CHAPTER XIV
THE NEUTRAL PORT
A remarkable place, in the summer of the year 1777, was the old French harbor of Brest. A not altogether pleasant fame had gathered upon it, like drifted seaweed, from historically ancient days. It was said to have been a rendezvous for the old-time vikings of the northern seas, as it was at this day for the smugglers. All of the town that could be seen from the harbor wore a shambling, dingy, antiquated appearance. Its ill-paved, steep, and dirty streets swarmed with an exceedingly varied and not at all admirable population, although the better classes were represented.
Vessels of all sorts were there, as usual, one pleasant afternoon, going out, coming in, at anchor, or moored to the more or less tumbledown wharves and piers. The arrival or departure of one ship more was not an affair to attract especial attention.
One important feature of the character of the ancient port was that whatever might be the existing treaties between the kings of France and Great Britain, Brest was always more or less at war with England. English sailors were welcome enough, of course, particularly if they were willing to desert, or had recently been paid off, or were supposed to be engaged in smuggling.
Among the vessels at anchor were three French war-ships, one Dutch cruiser, undergoing repairs, and a smart-looking British corvette that was lying well out from shore. All of these were under treaty bonds to keep the peace with each other and with the world in general, but Brest was also distinguished as a port into which all navies at peace with France might bring their prizes for condemnation and sale, according to existing maritime law.
A little after the noon, the loungers on the piers might have taken notice, if they would, of a large schooner that was slipping in through the strongly fortified entrance channel under little more than her foresail. She either had a French pilot on board or was steered by a man who knew the harbor, for she went at once to the right spot to drop her anchor, and a boat shortly put out from her toward the shore.
"There's a French flag on a Yankee-built schooner," remarked an officer of the British corvette. "That's because we are here. I'd like to cut her out, but it wouldn't do. Our war with France hasn't quite begun. I'm going to see, though, if we can't manage to get some men out of her."
He was a burly, bulldog-looking person, and he made other remarks not at all complimentary to Americans in general, and to one Mr. George Washington in particular.
"According to the latest advices," he asserted, "Howe and Cornwallis are crushing out the Virginia fox's ragamuffins. Burgoyne will take possession of northern New York and all the New England colonies. Then the king will have his own again, and we shall see some rebels hung."
There was, indeed, an increasingly bitter feeling among loyal Englishmen, caused by what they deemed the needless prolongation of the war. According to their way of thinking, the rebels were unreasonable and should long since have given up their useless attempt to escape from under the rightful rule of the mother country.
On the deck of the schooner, whether she were French or American, only a few men were making their appearance, and she seemed to have a great deal of deck-cargo. It was concerning that, perhaps, that conversation was going on below, and here, at least, the population was even excessive.
"Their glasses'd tell 'em just what we are, Captain Avery," said one before the boat left, "if we swarmed up."
"They'll find out, anyhow," said the captain. "Our deck-load must get ashore at once, before they know too much. It's in the way, too."
From other remarks that were made, it appeared that the cargo to be disposed of had been taken from no less than four unfortunate British merchantmen, and that the schooner had been a long time in gathering it. Good reasons were also given why the ships themselves had not been seized as well as the goods.
The captain was now in the boat, and his face wore a very thoughtful expression.
"Groot," he said, "you talk French better'n I do. Keep close and watch."
"All the lingoes you ever heard of are talked in Brest," said the Dutchman. "I've been here for months at a time. You'll have a visitor from that British corvette, first thing. They won't mind sea law much, either. They never do, and the French never try to follow 'em up sharp."
"Now they've let us run in, I don't care," said the captain. "We've had pretty narrow escapes gettin' here. It was touch and go, along the coast."
Absolute disguise or secrecy was out of the question, perhaps, but when a boat from the Syren shortly afterward pulled to the side of the Noank there was no invitation given to come on board.
"What schooner's this?" roughly demanded the officer of the boat.
"Noank, New London," responded Vine Avery, at the rail. "Assorted cargo. We ran right in through a fleet of your sleepyheads. Do you belong to that clumsy corvette, yonder?"
"Shut your mouth!" snapped the officer. "We'll come for you, yet."
"Hurrah for the Continental Congress!" said Vine, maliciously. "If this 'ere wasn't a neutral port we'd board that tub o' yours and take her home with us. We want some more guns and powder anyhow!"
"You're a pirate!" roared the officer. "We've a right to take you out under the French law. You've no protection."
"Keep your distance," said Vine. "We'll be ready for you when you come."
Angry faces were beginning to show behind Vine. The British officer saw steel points like pikeheads, and he heard threatening exclamations, only half suppressed. As the representative of a man-of-war, he had an undoubted right to question the character of any merchant vessel whatever, and to make her commander exhibit his papers, if the meeting took place at sea. In harbor, however, under the guns of neutral forts, the case was different.
The Englishman had really obtained the information he came after, and he had no orders to go any further. He knew exactly the character of this schooner. Even the pike-heads could be read like good handwriting. He replied to Vine with hardly more than an angry growl and went back to report to his commander.
"Privateer, is she?" remarked that gentleman, after hearing him. "I supposed so. I'd lay the Syren alongside of her, if it wasn't for getting into hot water with the French and with the admiral. We'll try for some of her men, on board or on shore, and I'll have that schooner!"
The younger officer grumbled his readiness to cut out the rebel pirate that very night, but his wiser superior only laughed at him.
"There she is," he said, "with her head in the lion's mouth. We needn't shut our jaws on her till the right minute. Then it will be one good bite and we'll have her, men, cargo, and all."
The boat from the Noank reached a wharf, and it had not come there upon any mere pleasure trip.
"Short work, now, Groot," said the captain. "If you can't find your men right away, I'll take a look after mine."
Away they went, along the water front, until they were halted by Groot in front of an immense, dingy old warehouse.
"Opdyke Freres," he read the faded sign over the entrance of it. "They are here, yet. Brest and Amsterdam. What goods they can't handle in France, they can in Holland. They'll do the fair thing by us, – so we'll be sure to come to them again."
"That's our grip on their honesty, this time," said Captain Avery.
In two minutes more, the entire boat's crew of the Noank was gathered in a counting-room in the rear of the warehouse. It looked as if a hundred generations of spiders had made their webs in its corners, undisturbed.
A short, fat man turned upon a high stool at a desk to inquire, in Dutch: —
"Oh! Mynheer Groot! Not hung yet? Is it some new business?"
Part of Groot's reply was a rapid introduction of his friends, while he stated their errand. There could be nothing but utter mutual confidence in such a case, and the head of the house of Opdyke Brothers was exceedingly outspoken.
"We take the deck-cargo to-night," he said. "Our lighters will come as soon as it is dark. You will pay the custom-house men ten thousand francs down, so they will not know anything about it. I will be there and one of my brothers. We will take off as much more as we can to-morrow night. You will go to Amsterdam with your next cargo or prizes. The British are increasing their guard. Ha, ha! It is war with them, too, and they take some prizes. We buy of them every now and then."
Guert was listening eagerly to all that was said. He was obtaining new ideas and information as to the manner in which plunder taken at sea by all sorts of war-ships may be marketed.
"It's the war law of buccaneering," he thought. "If England and America were at peace, then our business would be piracy."
It was not easy to make it seem right, and he gave that up, trying to settle his conscience with the assertion that it was one of those things which cannot be helped.
"It ought to be helped," he thought. "Ships of war ought to do the fighting and let the unarmed ships go free. I don't like it! But I'm a privateersman myself, just now."
Back went the boat to the Noank and Mynheer Opdyke kept his word. It was a misty night, and before morning there was nothing worth noticing upon the deck, unless it might be something amidships that was covered by a tarpaulin. That, however, had been read and understood by the lookouts in the tops of the British corvette.
"The privateer carries a pivot-gun," her captain had said. "Three guns each broadside? Remarkably full crew? All right. She's a dangerous customer to leave afloat. We must make an end of her."
That next day was spent on shore by most of the Noank's crew. Not one of them was willing to remain in Brest, however. The best chance that the rescued prisoners, for instance, seemed to have for ever getting home was in the Noank.
"Besides," they said to each other, "some of us may get out in prizes, before long. We may win prize-money, too."
One day more went by, and it was near evening when Captain Avery said to Guert Ten Eyck: —
"No, my boy, you won't go ashore again. Our water-casks and the provisions are coming aboard. The Opdykes have done wonderfully well by us. I never saw better lighter work. I can't say at what hour we may be ready to put to sea."
The British watchers saw all the lighters coming and going. Their patrol boats now and then pulled very near the schooner, but they had no right to board her. No doubt they had further plans of their own, but they were a little slow with them. The truth was, that the Opdykes deserved the praise given them by Captain Avery. Nobody would have expected such a rapid discharge of a cargo as they effected. That is, nobody without visiting the schooner that night and seeing how a hundred strong men could handle goods.
"Captain," said Mynheer Opdyke, at last, "you have no time to lose. The ship for Belfast goes out with the morning tide, and her cargo is a good one. We put on part of it ourselves, but we insured it pretty well. I think the corvette is going to pretend to change her anchorage, and she will slip alongside of you while she's moving."
"That's what I'm ready for," replied the captain, laughing. "She may anchor on this very spot as soon as she pleases after this lighter goes."
He took a small bag of money that was handed him by the merchant, and the latter went over the side.
"Ho, ho!" he chuckled, as he did so. "I make one hundred per cent. Now I go and report to my British friends that they must take the American pirate within three days, or she will get away from them. Our house is on good terms with them."
That might be, but if it were expected that he would give up profitable business for friendship's sake, that was expecting altogether too much.
Very still lay the Noank during the hour that followed. Carefully muffled were the oars of a small boat that came back to her from a swiftly rowed scouting expedition. Then it seemed as if her anchor came up without a sound, and the booms swung away without creaking. No voices were heard from stem to stern, and a swarm of dark figures flitted around her deck as if they wore moccasons.
"Belfast ship gone out," Up-na-tan had reported to Captain Avery. "Lobster corvette ready to lift anchor. Four lobster boat in water, now. British think they come and take Noank while all crew ashore. Think schooner go sleep."
"Pretty good!" said the captain. "They'd run out to sea with us, then, and the French'd never do a thing about it. America isn't a power yet, and England is. Never mind, we're goin' to spile their luck this time."
The schooner slipped away as if the water had been oiled for her. There was wind enough and not a great deal more. Every sail she could spread was in its place, and her breathless crew watched their canvas feverishly as she sped toward the channel at the harbor mouth.
Not a great deal of noise had been made on board the Syren, as she lifted her anchor to change her ground. She had a right to do so and to get a little more out of the way of other ships. She was sending up only a few sails, however, only just enough to carry her slowly along. It was as if she moved across the water cautiously, not caring for the time expended.
Her commander was justifiably certain of the success of his plans. He stood upon the quarter-deck, trumpet in hand. His gallant tars, with pikes and cutlasses ready, but no firearms, the report of which might be heard by the French on shore, were drawn up in line, waiting for the order, so soon to come, to board the Noank. Splendid men they were, and the sleeping Americans were to be overcome in the twinkling of an eye. Four boats were at the sides of the corvette, and into these went down the expectant boarders, for the crisis was at hand. No orders were required and the oars dipped rapidly, in perfect unison. The affair would soon be over. The commander on the corvette's deck was listening for the shout of onset and of sudden victory.
"Hullo!" suddenly exclaimed the lieutenant in the bow of the foremost boat. "Here we are! Where's that schooner?"
"She's gone, sir!" came loudly from one of the sailors. "Gone entirely!"
All the silence was gone also, as the boats dashed on to row uselessly over the patch of water where the Noank had been seen at sunset. Orders and exclamations might be uttered noisily now.
The Syren's captain could hear, and he could understand, but for some reason he did not seem inclined to make remarks. Most likely he was thinking, for the first words from his lips were: —
"Lieutenant, recall the boats. All hands make sail! We must follow that privateer. I'm afraid he has two hours the start of us."
"I'm afraid he's away," growled the lieutenant. "I'd like to know who gave him his warning."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the captain. "He's after that Belfast liner. We must follow in her wake, or she'll go to America instead of to Ireland."
An old, experienced sea-campaigner can sometimes make shrewd calculations. Not a great while after that and just as the day was dawning, a bulky three-master, running along in a steady, businesslike manner, appeared to be almost in danger of being run into by a much smaller craft which had been following her. The pursuer's flag was English, and she showed no guns.
"Schooner ahoy, there!" shouted a voice on the three-master. "Sheer away, there, or you'll strike us. Port your helm! Port, I say!"
No direct answer came back, but he heard a hoarse-toned shout of: —
"All hands shorten sail! Throw that grappling! Throw the other! Haul in! Haul taut! Bring us alongside! Hurrah! We have her! Board!"
So skilfully was it done that there was no great or damaging shock when the two vessels came together. The grapplings held, the American sailors pulled mightily, and before the liner's crew who were below could tumble up to join their comrades on deck there were fifty pikemen swarming over her bulwarks.
"We surrender!" was almost the first loud exclamation of the British skipper. "You're that rebel pirate! Why didn't the Syren catch you!"
"We weren't there to be caught," called back Captain Avery. "The Killarney is ours, Captain Syme!"
"We can't help ourselves! It's the hard fortune of war!" groaned the astounded Briton. "Do your worst!"
"No harm to any of you," replied his captor. "We'll put you and your crew and passengers ashore on the first land we come to. This 'ere ship, though, is bound for New London."
It was a time for little talk and for the swiftest kind of action, while the Belfast liner was made ready for her trip across the Atlantic.
"I'm glad you find she has water and provisions enough, Vine," said his father, a little later. "You may have twenty-five of the rescued men. They are prime fellows. I'd go under easy sail most o' the time. We won't take out a pound o' the cargo here. Make quick work of gettin' away, now! We're pretty nigh ready to cast loose."
Vine and his exceedingly well-pleased two dozen or more of escaped prisoners of war took possession of the Killarney, and about all the risk before them was that of getting under the guns of some British cruiser.
Captain Syme and his crew and passengers, transferred to the Noank with their baggage, were a very disconsolate company, even when they were promised a quick trip to the Irish coast, as near Belfast as might be.
"Hard luck for us," remarked Syme. "It's that sleepy corvette that's to blame. I believed I was getting away in good season."
"So you were," replied Captain Avery. "You couldn't ha' suited us better. I like the Syren, too. She's gone over to our old anchorage by this time."
He was mistaken there. The angry, disappointed British commander was putting on all sail, and his cruiser was bowling along the sea-road toward Belfast. No sail was in sight ahead of her, and he was fretted sadly by a suspicion of the truth, that the Killarney, with a prize crew on board, was already headed westward, while the dashing privateer he had missed was taking a northerly course, favored much by the fine topsail breeze that was blowing.
CHAPTER XV
A COMING STORM
There had been a morning, not many days after the Noank sailed away from Porto Rico, when the gunners of the seaward battery of Fort Griswold, New London, ran hastily to their cannon. They put in powder only, and quickly they were firing a salute of welcome, in response to the arrival guns of a handsome bark that was entering the harbor mouth. She was under full sail, she carried the American flag, and with it she also floated the well-known private signal of Captain Avery and the Noank.
"Lyme's taken a big prize!" shouted voice after voice in the fort, while all the people within hearing of the guns understood that they were roaring good news only. Men in shops dropped their tools. Teamsters unhitched their horses from loaded sleighs, to mount and hurry into town. Fishermen pulled in their lines. Women put away their knitting or left their carding and their looms. Such a rousing announcement of stirring news from the sea could not be disregarded, and the excitement grew apace.
An hour or so later Captain Sam Prentice and some of his men were on the central wharf, shaking hands with old neighbors until their own were lame, and telling the story of the old whaling schooner among the West Indies.
"Samuel," remarked Rachel Tarns, "thy story promiseth to be a long one. Thee had better hold thy tongue a moment, and turn thy gray head to see what cometh behind thee."
"Sam! Sam! I'm here!"
"There!" said the old Quakeress, dryly. "It was on my mind that his wife could stop his talking. So she squeezeth him not to death, he may then hug his daughters."
"Glory to God!" shouted good Mrs. Ten Eyck. "My son is safe! Not one of our men has been killed."
"Anneke," suggested Rachel Tarns, "thee may also thank Him that they do not seem to have been led to the killing of other people."
"That isn't jest so," said Sam; "we saved a ship-load of Spaniards from some pirates, and we had to kill a good many of the pirates. We didn't really hurt anybody else."
"I trust thy God will forgive thee concerning those wicked men," said Rachel. "He slayeth the wicked in their wickedness. Thee did no wrong. I think it was a friendly and righteous thing for thee to do. I once had many that were dear to me murdered at sea by those devilish destroyers."
"No mercy for pirates!" shouted more voices than one.
"We didn't have to show any," said Sam. "I can't tell it, jest now."
"The ship thou hast taken seemeth a fine one," said Rachel. "How did thee manage to escape the war vessels of thy good king?"
"Oh! 'Bout that?" he replied. "We had the best kind of luck. There wasn't a cruiser off Nantucket. We came along as safe as a mackerel smack. It was a kind of wonder, though, that we didn't sight a solitary's king's flag hereaway."
"That's explained," he was told by a white-headed fisherman. "The British are goin' after the Continentals down Philadelfy way, and all their cruisers are called off to Delaware Bay and the Chesapeake. Some of 'em's ferryin' troops, ye know. We can't say, yit, as to whether or not Washington has licked 'em. Anyhow, things ain't as bad as they was."
Endless news telling was to come, evidently, concerning events on shore as well as on the sea, and there could be no long lingering at the wharf. Every sailor that could be spared from the ship had somebody eagerly waiting for him, and there were many gladdened households that day.
"This is getting to be a thieves' harbor," remarked Rachel Tarns to a group of which she was the centre. "The wicked rebels against our good king are stealing much. This is the nineteenth British vessel that hath been brought in hither. I trust that all ships designing to enter this port under the American flag will arrive safely. It would be a pity if any of them should be wrecked or otherwise prevented."
She had other things as kindly to say and sincere wishes to express concerning whatever shipping might here and there be under the flag of England. Neither did she forget to extend her benevolence to the tents in all the camps of George the Third.
Those who listened to her were plainly in sympathy with all her friendly or Quakerish aspirations, and it appeared as if she were even a favorite.
After that, indeed, as week after week went by, her hopes and wishes were remarkably fulfilled, for there were other Yankee privateers as capable and as busy as the Noank. Some of them were also much larger craft with heavier armaments. Prize after prize came in, and there were New London merchants whose trade promised to rival that of the ancient house of Opdyke Brothers, of the port of Brest.
Throughout all New England, throughout the greater part of New York, there was undisturbed security. The war was touching the northerly edge of Pennsylvania, and there were savage raids into some districts of that colony. Large areas of New Jersey were desolated, and so were parts of South Carolina and Georgia where the Tory element was strong. The western frontier of New York was severely harried by the Iroquois. The counties of that state nearest the city of New York were entirely ruined.
The farmers of the Mohawk Valley gathered their summer crops safely, but toward them and toward the rebel stronghold at Albany, where the legislature was sitting, there was an avalanche of danger coming down from the north. It was well understood that even the forces under the British generals in the Middle States were not considered so effective, so well furnished, so sure of winning speedy victories, as were the chosen regiments to be led by General Burgoyne for a crushing blow at the heart of the rebellion. He was to be reënforced by the entire power of the Six Nations and the Hurons. If he should succeed, as he and his admirers believed he would, his army would obtain complete possession of New York and New England. All the other colonies would then give up in despair, and the Continental army would disband or surrender.
The British campaign and its intended consequences were thoroughly discussed by the New England people, and a considerable number of them very promptly determined to visit their friends in Albany or in Vermont.
The shore people were deeply interested, for, in addition to all other considerations, their entire sea-going fleet was at stake. No more British prizes would then be brought, for instance, to Boston or New London, and all the privateers at sea would be hopelessly forfeited to the crown. All their prizes in European ports would share the same fate. One, however, was now on its homeward way in charge of Vine Avery, promoted from third mate to skipper. He was handling his ship very well, but he as yet knew very little about her cargo. His orders were to let the taking account of that wait until he should be safe in port.
"The main thing," he had been told by his father, "is to git there. You've a gantlet to run that's thousands o' miles long, and your chances are only jest about even."
"I'll make 'em a good deal more'n even!" Vine had replied, and he had sailed away full confidently.
Three days after the Noank and the Killarney parted company, there was a great stir in a fishing village on the Irish coast. A strange schooner was tacking into the cove in front of the village, and such a thing as that did not happen every day. All the cabins were emptied at once. Even the babies, of which there seemed to be a large number, were carried to the shore by their mothers that they might not lose this chance to see something.
The schooner furled her sails, and dropped her anchor, while her probable or improbable character was undergoing vigorous discussion all along the beach. Not a soul on board the Noank, among her crew, at least, could have understood the primitive Erse dialect in which the fisher people told their opinions of her and the boat-loads of men and women that were quickly put out from her toward the shore. More and more extraordinary became the clatter after the passengers were landed and the boats pulled away for their next cargoes. Trip after trip was made, and all the while there was a vast amount of kindly pity expressed, most of it in Erse, but much in Irish-English, for Captain Syme and all his miscellaneous ship's company. Quite an erroneous opinion appeared to prevail that the American pirates had murdered all their captives entirely before landing them.
Here they were, now, however, not a hair of their heads injured, and Captain Syme even thanked Captain Avery, the privateersman, for having treated him and his so very well.
"We shall find our way to Belfast, sir," he said. "Just how we are to transport them all, I don't know, but the neighboring authorities will take care of that. I shall have them notified at once. You'd better look out for yourself."
"All right," laughed Captain Avery, "but I'm less afraid of a constable than I would be of a three-master with two tiers of guns. Not many o' them in shore, I guess."
Captain Syme had his hands full, he said, and away he went without uttering aloud the reply that was so near his lips: "Three-master? Yes, you rebel pirate! A seventy-four and you and your schooner within point-blank range!"