CHAPTER XTHE CRUISE OF THE RANGER
Itwas a good two hours later when Ethan and the Irish dragoon finally discovered their lodgings. Captain Jones was busy over some papers in his room when Ethan knocked upon his door.
“Come in,” said the sailor. “I had just about finished.” He sealed up some documents, and then went on, “Your search was longer than you intended, was it not? and, I suppose, without much success.”
“Our search resulted in nothing,” returned Ethan. “But by sheer luck we stumbled upon a most remarkable discovery.”
Then he related the main incident of the night, and Captain Jones listened with the greatest attention.
“Quite remarkable,” commented he, as the lad finished. “But, really, except for the fact that we now know where Siki expects to dispose of the paper, we learned all this from Dr.Franklin’s judgment in the matter. St. Mary’s Isle, eh,” he continued, musingly. “I know the place well; and, who knows, perhaps I may touch there in the Ranger and look into this matter.”
Not having had any definite instructions from Mr. Jefferson about when he should return to America, Ethan had considered that he should remain in France until the paper was recovered or proven to be lost for good and all. He had had no notion of continuing the cruise with Captain Jones, but now that the Ranger and the recovery of the dispatch seemed linked, as it were, he eagerly asked to be allowed to go.
“The chances are,” he reasoned, “that the Lascar will slip through their fingers. If you can land Longsword and me upon St. Mary’s Isle we may be in time to do some good.”
“I shall be most glad to have you,” said the Ranger’s captain. “And somehow it seems to me that a landing at St. Mary’s Isle is going to lead to good of some sort. I sometimes get impressions like that, and they usually point pretty close to facts in the end.”
Three or four days later John Paul Jones,Ethan Carlyle and Longsword once more reached Nantes; and the former immediately set about getting his ship ready for the voyage that was to strike terror to the hearts of the British and fill those of the struggling Americans with delight.
Upon the trip across the Atlantic the prediction that the commander had made to Ethan in Portsmouth harbor had been realized. Many defects and weaknesses were discovered in the Ranger, and these he now set about remedying as far as possible.
The ship’s trim was altered; her ballast was taken out and restowed; her masts were shortened, also, by some feet. No man ever sailed the ocean who knew more about the small details of seamanship than John Paul Jones; after he had been in a vessel a few weeks it was an assured thing that she had come to do all that there was in her. Many a cranky, slow answering tub had been transformed, by his knowledge, into a speedy, amenable ship.
After they had cleared the harbor the Ranger showed marked evidence of improvement in her work.
“She’ll answer, now,” said her captain, with satisfaction.
Off Cape Clear a British brig was captured and sent into Brest, as was the Lord Chatham, a ship out of London, which they took a little later.
While heading up the Irish channel one day during the first dog-watch, Ethan and the commander were pacing the quarter-deck.
“Do you intend to head directly for St. Mary’s Isle?” asked the boy.
“No; I had thought of a plan by which an attempt might be made upon Whitehaven. There is a great deal of shipping in the harbor there I know; and if it could be destroyed it would be a damaging blow.”
“You are quite familiar with that port, are you not?”
“I sailed out of it upon my first voyage, and first saw the light of day not many miles from it. Let me once get into the harbor with a fire boat and I’ll forever put a stop to the burnings and ravagings that the British are so free with upon our undefended coast. A blaze that would sweep every hull from Whitehaven would show them that we have the power toretaliate; and after that they would be more apt to hold their savagery in check.”
“I think you are right,” agreed Ethan. “There is nothing like a swift retaliation to teach a brutal and insolent enemy to be merciful.”
There was a strong wind blowing when the Ranger came in sight of Whitehaven and beat up toward it. The boats had been lowered, manned, and were about to be called away, when the wind suddenly shifted and blew on shore. The position of the American was now most dangerous, so the boats were promptly hoisted in once more and the Ranger beat out to sea.
Off Carrickfergus they took a small fishing-boat. The skipper was a hot-tempered little Celt, and he made a great ado about the matter.
“Faith, then, captain,” said he to the smiling commander of the sloop-of-war, “I think it’s a shame, so I do, that an honest man can’t cast his nests into the say for the bits of fish that do be swimming about, widout being dragged on board a Yankee that he don’t want to get acquainted wid.”
“Well,” replied Captain Jones, “we are not quite so discourteous. We desired your acquaintance and went to some little trouble to make it.”
“Sure, then,” snapped the other, “if I carried the guns aboard of me that the Drake do, as she lies there in Belfast Lough, you would not be so ready to come near me, perhaps.”
“The Drake?” questioned Captain Jones, with interest. “You mean, I suppose, the British ship-of-war of that name?”
“I do,” returned the fisherman. “And she is a fine vessel, for she carries twenty guns and a hundred and fifty men.”
The commander of the Ranger turned to his first officer, briskly.
“I think, Mr. Simpson,” said he, “that we’ll change our course for Belfast Lough and see what can be done with that vessel.”
“We are not out to engage warships,” growled Simpson, sullenly.
“We are out to engage anything that promises to injure the enemy,” said the captain sharply. “You will please pass my order along.”
The lieutenant did as requested. It is notedof this insubordinate officer that he seemed to regard the voyage of the Ranger more as an enterprise for private gain than anything else; a rich merchantman pleased him greatly; but he had little or no stomach for a fight with a vessel that carried any weight of metal.
More sail was made upon the ship when she was brought into her new course; in the mouth of the Lough she beat to and fro until night, then she ran into the harbor.
The Drake lay well up in the harbor, and it was Captain Jones’ intention to lay the Ranger alongside her and board.
“When I give the word,” said he to the boatswain, who was in charge of a group of men on the forecastle deck, “let go the bow anchors.”
Cutlasses, boarding-pikes and pistols were distributed, and the crew stood ready. With a magnificent display of seamanship John Paul Jones brought the Ranger up and laid her athwart the Drake.
“Let go the anchor,” he commanded in a low voice.
There was a scuffling and stumbling among the seamen in the bow; the anchor-chainrattled, then stopped; the American sloop-of-war drifted down past the lee quarter of the Englishman; at this point the anchor fell with a loud plunge, and the Ranger lay directly under the broadside of the Drake.
There was a stir among the watch upon the British ship’s deck.
“Ahoy, there, you blundering lubber!” yelled a voice. “What are you about?”
“No harm done,” answered Captain Jones, promptly. “Anchor-chain fouled.” Then in a low tone he added: “Cut that cable and let the anchor go.”
Ethan Carlyle seized an axe from the rack, and with a deft, sure blow severed the thick line; the Ranger drifted slowly out of her dangerous position; as another attempt of the same sort could not be risked, sail was clapped upon her and she raced out of the Lough like a hunted hare.
“It’s a rare good thing she took us for a clumsy merchantman,” commented Ethan to Captain Jones, as they stood together upon the deck. “She could have raked us from stem to stern as we lay there, and we could not have brought a single gun to bear on her.”
“Fate seems to fight against us,” laughed Captain Jones. “Now for Whitehaven once more, and let us hope for a favorable wind.”
They reached that port once more about eight in the evening upon the twenty-second of the month; but the boats were not called away until after midnight.
There were two of these, and were manned by crews of heavily-armed volunteers. Ethan and Longsword had volunteered for the captain’s boat.
“I will advance and attack the forts,” said the commander to Lieutenant Wallingford, who was in charge of the other boat. “Your share in the enterprise is to get well in among the shipping and set fire to it.”
These were all the instructions given. Day began to dawn as they reached the outer pier of the harbor.
“Take the north side,” directed Captain Jones, “and pull hard.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the third officer; his boat drew away from the other and made into the harbor.
“There are the forts upon the south side, are they not?” asked Ethan.
“Yes,” said John Paul Jones, “and they are likely to be slimly manned. I know the custom here, you see.”
“It reminds me of old times, faith,” whispered Longsword to Ethan, as he sat in the stern with his great brass-hilted blade between his knees.
Captain Jones was right; the first fort was garrisoned by about a half dozen heavy-eyed soldiers. Ethan, Longsword and a few of the more daring seamen scaled the wall and overpowered these without trouble.
“Into the guard house with them,” ordered Ethan, “and fasten them in.”
When the gate was thrown open and Jones and the remainder of the boat’s crew entered, the former said briskly,
“Spike the guns; we may have them roaring about our ears soon if we don’t.”
Longsword drove the plugs of iron into the vents of the cannon with swift and hearty blows.
“Now, Mr. Browne,” continued the captain, “station a few men to guard the approaches from the town. Mr. Carlyle, come with me.”
While Browne, middy, was stationing themen, Ethan hurried away with the captain toward the point where they had landed.
“That is Wallingford’s boat that I see advancing,” said the commander, pointing to a craft slowly emerging from a wall of mist. “And I see no indications from the harbor that he has carried out my orders.”
As a matter of fact there was no blaze among the shipping and Ethan saw that the face of the commander was set and stern. Wallingford’s boat touched and the lieutenant sprang ashore.
“Well, sir,” rapped out the captain.
“My lights went out, sir, just as I was about to begin work, and so I could not carry out my orders.”
This was long before the day of “brimstone” matches. The two boats carried lanterns in which were placed lighted candles, and to these most uncertain things they had to trust for the success or failure of a most brilliantly planned expedition.
“You will find lights in my boats there, I think,” said Captain Paul Jones. “Take them and try once more; there may yet be time.”
His face was white with anger; he hadworked hard and dared much for success, and that such a trivial thing as this should threaten failure almost made him lose control of himself.
Ethan bounded toward the captain’s boat to get the lights; but here, too, the candles had guttered out, and all that was left was a smear of tallow and the blackened end of a wick.
“Lights are out here, too,” he cried. Captain Jones drew in his breath sharply.
“It seems that we are to have our share of misfortune indeed,” said he with a mirthless laugh. “But lights must be had.”
“There is a house a little way below there,” volunteered Ethan. “I saw it as we came along. It’s farther from the town than any other.”
“Tell Browne to give you a few men, and go there, then,” said the commander instantly. “Knock and ask decently at first; but if they refuse, or delay, beat down the door and help yourself.”
Ethan was back at the fort in a few moments’ sharp run. Longsword and a seaman named Freeman were given him and theystarted toward the house which Ethan had in mind. Now as it happened this Freeman was an Englishman and the very worst man in the Ranger to be selected for the work in hand.
The house proved to be a small public inn, and the young American hammered upon the door loudly with the heavy butt of a pistol. As no answer came Longsword dealt the door a brace of lusty kicks that made the entire structure rattle.
“They seem to be sound sleepers,” said Freeman, who had remained very quiet up till then. “Suppose I go around to the rear and see what can be done.”
He did not wait for Ethan’s permission but at once disappeared around a corner of the building. A nervous tremble in the man’s voice caused the Irishman to instinctively suspect something. He also turned the corner a moment later, and saw Freeman speeding away towards the town.
“Master Ethan,” roared the dragoon. “He’s off.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“The Englishman. There he goes, as fast as his legs can take him.”
“We’ll have the whole of Whitehaven here in short order now,” said Ethan. “He’s gone to give the alarm.”
“Not if I can stop him,” shouted the ex-trooper. He threw up his pistol with a quick, expert snap of the arm, and fired. Freeman half-halted, tottered a little, but continued on toward the town almost as fast as before.
“You got him,” said Ethan.
“But not enough,” grumbled Longsword. “It hardly cut the skin of him.”
“Try for him, once more, with this,” and Ethan offered Shamus his own pistol. The Irishman was a wonderful shot with these awkward weapons; but the range caused him to shake his head.
“Too late,” said he. “It’d take a musket to find a man at that distance.”
The sound of the shot had the effect of arousing the house; a window was thrown open above, a night-capped head was protruded, while a pair of sleep heavy eyes blinked down at them in the pale light of the dawn.
“Hello,” cried the owner of the night cap in a husky sort of bellow. “What’s wanted below there?”
“Arrah, come down wid ye and open the door,” requested Longsword with great promptness.
“And have myself killed for my trouble,” said the man at the window.
“Ye’ll get yourself killed if you don’t do as you’re told, my friend,” said Longsword with a reckless flourish of his empty pistol. The man withdrew his head with a jerk; and though they continued to call to him, he refused to show himself.
“Down with the door,” cried Ethan at last. And putting their shoulders to it they sent it crashing inward. There now came a perfect storm of screams and yells from the regions above.
They found themselves in a room in which a sea coal fire was burning; after a short search Ethan found a couple of fat pine billets which he stuck partly into the fire. While they awaited such time as the torches should ignite, they stood in the broken doorway and looked earnestly toward the town. The noises from the rooms above had died away; and now a long, low murmur as of many voices was carried to their ears by thewind, which was toward the harbor. With each moment the sound increased in volume; it would rise sharply and then fall away, only to rise once more.
“The town is up, sure enough,” said Longsword, grimly. “Freeman has lost no time.”
Once more the murmur of the distant voices rose and fell; it had a fierce intensity that came awesomely to the listeners as they shivered in the chill of that spring morning. From far down the street a huddle of people swept around a corner; in their hands they bore all sorts of hastily snatched weapons; and by their gesticulations Ethan saw that they were wrought up to a pitch of frenzy.
“We have no time to waste,” said the young American, rapidly. “In a few moments more they will be here.”
He ran into the room and snatched the torches from the coals; the ends were smoldering only, but he swung them about his head a few times and they burst into a blaze.
“Now we are ready,” he cried. In a moment they were out in the road. The shrill cries of the advancing townspeople soundedfiercer still; the heavy tramp of their feet was swift and menacing.
“They mean business, sure,” cried Longsword. “Look out!”
Two or three bullets struck near them and the vengeful cries increased. From the window of the inn the landlord was clamoring at the top of his lusty voice.
“Come on,” shouted Ethan to the Irishman as he darted down the road. Longsword followed close at his heels; now and then he flourished his empty pistol and defied the crowd mutely.
John Paul Jones was awaiting them eagerly.
“Hah! You have the lights. Good! But what is that noise I hear? You have injured none of the folks at the house, I hope.”
“No,” answered Ethan. “Freeman, the sailor whom we took with us, slipped into the town and aroused the people. They are coming in crowds.”
A frown wrinkled the commander’s brow.
“I had hoped that this would not happen, at least, until we had kindled a good blaze.But we must do our best, as it is. Ahoy, there, into the brig, and put the torch to her.”
There were a great number of vessels which had been taking in or discharging cargoes; for the most part they lay close together, and a fire started in one would probably mean the destruction of all.
The brig to which Paul Jones referred was one of the largest vessels at hand, and a great quantity of combustible matter had been scattered through her while Ethan had been securing the lights. Those set to apply the torch did not perform that duty quickly enough for the impatient commander; so he sprang forward, snatched a blazing brand from one of them and leaped aboard the brig. Plunging below decks he applied the torch; as he gained the deck once more he was followed by a thick cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks.
The people of Whitehaven had, by this time, reached the entrance to the wharf, though the sight of a number of heavily-armed seamen halted them promptly. But with each passing moment their numbers increased,their shouts and execrations filled the air; every now and then a flight of missiles would patter about the Americans. Then the fired brig burst into a fierce blaze; from every port and seam smoke and flame jetted and curled; and as no more was now to be done, Paul Jones shouted:
“To the boats, men. But take your time. Show any evidence of haste, and we’ll have all those people upon us.”
The men obeyed. With Lieutenant Wallingford’s eye upon them, they climbed into the boats. Captain Jones, however, remained upon the pier. Ethan was about to follow the others when he noticed this.
“All hands in the boats, sir,” said he.
“Very well,” answered the other coolly.
The fire in the brig had suddenly begun to die away, and he feared that it was about to go out. Ethan realized that this was the cause of his delay.
“It needs more draught, I think,” said the boy.
“If the hatches were all off it would have more chance,” said the captain.
Without a word Ethan sprang to the vessel’srail and climbed aboard. As luck would have it an axe was at hand; and in a moment his sturdy blows were ringing and crashing in the ears of the mob. This latter had constantly grown larger; from every direction the people were hastening to the scene. When the throng realized what the axe blows meant, a wild howl went up from them.
“Down with the Yankee pirate,” came the cry.
“They are burning the ship!” shrilled a newcomer.
“Look,” shouted another; “there is only one man. Shall five hundred loyal subjects of the king be braved by one American cut-throat?”
“Never!” roared the mob.
Like a fury Ethan hacked and hewed at the hatches until he had them all cut away; he was delivering the finishing strokes when the press from the rear of the crowd became so great that those in front were hurled forward.
“Back!” cried the intrepid John Paul Jones, presenting his heavy pistols in their faces. “Keep back!”
This ready action and the coolness of the man filled the angry mob with fear. With cries of alarm they fled back to their former positions at the head of the pier. The brig was now wrapped in a solid sheet of flame; and as there was nothing that demanded the further detaining of the Ranger’s boats, the captain sprang into one of them, followed by Ethan, and they pushed off.
Immediately the crowd surged down the pier; some sprang to fight the flames; others stood at the harbor’s edge and shrieked their threats of vengeance; but the tars in the rapidly-receding boats only answered by a derisive laugh. Some one released the guard at the fort; the hastily-driven spikes were wrenched from one or two of the guns; and they were loaded and trained upon the boats.
But by the time their sullen reports broke upon the morning air the Americans were out of range; and in a very little while later the dashing sloop-of-war, under a press of white canvas, had disappeared beyond the vision of those upon the shore.