Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812 Part 19

The disappointed officer reported at last that he was unsuccessful.

"Why don't you drive them from the building, then?" Shortland thundered.

"They are sailors, sir, and will not be driven by soldiers, they say.

They seem to treat the whole affair as a great joke, laughing and scampering ahead of my men, and paying no attention to my orders."

"Run them through then," Shortland returned. "A little cold steel will teach a serviceable lesson!"

At this minute one of the turnkeys approached.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, saluting; "if you let me turn the men out in the usual manner, I think they will leave quietly, but you must withdraw the soldiers."

Reluctantly, Shortland gave the order, and the red coats filed out, drawing up in line, behind which he carefully placed himself. The turnkey entered the building alone. He had been an old boatswain in the service, and drawing a silver whistle from his pocket he piped all hands. Then in a stentorian voice he ordered the prisoners into the yard. They all obeyed, crowding out to the number of one thousand or more, and they filed past the soldiers in a compact body. One of the last to leave the building was Harvey Rich. He tottered down, alone, and joined the crowd, that stood packed in a sullen body, crowded within a few paces of the handful of soldiers, who stood with their muskets c.o.c.ked and ready. Soon the officer returned from his fruitless search.

"The man cannot be found, sir," he said.

Shortland swore viciously.

"Turn them back in the building, then," he roared, "and keep them there without water. That will fetch them to their senses.--Back through that doorway, all of you," pointing with the heavy stick which he always carried, for he was a gouty man.

But the prisoners had heard his threat, and not one of them moved a step. There was a large trough of clear water in the yard, to which they had free access. The weather was warm and clear. Suddenly one of them stepped forward. All eyes turned upon him. It was George Abbott.

"We will not return there, under those conditions," he said loudly. "We will stay here, and die, first, every man Jack of us."

A movement began among the prisoners. They crowded in closer in the narrow s.p.a.ce, and a murmur as of a subdued cheer arose among them.

Shortland was furious.

"Seize that man," he cried; "seize him! He shall go without bread and water both."

No one moved.

"You cowards," he muttered. "I'll do it myself, then; make way here!"

He crowded through the file of soldiers and approached the sailor, who was standing there calmly, with folded arms. But before he had taken three short steps, something most unexpected happened. Harvey Rich, who was standing but a few feet away, stooped swiftly and picking up a loosened bit of the stonework of the courtyard, he hurled it full at Shortland's head. It would have killed him had it struck him, but it only grazed his cheek. Shortland halted and retreated hurriedly.

"Fire on them," he cried. "Take aim and fire."

Thirty or forty muskets were brought to the shoulder. But the young officer in command of the detachment kept his senses. Calmly he walked out to the front. He knocked up the muzzles with his unsheathed sword.

"Steady," he said. "As you were."

Shortland flung an oath at him, and turning to the red coats he screeched at the top of his voice:--

"Fire, you rascals, fire!"

Again the officer sprang forward and threw up the points of the muskets again.

"As you were; steady, men."

That cool authoritative tone saved a frightful scene; for had the volley been delivered at such close range, there is no telling how much slaughter had followed. But mark this: there would have been enough men left to strew the dismembered bodies of the red coats about the yard with no other weapons but their naked hands!

Shortland, stamping and fuming in anger, turned upon his heel, and hastened out through the gate. Immediately, the Lieutenant called his men to a shoulder arms, and marched them after him, he himself remaining until the last of the squad had pa.s.sed under the archway.

Then he drew a thankful breath. One or two of the sailors nearest the entrance saluted him. Gravely he touched his heavy bearskin hat. There was not a cheer or a sound of the usual merriment that might have accompanied the discomfiture of the "lobster backs." Every one had been too much impressed with the seriousness of the matter in hand. Yet, there was no one to chide Rich for his impetuous action. Silently they all returned to the prison, and once more Simeon Hays emerged from his hiding-place.

This night news was brought to the prisoners that the United States government was going to allow them the sum of seven shillings sixpence per head in addition to their rations given them by the Crown; also the news was circulated that the first cartel would start the following week, and the detachment of those going in her would be read at the morning's muster. The names were to be taken in alphabetical order.

Again there followed great rejoicing in all of the prison buildings.

Men whose names began with the first letters of the alphabet were in high spirits. They were congratulated and made much of; while the poor chaps who were to tail off the list were correspondingly depressed. A rather important occurrence took place on this night, also. Simeon Hays, who, as a special treat and in honor of the occasion, had washed the s.m.u.t from his face, had been recognized and taken. Poor fellow, before his friends could interfere, he had been hurried off to the confinement of the Cachet. Before this news had circulated through the building, Rich and Abbott had held a long conversation. The former was objecting strenuously and earnestly to a proposition that the young sailor had made.

"I cannot think of such a thing," he remonstrated. "It would not be right----"

Abbott interrupted him, "What is the use, mess-mate, of talking about right, in such a case?" He lowered his voice, "Do you think I could go out and look any man square up and down if I left ye here? You've got to do it."

Rich shook his head weakly, "I can't think of doing such a thing," he murmured.

"We'll stow all further conversation," was the reply, and with that he got up and left Rich alone.

The next morning, in each prison, a number of names were read off until two hundred had been called. Abbott's was the first read in Prison No.

5. The lucky ones were told to get their dunnage ready and report at the prison entrance at half past ten. At the hour named, all were there.

"George Abbott," called out the officer in charge of the guard-room.

"Here," answered a weak voice, and to the surprise of those who knew him, Harvey Rich stepped forward. A moment later, and he had pa.s.sed forth into the free air outside.

Abbott answered to his friend's name at the roll-call, and thereafter pa.s.sed by the name of Rich. They would come to his name on the list some day, he reasoned, and he knew well enough that another week or so of prison life would have finished his young friend for good and all.

On the 3d of April, owing to the prison authorities trying to change the fare from soft bread to hardtack, there was a small riot among the prisoners, which, however, resulted in their obtaining their object by breaking down the barriers and raiding the bread-room. This did not increase Shortland's good humor, nor did the taunts levelled at the soldiery tend to improve the feeling existing between them and the triumphant sailors. On the sixth of the month, it was fine, clear weather, and the prisoners were put in good spirits by the news that Hays and his companions, the word of whose condition had reached higher ears than Shortland's, had been liberated and had left the prison. From all the various yards there was shouting and singing. The morning's "Liberty Party," as the sailors called the lucky ones who were to start for America, had been seen off, with rousing cheers. Those left behind were trying to amuse themselves by games and horseplay. A score or more were playing ball against the cross-wall dividing the barrack yard of the soldiers from that of No. 7. In some way, the ball, thrown by a careless hand, sailed across the barrier and fell almost at the feet of a sentry on the opposite side.

"Hi, there, Johnny Bull! heave it back to us," requested one of the men, through the iron grating. The sentry paid no attention, and soon there was a clamoring crowd surrounding the opening, beseeching the imperturbable red coat in all sorts of terms to "Be a good fellow, and toss back the ball."

"Just heave it over, Johnny," called one. "Don't you think you're strong enough?"

The sentry whirled angrily. "Come and get it, if you want it," he said.

"Can we?" shouted a half-dozen voices.

"I won't touch it," the sentry responded. With that, he resumed his beat, cursing the ball players for "a lot of troublesome Yankee blackguards."

Half laughing, the sailors had loosened one of the stones close against the wall, and by luck found that the ground was soft and yielding. The mortar, too, they were able to remove easily, and with such objects as they could pick up to help them, they fell to burrowing like rabbits.

The sentry, who did not know what was going on, or how his words had been taken up, was surprised when suddenly he saw a man's head and shoulders appear at the base of the wall on his side.

"The prisoners are digging out!" he roared, firing his musket.

At once, the soldiers on the walls began firing, forming into squads and keeping up a constant shooting as long as any prisoners were in sight. Those in the central yard, known as the Market, not knowing the reason for the fusilade, and wondering why the alarm bell was ringing, did not retreat into their buildings; and the first thing they knew, Shortland himself appeared, entering the big gate at the head of a company of soldiers with fixed bayonets. They advanced at a double-quick step, the prisoners were so crowded together that they could not escape. Some, not seeing why they should be charged in this fashion, stood their ground. Shortland had lost all control of himself.

"Halt! Aim!" And before the astounded victims knew what was going to happen, he had given the word to fire.

A crashing volley sounded. When the smoke cleared away, wounded and dying men filled the yard. The rest, panic-stricken, had retreated into the buildings. Seven were killed and fifty-six were wounded! Poor Abbott, who had been trying to urge his comrades to hasten, was among the first to fall, shot through the lungs. As no one told of his exchange of names, he was buried under the name he had a.s.sumed, Harvey Rich. And what of the real owner of that name? Alas, he, poor fellow, also, did not live to see his home in the New Hampshire hills, for he died at sea not long after the cartel in which he was returning had set sail. He was sent overboard in the sailor's canvas shroud, and the name "George Abbott" was stricken from the list of liberated ones. Few knew the truth, and, perhaps, few there were who cared.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The deadly volley.]