With The Flag In The Channel

CHAPTER III

BOARDED

By the time that Captain Conyngham reached the deck the outlines of the stranger could be seen. She towered huge and indistinct in the white gloom high above the little Peggy, almost threatening to roll her down as she swept broadside on.

“A frigate!” muttered Conyngham below his breath to Mr. Jarvis, as he noticed the double line of ports out of which the black muzzles of the guns stretched menacingly. Just as he spoke the Charming Peggy’s bowsprit struck gently in the foreshrouds of the big one, and with hardly a jar they came together. Strange to say there had been no warning shout from either side. But that the larger vessel had perceived the Peggy first was evident, for instantly half a score of men, a few armed with cutlasses, swarmed down the frigate’s side and jumped on deck. They were headed by a young officer, who walked quickly aft.

“What vessel is this?” he asked.

There was no use in dissembling then. Plainly the jig was up with a vengeance.

Quietly, with his arms folded, Captain Conyngham gave the name of the Charming Peggy, but added that she was merely a merchant vessel from Philadelphia in ballast proceeding to Holland to be sold.

At this moment a voice from the frigate hailed the deck, and, calling the young officer by name, asked him the name of the clumsy craft that had dared to run afoul so deliberately of one of his Majesty’s ships of war.

“A Yankee rebel brig,” returned the young officer. “I think we’ve made a prize, sir; and she’s armed, too,” he added, noticing for the first time the six-pounder amidships.

The unseen owner of the voice from the frigate’s quarter-deck replied again.

“Examine into her papers and if she’s all right let her proceed. If not, we’ll put a prize crew on her and send her into Portsmouth.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” was the lieutenant’s answer, and then he turned and requested that Captain Conyngham would produce his papers and muster his crew in the waist.

Conyngham politely asked the young officer to follow him down to the cabin. As he opened the chest that contained the charts and papers his mind was working quickly. He knew that it might be easy to claim that the Charming Peggy was the property of loyal British subjects, for there was nothing to prove otherwise. No one but himself and Mr. Jarvis knew what her mission was, and he did not doubt that he could pull the wool over the young officer’s eyes, if it were not for the presence of the two plotters now confined in the forward hold. If their presence should be discovered and their story listened to, he doubted if anything he might say could save him from being taken into a British port; and the prospect before him was exceedingly unpleasant, in view of the fact that in his mind a long war was about to begin. Still, he hoped that the officer’s search would not prove a diligent one, and that the presence of Higgins and McCarthy would not be discovered. The officer looked at the papers carefully, and his words after glancing at them cast a gloom upon Captain Conyngham’s hopes.

“I shall have to take a look into your hold,” he said peremptorily, “and ask a few questions of the crew.”

Conyngham smiled.

“You will find something there in the hold about which I intend to tell you,” he said, “and we can both be gainers, I am sure, by the fact. I have with me two troublesome rapscallions, who, I think, owe a term of service to his Majesty. Two deserters, I am sure, that I shall be glad to turn over to you, and I can say good riddance to them with pleasure.”

It was a bold step he was taking and he knew it, but it was the only way he could forestall any story that the plotters might tell, and there was the one hope that, being acknowledged deserters, the men might be hastened on board the frigate and their yarn disbelieved. He called up through the transom over his head to Mr. Jarvis, and the latter answered him at once.

“Bring the prisoners out of the hold,” he said, “and get their belongings together to hand them over,” he ordered.

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Mr. Jarvis, catching the drift of the captain’s orders. “We’ll be glad to get them out of the ship, sir.”

Just then the Charming Peggy gave a slight lurch and heeled over to port. The lieutenant started as if to make for the companion-ladder. Conyngham’s heart gave a bound. He knew at once what it meant; that a breeze had sprung up and that the two vessels had broken apart. He could hear the tramping of feet on the deck above, and then a sudden crash.

Looking out of the little cabin windows he just caught a glimpse of the bow of the frigate shooting astern, for having the larger spread of canvas set, she had first caught the pressure of the wind. Her large jib-boom coming in contact with the Peggy’s mizzenmast had been carried away, and there was a great row and cursing going on in her forecastle.

At this moment Captain Conyngham wished he had said nothing of the prisoners, but it was too late. Both he and the English lieutenant hastened on deck.

Although the wind was blowing very fresh the fog and mist were as thick as ever, and the frigate had disappeared. But from astern a voice shouted through a trumpet:

“Aboard the brig. Mr. Holden there!”

The young officer replied to the hail and the voice went on. “You will stand by, and if necessary we’ll send a boat on board of you.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the lieutenant.

Then he turned and looked at the crew, who were standing together in the port gangway.

Captain Conyngham was about to speak to him when a man stepped forward. He wore irons on his wrists, and yet attempted to make an awkward salute.

“A word, sir,” he said. “This is a Yankee privateersman, belonging to Yankee traitors and bound to Holland to carry back powder and supplies. Me and me mate here were put on board of her with orders to inform on her to the first British officer who should come on board of us.”

The young lieutenant looked perplexed. Captain Conyngham still smiled.

“A good yarn, Higgins. Sure, you’ve got the imagination of a ballad-monger, but it won’t do, my lad. There’s a good rope’s-end and worse perhaps waiting for you and your mate, and you may make the best of it.”

The English lieutenant, still mystified, looked from the seaman to the captain, and just then McCarthy, who was manacled also, stepped out.

“It’s the truth, sir, you’ve been told,” he said. “I come from the Leonidas. Captain Chisholm put twenty of us ashore in New York under orders to work our way into American vessels. He has the list, sir. We were to get forty pounds apiece, and our discharges.”

“By the powers, that story will stand proving, my lad,” rejoined Captain Conyngham quietly. “And now, Mr. Holden – if I understand that to be your name, sir,” he added politely – “we’ll start for Portsmouth. The course should be, unless I miss my reckoning, south by west half west.”

Before the still mystified lieutenant could say a word, Conyngham began to give hurried orders, and the crew of Americans and Englishmen jumped to obey them.

The two prisoners, protesting loudly and mocked at by their companions, were again sent below, their irons still on their wrists.

Conyngham and the lieutenant stood side by side on the quarter-deck. The Britisher was a very young man, and perhaps inexperienced. At all events, he seemed uncertain now what course of action to take. Conyngham’s next words, however, seemed to reassure him, for they evidently spoke his wishes.

“We’ll run close to the frigate, Mr. Holden, and you can tell your captain what you’ve done,” said Conyngham quietly. “I’ll be glad to look into Portsmouth myself, for I have some friends there, and a cargo of sand won’t spoil for a few days’ longer voyage.”

In a few minutes the fog-blurred form of the frigate could be made out now on the port hand. She was hove to, her foresail rippling and fluttering in the freshening breeze, her mainsail against the mast, and her crew standing by the tacks and sheets.

“Pray the Lord that the fog holds four hours longer,” muttered Captain Conyngham to himself.

Mr. Holden hailed the frigate through the trumpet.

“On board the Minerva,” he shouted. “We’re going into Portsmouth, sir.”

“Very good,” was the reply, “wait there for us.”

“And now, Mr. Holden,” spoke Conyngham quietly, “will you take command of the brig, or shall I continue?”

The lieutenant hesitated. Before he could answer Captain Conyngham continued:

“It’s a straight run, sir, and with this wind she’d make it with her helm lashed; and now if you’ll allow me, I should propose that we’d go below and have some breakfast. There’s one thing this little craft can boast, and that’s a famous Virginia cook. Mr. Jarvis,” he added, “see that the men are fed and send Socrates to me in a few minutes. You’ll hold the same course, sir, until we return on deck.”

The mate saluted, and Captain Conyngham and his guest went down to the cabin.

Five minutes later the negro cook knocked at the cabin door and was bidden to enter. There at the table sat Captain Conyngham, and in the big chair beside him sat the lieutenant.

The negro’s eyes opened in astonishment, for the Englishman was tied fast to the seat, and a gag made of the captain’s handkerchief was strapped across his mouth!

Captain Conyngham was breathing as if from some hard exertion. The lieutenant’s face and eyes were suffused with angry red.

“Now, Socrates,” said Conyngham slowly, “you will cook us the very best breakfast that you can, and serve it here in the cabin in half an hour. But, in the meantime, take a message to Mr. Jarvis on deck, and hand him this quietly. There are ten Britishers with us and we still number thirteen. Tell the boatswain, without any one seeing you, what you have seen here in the cabin. Attract no suspicion, and try whether you can live up to your name. Now go forward quietly.”

He handed a pistol to the negro, who slipped it under his apron and went up on deck.

The English sailors did not seem to be in the least suspicious, and the Americans fell in readily with the apparent position of affairs. But as one after another was called to the galley on some pretext, they soon were cognizant of the captain’s plot.

The English sailors had discarded their cutlasses, and were grouped with the others about the mess-kits that had been brought up on deck, when suddenly the captain appeared alone from the cabin. Mr. Jarvis joined him, and both stepped quickly forward toward the forecastle. The men, seeing the two officers approach, arose to their feet. The English sailors glanced suspiciously about them, and a glance was enough to convince them that they were trapped. At the elbow of each man stood one of their whilom hosts. A few of the Americans were armed with pistols, and the negro cook with a big carving-knife stood over the pile of cutlasses that they had left on the deck by the main fife-rail.

“Now, men,” said Conyngham quietly, “we want no cutting, slashing, or shooting, and you’re our prisoners. But don’t be afraid,” he added, as he saw a look of fear come into the Englishmen’s eyes. “We are no pirates. You’ll get to Portsmouth all right, where you can join your ship. You’ll have a good joke to tell them of the Yankee-Irish trick that was played on you. Take the prisoners below, Mr. Corkin,” he continued, addressing the boatswain. “Put them in the hold and mount a guard over them. – And now, Socrates,” he added, turning to the grinning cook, “we’ll have our breakfast in the cabin.”

The English lieutenant, released from his bonds, sat at first in sulky silence and would not even touch a bit of the savory rasher that Socrates placed before him. When he went on deck later at Captain Conyngham’s invitation he looked off to the eastward. The Minerva, almost hull down, was holding a course toward the French coast. At the masthead of the Charming Peggy fluttered the English flag, and in the distance to the westward, plain above the horizon, rose the English shores.

“We’ll go in a little closer, Mr. Holden,” said Captain Conyngham, “and then we’ll part company, sir.”

He turned to the first mate.

“Mr. Jarvis,” he went on, “prepare to lower the cutter; put in a breaker of water, two bags of biscuit, and a bottle of port.”

After half an hour’s more sailing the brig was hove to and the crew, with Higgins and McCarthy now freed from their irons, pushed out from the brig’s side. In the stern sheets sat the lieutenant disconsolately.

He turned to watch the brig as she came about and headed off shore. At that moment down came the English flag and the Spanish took its place. And it was just at this minute that Captain Conyngham, looking aloft, spoke to his first mate.

“We’ll have a flag of our own soon,” he said, “and avast with this masquerading, say I.”

The crew, as if they had heard his words, suddenly burst into a spontaneous cheer. Their voices, carried by the wind, reached the Englishmen slowly pulling in for the distant headlands.

CHAPTER IV

IN HOLLAND AND FRANCE

For two months now Captain Conyngham and Jonathan Nesbit, a nephew of Mr. James Nesbit, of Philadelphia, had been in Holland purchasing supplies and outfitting the Peggy, after her safe arrival, for her return voyage to America. They found, however, that the difficulties were greater than they had imagined. Although the cargo had been placed on board, at least the greater part of it, so closely were the Dutch ports watched, and those of France also, that it was almost impossible for any American vessel to set sail for home without word being sent to the English cruisers hovering on the coast of the time for sailing, and many prizes had they taken within a few miles of the harbor mouth. The towns and seaports were full of spies. Both France and Holland were then at peace with England, and English vessels were leaving and entering almost every day, so the naval authorities were well informed of doings elsewhere. Another difficulty also had presented itself in that the stores which had been placed on board the Charming Peggy were evidently munitions of war, and the Dutch Government had been complained to by the English consul, and therefore the little brig was under a strict surveillance. If she had been a faster sailer Captain Conyngham would have taken advantage, on two or three occasions, of the thick and stormy weather that had prevailed. Once he had slipped his cable, but an English armed sloop near him had done the same and had followed him almost to the open water, where, seeing it was impossible to escape, Conyngham had turned and gone back to his anchorage.

So strong now were the remonstrances of the English representative, that the Dutch custom officials confiscated the Peggy, and she was brought into court. To save themselves a total loss, her cargo was resold at a great discount by Nesbit and Conyngham, and the Peggy herself was disposed of to a Dutch shipping house.

And now Captain Conyngham found himself stranded, like many another American shipmaster, on the shores of a foreign country. His active spirit chafed at the enforced idleness, but week after week passed, and he saw no chance of getting away. But great things had happened in America since his departure, and great things were soon to happen in Europe.

The Declaration of Independence had been signed and heralded to the world. A small fleet had been organized, and it was rumored that vessels of war were building in the home ports to go out and fight the English on the high seas. Stronger and stronger grew the ambition in Conyngham’s heart to get into active service. He grew almost despondent, however, as the time dragged on.

It was difficult even to obtain news, and the uncertainty of what was happening at home made his position more galling. At last one day the information was brought by post from Paris to The Hague that two American vessels of war – the Reprisal, commanded by a Captain Wickes, and a smaller vessel, the Lexington – had arrived in France; but, better news than all that, Dr. Benjamin Franklin had reached the capital itself armed with credentials from the American Congress to act as Minister Plenipotentiary and Extraordinary to the French court.

For a long time a plan had been in Captain Conyngham’s mind, the feasibility of which, granting that certain obstacles were removed, tempted him strongly. There were enough American sailormen, of good fighting stock, hanging idly about French and Dutch ports of entry, to man a small squadron. Why was it not possible to fit out one vessel at least and sail into the highway of British commerce? The risk would be great, the rewards would be tremendous, and the advantages to the American cause, if the project was successful, past reckoning. All it required was money and a starting place. It would be necessary, no doubt, from the very first to arrange matters with the immediate authorities in order to have them wink at the proceeding, and to do this, back of the whole idea, there must lurk that important word, authority.

Any ship’s captain who sailed on his own account and made prizes in the English Channel, would get no mercy if he once fell into the hands of the enemy. But even without the authority Captain Conyngham was eager to take the risk, if a vessel could be procured and he could find others to join him.

Shortly after the news reached him at The Hague of Franklin’s arrival, he left Holland and sailed as passenger in a Dutch coaster to Dunkirk, and there, the very night of his arrival, he met with a man who was to have a great influence in his further doings.

Messrs. Hodge, Allan, and Ross were three Americans, part factors, part merchants, who were in France at the time of the breaking out of war between America and the mother country.

In the earlier months before the English had begun their very strict watching of the foreign ports, they had managed to send out some small and miscellaneous cargoes of supplies. Latterly, however, they had been unsuccessful, but with the arrival of Franklin and the appointment as commissioners of Mr. Arthur Lee and Mr. Silas Deane, the latter a New England merchant well known to them, a better prospect seemed to dawn.

The Reprisal had brought in with her three English vessels, all merchantmen, the first prizes to be brought into the ports of a foreign country. The English ambassador, Lord Stormont, had raised a dreadful row at the French court over this proceeding, and it was rumored that the American vessels and their prizes would be forced to quit the French harbors.

It was just at this time that Conyngham landed at Dunkirk, having come down by sea from Holland in a Dutch packet. He had hardly set foot on French shore when he met a Mr. Thomas Ross, whom he had known as a supercargo on one of his earlier voyages into the Mediterranean. It was years since they had seen one another, but Mr. Ross remembered him at once.

“Well, indeed, Conyngham, this is a surprise!” he cried, shaking hands, after the young captain had accosted him. “And what are you doing here?”

“Fretting my head off,” was the reply. “Sure, it is a piece of ill fortune for a man like myself to be idle when there is so much that he would like to do. But before we talk of our own private grievances or affairs, tell me of the news. What has Dr. Franklin accomplished, and what prospects are there that France will do anything for us?”

“We’re all in the fog, as you sailors would say,” returned Mr. Ross. “But there are some prospects. The army at home has done as well as can be expected, although the British have possession yet of many places, including New York. But come,” he added, “you must join me to-night at supper. We’re expecting our friend Hodge down from Paris, and my brother and Mr. Allan. They can tell you much of importance. Mr. Hodge was to see Dr. Franklin, and Mr. Deane was to speak for all of us. There will be work here and plenty for good men, if I’m not out in my reckoning. The French as a nation have no love for England, nor has the king, if rumor speaks rightly, and a few big successes on our part may sway the ministry into action, for mark me, my friend, the common people are seldom wrong, and their voice is the heart-beat of the nation.”

“By the Powers,” rejoined Conyngham, “but you talk like a book. Is it a speech you have been preparing to convince the king?”

Ross laughed.

“I know of one king that was never convinced by speeches,” he returned, “and that’s the one who sits there across the water.”

“Ah, there’s one thing that will convince him,” returned Conyngham softly and dropping, as he often did, into the very richest of brogues. “Whisht, my lad, and that’s cannon-balls and straight shooting.”

“You’re right, Friend Conyngham,” answered Ross. “But there is one thing more that is necessary – supplies and ships – and a truth must be acknowledged: Europe must recognize us as a nation. Three or four big victories on our part would turn the scale. But more of this to-night when we meet. You will find me at my lodgings, there in that little gray house on the corner, the one with the sloping roof, at five o’clock, and we will go to a little tavern that I know of that is kept by a Frenchman we can trust. Don’t fail me.”