The Noank's Log Part 33

There was no apparent danger but that the brig would speedily receive a.s.sistance, for there were other sails already in sight. Her first disability, as to any of these, was that she was no longer able to fire a signal-gun, and all her rockets and other explosives had been taken away. Her officers and crew were left to do whatever they could with flags in the daytime, or with lanterns by night.

"We're off," thought Guert Ten Eyck, as the schooner swung away, all her sails going out as she did so. "Captain Avery says he must capture one more prize, if it's only to take off some of our men. Then we're to streak it for home! Don't I want to get there?"

The cruise of the _Noank_ had indeed become a long one. There were several ship reasons why it would be good for her to go into dock and be overhauled for repairs. Her crew, also, were more than willing to see their homes and families.

"My boy," said Groot, the Dutchman, as he came to sit down by his young friend, "you go home. I have no home. I must live on the sea. The land is not my place."

"I'll be glad to get there," said Guert, "if it's my own land. Do you know if we're to run into Amsterdam?"

"Not if the captain is wise," replied Groot. "There will be too many Englishmen looking after him, as soon as they hear of this affair."

"Well, I guess they won't like it," laughed Guert. "Up-na-tan is homesick."

The red man was standing within a few feet of them, and he answered as if he had been spoken to.

"Ugh!" he said. "Ole chief want to know 'bout he island. Want see Manhattan. Mebbe all lobster get away. Up-na-tan go see ole place.

Fish in Harlem River."

That was what was the matter with him. Warrior he might be, sailor, pirate, or privateersman, but at that moment he was dreaming of the happiness of pulling in flounders and blackfish from the waters around his island.

Guert, on his part, was thinking of his mother. He wondered if she still were living at the Avery farm-house, and if his prize-money had been duly paid over to her to make her comfortable.

"Now, every man hark!" said Captain Avery to his crew, when, a little later, he had gathered them amidships. "We've a close race to run. If this wind holds, we shall be in the Straits of Dover at about daylight to-morrow morning. We are goin' to risk it and cut our way through.

Three cheers for home!"

Vigorous, indeed, were the hurrahs that answered him, and on sped the schooner. Her sails that were torn by the shot of the _Arran_ were being replaced by new ones, and skilful sail tailors were busy with the rents of the old. The damage to her bulwarks was of no importance and not a shot had penetrated her sides. The American sailors were in fine spirits, but not so were Lieutenant Tracy and the crew of the _Arran_.

Hardly two hours went by before his hoped-for succor came, but he wished it had been a merchantman rather than a man-of-war. The sound of the cannonading had been borne by the wind to the line-of-battle ship. She had sailed toward it, as a matter of course, and here, now, was one of the boats at the _Arran's_ side. On her deck was the seventy-four's first lieutenant, so hot with wrath that he could hardly listen to poor Tracy's report, while he himself rapidly inspected the damages done by Up-na-tan's well-sent iron.

"Help yourself?" he exclaimed. "Why, they made a log of your brig!

What's the world coming to? They're prime gunners, my boy. We must make out to sink that rascal. I don't know exactly what to do with your craft."

He did know, nevertheless. Temporary steering-gear was fitting on her as rapidly as might be, and the pumps were going, for the _Arran_ was leaking badly at the stern.

"Tracy, my boy," said the lieutenant, "get her into any port the wind'll help you to. We're away after that saucy privateer."

So surely and so powerfully would the fugitive be followed, not to speak of any perils which might be hovering around the pathway before her. The commander of the line-of-battle ship knew something concerning at least a part of these. He listened to the report of his first officer, on his return, angrily yet coolly, and he replied:--

"All right, Hobson. Tracy isn't to be blamed, I see. As for the pirate, we'll chase her, but she's a lost dog already. The whole Channel fleet is under orders to gather at Dover Straits. She is running right in among 'em. She'll be overhauled before eight bells to-morrow."

"Those Yankees are slippery chaps, sir," said the lieutenant, shaking his head.

The hours went swiftly by, and Captain Avery remained on deck, pacing thoughtfully to and fro. Midnight went by and still the wind held good. It was a strong, northerly breeze, upon which he could have asked for no improvement.

"Lights! Lights! Lights!" he was at last repeating, as he looked ahead. "There's a reg'lar fleet of some sort. Our lanterns are all right, I'd say, 'cordin' to the signal-book. Bad for us, though. All those are British men-o'-war, not merchantmen. Port there, Taber; I must be ready to speak this feller that's nearest. Groot, you and Guert go to the rail. Up-na-tan, you and Coco must help. They mustn't hear any English. Both of you can talk Dutch. Some of us'll chatter French and Spanish."

There were, however, on board that man-of-war, men who could understand Dutch. One of them was an officer who came to the rail to converse with Groot, after hails had been exchanged.

"_Magdalen_, of Rotterdam?" he said. "Tell those monkeys to shut up their jabber, there, so I can hear! From Copenhagen last? You spoke the line-o'-battle ship _Humber_, coming this way? Did you hear anything of that American privateer?"

Dutch and French again broke out upon the supposed _Magdalen_, and the Englishman shouted back toward his own quarter-deck:--

"Hurrah! The _Humber_ reports the Yankee cruiser sunk by the revenue cutter _Arran_, Lieutenant Tracy. Hurrah for him! Hard fight! The Yankees fought to the last. Nearly a hundred prisoners. Heave ahead, _Magdalen_! Good news!"

Loud Dutch shouts replied to him, and on went the _Noank_, while the other vessels of the British Channel fleet received the welcome tidings as it was pa.s.sed along from ship to ship. Therefore there was no longer any need that they should be on the watch for the impudent, destructive adventurer from the other side of the Atlantic. She had gone to the bottom!

"I feel kind o' queer," thought Guert. "I couldn't ha' done it myself.

I had to let Groot do the lying. I'm afraid I'll never do for war. I don't mind a fight, out and out, but somehow I can't help speaking the truth, Dutch or English."

Up-na-tan, on the other hand, was in great good-humor over the very Indian-like manner in which the British were being defeated. The Dover gathering of their war-ships was to him a kind of ambush through which he and his friends were cunningly crawling by hiding their feathers and war-paint.

They were not exactly crawling, either, for Captain Avery was calling upon his schooner for all the speed she had.

"We mustn't lose an inch!" he said. "Their best racers'll be comin' on in our wake in less'n an hour, maybe. I wish this night'd last all day to-morrow."

The next morning had not arrived, indeed, when the _Humber_ herself came within hail of one of her Dover a.s.sembly friends. Then, shortly, there arose a more noisy jabber in English than had been heard in Dutch and French on the _Noank_, for the genuine news had been told in place of Hans Groot's invention. The actual outcome of the fight between the _Noank_ and the _Arran_ did not call for any enthusiastic cheering.

Only a little later, the admiral commanding the fleet summed up the whole affair.

"Gentlemen," he said, to a number of glum-looking officers, "we have pa.s.sed that American pirate right along through this fleet. I think we've a right to go ash.o.r.e, somewhere, and sit down. It was cleverly done, though, 'pon my soul! Captain Coverley, select our three best chasers to follow her. She mustn't be allowed to get away again!"

Each of the three vessels named was three or four times over a match for the _Noank_, and her chances did appear to be unpleasantly small.

"There's jest one thing they won't count on our doin'," had been the decision of Captain Avery. "We must put right out into the Atlantic, aimed at nowhere. If it would only blow a gale, now!"

He was not to be gratified in that particular during the pleasant autumn day that followed. Lighter became the wind, brighter the sky, and stiller the sea.

"It's a schooner wind, Lyme," said his old friend Taber, now the second mate of the _Noank_. "It gives us our best paces. We've run past every keel that was on the same tack, thus far. It isn't really bad luck."

"I hope it isn't," the captain gloomily responded. "But this 'ere sea is a boat sea. They might come for us with a rigiment of their boats, you know. It's a good thing for us that there isn't a man-o'-war in sight, yet. I a'most feel as if there was blood on every mile we're makin'!"

He was even low spirited. It seemed to him impossible that so long a run of what seamen call good luck could be stretched out much further.

The sailors, on the other hand, were taking a different view of the matter, very much more sensibly. Every man of them may have had a superst.i.tious belief in "luck," but they had also seen, in each successive emergency, that they had a captain with a long head, and that he knew exactly what to do with that schooner. They were in good spirits, therefore, that sunny day. Perhaps they did not know all the reasons he had for now and then shaking his head.

"There's no port for us, hereaway," he thought. "I don't know of one that it would be safe for us to look into. It's a long v'yage home.

We're a good deal overcrowded. There's worse'n that to think of, though. That feller Tracy told me our folks at home are gettin' ready to give it up. He said we are beaten badly, all around. I may find a British garrison in New London, when I get there. One in Boston, too.

Then my chance for a rope 'round my neck is a sure one. Things look black, and no mistake!"

He should have been at his home that day instead of at sea. All over New England, all over the other colonies, north and south, as far as the news had been carried; from town to town, from village to village, and from farm to farm, hors.e.m.e.n were riding, men and boys on foot were running to tell of the surrender of Burgoyne. The great British invasion and conquest of the northern half of the American rebellion had broken down. The Six Nations had scattered to their wigwams and council-fires. It would be many days yet before the tidings could reach England or cross the Channel to astonish Continental Europe and seal the alliance between the United States and France. It would be longer still before it could be known by roving cruisers out at sea.

For all American keels, however, their home ports had been made secure from British a.s.sailing until the generals and admirals of King George should have time given them to consider the Saratoga affair, and make up their astonished minds as to what it might be best for them to undertake next.

"Anneke Ten Eyck," remarked Rachel Tarns, "thee wicked rebel! Has thee no feelings for thy good king and his wise counsellors? Cannot thee understand that their souls may be much disturbed by this untoward event?"

"I wish their fleets were as badly whipped as Burgoyne's army is,"

replied Mrs. Ten Eyck. "Oh! it is so very long since I've heard from Guert!"

"Trust thy son with thy G.o.d!" said Rachel, reverently. "Thee may think of this, Anneke: our victory over Burgoyne hath cost much to hundreds of mothers, as loving as thou art. Their sons lie buried at Stillwater and Saratoga. No gallant ship will bring them home again."

"I know it! I know it!" sobbed Mrs. Ten Eyck. "They gave their lives for liberty. Guert may have to give his as Nathan Hale did. He told me he believed he could die as bravely, only he would rather it should be in battle."