True To His Colors

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  CONCLUSION.

  It took them the best part of the next day to run to their destination,and the whole of the following one to find and buoy the channel, whichchanged more or less with every storm that swept the coast. Marcythought it a foolhardy piece of business to depend upon that treacherousinlet for a way of escape in case the schooner was discovered andpursued by a ship of war, and told Captain Beardsley so; but the lattersimply smiled, referred Marcy to the work he had done that day, andreminded him that there were eight feet of water in the deepest part ofthe channel, and that the privateer, fully loaded, drew but little morethan six.

  "There aint a sea-going vessel in the Yankee navy that can run on sixfoot of water, and I know it," chuckled Beardsley. "If one of 'em getsafter us we'll skim through easy as falling off a log, but she'll stick,'specially if she runs 'cording to them buoys you set out." This was the"work" to which the captain referred. At that time the rule was for allship-masters to leave black buoys to starboard and the red ones to port;or, to put it in English, they were to pass to the left of the blackbuoys, and to the right of red ones, or run the risk of getting agroundand losing their insurance, in case their ships went to pieces. ButMarcy, acting under the orders of Captain Beardsley (who, now that hewas fairly afloat, began to show that he was much more of a sailor thanthe folks around home thought he was), had changed this order of thingsby anchoring the red buoys on the right of the channel going out, andthe black ones on the left. Of course it was necessary for the pilot tobear this in mind if he were called upon to take the privateer throughthere in a hurry, or on a dark night when the wind was blowing strongly.To a landsman this may seem like a very small thing, but it was enoughto insure the destruction of any vessel whose commander was so daring asto try to follow in Captain Beardsley's lead. More than that, CrookedInlet was not marked upon any government chart. The Atlantic Ocean hadopened it since the last survey was made.

  All things being in readiness for the cruise, the _Osprey_ ran throughthe inlet on the morning of the third day out from Newbern, and spreadher wings to swoop down upon the first unsuspecting merchantman whichhappened to be holding along the coast inside of Diamond Shoals. Now thecrosstrees were manned for the first time, a small pull taken at thesheets fore and aft, and with a fine breeze over her quarter theschooner ran off to the southeast toward the fair-weather highwayleading from the West Indies to Northern ports. Then the young pilot,who had given up his place at the wheel, had leisure to look about himand make a mental estimate of the crew. If there was a native Americanamong them he could not find him. He guessed right when he told himselfthat they must have belonged to foreign vessels in port when PresidentLincoln's proclamation was issued, and that Beardsley's agent hadinduced them to join the Confederacy by offering higher wages than theywere receiving, and making extravagant promises of a wild, free, easylife aboard the privateer, and unlimited dollars to spend in the way ofprize money. But as far as Marcy could see they were good sailors, andCaptain Beardsley and his mates enforced discipline from the first.

  The young pilot was surprised at the ease with which the master of theschooner threw off his 'longshore manners and assumed the habit andlanguage of a seafaring man. He had been a trader in a small way eversince Marcy could remember, and he said himself that the longest voyagehe ever made was from some port in Cuba to New York. He had a way ofgoing and coming at very irregular intervals. Sometimes his schoonerwould lie idle for months, and Beardsley would work among his negroeswith so much industry and perseverance, that the planters around himwould come to think he had given up the sea for good; but all on asudden he would disappear as if by magic, and it would be a long timebefore any one could find out where he was or what he had been doing;and they were obliged to take his word for that. Marcy Gray was not theonly one who thought that the term "smuggler" would come nearer todescribing his vocation than the word "trader." But in spite of hiserratic movements and long intervals of rest on shore, Captain Beardsleywas a fair navigator and knew how to handle his schooner. He knew also,and quickly assumed, the dignity befitting his station, kept hisquarter-deck sacred to himself, and, except when they were on duty,never permitted his crew to come aft the foremast This made a gulfbetween him and Marcy, but the latter did not mind that. He was contentto be considered one of the crew.

  Seventy hours passed, and the only thing the lookouts saw during thattime to indicate that they were not alone on the ocean, was a thin cloudof smoke in the horizon, which might come from the chimneys of apeaceful passenger vessel, or from those of a cruiser on the watch forjust such crafts as the _Osprey_ was; and so Captain Beardsley prudentlycame about and sailed leisurely back toward the point from whence hestarted. This move was just what brought her first prize into theclutches of the _Osprey_.

  Land had been out of sight for almost two days. In her eagerness tocatch something the schooner had gone far beyond the highway towardwhich she had first shaped her course, but this retrograde movementbrought her back to it. On the morning of the third day the thrillingcry "Sail ho!" came from aloft, and in an instant the deck was incommotion, the man at the wheel so far forgetting himself as to allowthe privateer to swing into the wind with all her canvas flapping.

  "Keep her steady, there," shouted the captain angrily. "Where away?" hecontinued, hailing the crosstrees.

  "Broad on the weather beam. Topsail schooner, and standing straightacross our course."

  The captain seized a glass and hastened aloft to take a look at thestranger, while those on deck crowded to the rail and strained theireyes for a glimpse of the sail, which had not yet showed her top-hamperabove the horizon. No change was made in the course of the privateer,and neither was anything done toward casting loose the guns. There wouldbe time enough for that when the captain had made up his mind what hewas going to do. He sat on the crosstrees beside the lookout for an hourwithout saying a word. By that time the sail was visible from the deck.To quote from one of the crew she was coming up at a hand gallop. ThenCaptain Beardsley was satisfied to come down and take charge of thedeck.

  "She's ours," Marcy heard him say to the two mates. "I would not sell mychances of making a rich haul for any reasonable sum of money. If I knowanything about vessels, she is a Cuban trader bound to New York. Easethe _Osprey_ up a bit. Don't crowd her so heavy, and the chase will passby within half a mile of us. But we mustn't let her get by, for she is atrotter, and every inch of her muslin is drawing beautifully."

  While the second mate set about obeying the last order, the captainaddressed some others to the first officer, and in a remarkably brieftime, considering their short experience on board the privateer, hercrew had cast loose the bow gun and trained it over the port side, themagazine and shell-rooms had been opened and lighted, and Tierney, whoacted in the double capacity of captain of the bow gun and drill-masterto the crews of both, had driven home a five-second shrapnel.

  "All ready forward, sir," said he.

  "Throw that piece of canvas back over the gun to hide it," commandedCaptain Beardsley. "Send all the men below that are not needed on deck.Gray, go aft and stand by to run up the Yankee flag when I tell you."

  The topsail schooner could be plainly seen now, and Marcy was sailorenough to note that if her captain did not suspect there was somethingwrong, he acted like it. This could hardly be wondered at, for takinginto consideration the "natty" appearance of the privateer, the lubberlyway in which she was sailed, standing so far off wind when she ought tohave been close to it if she were sailing her course, was enough toexcite anybody's suspicions. Two of her officers were in the rigging,and Captain Beardsley, who was mentally calculating her chances forrunning by his own vessel in case she made the attempt, took his glassfrom his eye long enough to remark:

  "They don't quite like our looks, do they? That proves that they arefrom some near port, and heard something about privateers before theysailed. I heard that parties in New Orleans had steamers
afloat a weekago. Marcy, show them the Yankee flag and see if that won't quiet theirfeelings."

  "If that isn't stealing the livery of Heaven to serve the Evil One in Idon't want a cent," said Marcy, to himself, as with an "Aye, aye, sir,"he obeyed the order that was intended to lure the stranger to herdestruction. At the same moment her own colors, the Stars and Stripes,were run up to the peak.

  But the sight of the friendly flag did not seem to allay the suspicionsof those on board the topsail schooner. To the great surprise of thosewho were watching her, her bow began to swing slowly around, her sailstrembled in the air for a minute or two and then moved over to the otherside, her yard was braced forward, the sheets hauled taut, and she wasoff on the other tack with a big bone in her teeth. By this move shehoped to pass so far astern of the suspicious-looking craft in front ofher, as to be beyond range of the light guns her captain had reason tobelieve were concealed under those piles of canvas which looked soinnocent at a distance. It was beautifully and quickly done; but whoever saw a Yankee skipper who did not know how to handle his ship, orwho would give her up to an enemy if he saw the slightest chance toescape with her? The Confederate Admiral Semmes had more than one chaseafter a plucky Yankee captain, who was resolved that he would not cometo if he could help it, and he often goes out of his way to pay deservedtribute to the skill and courage of Northern sailors.

  "That's his best sailing-point, and he's got a breeze that don't reachus," Captain Beardsley almost howled, stamping about the deck andshaking his fist at the flying schooner. "Where are you, Tierney? Firethat gun at him. Pitch the ball into him the first time without stoppingto send it across his bows. Do something, or he'll get away from us."

  Tierney and his crew, who had scattered themselves over the deck inobedience to an order from the mate, were on hand almost before theangry skipper had ceased talking. The captain of the gun knew that theschooner was far beyond the reach of the short-time projectile he had inhis piece, but that did not prevent him from obeying orders. The canvascovering was torn off and cast aside, the gun trained, and thelock-string pulled. The privateer trembled all over with the force ofthe concussion; the howitzer bounded from its place and recoiled as faras its breeching would permit it to go, and the shrapnel went shriekingon its way. But it did not go more than a quarter of the distance thatintervened between the two vessels before it exploded. However, itshowed the crew of the fleeing schooner that her enemy was fully armed,and it enabled Tierney to load his gun with a shell provided with alonger fuse.

  "Send home another one that will go farther before it busts," shoutedCaptain Beardsley. "And while you're doing it, we'll see if we can'tcome around on the other tack about as quick as she did."

  Remember that the two vessels, pursuer and pursued, had not yet passed.They were sailing diagonally toward each other at the first, and thatwas the relative position they held when the privateer came about andstood off on the other tack. If Captain Beardsley had understood hisbusiness he might have had the after-gun cast loose and loaded with afifteen-second shell, and fired it at the chase as the stern of the_Osprey_ swung around. Marcy thought this could have been done, but ofcourse he said nothing. His sympathies were entirely with the captainwho had determined to make a race of it.

  "I do hope he'll get away," thought the boy, looking first at the canvasof his own vessel to see how it was drawing, and then at the topsailschooner which was making such gallant efforts to escape. "Suppose thecaptain owns that craft, and that it is everything he has in the worldto depend on for a living for his family? It will be just awful to takeit away from him. Why don't Uncle Sam send some cruisers down here?"

  While Marcy stood on the quarter-deck meditating, Tierney was working onthe forecastle, and now he called out:

  "All ready for'ard, sir."

  "Let her have it!" cried the captain; and then, seeing that Marcy Graywas still holding fast to the halliards that kept the starry flag at thepeak, he shouted: "Why don't you haul that thing down and run aloft theStars and Bars? Are you asleep?"

  "No, sir," replied the boy. "Waiting for orders, sir."

  "Down with it then, and put our own flag up there," commanded thecaptain. "Fire, Tierney!"

  The howitzer once more belched forth a cloud of flame and smoke, andMarcy stood on tiptoe and held his breath in suspense while he waitedfor the result. He felt the cold chills creep along his spine when,after an interval that seemed very short for the distance the shot hadto travel, he saw it strike the water in line with the schooner andexplode a second later almost at her side. There was no mistake about itthis time. A fifteen-second fuse was long enough, and the next shot,with a single half-degree more of elevation, would surely strike her.Her skipper saw it, and rather than allow his vessel to be shot topieces and his men killed before his eyes, he spilled his sails and gaveup the contest.

  "Come on deck, you lubbers below, and cheer our first prize," shoutedthe mate, who was almost beside himself with joy and excitement. "Thereshe is, laying to and waiting for you to go and take possession," hewent on, as the crew tumbled up the ladder. "Count your prize-money upon your fingers and then give a cheer."

  This was an insulting way to treat men who had done all that brave mencould do to elude their enemy, and surrendered at last because they hadno means of defending themselves, and Marcy was glad to notice thatTierney saw it, and did not join in the cheers that followed. Perhapsthe man had a better heart than Marcy had given him credit for.

  "Where's that boat's crew?" inquired the captain, meaning the men whohad been drilled in lowering the yawl and pulling off to imaginaryprizes. "Here's the keys to the cabin, Marcy. Unlock the door and giveevery man who comes to you a saber, revolver, and a box of cartridges.And you," he added, turning to the first mate as Marcy took the keys andhastened below, "tumble ten men besides the boat's crew into the yawl,go off to the prize, and send the master and his papers on board of us.Put all the schooner's company, except the mates, in double irons, andstow them away somewhere under guard. Then keep your weather eye on meand follow in my wake when I fill away for Newbern. That's the way we'llmanage things as often as we take a prize."

  While these orders were being obeyed the _Osprey_ was sailing steadilytoward her prize; and by the time the men had been selected and thesmall arms distributed, she had come as close to her as CaptainBeardsley thought it safe to venture. Having performed his duty, Marcyreturned to the deck just in time to see the prize crew climbing uponher deck. A quarter of an hour later the boat came back, bringing astrange man who certainly took matters very coolly, seeing that he hadlost his vessel and a valuable cargo.

  "Captain," said he, as he clambered over the _Osprey's_ rail, "I don'tunderstand the situation at all, for all your mate would say to me wasthat my ship was a prize to the Confederate privateer _Osprey._"

  "What else did you want him to say?" asked Captain Beardsley, with asmile that must have made the merchant skipper angry. "That's the wholething in a nutshell. Where are your papers? See that flag up there?That's the one I sail under. You must have heard that there were suchfellows as me afloat, or you wouldn't have shied off as you did."

  "Your appearance was all right, but I didn't like the way you acted,"replied the skipper. "Yes, I have heard that there are some gentlemen ofyour sort roaming around the Gulf."

  "Your schooner is the _Mary Hollins_, bound from Havana to Boston withan assorted cargo," said Captain Beardsley. "There is no attempt made to'cover' either?"

  "No, sir; it is an American vessel and her cargo is consigned to anAmerican house," answered the skipper, who knew it would be useless todeny it with the plain facts staring Captain Beardsley in the face."But, captain, I protest against your putting my men in irons. They arenot felons, to be treated that way."

  "Can't help it," said Beardsley shortly. "Can't you see for yourselfthat I have a small crew, and that I must take measures to prevent yourmen from recapturing the prize? I'll let 'em out as soon as we getthrough Hatteras."

  The master of the
privateer exchanged a few words with his second mate,and in a minute or two more the _Osprey_ came about and pointed her nosetoward Newbern, the _Mary Hollins_ following in her wake. The crewstepped around with unwonted alacrity, and tugged at the sheets asenergetically as though the prize dollars the agent had promised themwere fastened to the other end. Everybody was happy except Marcy Grayand the unfortunate skipper of the _Mary Hollins_. He took his capturevery philosophically, but Marcy was sure he did some deep and earnestthinking while he stood on the privateer's quarterdeck, pulling hiswhiskers, and looking back at the vessel he had lost. Marcy almostwished that he could change places with him so that he could enter thenavy as soon as he was released, and assist in sweeping the sea of suchcrafts as the _Osprey._ He dared not speak to him, for that would excitesuspicion, and the prisoner, who looked at Marcy now and then, probablythought the boy as good a rebel as there was on board.

  The low sand dunes about Hatteras Inlet, as well as the unfinished wallsof the forts that were to defend it, came up out of the sea shortlyafter daylight the next morning, and at one o'clock the _Osprey_ and herprize sailed through, loudly cheered by the working parties ashore. Theprisoner now reminded Captain Beardsley of the promise he had maderegarding the crew of the _Mary Hollins_, but Beardsley got out of itby saying that he had no way of signaling to the prize, and could notthink of waiting for her to come alongside so that he could hail her.The truth was Captain Beardsley believed that the Yankees would fight ifthey were given half a chance. The sound upon which the vessels were nowsailing was a pretty large body of water, Newborn was still many milesaway, and if the _Hollins's_ men were freed from their irons, they mightrecapture their vessel and elude the _Osprey_ during the night that wascoming. Beardsley kept them in durance until he reached port, and thenreleased them to be jeered and hooted by the crowd that followed themfrom the wharf to the jail in which they were confined.

  The reception that was extended to himself and his men was of differentcharacter. They were cheered to the echo, and as many as could get uponthe decks of the _Osprey_ and her prize, insisted on shaking them by thehand and telling them what brave fellows they were, and how much theyhad done for the glorious cause of Southern independence. Beardsley'sagent was on hand, of course, and when he had seen the _Mary Hollins_turned over to the collector of the port, he insisted that the _Osprey_should run out again at once and make another haul, before the seizureof the _Hollins_ became known at the North; but, to Marcy Gray's intensedelight, Beardsley refused to budge.

  "Not much I won't go outside again and leave you land-sharks to handlemy prize and the money she'll sell for," he declared, with so muchemphasis that the agent did not think it best to urge him further. "Meand my men have got the biggest interest in the _Mary Hollins_, andright here we stay till the legality of the capture has been settled,the vessel and cargo sold, and the dollars that belong to us are plankeddown in our two hands."

  "Then I may go home?" said Marcy, as soon as he saw a good chance to askthe question.

  "Course. Go by first train if you want to."

  That was enough for the boy, who was disgusted with life on board aprivateer. He hastened below, and in less than twenty minutes presentedhimself in Beardsley's cabin with his "grip" in one hand and a paper inthe other.

  "That's a leave of absence," said Marcy, placing the paper before thecaptain. "I don't suppose it is drawn up in proper form, but it willserve to show the people at home that I am there with your permission.I'd be glad if you would sign it."

  The captain did so without a word of objection, gave Marcy a fewmessages to be delivered to his friends in and around Nashville, andpromised to look out for his share of the prize money.

  "You can keep it, if you can bring yourself to touch it," thought theboy, as he walked ashore, after shouting good-by to the crew, and benthis steps toward the nearest telegraph office. "It would burn myhands."

  He sent a dispatch to his mother requesting that Morris might be sent tomeet him at the depot at a certain time, and to allay any fears thatmight be awakened in her mind by his sudden return to Newbern, heannounced that the privateer had just brought a valuable prize intoport. Those few words sent the dispatch through without a cent's worthof expense to himself.

  "So you are one of those gallant fellows, are you?" said the operator."Well, I'll send it off and call it square. You deserve a world ofcredit."

  "I can't for the life of me see where an armed vessel wins credit incapturing one that is entirely without means of defense," replied Marcy,who had heard so much of this sort of talk since he reached Newbern thathe was tired of it.

  "But that isn't the point," said the operator. "See what a blow you havestruck at the enemy's commerce. Keep it up long enough and you willdrive his hated old rag from the sea."

  Marcy had another ride with Morris, who was at the depot waiting for himwhen his train came in, and reached home at last to receive a tearfulwelcome from his mother.

  "You don't gush over me at all," said he, as she threw her arms abouthis neck and laid her head on his shoulder. "Don't you know that I haveroamed the high sea, smelled powder, and helped capture a Yankee vessel?It's the most despicable business in the world," he added, as he led hismother into the house out of earshot of all the servants. And then hetold her how the capture had been effected, and explained why Beardsleywould not immediately put to sea to try his luck again. He said, with along-drawn sigh, that he was glad to get home, and hoped from the bottomof his heart that the _Osprey_ might sink at her wharf before he wasordered to report aboard of her again. As for the prize-money, hesupposed he would have to take it or set Beardsley's tongue in motion;but he would put it carefully away, and send it to the master of the_Hollins_ if he ever had the chance.

  "You don't feel at all as your Cousin Rodney does," said his mother,when he ceased speaking. "A long letter from him addressed to you cameduring your absence, and I took the liberty to read it. Yes, he enlistedalmost as soon as he reached home, and is going with his company toMissouri, where he hopes to join Dick Graham, who belongs to the statetroops under General Price."

  "They have both lived up to their principles, but how have I lived up tomine?" said Marcy, taking the letter from his mother's hand. "I toldthem I should be true to my colors, no matter what happened, and howhave I held to my resolution? I can't tell them just how I am situated,for suppose the letter should miscarry and fall into the hands of somefellow like Captain Beardsley? This is a nice way to live."

  Rodney wrote as if he were full of enthusiasm, and gave a completehistory of his movements since the day on which he bade his cousingood-by in Barrington. There was one short paragraph in his letter whichwill serve as a very good introduction to the second volume of thisseries of books, and we produce it entire. It ran as follows:

  "It wouldn't be safe for you to come to this country, old fellow, andtalk as you did while we were at school. You would be mobbed in spite ofall I could do to prevent it. I hope you haven't got into any trouble bytrying to be true to your colors since you have been in North Carolina.I can talk as I please here, and you know I please to denounceeverything except secession and independence. I belong to an independentcompany of cavalry. The colonel commanding the regiment we wanted tojoin didn't think he had any authority to accept us unless we would giveup our independent organization, and as we were resolved we wouldn't dothat, we began to think we would be obliged to fight on our own hook;but just in the nick of time we learned that the troops serving inMissouri, under Price and McCulloch, were mostly partisans, and thateither of those commanders would be glad to accept us. So there is wherewe are going as soon as we can get transportation, and who knows but Imay see our old friend Dick Graham? Shall I tell him 'Hello!' for you?We furnish our own horses, the government allowing us sixty cents a dayfor the use of them. If they die or are killed in action, we are to getanother mount from the enemy. Come and join us, Marcy. Throw your Unionsentiments to the winds--you'll have to sooner or later--take sides withthe friends of you
r state, swear allegiance to the flag of theConfederacy and battle for the right. Come and join my company and we'llhave some high old times running the Yankees out of Missouri."

  But the sequel proved that the despised Yankees could not be so easilydriven; on the contrary they drove the rebels. Marcy's cousin manfullybore a soldier's part in some of the hardest battles that were fought inMissouri; and just what he did, and whether or not he enjoyed the "highold times" that came rather sooner than he expected, shall be told inthe succeeding volume of this series which will be entitled, "RODNEY,THE PARTISAN."

  THE END.

  THE

  FAMOUS

  CASTLEMON

  BOOKS.

  BY

  HARRY CASTLEMON.

  Specimen Cover of the Gunboat Series.]

  No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boysthan "Harry Castlemon;" every book by him is sure to meet with heartyreception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity leadhis readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when onevolume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks "formore."

  **Any volume sold separately.