The Noank's Log Part 13

Guert's dulness vanished, and he at once straightened up, for the contemptuous tone of the old Manhattan stung him a little. He had not been stationed there by any order, as a responsible watchman, but the old redskin was unable to understand how any fellow on a warpath, whether in the woods or upon the water, could at any moment be otherwise than looking out for his enemies. His own keen eyes were continually busy without any mental effort or any official instructions. He now took the telescope and began to use it methodically. Around the circle of the sea it slowly turned, until it suddenly became fixed in a north-westerly direction.

"Sail O!" he sang out. "Where cap'n?"

"Here I am!" came up the forward hatchway. "Where away? What do you make her out?"

"Nor-nor-west!" called back the Indian. "Square tops'l. No see 'em good, yet. Man-o'-war come."

"Jest as like as not," said Captain Avery. "Shouldn't wonder if they'd sent a cruiser after us. Hurrah, boys! A stern chase is a long chase, but that isn't the first thing on hand. Sam! I was down at the barometer. There's a blow comin'! Worst kind! All hands to shorten sail! Lower those topsails!"

It was a somewhat unexpected order for a crew to receive if an enemy's cruiser were indeed so close upon their heels, and there was hardly a cloud in the steel-blue winter sky. It was obeyed, however, the men pa.s.sing from one to another the discovery of Up-na-tan while they tugged at their ropes and canvas.

Guert sprang away aloft, for this was a part of his seamanship, in which the captain was compelling him to take pretty severe lessons.

"You'll have to be on a square-rigged ship, one of these days," he had told him. "I want you to know 'bout a schooner before you get away from her. But you'll find there's an awful difference 'twixt the handlin' o' the _Noank_ and a full-rigged three-master. You'll need heaps and heaps o' sea schoolin'."

Guert was very well aware of that, from more tongues than one, and Sam Prentice was also beginning to put him through a mathematical course of the study of navigation. This, in fact, had begun during the long months of inactivity at New London, and he had been much helped in it by his Quaker friend, Rachel Tarns. He was to be of some use, one of these days, she had told him; and a fellow who did not know how to navigate could never become a sea-captain. An ignorant chap, a mere sailor, must serve before the mast all his life.

In came the clouds of canvas, all but a reefed mainsail and foresail and a jib.

"She's safe, now, I think," said the captain. "I guess I'll go down and take another look at that gla.s.s. It kind o' startled me, it was goin' down so. Sam, how's the stranger?"

"Heading for us, I'd say," called back the mate. "She's a three-master, too. She's carryin' all sail, just now. If there's a heavy blow a comin', she may throw away some of her sticks."

"She may do worse'n that," said the captain, "if she cracks on too much canvas. We won't, though."

Down below he hastened, and now Up-na-tan was pointing at something white and hazy well up in the eastern sky. Every old salt on board was quickly watching what appeared to be, at first, a change of color from blue to gray. Some of them were shaking their heads gravely.

"It's the wrong time o' year," said one, "for that sort o' thing. I know 'em. They're jest crushers. Tell ye what. If it's that kind o'

norther, it'll drop down awful sudden when it gits here. Lyme Avery hasn't been a mite too kerful. He knows what he's about."

"There's odds in storms," replied a grizzled whaler near him. "I've seen a Hull trader knocked all to ruins in ten minutes by one o' them fellers. Every stick was blown out of her, and she foundered before sundown."

"Look out sharp for all the gun fastenings!" shouted the captain, as he again came hurriedly on deck. "Up-na-tan, you and Coco guy that pivot-gun, hardest kind. This boat's likely to be doin' some pitchin'

and rollin' pretty soon. There'll be an awful sea. Where's that Englishman?"

"Wait a bit," said Up-na-tan. "Ole chief give lobster one shot."

"All right," said the captain. "She's in good range now. Have your extra gearings ready to clap on. This schooner has weathered all sorts o' gales, but it won't do to let her git caught nappin'."

There had been more than a little surprise on board King George's fine frigate _Clyde_, of thirty-six guns. There had been a group of seaman-like officers upon her quarter-deck at about the time she was discovered by Up-na-tan. Marine gla.s.ses were at work in the hands of more than one of those gentlemen, and the express reason for it appeared in their conversation.

The _Clyde_ was a cruiser somewhat noted for her speed. She had been of the convoy of the fleet through which the _Noank_ had so cunningly worked her way, and had been at once detailed to chase the saucy privateer. This was decidedly pleasanter than guarding slow merchantmen, and the frigate's commander had congratulated himself heartily.

"If we don't strike her, we may pick up something else," he had remarked, adding: "I think I can make out the course she's most likely to take. Two to one, she's bound for the Havana, to harry our West India trade. We'll keep a sharp lookout."

So he did, and he had been rewarded even sooner than he had expected.

"Right under our noses," he had said, when the discovery of the schooner was announced. "We can outsail her."

"Captain!" interrupted his next in command, excitedly. "If she isn't taking in sail! What can that mean?"

"She may take us for something else," said the captain. "It's a fine breeze. She couldn't think of fighting us."

"Not a bit of it," said the officer; but his commander was an old, experienced sea-captain, and the queer conduct of his intended prize set him to thinking.

He walked up and down the deck during about half a minute, and then he began to look up curiously at the sky.

"That's it!" he shouted, his whole manner changing suddenly. "The Yankees are right! All hands! Shorten sail!"

He poured rapid orders through his trumpet, while his lieutenants and other officers sprang away to their duties, leaving him almost alone upon the quarter-deck.

"It's plain enough what it means," he said aloud. "There's trouble coming; we must in with every rag. This ship's too light, anyhow, for a hurricane. The men don't know it, but they may be working for their lives. All right! Things are coming in fast enough. I'll get that schooner, too, wind or no wind."

As yet, there was only a fresh breeze to take note of, so far as a landsman could have discerned. There was no actual excitement among the sailors of the _Clyde_, merely because of a change in the color of the sky. Some of them, however, had sailed as many seas as had their captain or the whalers of the _Noank_, and they were freely expressing to their comrades their approval of his prudence. All were working, therefore, with an uncommon degree of energy. Their ways and their performances would have been, if he could have seen them, a very instructive lesson to Guert Ten Eyck. He would have learned much concerning the differences between a square-rigged three-master and a schooner like the _Noank_.

During this somewhat brief and exceedingly busy time, the two vessels had steadily approached each other. The first officer of the _Clyde_ had attended to his taking in and reefing, and he now stood once more before his captain.

"The prize is within long range, sir."

"All right, Mr. Watson. Give her a gun. We must take her or sink her."

"Best sink her, sir. It's not safe to send off a boat. Most likely she's heavily armed, sir."

"No," said the captain, "no boat. We're short-handed, anyhow. We'll not sink her if we can help it. One thing I'm after is to overhaul her crew."

"You are right, sir," laughed the lieutenant. "A shot may bring her to."

There was more than one element, therefore, in the supposable value of the _Noank_, considered as the prize of the British frigate, _Clyde_.

Out ran one of the latter's port guns, shotted. It was well aimed, too, whether or not it was intended mainly as a sharp command to surrender. Its heavy shot went whizzing between the schooner's raking masts, doing no actual damage, but serving as a serious warning.

"A little lower!" exclaimed Captain Avery. "That was closer than I expected. Up-na-tan! Let 'em have it!"

He had but just given the order to go about, and the _Noank_ was almost as good as standing still, while the red man sighted his gun. His marksmanship was a shade better, too, than that of the British gunner.

Such a response, or any at all with a gun, had been utterly unexpected by all on board the _Clyde_.

"Hit us?" gasped the captain. "We are struck? Was there ever such impudence! See what that is!"

"The port o' th' capt'n's cab'n!" shouted a sailor. "It's mashed, sir!

And 'ere comes th' wind, sir!"

There had been a crash of wood and gla.s.s at the closed port-hole, and from that the Indian's iron messenger had gone on through the cabin door. All to bits flew a great swinging lantern in the saloon, and a wide gap was made in the woodwork of the state-room opposite. This had been closely packed with dinner-table delicacies, including many cases of wine. Sad work was therefore made of the costly juice of the grape, whether purchased or captured. A small flood of it, as red as blood, but not as horrible, came streaming out to tell of the bottle-breaking.

"'Orrid waste, sir!" groaned the captain's steward, as he gazed upon that crimson rivulet. "'E could ha' dined the fleet on 'alf o' that.

I'll not forgive they Yonkees!"

"Give 'em a broadside!" roared the angry lieutenant on deck.