by Howard Pyle
“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.
He spoke in a low tone, and very slowly, but his voice trembled with the weight of his anger. “Mr. Baldwin,” said he, “I don’t know where you have sailed, or what discipline you have seen, that has taught you to allow yourself to question your captain’s intentions to your captain’s self. Understand me, sir, once and for all: I am the chief officer of this ship, and I will not have you, nor any man aboard, question me. You hear me? That will do, sir; go to your room.”
The two men looked at one another for a moment
. Tom held his breath, expecting to hear Jack blaze out with something that would get him into more trouble than ever. However, he said nothing, but swung on his heel and went below.
Captain Knight stood beside Tom, in silence, his breath coming and going quickly; suddenly, he too turned and walked hastily to the cabin, banging the door behind him.
Tom leaned on the rail, sick at heart; he felt miserable about the whole matter. Here he was, embarked on a cruise for which he had no liking, in the stormy season of the year, in a ship which he believed to be unfit for sailing, with a crew that had no discipline, and the captain and the first mate at loggerheads before they were out of harbor. He would have given an eye to be safe ashore again.
And yet, that Sunday morning was not a day to breed troubled thoughts. Tom had rarely seen a lovelier one; the air seemed more like June than April. The last few days of rain had washed the air until it was as clear as crystal. One could see every window pane in the little town of Lewes. There was a sentry walking up and down on the newly-made earthworks in front of the town, and at every turn that he took at the end of his beat, his bayonet flashed like a star. The ship rose and fell lazily on the heaving of the ground swell that rolled in around the Capes. Down to the southward the white sands stretched away into the looming of the distance, rimmed with a whiter line of foam until all was lost in the misty haze cast up by the tumbling surf.
The pilot boat had now run up near to them, and was launching a dory from her deck. Tom stood leaning on the rail, looking at her, and presently the pilot came and stood beside him. He was a short, powerful man, bull-necked and long-armed. A shock of hair and a grizzled beard seemed to make a sort of frame around his face. Even he felt uncomfortable at that which had just passed.
“A nasty row, wasn’t it, sir?” said he to Tom, jerking his head toward the captain’s cabin.
Tom made no answer; in fact, he did not look at the man, for it was none of the fellow’s business.
Presently the dory came alongside, and the pilot slid down the man-ropes and stepped cleverly into her.
By noon the Nancy Hazlewood had dropped Cape May astern. The captain had sent for Jack to come upon deck again, to take his watch at eight bells. Captain Knight had directed her course to be laid S. E. by E., by which Tom supposed that he intended to run well out, so as to escape the chance of falling in with any of the British cruisers that were at that time hanging about the coast, more especially off the mouth of the Chesapeake. The wind was nearly astern, every inch of cloth was spread, and the way in which the Nancy Hazlewood boomed along showed Tom Granger that he had not overrated her sailing qualities. The log showed that she was running at a little over eleven knots.
All of the afternoon Tom was in the forward part of the vessel, looking to the clearing away of a lot of stores, for they were getting things to rights as well as they could, and taking advantage of the fair weather to do it.
And it was very needful, too, for, beside spare suits of sails and spars, lashed to nothing, there was a great litter of miscellaneous stores, — barrels of salt pork, junk, hard-tack, and flour, kegs, chests, crates, yeoman’s and purser’s stores, and a hundred and one things — too many to tell of.
Tom could not help wondering, as he looked at this mass of stores, what they should do if it should be needful to man the guns for a fight, or work the ship in a sudden squall. However, no craft of any sort was in sight, and there was no sign of foul weather.
One of the worst features of the whole matter was the slowness with which they got along with the business of clearing up all this hamper; the work seemed to gather on them instead of growing less.
About the middle of the afternoon, Jack came to where Tom stood overseeing the men at this work. He stood beside him for some time without saying a word, looking moodily at them. Presently he spoke all of a sudden: “What do you say to it all, Tom?”
“I have nothing to say, Jack,” said Tom.
“You may have nothing to say,” said Jack, “but I have. Mark my words, Tom, if we’re caught in any sort of heavy weather we’ll founder as sure as my name’s Jack Baldwin!” So saying, he turned on his heel and walked quickly away. Tom could easily see that Jack felt touched at him because he did not show more feeling in the matter. But though Tom did not show it, his thoughts were uncomfortable enough in all conscience.
That day (the twenty-second), was as good a day as one could have wished for, and so was the next, — and that was the last, for then the trouble began.
CHAPTER VI.
SO THE 23D was the last fair day that they had on that short cruise. During the forenoon the wind held from nearly the same quarter — that is, northerly and westerly.
The air was mild and pleasant; the day, like the day before, seemed more like June than the middle of April.
Toward noon, however, the wind shifted around to the southward and eastward, and the glass had a downward bearing. Tom saw, with a troubled feeling, that the weather began to take an ugly sort of a look. About nine o’clock Captain Knight gave orders to have the vessel’s course altered to nearly due south.
At noon the observation showed their position to be about 35° 40′ north, by 71° west, with Hatteras about 210 miles distant, W. by S. on the starboard beam.
A little before eight bells, Captain Knight came up on deck again, and Tom, feeling anxious himself, looked out of the corners of his eyes, to see if he could gather what the captain thought of the situation. It seemed to Tom that he was not quite easy in his mind. He cast his eyes aloft, and then looked around. He took a turn or two up and down the deck, and then looked at the glass, which, as had been said, was falling. Whatever he might have thought about the looks of things, he said nothing. Tom had half expected an order to shorten sail, but Captain Knight gave none such, and presently went to his cabin again.
Shortly after noon the wind was blowing from the northeast. It became a great deal colder, and by four o’clock the sky was overcast by a gathering haze, which, at last, shut out the sun altogether.
About this time they fell in with shifting banks of fog, blowing before the wind, the like of which Tom had never seen before. They seemed to drift in belts, and were no doubt raised by cold currents of air, for a chill could be felt the minute the ship would run into one of them. Every now and then the wind would sweep these banks away, rolling them up before it, and for a little while there would be a clear space around the ship for maybe a couple of miles or more.
At that time they were under all plain sail to top gallant sails, and were booming along at a rate that could not have been less than ten knots. Tom thought that the Nancy Hazlewood might even have done better than she was then doing, were it not that she labored in a most unusual way for a vessel, in a wind no heavier than that in which she was then sailing. There is no doubt that this came from the heaviness of her spars as well as the ill stowage of her provisions and stores; still she was doing well, and any one could see with half an eye that it would be an uncommonly swift cruiser to whom the Nancy Hazlewood would not be able to show a clean pair of heels, if the need should arise for her doing so.
It was a little before the middle of the first dog watch, when there happened one of the closest misses that Tom ever had of losing his life. I most firmly believe that if any one beside Jack Baldwin had been the officer of the deck, Tom Granger’s story would never have had to have been told.
Jack was walking up and down on the poop in a restless sort of a way. It was plain that he was anxious at the fog, as well he might be. At one time the ship would be surging away across what seemed to be a lake, with dull banks of snow all around, at another she would plunge headforemost into whirling clouds of mist, so thick that the leaden sea alongside could barely be seen; heaving as though it were something alive, and the fog was smothering it.
Jack came to the break of the poop and looked over to where Tom was standing, on the deck below. His black hair and beard were covered with the dampness, so that he looked as though he had tur
ned gray.
“Tom,” said he, “I wish you’d slip foreward and see that those men are keeping a bright lookout ahead. Keep your weather eye lifted too, Tom, till we’re out of the worst of this infernally thick fog.”
So Tom went foreward, as Jack had asked him to do, and found that the two men who had been placed there since they had run into the fog were keeping as sharp a lookout as could be wished for.
Just as Tom climbed up on the forecastle, they surged out into a clear space, that was maybe two miles or two miles and a quarter from side to side.
They had run pretty nearly across this stretch, and I recollect that Tom was just lighting his pipe under the lee of the foremast. As he raised his head and looked over the port bow, he saw a sight that made the blood stand still in his veins.
It was a man-of-war in full sail, looming up like a mountain.
It came out of the fog so suddenly, that it seemed as though the mist had taken form from itself. It was bearing straight down across the port bow of the Nancy Hazlewood, plunging forward as solemnly as death. It could not have been more than six or seven ships’ lengths distant, and the great sails bellying out like big clouds, shadowed over the Nancy Hazlewood as she might have shadowed over a fishing smack.
Ten seconds more and she would have been down upon them, and would have crushed the little craft as though she had been made of paper. There was a moment of silence as great as though every man aboard of the Nancy Hazlewood had been turned to stone. I remember that Tom Granger stood with his newly-lighted pipe in his hand, never moving a hair.
The silence was only for an instant, though, for the next moment a voice roared like a trumpet:
“Hard a starboard! Let go, head sheets and lee head braces!”
It was Jack Baldwin’s voice, and never did Tom hear it ring as it did at that moment. It not only was heard through the ship, but it pealed through it like a clap of thunder. Those below came tumbling up helter-skelter, and the captain came running out of his cabin, for there was a ring in Jack’s voice that told every man aboard of the ship that great danger was down upon them. It seemed to break the stillness around just as a stone dropped into a well might break the stillness below. In an instant the braces were flung from the belaying-pins, and the ship came up toward the wind without a second to lose. Before those aboard of the frigate had gathered their wits she had passed alongside, and so close that a child could easily have pitched a biscuit aboard of the Nancy Hazlewood from the decks that loomed twenty feet above her.