CHAPTER VI
The Master Player takes a Hand
At this moment, a number of red-coated soldiers clambered down the path in the rocks, while a squad of cavalry came galloping upon the beach by the road at the other end, and, at once dismounting, advanced up the strand. The seamen in the boat, in obedience to a wave of O'Neill's hand, swept her in toward the shore, jumped out, and moved toward him, drawing their cutlasses and handling their pistols threateningly; though they were greatly outnumbered, they would not give up without a struggle. It was Coventry's opportunity now.
"I shall not be able to indulge your desire for the loss of your life," he said, stepping back and picking up his sword, "but I fear that duty imposes upon me the necessity of depriving you of your liberty-I regret the necessity, believe me, 'tis a poor return for your generosity, but I have no option."
"What mean you?"
"You are, by your own statements, a rebel against his Majesty. It is my duty as commander of this post and a loyal servant of the king to apprehend you. Indeed, I have been especially charged to look out for you. I will promise you and your men the best of treatment, however, and you liberty of action, if you will give me your parole."
"I am twice captured then, it seems," said the lieutenant, looking at Elizabeth, who had come forward as soon as old Price, who had left her, had sprung to his officer's side. As the girl drew near to him, and Major Coventry turned away his head a moment to give an order, the Irishman said to her:
"Why did you not call out to save your lover a moment since?"
"It was not necessary," she said, looking at him with eyes filled with tears. "I knew what you would do." Delay was dangerous to him, – Coventry was posting his men; he hesitated a moment, however, and taking her hand bowed low over it.
"Thank you," he whispered gratefully. "This word, and you, I shall remember."
"And I," said the girl, her eyes filling with tears, "will never forget-"
"Come, sir," said Coventry, dryly, turning at this moment, having finished his dispositions. "I think you overstep the privileges of a parole; and if you will have your men lay down their arms, we will go up to the castle. I have sent for a carriage for you, Elizabeth, which will be here shortly."
"Do you know," said O'Neill, "that I have a mind to say to you that I might as well die right here as at any place else, and I do not think I shall go to that castle, after all. There are seven of us here-"
"Close in there!" sharply shouted Coventry to his soldiers, who obeyed him promptly. "Make ready!"
"Handle your pistols, men," cried the other, whipping out his own; but again Elizabeth interfered in the fray. She ran between the American seamen and the English soldiers with outstretched hands.
"Stop!" she cried. "There must be no further fighting here. This gentleman came to this spot to do me a favor, to set me free. My life is his-"
"I give it back to you," cried O'Neill.
"And yours, Major Coventry, was his also," she added reproachfully.
"I give it to him as well; and if any more lives are wanted, anybody can have mine for the taking," interrupted the sailor again.
"This must go no further," continued the girl.
"And it shall not, madam," cried a deep, clear voice, as one of the cutters of the Ranger, filled to the gunwales with heavily armed men, and with a swivel in the bow and a man standing over it with a lighted match in his hand, came sweeping around the headland and dashing in toward the shore. It was under the command of Jones himself, who had grown impatient at the delay.
"I am sorry to interrupt a
tête-à-tête
, gentlemen," he cried.
"You are beaten again, Major Coventry," said O'Neill, calmly. "The odds are in our favor now. Throw down your arms instantly, you dogs," he shouted to the English soldiers. "Back! Out of the way, Miss Howard."
He sprang to her side, and clasping her around the waist as if she had been a child, lifted her out of the line of fire. The jealous Coventry noticed two things, – he did not release her, nor did she struggle to get away. The sullen soldiers rallied about Coventry and presented their arms threateningly; they had no mind either to yield without a fight.
"Stand by!" shouted Jones to the marines in his boat and to the gunners forward.
"Stop, for God's sake stop, Captain Jones! You have been good to me," cried Elizabeth, now struggling faintly to escape from the grasp of O'Neill. "I know that you are a gentleman. That officer is my betrothed. Withhold your fire. They will retire. There must be no blood shed. You promised to set me free and in safety ashore and leave me there. Go, I entreat you!"
"Steady, lads, steady!" cried Jones, stepping out of the boat. "And you, sir," to the English officer, "will you withdraw quietly, taking your lady with you, of course, if we engage to do the same? You are outnumbered, and we can cut you to pieces. Take the word of an older fighter, your honor will be safe, sir."
"You are right, sir, 'tis best. I must needs submit, I suppose," said Coventry, resigning himself the more gracefully to the inevitable as he could then receive his love again. "Come, Lady Elizabeth."
"Now, why didn't you protest when I was captured?" said O'Neill, releasing her waist, but still holding her hand.
"Could it be because I wanted you to be with me?" she whispered, caught off her guard in spite of herself, with a blush covering her face.
"God bless you for that, and good-bye," he said, bowing over her hand. "A year, give me a year-" he turned and walked away.
"Sir," said Coventry, sheathing his sword, and walking down to where Jones stood upon the sand, "we have been misinformed concerning you. I have had a little interview with your first lieutenant which has convinced me that I was wrong, and this talk has added to my knowledge. As an officer of the king, I offer you my hand. Whatever your political or personal affiliations may be, I am glad to recognize in you gentlemen of merit and distinction. I trust to be able to repay the obligation you have laid upon me and my betrothed on some future occasion. We are friends?"
"Sir," replied Jones, "I love a gallant foe. I shall remember you. I thank you for your courtesy."
"And I as well," added O'Neill.
"It is not the practice of the American Navy," continued Jones, "to force ships of war and bloody battles between loving hearts. Mistress Howard, fare you well; the Ranger, her officers and crew, are yours if you wish. If we should be met by another ship with you in command, we strike to you without a blow."
"Elizabeth," said Coventry, magnanimously, "can you not bid your friends good-bye?"
"I shall ever remember Captain John Paul Jones," said Lady Elizabeth, stepping forward and giving the little captain her hand to kiss, "and I shall never forget Lieutenant O'Neill."
"Will you wait one year for him?" he whispered as he bowed low over her hand.
"Come and see," she answered, and turned away.
BOOK II
THEY MEET AGAIN
CHAPTER VII
After a Long Time
"There are only two men-of-war in the whole lot."
"Right, yer Honor. That 'un near the shore there-away looks like a big frigate. That'll be the Serapis, I'm thinkin'."
"Yes, and that one further out, the Scarborough."
"Ay, ay, sir, an' all the rest on 'em is merchantmen. There ain't a gun on board any on 'em. Nice pickin's them'll be fer us poor sailormen arter we dispose of them war-vessels. Dash my wig! jist think of them fat traders, an' we a-rummagin' among 'em-"
"That will do, Price. Just moderate your transports a little," said the officer, stepping forward to the brow of the hill and taking another long look at the harbor.
"I ain't no transport," muttered the garrulous old man under his breath. "I won't carry no soldiers nowhere. I'm a man-o'-war, I am;" but he took good care that his superior should not hear these somewhat insubordinate remarks.
"Well," said the other, finally turning about after his close scrutiny, "I think we have ascertained about all we have come for. They are the Baltic convoy, without doubt, and you would better make a straight course for the ship at once and report."
"An' you, sir?" asked the old man, respectfully, "won't you come along, sir? I hate to cut cable an' leave you here adrift, alone, yer Honor."
"No," answered the officer, after a reflective pause, "I think I shall go up to that castle on the bluff beyond and find out a little more definitely as to the situation, if possible. Meanwhile, do you get on your horse and ride back to Bridlington Bay. Go aboard the Alert and tell Mr. Lunt, from me, to join the Richard to the southward at once, and notify Captain Jones of what we have seen. Tell him I think it will be perfectly safe for him to come on: there is a great fleet of merchant ships here with only two ships-of-war; he will rejoice at the chance of a fair fight. I will find means to join him at the rendezvous before the rest of the ships can assemble and they can get under way. Now bear a hand; don't let the grass grow under your keel."
"Oh, Lord, yer Honor, have I got to git on board that 'ere four-legged craft agin?" said old Price, ruefully.
"That's what you have to do, my lad," remarked the officer, cheerfully.
"Seems like somethin's wrong with him," said the old sailor. "A animal wot steers by the head is contrary like to natur. Now if I could only git him to go about on t'other tack, or wear him, by shiftin' his tail, I'd understand him perfectly; but this yere tiller rope riggin' over his bows is wot gits me. An', sir, I can't make out with them 'ere stirrups nuther; it's like hangin' onto the yard-arm in a tossin' sea without no foot ropes. Howsomever, if I must, I must, I guess."
"Oh, you won't mind it," replied the officer, laughing at the old man's rueful face. "Besides, the wind's fair, and you'll be going free most of the way. Just give him a touch of your weather heel once in a while, and you'll soon make the harbor."
"I never thought about the wind," said the veteran gunner, thoughtfully, his face brightening as he turned and listened for it. "Yer Honor's right. 'Twill be plain sailin'. Well, sir, anchor's aweigh, an' here goes!"
The old seaman, giving great evidence of his disinclination in spite of the favoring breeze, at last climbed upon the back of his staid old horse, and, resisting the temptation to give him his direction by a pull of the tail, got under way and lurched rapidly down the road. Left to himself, the lieutenant mounted his own horse-surprising to state, for a sailor he was an excellent horseman-and rode down toward the sleeping town nestled around Scarborough harbor, which was filled with a large fleet of merchant ships convoyed by two men-of-war, all riding quietly at their anchors.
Opposite the acclivity on which the two men had stood, and to the north of the town, rose a bold, splendid headland, or scar, almost an island, to the height of about three hundred feet. The rugged crest was crowned by a picturesque old castle. The headland jutted boldly out into the sea, and the wild waters dashed upon its walls from every side. Access to the castle from the town was by means of a causeway and bridge springing over a rocky and otherwise impassable connection between the cliff and the mainland, which was sometimes flooded at high-tide.
Portions of the castle were in bad repair, or had been dismantled in the several wars in which it had played a memorable part since its erection nearly seven hundred years before by a follower of William the Conqueror; but a large part of it was still inhabitable, and had been provided with a sufficient garrison. A heavy water battery, which had been placed in position during the rebellion in 1745, had been recently strengthened and reinforced.
Captain Jones, in the Bon Homme Richard, had been cruising around the coasts of the British Islands for some time. He had heard of the expected arrival of the Baltic fleet in these waters, and had presumed that they would make Scarborough harbor. Word had been received from a small trader he had overhauled, that a large number of ships had assembled in that harbor; and in order to ascertain whether he might safely attack them with his small nondescript squadron, he had accepted the voluntary services of Lieutenant O'Neill, seconded by gunner Price of the Bon Homme Richard.
They had gone on ahead of the squadron in the cutter Alert, and had landed below Scarborough headland, and ridden on to Scarborough to ascertain the facts. The Alert was to carry the news back to Jones, on the Richard, farther down the coast, and the vessels of his squadron were all to assemble a day or two later at Bridlington Bay, a small and unimportant town with a good harbor within easy reaching distance of the expected prey. Should the report of the scouts be favorable, they would proceed at once to attack the convoy.
On their journey to Scarborough, O'Neill had ascertained from a passing countryman that Lord Westbrooke was still governor of the castle, and he at once surmised that Lady Elizabeth Howard would probably be there with her guardian. Six months more than the year he had asked for from her had elapsed, and many untoward circumstances had prevented him from carrying out his plan of seeking her, but she had ever been in his heart, and time and separation had but intensified his passion. The mercurial Irishman had been deeply smitten by the proud English beauty, and the constancy of his devotion evidenced the depth of the impression she had made upon him.
When Jones had returned with the Ranger from his first successful cruise, he and his officers had been fêted and made much of by the French court. The gallant adventures in which he had participated lent a new charm to the fascinating personality of the son of the old marshal, whose entrée was already everything that could be desired; and his heart, accordingly, had been a target for repeated attacks upon the part of the bright-eyed and fascinating dames of France-but to no avail had they attempted its capture.
Something of the story of his devotion had been allowed to leak out, however, to account for his obduracy, and they finally understood why he was so unusually insensible to their charms. This romance naturally only added a piquancy to the feminine pursuit of which he was the object, although the ladies' sportive love chase proved, in the end, unavailing. He had resolved, O'Neill said, to show the world that unusual spectacle, a constant Irishman! This was to attempt the impossible, had been the quick reply, but, nevertheless, he had accomplished it.
Our Celtic mariner did not resign from the American service, however, not because he cared particularly for America, for democratic doctrines could never be acceptable to a follower of the young Stuart, the intimate associate of the young nobles of France; but, primarily, because he saw in it renewed opportunities to annoy and humiliate the stout Hanoverian whom he and his people hated, and from whom they had received much harm, and, secondly, because he was so much attracted by the strong personality of Paul Jones. So great had become his regard for this wonderful man that he had even waived considerations of rank in favor of an American, the gallant Richard Dale, and had consented to serve as second lieutenant instead of first, on the Richard, when that famous ship and her ill-assorted consorts started forth upon the memorable cruise.
The tacticians of the French Navy unfortunately were not given to consider downright hard fighting as the end and aim of naval enterprise. Their manœuvres were calculated to annoy and harass the enemy, but their first thought was not to destroy his ships, but to protect their own, – a fatal mistake in policy from which they have ever suffered.
This was not John Paul Jones' way. Whatever else he was, he was a fighter from the beginning to the end, and O'Neill found in him a congenial spirit. The love-lorn Irishman had tried several times to communicate with Lady Elizabeth by letter and messenger, but without success, for he received no reply to his letters, and his messengers had never returned. Therefore, when he found himself in such close proximity to her as on this, the evening of Tuesday, the 21st of September, 1779, he was utterly unable to resist the temptation at least to attempt to see her again.
Jones and the ships were not due at the rendezvous until the day after the next day, that would be Thursday morning. There would be ample time to rejoin them on the next day, Wednesday. O'Neill imagined himself perfectly safe; he had used no disguise except to wear the uniform of a French naval officer, and as France and England were nominally at peace, he persuaded himself that he was in no danger. It was a breach of military propriety, he admitted, of course, but nothing more, – this failure to return promptly to his ship, – and for that he was willing to suffer.
With the delightful casuistry of lovers he persuaded himself against his better judgment and failed to see his action in its true military significance. Trusting to audacity, mother wit, and Dan Cupid for protection, he went bravely on. In fact, he was taking his life in his hand. His love blinded him, – it is the chief function of the cherubic god; without that power most matches he attempts would fail. Meanwhile, with a beating heart-beating not from fear, but with anticipation-he rode slowly down the hill and into the town, where he left his horse at an inn, and made his way on foot, and supperless, such his eagerness, toward the castle.
He had no definite plan. There did not seem to be room for any. He had one consuming desire: to see, to speak to, to come in touch again with the beautiful girl who had been the object of his every thought, the end of his every desire, the spirit of every dream in which he had indulged since they had met. He had a thought-a hope-that she was still Elizabeth Howard. There was that in her promise, in her look, in her word, when she had said, "Come and see" on the strand, which gave him the hope that she would wait until he did come, be it one year or two; and with the sanguine spirit of his race he could not prepare himself for a disappointment.
The moon had risen as he walked quietly through the town and began to mount the hill. He did not know how to gain admittance to the castle when he approached it; and as ill luck would have it, as he was standing on the causeway looking toward the gate, he was approached by a squad of soldiers under the command of a sergeant, who were returning from an errand in the town. His meditations, as he stood gazing at the lights shining from the different windows, wondering behind which wall was ensconced the idol of his heart, were rudely interrupted by the grasp of a rough hand upon his shoulder and a harsh voice in his ear saying, -
"Well, sir, wot are you a-doin' 'ere at this hour o' the night? Entrance to the castle is forbid to every one except members of the garrison, or them wich has passes. No one is allowed on the causeway after sunset even. There's so many tales of raidin's an' hell's own doin's on the coast by that bloody ravagin' pirate Jones an' his bleedin' gang, that we're a'most in a state of siege. Give an account of yourself."
"My friend," said O'Neill, calmly, glancing rapidly about him, and giving up