main sheet!” were shouted, in loud tones, on board the brigantine.The officer of the deck, who could distinguish nothing, hearing these orders, was for an instant deceived—an instant that was the salvation of the brigantine, going twelve knots under the combined force of wind and tide. Perceiving immediately that it was a ruse, he gave orders to fire. The horizon was lit up by the flash of guns, and the midnight stillness broken by the roar of cannon. But so well had the brigantine improved her opportunity, that but one or two of the forward guns were brought to bear on her.As the iron shower came hurtling on, and passed, a groan was heard near the foot of the main-mast. It came from little Ned, who was struck as he came aft with an order from the pilot.“Bear it like a man, Neddie,” cried Walter, as he held him in his arms. “Are you hurt much?”“Yes, bad, Walter.” And he fainted.“Take care of him,” said the captain, “till the vessel is brought to.”For a few moments every one was exerting himself to the utmost, in order to bring the vessel, under such a press of sail, to anchor under the guns of the castle of St. Nicolas.She was somewhat disabled, a round shot havingcut off her main boom at the jaws to such an extent that it broke and fell on deck, carrying away the rail. Several shot had passed through the sails and bulwarks, one had cut off the tiller-head, and the mate had received a wound in the leg; so that the attention of the captain was fully occupied in taking care of the vessel.During this period, which, though really but a short time, seemed an age to Walter, he sat with his back against the main-mast, his arms around Neddie’s waist, and felt the warm blood oozing slowly through his fingers.The artillery now began to thunder from the castle at the boats of the fleet, which, enraged at the audacity and success of the enterprise, endeavored to follow and cut out the brigantine, but, finding the enemy aware of their designs, relinquished it.A boat was immediately sent to the castle for a surgeon, who, having restored Ned by stimulants, proceeded to examine his hurts, and ascertained that he had received a severe flesh wound in the thigh from a splinter, parts of which still remained in the wound. He had also received a musket ball in the groin, which, passing round the bodywithout breaking the bone, could be felt in the flesh of the back, near the spine. Being just beneath the skin, he pronounced neither of the wounds mortal.“Thank God for that!” exclaimed the captain.The surgeon wished to fasten him to the cabin table while he performed the operation; but Ned resisted this, declaring he could bear it if the captain would stand beside him, and Walter would hold his hand. The extraction of the splinters was more painful than even the cutting for the ball; but the little fellow bore it all with firmness, scarcely uttering a groan, and without aid from any of the means now in use to produce insensibility, they being at that period unknown.“Didn’t I bear it like a man, Walter?” asked Ned, when the operation was over.“Bravely,” answered Walter.The captain would not send Ned to the hospital, but hired a room for him in the house of Jacques Bernoux, the fisherman whose acquaintance Walter made on the rock, and sent Walter and Peterson alternately to take care of him, going daily himself to see him.Ned, who was as sweet-tempered as ambitious,had always been the pet of the crew, most of whom he had known while at Pleasant Cove; they were, therefore, always ready to watch of a night whenever needed, and there were so many of them that the duty was not at all burdensome.Boys of Ned’s age learn a language with great rapidity, and he soon began to pick up words, and talk with the people of the house. Nothing could exceed the kindness of Peterson to the little wounded fellow. He was so strong he could lift him easily, and, as he gradually recovered, made him many little messes (being a skillful cook) that were very grateful to the convalescent. Ned began to love his black friend dearly, and always called him James.To the surprise of all but the surgeon, Ned recovered a great deal faster than the first mate, Mr. Rogers, who was only wounded in the leg, the ball passing through. The wound continued to run, and seemed as if it never would heal, while Ned could walk across the floor with the aid of Walter.One day Ned was sitting in a chair, propped up with pillows, and eating, with the greatestrelish, a nice breakfast Peterson had prepared for him. “James,” said he, laying down his knife and fork, “I’m glad I was wounded.”“Glad you wounded! Glad you hab so much pain, be sick so long, make de cap’n so much trouble, all ob us feel bad! Nebber hear sich ting afore.”“I didn’t mean I was glad of that, or that I should want to be wounded again; but I’m glad, now it’s over, I’ve been through it.”“I know what you tink; you tink, when you git home to Salem, farder, mudder so glad cause you wasn’t killed; den, when you walks in de street, all de people say, ‘Dere Ned Gates; he one smart boy; he been shipwrecked, almost starve on a raft; been wounded two times runnin’ de blockade; see what dat boy been through.’ Den all de boys dey open dere eyes wide and stare, say notin’.”“That is it, James. Ihavebeen through a good deal—haven’t I, for a boy no older than I am?”“Dat de Lord; he carry you through dat cause you good boy.”“I ain’t a very good boy, James.”“What de reason? Cap’n say you good boy, mate say you good boy, eberybody say so.”The brigantine, as she lay under the guns of the fort, was recognized by the officers of the blockading fleet as the vessel they had chased, and so nearly taken, and they determined she should not escape them a second time, therefore kept incessant watch.The roadstead of Marseilles is exposed to severe gales, during which, the blockading fleet were compelled to run to sea. The captain of the brigantine had made too much money to run any unnecessary risk in getting home; he, therefore, determined to wait for a gale of wind that should drive his antagonists to sea, before he attempted to run out. This gave time for Ned to recover sufficiently to go in the vessel. As the mate, Mr. Rogers, was not well enough to do duty, Walter was put in his place, which offended the second mate very much, who thought, and said to the captain, that the place belonged to him; to which the captain replied, that Griffin had run some risk in volunteering to go on the rock; that it wasprincipally, if not entirely, due to his shrewdness in getting hold of the fisherman, and obtainingthe information he did from the English sailor, that their adventure succeeded, and they were not sunk by the man-of-war. He therefore considered promotion no more than a suitable reward, especially as the second mate, though a good seaman, was not a navigator. Thus Walter experienced at the outset the benefit of knowledge, as well as of pluck and principle.

DID I BEAR IT LIKE A MAN, WALTER?

IT was nearly one o’clock at night, when the brigantine hove to, off the rock, a boat put off, and the sharp voice of Ned, crying, “Are you there, Walter?” came over the waves. But it was now blowing fresh, the sky obscured by clouds, and no possibility of landing on the rock, which was white with foam, it being so small that the sea ran all round it. The boat, pulled by men who had been all their lives brought up among the surf, and accustomed to working around breakers, was backed in within two seas of the rock, and held there by the oars, while she stood almost on end.

“Now, shipmate,” said Danforth Eaton, standing up in the stern sheets, with a coil of rope in his hand, “look out for the line, and jump for it.”

Walter caught the line, and making it fast round his waist, flung himself into the surf, and washauled aboard, where he was joyfully received by Ned, to whom one day and a portion of two nights had seemed a week.

When the young captain had received Walter’s information, he complimented him very much for the shrewdness he had manifested; and as all were equally interested (the profits of the voyage being divided in this manner, the vessel, that is, the owners, drew a certain proportion, the captain, mates, and crew another, according to their rank), he spread the whole matter before the ship’s company.

Said the young captain to his crew, “The wind is fair, and plenty of it; the tide also is with us, and sets up the harbor; we should go like a shot; the frigate and sixty-four are out of the way; there is no moon, and it is overcast; if they fire at us, they will have to fire by guess, for they can’t sight over the black cannon; probably we shall not have so many things in our favor again. I am in for trying it to-night; but I want your opinions, for we must run the risk of their broadsides.”

“I reckon,” said Danforth Eaton, “that when we shipped aboard this craft, we knew what we had to kalkerlate on; we expect to get our profit out of our risk; I’m for trying it now.”

His opinion being assented to by the crew, the brigantine, with a spanking breeze and every sail set, was steered directly for the roadstead, a little over two miles distant. It seemed but a moment, so rapid was her progress, before the high lands of Marseilles were throwing their shadows before her path. Walter acting as second mate, his station was in his watch on deck, aft. He, however, still shared Ned’s berth, as the second mate was sick in his own. It was now his watch below; but in the present circumstances, no one felt any inclination to sleep, and he was, with all the rest of the crew, forward. At such a time, it is natural for those most acquainted to get together, and the men were divided into little knots, conversing in low tones. Walter, Enoch Hadlock, and Ben Peterson, having been schoolmates, and grown up together, formed one group, with Ned nestled close to the side of Walter.

“Walter,” said Ben, “do you expect, if we make the run, and a heap of money, to have the second mate’s share, while he’s off duty?”

“No, indeed; I have no right to it. He can’t help having a carbuncle. I wouldn’t take it if it was offered me. I wouldn’t be so mean.”

“But if you’re doing second mate’s duty—”

“The honor pays for that.”

“Perhaps you think it is a stepping-stone. I hope it is.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“We shall soon see what our young captain is made of,” said Eaton, as the dark hull and long masts of the ship of the line began to appear; “I only wish we were well through it.”

A man-o’-war cutter was now seen on the lee bow.

“What ship is that?” was the hail.

“The Severn, supply.”

Thus boats and ships were passed, the night being too dark, and the brigantine going too quick to admit of a close scrutiny. The name of the expected store-ship being given, also completely disarmed suspicion. They were now rapidly nearing the flag-ship, of a hundred guns—the last and most fearful ordeal. A death-like stillness now pervaded the brigantine, broken only by the rushing of the vessel through the water, the straining of the cordage, and the moan of the wind through the rigging.

“Walter,” whispered Ned, “do you feel afraid?”

“No, Ned; do you?”

“I guess not; but I feel as I never did before. I wish we were doing something, and it was not so dreadfully still,” said the boy, putting his arm round his companion’s waist, as they sat side by side on the windlass, gazing through the darkness at the lights of the man-of-war. “Kiss me, Walter.”

He put his arms round his friend, and pressed his lips to his cheek. So dark was the night now grown, and so rapid the passage of the vessel, that the stern lights of the ship bore over the cat-head of the brigantine.

The young captain now took the helm, when a hail came from the ship that thrilled the blood of every man on board.

“What ship is that? Reply, or I’ll sink you.”

“The Severn, store vessel.”

The ports of the man-of-war were triced up, and by the gleam of the battle lantern, the gunners could be seen standing by their pieces.

“Ay, ay. Come to, under the stern, and report on board at six o’clock in the morning.”

“Ay, ay,” was the reply; and “Hard a-lee! Haul aft the main sheet!” were shouted, in loud tones, on board the brigantine.

The officer of the deck, who could distinguish nothing, hearing these orders, was for an instant deceived—an instant that was the salvation of the brigantine, going twelve knots under the combined force of wind and tide. Perceiving immediately that it was a ruse, he gave orders to fire. The horizon was lit up by the flash of guns, and the midnight stillness broken by the roar of cannon. But so well had the brigantine improved her opportunity, that but one or two of the forward guns were brought to bear on her.

As the iron shower came hurtling on, and passed, a groan was heard near the foot of the main-mast. It came from little Ned, who was struck as he came aft with an order from the pilot.

“Bear it like a man, Neddie,” cried Walter, as he held him in his arms. “Are you hurt much?”

“Yes, bad, Walter.” And he fainted.

“Take care of him,” said the captain, “till the vessel is brought to.”

For a few moments every one was exerting himself to the utmost, in order to bring the vessel, under such a press of sail, to anchor under the guns of the castle of St. Nicolas.

She was somewhat disabled, a round shot havingcut off her main boom at the jaws to such an extent that it broke and fell on deck, carrying away the rail. Several shot had passed through the sails and bulwarks, one had cut off the tiller-head, and the mate had received a wound in the leg; so that the attention of the captain was fully occupied in taking care of the vessel.

During this period, which, though really but a short time, seemed an age to Walter, he sat with his back against the main-mast, his arms around Neddie’s waist, and felt the warm blood oozing slowly through his fingers.

The artillery now began to thunder from the castle at the boats of the fleet, which, enraged at the audacity and success of the enterprise, endeavored to follow and cut out the brigantine, but, finding the enemy aware of their designs, relinquished it.

A boat was immediately sent to the castle for a surgeon, who, having restored Ned by stimulants, proceeded to examine his hurts, and ascertained that he had received a severe flesh wound in the thigh from a splinter, parts of which still remained in the wound. He had also received a musket ball in the groin, which, passing round the bodywithout breaking the bone, could be felt in the flesh of the back, near the spine. Being just beneath the skin, he pronounced neither of the wounds mortal.

“Thank God for that!” exclaimed the captain.

The surgeon wished to fasten him to the cabin table while he performed the operation; but Ned resisted this, declaring he could bear it if the captain would stand beside him, and Walter would hold his hand. The extraction of the splinters was more painful than even the cutting for the ball; but the little fellow bore it all with firmness, scarcely uttering a groan, and without aid from any of the means now in use to produce insensibility, they being at that period unknown.

“Didn’t I bear it like a man, Walter?” asked Ned, when the operation was over.

“Bravely,” answered Walter.

The captain would not send Ned to the hospital, but hired a room for him in the house of Jacques Bernoux, the fisherman whose acquaintance Walter made on the rock, and sent Walter and Peterson alternately to take care of him, going daily himself to see him.

Ned, who was as sweet-tempered as ambitious,had always been the pet of the crew, most of whom he had known while at Pleasant Cove; they were, therefore, always ready to watch of a night whenever needed, and there were so many of them that the duty was not at all burdensome.

Boys of Ned’s age learn a language with great rapidity, and he soon began to pick up words, and talk with the people of the house. Nothing could exceed the kindness of Peterson to the little wounded fellow. He was so strong he could lift him easily, and, as he gradually recovered, made him many little messes (being a skillful cook) that were very grateful to the convalescent. Ned began to love his black friend dearly, and always called him James.

To the surprise of all but the surgeon, Ned recovered a great deal faster than the first mate, Mr. Rogers, who was only wounded in the leg, the ball passing through. The wound continued to run, and seemed as if it never would heal, while Ned could walk across the floor with the aid of Walter.

One day Ned was sitting in a chair, propped up with pillows, and eating, with the greatestrelish, a nice breakfast Peterson had prepared for him. “James,” said he, laying down his knife and fork, “I’m glad I was wounded.”

“Glad you wounded! Glad you hab so much pain, be sick so long, make de cap’n so much trouble, all ob us feel bad! Nebber hear sich ting afore.”

“I didn’t mean I was glad of that, or that I should want to be wounded again; but I’m glad, now it’s over, I’ve been through it.”

“I know what you tink; you tink, when you git home to Salem, farder, mudder so glad cause you wasn’t killed; den, when you walks in de street, all de people say, ‘Dere Ned Gates; he one smart boy; he been shipwrecked, almost starve on a raft; been wounded two times runnin’ de blockade; see what dat boy been through.’ Den all de boys dey open dere eyes wide and stare, say notin’.”

“That is it, James. Ihavebeen through a good deal—haven’t I, for a boy no older than I am?”

“Dat de Lord; he carry you through dat cause you good boy.”

“I ain’t a very good boy, James.”

“What de reason? Cap’n say you good boy, mate say you good boy, eberybody say so.”

The brigantine, as she lay under the guns of the fort, was recognized by the officers of the blockading fleet as the vessel they had chased, and so nearly taken, and they determined she should not escape them a second time, therefore kept incessant watch.

The roadstead of Marseilles is exposed to severe gales, during which, the blockading fleet were compelled to run to sea. The captain of the brigantine had made too much money to run any unnecessary risk in getting home; he, therefore, determined to wait for a gale of wind that should drive his antagonists to sea, before he attempted to run out. This gave time for Ned to recover sufficiently to go in the vessel. As the mate, Mr. Rogers, was not well enough to do duty, Walter was put in his place, which offended the second mate very much, who thought, and said to the captain, that the place belonged to him; to which the captain replied, that Griffin had run some risk in volunteering to go on the rock; that it wasprincipally, if not entirely, due to his shrewdness in getting hold of the fisherman, and obtainingthe information he did from the English sailor, that their adventure succeeded, and they were not sunk by the man-of-war. He therefore considered promotion no more than a suitable reward, especially as the second mate, though a good seaman, was not a navigator. Thus Walter experienced at the outset the benefit of knowledge, as well as of pluck and principle.

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