“Boy!” shouted Jack Bell as he gripped Dicky by the collar, “d’ye see them ships? They ain’t big, and they ain’t got nothin’ in ’em heavier ’n a twelve pounder—but they’ve got hearts of oak—and let me tell you, boy, it’s the kind of heart you’ve got, as mostly settles whether you’re goin’ to take a lickin’ or give one, in a fight.”
Dicky showed his appreciation of this sentiment by bawling out “Hooray!” as loud as he could—but as he had been “hooraying” pretty steadily for forty-eight hours past, his voice was somewhat cracked. Dicky, however, was still capable of making a good deal of patriotic noise.
The shores were black with shouting crowds, and the American sailors and soldiers received a greeting that made them sure of their welcome. Dicky ran about all day long, sang all his rebel songs to listening crowds, and refused to accept a penny for his singing. At night when he reached home, tired, hungry, sleepy, and hoarse, but perfectly happy, he said to his mother as he marched in: “Mammy, I ain’t got any money for you—I couldn’t take it on a day like this—and I’ve sung the Bunker Hill song and the General Prescott song and all the patriotic songs I know—and I never had such a good time in my life!”
“I know it, my boy,” said the Widow Stubbs, “and I’m glad you didn’t take any money for singing on this glorious day.”
The very next morning the inevitable occurred. Dicky announced that he meant to enlist as a seaman apprentice in the American navy. His mother turned a little pale but said no word. She was a brave woman and a sensible one, too; and she saw that Dicky’s taste for a sea life was so strong that, if balked of it, he would probably never be of much account in any other calling. Jack Bell gave him one of those friendly thwacks that almost knocked him down.
“Right, youngster,” said he. “The navy’s the place for a lad as wants to make his forting. I don’t mean a forting in money—there’s fortings and fortings; I means in carackter, and bein’ stiddy and faithful, and in havin’ lashin’s o’ fun when your cruise is up.”
“But I thought,” said the Widow Stubbs timidly, “there were some hard characters in the navy, Mr. Bell?”
“Mighty few—mighty few,” answered Jack, shaking his head gravely. “When a landsman and a sailor man gits to fightin’, it’s allus the landsman’s fault. And if it warn’t for them meddlesome marines, the sailor men never would git into no trouble. But all the wuthless rapscallions in creation is arter sailor men—and if they warn’t jest as stiddy and k’rect as they can be, ’taint no tellin’ the mischief they’d git into. There ain’t no peaceabler folks in the world nor sailor men, if they is jest let alone and ain’t balked of their will.”
The Widow Stubbs thought this was true of some other people besides sailor men.
Among the small American squadron, the Raleigh, a smart little frigate armed with twelve pounders, was easily the best; and Jack Bell, having examined her all over, determined that Dicky should enlist on her. No bright, capable boy was likely to be refused, and Captain Thompson, her commander, would have been glad to get Jack Bell, too, of whom he had heard something. The day that Jack took Dicky aboard, to enlist him, Captain Thompson asked to have the old sailor sent down in the cabin. Jack went down and found a very dashing young continental officer, proud of his ship and anxious to do something for his country.
“Well, my man,” said he to Jack; “I have had the lad you brought aboard put on the ship’s books, and I would like very much to have you, too. I know all about you, and such a man is valuable among the foremast people.”
“And I’d like mightily to come, sir,” answered Jack respectfully, “but I was give my choice, by Cap’n Forrester of the Diomede frigate, of promisin’ I wouldn’t enlist or of bein’ h’isted up at the yardarm. You see, sir,” continued Jack, coming a little nearer and putting on a knowing look which Captain Thompson understood perfectly well. “Cap’n Forrester had got it into his head that I were one Jack Bell who sarved forty year in the British navy. But when the war broke out, that there Jack Bell thought as how he’d be a villian to fight ag’in his own country, so he up and deserted. Now, sir, supposin’ Cap’n Forrester had said I were that man? Why, sir, ’twouldn’t ha’ taken a court martial two hours to string me up at the yardarm. So Cap’n Forrester said as how he wouldn’t mention his suspicions to nobody, if I’d promise him I wouldn’t enlist in the American army, navy, or marine corps—and as you see, sir, not bein’ a officer, the only thing for me to do was to promise—so that’s how it lays.”
“I understand,” answered Captain Thompson. “Nothing else could be expected of you; but I am sorry. You can assist me though by bringing me recruits,—men that you know are steady and reliable,—and in that way you may be of almost as much use to me as if you were on the ship.”
“Thankee, sir; I’ll do it,” responded Jack with alacrity. Meanwhile Dicky had been inducted into the fok’sle as drummer boy and helper to the Jack o’ the dust. He found plenty of work to do, and a boatswain’s mate after him to see it well done; and the fare was hard and the pay small. But Dicky was like everybody who has found his real place in life, perfectly satisfied. Every day Jack Bell came on board to see him, and every day Dicky saw that the old sailor became more and more despondent because he, too, could not serve his country. One day after Jack had very dolefully left the ship, Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate on board, said:—
“If this was England now, we could send out a press gang and get that man.”
Now, Dicky knew very well what a press gang was—a body of sailors who went ashore at night with an officer and authority to seize and press men into the naval service. This set Dicky to thinking, and he began to wonder if Jack would not be very well pleased if he were seized and forcibly taken on board the Raleigh and made to work and fight. The very next night Dicky got his first liberty on shore, and going to his mother’s cottage found Jack there, as usual, smoking his pipe.
The Widow Stubbs was delighted to see her boy, and he looked so clean and smart and bright in his sailor’s rig that she could not but see that he had improved in the little while that he had been aboard ship. Jack showed his usual interest in everything that happened on the Raleigh, but Dicky saw that the old sailor was much depressed.
“Mr. Bell,” said Dicky after a while, “Mr. Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate, says, as if there was a press gang ’lowed in the American navy, we could get some mighty good men; we’d like to have—you, sir, for one.”
Jack shook his head forlornly.
“There ain’t no press gang, more’s the pity. If there was, and they knowed there was a able-bodied sailor man like me ’round about, I’d ha’ been nabbed long ago; and Cap’n Forrester couldn’t say as how I’d broke my word when I was took by force aboard a American ship and made to jine.”
“Well,” persisted Dicky, “would you be glad or sorry if there was a press gang and you was took?”
“Boy,” said Jack sorrowfully, “you’re axin’ me a mighty foolish question. In course I’d be glad. I’d run the risk of bein’ swung up if we was captured and I was found out—but there ain’t no chance at all. I’ve give my word to Cap’n Forrester, an’ I can’t break it; and it ain’t likely that I’ll be lucky enough to be took by force.”
Dicky said no more, but an idea had evidently taken possession of his mind. His eyes began to sparkle, he whispered to himself as he sat in the chimney corner, and his mother saw that something was up. Jack Bell saw nothing, but sat and smoked gloomily. The widow gave Dicky a good supper, and a basket of apples to take on board with him; and about eight o’clock he started to leave. He motioned to his mother to come outside with him when he left.
“Mammy,” said he, “don’t you be scared if a gang from the Raleigh busts in on you some night. I won’t tell you what it’s for, but you needn’t think I’ve been in any harm; so just don’t you be scared about me;” and without another word Dicky dashed down the rocky path to where he was to meet the boat.
Next day, after the men had had their morning exercise, Dicky went and stood by the mast as he had seen men do who wished to speak to the officer of the deck. The officer, Lieutenant Dobell, advanced to speak with him. Dicky had rehearsed exactly what he meant to say to the lieutenant, but when he was actually to say it, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. At last, though with much stammering and stuttering, he managed to get out that “Mr. Bell could be took.” At first Mr. Dobell could not make head or tail of Dicky’s meaning, but in a little while it was cleared up. Mr. Dobell, too, had heard of Jack Bell, and the idea of having such a steady, reliable man-o’-war’s-man on board was very agreeable to him. He merely told Dicky, though, to say nothing of what he had told, and he would think over the matter.
About a week after this Dicky was told by his friend Jenkins, the boatswain’s mate, that he would be needed that night to pilot the way to his mother’s cottage. Dicky grinned with delight and could hardly wait until night came. At last, after the longest day he ever spent, eight o’clock arrived. Jenkins called him and, in company with eight sailors and Mr. Dobell, they dropped into one of the ship’s boats alongside; and, pulling with a steady man-’o-war’s stroke, soon reached a lonely spot on the shore near the Widow Stubbs’ cottage and silently took their march up the rocky path, Dicky leading to show them the way.
Arrived at the cottage they peered through the window and saw Jack Bell sitting alone and dismally before the fire, smoking as usual. The Widow Stubbs was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Dobell, noticing Jack’s brawny figure and hale and hearty countenance, was more than ever in favor of having him among the Raleigh’s crew. He directed Dicky to knock at the door, and Jack opened it, whereupon Mr. Dobell and Dicky walked in, leaving the eight sailors to watch outside.
Jack Bell recognized Dicky at once by the light of the spluttering pine logs, and after a moment of hesitation rose and saluted Mr. Dobell.
The officer returned the salute and then said in a jovial voice:—
“Do you want to know what we came for? Well, I’ll tell you. We know that you are a first-class sailor and a good man, and we want just such brave fellows on the Raleigh; and, as I hear you promised Captain Forrester not to enlist in the American navy, we concluded we’d get you by other means. So come along quietly with me, or I’ll call in eight men I have outside and take you.”
For a minute Jack Bell’s face was a study. He saw the whole scheme, and the struggle between his delight and his sense of duty to his promise was plain. After a moment he spoke, saluting again as he did so.
“Sir,” said he, “I’m a uneddicated man, and maybe that’s why it is I don’t always know what my duty is—but I want to do it if I can find it out. Now, I don’t go for to say as I don’t want to be took—God knows I do—but I hadn’t oughter give in without a fight—and if you’ll jist let me square off and make a fight agin them eight chaps ’twould make me easy in my mind.”
“You won’t stand much of a show, my man,” replied Mr. Dobell, laughing at Jack’s simplicity but respecting it, “so you might as well give in.”
“One moment, sir,” asked Jack. “I don’t like to have no fightin’ in a respectable widder woman’s house like this ’ere”—
“Can’t help that,” said Mr. Dobell, still laughing; and stepping to the door he motioned to the men outside and eight stalwart sailors marched in.
“Boys,” said Jack, “I ain’t sayin’ you won’t git me, but I think it’s my duty to give you all the trouble I can, so I’ll just take this poker”—
Jack reached forward and was about to seize the poker, when Dicky, as active as a cat, whisked it out of the way. The next weapon at hand was a stool, but before Jack could get hold of it Mr. Dobell gave it a kick which sent it flying. The sailors closed in with a rush, but Jack, with his stout arms swinging around like a Dutch windmill, laid more than one of them low before he was overpowered. The struggle was short and sharp, and in a minute or two Jack’s arms were pinioned by a couple of grinning sailors, while two that he had floored were scrambling to their feet.
“Sir,” said Jack to Mr. Dobell, “I calls you to witness that I made a fight for my promise, and I axes you to give me your word in writin’ as how I was took by force.”
“I will,” answered Mr. Dobell, “and I think you have barked the shins and blacked the eyes of two of my men, so come along. You, boy, remain here until your mother comes to explain affairs to her.”
Jack was carried on board the Raleigh and in due course of time was offered his choice by Captain Thompson of enlisting or being put in irons.
“If you please, sir,” said Jack respectfully, “now as you’ve took me I’ve got to sarve, but I’d ruther not be on the ship’s books.”
“Of course,” answered Captain Thompson, “I would enlist you under another name.”
“’Tain’t that, sir,” said Jack. “I’m willin’ to sarve for my vittles and does, but I don’t want no pay and no prize money, because I want to let Cap’n Forrester know some day as I didn’t break my word and I didn’t make nothin’ out of bein’ took, and I ax you to make a note in writin’ and give it to me.”
This the captain agreed to do, and Jack, with his testimony from Mr. Dobell and that from the captain stored away in his ditty box, took his place among the ship’s crew with a goodwill and the happiest heart in the world. Captain Thompson, moreover, to ease Jack’s mind still further, gave orders that he was to be watched and on no account to be given liberty to go ashore, so that even had he wished to run away he would have found it impossible; and within a week the Raleigh had tripped her anchor and was off for a cruise along the southern coast. Never were there two happier human beings than Jack Bell and Dicky Stubbs. Dicky, it is true, occasionally felt down-hearted when he thought how lonely his mother must be, but he chose rather to think of the joy of meeting her again, and determined to try meanwhile and lead the life his mother would wish him to lead. Jack kept a sharp eye on him and if he showed any slight inclination to do what was not perfectly correct, or to shirk his work, Jack would bring him up with a round turn. So, what with a naturally good disposition and a wholesome restraint and discipline Dicky was both a good and a useful boy. His singing made him universally popular on board, and he was often sent for in the long evenings to sing to the officers in the ward room and even to the captain in the cabin. As for the fok’sle, Dicky could easily have got all of his work done in exchange for his singing, which was a great diversion, particularly when one of the petty officers taught him to scrape a little on the violin. But Jack Bell was always at hand to make him do his full share and more of all there was to do—in which Jack proved himself to be Dicky’s best friend. The story of the song about General Prescott had got abroad in the ship and Dicky was incessantly chaffed about it.
Jack had been a signal man for many years in the British navy and amused his leisure time while cruising by making a tolerably complete set of signal flags to use in an emergency. Dicky, who would much rather have been singing and fiddling than sewing, was nevertheless made to help Jack, and the two passed many hours sitting together on the gun deck stitching away industriously.
“I wonder what mammy’ll say when she finds I can play the fiddle,” Dicky would ask with boyish conceit.
“Dunno,” Jack would answer, slyly chaffing Dicky, “but I reckon she’ll be mightily pleased when she finds you can sew up a pair o’ breeches as good as any tailor man as ever set cross-legged.”
“But I ain’t a-goin’ to do no sewin’ when I’m ashore,” cried Dicky, his dignity much wounded. “I only do it now because I’m obliged to, and mammy won’t ask or expect me to sew up my own breeches at home.”
“P’raps not,” Jack would answer diplomatically.
They had cruised now for some weeks and had captured several small merchant ships, but Captain Thompson was looking for a warship to engage. On a bright September evening they sighted a large fleet of merchantmen which they hoped might be convoyed by a ship of war.
There was a good breeze, and the Raleigh being an excellent sailer both on and off the wind laid her head for the fleet. To divert suspicion and to appear like a merchantman, Captain Thompson hoisted the British ensign, lowered his ports, and had his guns on deck covered with tarpaulins. He sent the men below with instructions at the first tap of the drum to go to quarters, and Dicky as drummer boy was ordered to bring his drum on deck, where he hid it behind a gun and covered it with his jacket.
It was late in the afternoon before the ships had been seen and it was near sunset when the Raleigh, flying British colors, sailed boldly in among the fleet. There were sixteen or seventeen vessels, somewhat widely separated, and one large ship, considerably to windward, whose squareness of rig and generally fine appearance induced Captain Thompson to think she might be a heavy British frigate. But if so her commander had disguised her so effectually that her real character could not be known until the Raleigh got considerably closer than she was then.
When the Raleigh got within signaling distance of the fleet, Captain Thompson sent for Jack Bell, who, with Dicky Stubbs to help him, spread out his signal flags. All of the officers were on deck except Mr. Dobell, the first lieutenant, who was ill in his berth, just recovering from a sharp attack of rheumatism. The second lieutenant, therefore, was to superintend the signaling. The large ship was plainly visible on the horizon when the sun was sinking in a blaze of glory. As soon as Jack Bell caught sight of her he said to the lieutenant very respectfully:—
“Axin’ your parding, sir, but that ’ere ship is a seventy-four. I sarved forty year in the British navy, and I can tell one o’ them ships as fur as I can see ’em.”
“I think you are mistaken, Bell,” answered the young officer, who did not know as much about the run and rig of a seventy-four as Jack Bell. “No doubt there is a warship somewhere about convoying the fleet, but it is not that large ship off the quarter; but I will speak to the captain.”
Captain Thompson agreed with his second lieutenant that the ship was not a seventy-four. Jack said no more, and the twilight coming on, the ship, although she grew larger as they approached her, also grew less distinct in her character and outlines.
Captain Thompson then sailed boldly into the fleet of merchantmen and signaled, “Where is your convoy?”
The signal was evidently understood, as the nearest vessel promptly hung out several signal flags in reply. But in the dusky evening, it was impossible to read them. However, the American captain thought it prudent to act as if he had read them, and signaled back, “We have orders to find your convoy.”
The impudence of this tickled the Americans, and the officers with difficulty suppressed a cheer from the men. Dicky Stubbs laughed so loud that Jack Bell gave him a whack in good earnest, which caused Dicky to be perfectly quiet afterward.
Meanwhile the big ship was evidently edging off, which made the sanguine Americans certain that she was a merchant ship.
“Maybe she is—and maybe she’s waitin’ until we gits under her broadside,” mumbled Jack Bell to himself.
“She’s shy, my men,” cried Captain Thompson, who was young and brave and rash, pointing to the ship, which continued to edge off. “We will signal her and see what account she will give of herself,” continued the captain.
The little Raleigh had now lessened the distance nearly one half between herself and the big ship, which showed not a single porthole and seemed to be keeping off most determinedly. Accordingly the Raleigh signaled, “Where is your convoy?”
A faint moon showed its shimmering disk over the horizon, and those on the Raleigh could plainly read the stranger’s answer:—
“We have none.”
The Raleigh then made this bold assertion:
“We have your superior officer aboard.”
By that time the Raleigh had gained on the big ship, which still showed a disposition to get away. Nevertheless it signaled back: “We think you are mistaken.”
By that time both ships were running free on the same tack, under a good working breeze. Suddenly the stranger luffed short around; her whole starboard side seemed to fly open; a double row of heavy guns were run out, as if by magic, and the whole broadside of a seventy-four roared out and raked the American from stem to stern. Fortunately the men had been kept below, in the effort to disguise the Raleigh, and by extreme good fortune, although several of the few officers and men on deck were wounded and all were thrown to the deck, none were killed. But the destruction on the ship was frightful. Many of her guns were dismounted, her masts and spars were so wounded that she became for the time unmanageable, and it was plain that she could not survive another such broadside.
Captain Thompson, with blood streaming down his face, soon regained his feet—but one glance showed him the state of affairs. The Raleigh had lost her leeway and swung around with her head to the wind, perfectly helpless under the guns of her huge antagonist. The seventy-four meanwhile, shortening sail with the utmost quickness and precision, was in a few minutes ready to repeat her performance.
“We will give her one round for the honor of the flag, if we go to the bottom for it,” cried Captain Thompson. “Sound your drum, boy, as loud as you can!”
Dicky at this began a tremendous tattoo, at the first sound of which the men rushed from below, and running to their quarters every gun on the Raleigh’s port side, which lay toward the seventy-four, thundered out—and, immediately after, the American ensign was hauled down, as resistance was useless. In another moment a boat was lowered from the seventy-four and pulled toward the Raleigh. The officers, with Captain Thompson at their head, stood at the port gangway to receive the boarding officer.
It had passed so quickly that Dicky was stunned by it all. He saw as in a dream the British officer come aboard, Captain Thompson offer his sword, which was courteously declined—and he, with the other officers, taken off to the British ship, which turned out to be the Ajax, one of the finest seventy-fours in the British navy. Not a murmur was heard against Captain Thompson, whose rashness had brought the Raleigh’s company to that evil pass. He had made a frightful mistake, but it was the mistake of a brave man, duped by a skilful enemy.
A prize crew was immediately thrown on board the Raleigh, but with the contempt for the American navy which the British naturally felt at the time, it was thought enough to send a young lieutenant, a midshipman, and twenty men to take charge of the American ship. The crew were all on deck, about to be mustered by their captors, when Jack Bell, finding Dicky Stubbs, pale and awed, standing next him, whispered very softly:—
“Has you seen Mr. Dobell anywheres about?”
“No,” answered Dicky just as softly, “he ain’t able to move hardly yet.”
“You slip below, then,” Jack continued hurriedly but impressively, “and tell him there ain’t but twenty men and two officers aboard—and they thinks they has got all the officers—and if he kin manage to git into the men’s quarters and git a suit of sailor’s clo’es on him, they won’t never suspect we has a officer among us; but if we has an officer, we can git the ship back before they knows it. Now, can you remember that, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Dicky—and in the confusion he easily managed to get below. With his heart in his mouth he ran to Mr. Dobell’s room. The lieutenant, much disabled by rheumatism, had yet managed to crawl as far as his door. He surmised only too well the state of affairs above, and when Dicky in an agitated whisper gave Jack Bell’s message, Dobell saw at once what was meant. Only twenty men and two young officers! He balanced rapidly in his own mind the chances he took, not forgetting the parole that he might expect as an officer, and the imprisonment he might suffer if he assumed the character of an ordinary seaman—but he saw the opportunity opening before him, and he also knew how level-headed and experienced Jack Bell was in spite of his humble position and want of school education. Nor did Mr. Dobell forget that although in the excitement of the moment he might have been overlooked for a little while, that very soon he would be inquired after and searched for—but a plan instantly suggested itself to him on that point. Picking up his cap he hobbled, with Dicky’s assistance, down to the men’s quarters. Nearly all the lights had been put out by the shock of the Ajax’s broadside, but by Mr. Dobell’s instructions Dicky put out every one in their wake that remained. He then told the boy as they passed the carpenters’ quarters to look around for a grindstone that he could lift. Dicky got hold of one that he could lift very handily, as he was a strong boy.
“Now,” said Mr. Dobell hurriedly, “get some sailor togs on me; then put my officer’s clothes up in a bundle and hide them until I can get a chance to throw them overboard; and next throw the grindstone overboard, with my cap after it, and rush up shouting, ‘Man overboard!’ and they will think it is I—but tell Bell privately that I am here.”
By that time they were in the sickbay, where there were two or three men ill, and in a minute or two Mr. Dobell was in a hammock, looking as ill as any of them. Dicky ran back and by almost superhuman efforts managed to get the heavy grindstone overboard and threw Mr. Dobell’s cap after it. A loud splash was heard, and Dicky rushed up on deck shouting, “Man overboard!”
This added to the commotion prevailing on deck. The boarding boat was at the gangway, and the young midshipman jumping in, the boat’s crew pulled toward the bow of the boat, where the splash had been heard. They saw an officer’s cap floating near by and it was picked up, and for half an hour they pulled back and forth over the place where the grindstone had gone down, upon the chance of saving the supposed unfortunate officer.
On deck Jack Bell, by some occult means, had passed the word around among the Americans that something was up and they must be on their guard. When the boat returned with the officer’s cap, it was at once identified as Mr. Dobell’s by the initials in it, and on looking into his room it was found empty. The British lieutenant thought he had conclusive proof that the first lieutenant had either fallen or jumped overboard; and Jack Bell propounded a plausible theory that Mr. Dobell, being unable to get on deck, had managed to lean out of the cabin window so far, in his effort to see what was happening above, that he lost his balance and fell overboard. “And he were a good officer, were Mr. Dobell,” said Jack with much feeling; “and he must ha’ felt awful bad when he knowed he couldn’t lift his hand to help the poor Raleigh.”
Jack’s theory was shared by the British officers, and when they found two or three sailors in the sickbay it did not occur to them that the one who appeared the most ill was the first lieutenant of the ship.
In a little while the ship was completely under the control of her captors and nearly a hundred American prisoners were sent below the hatches, while the damages to the ship were repaired as far as possible. This was not finished until morning, when the Ajax and her prize parted company, the Raleigh being directed to report at Philadelphia, which had then fallen in the power of the British.
The melancholy news of Mr. Dobell’s supposed loss had been conveyed to his old shipmates on the Ajax, and added to the distress they suffered. The American prisoners on the Raleigh, although closely guarded, were perfectly free to communicate with each other. A plan was formed to seize the ship as soon as Mr. Dobell was able to move about, which would be shortly, as he was mending fast. A sentry, fully armed, always stood at the hatchway, but if once he could be disarmed or thrown off his guard, the Americans rushing up could get possession of the deck, and the rest would be easy. Mr. Dobell had the management of the whole scheme, and it was desired to carry it into effect before they reached Northern waters which swarmed with British cruisers. Jack Bell was Mr. Dobell’s righthand man; and after two or three days, when the lieutenant was able to get about his cramped quarters fairly well, Jack took Dicky aside and whispered to him: “When the officer comes down to inspect to-morrow morning, do you be singing the prettiest song you have, and fiddling, too, and maybe he’ll notice you; and then I’ll tell you what to do.”
Next morning, therefore, when the officer came below, Dicky was singing away like a thrush “When the Wind at Night Whistles Over the Deep,” and playing his accompaniment on the violin. He stopped, as if caught by the officer; but apparently the young British lieutenant had no ear for music and passed on without noticing him. The British sailors, though, had heard him, and as music was highly prized on board ship to break the monotony, Dicky was soon asked for, to sing and play to the men in the fok’sle during their leisure hours. Thus, he was often allowed on deck for an hour at a time, and never failed to use his eyes very sharply and to carry down the news to Mr. Dobell, whose character as an officer was not in the least suspected by his captors. They had experienced contrary winds, and although ten days had passed since the Raleigh’s capture, they had not yet passed the capes of North Carolina.
On a certain day though, when Mr. Dobell was able to walk about with comfort, Dicky had got his instructions, and with a beating heart but an undaunted courage he went above, when he was called for. It was Sunday, and the few sailors that could be spared were sitting around the fok’sle smoking and spinning yarns. Dinner had been served to them and directly afterward the hatches would be opened to send the prisoners’ dinner down to them. Dicky was permitted to go as far as the main hatchway. It had just been opened and two cooks descended, followed by two sailors armed with pistols and cutlasses. As they disappeared below a slight noise, as of scuffling bare feet, was heard. The sentry, with his piece at his shoulder, advanced, and at the same moment Dicky, rushing at him from behind, pulled his legs from under him and he fell sprawling down the hatchway. In another minute the Americans came rushing up on deck headed by Mr. Dobell who, although unable to take any active part, yet commanded with skill and coolness. They had the pistols and cutlasses of the two sailors they had disarmed below, and they had seized the musket and pistols of the sentry. In another moment the sailors sitting around the fok’sle were overpowered before they had a chance to make any resistance, and Mr. Dobell, directing pistols to be leveled at the heads of the lookouts, they came down with alacrity. All this was done with surprisingly little noise, as the Americans had been ordered to act as quietly as possible and had left their shoes below.
Fifteen out of the twenty men had been captured, and it was now determined to bag the two officers. Mr. Dobell, who had become wonderfully active under the influence of excitement and success, quickly and noiselessly descended the cabin hatchway. The cabin door was open, and the lieutenant, with his back to it, sat at the table calmly enjoying his dinner; while the young midshipman, leaning on the transom, craned his neck far out of a porthole to see what caused the faint but strange noises on deck.
Mr. Dobell signaled to two brawny young Americans who walked abreast with him, and the next instant a stout arm encircled the lieutenant’s head, across his eyes, and a pair of equally stout arms pinioned him behind. The lieutenant uttered a loud yell, but the midshipman with his head out of the port did not hear it. He felt, though, someone dragging him backward, and the next thing he knew he was gracefully seated on the floor and the cabin was full of Americans. By that time the five remaining British sailors had been overpowered and the ship was in the hands of the Americans.
The lieutenant struggled violently for an instant, when Mr. Dobell spoke:—
“Remove your arm from his eyes.”
The sailor who had covered the officer’s eyes took his arm away. The young lieutenant gave one quick glance around and became perfectly quiet.
“Sir,” said Mr. Dobell, “this ship is in possession of the Americans, and to show you that it is, you shall be freed from personal restraint.”
The sailor who held him let go, and the lieutenant rose and looked about him.
“At all events,” he said coolly, “there is no commissioned officer among you, and it is not likely that any of you foremast people can navigate a ship.”
“I beg your pardon,” answered Mr. Dobell politely, “but I am Lieutenant Dobell of the Continental navy, and I feel altogether capable of taking this ship anywhere I wish. It was not I, but a grindstone, that fell overboard the night of the capture. I felt that with an officer to direct them our men could get the ship back, and for that reason I chose to spend my time below the hatches. Now, however, I promise myself the pleasure of your company in the cabin.”
The lieutenant, not to be outdone in politeness, answered with admirable self-possession: “When you have made your dispositions on the ship I should be pleased to have your company at dinner, for I conceive myself the host at this one meal at least.”
“Thank you,” responded Mr. Dobell. “I will not keep you longer than I can possibly help, for I acknowledge that the fare and table service under the hatches has not been altogether to my liking.”
Mr. Dobell then went on deck, and directing the prisoners to be mustered, they were marched below and occupied the late quarters of the Americans. No bad blood was shown on either side, but a philosophic acceptance of a change of conditions. Mr. Dobell had his plans so well made and easily carried out that within half an hour he rejoined the lieutenant in the cabin and ate the first good meal he had enjoyed for ten days; while the Raleigh, once more an American ship, bounded along under a freshening breeze to the music of three thundering cheers, given by the Americans as soon as they had leisure to celebrate their adventure.
Dicky Stubbs was the happiest little soul imaginable. He had been the only one among all the Americans allowed on deck, and the news he had carried below, and his achievements in pulling the sentry’s legs from under him, made Dicky a considerable hero in his own eyes. But Mr. Dobell, after seeing the boy every day in the time of their imprisonment, had concluded that he was a remarkably brave, sensible, and reliable boy, and had determined to interest himself in Dicky’s future welfare.
Mr. Dobell decided to make for Newport. They had favoring breezes all the way and passed many British cruisers, to all of which the Raleigh showed British colors and signaled that she had been taken from the Americans. But whenever a disposition was shown to speak her, she always made off with a swiftness that caused many an angry captain to promise himself the pleasure of reporting her to the admiral as wanting in the first principle of that courtesy which should prevail upon the seas.
The melancholy news that the Raleigh had been captured by the Ajax was brought to Newport one day by a trader from New York; and there was no sadder heart in Newport than that of the Widow Stubbs. She spent no time, however, in useless lamenting, for she had given her boy to her country cheerfully and knew what the sacrifice meant. And she consoled herself by thinking that it was after all but a temporal misfortune, not comparable to what might have been had Dicky been caught lying, stealing, or playing the rascal in any way. But she could not refrain from crying a little when, about sunset on the day the bad news came, she looked out of the window of her little house and thought that was the time that Dicky had been wont to come home jingling his pennies in his pockets with a vast air of importance before throwing them into her lap, and then demanding his supper as if he owned the earth. But—strange sight!—there lay a handsome little frigate at anchor in the harbor that looked astonishingly like the Raleigh; and—oh, happy miracle!—there was Dicky himself rushing up the path, followed by Jack Bell on a dog trot; and then the door burst open and Dicky, grown about a foot taller and broader, jumped into his mother’s arms, and Jack Bell marched in and began sawing her arm up and down. The Widow Stubbs was so amazed, astounded, and delighted that she was quite beside herself; and Dicky poured out a rigmarole, his tongue going like a millwheel, all about knocking the sentry down, and playing the fiddle, and what Mr. Dobell was going to do for him.
“What does he mean, Mr. Bell?” asked the Widow Stubbs helplessly, after having hugged and kissed Dicky twenty times over.
“The brat means, ma’am,” responded Jack as he solemnly cut a large quid of tobacco and placed it in his cheek, “as how he’s did his duty—no more and no less—but, like all brats, he’s makin’ a big hullabaloo over jest a-doin’ of his duty, like ’twas sumpin’ extryordinary. I don’t go for to say as he ain’t a smart chap—but he’s had adwantages, bein’ took young into the navy, where most of the smart men is found, ma’am—and I think he’ll live to be a credit and a comfort to you, ma’am.”
“He will, if he only does his duty just as it lies before him,” said the widow softly, and kissing Dicky’s freckled nose.
“I’ll try to, mammy,” answered Dicky sturdily.
And he kept his promise very faithfully. The day came, when the war was over and America was free, that his mother saw him captain of a fine ship and able to give her a better house to live in than she had ever known in all her life. Jack Bell took possession of the little cottage, where he spent many happy years, and always pointed to the brave, bright, and successful Captain Richard Stubbs as a monument of what “bein’ ketched young and put into the navy” would do for a man.
[1]The sailors’ name for a marine.[2]Citizen.[3]The appliance for hanging men at the yardarm.[4]The songs in this book are not original.[5]This song is not original, but is taken from an old naval song book, very popular in the last century. The incidents concerning this song and General Prescott’s words on the occasion are historically accurate.
[1]The sailors’ name for a marine.
[2]Citizen.
[3]The appliance for hanging men at the yardarm.
[4]The songs in this book are not original.
[5]This song is not original, but is taken from an old naval song book, very popular in the last century. The incidents concerning this song and General Prescott’s words on the occasion are historically accurate.