These orders were obeyed with an "Ay, ay, sir," although the brig
was yet so far away that she could not be seen from the deck; but as the
two vessels were sailing diagonally toward each other, she did not
long remain invisible. The moment Marcy caught sight of her top-hamper,
and while he stood with the halliards in his hand waiting for the order
to run up the Stars and Stripes, Captain Beardsley began swearing
most lustily and shouting orders to his mates, the sheets were let out,
the helm put down, and the privateer fell off four or five points.
Marcy knew the meaning of this before the excited and angry Beardsley
yelled, at the top of his voice:
"The rascal is trying to dodge us.
He's got lookouts aloft. Run up that flag, Marcy, and see if that won't quiet
his feelings. Them war ships down to Hatteras have posted him, and if we
don't handle ourselves just right we'll never bring him within
range."
Marcy lost no time in running up the old flag; but if the master
of the brig saw it he was not deceived by it. He showed no disposition to
run back to Hatteras, and put himself under protection of the war
ships there, as Marcy thought and hoped he would, but put his vessel
before the wind, squared his yards, and trusted to his heels. It looked
to Marcy like a most desperate undertaking, for you will remember that
the schooner was far ahead of the brig, and that the merchant captain
was about to run by her. It didn't seem possible that he could succeed,
but the sequel proved that he knew just what his vessel was capable
of doing. She came up at a "hand gallop," and finally showed herself
from water-line to main-truck in full view of the privateer's crew.
Her canvas loomed up like a great white cloud, and her low, black hull,
by comparison, looked no bigger than a lead pencil. She went like the
wind, and Marcy Gray told himself that she was the most beautiful object
he had ever seen.
"I hope from the bottom of my heart that she will
get away," was the one thought that filled his mind.
Perhaps the wish
would have been even more fervent if he had known who was aboard that
brig.
CHAPTER
IV.
TWO NARROW ESCAPES.
"Another Cuban
trader," shouted Captain Beardsley, standing erect upon the crosstrees and
shaking his eye-glass in the air. "She's worth double what the _Hollins_ was,
dog-gone it all, and if we lose her we are just a hundred thousand dollars
out of pocket. Pitch that shell into her, Tierney. Take a stick out of her
and I'll double your prize money. Run up our own flag, Marcy. May be it will
bring him to his senses."
The howitzer's crew sprang at the word. The
canvas covering was torn off the gun and cast aside, the train-tackles were
manned, and a minute afterward a fifteen-second shrapnel went shrieking
toward the brig, all the privateer's men standing on tiptoe to watch the
effect of the shot. To Marcy's great delight the missile struck the water far
short of the mark, _ricocheted_ along the surface a few hundred yards
farther, and finally exploded, throwing up a cloud of spray, but doing no
harm to the brig, which never loosened tack or sheet, but held gallantly on
her way. A moment after the shrapnel exploded, her flag--the old
flag--fluttered out from under the lee of her spanker, and little puffs of
smoke arose from her port quarter. Some of her crew were firing at the
privateer with rifles. Of course, the distance was so great that they never
heard the whistle of the bullet, but it was an act of defiance that
drove Captain Beardsley almost frantic.
"When we catch her I'll hang
the men who fired those shots," he shouted, jumping up and down on his lofty
perch. "What are you standing there gaping at, Tierney? Give that gun more
elevation and try her again."
"I had her up to the last notch in the rear
sight, sir," replied Tierney. "I can't give the gun any more elevation. The
cascabel is down to the bottom of the screw now. I can't reach the brig into
an eighth of a mile."
"Try her again, I tell you," roared the enraged
captain. "Are you going to stand chinning there while a hundred thousand
dollars slips through our fingers?"
The captain continued to talk in
this way while the howitzer was loaded and trained for the second shot; but
he might as well have saved his ammunition, for this shrapnel, like the
first, did no harm to the brig. It didn't frighten her company, either, for
they set up a derisive yell, which came faintly to the ears of the
privateer's crew.
"Oh, how I'd like to get my hands on that fellow!"
shouted Captain Beardsley. "I'd learn him to insult a Confederate government
vessel. I'd----"
Marcy Gray, who stood holding fast to the halliards,
looking aloft and listening to what Beardsley had to say, saw the lookout,
who had remained at his post all this time, touch the captain on the
shoulder and direct his gaze toward something in the horizon. Marcy looked,
too, and was electrified to see a thick, black smoke floating up among
the clouds. Could it be that there was a cruiser off there bearing down
upon them? He looked at Captain Beardsley again, and came to the
conclusion that there must be something suspicious about the stranger, for
the captain, after gazing at the smoke through his glass, squared around
and backed down from aloft with much more celerity than Marcy ever saw
him exhibit before.
"It is a cruiser," thought the young pilot, when
the captain assumed charge of the deck and ordered the schooner to be put
about and headed toward Crooked Inlet. "She has heard the sound of our guns
and is coming up to see what is the matter."
Marcy couldn't decide
whether the captain's pale face and excited, nervous manner were occasioned
by the fears that had been conjured up by the sudden appearance of that
strange vessel in the offing, or by the rage and disappointment he felt over
the loss of the valuable prize he had so confidently expected to capture. He
hauled down the schooner's flag, packed it away in the chest where it was
usually kept, and then had leisure to take a look at the crew. Could they be
the same men who had so valiantly fired into that unarmed brig a short half
hour before?
"It _is_ a cruiser," repeated Marcy, turning to the side to
conceal the look of exultation which he knew the thought brought to his face.
"It can't be anything else, for the whole ship's company are scared out
of their boots. We were so busy with the brig that we never saw her
until she got so close on to us that she is liable to cut us off from
the Inlet. If she comes within range of us Captain Beardsley will find
that there is a heap of difference between shooting and being shot at.
I hope----"
Marcy was about to add that he hoped the on-coming war
ship would either capture or sink the _Osprey_, and so put a stop to her
piratical career; but if she did, what would become of him? If one of those
big shells came crashing into the schooner, it would be as likely to hit him
as anybody else, and if the privateer were cut off from the Inlet
and captured, he would be taken prisoner with the rest of the crew and
sent to some Northern prison. Of course, Marcy could not make the captain
of the war ship believe that he did not ship on the privateer of his
own free will, and that he was strong for the Union; and indeed it would
be dangerous for him to try, for the folks at home would be sure to hear
of it sooner or later, and then what would happen to his mother? As
the young pilot turned these thoughts over in his mind, he came to
the conclusion that he would feel a little safer if he knew that
the schooner would reach the Inlet in advance of the steamer, but he
was obliged to confess that it looked doubtful. She was coming up
rapidly, land was a long way off, and it would be many hours before darkness
came to their aid.
"That rain squall out there is our only salvation,"
Marcy heard the captain say to one of the mates. "When it comes up we'll haul
our wind and run for Hatteras. The cruiser will hold straight on her course,
and if the squall lasts long enough we may be able to run her out
of sight."
Although Captain Beardsley was frightened at the prospect
of falling into the hands of those whose flag he had insulted, he did not
lose his head. The plan he had suddenly adopted for eluding the steamer
proved that he could take desperate chances when it was necessary. By
hauling his wind (which in this case meant shaping the schooner's course as
near as possible toward the point from which the wind was blowing), he
would be compelled to pass within a few miles of the steamer, and if
the rain-cloud, under cover of which he hoped to escape, lifted for
the space of one short minute, he was almost certain to be discovered.
The squall came up directly behind the steamer, and in about half an
hour overtook and shut her out from view.
"Now's our time," exclaimed
Beardsley. "Flatten in the fore and main sails and give a strong pull at the
headsail sheets. Tierney, go to the wheel."
Marcy lent a hand, and
while the orders were being obeyed was gratified to hear one of the crew
remark that the squall was something more than a squall; that it was coming
to stay, and that they would be lucky if they saw the end of it by sunrise
the next morning. If that proved to be the case they would have nothing to
fear from the steamer. All they would have to look out for was
shipwreck.
Half an hour was all the time that was necessary to prove that
the sailor knew what he was talking about. The wind blew a gale and the
rain fell in torrents. Just before the storm reached them, Captain
Beardsley thought it would be wise to shorten his canvas, but all he took in
were the gaff-topsails and fore-topmast staysail. Shortly afterward it
became necessary to reef the sails that were left, and when that had been
done the captain declared that he wouldn't take in anything else, even if
he knew that the wind would take the sticks out of the schooner by
the roots. He would rather be wrecked than go to prison any
day.
Things could not have worked more to Beardsley's satisfaction if he
had had the planning of the storm himself. The privateer's crew never
saw the steamer after the rain and mist shut her out from view; and when
the sun arose the next morning, after the wildest night Marcy Gray
ever experienced on the water, there was not a sail in sight.
"I wish
it was safe for us to stand out and try our luck again," said Captain
Beardsley, who had been aloft sweeping the horizon with his glass. "But the
Yankee war ships are getting too thick for comfort."
"Don't you expect to
find some of them about Hatteras?" inquired Marcy.
"Of course I do. I
believe the one that was chasing us yesterday came from there, and that that
brig we lost held some communication with her before she sighted us. If she
hadn't been warned by somebody, what was the reason she began dodging the
minute she saw us? I hope to slip in between them, or at least to get under
the protection of the guns of the forts at the Inlet before any of the
cruisers can come within range. Privateering is played out along this coast.
As soon as we get into port I shall tear out the bunks below, reduce my crew,
and go to blockade running."
"But you'll run the same risk of capture
that you do now," Marcy reminded him.
"But I won't be captured with
guns aboard of me," said Beardsley, with a wink that doubtless meant a great
deal. "Perhaps you don't know it, but I gave orders, in case that steamer
sighted us again, to throw everything in the shape of guns and ammunition
overboard. Then they couldn't have proved a thing against us."
"The
size of your crew would have laid you open to suspicion,"
replied Marcy.
"Yes; but suspicion and proof are two different
things," was the captain's answer. "But I am afraid of them howitzers, all
the same, and am going to get shet of them the minute we get to Newbern. I
don't reckon I can give you a furlong to go home this time, 'cause it
won't take two days to get the schooner ready to take out a load of
cotton."
"But you'll not need a pilot any longer," said Marcy, who was
very much disappointed.
"What's the reason I won't? Do you reckon I'm
going to run out of Hatteras in the face of all the war ships that are
fooling around here? Not much. And I'm not going to hug the coast, neither.
I'll make Crooked Inlet my point of departure, like I always have done, and
then I'll stand straight out to sea till I get outside the cruisers' beat.
See? Then I'll shape my course for Nassau. It'll give us a heap of bother
and we'll go miles out of our way; but we'll be safe."
"But suppose we
are captured after all your precautions; what then?"
"Well, if we are
we'll lose our vessel and be sent to jail; but we'll not be treated as
pirates, don't you see? The Northern folks are awful mad 'cause our President
has issued letters of mark-we and reprisal, and their papers demand that
every one of us who is taken shall be hung to the yardarm. To tell you the
honest truth, that kinder scared me, and that's one reason why I want to get
out of the business of privateering."
"And you think you will still
need a pilot?"
"Can't you see it for yourself from what I have told you?"
asked Beardsley, in reply. "And, Marcy, you'll make more money with less
risk than you do in this business. It ain't to be expected that men will
run the risk of going to jail for regular foremast hands' wages. They
want more money, and it's right that they should have it. Why,
them blockade-runners I told you about paid their hands five hundred
dollars apiece for the run to Nassau and back. What do you think of
that?"
"I think it is good wages," replied Marcy. ["If the business was
only safe and honorable," he added, to himself.]
"Of course it is good
wages. I don't expect to get a crew for any less; but, as I said before, I'll
do the fair thing by you. If you go home you will have to enlist--I've heard
the folks say that everybody had got to show his hand one way or the
other--and then you would get only twelve or thirteen dollars a month. Think
of that!"
Marcy was right when he told himself that the captain had him
fast, and that there was no release for him as long as the _Osprey_ remained
in commission. It was a gloomy outlook, but the only thing he could do
was to make the best of it.
As soon as the captain thought it safe to
do so every inch of the privateer's canvas was given to the breeze, and she
made good headway toward her destination. That day and the ensuing night
passed without excitement of any sort, and at sunrise the next morning two
objects were in plain sight from the schooner's deck. One was the entrance
to Hatteras Inlet, and the other was a large steamer in the offing. The
two vessels had been in view of each other ever since daylight. They
were both headed for the same point--one making the most desperate efforts
to place herself under cover of the guns of the forts, and the other
making equally desperate efforts to bring the schooner within range of
her bow-chaser before she could get there. It was a close and exciting
race, and the crews of both vessels watched it anxiously. The black
smoke rolled in thick clouds from the steamer's funnels, and the
privateer's topmasts snapped and bent like fishing-rods, while her
white-faced captain paced his quarter-deck, dividing his attention between
his imperilled top-hamper and the pursuing steamer, and rubbing his
hands nervously. At last the climax came. A puff of white smoke arose from
the steamer's bow, and a shell from an old-fashioned smooth-bore
thirty-two pounder dropped into the water about half way between her and the
flying schooner. If that same steamer had had for a bow-chaser the heavy
rifled gun she had a few months later, the result would have been different.
As it was, Captain Beardsley gathered courage, and the anxious look
left his face.
"If that's the best he can do we're all right," said he
gleefully. "If this breeze holds half an hour longer we'll show him our
flag."
"Shall we give him an answer from one of the howitzers, sir?"
inquired Tierney.
"Not for your life!" replied Beardsley, quickly. And
then he added in a lower tone, addressing himself to Marcy, who stood near,
"That would be a bright idea, wouldn't it? This breeze may die away any
minute, and we don't want to do anything to make them Yankees madder at us
than they be now. Another thing, we mustn't give 'em anything to remember
this schooner by. We may be caught when we try to run the blockade with
our cargo of cotton, and we don't want anybody to recall the fact that
we once had guns aboard. See?"
It was a long time before Marcy Gray
could make up his mind how the chase was going to end, although he noticed
when it first began that there were two things in the schooner's favor. One
was that she was so far out of range that her pursuer could not cripple her,
and the other was, that the wind that was favorable to her was unfavorable to
the steamer, so that the latter could not use her sails. He also took
note of the fact that Beardsley hugged the shore pretty closely, and
this made it evident that he intended to beach the schooner rather
than permit her to fall into the hands of the Yankees. But he was not
driven to such extremity. The breeze held out, and although the
steamer continued to fire her bow-chaser at intervals, the privateer rounded
the point unharmed; while the pursuer, not caring to trust herself
within range of the rifled guns on shore, veered around and stood out to sea.
A look through his glass showed Beardsley that the half-finished
batteries had been manned in readiness to give the war ship a warm reception
if she had ventured to follow the privateer through the Inlet.
"Marcy,
run up the flag so that our friends in the forts can see who we are!"
commanded Beardsley. "The last time we sailed through here we had a prize
following in our wake, and we would have had a more valuable one to-day if
that brig hadn't been warned by them Yankees outside."
The Confederate
emblem proved to be as good as a countersign, and Captain Beardsley was
permitted to sail on through the Inlet without going ashore to give an
account of himself. As soon as he was safe inside the bar he directed his
course toward Newbern, which he reached without any more adventures; but
there were no cheers to greet him as his schooner was pulled into the wharf.
Beardsley's agent, who was the first to spring over the rail, looked very
much disgusted.
"Why, Captain, how is this?" were the first words he
uttered. "I didn't expect to see you come back empty handed."
"No more
did I expect to come back that way," was the captain's reply. "But we can't
always have luck on our side. There is too many cruisers out
there."
"Did you see any of them?"
"Well, I reckon. We had a race
with two of them, and I ain't going privateering no more."
"Scared
out, are you?" said the agent, with some contempt in his tones. "Well, it may
interest you to know that while you were fooling around out there, doing
nothing, we have fought the battle that will bring us our
independence."
"_You_ did?" exclaimed Beardsley, who knew that the agent
thought he had played the part of a coward in making such haste to get back
to port. "You didn't have nary hand in it. You stay around home, yelling for
the Confederacy, and flinging your slurs at we uns who have been under
the fire of a Yankee war ship, but you ain't got the pluck to go into
the service yourself. We didn't see but one merchantman while we was
gone and she was a brig; and as she carried three times the canvas we did
she had the heels of us, and besides she wouldn't let us come within
range. It was all we wanted to do to get into Hatteras, on account of
the cruiser that fired on us. What battle was it that gained us
our independence?"
"Bull Run," replied the agent.
"Where's
that?"
"Somewhere up in Virginia. We had thirty-five thousand men and
the Yankees more than twice as many; but we threw them into a panic and
run them clear into Washington. I expect our army has got the city by
this time."
"I didn't think the Yankees would fight," said the captain
reflectively. "Then the war is just as good as over."
"That's what the
Richmond papers say."
"And it won't be no use for me to go blockade
running?"
"Oh, yes it will. Peace hasn't been declared yet, and you had
better make money at something while you can. After all, I don't know that
I blame you for coming back. We've lost two blockade-runners and
one privateer since you went out."
"There, now"; exclaimed Beardsley.
"And I'd have lost my own vessel if I hadn't had the best of luck. What you
sneering at me for?"
"Well, you see you were safe outside, and I was sure
you would come back with a prize. I was disappointed when I saw you coming up
the river alone."
"Not more disappointed than I was myself," answered
the captain. "That brig was worth a power of money, and I might have been
chasing her yet if that man-of-war hadn't hove in sight."
This was all
the conversation Marcy overheard between Beardsley and his agent, for the two
drew off on one side and talked earnestly in tones so low that he could not
catch a word they said. It was plain that they came to an understanding on
some point, for shortly afterward they went into the cabin, and Marcy was
commanded to station himself at the head of the companion ladder and pass the
word for the crew as fast as their names were called. He could see that the
schooner's books and papers had been placed upon the cabin table, and that
led him to believe that the reduction of the crew was to begin immediately.
When the first man who was sent below came on deck again with his wages in
his hand, Marcy whispered:
"What did the captain say when he paid you
off B+"
"He didn't say he was gallied," replied the sailor, with a
knowing look, "but I'll bet he is. The booming of that war ship's guns was
too much for his nerves, and he's going to quit pirating and go to
blockade running. I don't see but that one is about as dangerous as the
other." One by one the members of the crew were sent into the cabin, and as
fast as they received their money and their discharges they bundled up
their clothes and bedding and went ashore. At last there were only
six foremast hands left, including Marcy Gray, and these were summoned
into the cabin in a body to listen to what Captain Beardsley had to
propose to them. He began with the statement that privateering was played
out along that coast, because numerous cruisers were making it
their business to watch the inlets and warn passing vessels to look out
for themselves. It was no use trying to catch big ships that would not
let him come within range, and so he had decided to put his
howitzers ashore, tear out the berths and gun decks fore and aft, and turn
the _Osprey_ into a freighter. He would change her name, too, give
her another coat of paint, and take the figures off her sails, so that
she could not be recognized from the description the _Hollins's_ men
would give of her when they went North.
"I have kept you men because
you are the best in the crew," said Beardsley in conclusion, "and of course I
want none but good men and true aboard of me; but you needn't stay if you
don't want to. I want you to understand that blockade running is a dangerous
business, and that we may be captured as others have been; but if you will
stand by me, I'll give you five hundred dollars apiece for the run--one
hundred to spend in Nassau, and the balance when you help me bring the
schooner safe back to Newbern. What do you say?"
The men had evidently
been expecting something of this sort, for without a moment's hesitation
Tierney, speaking for his companions, replied that the captain's liberal
offer was accepted, and they would do all that men could do to make the
_Osprey's_ voyages profitable. Marcy said nothing, for Beardsley had already
given him to understand that he was to be one of the blockade-runner's crew.
He was the only native American among the foremast hands, and the only one
who could sign his name to the shipping articles, the others being obliged to
make their marks. When this had been done the men returned to the deck, and
the agent went ashore to make arrangements for landing the guns, to hunt up a
gang of ship carpenters, and find a cotton-factor who was willing to take his
chances on making or losing a fortune. He worked to such good purpose that
in less than an hour two parties of men were busy on the schooner--one
with the howitzers and the other with the bunks below--and a broker
was making a contract with Beardsley for taking out a cargo of cotton.
When the broker had gone ashore Beardsley beckoned Marcy to follow him
into the cabin.
"The schooner owes you seventeen hundred dollars and
better," said he, as he closed the sliding door and pointed to a chair. "It's
in the bank ashore, and you can have it whenever you want it. Would you like
to take out a venture?"
It was right on the point of Marcy's tongue to
reply that he would be glad to do it; but he checked himself in time, for the
thought occurred to him that perhaps this was another attempt on the part of
Captain Beardsley to find out something about the state of his
mother's finances. So he looked down at the carpet and said
nothing.
"There's money in it," continued Beardsley. "Suppose you take
out two bales of cotton, sell it in Nassau for three times what it was worth
a few months ago, and invest the proceeds in quinine; why, you'll
make five hundred percent. Of course I can't grant all the hands the
same privilege, so I will make the bargain for you through my agent,
and Tierney and the rest needn't know a thing about. What do you
say?"
"I don't think I had better risk it," answered Marcy.
"What
for?" asked Beardsley.
"Well, the money I've got I'm sure of, am I
not?"
"Course you are. Didn't I say you could have it any minute you had
a mind to call for it?"
"You did; but suppose I should put it into
cotton, as you suggest, and the _Osprey_ should fall into the hands of one of
those war ships outside. There'd be all my money gone to the dogs, or, what
amounts to the same thing, into the hands of the Yankees. I may want to use
that money before the war is over."
"But didn't you hear the agent say
that we ain't going to have any war? We've licked 'em before they could take
their coats off."
"But perhaps they'll not stay whipped. My teachers at
the academy were pretty well posted, and I heard some of them say that a war
is surely coming, and in the end the Southern States will wish they had
never seceded."
"Well, them teachers of yourn was the biggest fules I
ever heard tell of," exclaimed Beardsley, settling back in his chair and
slamming a paper-weight down upon the table. "Why, don't I tell you that
we've got 'em licked already? More'n that, I don't mean to fall into the
hands of them cruisers outside. I tell you that you'll miss it if you don't
take out a venture. And as for your mother needing them seventeen
hundred dollars to buy grub and the like, you can't pull the wool over my
eyes in no such way as that. She's got money by the bushel, and I know it
to be a fact."
"Then you know more than I do," replied Marcy, his eyes
never dropping for an instant under the searching gaze the captain fixed upon
him. "Now, I would like to ask you one question: You have money enough
of your own to load this vessel, have you not?"
"Why, of course
I--that's neither here nor there," replied Beardsley, who was not sharp
enough to keep out of the trap that Marcy had placed for him. "What of
it?"
"I know it to be a fact that you could load the schooner with
cotton purchased with your own money if you felt like it," answered the
young pilot, "but you don't mean to do it. You would rather carry
cotton belonging to somebody else, and that is all the proof I want that
you are afraid of the Yankees. If you want to do the fair thing by me,
why do you advise me to put my money into a venture, when you are afraid
to put in a dollar for yourself?"
"Why, man alive," Beardsley almost
shouted, "don't I risk my schooner? Every nigger I've got was paid for with
money she made for me by carrying cigars and such like between Havana and
Baltimore."
"That's what I thought," said Marcy, to himself. "And you
didn't pay a cent of duty on those cigars, either."
"I do my share by
risking my schooner," continued the captain. "But I want somebody to make
something besides myself, and if you don't want to risk your money, I reckon
I'll give the mates a chance. That's all."
"What in the name of sense did
I go and speak to him about them cigars for?" he added, mentally, as the
pilot ascended the ladder that led to the deck. "I think myself that there's
a war coming, and if we get licked I must either make a fast friend of that
boy or get rid of him; for if he tells on me I'll get into trouble
sure."
It looked now as though Marcy might some day have it in his power
to make things very unpleasant for Captain
Beardsley.
CHAPTER
V.
A CAT WITHOUT CLAWS.
"I really
believe I've got a hold on the old rascal at last," said Marcy to himself, as
he leaned against the rail and watched the men, who, under direction of the
mates, were hard at work getting the howitzers ashore. "From this time on he
had better be careful how he treats my mother, for he may fall into the hands
of the Yankees some day; and if that ever happens, I will take pains to see
that he doesn't get back to Nashville in a hurry. I'll go any lengths to get
a letter to the Secretary of the Treasury, telling him just who and what
Beardsley is, and then perhaps he will stand a chance of being tried for
something besides piracy and blockade-running."
Marcy's first care was
to write to his mother. While omitting no item of news, he took pains to word
the letter so cautiously that it could not be used against him in case some
of his secret enemies in and around Nashville, the postmaster and Colonel
Shelby, for instance, took it into their heads to open and read it instead of
sending it to its address. They had showed him that they were quite mean
enough to do it. Then he went ashore to mail the letter and take notes, and
was not long in making up his mind that he was not the only one who thought
there was going to be a war. Although the Newbern people were very jubilant
over the great victory at Bull Run, they did not act as though they
thought that that was the last battle they would have to fight before
their independence would be acknowledged, for Marcy saw infantry
companies marching and drilling in almost every street through which he
passed, and every other man and boy he met was dressed in uniform. As he
drew near to the post-office he ran against a couple of young soldiers
about his own age, or, to be more exact, they ran against him; for they
were coming along with their arms locked, talking so loudly that they
could have been heard on the opposite side of the street, and when
the _Osprey's_ pilot turned out to let them pass, they tried to crowd
him off into the gutter. But Marcy, beside being a sturdy fellow, knew
how to stand up for his rights. He braced his foot firmly against
the curbstone and met the shock of the collision so vigorously that
those who would have sent him headlong into the street were sent
backward themselves, and came very near going head first down the stairs that
led into a basement restaurant.
"Don't you think I ought to have a
little of this sidewalk?" he asked good-naturedly, as the two straightened up
and faced him with clenched hands and flashing eyes.
"Then put on a
uniform and you can have as much of it as you want," said one, in
reply.
"How long have you had those good clothes of yours?" inquired
Marcy. "Were they in the fight at Bull Run?"
"Of course not. We only
enlisted a week ago, but we show our good will and you don't."
"Then
you have never smelled powder or heard the noise of the
enemy's guns?"
"It isn't likely, for there's been no fighting around
here," said the same speaker, who began to wonder if he and his companions
hadn't made a mistake.
"Then go and get some experience before you
take it upon yourselves to shove a veteran into the ditch," said Marcy
loftily. "I've been in the service ever since President Davis issued his call
for privateers. You've heard of the _Osprey_, haven't you? Well, I belong to
her."
"Is that so?" exclaimed the other, extending his hand, which the
pilot was prompt to accept. "I am sorry we insulted you and beg your
pardon for it. But you ought to wear something to show who you are, for
the folks around here don't think much of citizens unless they have
declared their intention of enlisting as soon as they can get their affairs
in shape."
"I knew why you bumped up against me, and that was the
reason I didn't get mad at it," answered Marcy. "You don't seem to have much
to do; and if you will walk up to the post-office with me, I'll show you over
the _Osprey_, if you would like to take a look at her. But we'll have to
be in a hurry if we want to see her with the guns aboard, for she is
being changed into a blockade-runner."
"Ah! That's the money-making
business," said one of the recruits with enthusiasm. "I wish I knew something
about boats, so that I could go into it myself. What wages do you
get?"
"Five hundred dollars for the run to Nassau and back."
The
eyes of Marcy's new friends grew to twice their usual size. They looked hard
at him to see if he was really in earnest, and then whistled in
concert.
"It's worth it," continued Marcy, "and I don't believe you could
get men to go into it for less. From the time we leave the protection of
the forts at Hatteras to the time we get back, we shall be in constant
fear of capture. We know something of the dangers of the business, for we
had two narrow escapes during our last cruise."
Of course the recruits
wanted to know all about it, and as they faced around and walked with him,
Marcy gave them a short history of what the schooner had done since she went
into commission. When he told how neatly that Yankee brig had slipped through
Captain Beardsley's fingers, his companions looked at him in
surprise.
"What a pity," said one. "And yet you talk as if you were glad
of it."
"I talk as if it was a brave and skilful act, and so it was,"
answered Marcy. "You would say the same if you had been there and seen it
done."
"No, I wouldn't. The Yankees are not brave and skilful, and they
can't do anything to make me think they are. How will they feel when they
see our President sitting in the White House, dictating terms of peace
to them? I hope our company will be there to witness the
ceremony."
This was a point Marcy did not care to discuss with the two
recruits, for fear he might say something to arouse in their minds a
suspicion that he was not intensely loyal to the Confederacy, even if he did
sail under its flag; so he inquired if there were anything else but
drilling and marching going on in Newbern.
"Not much else in the
city," replied one of the young soldiers. "But there's a heap going on about
five miles below. There's a corps of engineers down there laying out a system
of fortifications which are to be a mile long. It will take eight or nine
thousand men to garrison them, and they will be defended by thirty-one
guns."
"But I don't see any sense in it," said the other, who seemed to
think he had learned considerable of the art of war since he put on his
gray jacket. "A Yankee army will never come so far south as Newbern,
and their gunboats can't get past the forts at Hatteras."
But, all the
same, the Confederate authorities thought the works ought to be pushed to
completion, and so they were; but they did not amount to much, for Burnside's
troops captured them after a four hours' fight, with the loss of only
ninety-one men killed, the garrison retreating to Newbern and taking the cars
for Goldsborough. When Marcy heard of it a few months later, he wondered if
his new acquaintances were in the fight, and if they still held to the
opinion that the Yankees were not brave.
After leaving the post-office
they spent an hour on board the _Osprey_ and parted at last well pleased with
the result of their meeting, and fully satisfied in their own minds that the
Yankees had been so badly whipped at Bull Run that they would never dare face
the Confederate soldiers again. At least the two recruits were satisfied of
it; but Marcy thought he knew better.
On the morning of the next day
but one, a tug came alongside and towed the schooner up to a warehouse, where
there was a load of cotton waiting for her; and for want of something better
to do, Marcy hunted up a cotton-hook and assisted in rolling the heavy bales
on board. The little vessel was so changed in appearance that a landsman
would hardly have recognized her. The treacherous figure "9," which Beardsley
had caused to be painted on her sails, in the hope that merchant vessels
would take her for a harmless pilot-boat, was not to be seen; all the black
paint about her, from the heel of her bowsprit to the crosstrees, had
given place to a bluish-white; and on both sides of her bow and over her
cabin door the name _Hattie_ appeared in large gilt letters.
"Now,
when them _Hollins_ men get home and try to give the war ships a description
of the privateer that captured them, they will be mighty apt to shoot wide of
the mark, won't they?" said Captain Beardsley, who was much pleased with the
work the painters had done under his instructions. "There ain't the first
thing aboard of us to show that we used to be engaged in the privateering
business. Oh, I'm a sharp one, and it takes something besides a Yankee to get
the start of me."
Beardsley was so impatient to get to sea, and so very
anxious to handle the fortune he was sure he was going to make by his first
attempt at blockade running, that he employed all the men that could be
worked to advantage, and took on board every bale he could possibly find room
for. The deck load was so large that it threatened to interfere with
the handling of the sails! and when a tug pulled the schooner's head
around till it pointed down the river, she set so low in the water that
she could not show her usual speed, even with the tide in her favor,
and Tierney said in Marcy's hearing that he believed he could hoist a
sail in a washing-tub and reach Nassau before the schooner could leave
the sand dunes of Hatteras out of sight. But the captain did not seem
to think he had made any mistake in loading his vessel, although he
did show some anxiety for her safety; for when she reached Crooked Inlet
he walked aft and took charge of the wheel himself, and without saying
one word to the young fellow whom he called his pilot, until he saw
the latter looking at him as if he wanted to know what Beardsley meant
by such work.
"There, now," said the captain, by way of explanation,
"I thought you was below; I did for a fact. And so I said to myself that I
wouldn't bother you, but would try and take her through without your help,
just to see if I could do it, you know. Supposing you was the only one
aboard who knew the channel, and something should happen to you, and I
should want to come through here in a hurry to get out of the way of a war
ship that was close in my wake; wouldn't I be in a pretty fix? Now stand
by, so't you can give me a word in case I don't hold her just
right."
"You old hypocrite," thought Marcy. "If that was the first lie
you ever told it would choke you. So he thinks something is going to happen
to me, does he? Now what does he mean by that?"
Captain Beardsley had
done nothing more than Marcy expected him to do, but he did not have a word
of fault to find with it, as a regular pilot would have done when he saw his
business taken out of his hands in so unceremonious a fashion. If the skipper
was willing to pay him five hundred dollars for doing nothing, the boy didn't
think he ought to complain. He took his stand close by the captain's side,
but he did not touch the wheel, nor did he so much as look at the black and
red buoys that marked the channel. He was turning these words over in his
mind: "Suppose something should happen to you!" Was he to understand
that Beardsley had made up his mind to get rid of him in some way?
"If
that is what he wants, why didn't he pay me off while we were in Newbern?"
was the question Marcy asked himself. "But for some reason or other it
doesn't suit him to have me at home with mother; and that makes me think that
there's going to be an attempt made to steal the money she has hidden in the
cellar wall. Oh, how I wish Jack was at home."
When the schooner was
clear of the Inlet, Beardsley gave the boy a wink as if to say, "I did take
her through, didn't I?" held a short consultation with the mates, during
which the course was determined upon, then mounted to the cross trees with
his glass in his hand; and after sweeping it around the horizon, gave the
cheering information to those below that there was nothing in sight. But
there was something in sight a few hours later--something that put Beardsley
in such a rage that he did not get over it for a day or two. It was a
schooner a little larger than his own, and she was standing directly across
the _Hattie's_ bows. She did not show any disposition to "dodge" as the brig
had done, but held straight on her course, and this made Captain Beardsley
suspect that there might be a cruiser following in her wake to see that she
did not get into trouble. But if there was, his glass failed to reveal
the fact, and this suggested an idea to him. When the stranger's
topsails could be seen from the _Hattie's_ deck he shouted down to his
mate:
"Say, Morgan, I'll tell you what's the matter with that fellow. He
don't know that there's such things as privateers afloat, and he ain't
seen nary cruiser to warn him. That's why he don't sheer off."
"I
reckon you're right, cap'n," replied the mate. "It's plain that he ain't
afraid of us."
"Well, if I am right," continued Beardsley, "it proves
that the war ships off Hatteras have went off somewheres, and that the coast
below is all clear; don't you think so? What do you say if we make a straight
run for our port? We'll save more than a week by it."
"I'm agreeable,"
answered the mate, who, upon receiving a nod from the captain, gave the
necessary orders, and in a few minutes the _Hattie_ was close-hauled and
running in such a direction that if the two vessels held on their way, they
would pass almost within hailing distance of each other. Of course the
captain of the stranger must have witnessed this manoeuvre, but he did not
seem to be surprised or troubled by it; for he kept straight on and in
another hour dashed by within less than a quarter of a mile of Captain
Beardsley, who lifted his hat and waved it to a small party of men, her
officers probably, who were standing on her quarter deck. In response to the
salutation the Stars and Stripes were hoisted at her peak.
"If she had
done that three weeks ago wouldn't I have brought that flag down with a
jerk?" exclaimed Beardsley angrily. "Did anybody ever hear of such luck? Why
didn't she show up when we had them howitzers aboard? They don't know what to
make of us, for I can see two fellows with glasses pointed at us all the
time. Run up that Yankee flag, Marcy."
The latter was prompt to obey the
order, and he was quite willing to do it, since it was not in Beardsley's
power to do any harm to the handsome stranger. After being allowed to float
for a few minutes the two flags were hauled down and stowed away in their
respective chests, and the little vessels parted company without either one
knowing who the other was. But there was an angry lot of men on board the
_Hattie._ Beardsley showed that he was one of them by the hard words he used
when he came down from aloft and sent a lookout up to take his place, and
Tierney, after shaking his fist at the Yankee, shut one eye, glanced along
the rail with the other, as he had glanced through the sights of
the howitzer he once commanded, and then jerked back his right hand as if
he were pulling a lock-string. Marcy Gray was the only one aboard
who carried a light heart.
After the schooner's course was changed
there was a good deal of suppressed excitement among the crew, for Captain
Beardsley was about to take what some of them thought to be a desperate risk.
Probably there were no cruisers off Hatteras when that merchant vessel
passed, but that was all of fifteen or twenty hours ago, and they had had
plenty of time to get back to their stations. So a bright lookout was kept by
all hands, and Beardsley or one of the mates went aloft every few minutes
to take a peep through the glass. Marcy thought there was good cause
for watchfulness and anxiety. In the first place, the Bahama Islands,
of which Nassau, in the Island of New Providence, was the principal
port, lay off the coast of Florida, and about five hundred miles southeast
of Charleston. They must have been at least twice as far from
Crooked Inlet, so that Captain Beardsley, by selecting Newbern as his home
port, ran twice the risk of falling into the hands of the Federal
cruisers that he would if he had decided to run his contraband cargo
into Savannah or Charleston.
"It seems to me that the old man ought to
have learned wisdom after living for so many years in defiance of the law,"
thought Marcy, when it came his turn to go aloft and relieve the lookout. "Of
course a smuggler has to take his chances with the revenue cutters he is
liable to meet along the coast, as well as with the Custom House authorities,
and I should think that constant fear of capture would have made him sly
and cautious; but it hasn't."--"Nothing in sight, sir," he said, in
answer to an inquiry from the officer who had charge of the deck.
And
this was the report that was sent down by every lookout who went aloft during
the next four days; and what a time of excitement and suspense that was for
Marcy Gray and all the rest of the _Hattie's_ crew. Perhaps there was not so
much danger of being run down at night by some heavy vessel as there would
have been a few months before, but Marcy's nerves thrilled with apprehension
when he stood holding fast to the rail during the lonely mid-watch, and the
schooner, with the spray dashing wildly about her bows and everything
drawing, was running before a strong wind through darkness so black that her
flying-jib-boom could not be seen, and there was no light on board except the
one in the binnacle.
"I know it's dangerous and I don't like it any
better than you do," Beardsley said to him one night. "But think of the money
there is in it, and what a fule you were for not taking out a venture when I
gave you the chance. I bought four bales apiece for the mates, and they
will pocket the money that you might have had just as well as
not."
"But I want to use my seventeen hundred dollars," replied Marcy;
and so he did. He still clung to the hope that he might some day have
an opportunity to return it to the master of the _Hollins_, and that
was the reason he was unwilling to run the risk of losing it.
"Go and
tell that to the marines," said Captain Beardsley impatiently. "They'll
believe anything, but I won't. You don't need it; your folks don't, and I
know it. Keep a bright lookout for lights, hold a stiff upper lip, and I will
take you safely through."
And so he did. Not only were the Federal war
ships accommodating enough to keep out of the way, but the elements were in
good humor also. The schooner had a fair wind during the whole of her
perilous journey, and in due time it wafted her into the port of Nassau.
Although Marcy Gray had never been there before, he had heard and read of New
Providence as a barren rock, with scarcely soil enough to produce a few
pineapples and oranges, and of Nassau as a place of no consequence whatever
so far as commerce was concerned. It boasted a small sponge trade, exported
some green turtles and conch-shells, and was the home of a few fisherman
and wreckers; this was all Marcy thought there was of Nassau,
and consequently his surprise was great when he found himself looking
out upon the wharves of a thriving, bustling little town. The
slave-holders' rebellion, "which brought woe and wretchedness to so many of
our States, was the wind that blew prosperity to Nassau." When President
Lincoln's proclamation, announcing the blockade of all the Confederate ports
was issued, Nassau took on an air of business and importance, and at
once became the favorite resort of vessels engaged in contraband trade.
There were Northern men there too, and Northern vessels as well; for, to
quote from the historian, "The Yankee, in obedience to his instincts
of traffic, scented the prey from afar, and went there to turn an
honest penny by assisting the Confederates to run the blockade." The
supplies which the Confederates had always purchased in the North, and of
which they already began to stand in need, were shipped from Europe in
neutral vessels; and being consigned to a neutral port (for Nassau belonged
to England), they were in no danger of being captured by our war
ships during the long voyage across the Atlantic. It was when these
supplies were taken from the wharves and placed in the holds of vessels like
the _Hattie_ that the trouble began, and men like Captain Beardsley ran
all the risk and reaped the lion's share of the profits. Almost the
first thing that drew Marcy's attention was the sight of a Union
and Confederate flag floating within a few rods of each other.
"What's
the meaning of that?" he asked of Beardsley, as soon as he found opportunity
to speak to him. "We don't own this town, do we?"
"No; but we've got a
Consulate here," was the reply. "I don't know's I understand just what that
means, but it's some sort of an officer that our government has sent here to
look out for our interests. If a man wants to go from here to our country, he
must go to that Consulate and get a pass before any blockade-runner will take
him. Now don't you wish you had took my advice and brought out a
venture?"
"It's too late to think of that now," answered Marcy. "And your
own profits are not safe yet. It must be all of a thousand miles from
here to Newbern, and perhaps we'll not have as good luck going as we
did coming. I am to have a hundred dollars to spend here, am I
not?"
"Course. That's what I promised before you and the rest signed
articles. I'll give it to you the minute this cotton is got ashore and paid
for. What you going to do with it?"
"I thought I would invest it in
medicine."
"Your head's level. You couldn't make bigger money on anything
else."
"And as it is my own money and the captain of the _Hollins_ has
no interest in it, I shall feel quite at liberty to spend it as I
choose," soliloquized Marcy, as the captain turned away to meet
the representative of the English house to which his cargo of cotton
was consigned. "Besides, I must keep up appearances, or I'll get
into trouble."
"Turn to, all hands, and get off the hatches," shouted
one of the mates. "Lively now, for the sooner we start back the sooner we'll
get there."
Marcy did not know whether or not he was included in this
order addressed to "all hands," but as the officer looked hard at him
he concluded he was. At any rate he was willing to work, if for no
other purpose than to keep him from thinking. Somehow he did not like to
have his mind dwell upon the homeward
run.
CHAPTER
VI.
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE.
The gang of
'longshoremen, which was quickly sent on board the _Hattie_ by the Englishman
to whom we referred in the last chapter, worked to such good purpose that in
just forty-eight hours from the time her lines were made fast to the wharf,
the blockade-runner was ready for her return trip. Meanwhile Marcy Gray and
the rest of the crew had little to do but roam about the town, spending their
money and mingling with the citizens, the most of whom were as good
Confederates as could have been found anywhere in the Southern States. Marcy
afterward told his mother that if there were any Union people on the island
they lived in the American Consulate, from whose roof floated the Stars and
Stripes. Marcy was both astonished and shocked to find that nearly every one
with whom he conversed believed that the Union was already a thing of the
past, and that the rebellious States never could be whipped. One day he
spoke to Beardsley about it, while the latter was pacing his
quarter-deck smoking his after-dinner cigar.
"If those English sailors
I was talking with a little while ago are so very anxious to see the Union
destroyed, I don't see why they don't ship under the Confederate flag," said
he. "But what has England got against the United States, anyway?"
"Man
alive, she's got everything against 'em," replied the captain, in a surprised
tone. "Didn't they lick old England twice, and ain't the Yankee flag the only
one to which a British army ever surrendered? You're mighty right. She'd be
glad to see the old Union busted into a million pieces; but she's too big a
coward to come out and help us open and above board, and so she's helping on
the sly. I wish the Yankees would do something to madden her, but they're too
sharp. They have give up the _Herald_--the brig I was telling you about that
sailed from Wilmington just before you came back from your furlong. She was
a Britisher, yon know, and a warship took her prisoner; but the
courts allowed that Wilmington wasn't blockaded at all, except on paper,
and ordered her to be released. I only wish the Yankees had had the pluck
to hold fast to her."
Marcy's thoughts had often reverted to the
capture of the brig _Herald_ and to Captain Beardsley's expressed wish that
the act might lead to an open rupture between the United States and England,
and he was glad to learn that there was to be no trouble on that score. But
England could not long keep her meddlesome fingers out of our pie. She did
all she dared to aid the Confederacy, and when the war was ended, had the fun
of handing over a good many millions of dollars to pay for the
American vessels that British built and British armed steamers had destroyed
upon the high seas.
"I saw you bring aboard some little bundles a
while ago," continued Beardsley. "What was in 'em?"
"One of them
contained two woolen dresses I bought for mother, and in the others there was
nothing but medicine," said Marcy. "Woolen goods will be worth money by and
by."
"Oh, yes; they'll run up a little. Things always do in war times.
The money them medicines cost, you will be able to turn over about
three times when we get back to Newbern. You'll clear about three
hundred dollars, when you might just as well have made five thousand, if
you'd took my advice and put in your seventeen hundred, as I wanted you
to do."
Marcy made no reply, for he had grown weary of telling the
captain that he intended to use that money for another purpose.
During
the two days they remained in port two large steamers came in, and on the way
out they passed as many more, both of which showed the English colors when
Marcy, in obedience to Beardsley's orders, ran the Confederate emblem up to
the _Hattie's_ peak.
"Everything that's aboard them ships is meant for
us," said Captain Beardsley. "I know it, because there never was no such
steamers sailing into this port before the war. Them fellows over the water
are sending in goods faster'n we can take 'em out. Go aloft, Marcy, and
holler the minute you see anything that looks like a sail or a
smoke."
When the pilot had been discharged and the schooner filled away
for home, her crew settled down to business again, and every man
became alert and watchful. Those dreadful night runs on the way down
Marcy always thought of with a shiver, and now he had to go through with
them again; and one would surely have ended his career as a
blockade-runner, for a while at least, had it not been for the credulity or
stupidity of a Union naval captain. This particular night, for a wonder, was
clear; the stars shone brightly, and Marcy Gray, who sat on the cross
trees with the night-glass in his hand, had been instructed to use
extra vigilance. There was a heavy ground swell on, showing that there
had recently been a blow somewhere, and the schooner had just breeze
enough to give her steerage way, with nothing to spare. Marcy was thinking
of home, and wondering how much longer it would be necessary for him
to lead this double life, when he saw something that called him back
to earth again. He took a short look at it through his glass, and
then said, in tones just loud enough to reach the ears of those
below:
"On deck, there."
"Ay, ay!" came the answer. "What's to
do?"
"Lights straight ahead, sir."
"Throw a tarpaulin over that
binnacle," commanded Beardsley; and a moment later Marcy saw him coming up.
He gave the glass into his hands and moved aside so that the captain could
find a place to stand on the crosstrees. Either the latter's eyes were
sharper than Marcy's, or else he took time to make a more critical
examination of the approaching vessel, for presently he hailed the deck in
low but excited tones.
"I'm afraid we're in for it, Morgan," said he. "I
do for a fact. Tumble up here and see what you think of her. I can make out
that she is a heavy steamer," he added, as Marcy moved to the other side of
the mast, and the mate came up and stood beside the captain, "and if she
can't make us out, too, every soul aboard of her must be blind. Our
white canvas must show a long ways in this bright starlight. What is
she?"
"I give it up," replied the mate.
"She is coming straight
for us, ain't she?"
"Looks like it. Suppose you change the course a few
points and then we can tell for a certainty."
Captain Beardsley
thought this a suggestion worth acting upon. He sent down the necessary
orders to the second mate, who had been left in charge of the deck, and in a
few minutes the schooner was standing off on the other tack, and rolling
fearfully as she took the ground swell almost broadside on. Then there came
an interval of anxiety and suspense, during which Marcy Gray strained his
eyes until he saw a dozen lights dancing before them instead of two, as there
ought to have been, and at last Captain Beardsley's worst fears were
confirmed. The relative position of the red and green lights ahead slowly
changed until they were almost in line with each other, and Marcy was sailor
enough to know what that meant. The steamer had caught sight of the _Hattie_,
was keeping watch of her, and had altered her course to intercept her.
Marcy began to tremble.
"I know how a prison looks when viewed from
the outside," he said to himself. "And unless something turns up in our
favor, it will not be many days before I shall know how one looks on the
inside."
It was plain that his two companions were troubled by the same
gloomy thoughts, for he heard Beardsley say, in a husky voice:
"She
ain't holding a course for nowhere, neither for the Indies nor the Cape; she
shifted her wheel when we did, and that proves that she's a Yankee cruiser
and nothing else. See any signs of a freshening anywhere?"
"Nary
freshening," replied the mate, with a hasty glance around the horizon. "There
ain't a cloud as big as your fist in sight."
Of course Beardsley used
some heavy words--he always did when things did not go to suit him--and then
he said, as if he were almost on the point of crying with
vexation:
"It's too bad for them cowardly Yankees to come pirating around
here just at this time when we've got a big fortune in our hands. Them
goods we've got below is worth a cool hundred thousand dollars in Newbern,
if they're worth anything, and my commission will be somewhere in
the neighborhood of twenty-five per cent.; dog-gone it all. Can't we
do nothing to give her the slip? You ain't fitten to be a mate if you
can't give a word of advice in a case like this."
"And if I wanted to
be sassy I might say that you ain't fit to command a ship if you can't get
her out of trouble when you get her into it. There can't no advice be given
that I can see, unless it be to chuck the cargo over the side. I reckon that
would be my way if I was master of the _Hattie._
"But what good would
that do?" exclaimed Beardsley. "Where are my dockyments to prove that I am an
honest trader? And even if I had some, and the cargo was safe out of the hold
and sunk to the bottom, I couldn't say that I am in ballast, because I ain't
got a pound of any sort of ballast to show. Oh, I tell you we're gone coons,
Morgan. Do the Yankees put striped clothes on their prisoners when they shove
'em into jail, I wonder?"
The mate, who had come to the wise
conclusion that the only thing he could do was to make the best of the
situation, did not answer the captain's last question. All he said
was:
"If you dump the cargo overboard the Yankees won't get
it!"
"But they'll get my schooner, won't they?" Beardsley almost
shouted. "And do you reckon that I'm going to give them Newbern fellows
the satisfaction of knowing that I saved their goods by sending them to
the bottom? Not by a great sight. If that cruiser gets my property
she'll get their'n, too. I don't reckon we'd have time to clear the
hold anyway."
Marcy Gray had thought so all along. The lights were
coming up at a hand gallop, and already they were much nearer than they
seemed to be, for the shape of the steamer could be made out by the unaided
eye. When Beardsley ceased speaking, the sound of a gong was clearly heard,
and a minute later the steamer blew her whistle.
"What did I tell you,
Morgan?" whined the captain. "She's slowing up, and that whistle means for us
to show lights. The next thing we shall see will be a small boat coming off.
I hope the swell'll turn it upside down and drown every mother's son of her
crew that--On deck, there," he shouted, in great consternation. "Get out
lights, and be quick about it. She'll be on top of us directly."
"She
can see us as well without lights as she can with 'em," growled the mate, as
he backed down slowly from the crosstrees. "I don't care if she cuts us down.
I'd about as soon go to the bottom as to be shut up in a Yankee
prison."
Marcy Gray was almost as badly frightened as Beardsley seemed to
be. The steamer was dangerously near, and her behavior and the schooner's
proved the truth of what he had read somewhere, that "two vessels on the
ocean seemed to exercise a magnetic influence upon each other, so often
do collisions occur when it looks as |
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