Famous Privateersmen and Adventurers of the Sea Part 40

Talbot seized the gla.s.s and gazed intently at the specks of white.

"Egad! It _is_ a squadron," said he, at length. "And they're after me.

Crowd on every st.i.tch of canvas and we'll run for it."

So all sail was hoisted, and the _General Was.h.i.+ngton_ stood out to sea.

But the sails of the pursuers grew strangely clear. They came closer, ever closer, and Talbot paced the deck impatiently.

"Gad Zooks!" cried he, "I wish that I could fly like a bird."

He could not fly, and, in two hours' time the red flag on the foremast of a British brig was clear to the eyes of the crew of the privateer.

When--an hour later--a solid shot spun across his bow, "Old Si" Talbot hove to, and ran up the white flag. He was surrounded by six vessels of the English and he felt, for once, that discretion was the better part of valor.

"Old Si" was now thrown into a prison s.h.i.+p off Long Island and then was taken to England aboard the _Yarmouth_. Imprisoned at Dartmoor, he made four desperate attempts to escape. All failed.

In the summer of 1781 he was liberated; found his way home to Rhode Island; and died "with his boots on" in New York, June 30th, 1813. The old sea-dogs of his native state still cherish the memory of "Capting Si;" singing a little song, which runs:

"He could take 'er brig or sloop, my boy, An' fight her like 'er man.

He could steer 'er barque or barquentine, An' make her act jest gran!

'Ole Si' wuz 'er rip-dazzler, His flag wuz never struck, Until 'er British squadroon, Jest catched him in th' ruck.

"So drink 'er drop ter 'Ole Si,' Sky-high, Oh my!

Drink 'er gla.s.s ter 'Ole Si,' th' skipper from our kentry.

Give three cheers fer 'Ole Si,' Sky-high, Oh my!

Give three cheers fer 'Ole Si,' th' pride o' Newport's gentry."

[Ill.u.s.tration: From "The Army and Navy of the United States."

AMERICAN PRIVATEER CAPTURING TWO ENGLISH s.h.i.+PS.]

CAPTAIN "JOSH" BARNEY

THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE

(1759-1818)

"Never strike your flag until you have to. And if you have to, why let it come down easy-like, with one, last gun,--fer luck."--_Maxims of 1812._

CAPTAIN "JOSH" BARNEY

THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE

(1759-1818)

If you would hear of fighting brave, Of war's alarms and prisons dark, Then, listen to the tale I tell, Of Yankee pluck--and cruising barque, Which, battling on the rolling sea, There fought and won,--Can such things be?

It was about eight o'clock in the evening. The moon was bright, and as the privateer _Pomona_ swung along in the fresh breeze, her Captain, Isaiah Robinson of New York, laid his hand softly upon the shoulder of his first officer, Joshua Barney, saying,

"A s.h.i.+p off the lee-quarter, Barney, she's an Englishman, or else my name's not Robinson."

Barney raised his gla.s.s.

"A British brig, and after us, too. She's a fast sailer and is overhauling us. But we'll let her have a broadside from our twelve guns and I believe that we can stop her."

The _Pomona_ carried thirty-five men. Laden with tobacco for Bordeaux, France, she was headed for that sunny land,--but all ready for a fight, if one should come to her. And for this she carried twelve guns, as her first officer had said.

The British boat came nearer and nearer. Finally she was close enough for a voice to be heard from her deck, and she ran up her colors. A cry came from the black body,

"What s.h.i.+p is that?"

There was no reply, but the Stars and Stripes were soon floating from the mainmast of the American.

"Haul down those colors!" came from the Britisher.

There was no answer, but the _Pomona_ swung around so that her port guns could bear, and a clas.h.i.+ng broadside plunged into the pursuer.

Down came her fore-topsail, the rigging cut and torn in many places, and, as the American again showed her heels, the British captain cried out,

"All sail aloft and catch the saucy and insolent privateer!"

Then commenced one of the most interesting running actions of American naval history.

"The cursed American has no stern-gun ports," said the British sea-captain. "So keep the s.h.i.+p abaft, and on th' port quarter, where we can let loose our bow-guns and get little in return."

This was done, but--if we are to believe an old chronicler of the period--"The British crew had been thrown into such confusion by the _Pomona_'s first broadside that _they were able to fire only one or two shots every half hour_."

"By Gad," cried Joshua Barney to Captain Robinson, about this time, "let's cut a hole in our stern, shove a cannon through it, and whale the British landlubber as he nears us for another shot with her bow-chasers."

The captain grinned.

"A good idea, Barney, a good idea," he chuckled. "Now we can teach her to keep clear of us."

So a three-pounder soon poked her nose through the stern, and, when the proud Britisher again came up for one of her leisurely discharges, she received a dose of grape which made her captain haul off precipitously. Nor did he venture near again for another shot at the saucy fugitive.

When daylight came, sixteen guns were counted upon the British brig.

"By George!" shouted Barney. "See those officers in the rigging. She's a gun-s.h.i.+p--a regular s.h.i.+p-of-war."

But Captain Robinson laughed.

"That's an old game," said he. "They're tryin' to fool us into the belief that she's a real gun-boat, so's we'll surrender immediately.

But see--she's drawin' near again--and seems as if she's about to board us from the looks of her crew."