Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812 Part 10

Four dark shapes were now visible without the aid of any gla.s.s. The plash of the oars could be heard as they caught the water. Reid just noticed the figure of William Copeland bending over the breech of the Long Tom, whose muzzle extended across the bulwarks.

"Keep off or I shall fire!" he warned for the third time. There came an answer to this clear enough to be heard by every man standing at the guns.

"Give way, lads, together."

"Fire!" roared Reid, in a voice that must have been heard distinctly along the sh.o.r.e. The reply was a scarlet burst of flame and a crash that sent the echoes up the hills. It stopped the fiddles in the dance-house; it set the drums and bugles rolling and tooting in the fortress, and the American Consul, sitting over his coffee on the public square, jumped to his feet, and ran, followed by a clamoring crowd, to the pier-head.

From the direction of the boats came a confusion of orders following the broadside. Groans and shrieks for help arose from the darkness.

Some spurts of flame came quickly and several musket-b.a.l.l.s whistled over the _Armstrong's_ deck. Then the loud report of a heavy boat gun, and a groan and cry followed immediately from the brig's forecastle.

All was silent now except for the sound of plas.h.i.+ng in the water and some groans and m.u.f.fled cries. Reid was about to hail when he saw three men hurrying aft with a heavy burden in their arms.

"It's Mr. Williams, sir; he's shot in the head, and Dummer, of the forward division, sir, is killed," one of them said gruffly. Poor Dummer! He would dance no more with the senoritas--there were to be no more liberty parties for him.

Reid's intention of lowering away a boat faded from his mind. There would be more of the same sort of work before long; that he knew well.

One of the boats had been sunk, for the wreck came drifting in close to the brig's side. The other three could be heard making off to the s.h.i.+ps, their rowing growing fainter every minute. Lieutenants Worth and Johnson came aft to report.

"We are in for it, gentlemen," said Reid; "but they won't cut this vessel out without more discussion on the subject. The idea of such treachery in a friendly harbor! They received their just deserts." His anger got the better of him for an instant, and he could say no more.

"Poor Williams!" he murmured at last. "Is he badly hurt?"

"He is mortally wounded, sir, I am afraid," Mr. Johnson returned.

"A good friend and a fine officer gone," put in Lieutenant Worth. "So much for this night's work."

"Do not fear; there'll be more of it, and we'll have our hands full,"

Reid continued. "Mr. Johnson, you will see that the boarding-nettings are spread, and load the mids.h.i.+p gun with lagrange and a star shot.

Have pikes and cutla.s.ses ready."

"Are you going ash.o.r.e, sir, to see the commander of the fort? He surely should protect us?" asked Mr. Worth.

"We need count no longer on him," was Reid's rejoinder. "We will have to do our own protecting. See that every musket and pistol is loaded and laid handy and, stay," he added, "cut away the bulwarks just abaft the gangway and bring two of those starboard guns across the deck. We will need them all, to my way of thinking."

The crowds gathered on the sh.o.r.e could hear the sounds of preparation.

From the English squadron also came a babble of orders and movement.

The lights were doubled in number. Every port shone brightly. The moon had now risen until objects could be seen quite plainly.

"They are preparing for an attack in force," Reid said, handing the gla.s.s to Mr. Johnson, who had already seen that the boarding-nettings had been spread above the railing. The men forward were busy setting some spare spars to act as booms to keep the boats from gaining the vessel's bows. Time pa.s.sed swiftly. At twelve o'clock the oars began again. But they were not m.u.f.fled now! "Click, clock," they came onward with a rush. Voices could be heard urging the rowers to more exertion, as if they were racing crews out for a practice spin. Reid was levelling the gla.s.s.

"Ten, twelve, thirteen, fourteen--fourteen boats loaded to the guards,"

he said. "G.o.d's love, there must be four hundred men: they mean to take us if they can." He looked down at his own little deck. He had less than ninety now; but they were ninety stout, good fellows who would not flinch. In the rays of the battle lanterns and the pale light of the moon, Captain Reid saw that they were ready to fight their last fight maybe.

It was no time to make a speech; but the men could hear every word he said without gathering nearer. "Lads," he said, "reserve your fire until you get the word from me. Don't waste a single shot, and remember this: aim low.... Copeland!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Cover that leading boat."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

A big pinnace or barge, holding perhaps eighty men, was heading the flotilla by almost a hundred feet. The grinding of a handspike on the deck broke the silence, as the Long Tom was slewed about to bear upon her.

"Handsomely now, men," cajoled Copeland. "Handsomely; that's well."

The great boat was rowing in directly on that gun as if towed by a line. She was heading on to death and destruction!

Consul Dabney, standing with the anxious crowd on the sh.o.r.e, held his breath.

Was Reid going to submit to be taken without striking another blow? Not much. With a long flare of flame that leaped from the _Armstrong's_ side, arose a great shout from the spectators.

The bow of the pinnace was stove in, and she pitched forward into the water like an angry bull brought to his knees by a rifle shot. Men absolutely boiled out of her. The moonlit water was dotted with black objects; some thres.h.i.+ng with their arms, others silent and motionless.

There came a rattling reply of small-arms from the boats, and the long nines answered them. The action was on in earnest. No one can gainsay the courage that was displayed by the attacking force. They were Englishmen; it is not necessary to say more. The firing became incessant. The men on the _Armstrong_ had scarce time to reload their guns. They would s.n.a.t.c.h up a pistol here and a musket there and fire out at the water that was crisscrossed with the red flashes of the answering shots. More than once a boat had reached the side. On two occasions men had sprung to the bulwarks, and clung to the boarding-nettings until shot away. Every now and then the Long Tom would let go a half-bucketful of grape and sc.r.a.p iron, hurling death into the boats. Every one of the privateer's crew seemed gifted with four arms. From one point of attack to another they chased about the deck. It seemed as if she numbered three times her complement. Bill Copeland was fighting like a demon. Twice had he run along the top of the bulwarks, exposed to every aim. Suddenly he saw that one of the boats had worked around to the starboard side. Giving the alarm, and followed by a half-score of the after-guard, he ran across to meet this unexpected danger. One of the men who followed him caught up a twenty-four-pound solid shot in his arms as he ran. Another followed his example. Both shot crashed through the bottom of the boat, and a volley was poured down into them. But three or four of the men had already reached the chains.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "There was a figure crawling up below him."]

Copeland sprang to the bulwarks with his cutla.s.s in his hand. There was a figure crawling up below him. Leaning forward, he made a quick stroke that would have severed the man's throat had he not leaned back suddenly and avoided it. Again he drew back his sharpened cutla.s.s for the death blow, and then he saw that the fellow was unarmed. Something stayed his hand; he bent still further forward, and just as the Englishman was about to fall back into the water, he grasped him by the wrist.

"My G.o.d, Jed!" he cried, and exerting all his strength he dragged his prisoner over the rail on to the deck. Those who had time to witness it, saw a curious sight. There was Bill Copeland holding fast to another man, their arms on each other's shoulders.

"Jed, don't ye know me?" Bill was crying; "but, Lord love ye lad, you're wounded." A shudder went through him as he realized how close he had been to sending home that fatal thrust. The man with a pigtail down his back leaned forward weakly.

"I'm hurted bad, Bill," he said. "But go on and fight; leave me alone; egad, you've whipped 'em." Sure enough, the firing had now slackened.

Four or five of the boats had retreated beyond gun shot. _They were all that could do so unaided._

"Cease firing!" ordered Captain Reid, hastening about the deck. "Cease firing here! They have given up. Where is Mr. Johnson?" he roared, pus.h.i.+ng his way into a group of men who were about to reload one of the nine-pounders. He had to cuff his way amongst them to make them desist.

"Where is Mr. Johnson?" he repeated.

"He's wounded, sir."

"And Mr. Worth is wounded too, sir," put in another man. "I helped him below myself."

As suddenly as the action had begun it had ended. By the light of a lantern Captain Reid glanced at his watch. It was forty minutes since the first gun had been fired. He looked about his decks. Although they were littered with loose running-gear, handspikes, cutla.s.ses, and muskets, at the sight his heart gave a great bound of joy. There were no mangled figures or pools of slippery blood. It seemed hardly possible.

But from the wreckage in the water came groans and cries. He looked over the side. There lay, rocking, two broken boats filled with huddled figures, some moving weakly.

"Here!" he shouted to some of the men. "Bear a hand; save all we can."

It was a sudden transition, this, from taking life to saving it; but the men turned to with a will. In one of the boats twelve dead bodies were found, and but seventeen of her crew had escaped with their lives, and they were all badly wounded. Of the four hundred men who had commenced that bold attack, only one-half returned to the s.h.i.+ps unhurt.

Reid hurried down into the c.o.c.kpit. It seemed past believing. _But two of his men, including the brave Williams, had been killed, and but seven wounded!_ This is history.

But a sight he saw attracted the Captain's attention. It was Bill Copeland sitting on the deck, with his arms about a pale figure whose head lay in Copeland's lap. The resemblance between the men was striking.

"What have we here?" asked Captain Reid.

"My brother, sir," Copeland returned.

"Your brother!"

"Aye, sir; from the _Plantaganet_. He was the only one who got on board of us!"