The Noank's Log Part 3

"On board with you," said the captain. "It's 'bout time the _Noank_ took somethin'. We've been cooped up in New London harbor long enough."

"That's so!" said Sam Prentice, as he scrambled over the bulwark. "I'm hungry for a fight myself."

He was a wiry, sailorlike man, of middle age, with merry, black eyes which yet had a steely flash in them. Up came the anchor. Out swung the booms. The light wind was just the thing for the _Noank's_ rig, and every sail she could spread went swiftly to its place. She was a beauty when all her canvas was showing. A numerous and growing crowd was gathered at the piers and wharves, for Sam Prentice's news had reached the sh.o.r.e also. Cheer after cheer went up as the sails began to fill.

"Anneke Ten Eyck!" exclaimed Mrs. Avery. "I'm so glad Lyme was all ready. He didn't have to wait a minute after Sam got there."

"I'm glad Guert's with him," said Mrs. Ten Eyck. "If he wants to be a sea-captain, I won't hinder him."

"G.o.d be with them all!" was the loud and earnest response of Rachel Tarns. "I trust that they may do their whole duty by the ships of the man George, who calleth himself our king."

"Lyme Avery's jest the man to 'tend to that," called out a deep, hoa.r.s.e voice, farther along the pier. "He was 'pressed, once, by George's men, and he means to make 'em pay for his lost time."

"So was my son, Vine," said Mrs. Avery. "He has something more'n lost time to make 'em account for."

"Nearly forty New London boys were 'pressed, first and last," said a sad-faced old woman. "One of mine fell at Brooklyn and one's in the Jersey prison-ship. It's the king's work."

"We're sorry for you, Mrs. Williams," said another woman. "I don't know where mine are. We can't get any word from our 'pressed boys.

G.o.d pity 'em!--G.o.d in heaven send success to the _Noank_ and Lyme Avery! To our sailors on the sea and our soldiers on the land!"

"Amen!" went up from several earnest voices, and then there was another round of hearty cheers.

Away down the broad harbor the gallant schooner was speeding, with Guert Ten Eyck astride of her bowsprit. Up-na-tan and Coco were crouching like a pair of tigers at the side of the pivot guns. The crew was both numerous and well selected, for it consisted of the pick of the New London whaling veterans. The majority of them, of course, were middle aged or even elderly, so many of the younger men had marched away with Putnam or were at this time garrisoning the forts of the harbor.

There was to be no long and tiresome waiting. Hardly was the _Noank_ well out beyond the point at the harbor mouth before Sam Prentice, from his perch aloft, called down to his friends on the deck:--

"I've sighted her! She's made too long a tack this way for her good.

We'll git out well to wind'ard of her. She's sure game!"

Every seaman on board understood just what that meant, and he was answered by a storm of cheers. Nevertheless, the face of Captain Avery was serious, for he had no means of knowing what might really be the strength and armament of the stranger.

As for her, she had all sail set, and her skipper was at the helm, while Mate Brackett was in the maintop taking anxious observations.

"Sail to wind'ard," he said to himself. "Hope there's no mischief in her. Anyhow, I'll go down and have Captain Watts send the men to quarters."

Down he went and reported, and Captain Watts responded vigorously.

"Most likely a coaster," he said, "but we won't take any chances. Call the men. Any but a pretty strong rebel 'll sheer away if she finds we're ready for her. We'll shoot first, Brackett. I'm a fightin'

man--I am!"

"All right, sir," said Brackett, more cheerily. "I've served on a cruiser. Men! All hands clear away for action! Cast loose the guns!"

He was in right good earnest, like the brave British seaman that he was, and the supply ship, in spite of having too much deck cargo, soon began to take on a decidedly warlike appearance. There was no audible grumbling among her crew as they went to their posts of duty, but a sharp observer might have noted that several of them, from time to time, cast wistful glances landward and then looked gloomily into each others' faces.

"No hope!" muttered one of them.

"They are hanging deserters," hissed another. "I saw one run up."

"I saw one flogged to death," came savagely from a third, "but I'll take my chance if I git one."

Mate Brackett was now busy with his gla.s.s, and he was telling himself how much he longed for a stronger breeze, coming from some other point of the compa.s.s.

"Hurrah!" he suddenly sang out. "Captain Watts, we're all right, now!

British flag!"

"Keep to your guns!" roared back the captain. "I'll stand away from her, just the same. If you throw away the _Windsor_ I'll have you hung!"

More fiercely vehement than ever became now his apparent readiness for fighting. He called another man to the wheel and went out among the guns. He ordered up more muskets, pistols, pikes, cutla.s.ses, and armed himself to the teeth, as if to repel boarders.

"They'd call me a Tory," he said to the mate. "They shoot Tories. I'm fighting for my life, if that there sail is a Yankee. Her flag's as like as not a trick to keep us from getting ready."

"We'll be ready," replied the mate; but all the men had heard the remark of Captain Watts concerning his chances.

Nearer and nearer, before the somewhat freshening breeze, came the strange schooner, with the merchant flag of Great Britain fluttering out to declare how peaceable and friendly was her character. Mate Brackett's gla.s.s could as yet discover no sign of evil, unless' it might be that a widespread old sail which he saw on the deck amidships had been put there to cover up the wrong kind of deck cargo.

"She hasn't any business that I know of to head for us," he said to his commander, suspiciously. "We must be ready to give her a broadside."

"Luff!" instantly sang out Captain Watts to the man at the helm. "They can't fool me! Brackett, no nonsense, now! Bring the larboard guns to bear! I'll hail her! Ship ahoy! What schooner's that?"

His hail was given through his trumpet, and no answer came during a full half minute, while the schooner sped nearer. Then suddenly a storm of exclamations arose from the men, and Brackett groaned aloud.

"Just what old Watts was afraid of!" he exclaimed. "He's a gone man!

So are all of us! The rebel flag! Guns!"

The _Noank_ was indeed flying the stars and stripes now, instead of the red-cross flag of England. The old sail amidships had been jerked away, and there stood Up-na-tan, with one hand upon the breech of his long eighteen and the other holding a lighted lanyard ready to touch her off. Open at the same moment went the three starboard ports, and out ran the noses of the dangerous six-pounders.

"Heave to, or I'll sink ye!" came fiercely down the wind. "Surrender, or I'll send ye to the bottom!"

"It's no use, Captain Watts," said Brackett, dolefully; "she carries too many guns for us. We may as well give up."

"Men!" shouted the captain, "what do you say? Are you with me? Shall we fight it out? I'm ready!"

"Not a man of us, captain," st.u.r.dily responded one of the crew. "This 'ere isn't nothin' but a supply ship. We ain't bound as if 'twas a man-o'-war. No use, either."

"Brackett," said Watts, "you may haul down the flag, then. I won't. I call you all to witness that I've done my duty! Mate, the rebels won't shoot you. Report me dead to Captain Milliard of the _Cleopatra_. He ordered me to run in through the sound against my will."

"I'll give a good report of you," hurriedly responded the mate, while other and not unwilling hands hauled down the flag; "but that long eighteen alone would be too much for our popguns."

The two ships were now near enough for grappling, and in a few minutes more they were side by side upon the quiet sea.

"I surrender to you, sir," said Captain Watts to Captain Avery, as the latter sprang on board, followed by a swarm of brawny whalemen. "I claim good treatment for my men, whatever you may do to me."

"I know you, sir," said Avery, sternly. "You are Watts, the Marblehead Tory. Step aft with me. There's an account to settle with you. Sam Prentice, look out for the prisoners. Vine, get ready to cast off and head for New London. Send 'em all below--"

"All but some of 'em," said Sam, with a broad grin. "Men! Every 'pressed American step out!"

No less than nine of the _Windsor's_ crew obeyed that order, while all the rest sullenly surrendered their useless weapons to Coco and Guert Ten Eyck and a couple of sailors who were ordered to receive them.

Not on deck, fore or aft, but down in the cabin did the skipper of the captured supply ship give his account of himself and his cargo. Hardly was the cabin door shut behind them before Captain Avery laughed aloud, inquiring:--