“Quite right,” said the young officer, and taking the letter he coolly broke the seal. Both he and the sergeant were keeping half an eye on Dicky, who was perfectly quiet and composed, and gave no indications of fear.

“Do you know what is in this letter?” asked the lieutenant of Dicky after glancing at it.

“Sir!” answered Dicky, suddenly recalled from a contemplation of old Blackberry through the window.

“Do you know what is in this letter?” repeated the lieutenant sharply.

“Something about beef cattle, I believe, sir,” answered Dicky, returning to the contemplation of his steed.

It was an ordinary letter enough, but still the lieutenant did not seem able to persuade himself that it was exactly what it appeared to be. He could scarcely imagine, though, that a compromising letter would be sent by a boy, and, moreover, a boy who loitered by the road-side singing songs. It occurred to him that he could find out something of the value of the letter by the price that was paid Dicky for taking it.

“Look here, my lad,” he said suddenly; “how much are you to get if you deliver this letter and bring a reply?”

“Two shillings, sir,” promptly replied Dicky; “but if I don’t deliver it, I ain’t to get anything.”

“That settles it,” said the young officer more to himself than to Dicky. “A two-shilling messenger is not likely to be charged with serious undertakings. You may go, youngster.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And the next minute Dicky had darted out of the door and, seizing old Blackberry, was off at a smarter trot than Blackberry had known for a good many years.

Dicky arrived at Tiverton about nine o’clock and easily found the solid, substantial Barton mansion.

Mr. Barton was standing on the broad brick porch when Dicky swung himself off Blackberry and, holding his shabby cap in his hand, presented the letter.

“The seal, sir, was broken by a redcoat officer a little way out from Newport; but he didn’t understand the letter,” Dicky added significantly.

“It is easily understood,” said Mr. Barton, looking up after he got to the end.

Boylike, Dicky was charmed at being able to show the extent of his knowledge and responsibilities. Coming up close to Mr. Barton, he pointed out the third line from the bottom. Mr. Barton’s eyes followed Dicky’s finger as it traveled upward over the page, and he grasped the meaning immediately.

“Boy,” said he after a pause, “there are some things I want to ask you. Come in the house with me and do exactly what I tell you.”

Dicky followed him in a small, dark room on the first floor, fitted up as a library. Mr. Barton directed him to take a chair and then disappeared behind him for a few moments. When he came back he said:—

“Now answer freely and to the best of your ability all the questions I shall ask you, but remember not to turn your head to look on either side or behind you.”

Dicky thought this strange, but he obeyed implicitly. Mr. Barton, then taking out a quill pen and paper, began to ask him a series of questions respecting the Overing House—its distance from the shore, the lay of the land, and many other things of information. Dicky, not being one of those boys who can spend a lifetime in a place without knowing anything about it, was able to give a pretty accurate description of things in and around Newport. Especially did he know where the British ships were moored, the hours for the boats, and many other particulars about them.

While looking in front of him, as Mr. Barton carefully wrote down what he said, Dicky observed a round mirror, and what he saw in it almost made him drop off his chair in surprise. For there was a door behind him slightly ajar, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of a young man wearing a Continental uniform and listening intently to what was said.

Dicky felt an intense curiosity to know who it was, and, while describing as well as he could a tortuous path that he knew leading from the shore to a clump of woods behind the Overing House, he happened to glance up at the mirror. The soldier behind him had become so interested that he had poked his head completely outside the door.

One glance in the mirror showed Dicky that the young man was the son of Mr. Barton, and he surmised shrewdly that it was the young Captain Barton of the Continental Army who was his unseen listener. He was plainly in hiding, and Dicky understood very well why the elder Barton imposed cautions upon him.

Mr. Barton was very well pleased with Dicky’s sensible and well-considered answers, and when he had got through he folded up the memorandum he had made, wrote a few lines to Squire Stavers about the beeves, and then handed Dicky two new shillings.

“Money is a scarce commodity about here,” he said, smiling, “but I think you have earned this.”

Mr. Barton then asked him to stay until dinner was ready, but this Dicky declined to do. He was very proud of the success of his errand so far and wanted to return promptly, so that in a little while he was on his way back to Newport.

Squire Stavers was not without his doubts concerning the time Dicky would return. A boy trusted with a horse is extremely liable to overstay his time; but before twelve o’clock Dicky turned up. The Squire looked sharply at Blackberry, but, although the old horse had had a pretty good morning’s work, he seemed to realize that he was bent upon a patriotic errand and was as lively as a colt.

Dicky did not fail to do ample justice to his own coolness and composure when nabbed by the redcoats, and his prompt surrendering of the letter. The Squire chuckled when Dicky described how the young lieutenant puzzled over it and handed Dicky out two shillings with great readiness, saying,—

“And as you are such a good hand in the transaction of business, I will employ you again.”

Dicky ran home as fast as his legs could carry him with his four shillings clutched in his hands, and, throwing three of them in his mother’s lap, held up the fourth, bawling,—

“I’m going to give Mr. Bell and me a treat with this, mammy, because I’m a very bright boy, I am,—the Squire said so,—and a reliable one, too. There’s a show in town of dancing bears and monkeys, and Mr. Bell and me are going sure.”

When Jack came in that night Dicky recounted all of his adventures, even to the seeing the officer behind him in the glass, which he had not mentioned to Squire Stavers. The widow was immensely proud of Dicky’s shrewdness and courage, and Jack Bell was perfectly delighted, especially that Dicky had proved a match for old Blackberry.

“You’re doin’ a sight better sarvice for your country than if you was a powder boy ’board ship,” he remarked; “and it’s a deal more riskier to handle a horse than it is to handle gunpowder, and I’m a-thinkin’ sumpin’ will happen soon;” with which sententious remark Bell retired to the loft to sleep, while Dicky tumbled into his flock bed—a very tired but a very happy boy—and dreamed all night about dancing bears.

CHAPTER VI.
JACK BELL’S SECRET.

Three more trips did Dicky make to Tiverton, and each time, under the cover of a transaction in beef cattle, carried important news. He was rather puzzled, though, to know what the news was, as Squire Stavers did not tell him the contents of any letters but the first. Neither the Squire nor Mr. Barton ever mentioned General Prescott’s name before him. Dicky rashly concluded that the scheme to capture the British general had been abandoned.

He had never seen General Prescott to know him in his life. There were crowds of British officers dashing about the town with orderlies trotting after them; but which was the general he did not know. In fact, after a while Dicky begun to suspect that his trips were for the sole purpose of conveying news about the cattle after all, and felt a distinct decrease in his own importance.

Jack Bell, too, seeing that everything appeared quiet and that the British had lately had successes, especially in having captured Major-General Henry Lee,—“Light Horse Harry,”—began to be very much depressed. He and Dicky discussed affairs very often, and both of them came to the melancholy conclusion that Newport would remain in the hands of the British until the end of the war and that nothing would be attempted in the way of a capture.

The Americans were anxious to make an exchange for General Lee, but had no officer of rank high enough to offer for him. This was a mortifying fact, and Jack Bell, commenting on it, wondered why the plan to kidnap General Prescott had fallen through.

One night, though, Squire Stavers sent for him, and Jack came away from the Squire’s house wearing a look of delighted expectancy.

About a week after that, one morning as soon as he wakened—which was late, as he was out all night—he called Dicky, and the two strolled together toward a lonely point of rocks some distance from any house and where they were not likely to be disturbed by anyone.

The sun shone brightly, while a sharp wind ruffled the waters of Narragansett Bay and gave a kick to the sterns of several vessels that were rounding Point Judith.

It fluttered the pennants of a great British fleet that lay off Block Island and dashed the steel blue water fiercely against the rocky shores upon which the town of Newport is perched. So blue was the sky and so blue was the sea that they came together invisibly on the far horizon, and a fine English frigate which was sailing in under a huge spread of canvas seemed to be suspended between the sky and the sea.

Among the fleet there was the usual activity and business of the morning. A great line-of-battle ship, with the red pennant flying at her fore, indicating that she was taking on powder, lay out in the foreground. An admiral’s barge at the gangway of a handsome black frigate showed that she had distinguished company on board, and the sound of the band playing on the quarterdeck and the noise made by the parading of the marine guard was distinctly borne ashore by the wind. On every ship something was going on in the way of the orderly bustle of a man-of-war.

On shore, too, the morning drill was taking place, and the regiments of redcoats made a brilliant splash of color in the sombre tones of the ancient town. The scene was charming in itself, but to Jack Bell and Dicky Stubbs nothing was more disheartening than the evidences of the might of England.

Presently the advancing frigate, which was trotting along briskly, came near enough for Jack Bell to recognize her.

“That’s the Diomede, sonny,” said Jack dolefully, as if the arrival of another British ship filled his cup of woe to overflowing. “That’s Cap’n Forrester on the bridge—a mighty fine man he is, if he is a Britisher.”

Dicky agreed with this as with everything else that Jack Bell advanced.

As the frigate rounded to, in her usual grand style, Jack’s eyes kindled although he sighed. “It do a sailor man’s heart good for to see a ship anchored that way. I’ve knowed the Diomede ever since she slid off the stocks, and she never was counted on bein’ no great sailer—but the sailin’ qualities of a ship depends on the cap’n—d’ ye mind that, youngster; and Cap’n Forrester, he knows how to handle a ship, d’ ye see, boy? But I’m a-wishin’ she warn’t flying that ’ere flag at her peak. If ’twas only the American flag now!”

“Yonder ’tis,” said Dicky, pointing across to Narragansett Bay, where he fancied he could see it flying in the blue air.

“Maybe you can see it,” answered Jack reflectively as he gazed over the blue water.

“How I wish I were fighting under it!” cried Dicky, whose patriotic ardor increased rather than abated by living under British rule.

“I dessay,” remarked Jack slyly, who was much given to “pulling a leg” at Dicky’s expense, “if our people over yonder knowed about you, they’d be most as distrested as they are about Gineral Lee bein’ held by the British—’twould take a major-gineral to exchange for Gineral Lee, but maybe they could git you for a major or a colonel, p’r’aps. What a pity they ain’t never heard on you!”

Dicky at this turned very red, and giving a vicious kick to a stone sent it skimming across the water.

“Anyway,” said Dicky presently in a low voice, looking around to be sure they were completely alone on the rocks, “I did the best I could. I took three letters to Tiverton and back—and I knew what they was meant for too.”

“True for you, boy,” said Jack, slapping him on the back; “and now tell me, what do you think I fetched you down on these rocks for?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, then,” said Jack very softly, “sumpin’ ’s up to-night. I’ve knowed it for more ’n a week, and I tell you because we want your valuable sarvices.” Jack could not refrain from giving Dicky this little dig. “And I’ve pledged my word, as you are a safe boy and ain’t a-goin’ to blow the gaff.”

“You’re right there, Mr. Bell,” answered Dicky proudly. “I ain’t the sort to blow the gaff.”

“Well, then, listen to me and come close, so I can speak easy. There’s a plot on hand to-night to bag Gineral Prescott. He’s a long-headed old feller, although he is mighty proud, treatin’ quarterdeck folks like they was foremast people. But he knows more ’n most of ’em what to do, so that’s w’y the patriots is hankerin’ arter him. At nine o’clock to-night a boat is goin’ to be pulled acrost the bay, and Cap’n Barton with twenty men’s goin’ to sneak up to the Overing House, where the Gin’ral is stayin’, while they’re fixin’ reg’lar headquarters for him. They’re goin’ to take the house by boardin’—I dunno what the soldiers’ word is for ketchin’ him with a rush—and they’re goin’ to put him in the boat and take him back to Providence Plantations. Now the redcoats is monstrous keerless about standin’ watch round the Overing House—they’ve got a sentry or two that marches up and down and then goes and stands in the corner o’ the house by the chimney—but Cap’n Barton wants some one to give him the word about twelve o’clock to-night when the coast is clear.”

“And I’m to give the word,” cried Dicky, jumping with delight.

“Not if you act that a-way,” answered Jack severely. “When sailor men has got work in hand they don’t go bawlin’ out and jumpin’ like a lizard over it. They says ‘Aye, Aye, sir,’ and then they goes and does it.”

Dicky, quite crestfallen, awaited Jack’s next words.

“I’d give the word myself, for I ain’t under no promise to Cap’n Forrester. He just told me the redcoats would see that I didn’t git away—and they do watch me pretty sharp—so most likely I’d be the very one they’d suspect. So I says to Squire Stavers: ‘There’s that little tow-headed Dicky Stubbs that I knows has got a head on his shoulders and a pair of eyes as is worth sumpin’—and he kin hang round the house and won’t nobody think it’s nothin’ but stayin’ out ag’in his mother’s orders’—and you’re that chap,” said Jack Bell, giving Dicky a friendly thwack that nearly sent him head foremost into the sea.

Dick’s face was a picture—it was fairly beaming with delight.

“To-night!” he whispered excitedly; “twelve o’clock; to keep a bright lookout round the Overing House!”

“Purcisely,” answered Jack Bell; “the boat will be down at the cove, and when you see a man comin’ along the ravine through the woods from the cove, with one hand raised up this way—you’ll slip up and let him know if the coast is clear; and if the gineral is in bed—as they wants him to be—you kin tell by the blowin’ out of his candle in the room in the nor’west corner where he sleeps. So now, go along with you, and don’t come a-nigh me to-day, ’cause folks might be wonderin’ what we was a-talkin’ about. And I’ll tell your mother some time to-day, as you will be out p’r’aps all night—but you won’t be doin’ any harm. And if they catch you, mind you, set up a mighty howl, like a great baby, and tell ’em you’re afraid your mother’ll give you the cat—so they’ll think you’re too young to know anythin’—and now be off with you.”

Dicky, with a beaming face, ran off. The first thing that occurred to him was: “If they do nab the British general, what a fine song it will make!” for he had by no means given up his ambition to write a song, and a rebel song at that.

CHAPTER VII.
GENERAL PRESCOTT’S CAPTURE.

Dicky sang very industriously that day, and was lucky, having nearly four shillings to take home to his mother. Jack Bell did not come to the kitchen that evening as usual, but he had been there during the day. After Dicky got his supper he lay down on the settle before the fire and said knowingly to his mother:—

“Please, ma’am, wake me up at ten o’clock.”

“I will,” said Mrs. Stubbs quietly to this uncommon request. She knew well enough what was meant.

Dicky fully intended taking merely a cat nap, but when ten o’clock came his mother had to shake him and pound him and drag him nearly all over the floor to wake him up. However, once waked up he knew in an instant what was required of him, and he put on his shabby greatcoat and hat quickly enough.

“Good night, mother,” he said. “Don’t fret about me—I’ll be home by daylight.”

“Good night, my boy,” said the Widow Stubbs in her calm way. “Be sure you act like a boy of sense.”

“I will,” answered Dicky sturdily as he made for the door.

The night was murky, and as Dick glanced out upon the dark bosom of the bay he could only tell the position of the British ships by the lights twinkling dimly at their mastheads, while the huge bulk of their black hulls made only a deeper shadow in the half-darkness. Dicky trudged along the straggling streets of the town and presently he found himself in a country lane that led toward the Overing House, a comfortable old tavern convenient to the cantonments of the troops, and where General Prescott had established himself temporarily.

The house was not fully alight, as people went to bed earlier in those days and ten o’clock was considered quite late. The kitchen where the host and his humble friends gathered was perfectly dark, but in the northwest corner of the house a light still burned. This was in General Prescott’s room.

Dicky crept close to the fence that surrounded the house. Everything was perfectly quiet—even the housedog slept peacefully on the kitchen steps. After looking about very carefully, he saw a path leading into the underbrush toward the ravine.

He slipped across the yard and into this path, and after what seemed to him a long, long wait, he saw advancing noiselessly through the gloom a man with one hand held up, as Jack Bell had described. Dicky went up and whispered:—

“Everything is quiet. The dog is asleep on the back steps, and General Prescott’s room is directly at the front door.”

In a minute more twenty men had silently appeared, as if out of the ground, and among them was a burly negro known as Sam Ink, from his jetty blackness.

They crept through the fence and noiselessly surrounded three sides of the house, the dog meanwhile sleeping peacefully, as they were careful not to go near enough to rouse him. Almost as soon as their preparations were completed the light in the northwest room was put out. Dicky wondered what means they would take to open the front door, which according to the custom of the time was no doubt barred as well as locked. He was quickly enlightened, though, for as soon as the preparations were complete Sam Ink backed off about twenty yards, and then, starting on a run, he lowered his head and made straight for the door, and the next minute the crash of splintered wood was heard and Sam’s head had gone through the panel of the door.

It was only the work of a second then to undo the lock and take down the bar, and as the sound of shuffling feet in various parts of the house was heard General Prescott himself opened the door of his room to see what was the matter. He had no time to strike a flint, but one of the Americans, who had a dark lantern, suddenly flashed it on the group and then twenty stalwart arms seized the British officer and dragged him out of the door and made a rush for the path through the woods.

Dicky had watched it all, having crept up on the porch, and seeing in the one flash of the lantern that General Prescott had on only his nightclothes, Dicky darted in the room, grabbed a pile of clothes that lay upon a chair, and flew after the party in the boat.

They had already made much headway, and as it was some minutes before the people in the house had been able to get a light from the slow process of the tinder box or raking over the kitchen fire, the Americans had a good start. They changed their direction soon after entering the ravine, and half an hour’s rapid walking, and carrying the British officer, brought them to their boats.

Dicky had expected to hear a loud protest from General Prescott, but when he had followed the party to their boats he saw the reason of the general’s silence. A long horse pistol had been held to his head every step of the way. General Prescott broke silence for the first time as he was being hustled into the boat.

“I have no breeches on,” he said.

“Here they be,” cried Dicky in an excited but subdued voice, and he threw a bundle of clothes into the boat.

Desperate as their circumstances still were, the Americans could not help laughing at this; the more so when Sam Ink, his head uninjured by being used as a battering ram, said politely:

“Lem me be your vally, suh. I’se used to bein’ great men’s vally, suh.”

“Thank you, my good man,” coolly replied General Prescott as Sam with more haste than elegance hustled the general’s clothes on.

The boats then put out for the other side of the bay, and Dick quickly turned and ran toward home. A general alarm had been given by that time, but everybody supposed that the kidnappers were somewhere in the woods near by, or possibly in some deserted quarter of the town. Soldiers were running about, the drum was beating, skyrockets had been sent up, and the alarm had been conveyed to the guardship in the harbor, which sent a boat ashore to find out the cause of the commotion.

Dicky got on all right until just as he reached his mother’s door in the narrow street where they lived, when he ran full tilt into the arms of a sergeant with a searching party. Remembering that he had to play the part of a small and frightened boy, Dicky, who was not frightened in the least, screwed his face up and broke out into a frightful howl as the sergeant caught him by the collar of his jacket.

“Oh! O-o-o-ooh!” yelled Dicky. “Let me go—let me go! Please, sir, let me go! I know my mother will give me a whipping for bein’ out so late!”

“See here,” cried the sergeant gruffly, “have you seen anything of the gang that has carried off General Prescott?”

The door opened just then and the Widow Stubbs appeared with a candle in her hand.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Oh, it’s you, Dicky. Very well, very well. A pretty time of night it is for you to be out. Just hand him over to me, sir,” said the artful Mrs. Stubbs to the sergeant, “and I’ll promise you he won’t be going around the streets at this disreputable hour of the night for a good while.”

Dicky, at this, who could hardly keep from roaring out laughing, opened his mouth and wailed louder than ever, until the sergeant nearly shook the breath out of him.

“Shut that potato trap of yours,” cried the sergeant, “and listen to me. Have you seen a gang of men carrying an officer off into the woods? for that is what has just happened.”

A bright idea struck Dicky.

“A tall, fine looking man, as I’ve seen going in and out of the Overing House?” he whimpered.

At this Mrs. Stubbs turned pale, thinking Dicky meant to turn traitor; but the sergeant answered him eagerly:—

“Yes, yes.”

“Well, sir,” said Dicky, stammering and hesitating, “I see a crowd o’ men carryin’ somebody off, and they was on horseback—gallopin’ along. The officer was tied to the saddle”—Dicky here remembered about the pistol. “They had a pistol to his head, and they took the main road through Tiverton, sir. The officer was on a white horse, sir. I seen that, though it was so dark.”

It was impossible not to believe this circumstantial account. The sergeant and his men doublequicked it back to the barracks to send mounted scouts out on the Tiverton road. And meanwhile the Americans had rowed with muffled oars across the bay and had landed their prisoner on the opposite shore.

Dicky went into the house, and his mother securely locked and barred the door and put out the light; and when safe in darkness and silence she caught Dicky in her arms and cried:—

“My brave lad! My sensible boy!”

Dicky never felt in all his life so proud and happy before. And at that moment, they heard Jack Bell, marching up and down the streets, and roaring out, at the top of his lungs,—

“Two bells, and Gineral Prescott is tooken!”

CHAPTER VIII.
DICKY’S NEW SONG.

The sensation in Newport for a day or two was tremendous. It was not lessened when a flag of truce from the American commander announced that General Prescott was in his hands, and he would be pleased to exchange the British officer upon parole for an American officer of equal rank, suggesting Major-General Henry Lee, of the Light Horse Brigade. In a short time the exchange was effected, and General Prescott returned to Newport as a paroled prisoner.

The British officers were deeply chagrined at the boldness and success of the attack. Much sympathy was felt for General Prescott. He was a brave and capable officer, although a stern martinet, and the ridiculous circumstances of the affair leaked out and were much laughed at on the sly.

No two souls were more delighted at the outcome than old Jack Bell and Dicky Stubbs. Dicky’s ambition to have a song about it did not seem likely to be gratified, so he and the old sailor conceived the daring design of composing the song themselves. This was done in the long winter evenings sitting before the kitchen fire and by the light of a single tallow dip.

Jack Bell’s accomplishments in the reading and writing line consisted of the ability to spell out the paragraphs of “The Newport News Letter” and to write with much time and trouble, in a large round hand, “Jno. Bell.” Dicky, however, was quite expert with the pen, although his poetic faculty was not nearly so well developed. After a month’s hard work, and with infinite pains and labor, the song was composed. An air was found for it, and Dicky found himself possessed of the most popular song in Newport.

He dared not sing it where there was a chance of redcoats being around, but at tavern gatherings, with the doors and windows securely fastened, “The Capture of Prescott” was sure to be called for, and when trolled forth the boy’s sweet and thrilling treble always brought down a roaring chorus of laughter and cheers and more shillings than pennies. It was not of a very high order of poetic merit. Dicky was no embryo Milton or Shakespeare, but it touched the pride of the Americans, and that was enough.

Whenever this ditty was being sung Jack Bell’s face was a study. He leaned forward in his chair, his hands on his knees, and his deep, cavernous eyes glowing with delight, and at intervals his great hobnailed boots would come down on the floor with a loud thwack of approval. Dicky, perched upon a table and swinging his legs, as he cocked his chin in the air, would trill it out with all the pleasure in his life, and was naturally enormously proud of his literary as well as his artistic success.

One night about three months after the capture and exchange, and while General Prescott was on board the Diomede frigate waiting for a fair wind to set sail for England, a farewell dinner was given on board to the officers of the army and navy then at Newport.

Now, what poor Dicky Stubbs, the widow’s son, had to do with this dinner Dicky himself would have been puzzled to tell, and he was a much astonished and slightly frightened boy when about dusk a corporal of marines knocked at his mother’s door and demanded Dicky’s presence. Jack Bell was sitting in the kitchen, as he usually was at that hour, and both he and the Widow Stubbs were certain that the authorities had heard of the boy’s rebel songs and had come to arrest him.

As for Dicky, although a very courageous boy in the main, he thought it prudent to retire under the bed in the next room. The corporal, though, having seen him rush in and disappear, all except a pair of tell-tale heels, caught him by the leg and dragged him out.

“Come out o’ here!” cried the corporal gruffly but not unkindly.

Dicky, finding himself in the hands of the enemy, recovered his self-possession and stood up quite coolly and unconcernedly.

“Are you the little feller that goes about and sings?”

“Oh, my poor boy!” cried the Widow Stubbs, for once losing her courage.

“Y-y-yes, sir, I am,” stammered Dicky, expecting the next moment to be put in double irons and carried to headquarters.

“Then,” said the corporal, “you’re to come aboard the Diomede frigate with me to sing for the officers at a big jollification they’re havin’ to-night, and you wash your face and comb your hair and put on your best jacket.”

This sounded reassuring, and Dicky proceeded to make his toilet with his mother’s help. The marine meanwhile entered into conversation with Jack Bell in the kitchen.

“Seems to me,” said the corporal, “I’ve seen you at Gibralty on the old Colossus ’long about ’70.”

“Gibralty? Gibralty?” meditatively replied Jack Bell. “Now where in the world is Gibralty?”

“Come,” said the marine, laughing, “we knows all about you—and it was a deuced lucky thing for you that you saved that officer’s life. Men has been shot for deserters afore this.”

“Now you’re jokin’!” exclaimed Jack earnestly; “you marines is allust pullin’ a leg with we poor sailor men, and we never knows when you’re jokin’ and when you ain’t. Gibralty—ain’t that somewheres nigh to the Arches of Pelago, close by Villy Franky?”

“You’ve got it uncommon mixed up, but I reckon you know more ’n you’d let on,” answered the marine, still laughing. And Dicky’s toilet being completed by that time, the marine rose to go.

“Don’t you worrit about this ’ere youngster, ma’am,” he said politely to the Widow Stubbs. “He’s just a-goin’ to sing to the officers after dinner, and I’ll fetch him home before ten o’clock.” With which the marine walked out, with Dicky trudging after him. They soon made the boat and were pulled to the Diomede.

The marine took him to the fok’sle, Dicky staring with all his might at everything he saw. In a few minutes an orderly appeared from the ward room, and Dicky followed him aft.

When they reached the cabin door and Dicky got his first peep inside, it literally took his breath away. Such lights, such gorgeous uniforms, such splendor his simple eyes had never beheld.

Around a long table glittering with glass and plate and wax candles sat thirty or forty officers all in uniform. Most of them wore the dark blue and gold of the navy, but there were many in blazing scarlet. Dicky recognized Captain Forrester, and his eyes fell upon one directly facing the door—a tall, handsome, stern-looking man of middle age, in a brilliant uniform of scarlet, a gold-hilted sword, and with his breast covered with medals. The other officers addressed him as “General.” All were in a jovial humor and a rollicking chorus was dying away as Dicky and the orderly appeared at the door.

“Oh!” cried Captain Forrester at the head of the table, “this is our sweet-throated thrush from the town of which we have heard so much. This lad, gentlemen, is said to be the very finest singer hereabouts, and we have sent for him to add to our jollity this evening.”

Dicky blushed at this compliment to his powers and shuffled from one foot to another in his embarrassment.

“Now,” continued Captain Forrester to him, “pipe up, sir; do your best, and give us a new song. Something that we have never heard before.”

Dicky reflected for a moment or two and then, coloring and stammering, said:—

“If you please, sir—if you please, the only new song I’ve got is a patriot song, what you calls a rebel song, sir—and—and”—

“Very well, very well,” cried the officers, laughing. “Give us a rebel song, then. Come, my little man, pipe up.”

Dicky still hesitated between fear and bashfulness, when the “General” in scarlet spoke up:—

“Give us that song, you young rebel, or I’ll see that you get the cat, sure!”

Thus admonished, while much merriment prevailed among the officers at the notion of the rebel song being sung, Dicky cleared his throat and in the midst of a dead silence began to sing in his clear, sweet, boyish voice:—

As soon as Dicky began the song he had noticed that it seemed to create great amusement, and many sly looks were directed toward the general. When Barton’s name was mentioned the fun became contagious, and at the last line of the second stanza it became uncontrollable. Shouts and roars of laughter resounded, in which the general joined heartily, and it was some minutes before Dicky could proceed.

All this time he looked, as he was, perfectly innocent, and could not for the life of him imagine what the laughter was about. Dicky’s seriousness seemed to increase the hilarity, which grew steadily as he kept on.

At the mention of General Prescott’s name a perfect hullabaloo of laughter, stamping, shouts, and cheers broke forth, none joining in more heartily than the general, and it suddenly dawned upon Dicky that it was General Prescott himself who was present.

At the bare idea of this the boy grew ashy pale and looked as if he would drop to the floor, but this only increased the rapture of their amusement. And in the midst of the terrific noise General Prescott’s voice was heard shouting,—

“Go on, you little rascal—tell the whole story.”

Thus admonished, Dicky managed to continue his song in a quavering voice, every moment interrupted by shrieks of laughter from his delighted audience.

Never was there such a scene witnessed on board a ship as at the conclusion of this song. So wild was the noise of the stamping on the floor and pounding on the table that the people below thought the deck would come through. Yells of laughter and enthusiastic cheering mutually tried to drown out the other. Officers threw themselves on the table, convulsed with laughter, while tears streamed down their cheeks.

Others leaned their shaking sides up against the wall and yelled with laughter. In the midst of it General Prescott, who had laughed until he was almost in hysterics, threw Dicky a bright gold guinea, crying, “There, you young dog, is a guinea for you!”

Dicky caught the guinea as it spun toward him and, pulling his forelock as he ducked his head, exclaimed: “Thanky, sir!” and then turning made a bee-line for the fok’sle.

A boat was just leaving—he scrambled into it, and in a few minutes he was trotting up the narrow street toward his home, a very happy but somewhat frightened boy. He dashed into the kitchen where the Widow Stubbs sat peacefully knitting, while Jack Bell occupied his usual seat.

“That’s for you, mammy!” shouted Dicky, throwing a gold guinea in his mother’s lap.

“Land sakes!” cried the widow, “where did you get it from?”

“From General Prescott,” answered Dicky with twinkling eyes; and then he told the story of the song. The Widow Stubbs laughed until she cried, and Jack Bell roared like a bull with merriment.

“W’y,” he chuckled, “that beats the speckled Jews!”

“It does indeed,” answered Dicky as he thrust his tongue knowingly into his cheek; “but I’ll say hooray for one British officer—hooray for General Prescott!—and I’m glad I give him his breeches!”

CHAPTER IX.
DICKY ENLISTS.

A time came, though, when Newport was evacuated by the British—and on that glorious day there were no happier souls than Dicky Stubbs and Jack Bell. Among the great events was the sailing in to Newport of the small squadron which made the beginning of the American navy. To Jack Bell’s patriotic eyes they were the handsomest ships he had ever seen in his life.

Jack and Dicky stood on the highest point of the rocky shores of Newport and watched with rapture the coming of the little squadron of five vessels which, though small and lightly armed, were yet to give a noble account of themselves.