CHAPTER XIV
I REJOIN THE BOSTON
I glanced at my comrades and the expression on their faces showed that they had recognized the significance of my exclamation, and like myself had surmised the fate in store for us. But there was no time for us to speak to each other or to protest with our captor for the next moment we touched the side of the vessel, and received the per-emptory order to mount to her deck.
I do not know what the thoughts of my companions were, but as for myself I was wondering if there would be any of the old officers or men on the frigate. If so, would they know me? And if I were recognized what would be the outcome? Would I be regarded as a deserter, and receive a deserter’s punishment? The thought was not a pleasant one, and I confess that as I stepped over the railing of the craft I glanced apprehensively about me.
The first man my eye fell upon was the officer of the deck, and who should he be but my old acquaintance Midshipman Seymour, though he now held the rank of a lieutenant. But if he recognized me he gave no sign of it. Walking over to us as though he expected and had prepared for our coming, he took a notebook from his pocket, and, referring to it, called out:
“William Goss!”
“Here, sir,” the sailor answered, though with evident reluctance.
“You are assigned to the mizzen-top-mast crew, to the starboard gun, number four, and are in Lieutenant Grant’s watch,” he announced, referring again to his book. “You may go forward and report to the officer there. He will see that you have your equipment, and are shown your station.” Then he glanced at his notes again.
“Richard Webber!” he now called.
“Here, sir,” the owner of the name responded, because there was nothing else to do.
“You are assigned to the fore-topmast crew, to the larboard gun, number ten, and are in my watch. Go forward and report to the officer there.”
Before he called my name he stared hard at me, but I met his gaze without flinching. Then he read:
“Arthur Dunn!”
“Here, sir,” I replied promptly.
“This is singular,” he remarked, and eying me again. “I never expected to see you again on this ship, but the fates have ordered otherwise. Your case is so remarkable, sir, I must take you to the captain,” and he led me down to the cabin.
As I went I remember wishing that the commanding officer might not be Captain Rawlins. He had been so kind to me when I first boarded the frigate, and in fact during all the time I was upon her, I did not care to receive my sentence from his lips. I preferred to have an entire stranger pass judgment upon me.
My desire was gratified. A man I had never seen before sat at the table, but as he turned his face towards me I knew I could expect no mercy from his hands. Cold, stern, relentless, cruel—those were the characteristics I read there, and with the feeling that I had again fallen into a hard place, I paused before him.
“This is the young man I was to bring down to you when he arrived, sir,” Lieutenant Seymour said.
The officer turned and stared at me.
“Your name?” he then demanded brusquely, and I knew that it was only a matter of form.
“Arthur Dunn,” I confessed.
“You were once a midshipman on this frigate?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And ran away to join the enemy?”
“I hardly think that is a fair way to put it,” I began, when he interrupted me.
“Of course you don’t. No deserter ever did think his case was put fairly,” he exclaimed with a sneer. “To my mind there is but one thing to do with men of your stamp—it is to hang them to the nearest yard-arm. And I would do it, were there not a special order out from the Naval Board for you to be sent back to England if apprehended, where you are to be made an example. So you are safe, so far as your life is concerned, until you get there. But we’ll manage to make that life as miserable for you as it well can be,” and he grinned as though the thought was pleasing to him.
Then to the waiting lieutenant he said:
“Take him forward, sir, and see that he has half rations, double work, and double watches. If he rebels, give him twenty blows with the cat; and if that doesn’t tame him, give him forty,” and again he gave that satanic grin. Master Seymour also laughed, and I knew he had received an order he would delight to carry out to the letter.
In the forecastle I found quite a number of men I knew, but with the exception of old Pete Berry they greeted me with jeers. It was clear that they had no love for one whom they regarded as a deserter, and I was confident that in them the captain would find the tools he desired to make my stay on shipboard anything but agreeable.
I shall not weary the reader by relating here the many and repeated insults I received, by telling the hard and disagreeable tasks to which I was assigned, by recounting the lashes which without any provocation on my part were put upon my back. I had not been on board the ship a week before I knew my only hope was to escape from the clutches of my tormentors. I simply abided my opportunity.
The following week an incident happened which at the time seemed to me to close every opportunity I might have had to escape, but which really proved to be the link in the chain which was to give me my freedom.
The frigate had sighted and chased an American privateer. She was apparently nearly overhauled, and our bow gun was ready for the firing. Then I was brought forward, and the command was given me to aim, and touch off the cannon.
“And mark you,” Lieutenant Seymour, who gave the order, continued, “if you miss the craft, you shall receive forty blows from the cat.”
“Then you’d better give me the blows now,” I replied resolutely, “for I will not aim or fire a gun at my countrymen, not if I die for it.”
There was no time just then to use the lash, so I was hurried off to the brig, and confined there until the battle with the sloop-of-war was over. They did not forget me, however, and possibly the escape of the Continental vessel after a slight brush with them added to the spite which was put into the blows I received. With back lacerated and bleeding, and every part of my body quivering and aching in sympathy, I was thrown back into the brig with the assurance that I should lie there until the ship was in port.
The next morning I was delirious with the fever from my sores, and, perhaps fearing I might not be in a condition to turn over to the home officials when we arrived in London, the ship’s doctor was sent to me. He took me in hand to such a good purpose that in a few days I was myself again, save the scars on my back. But they still thought the brig the best place for me, and left me confined there. It was then I gave up all hope of effecting my escape, and began to speculate on what would happen when I was handed over to the Naval Board.
Another week passed, and one night my guard was a marine named Blinn, with whom I had scarcely spoken. I was surprised therefore when he unlocked the door of the brig, and stepping quickly in closed it behind him. His first words surprised me even more. He said in a low whisper:
“You know my brother, Thomas Blinn?”
“I rather think I do,” I answered. “He is one of my best friends—we were midshipmen together on two vessels, the Franklin and the Boston. He is on the latter now, over in France, I presume.”
“Across in France, you mean,” he corrected, “as we are now in the English Channel.”
“Well, across in France, if you prefer; it makes little difference,” I replied.
“It makes lots of difference, if you wish to escape,” he went on eagerly. “We are becalmed, in a thick fog, and there is a boat out. It was put out this afternoon to fix something that was wrong in the anchor chains. The men didn’t finish their job, and so the yawl was left there, side of the vessel until morning. Pete Berry told me about it, and he says you and I can slip into her, cut her loose, and cross over to the French shore.”
Then, that I might understand better his reason for leaving the ship, he added: “Like my brother, my sympathies are with the colonies, and I have been trying for nearly two years to get away from the vessels I have been on, but the opportunity has never come until now. Listen while I tell you what you are to do.
“Go down this passageway to the farther end, where you will find a door opening into the forecastle. You are to slip in there, and stay until the watch changes. When the new watch goes on deck you are to go up with them, and conceal yourself under the truck of the bow gun. Remain there until Pete comes to you. He will tell you what to do next.”
“And where shall I find you?” I queried.
“I shall be in the boat before you are,” he answered confidently. “The new guard will be here in a few minutes, and when I have placed my musket in the rack, I shall go forward for a little turn in the fresh air before I seek my hammock. Once on the bow I shall find a way to get into the boat. Don’t worry about me, but do just as I have told you, and in an hour we shall be free.”
Reasoning that I could be no worse off if I failed in the attempt, I followed him out into the passage, and then crept softly down it. Reaching the door, I opened it and entered the forecastle. Some of the men were awake, but they took no notice of me in the semi-darkness, and, throwing myself into an empty hammock, I waited for the next watch to be called to the deck.
The summons came almost immediately, and unnoticed I clambered up to the deck with the other sailors. It was so dark I could not see two feet away, and thus favored I made my way forward to the bow-chaser under which I quickly concealed myself.
The time I lay there seemed very long; in reality it was but a few minutes. Then someone touched my arm, and I hastily arose to find Pete Berry beside me.
“Come,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
Silently I followed him, and he led me over to the starboard side of the craft and put my hand on the rope which led down to the yawl.
“Go down,” he said again in the same low tone, “but wait two minutes till I jine ye.”
It was the first intimation I had that the old sailor was going along too; but I had a greater surprise when my feet touched the boat, for I found there three men instead of one. The additional ones were my comrades, Goss and Webber.
I could have hugged them in the ecstasy of my joy at this discovery, for the one misgiving I had in the whole plan was whether it would be right for me to run away and leave them behind. Putting off, however, that joyous expression for a safer moment, I waited impatiently for Pete to join us. He came in the specified time, bringing quite a large package with him.
“It’s our rations,” he explained as he drew his knife and cut us adrift.
Rapidly the boat fell away from the frigate, and she was soon lost in the fog. In a half-hour we deemed it safe to put out our oars. All night long, by turns, we pulled away, and when morning dawned we estimated that we had made at least ten miles.
As the sun came up the mist lifted enough for us to make out a brig coming directly towards us, and at her masthead were the stars and stripes. The moment I caught sight of that flag, I leaped to my feet, waved my hands, and shouted at the top of my voice. My comrades followed my example, and in a few minutes we had the satisfaction of seeing that we had attracted the vessel’s attention.
Down she came and rounded to us. The next moment we were on her deck to find she was the Britannica, a prize of the Boston, in command of Midshipman Thomas Blinn, and bound for L’Orient, where she was to await the coming of the frigate.
Our story, long as it was, was soon told, and then Master Blinn related the history of the Boston since I had left her. Her passage across the ocean had been made without mishap, and on March thirty-first she entered the river of Bordeaux. April first she weighed anchor and ascended as far as the town Lavmoon, which she saluted with thirteen guns, and where she lay until the next morning. She continued up the river to within three miles of Bordeaux, where she landed Master Adams. There the vessels had been thoroughly overhauled, and left for a cruise across to the banks of Newfoundland, looking for prizes. A number had been captured on the westward voyage and sent into Boston. Returning, the Britannica, bound from Newfoundland to Oporto, and loaded with seventeen hundred quintals of fish, had been taken. Midshipman Blinn with a crew of six had been put on board, with orders to precede the frigate to L’Orient.
We arrived at that port July third, and two days later the Boston came in. I went on board at once, and made my report to Captain Tucker. He was kind enough to say:
“I do not see how you are at all to blame, Master Dunn, for the loss of the ship you commanded. An older and more experienced officer would hardly have done differently under the circumstances. As for the experiences which came later, they were beyond your control, and you are in no way responsible for them—unless,” he added with a smile, “we except your second runaway from the Saint George, and for that you will doubtless have to answer to the British authorities, if they ever catch you again.”