Everything was done that good seamanship could direct.
"Everything was done that good seamanship could direct."
Daylight was waited for most anxiously, and when it came, a dreary prospect was before the ship-wrecked ones. Not far away was a low island that was pronounced at once to be the island of Conception. Nothing but the topgallant masts of theVixenshowed above the water, as she had sunk during the night. TheSouthampton'spumps had been kept going for six hours. But she was so badly bilged, and the water was gaining so fast, that her hours were numbered. With a rising sea there was immediate danger of her going to pieces, and in her crowded condition the consequent loss of life would have been too terrible to think of. It was a row of about ten miles from the reef on which the ship lay to the distant low-lying, sandy shore. All the boats were made ready, a raft was built and floated alongside, and the boatswain, obeying orders from the quarter-deck, began bawling: "Away there, you Vixens, away!" So the prisoners were to go first; but since the vessels had struck they had not been treated as prisoners at all. They had obeyed Sir James's orders as though they were members of his own crew, and they had not been shown the slightest evidences of bad blood or ill feeling on the part of the ordinary seamen. Before the day was over all the crew had been transferred to the island, and a boatload of provisions had been safely landed. Sir James and his officers spent the first night on board ship; but on the following morning, as she showed all evidences of a speedy breaking up, a tent was made for him on shore.
A strange life now followed. The great lack felt upon the island was that of proper drinking-water. Conches and shellfish and land-crabs there were in plenty. The four hundred odd men who now found themselves marooned on this island far removed from the usual course of trade, and but seldom visited, had to depend upon a small pond for their drinking-supply. If this should be exhausted, their position would be perilous in the extreme. Two boats had been despatched to summon aid if possible. One to see if there were not some cruiser at Cat Island, with orders to proceed to Nassau, and the other to make for the island of Exhuma.
A little settlement composed of tents and wig-wams made from ship's wreckage soon grew up. Friend and foe mingled together in hunting for conches, or in sports to while away the time.
After a week a small vessel arrived from Cat Island, for the message calling for help had been received, bringing eighteen sheep and a quantity of meal, and the skipper showed where there was hidden a well which the mariners had failed to discover. An empty hogshead was sunk, and a sign-post erected on which was cut "The Southampton's Well, November, 1812." For many years it stood there. The sheep did not last long, and soon resort was had again to the conches. On the eighth of December, three English vessels arrived, theCaledonia, a cutter,Rolla, privateer, and the government brigRhodian. Captain Sir James Yeo made a speech to his crew and their "guests," which was the term he used in referring to the Vixens, in which he thanked the latter for their assistance, their cheerfulness and good behavior, and he stated that he would do everything in his power to help get them exchanged, or provide them with a cartel to take them to their own country on their arrival at Jamaica, whither they were bound. Then, forming into a ragged company, arm in arm, Yankee sailors and British tars marched out from their little settlement, a fifer at their heads playing The Girl I Left Behind Me. Leaving their little island to the mercies of the half-breed wreckers whose small craft swarmed about, they sailed away. The rescued "guests" were prisoners again.
IN THE HARBOR OF FAYAL
On the lake front at Chicago during the World's Fair, close by the entrance to the long walk that led out to the marvellously constructed imitation battle-ship, theIllinois, rested an old iron muzzle-loader. It was a clumsy-looking piece of ordnance compared to the shining, complicated bits of machinery that compose the batteries of a modern war-ship. It looked very out of date and harmless, and people who did not know its history passed it by with hardly a second glance. But yet this old gun had taken more white men's lives in battle than all the great modern breech-loaders on the fleets of Europe combined to-day. It was but nine or ten feet long and threw a solid ball twenty-four pounds in weight. A small inscription on a metal plate told the inquisitive that the gun was the "Long Tom," from the privateerGeneral Armstrong, that had been sunk in the harbor of Fayal, in September of the year 1814; that it had subsequently been raised and presented by the Portuguese government to the United States. There were some who knew the story, for it had been told many times, and long years ago the country rang with it. Every one then knew the main facts of the incident, and because of a long controversy in the courts owing to claims that arose from the action for indemnity against the Portuguese government, the matter was kept alive up to a very recent date. But an unfamiliar story in connection with a well-known fact may not be amiss, and this is a tale of the harbor of Fayal that perhaps few have heard before.
But to get to the telling of it, it is necessary to recount a good deal of what is recorded history.
TheGeneral Armstrongwas a privateer brig outfitted at New York. She was owned in part by a New York merchant, a Mr. Havens, and in part by her commander, Samuel C. Reid, and a better sailor never stood in sea-boots. She was not a big ship; but her armament had been skilfully chosen. Her crew of picked men had been drilled man-of-war fashion. She mounted eight long nine-pounders, four on a side, and amidships she carried the big twenty-four-pounder before referred to. Her First Lieutenant was a Mr. Alexander O. Williams, a very young man, but a thorough and practical seaman; her Second was named Worth; her Third Lieutenant's name was Johnson; her crew, all Americans, numbered ninety souls all told. Among them was an active, handsome fellow, named William Copeland. He was down on the privateer's books as able seaman; but before theGeneral Armstronghad been two weeks at sea, Copeland was promoted for meritorious conduct in an action with a British armed schooner, that was sent home as a prize, to be quarter gunner. It was Reid and himself that squinted along the black barrel of the old Long Tom, when she fought in the harbor of Fayal.
It was the 26th day of September that theGeneral Armstrongcast anchor there. The weather had been very fine, and Captain Reid, very proud of his vessel, had done everything to make her look smart and tidy. Her rigging was all tuned up to concert pitch; her decks were as white as sand and holystone could make them, and the men, contrary to the habit of most privateers, were dressed in suits of white duck and blue. The American Consul, John D. Dabney, felt a thrill of pride as he saw the man-of-war fashion with which theGeneral Armstrongcame to anchor. As the long white gig came rolling up to the pier, and the men boated their oars, Mr. Dabney recognized that the officer sitting in the stern sheets was an old friend of his.
"Ah, Captain Reid," he exclaimed. "Glad to see you. My compliments to you on the appearance of your vessel. I thought at first that she must be one of the regular navy; in fact, I took her for theEnterprise."
"Well, I flatter myself that she is quite as shipshape," returned Captain Reid. "And I have to work my crew pretty hard to keep from showing how well satisfied I am with them. I tell you, Dabney, it isn't every man that has had such a fine lot of fellows under him. As to my success so far, it has been fair enough; but I'd really like to measure distances and exchange a few shots with some of His Majesty's little fellows."
"You have come to a good place to look for them," Dabney returned. "It is seldom that a week passes without having one or more of them drop anchor in the roads."
Chatting together in this friendly fashion, the two gentlemen went up into the town. It was late in the evening before Reid came to the water-front to signal for his boat. Dabney was still with him. They walked down to the end of the pier, and Reid suddenly pointed:—
"By Jupiter!" he exclaimed, "here we come," and following his finger Dabney saw three big vessels lazily moving along before the slight wind, toward the harbor entrance. Their earlier approach had been hidden by the headlands.
The harbor of Fayal is surrounded by hills, on the slopes of which the town is built, and the bay extends in a semicircle with two wide-reaching arms. The water runs deep into the shore. The sun was setting in the calm evening sky, and there was scarce enough movement on the surface of the bay to catch the red reflections. Dabney turned to Captain Reid after the first long look.
"English, or else I'm much mistaken," he said quietly.
"Not the least doubt of it in my mind," Reid returned, "and if there was more of a wind, by Jove, I'd try to get out of this.... Do you think it is safe to stay?"
"It is a neutral port," Dabney returned, "and Portugal and England have been such friends, that I do not think John Bull would take advantage of his position here. In my opinion they will respect the neutrality."
"Well, they won't catch me napping," Reid returned, as he stepped into the gig; and after requesting the Consul's presence at dinner on the following evening, he gave the order to shove off, and pulled away for his vessel.
Mr. Williams, the First Lieutenant, met him at the gangway. "You have observed our friends yonder?" he asked, pitching his thumb over his shoulder. "I wish we were out of here."
"So do I," Reid returned, "but we must make the best of it."
It was a beautiful sight to see the great square-rigged ships come to anchor. Forward and aft all hands were on deck watching the English men-of-war perform the manœuvre.
"Well done!" exclaimed William Copeland, the quarter gunner, turning to a group of his messmates. "It takes an Englishman or a Yankee to make a vessel behave as if she were alive. By Davy's locker!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I know that nearest ship; it's thePlantagenet, I'll bet my prize money. Good cause have I to remember her; she picked me up in the North Sea and I served three years in her confounded carcass. Three wicked, sweating years, my lads."
"Where did you leave her, Bill?" asked one of the seamen standing near him.
"At Cape Town, during the war against the Dutch. I'll spin the yarn to you some day. My brother and I were took at the same time. The last I seed of him was when we lowered ourselves out of the sick bay into the water to swim a good three miles to the whaler—that was three years ago."
"Do you reckon he was drownded, Bill?"
"Reckon so. Leastways I haven't heard from him, poor lad!"
Further talk was interrupted by an order from the quarter-deck calling away the first cutter to carry a stream anchor in towards shore in order to warp the brig close under the walls of the "castle" a little battery of four or five guns that commanded the inner harbor. Captain Reid's suspicions had been awakened by seeing a boat put off from the shore, and noticing that one of the frigates was getting up her anchor preparatory to drawing in nearer. In less than half an hour he was moored stem and stern so close under the walls of the little fort that he could have hurled a marline-spike against the walls from his own quarter-deck. As it grew darker he could see from the flashing of lights that the English vessels were holding communication with one another, and occasionally across the water would come the sound of creaking blocks or the lilt of a pipe. He knew well enough that such goings on were not without some object, and calling all of his officers aft they held a short consultation. It was exactly eight o'clock in the evening. From shore there came a sound of fiddles and singing. Although Captain Reid had promised the men liberty that evening, owing to the position of affairs the order had been rescinded, but nevertheless there was some grumbling in the forecastle; for if a sailor doesn't grumble when he gets a chance, he is not a sailor.
"I'll be shot if I can see why the old man won't let us ashore," growled a sturdy young topman. "D'ye hear them fiddles, Jack? Can't you see the señoritas adancin'? My heels itch for the touch of a springy floor and my arm has a crook to it that would just fit a neat young waist. Do you remember—"
"Stow your jaw, Dummer," broke in a heavy voice half angrily. "And you too, Merrick, clap a stopper on it," turning to another of the malcontents. "Hush now, listen all hands.... Oars! can't ye hear 'em? And muffled too, by the Piper! Pass the word below; all hands!" With that William Copeland ran aft to the quarter-deck. Captain Reid met him at the mast.
"Their boats are coming, sir," Copeland whispered excitedly; "five or six of 'em, I should judge."
"Are the broadside guns ready?"
"Aye, aye, sir, and double-shotted; two of them with grape and canister."
"How's the Long Tom?"
"Ready to speak for himself, sir," Copeland replied with a touch of pride, for the big gun was his especial pet.
The three lieutenants had now grouped close together. "See that the magazine is opened, Mr. Worth, and Mr. Williams call the men to their stations quietly. They will try to come in on the port hand most probably. Gentlemen, to your stations. No firing until you get the word from the quarter-deck, and stop all talking on the ship."
Even the sentry, patrolling his beat on the castle walls, did not hear or notice anything extraordinary on board the privateer, so silently were the orders followed out. The moon was struggling to pierce through the thin, filmy clouds that obscured her light. It was one of those nights when objects appear suddenly out of the invisible and take shape with distinctness close to hand. But every one could hear the sounds now.
"Thrum, thrum, thrum," the swing of oars; despite that the rhythm was muffled and subdued.
Reid was leaning over the rail with a night glass aimed in the direction of the frigate. A figure hurried to his side. It was Lieutenant Williams. "We can see them from for'ard, sir," he said breathlessly. "Everything is ready, and there's surely some mischief afoot."
"Yes, I can see them now; four of them, chock a block with men," Reid returned, closing the glass with a snap. "Now stand by, all hands, for orders." Then raising his voice, he shot the following question out into the semi-darkness: "On board the boats, there! There is no landing here. Keep away from our side."
The rowing ceased; but it was only an instant and then it began again.
"I warn you to come no nearer!" shouted Reid. "You do so at your peril."
Four dark shapes were now visible without the aid of any glass. The plash of the oars could be heard as they caught the water. Reid just noticed the figure of William Copeland bending over the breech of the Long Tom, whose muzzle extended across the bulwarks.
"Keep off or I shall fire!" he warned for the third time. There came an answer to this clear enough to be heard by every man standing at the guns.
"Give way, lads, together."
"Fire!" roared Reid, in a voice that must have been heard distinctly along the shore. The reply was a scarlet burst of flame and a crash that sent the echoes up the hills. It stopped the fiddles in the dance-house; it set the drums and bugles rolling and tooting in the fortress, and the American Consul, sitting over his coffee on the public square, jumped to his feet, and ran, followed by a clamoring crowd, to the pier-head.
From the direction of the boats came a confusion of orders following the broadside. Groans and shrieks for help arose from the darkness. Some spurts of flame came quickly and several musket-balls whistled over theArmstrong'sdeck. Then the loud report of a heavy boat gun, and a groan and cry followed immediately from the brig's forecastle.
All was silent now except for the sound of plashing in the water and some groans and muffled cries. Reid was about to hail when he saw three men hurrying aft with a heavy burden in their arms.
"It's Mr. Williams, sir; he's shot in the head, and Dummer, of the forward division, sir, is killed," one of them said gruffly. Poor Dummer! He would dance no more with the señoritas—there were to be no more liberty parties for him.
Reid's intention of lowering away a boat faded from his mind. There would be more of the same sort of work before long; that he knew well. One of the boats had been sunk, for the wreck came drifting in close to the brig's side. The other three could be heard making off to the ships, their rowing growing fainter every minute. Lieutenants Worth and Johnson came aft to report.
"We are in for it, gentlemen," said Reid; "but they won't cut this vessel out without more discussion on the subject. The idea of such treachery in a friendly harbor! They received their just deserts." His anger got the better of him for an instant, and he could say no more. "Poor Williams!" he murmured at last. "Is he badly hurt?"
"He is mortally wounded, sir, I am afraid," Mr. Johnson returned.
"A good friend and a fine officer gone," put in Lieutenant Worth. "So much for this night's work."
"Do not fear; there'll be more of it, and we'll have our hands full," Reid continued. "Mr. Johnson, you will see that the boarding-nettings are spread, and load the midship gun with lagrange and a star shot. Have pikes and cutlasses ready."
"Are you going ashore, sir, to see the commander of the fort? He surely should protect us?" asked Mr. Worth.
"We need count no longer on him," was Reid's rejoinder. "We will have to do our own protecting. See that every musket and pistol is loaded and laid handy and, stay," he added, "cut away the bulwarks just abaft the gangway and bring two of those starboard guns across the deck. We will need them all, to my way of thinking."
The crowds gathered on the shore could hear the sounds of preparation. From the English squadron also came a babble of orders and movement. The lights were doubled in number. Every port shone brightly. The moon had now risen until objects could be seen quite plainly.
"They are preparing for an attack in force," Reid said, handing the glass to Mr. Johnson, who had already seen that the boarding-nettings had been spread above the railing. The men forward were busy setting some spare spars to act as booms to keep the boats from gaining the vessel's bows. Time passed swiftly. At twelve o'clock the oars began again. But they were not muffled now! "Click, clock," they came onward with a rush. Voices could be heard urging the rowers to more exertion, as if they were racing crews out for a practice spin. Reid was levelling the glass.
"Ten, twelve, thirteen, fourteen—fourteen boats loaded to the guards," he said. "God's love, there must be four hundred men: they mean to take us if they can." He looked down at his own little deck. He had less than ninety now; but they were ninety stout, good fellows who would not flinch. In the rays of the battle lanterns and the pale light of the moon, Captain Reid saw that they were ready to fight their last fight maybe.
It was no time to make a speech; but the men could hear every word he said without gathering nearer. "Lads," he said, "reserve your fire until you get the word from me. Don't waste a single shot, and remember this: aim low.... Copeland!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Cover that leading boat."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
A big pinnace or barge, holding perhaps eighty men, was heading the flotilla by almost a hundred feet. The grinding of a handspike on the deck broke the silence, as the Long Tom was slewed about to bear upon her.
"Handsomely now, men," cajoled Copeland. "Handsomely; that's well."
The great boat was rowing in directly on that gun as if towed by a line. She was heading on to death and destruction!
Consul Dabney, standing with the anxious crowd on the shore, held his breath.
Was Reid going to submit to be taken without striking another blow? Not much. With a long flare of flame that leaped from theArmstrong'sside, arose a great shout from the spectators.
The bow of the pinnace was stove in, and she pitched forward into the water like an angry bull brought to his knees by a rifle shot. Men absolutely boiled out of her. The moonlit water was dotted with black objects; some threshing with their arms, others silent and motionless. There came a rattling reply of small-arms from the boats, and the long nines answered them. The action was on in earnest. No one can gainsay the courage that was displayed by the attacking force. They were Englishmen; it is not necessary to say more. The firing became incessant. The men on theArmstronghad scarce time to reload their guns. They would snatch up a pistol here and a musket there and fire out at the water that was crisscrossed with the red flashes of the answering shots. More than once a boat had reached the side. On two occasions men had sprung to the bulwarks, and clung to the boarding-nettings until shot away. Every now and then the Long Tom would let go a half-bucketful of grape and scrap iron, hurling death into the boats. Every one of the privateer's crew seemed gifted with four arms. From one point of attack to another they chased about the deck. It seemed as if she numbered three times her complement. Bill Copeland was fighting like a demon. Twice had he run along the top of the bulwarks, exposed to every aim. Suddenly he saw that one of the boats had worked around to the starboard side. Giving the alarm, and followed by a half-score of the after-guard, he ran across to meet this unexpected danger. One of the men who followed him caught up a twenty-four-pound solid shot in his arms as he ran. Another followed his example. Both shot crashed through the bottom of the boat, and a volley was poured down into them. But three or four of the men had already reached the chains.
There was a figure crawling up below him.
"There was a figure crawling up below him."
Copeland sprang to the bulwarks with his cutlass in his hand. There was a figure crawling up below him. Leaning forward, he made a quick stroke that would have severed the man's throat had he not leaned back suddenly and avoided it. Again he drew back his sharpened cutlass for the death blow, and then he saw that the fellow was unarmed. Something stayed his hand; he bent still further forward, and just as the Englishman was about to fall back into the water, he grasped him by the wrist.
"My God, Jed!" he cried, and exerting all his strength he dragged his prisoner over the rail on to the deck. Those who had time to witness it, saw a curious sight. There was Bill Copeland holding fast to another man, their arms on each other's shoulders.
"Jed, don't ye know me?" Bill was crying; "but, Lord love ye lad, you're wounded." A shudder went through him as he realized how close he had been to sending home that fatal thrust. The man with a pigtail down his back leaned forward weakly.
"I'm hurted bad, Bill," he said. "But go on and fight; leave me alone; egad, you've whipped 'em." Sure enough, the firing had now slackened. Four or five of the boats had retreated beyond gun shot.They were all that could do so unaided.
"Cease firing!" ordered Captain Reid, hastening about the deck. "Cease firing here! They have given up. Where is Mr. Johnson?" he roared, pushing his way into a group of men who were about to reload one of the nine-pounders. He had to cuff his way amongst them to make them desist. "Where is Mr. Johnson?" he repeated.
"He's wounded, sir."
"And Mr. Worth is wounded too, sir," put in another man. "I helped him below myself."
As suddenly as the action had begun it had ended. By the light of a lantern Captain Reid glanced at his watch. It was forty minutes since the first gun had been fired. He looked about his decks. Although they were littered with loose running-gear, handspikes, cutlasses, and muskets, at the sight his heart gave a great bound of joy. There were no mangled figures or pools of slippery blood. It seemed hardly possible.
But from the wreckage in the water came groans and cries. He looked over the side. There lay, rocking, two broken boats filled with huddled figures, some moving weakly.
"Here!" he shouted to some of the men. "Bear a hand; save all we can."
It was a sudden transition, this, from taking life to saving it; but the men turned to with a will. In one of the boats twelve dead bodies were found, and but seventeen of her crew had escaped with their lives, and they were all badly wounded. Of the four hundred men who had commenced that bold attack, only one-half returned to the ships unhurt. Reid hurried down into the cockpit. It seemed past believing.But two of his men, including the brave Williams, had been killed, and but seven wounded!This is history.
But a sight he saw attracted the Captain's attention. It was Bill Copeland sitting on the deck, with his arms about a pale figure whose head lay in Copeland's lap. The resemblance between the men was striking.
"What have we here?" asked Captain Reid.
"My brother, sir," Copeland returned.
"Your brother!"
"Aye, sir; from thePlantaganet. He was the only one who got on board of us!"
The man spoke with an accent of pride, and the wounded one opened his eyes.
"Bill, here, he hauled me on board," he said.
When the surgeon found time to attend to Copeland's wounds, he pronounced them not to be of a dangerous character, and the man was soon made comfortable.
All night long, theArmstrong'speople slept beside their guns, but there was no evidence of any further intention to attack on the part of the British. TheCarnation, which was the nearest of the vessels to the privateer, had her boats out at daybreak. All day long they kept carrying their dead on shore. From theRotathere were seventy funerals! But theArmstrongwas not left unmolested. At eight o'clock theCarnationbegan firing at close range. For a few minutes, Captain Reid replied with some effect. But resistance was useless, and at nine he ordered all hands into the boats, and made for the shore, every one arriving there in safety. He had bored a large hole in theArmstrong'sbottom, but before she sank, two boats from theCarnationrowed out to her, and the English set her on fire.... The inhabitants of the town, all of whose sympathies were with the Americans, did everything in their power to assist the wounded, and many were the indignant protests against the action of Captain Lloyd, the English senior officer.
It now came to light that Mr. Dabney had complained to the commander of the Castle as soon as the firing had begun the previous night, and that the Portuguese commander had written a letter to Lloyd, but the latter's reply had been only a menacing insult. So angry were the English at the fearful drubbing they had received, that they insisted upon the government officials delivering the crew of theArmstrongup to them, upon the ground that there were deserters among them. There existed, between Portugal and England, a treaty that demanded the return of prisoners accused of high treason, and Captain Lloyd, by claiming that deserters were guilty of this crime, had a technical right for examination of the American refugees.... But hearing the danger they were in, Captain Reid and his men, after securing some arms, barricaded themselves in a small stone church, back in the country, where they dared the Englishmen to come and take them. It was a difficult position for them to maintain. If Captain Lloyd's statement was correct, then the Portuguese government was bound to hand them over as deserters, or place themselves in a bad position with England. After a long deliberation, Reid consented to have his men submit to an examination. They were all arrested, and brought to town, and not a single deserter was found among them!
But what of Copeland, the wounded prisoner? He lay hidden in one of the houses of a friendly Portuguese, and his name was probably reported on thePlantagenet'sbooks as "missing." On the 28th of the month, two British sloops of war, theThaisandClypso, came into port, and were immediately sent back to England with the British wounded. The two Copeland brothers returned to the United States, with the rest of theArmstrong'screw, and both served in the navy for the rest of the war.
The owners of theArmstrongattempted for many years to obtain redress for the loss of their ship. Again and again were they put off and denied. But in this year, 1897, some money was received, and strange to say, was paid to the widow of the owner, Mr. Havens. She died but a short time ago, at the age of ninety-eight, at Stamford, Connecticut.
THE ESCAPE OF SYMINGTON
Captain Myron Symington was a long-legged Yankee. There was no mistaking him for anything else but an out-and-out downeaster. As to the length of his underpinning, that was apparent also. When seated, he did not appear above the average height; but when erect he stood head and shoulders above the crowd, so of course it was in his legs. Symington spoke English with a lazy drawl, and conversation ebbed from him much after the manner that smoke issues from a tall chimney on a perfectly still day—it rolled forth in slow volumes. But Symington's French was very different; he could be clearly understood, for he spoke it well; but he discharged every word like a pistol shot, and he paused between each sentence as if he had to load and prime, and cast loose for the next.
Since the beginning of the war Symington had not been to America. But he had sent many messages thither; and although his headquarters were at Brest when ashore, and the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay when afloat, his name had become well known in the United States, and he had done a thriving international business on his own account—which may require some explaining.
The little privateerRattler(of which he was owner and commander) had sent home no less than twenty vessels that had been snapped up when almost under the guns of England's coastwise fortresses. Whenever he needed provisioning or recruiting, Symington would make for one of the French ports, run the blockade that the English had established the whole length of the coast, drop his anchor in the harbor, and then get anything he chose for the mere asking for it; for Symington's name was as good and in fact better than the promise of some governments. Years before the outbreak of the war Symington had commanded the fastest and luckiest Yankee craft engaged in the European trade that sailed from Baltimore or Boston. He was a good seaman, it was reputed that he was immensely wealthy, and many believed also that he possessed some charm or fetich that insured success. Certainly it had crowned his endeavors to divert the direction of Great Britain's proper freight ships.
Symington was sitting at a table in one of the cafés off the Rue Bonaparte in the city of Brest, and he had just finished a very heavy noonday meal. Suddenly glancing up, he saw a man go past the door leading from the hallway into the garden. Lengthening himself to his full height by a succession of jerks, in a couple of strides he had caught the man by the elbow and almost pulled him back into the room.
"Just back, ain't ye, Captain Edgar?" he drawled.
"Post haste," the man replied, "from Paris."
"Any news?"
"Well, I should say there was. By Hickey, Captain, Napoleon's jig is up! Already the people are showing the white cockade, and those who yet fly the tricolor have the other in their pocket."
"So!" exclaimed Symington, prolonging the syllable until it sounded like a yawn; "then our friends the English will have a finger in the pie in short order. It is a shame that they will have to break up such a harmless and profitable business, this Channel cruising."
It was April of the year 1814. Europe had completed the humiliation of the little great man who had come nigh to conquering her, unaided. And as soon as the last of his ramparts were down, any one with common sense could see what would be the outcome of it all. The exiled King, Louis the Eighteenth, who had been hiding in London, would be placed upon the throne! To Great Britain more than to any other power he would owe his translation from debt, poverty, and seclusion to position, affluence, and a crown. From being England's enemy, France would become her ally. Could it be expected of her to continue to harbor in her ports those ocean pests, the Yankee privateers, who had compelled England to give the services of two-thirds of her fighting force to convoying and guarding her merchant fleets?
Symington and his friend, the short man, seated themselves at a table and continued the conversation.
"I'd put to sea to-morrow if I had enough of a crew to work the oldSiren," said the little Captain. "I had hard enough work getting into port after manning all my prizes. But if I could get four more good hands, I'd have enough."
"There are just fourteen men-o'-war and three battle-ships off the harbor mouth, and what chance would ye have of gettin' through this open weather?" grumbled Symington. "We'll have to wait until we get a good blow out of the southeast; that'll scatter 'em, and then, by Hick, we can make a try for it. Two weeks longer, and we'll probably have no show."
"I'll be startin' for Boston town some dark night this week, Captain Symington, just as soon as I get men enough to handle theSiren'smain sheet, as I told ye."
"And I, too, Captain Edgar, as soon as I get enough hands to get up theRattler'sanchor. But I'll choose my weather, sir!"
After a few words more the two skippers shook hands and left the café, each bound to the waterfront by a different direction. It was certainly a peculiar position that the Yankee craft found themselves occupying about this time in European waters. Sometimes they would be in a port where lay eight or ten half-dismantled frigates, and over twice as many smaller cruisers and merchantmen belonging to the Empire, all cooped up and kept in there by four or five English sloops of war, or perhaps a guard ship of fifty or sixty guns patrolling up and down the harbor mouth. On the other side of the water, however, the English had succeeded in blockading but one American frigate, theConstellation, early in the war. Afterwards for a few months they hemmed in theUnited States, theMacedonian, and the littleHornetin the harbor of New London; but what would not the United States have given to have possessed those thousands of idle guns that lay in the French naval stations? She would have manned the helms, spread the sails, and put those great hulks into motion. She might even have done a little "fleet sailing" on her own account.
But there was some excuse for France. Napoleon had depleted his seacoasts to fill his armies. There were not sufficient able seamen to answer the demand, and besides, so long had the French run away from the English at sea, that a thirty-eight-gun frigate of the Empire had been known to escape a meeting with a British twenty-gun sloop by turning tail and making off. The French flag was a rarity afloat. So every time the Yankee privateers entered or left a port it was necessary to run the blockade that the British had established at the entrance. As this was the state of the home ports also, they had become quite used to it. Seldom or never were they caught in the act.
But the day came, as the Yankee captains had agreed it would, when Napoleon succumbed entirely. Out came the white cockades; the tricolor disappeared. No longer was it "the Emperor," but "the King," and the first request that England made was that the Yankee shipping in French ports should be confiscated and the privateers detained. Great was the consternation of the skippers; some who had crews sufficient in number to man their vessels put to sea instanter and were taken in by the Channel squadron forthwith. Others remained waiting for the weather to thicken and trusting that King Louis would hesitate long enough to give them a chance for life. But the order came at last. The privateers were to be allowed to leave the harbor any time they found a chance to do so; but before they left, the French King, who was holding fast to his rickety throne, and was merely kept in place by the supporting arms of England, Russia, and Germany, issued a decree. It was to the effect that the vessels should sail unarmed; that their broadsides should be taken from them, their cutlasses and small-arms removed, and thus shorn of their teeth and claws, they should be allowed to depart. As every merchantman, almost without exception, in those days carried at least four or five guns handy on the spar deck, this decree was equivalent to presenting them to any English vessel that might get range of them. Before the order could be executed more of the vessels got to sea, and not a few were gobbled up at once by the English cruisers; some were forced to put back again, and only one or two ever reached the shores of America.
The day the news arrived early in May, Captain Edgar was one of the first to get his anchor in and make out past the headland as soon as dusk had settled. In a few minutes Symington, also, although his vessel was very short-handed, was getting up his mainsail, and he too would have sailed no doubt, had there not suddenly arisen a sound of firing from the offing. Of course there being now peace between France and England, it was possible for the English ships to anchor beside the Americans if they had chosen to do so, and in fact in some of the harbors so penned in were the privateers, that, as one captain expressed it, "they would have to sail across the deck of a seventy-four to escape to sea." England had respected the neutrality of the French ports thus far; but if an American vessel was seen preparing to get under way, she would be watched carefully, and if not accompanied by an English ship, her going out would be signalled to the blockaders off the shore. As the cannonading was kept up for so long a time, Captain Symington supposed, or at least hoped, that theSirenhad escaped her enemies. Perhaps the confusion that followed would be a good moment for him to take advantage of, and he determined to sail out at once.
But it was not to be; for hardly had he got under way when he was boarded by a cutter filled with armed men, under the command of a Frenchman, dressed in a voluminous coat and a huge cocked hat, who described himself in a breathless sentence as "Monsieur le Capitaine Georges Binda, Inspector of the Port for His Majesty, King Louis." But a few months previously he had been at Napoleon's beck and call, having been one of the recruiting officers of the district.
Captain Symington's expostulations were of no avail, although owing to his peculiar manner of speech, they appealed to the whole harbor.
His long twelve-pounder was taken from him, and his neat little battery of carronades, six on a side, were confiscated also. Before noon of the next day theRattlerhad been changed from a tiger cat to a harmless kitten.
The discomforting news also arrived that Captain Edgar had been blown out of the water, after he had almost succeeded in getting past the English line. This was most disheartening, and that very day many of the Americans, despairing of ever getting free, attempted to dispose of their ships by sale. But not so with Symington. He determined not to give up until compelled to; to hold out until the very last minute.
TheRattlerwas light in ballast, and in trim for fast sailing. There were enough men now on board of her to handle her at a pinch, and she could have shown a clean pair of heels to any one of the English cruisers then afloat. Although not altogether a beauty to look at, for she was a comparatively old vessel, she was marvellously quick in stays, and came about like a sharpie. In pointing, too, she was a marvel, and once given the windward gage she could choose her own distance. No man could sail theRattlerthe way Symington could, and no skipper ever knew the capacities or character of his craft better than did the lank Yankee. She was his pet; why give her up to be sailed by a lubberly Frenchman? The very first chance he saw he was going to take. It arrived no later than the second evening after the despoiling.
The moon came up early in the morning; but about an hour or so before the time for her appearance a soft gray fog blew in from the sea. At first the great outline of a British troop-ship close alongside on theRattler'sport hand disappeared gradually. Then the numerous anchor lights and the lanterns of the town that had been twinkling brightly in the darkness became but hazy blurs of light through the thickening mist. But when the moon began to cast her silvery light, a marvellous thing happened that caused the second mate, who was on watch, to hurry down into the cabin and call Captain Symington to the deck. The rays of moonlight in the fog caused an opaque, impenetrable veil to surround the ship. So thick was it, that the sensation was as if a white cloth had been tied across the eyes. The masts disappeared a few feet above the deck. If one turned around, it was impossible to tell in which direction the vessel extended. TheRattlerlay but a few hundred feet astern of a big French brig that was anchored with a stream anchor over her side to keep her from swinging in toward a point of rocks which was surmounted by a small battery. As soon as Captain Symington reached the deck he stepped across to the bulwarks, and lowering himself down as far as he could go by the chains he perceived what often happens in thick weather: the fog was lifted some feet from the surface of the water, and close to the water objects could be discerned at some distance. There was not wind enough to sail; to use the sweeps would have called down on him a fleet of armed small craft in an instant! Well he knew that rather than see him escape, the transport would go afoul of him and try to explain matters afterwards.
Now Captain Symington had a remarkably retentive memory. It was said that he never had to look at a chart more than twice; that he could take a vessel over shoals where he had been only once before, and that, years previously. Now this gift stood him in good stead. Just ahead of him lay the big French brig. Within a cable's length of her, a large French man-of-war, but half dismantled; beyond, an English sloop; then two more vessels. Once outside of them, and there was nothing to prevent him from gaining the mouth of the harbor! How was it to be done? The fog might last for two or three hours, and yet again it might disappear at any moment. But Symington was not discouraged; a brilliant idea came to him; the crew were called into the cabin, and there by the dim light of a lantern Captain Symington explained his plan.
The men listened in astonishment. Many stories of wonderful escapes had they heard, and many adventures had they been through; but such a bold plan of action they had never heard proposed before.
When all hands returned to the deck, there was not a sound. Although having almost to feel their way, a light new cable was brought up and flaked neatly up and down the deck. Then Captain Symington took the end of it into the stern sheets of his gig, which was silently dropped into the water, and with four men pulling at the carefully muffled oars he made off from beneath the bows, heading for the big French brig, the cable noiselessly paying out into the water over theRattler'sbows. It did not take him long to make fast to the moorings of the brig. This done, he waited anxiously.
"They are heaving away now, sir," whispered one of the men in the bow of the boat. Sure enough, the cable had tautened under the strain that was being put upon it. Symington at first feared that some attention might be attracted on board the Frenchman; but there came no sound, and he knew that his people on board theRattlerhad silently slipped moorings and that she had way upon her.
On board the privateer's deck, barefooted men were walking away with the cable over their shoulders and causing their light vessel to come boldly along through the water. At a certain length from where the cable was to be made fast, a bit of marline had been tied, and when this came inboard the orders were to 'vast heaving, belay, and drop the anchor that had been only "hove short"; that is, lifted from the sand. Soon this point was reached. Symington, cast loose, came on board; a second cable was prepared and spliced to the first, and off he started to make fast to the next vessel lying farther out.
And thus did Symington warp himself beyond the mouth of the inner harbor to a place where he considered it safe enough to get out his sweeps. Manning these, for an hour and more he kept at it. But it was dangerous work. The tides were going down, and although he kept the lead going, he might run on one of the sand-bars at any moment. That he was well out of the channel he knew to a certainty. So at last he dropped anchor, silently, and patiently waited for the fog that had saved him so far, to clear up enough for him to get his bearings.
Toward daylight a slight breeze sprang up, and to his alarm Symington found that a stretch of low beach was under his lee, and it behooved him well to work theRattlerfarther out. Getting sail enough up to enable him to trip his anchor, he drew away from shore. Slowly the fog closed down upon him again quite as thick as it had been some hours previously; but all at once the First Mate, who was forward, cried out in fright:—
"Starboard your helm! Hard a starboard!"
TheRattler'sbow fell off a few points, and at that instant there came the shock of a collision, followed by a hail in good sea-faring English, seemingly from up in the air.
"What are you doing there? What vessel is that?" Then there was some bawling and much noise of movement and another hail in a voice that had not yet spoken.
"On board that vessel! answer me, or I'll blow you out of the water!"
By this time Captain Symington was firing off his explosive French sentences, which, as it is impossible to give their full force even in the language in which they were spoken, we will translate.
"Who are you and what are you doing here? Answer."
"TheCigalleof Havre. I try to get into the harbor here."
There came a laugh from the direction of the strange vessel. "Strange sort of weather for a Frenchman to be sailing in, sir," some one observed. "More than likely one of the Yankees trying to get out."
That was exactly what Captain Symington was trying to do, but the collision with the stranger had carried away his port cathead, and with it the anchor had gone to the bottom. By the effect of this unfortunate accident, and the force of the tide, which was now against her, theRattler'shead was swung around again, and before anything could prevent it, she once more went afoul of the big vessel, whose decks towered higher than her cross-trees. There she hung, under the other's lee, while the English commander, sometimes in French and sometimes in English, was cursing Symington for a clumsy Frenchman and threatening to send a shot on board of him.
It was daylight almost and the wind was freshening. Clearer and clearer the outlines of the great vessel could be seen.
She was an English seventy-four, that, trying to make the harbor, had been headed off by darkness and had anchored in the roads.
In ten minutes after the breeze began to blow, the air was free from mist. There was no use in trying to indulge in any deception now. The character of the small vessel had been discovered by the big one. A crowd of laughing officers lined the rail, and on her gallery appeared a number of ladies bound most probably for the new court of the new King. The wind was off shore. From the shrilling of whistles and babbling of orders it was seen that the battle-ship was getting under way. A man in gold lace leaned out over the rail and said in an off-hand manner:—
"On board the Yankee there! Keep under our lee and return to the harbor, or we'll sink you instantly; play no tricks, if you value your safety. Mark you that."
Why it was that the Englishman did not drop a boat and put a prize crew on board theRattler, it might be hard to guess. Symington feared that this would happen, and, although he gave no answer to the imperious order, he set about obeying it with every evidence of haste and alacrity.
But such clumsy work had never been seen before on board a Yankee privateer. Often in naval actions in the old sailing days, when orders were blared through a speaking-trumpet, and not given by little electric bells and signals, as now we have them, the "rule of contrary" was passed in order to deceive the enemy who might overhear and thus anticipate.
"Hard a port" meant "hard a starboard." A vessel that was supposed to be on the point of luffing would bear away, sheets flying.
Now, on board theRattler, although no such order had been passed, the men had understood well enough the whispered word. It is a well-known fact that the fore-and-aft rig was best understood in America, where it had really been brought to perfection. The English, after they had captured a vessel of theRattler'sclass, never succeeded in getting the same sailing qualities out of her, and the upshot of it was that they generally changed her rigging and cut down her masts and sail plan. But no crew was ever clumsier than was the privateer's on this occasion. They tumbled over one another, they got the halliards twisted, they pretended to be breaking their backs in getting in the anchor when they were not lifting a pound, and all the time the First Mate was running hither and thither like the busy man at the circus, chattering a jargon made up of scraps of Portuguese, Dutch, and Spanish, while above all the confusion, Captain Symington's explosive French adjectives rang out like snaps of a whip.
There had not been the least doubt in the English officers' minds a moment since that the little vessel they were looking down upon was an American; but now they were somewhat puzzled, and the whole scene was so laughable that very soon the taffrail was lined again with a tittering crowd, who discussed, in very audible tones, their varying opinions.
But lazily the great ship was swinging about with a great creaking of yards and flapping of sails. Soon she was moving through the water. A few minutes later and theRattlerwas in her wake, and Captain Symington, who certainly did not look French, despite his wonderful vocabulary, made a proud and elaborate bow, and lifted his great beaver hat to the ladies who were now on the quarter-deck enjoying the sight.
But if the English officers had been puzzled at first and amused afterwards, there was one person on board H.M.S.Ajaxwho had enjoyed the same sensations in a more intensified fashion. He was looking out of one of the stern ports on the lower gun-deck. A short, thickset man, who did not belong to the battle-ship's company, for he was a prisoner. It was Captain Edgar, and it was theAjaxthat had picked up theSirenin a sinking condition after she had sustained the fusillade of two nights previously. But every foot theRattlersailed brought her further into the harbor and lessened the ultimate chances for escape. But that there was a plan in Captain Symington's mind, Edgar did not doubt. He knew that theRattlerwas as handy as a whip, and he kept his eyes open for any sudden development. He did not have to wait long; there came an unexpected shift of the wind more to the southward just as theAjaxwas slowly heaving about to go off on the other tack. It caught her all aback; the great sails clattered, and her headway stopped. She had missed stays.
It is no laughing matter for a big ship to have this happen to her when approaching a harbor or nearing shallow water. At once the boatswain's whistle began piping away; orders were shouted, and there was trouble below and aloft.