CHAPTER XXXV
_Bentley Says Good-by_
The men on the Randolph were in excellent spirits, and as they drewnearer and nearer became more and more anxious for the fray.
"She's a big one, ain't she?" said one young seaman, glancing over agun through a port-hole forward; "but we ain't afraid of her, mates.We 'll just dance up and slap her in the face with this, and then turnaround and slap her with t' other side," laying his hand at the time onone of the long eighteens which constituted the main battery of thefrigate.
"Yes, and then what will she do to us? Blow us into splinters with abroadside, youngster! Not as I particularly care, so we have a chanceto get a few good licks at her with these old barkers," said an olderman, pointing, like the first, to a gun.
"That's the talk, men," said Seymour, who was making a tour ofinspection through the ship in person, and who had stopped before thegun and heard the conversation. "Before she sinks us we will give itto her hard. I can depend upon you, I know."
"Yes, yes, your honor."
"Ay, ay, sir--"
"We 's all right, sir--"
"We 's with you, your honor--" came in a quick, strong chorus from therough-and-ready men, and then some one called for three cheers forCaptain Seymour, and they were given with such a will that the oakdecks echoed and re-echoed again and again.
"Pass the word to serve out a tot of grog to each man; let them splicethe main-brace once more before they die," said Seymour, grimly, amid achorus of approving murmurs from the sailors, as he walked slowly alongthe lines, greeting men here and there with plain, bluff words ofcheer, which brought smiles of pleasure to their stern, weather-beatenfaces.
"Now, ain't he a beauty?" whispered the captain of number two gun tohis second. "Blow me if 't ain't a pleasure to serve under sich aofficer, and to die for him, too! Here is to a speedy fight and lotsof damage to the Britisher," he cried loudly, lifting his pannikin ofrum and water to his lips, amid a further chorus of approval.
Old Bentley was standing on the forecastle forward, looking earnestlyat the approaching ship, when Seymour came up to him. The rest of themen, mindful of the peculiar relationship between the two,instinctively drew back a little, leaving them alone.
"Well, Bentley, our work is cut out for us there."
"Ay, Captain Seymour. I 'm thinking that this cruise will end righthere for this ship--unless you strike, sir."
"Strike! Do you advise me to do so, then?"
"God forbid! Except it be with shot and these," said the old man,lifting an enormous cutlass, ground to a razor edge, which he hadspecially made for his own personal use in battle. "No, no; we 've gotto fight him till he 's so damaged that he can't get at the rest. Doyou see, sir, how the brig lags behind them?" he went on, pointing outtoward the slowly escaping squadron. "The boy's got her luffed up soshe makes no headway at all!"
"I know it. I have signalled to him twice to close with the rest--hecan sail two feet to their one; but it is no use,--he pays noattention. He should n't have been given so responsible a commanduntil he learned to obey orders," said Seymour, frowning.
"Let the boy alone, Master John; he 'll do all right," said Bentley;"he's the makings of a good sailorman and a fine officer in him. I 'vewatched him."
"Ha! there goes a shot from the liner," cried Seymour, as a puff ofsmoke broke out from the lee side followed by the dull boom of a cannonover the water, and then the flags rippled bravely out from themastheads. "Well, we did not need that sort of an introduction. Aftthere!" cried the captain, with his powerful voice.
"Sir."
"Show a British flag at the gaff. That will puzzle him for a whilelonger. Well, old friend, I must go aft. It's likely we won't both ofus come out of this little affair alive, so good-by, and God bless you.You 've been a good friend to me, Bentley, ever since I was a child,and I doubt I 've requited you ill enough," he said, reaching forth hishand. The old sailor shifted his cutlass into his left hand, took offhis hat, and grasped Seymour's hand with his own mighty palm.
"Ay, ever since you were a boy; and a properer sailor and a betterofficer don't walk the deck, if I do say it myself, as I 've had a handin the making of you. But what you say is true, sir: we 'll probablymost all of us go to Davy Jones' locker this trip; but we could n't goin a better way, and we won't go alone. God Almighty bless you, sir!I--" said the old seaman, breaking off suddenly and looking wistfullyat the young man he loved, who, understanding it all, returned hisgaze, wrung his hand, and then turned and sprang aft without anotherword.
The ships were rapidly closing, when Seymour's keen eye detected a dashof color and a bit of fluttering drapery on the poop of theline-of-battle ship. Wondering, he examined it through his glass.
"Why! 't is a woman," he exclaimed. Something familiar in theappearance made his heart give a sudden throb, but he put away the ideawhich came to him as preposterous; and then stepping forward to thebreak of the poop, he called out,--
"My lads, there is a woman on yon ship, on the poop, way aft. We don'tfight with women; have a care, therefore, that none of you takedeliberate aim at her, and spare that part of the deck where she standsin the fight, if you can. Pass the word along."
"Well, I 'm blessed," said one old gun captain, _sotto voce_, "be theycome out against us with wimmen!"
The Randolph had the weather-gage of the Yarmouth by this time; andSeymour shifted his helm slightly, rounded in his braces a little, andran down with the wind a little free and on a line parallel to thecourse of his enemy, but going in a different direction. He lifted theglass again to his eye, and looked long and earnestly at the woman'sfigure half hidden by the rail on the ship. Was it--could itbe--indeed she? Was fate bringing them into opposition again? It wasnot possible. Trembling violently, he lifted the glass for a furtherinvestigation, when an officer, trumpet in hand, sprang upon the railof the Yarmouth forward and hailed.
For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution Page 36