Kitabı oku: «Within the Capes», sayfa 3

Ah, me! The searching pain of such a parting! Surely, the Good Father would never have put us on this world to live the life here, were it not that there is a world and a life to come wherein such partings shall never be. He hath given that the birds of the air and the beasts of the field shall not suffer dread of grief to come, and but little sorrow for things gone by. Why, then, should He give it to us, His goodliest creatures, to bear these things, if nothing of good or evil was to come of such suffering hereafter?

CHAPTER IV

THESE things happened in the spring of ’13, and the war with England was in full swing. We thought that we knew a great deal about the war at Eastcaster, but we really knew little or nothing of it.

The Philadelphia stage brought down the Ledger from that town three times a week, and Joseph Anderson, the teacher at the Friends’ school, would read it aloud at the “Black Horse” tavern (it was the “Crown and Angel” then) in the evening. A great many came to hear the news, and it was said that the tavern did a driving business at the time; for, of course, no one could come and sit there all evening and drink nothing.

The folks talked with great knowledge about the war; some of them so wisely that it was a pity that poor President Madison did not have the chance to hear them.

The truth of the matter was that Eastcaster was too far away from deep water to feel the full heat and excitement of the trouble.

The part that interested Tom the most was the news that came now and then of the great sea battles; that being the year that the noble old Constitution did her best fighting.

When Tom Granger came to Philadelphia, he found matters at a very different pass from what they were in Eastcaster, for there was talk just at that time of Commodore Beresford sailing up the river to bombard the town; so Tom found the streets full of people and everything in great fervent, as it had been for some time past.

Just outside of the town, the stage passed near to where two regiments of militia were encamped – one of them not far from Grey’s Ferry.

The next morning after Tom came to Philadelphia, he called at the office of old Mr. Nicholas Lovejoy, who was the owner of the ship in which he had last sailed. It was the Quaker City, and Tom had had the berth of third mate aboard her, which was a higher grade than he had ever held up to that time.

Mr. Lovejoy, beside being the owner of two good ships himself, one of which, Tom had reason to think, was then lying at the docks, had a great deal of influence with other merchants and ship owners. He had always been very friendly to Tom, and had said pleasant things of him and to him more than once, so Tom had great hopes of getting a berth through him without much loss of time.

His wish was to ship to the West Indies, if he could, as that did not seem so far away from home.

Mr. Lovejoy was at his desk when Tom came into the office; a great pile of letters and papers were in front of him, which he was busy in looking over. He shook hands cordially with the young man and bade him be seated. Tom told him what he wanted, and Mr. Lovejoy listened to him very pleasantly. When he was done, the old gentleman said frankly that there was a poor chance of his getting any berth just then, for that no shipping was being done, the Delaware having been blockaded since the first of the year.

Mr. Lovejoy did not know at that time that the blockade had been raised, for it was not until a week or so afterward that the despatch came to Philadelphia telling how Beresford had tried to land for water at Lewestown, in Delaware, and not being able to do so, had given up the whole business as an ill piece of work and had sailed away to the Bermudas.

Mr. Lovejoy furthermore told Tom that there were three privateers being fitted up at the docks, one of which was about ready to sail.

In those days there was a great deal of feeling against privateering, and I cannot say that it was altogether ill-grounded, for some very cloudy things were done by certain vessels that sailed under letters of marque.

Mr. Lovejoy was a fine looking old gentleman, with a very red face and very white hair, which was tied behind into a queue with a black silk ribbon. He was never seen dressed in anything but plain black clothes with bright silver buttons, black silk stockings and pumps. His frilled shirt front stood out like a half moon and was stiffly starched and as white as snow.

After Tom and he had talked a little while together, he arose, and going to a closet in the side of the chimney place, brought out a decanter of fine old sherry and two glasses, both of which he filled. Tom Granger was not fond of wine, not from any conscientious feeling, but because that the taste was not pleasant to him. Still, he took his glass of wine and drank it too, for it is never well to decline favors from men in power, like Mr. Nicholas Lovejoy.

After the old gentleman had finished his glass of wine, he drew out his fine cambric handkerchief and wiped his lips.

“Tom,” said he.

“Sir,” said Tom.

“Why don’t you ship on board of a privateersman?”

“I couldn’t do it, sir,” said Tom.

“Why not?”

“Well, sir; it may sound very foolish of me to say so, but the truth is that I don’t like the fighting.”

“Don’t like the fighting!” said Mr. Lovejoy, raising his eyebrows. “Come, Tom, that won’t do. Why, when that junk attacked the Quaker City off Ceylon, there was not a man aboard that fought like you. Captain Austin told me all about it, though you would never do so, and I haven’t forgotten it. And now you pretend to tell me that you are afraid.”

“No, sir,” said Tom Granger, very hot about the ears; “it ain’t that; it’s the kind of fighting that I don’t like. When such a junkfull of coolies as that was came down on us, a man was bound to fight for his own life and the lives (and more beside) of the women aboard, and there was no great credit to him in doing it. If the worst came to the worst, I wouldn’t so much mind entering the navy, but I don’t like the notion of going out to run foul of some poor devil of a merchant captain, who, maybe, has all of his fortune in his ship, – and that’s the truth sir.”

“But, Tom, the navy does the same thing.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, “but they do it for the sake of war, while privateers go out for their own gain alone. I don’t see, sir, that they are so very much better than pirates, except that they don’t do so much murder and that the law allows them.”

At this, Mr. Lovejoy’s face began to grow a little bit redder than usual. “Very well,” said he, getting up and standing with his back to the fire, “suit yourself.”

By this Tom knew that it was intended for him to go, which he accordingly did.

Just as he got to the door, Mr. Lovejoy spoke again: “Look’ee, Tom, you are an able seaman, – none better. Think this matter over a little more, and if you are inclined to go on a privateering cruise, after all, I think that I may, perhaps, be able to get you a place aboard of as tight a craft as ever floated on salt water, and, maybe, a better berth than you ever had in your life before. There are some fat pickings down toward the West Indies just now; I shouldn’t wonder at all if, with the berth that I think I can get you, you would clear a thousand or twelve hundred dollars in the first twelve months. Good morning; come to-morrow and let me know what you decide on.” Then the old gentleman seated himself at the desk and began to look over his papers again, and Tom left him.

He went straight to his lodging-house (it was the old “Ship and Anchor,” a great place for sailors in those days), and his mind was all of a swirl and eddy like the waters astern.

It was a nasty, drizzly, muggy day, and Tom stood leaning on the window-sill in the bar-room, trying to look out into the street through the dirty, fly-specked window. The room was full of sailors, many of them, no doubt, belonging to the privateers that were fitting out at the docks, of which Mr. Lovejoy had spoken. There was a party of them playing cards at a sloppy table that stood beside the bar. The day was so dark with the rainy drizzle that they had a lighted candle amongst them, so that they might be able to see the game. The room, hazy with tobacco smoke, was full of the noise of loud talking and the air was reeking with the heavy smell of hot liquors. But, Tom stood looking out of the window, with his mind all of a toss and a tumble; for the last words of old Nicholas Lovejoy sounded in his ears through all the loud talking and foul words: – “I shouldn’t wonder if you would clear a thousand or twelve hundred dollars in the first twelve months.”

At times they sounded so clearly that he could almost believe that they were spoken by some one standing beside him. The more that the words rang in his ears, the more he thought what a fool he had been in not taking up with Mr. Lovejoy’s half offer. Why should he be squeamish? If every one were so, things would come to a pretty pass, for the navy was weak – in numbers – and the British were sending out their privateers all over the ocean; and who was to fight them and protect our own shipping if no one helped the navy?

So Tom argued within himself in the most reasonable way in the world, for the temptation was very great.

As he stood thus, looking out of the window and seeing nothing, for his eyes were turned within himself, some one suddenly smote him upon the shoulder, and a voice roared in his ear, “Helloa, Tom Granger! where are you bound?”

It was a voice that Tom Granger knew very well, for there could be no other such in all of the world; it made one’s ears quiver, even when it was softened somewhat to talking. So, even before Tom turned his head, he knew that Jack Baldwin was standing behind him.

Jack Baldwin had been second mate of the Quaker City on the voyage to the East Indies.

Tom Granger never saw in all his life such another man as Jack Baldwin. He stood nearly six feet and two inches in his stockings. His hair and beard were black and curly, and his eyes were as black as two beads. Tom once saw him pick up a mutinous sailor – a large and powerful man – and shake him as you might shake a kitten. To be sure, he was in a rage at the time. He was better dressed than Tom had ever seen him before. There was something of a half naval smack about his toggery, and, altogether, he looked sleek and prosperous, – very different from what Jack ashore does as a rule.

Jack Baldwin saw that Tom Granger was looking him over. “I’m on the crest of the wave now,” said he, in his great, deep voice, grinning as he spoke. “Look’ee, Tom,” and he fetched up a gold eagle from out of his breeches pocket. He spun it up into the air, and caught it in his palm again as it fell. “There’s plenty more of the same kind where this came from, Tom.”

“I wish that I only knew where the tree that they grow on is to be found,” said Tom, ruefully.

“So you shall, my hearty. And do you want me to tell you where it is?”

“Yes.”

“Tom, you’re a loon!”

“Why so? Because I want to know where the tree grows where gold eagles may be had for the picking?”

“You were at the place this very blessed morning, and might have gathered a pocketful of the bright boys if you hadn’t run before a little wind as though it was a hurricane.”

“What do you mean?” said Tom, though he half knew without the asking.

“That I’ll tell you – here, you, bring me a glass of hot brandy and water; will you splice, Tom?”

“Not I.”

“I bring to mind that you were always called the Quaker aboard ship, and the name fits you well. You will neither fight nor drink, without you have to.”

So the grog was brought, and Jack Baldwin and Tom Granger sat down, opposite to one another, at a rickety deal table.

Presently Jack leaned over and laid his hand on Tom’s arm. “Where do you think I hail from, Tom?” said he.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll tell you: from old Nick, or old Lovejoy, or Davy Jones, – whichever you choose to call him. I was with him not ten minutes after you left. He sent me after you, to hunt you up; so I came straight here, like a hot shot, for I knew I’d find you in the old place. Sure enough, I’ve found you, and here we are, – shipmates both.”

“And what did you want of me?”

“That I’ll tell you. Tom,” – here he lowered his voice to a deep rumble – “have you seen the Nancy Hazlewood?”

“No.”

“Well I’ll show her to you after a bit. She is lying in the river, just below Smith’s Island. She’s the new privateer.”

Tom’s heart beat more quickly, but he only said, “Is she?”

“Who do you think’s the owner, Tom?”

“How should I know?”

“Old Lovejoy!” Here Jack raised his glass of grog, and took a long pull at it, looking over the rim at Tom all the while. Tom was looking down, picking hard at the corner of the table.

“I don’t see that this is any concern of mine,” he said, in a low voice.

“Don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you what concern it is of yours; I’m to be first mate, and I want you to be second, – and now the murder’s out!”

Tom shook his head, but he said nothing.

Jack Baldwin slid his palm down, until it rested on the back of Tom’s hand. “Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, roughly; “I like you. We’ve been messmates more than once, and I don’t forget how you kept that yellow coolie devil from jabbing his d – d snickershee into my back, over off Ceylon. There’s no man in all the world that I’d as soon have for a shipmate as you. Old Lovejoy, too; – he says that he must have you. He knows very well that there isn’t a better seaman living than the one that stands in Tom Granger’s shoes. Don’t be a fool! Go to the old man, name your own figure, for he’ll close with you at any reasonable terms.”

So Jack talked and talked, and Tom listened and listened, and the upshot of it was that he promised to go and see old Mr. Lovejoy again the next morning.

You may easily guess how it all turned out, for when a man not only finds that he is in temptation, but is willing to be there, he is pretty sure to end by doing that which he knows is not right.

So Tom drank another glass of Mr. Lovejoy’s fine old sherry, the old gentleman offered liberal terms, and the end of the matter was that Tom promised to enter as second mate of the Nancy Hazlewood, privateersman.

Tom Granger has always felt heartily ashamed of himself because of the way that he acted in this matter. It is not that privateering was so bad; I pass no judgment on that, and I know that there were many good men in that branch of the service.

I have always held that a man is not necessarily wicked because he does a bad action; he may not know that it is bad, and then, surely, no blame can be laid to his account. But when he feels that a thing is evil, he is wrong in doing it, whether it is evil or not.

Jack Baldwin did nothing wrong in going on this privateering cruise, for he saw nothing wrong in it, but Tom Granger thought that it was wrong, and yet did it; therefore he has always felt ashamed of himself.

In looking back, after all these years, it is hard to guess what he expected would be the end of the matter. If he had come back in a year’s time, – which he did not do, – and if he had brought home a thousand dollars of prize money from a privateering cruise, I am very much inclined to think that Elihu Penrose would hardly have judged that it had been fairly earned.

Friends were very much more strict in their testimony against war then than they are now. Numbers of young men went from here during the rebellion, and nothing was thought of it. I myself had a grandson in the navy; – he is a captain now.

As I said, Elihu Penrose would hardly have fancied Tom Granger’s way of earning money, if it had been won in that way; as for what Patty would have said and done, – I do not like to think of it.

However, it is no use trying to guess at the color of the chicks that addled eggs might have hatched out, so I will push on with my story, and tell how the Nancy Hazlewood put to sea, and what befell her there.

CHAPTER V

THE Nancy Hazlewood put to sea on a Friday. Tom Granger was not over fanciful in the matter of signs and omens; nevertheless, he always had a nasty feeling about sailing on that day; he might reason with himself that it was foolish, but the feeling was there, and was not to be done away with. The only other time that he had sailed on a Friday, was in the barque Manhattan (Captain Nathan J. Wild), bound for Nassau, with a cargo of wheat. About a week afterward, she put back into New York harbor again, and not a day too soon, either. Captain Granger has often told the tale of this short cruise, so I will not tell it over again, as it has nothing to do with this story, except to show why it was that Tom Granger always had an ill-feeling about sailing on Friday.

As a matter of fact, there was a greater and a better reason to feel worried than on account of this, for the truth was, that the Nancy Hazlewood put to sea fully ten days before she should have done so, and from that arose most of the trouble.

The blame in the matter belonged no more to one than to another, for all thought that it was for the best to weigh anchor when they did; nevertheless, it was a mistake, and a very sad mistake.

There never was any wish to cast a slur on the memory of Captain Knight, in the account of the matter that was afterward published, for no one ever said, to my knowledge, that he was anything else than a good seaman, and knew his business. But certainly, his headstrong wilfulness in the matter of the troubles that befell the ship was, to say the least, very blameworthy.

Tom saw nothing of Captain Knight until the day before the ship sailed. Indeed, the captain had not been in town, so far as he knew. This had troubled him. He had said nothing about it, but it had troubled him.

About noon on Thursday, the day before the ship sailed, Tom came to Lovejoy’s dock, where he was overseeing the lading of some stores. One of the clerks at the dock told him that Captain Knight had been aboard of the ship, and also that he had wanted to see him, and had waited for him some time, but had gone about fifteen minutes before. A little while afterward Mr. Whimple, Mr. Lovejoy’s head-clerk, came to him and asked him to step up to the office, as Captain Knight and Mr. Lovejoy were there, and wanted to speak to him.

Captain Knight was standing in front of the fire, talking with Mr. Lovejoy, when Tom came into the office. He shook hands very heartily when Mr. Lovejoy made them acquainted, and said some kind things to Tom – that he had no doubt but that their intercourse would be pleasant; at least, he hoped so (smiling), for, from that which he had heard of Tom, he felt that it would be his own fault if it were not. He said that he was sorry that he had not been on hand to oversee matters, as he should have done, although he knew that these things could be in no better hands; that his mother had been so sick that she had not been expected to live, and that it had not been possible for him to come on from Connecticut sooner.

Tom felt relieved to find that Captain Knight had such a good reason for not having been on hand to see to the proper lading of his vessel. He also gathered from this speech that the captain was a Yankee, which he had not known before. Jack Baldwin told him afterward that he hailed from New London, and had the name of being a very good sailor and a great fighter.

He was quite a young man, a little older than Tom, perhaps, but hardly as old as Jack Baldwin. He was a fine gentlemanly fellow, and looked not unlike a picture of Commodore Decatur that Tom had seen in the window of a print shop in Walnut street, though Knight was the younger man.

After a short time Jack Baldwin came into the office; Captain Knight and he spoke to one another, for they had met before.

Presently, as they all stood talking together, Mr. Lovejoy asked of a sudden whether it would be possible, at a pinch, to weigh anchor the next day.

Tom was struck all aback at this, and could hardly believe that he heard aright.

“I should think,” said Captain Knight, “that it might be done;” and, from the way in which he spoke, Tom could see that he and Mr. Lovejoy had already talked the matter over and had pretty well settled it between themselves.

“What do you think, Mr. Baldwin,” said old Mr. Lovejoy, and all looked at Jack for an answer.

“I think, sir,” said Jack, in his rough way, “I think, sir, as Captain Knight says, that it might be done. A man might cruise from here to Cochin China, in a dory, provided that he had enough hard-tack and water aboard. If he met a gale, though, he would be pretty sure to go to the bottom, – and so should we.”

Tom could easily see that Captain Knight was touched at the way in which Jack had spoken, as well he might be. It was, however, Jack’s usual way of speaking, and it is not likely that he meant anything by it.

“What do you think, Mr. Granger?” said Captain Knight, turning quickly to Tom, with a little red spot burning in each cheek.

Tom was sorry that he was brought into the matter, for he saw, as has been said, that Captain Knight was touched, and he did not want to say anything to gall him further. However, he answered, as he was asked: “I am afraid, sir,” said he, smiling, “that it may perhaps be a little risky to weigh anchor just yet.” Of course, he could not explain when it was not asked of him to do so, but he knew that it would take fully ten days, if not two weeks, to get the Nancy Hazlewood into anything like fit sailing trim. Not only were the decks hampered up with a mass of stores of all kinds (for it had been necessary to crowd them aboard in a great hurry), but no start had been made at drawing out watch, quarter and station bills. Tom could not help thinking that if Captain Knight had been on hand during the past week, he never would have given it as his opinion that the vessel was fit to sail, – even on a pinch.

When Tom gave his answer, Captain Knight turned hastily away to the fire-place, and began in a nervous sort of a way to finger a letter-stamp that lay on the mantle-shelf. Any one could see that he was very much irritated; but in a few moments he turned around again, and seemed quiet enough, only that the red still burned in his cheeks. Mr. Lovejoy tried to throw oil on the troubled water.

“Mr. Granger,” said he, resting his hand ever so lightly on Tom’s arm for a moment, “Mr. Granger has had a great deal to do this past week, and maybe (smiling) the overpress of work makes him think that there is more yet to be done than there really is. I wouldn’t,” said he, taking up a letter from his desk, “I wouldn’t think for a moment, and neither would Captain Knight, of letting the Hazlewood leave her anchorage just now, if it were not for this packet, which was sent to me this morning, about half-past ten o’clock.”

Here he handed the packet to Jack Baldwin, who read it, and then passed it to Tom without a word. It was the news that Beresford had lifted the blockade of the Delaware.

“You see,” said Mr. Lovejoy, “here is a good chance of getting away. There is no knowing how soon John Bull will shut the door again, and then, here we’ll be penned up for six months, or more, perhaps.”

Then Captain Knight spoke again. He said that while the ship might not be in fit trim for sailing in an ordinary case, some risks must be run with her, for risks, greater or less, must always be taken in this sort of service. He said that he proposed to run for the Capes, and put into Lewes Harbor if the weather seemed likely to be heavy. They could get in proper trim there just as easily as they could in Philadelphia. He also said that, being just inside of the Capes, they would not only have good harborage, but could either slip out to sea or run up the bay, in case that any of the enemy’s cruisers should appear in the offing. Another great advantage was that they would be this much further on their cruise, and, if the weather turned out well, could take their chances and run for Key West, even if the ship were not in the best of order.

“I know,” said he, “that both Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Granger have been bred to caution in the merchant service, where cargoes and storage are almost the first things to consider, but” (here he looked straight at Jack), “one must have some courage in the sort of service that we are about to enter upon, for a lack of that is almost as great a fault as poor seamanship.”

There was a great deal of reason in the first part of this speech, and Tom could not help seeing it, though for all that he was troubled at the step which they seemed about to take. As for what was last said, he felt that it was most uncalled for, for he knew that Jack Baldwin was as brave as any man living; nor was he, I think, a coward.

Jack was very angry. He said that if any occasion should arise, he hoped to show Captain Knight that he would dare to do as much as any man that ever walked a deck-plank, no matter whom he might be; that he would say no more about lying in port, and was now willing to sail at any time – the sooner the better.

Poor old Mr. Lovejoy was very much troubled at the ill feeling between the two men. He talked to both very kindly until, after a while, the trouble seemed to clear away somewhat, and things went more smoothly.

At last it was settled that if the wind held to the northward (it had been blowing from that quarter for the last two days) they should weigh anchor at three o’clock in the afternoon, so as to take advantage of the ebb tide, and run down as far as Lewestown harbor at least.

“What do you say to all this, Tom?” said Jack, as the two walked down to the dock together.

“I say nothing, Jack.”

“It seems to me that you never do say anything,” said Jack, “but I say something; I say that we are all a pack of lubberly fools, and that the worst one amongst us is that walking sea dandy, for he ought to know better.”

Tom could not but agree with a part of this speech, but he made no answer, for it could do no good.

The anchor was weighed at three o’clock the next day as had been fixed upon, and they ran down the river with the wind E. N. E. and an ebb tide to help them along; and so began the cruise of the Nancy Hazlewood.

All this may seem to be spun out somewhat over long, but I tell it to you that you may see just why the Nancy Hazlewood sailed when she did, which was ten days before she should have done. The day of sailing was Friday, the 20th of April, 1813.

Tom wrote a letter to Patty Penrose on the evening before he sailed. It was a long letter and he told her many things, but he did not tell her that the vessel in which he had sailed as second mate was a privateersman.

It may be well that the Nancy Hazlewood should be described, that you may have a notion of the craft in which Tom Granger went upon his first and last privateering cruise. She was a full-rigged ship of five hundred and fifty tons, and, though so small, had a poop and a top-gallant forecastle.

Tom had rarely seen a vessel with handsomer lines.

She was evidently intended for great speed, though, in his judgment, she was rather heavily sparred for a vessel of her size. It afterward proved that she was so. She carried eight thirty-two pound carronades on the main deck, and two long twelves, one on the forecastle and one on the poop; and about one hundred men. Altogether, though not so heavily armed as the Dolphin or Comet of Baltimore, she was one of the most substantial as well as one of the swiftest privateersmen that ever left any port of the country during the war.

As a rule, privateersmen were swift-sailing brigs or schooners, heavily armed and manned, and depending largely upon their prizes for provisions; but the Nancy Hazlewood was fitted out almost as completely as though she were in the regular service.

All that night and during Saturday the 21st it blew heavily from the N. E. On Saturday evening, however, the weather broke and there seemed a prospect of its being clear the next day. On Sunday forenoon at two bells the Nancy Hazlewood was nearly abreast of Lewestown harbor. Captain Knight was on the poop at the time, and he gave orders to Tom, who was the officer of the deck, that a craft should be signaled to take off the pilot.

Tom was struck all aback at this; it was the first hint that he had had that Captain Knight did not intend to put into Lewestown harbor after all. It was in rather an uncomfortable state of mind that he gave the needful orders, had the jack run up at the fore and the vessel hove to.

Captain Knight stood beside Tom, his hands clasped behind him, watching the pilot boat as it presently hoisted sail and bore down under the lee quarter. What his feelings were cannot be told; Tom’s were uncomfortable enough, as has been said. He knew that Captain Knight must have had good and sufficient reason for that which he was about to do; nevertheless, his heart sank as he cast his eyes around and saw the confusion everywhere; the deck littered with all sort of gear and hamper. There is an old saying that a vessel is never ready for sea until a week after leaving port. Tom thought that the Nancy Hazlewood was at least three weeks behind time.

Presently Jack Baldwin came up from below. He cast his eyes quickly aloft, and then he looked at the pilot boat, which was now close under the lee quarter.

Tom could see that he took it all in in a moment.

He came straight across the deck to where Captain Knight and Tom Granger were standing, and touched his hat to the captain.

“Captain Knight,” said he.

“Sir?” said the captain, turning quickly upon him.

“The understanding was that we were to put into Lewes Harbor, for a time; at least, so I understood it. May I ask if you intend to put to sea, after all?”

Tom stood aghast. He had never heard an officer speak to his captain in such a way in all his life before. There was no better seaman afloat than Jack Baldwin, and it must have been a serious case, in his opinion, that would excuse him in so addressing his commanding officer.

As for Captain Knight, he grew white to the lips.