THE ESCAPE OF SYMINGTON
Captain Myron Symington was a long-legged Yankee. There was nomistaking him for anything else but an out-and-out downeaster. As tothe length of his underpinning, that was apparent also. When seated, hedid not appear above the average height; but when erect he stood headand shoulders above the crowd, so of course it was in his legs.Symington spoke English with a lazy drawl, and conversation ebbed fromhim much after the manner that smoke issues from a tall chimney on aperfectly still day--it rolled forth in slow volumes. But Symington'sFrench was very different; he could be clearly understood, for he spokeit well; but he discharged every word like a pistol shot, and he pausedbetween each sentence as if he had to load and prime, and cast loosefor the next.
Since the beginning of the war Symington had not been to America. Buthe had sent many messages thither; and although his headquarters wereat Brest when ashore, and the English Channel and the Bay of Biscaywhen afloat, his name had become well known in the United States, andhe had done a thriving international business on his own account--whichmay require some explaining.
The little privateer _Rattler_ (of which he was owner and commander)had sent home no less than twenty vessels that had been snapped up whenalmost under the guns of England's coastwise fortresses. Whenever heneeded provisioning or recruiting, Symington would make for one of theFrench ports, run the blockade that the English had established thewhole length of the coast, drop his anchor in the harbor, and then getanything he chose for the mere asking for it; for Symington's name wasas good and in fact better than the promise of some governments. Yearsbefore the outbreak of the war Symington had commanded the fastest andluckiest Yankee craft engaged in the European trade that sailed fromBaltimore or Boston. He was a good seaman, it was reputed that he wasimmensely wealthy, and many believed also that he possessed some charmor fetich that insured success. Certainly it had crowned his endeavorsto divert the direction of Great Britain's proper freight ships.
Symington was sitting at a table in one of the cafes off the RueBonaparte in the city of Brest, and he had just finished a very heavynoonday meal. Suddenly glancing up, he saw a man go past the doorleading from the hallway into the garden. Lengthening himself to hisfull height by a succession of jerks, in a couple of strides he hadcaught the man by the elbow and almost pulled him back into the room.
"Just back, ain't ye, Captain Edgar?" he drawled.
"Post haste," the man replied, "from Paris."
"Any news?"
"Well, I should say there was. By Hickey, Captain, Napoleon's jig isup! Already the people are showing the white cockade, and those who yetfly the tricolor have the other in their pocket."
"So!" exclaimed Symington, prolonging the syllable until it soundedlike a yawn; "then our friends the English will have a finger in thepie in short order. It is a shame that they will have to break up sucha harmless and profitable business, this Channel cruising."
It was April of the year 1814. Europe had completed the humiliation ofthe little great man who had come nigh to conquering her, unaided. Andas soon as the last of his ramparts were down, any one with commonsense could see what would be the outcome of it all. The exiled King,Louis the Eighteenth, who had been hiding in London, would be placedupon the throne! To Great Britain more than to any other power he wouldowe his translation from debt, poverty, and seclusion to position,affluence, and a crown. From being England's enemy, France would becomeher ally. Could it be expected of her to continue to harbor in herports those ocean pests, the Yankee privateers, who had compelledEngland to give the services of two-thirds of her fighting force toconvoying and guarding her merchant fleets?
Symington and his friend, the short man, seated themselves at a tableand continued the conversation.
"I'd put to sea to-morrow if I had enough of a crew to work the old_Siren_," said the little Captain. "I had hard enough work gettinginto port after manning all my prizes. But if I could get four moregood hands, I'd have enough."
"There are just fourteen men-o'-war and three battle-ships off theharbor mouth, and what chance would ye have of gettin' through thisopen weather?" grumbled Symington. "We'll have to wait until we get agood blow out of the southeast; that'll scatter 'em, and then, by Hick,we can make a try for it. Two weeks longer, and we'll probably have noshow."
"I'll be startin' for Boston town some dark night this week, CaptainSymington, just as soon as I get men enough to handle the _Siren's_main sheet, as I told ye."
"And I, too, Captain Edgar, as soon as I get enough hands to get up the_Rattler's_ anchor. But I'll choose my weather, sir!"
After a few words more the two skippers shook hands and left the cafe,each bound to the waterfront by a different direction. It was certainlya peculiar position that the Yankee craft found themselves occupyingabout this time in European waters. Sometimes they would be in a portwhere lay eight or ten half-dismantled frigates, and over twice as manysmaller cruisers and merchantmen belonging to the Empire, all cooped upand kept in there by four or five English sloops of war, or perhaps aguard ship of fifty or sixty guns patrolling up and down the harbormouth. On the other side of the water, however, the English hadsucceeded in blockading but one American frigate, the _Constellation_,early in the war. Afterwards for a few months they hemmed in the_United States_, the _Macedonian_, and the little _Hornet_ in theharbor of New London; but what would not the United States have givento have possessed those thousands of idle guns that lay in the Frenchnaval stations? She would have manned the helms, spread the sails, andput those great hulks into motion. She might even have done a little"fleet sailing" on her own account.
But there was some excuse for France. Napoleon had depleted hisseacoasts to fill his armies. There were not sufficient able seamen toanswer the demand, and besides, so long had the French run away fromthe English at sea, that a thirty-eight-gun frigate of the Empire hadbeen known to escape a meeting with a British twenty-gun sloop byturning tail and making off. The French flag was a rarity afloat. Soevery time the Yankee privateers entered or left a port it wasnecessary to run the blockade that the British had established at theentrance. As this was the state of the home ports also, they had becomequite used to it. Seldom or never were they caught in the act.
But the day came, as the Yankee captains had agreed it would, whenNapoleon succumbed entirely. Out came the white cockades; the tricolordisappeared. No longer was it "the Emperor," but "the King," and thefirst request that England made was that the Yankee shipping in Frenchports should be confiscated and the privateers detained. Great was theconsternation of the skippers; some who had crews sufficient in numberto man their vessels put to sea instanter and were taken in by theChannel squadron forthwith. Others remained waiting for the weather tothicken and trusting that King Louis would hesitate long enough to givethem a chance for life. But the order came at last. The privateers wereto be allowed to leave the harbor any time they found a chance to doso; but before they left, the French King, who was holding fast to hisrickety throne, and was merely kept in place by the supporting arms ofEngland, Russia, and Germany, issued a decree. It was to the effectthat the vessels should sail unarmed; that their broadsides should betaken from them, their cutlasses and small-arms removed, and thus shornof their teeth and claws, they should be allowed to depart. As everymerchantman, almost without exception, in those days carried at leastfour or five guns handy on the spar deck, this decree was equivalent topresenting them to any English vessel that might get range of them.Before the order could be executed more of the vessels got to sea, andnot a few were gobbled up at once by the English cruisers; some wereforced to put back again, and only one or two ever reached the shoresof America.
The day the news arrived early in May, Captain Edgar was one of thefirst to get his anchor in and make out past the headland as soon asdusk had settled. In a few minutes Symington, also, although his vesselwas very short-handed, was getting up his mainsail, and he too wouldhave sailed no doubt, had there not suddenly arisen a sound of firingfrom the offing. Of cour
se there being now peace between France andEngland, it was possible for the English ships to anchor beside theAmericans if they had chosen to do so, and in fact in some of theharbors so penned in were the privateers, that, as one captainexpressed it, "they would have to sail across the deck of aseventy-four to escape to sea." England had respected the neutrality ofthe French ports thus far; but if an American vessel was seen preparingto get under way, she would be watched carefully, and if notaccompanied by an English ship, her going out would be signalled to theblockaders off the shore. As the cannonading was kept up for so long atime, Captain Symington supposed, or at least hoped, that the _Siren_had escaped her enemies. Perhaps the confusion that followed would be agood moment for him to take advantage of, and he determined to sail outat once.
But it was not to be; for hardly had he got under way when he wasboarded by a cutter filled with armed men, under the command of aFrenchman, dressed in a voluminous coat and a huge cocked hat, whodescribed himself in a breathless sentence as "Monsieur le CapitaineGeorges Binda, Inspector of the Port for His Majesty, King Louis." Buta few months previously he had been at Napoleon's beck and call, havingbeen one of the recruiting officers of the district.
Captain Symington's expostulations were of no avail, although owing tohis peculiar manner of speech, they appealed to the whole harbor.
His long twelve-pounder was taken from him, and his neat little batteryof carronades, six on a side, were confiscated also. Before noon of thenext day the _Rattler_ had been changed from a tiger cat to a harmlesskitten.
The discomforting news also arrived that Captain Edgar had been blownout of the water, after he had almost succeeded in getting past theEnglish line. This was most disheartening, and that very day many ofthe Americans, despairing of ever getting free, attempted to dispose oftheir ships by sale. But not so with Symington. He determined not togive up until compelled to; to hold out until the very last minute.
The _Rattler_ was light in ballast, and in trim for fast sailing. Therewere enough men now on board of her to handle her at a pinch, and shecould have shown a clean pair of heels to any one of the Englishcruisers then afloat. Although not altogether a beauty to look at, forshe was a comparatively old vessel, she was marvellously quick instays, and came about like a sharpie. In pointing, too, she was amarvel, and once given the windward gage she could choose her owndistance. No man could sail the _Rattler_ the way Symington could, andno skipper ever knew the capacities or character of his craft betterthan did the lank Yankee. She was his pet; why give her up to be sailedby a lubberly Frenchman? The very first chance he saw he was going totake. It arrived no later than the second evening after the despoiling.
The moon came up early in the morning; but about an hour or so beforethe time for her appearance a soft gray fog blew in from the sea. Atfirst the great outline of a British troop-ship close alongside on the_Rattler's_ port hand disappeared gradually. Then the numerous anchorlights and the lanterns of the town that had been twinkling brightly inthe darkness became but hazy blurs of light through the thickeningmist. But when the moon began to cast her silvery light, a marvellousthing happened that caused the second mate, who was on watch, to hurrydown into the cabin and call Captain Symington to the deck. The rays ofmoonlight in the fog caused an opaque, impenetrable veil to surroundthe ship. So thick was it, that the sensation was as if a white clothhad been tied across the eyes. The masts disappeared a few feet abovethe deck. If one turned around, it was impossible to tell in whichdirection the vessel extended. The _Rattler_ lay but a few hundredfeet astern of a big French brig that was anchored with a stream anchorover her side to keep her from swinging in toward a point of rockswhich was surmounted by a small battery. As soon as Captain Symingtonreached the deck he stepped across to the bulwarks, and loweringhimself down as far as he could go by the chains he perceived whatoften happens in thick weather: the fog was lifted some feet from thesurface of the water, and close to the water objects could be discernedat some distance. There was not wind enough to sail; to use the sweepswould have called down on him a fleet of armed small craft in aninstant! Well he knew that rather than see him escape, the transportwould go afoul of him and try to explain matters afterwards.
Now Captain Symington had a remarkably retentive memory. It was saidthat he never had to look at a chart more than twice; that he couldtake a vessel over shoals where he had been only once before, and that,years previously. Now this gift stood him in good stead. Just ahead ofhim lay the big French brig. Within a cable's length of her, a largeFrench man-of-war, but half dismantled; beyond, an English sloop; thentwo more vessels. Once outside of them, and there was nothing toprevent him from gaining the mouth of the harbor! How was it to bedone? The fog might last for two or three hours, and yet again it mightdisappear at any moment. But Symington was not discouraged; a brilliantidea came to him; the crew were called into the cabin, and there by thedim light of a lantern Captain Symington explained his plan.
The men listened in astonishment. Many stories of wonderful escapes hadthey heard, and many adventures had they been through; but such a boldplan of action they had never heard proposed before.
When all hands returned to the deck, there was not a sound. Althoughhaving almost to feel their way, a light new cable was brought up andflaked neatly up and down the deck. Then Captain Symington took the endof it into the stern sheets of his gig, which was silently dropped intothe water, and with four men pulling at the carefully muffled oars hemade off from beneath the bows, heading for the big French brig, thecable noiselessly paying out into the water over the _Rattler's_ bows.It did not take him long to make fast to the moorings of the brig. Thisdone, he waited anxiously.
"They are heaving away now, sir," whispered one of the men in the bowof the boat. Sure enough, the cable had tautened under the strain thatwas being put upon it. Symington at first feared that some attentionmight be attracted on board the Frenchman; but there came no sound, andhe knew that his people on board the _Rattler_ had silently slippedmoorings and that she had way upon her.
On board the privateer's deck, barefooted men were walking away withthe cable over their shoulders and causing their light vessel to comeboldly along through the water. At a certain length from where thecable was to be made fast, a bit of marline had been tied, and whenthis came inboard the orders were to 'vast heaving, belay, and drop theanchor that had been only "hove short"; that is, lifted from the sand.Soon this point was reached. Symington, cast loose, came on board; asecond cable was prepared and spliced to the first, and off he startedto make fast to the next vessel lying farther out.
And thus did Symington warp himself beyond the mouth of the innerharbor to a place where he considered it safe enough to get out hissweeps. Manning these, for an hour and more he kept at it. But it wasdangerous work. The tides were going down, and although he kept thelead going, he might run on one of the sand-bars at any moment. That hewas well out of the channel he knew to a certainty. So at last hedropped anchor, silently, and patiently waited for the fog that hadsaved him so far, to clear up enough for him to get his bearings.
Toward daylight a slight breeze sprang up, and to his alarm Symingtonfound that a stretch of low beach was under his lee, and it behoovedhim well to work the _Rattler_ farther out. Getting sail enough up toenable him to trip his anchor, he drew away from shore. Slowly the fogclosed down upon him again quite as thick as it had been some hourspreviously; but all at once the First Mate, who was forward, cried outin fright:--
"Starboard your helm! Hard a starboard!"
The _Rattler's_ bow fell off a few points, and at that instant therecame the shock of a collision, followed by a hail in good sea-faringEnglish, seemingly from up in the air.
"What are you doing there? What vessel is that?" Then there was somebawling and much noise of movement and another hail in a voice that hadnot yet spoken.
"On board that vessel! answer me, or I'll blow you out of the water!"
By this time Captain Symington was firing off his explosive Frenchsent
ences, which, as it is impossible to give their full force even inthe language in which they were spoken, we will translate.
"Who are you and what are you doing here? Answer."
"The _Cigalle_ of Havre. I try to get into the harbor here."
There came a laugh from the direction of the strange vessel. "Strangesort of weather for a Frenchman to be sailing in, sir," some oneobserved. "More than likely one of the Yankees trying to get out."
That was exactly what Captain Symington was trying to do, but thecollision with the stranger had carried away his port cathead, and withit the anchor had gone to the bottom. By the effect of this unfortunateaccident, and the force of the tide, which was now against her, the_Rattler's_ head was swung around again, and before anything couldprevent it, she once more went afoul of the big vessel, whose deckstowered higher than her cross-trees. There she hung, under the other'slee, while the English commander, sometimes in French and sometimes inEnglish, was cursing Symington for a clumsy Frenchman and threateningto send a shot on board of him.
It was daylight almost and the wind was freshening. Clearer and clearerthe outlines of the great vessel could be seen.
She was an English seventy-four, that, trying to make the harbor, hadbeen headed off by darkness and had anchored in the roads.
In ten minutes after the breeze began to blow, the air was free frommist. There was no use in trying to indulge in any deception now. Thecharacter of the small vessel had been discovered by the big one. Acrowd of laughing officers lined the rail, and on her gallery appeareda number of ladies bound most probably for the new court of the newKing. The wind was off shore. From the shrilling of whistles andbabbling of orders it was seen that the battle-ship was getting underway. A man in gold lace leaned out over the rail and said in anoff-hand manner:--
"On board the Yankee there! Keep under our lee and return to theharbor, or we'll sink you instantly; play no tricks, if you value yoursafety. Mark you that."
Why it was that the Englishman did not drop a boat and put a prize crewon board the _Rattler_, it might be hard to guess. Symington fearedthat this would happen, and, although he gave no answer to theimperious order, he set about obeying it with every evidence of hasteand alacrity.
But such clumsy work had never been seen before on board a Yankeeprivateer. Often in naval actions in the old sailing days, when orderswere blared through a speaking-trumpet, and not given by littleelectric bells and signals, as now we have them, the "rule of contrary"was passed in order to deceive the enemy who might overhear and thusanticipate.
"Hard a port" meant "hard a starboard." A vessel that was supposed tobe on the point of luffing would bear away, sheets flying.
Now, on board the _Rattler_, although no such order had been passed,the men had understood well enough the whispered word. It is awell-known fact that the fore-and-aft rig was best understood inAmerica, where it had really been brought to perfection. The English,after they had captured a vessel of the _Rattler's_ class, neversucceeded in getting the same sailing qualities out of her, and theupshot of it was that they generally changed her rigging and cut downher masts and sail plan. But no crew was ever clumsier than was theprivateer's on this occasion. They tumbled over one another, they gotthe halliards twisted, they pretended to be breaking their backs ingetting in the anchor when they were not lifting a pound, and all thetime the First Mate was running hither and thither like the busy man atthe circus, chattering a jargon made up of scraps of Portuguese, Dutch,and Spanish, while above all the confusion, Captain Symington'sexplosive French adjectives rang out like snaps of a whip.
There had not been the least doubt in the English officers' minds amoment since that the little vessel they were looking down upon was anAmerican; but now they were somewhat puzzled, and the whole scene wasso laughable that very soon the taffrail was lined again with atittering crowd, who discussed, in very audible tones, their varyingopinions.
But lazily the great ship was swinging about with a great creaking ofyards and flapping of sails. Soon she was moving through the water. Afew minutes later and the _Rattler_ was in her wake, and CaptainSymington, who certainly did not look French, despite his wonderfulvocabulary, made a proud and elaborate bow, and lifted his great beaverhat to the ladies who were now on the quarter-deck enjoying the sight.
But if the English officers had been puzzled at first and amusedafterwards, there was one person on board H.M.S. _Ajax_ who had enjoyedthe same sensations in a more intensified fashion. He was looking outof one of the stern ports on the lower gun-deck. A short, thickset man,who did not belong to the battle-ship's company, for he was a prisoner.It was Captain Edgar, and it was the _Ajax_ that had picked up the_Siren_ in a sinking condition after she had sustained the fusillade oftwo nights previously. But every foot the _Rattler_ sailed brought herfurther into the harbor and lessened the ultimate chances for escape.But that there was a plan in Captain Symington's mind, Edgar did notdoubt. He knew that the _Rattler_ was as handy as a whip, and he kepthis eyes open for any sudden development. He did not have to wait long;there came an unexpected shift of the wind more to the southward justas the _Ajax_ was slowly heaving about to go off on the other tack. Itcaught her all aback; the great sails clattered, and her headwaystopped. She had missed stays.
It is no laughing matter for a big ship to have this happen to her whenapproaching a harbor or nearing shallow water. At once the boatswain'swhistle began piping away; orders were shouted, and there was troublebelow and aloft.
"She came about like a peg-top."]
But what happened to the clumsily handled craft astern? She wasimmediately under the port galleries, within half a cable's length,doddering along under foresail and mainsail. At the first sign of whathad occurred to the battle-ship there ensued a transformation scene.
Have you ever seen an unwilling dog accompanying its master on a walk?how he sneaks close at the heels, watching his chance when theattention is not directed to him? How suddenly he turns tail, and aftera few cautious movements that bring him beyond the reach of stick orarm, he breaks into a run at full speed, disdaining call or whistle,and puts back for home? That is exactly what the _Rattler_ did.Scarcely had the canvas of the _Ajax_ begun the ominous flutteringthat showed the change of the wind's direction, than the privateerswung off to meet it.
Slowly at first and then with a rush she came about like a peg top.Without an order being given, out broke the great foresail, thetopsails dropped from the gaskets and were sheeted home, and with alurch to leeward the _Rattler_ stretched out back over her coursefor the harbor entrance, setting her flying kites as she bowled along!
So busy was everybody on board the three-decker, who had troubles ofher own to look after, that no one noticed the sudden manoeuvre of theprivateer; no one except one of the ladies who happened to be the wifeof the Admiral, for the _Ajax_ was a flagship. She, after a minute,succeeded in attracting the attention of one of the lieutenants, whowith the rest had gone forward to the break of the poop and waswatching what was going on below and above him.
"The little ship," she inquired innocently, "where is she going?"
The officer turned and immediately had to beg the lady's pardon mostabjectly, for he broke forth into an oath.
"Tricked, after all!" he exclaimed, grasping one of his companions bythe arm and pointing.
But there was one other person who had noticed all these goings on. Itwas the prisoner on the lower spar-deck.
"You can soak me for a squilgee if that weren't neat," he chuckled, andthen lifting his hands to his cheeks, he roared out something throughthe port.
The _Rattler's_ Captain, who was at the wheel, had jumped as if the_Ajax_ had suddenly whirled about and let fly a broadside at him, forhe heard the words as plain as could be.
"Good-by, Captain Symington! Give my regards to all at home!"
He recognized his old friend Edgar's voice, and it gave him a thrill ofpleasure to know that he was alive even if he was a prisoner.
The _Ajax_ was still in stay
s; but her commander found time to fire hisbattery of stern-chasers, the balls whistling harmlessly past the_Rattler's_ stern, missing her widely. In reply to this CaptainSymington again lifted his old beaver hat.
Far away to the leeward were the sails of the blockading squadron.Attracted by the firing of the _Ajax_, they flew their little flags andcrowded on their canvas. But by this time the _Rattler_ had doubled thepoint and was making out into the dancing waters of the Channel. Andwho was going to touch her where she had sea-room? As if anxious tohave everything understood, Symington raised his ensign. The Englishcaptain, who had been forced to boxhaul his great vessel in order toavoid running on the shoals, cursed beneath his breath. One of theladies turned to the Admiral's wife.
"I wonder why we did not start after her, Madame?" she asked.
"Oh, because we couldn't turn round quick enough, I suppose," sherejoined. Then turning to her spouse she asked:--
"Was not that it, Sir John?"
"Yes, my dear," responded the Admiral, grimly; "that was just it."
Down below, Captain Edgar had not yet recovered from his laughing fit;and when he and Captain Myron Symington met again, as they did manytimes afterwards, they used to laugh over it together.