CHAPTER VII.
THE MATE'S LUCKY SHOT.
"Just look what them Yankees is a doing now," repeated CaptainBeardsley; and when Marcy turned his eyes from the warning buoy to thelaunch, he saw that the latter was scuttling rapidly out of harm's way;that her bow was swinging around so that she would pass by within lessthan a hundred feet of the schooner; that the oars had been droppedoverboard, and were dragging alongside by the lanyards that werefastened to them; that some of the crew had arisen to their feet andstood facing the _Hattie_; and that the rest were busy with the howitzerin the bow.
"Heave to, or we'll cut you all to pieces!" shouted the officer incommand; and Marcy could see him plainly now, for he stood erect in thestern-sheets with a boat-cloak around him. "We'll send canister andrifle balls into you next time, and they'll come so thick that theywon't leave so much as a ratline of you. Heave to, I say!"
At this juncture a rifle or pistol shot, Marcy could not tell which itwas, sounded from the schooner's quarter-deck, and the plucky officerwas seen to throw his hands above his head, grasp wildly at the emptyair for a moment, and then disappear over the side of the launch. In aninstant all was confusion among the blue-jackets. The coxswain, who ofcourse was left in command, shouted to the engineer to shut off steam,to the crew to drop their muskets and pick up their oars, and to thecaptain of the howitzer to cut loose with his load of canister.
"Lay down, everybody," cried Beardsley, who plainly heard all theseorders; and suiting the action to the word, he quickly stretched himselfupon the deck. Marcy had barely time to follow his example before thehowitzer roared again, and the canister rattled through the rigging likehail, tearing holes in the canvas, splintering a mast here and a boomthere, but never cutting a stay or halliard. If a topmast had gone bythe board, or a sail come down by the run, the schooner would have beenquite at the mercy of the launch; for the latter could have carried herby boarding, or taken a position astern and peppered the _Hattie_ withshrapnel until Captain Beardsley would have been glad to surrender. Thecaptain did not see how his vessel could escape being crippled, and hewould have surrendered then and there if any one in the launch hadcalled upon him to do so; but when he got upon his feet and saw thatevery rope held, and that the schooner was just on the point of enteringher haven of refuge, he took heart again.
"Marcy, go aft and tell Morgan that that buoy ahead is a black one,"said he, as soon as he had taken time to recover his wits. "Lay for'ardsome of us and cut away this useless canvas. The _Hattie_ ain't catchedyet, doggone it all. I tell you, lads, it takes somebody besides aplodding, dollar-loving Yankee to get to windward of Lon Beardsley."
"The captain desired me to remind you that that buoy is a black one, andyou want to leave it to port," said Marcy, taking his stand beside theman at the wheel. "Who fired that shot? It came from this end of thevessel."
"The second mate fired it," replied Morgan, "and he done it just in thenick of time. The killing of that officer was all that saved ourbacon."
"Oh, I hope he wasn't killed!" exclaimed Marcy.
"You do, hey? Well, I don't. I'd like to see the last blockader on thiscoast tumbled into the drink in the same way. What did the old man sayabout it?"
"Not a word. I think he was too surprised to say anything."
"Was anybody hurt by that shell?" continued Morgan. "I seen the jibflying in the wind and the rail ripped up, and you and the old man wasstanding right there."
"Something or other knocked both of us flatter than pancakes," answeredMarcy. "The captain must have been hit all over; but I was struck onlyon the arm, and I don't seem to have much use of it any more."
"You can go forward and lookout for the buoys, can't you? All right.Sing out when ever you see one, and I will stay here and take herthrough while the cap'n gets that headsail out of the way."
Before obeying this order Marcy stopped long enough to level the glasstoward the place where he supposed the launch to be. Having worked thewater out of the cylinders the engineer had shut off the stop-cocks sothat she could not be heard, and as there was no flame shooting out ofher smoke-stack, she could not be seen; but she was still on top of thewater, and eager to do mischief. While Marcy was moving his glass aroundtrying to locate her, the howitzer spoke again; but as the schooner tookthe wind free after rounding the first buoy, her course was changed, sothat the shell passed behind her, and exploded far ahead and to theright.
"You've got your wish," said Morgan. "That shot means that they havepicked up their cap'n, and that he's as full of fight as ever. Well, lethim bang away, if he wants to. He can't hurt the sand-hills, and thischannel is so crooked that he won't hit us except by accident."
"But he will follow in our wake, won't he?"
"Who cares if he does so long as he don't sight us? We'll dodge him easyenough after we get into the Sound. Now toddle for'ard and look out forme."
["It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the boy, as heleaned his uninjured arm upon the splintered rail and brought the glassto his eye. "This night's work will put an end to the _Hattie's_blockade-running. If that fellow astern don't catch us, he will surelyfind and pull up the buoys, and then we can't follow the channel exceptby sending a boat on ahead with a lead-line. That might do when we weregoing out, but it wouldn't work running in if there was an enemy closebehind us. Another thing, this Inlet will be watched in future. Now youmark my words."] "Red buoy on the starboard bow," he called out to theman at the wheel.
Morgan repeated the words to show that he understood them, and just thenBeardsley came up, having seen the useless jib brought on deck andstowed away.
"Be careful and make no mistake, Marcy," said he. "It's a matter of lifeand death with us now--and money."
"I can call off the color of every buoy between here and the Sound,"replied the pilot confidently. "I took particular pains to remember theorder in which they were put out. Where are you hurt, Captain?" headded, seeing that the man had let go of his shoulder and was nowholding fast to both elbows.
"I'm hurt in every place; that's where I am hurt," said Beardsley,looking savagely at Marcy, as if the latter was to blame for it."Something hit me ker-whallop on this side, and the deck took meker-chunk on the other; and I'll bet there ain't a spot on ary side asbig as an inch where I ain't black and blue. You wasn't touched, wasyou? But I thought I seen you come down when I did."
"I went down fast enough," answered Marcy. "I bumped my head prettyheavily on the deck, but the worst hurt I got was right here. And Ideclare, there's a bunch that don't belong to me. Is it a fracture ofthe humerus, I wonder?"
"A which?" exclaimed the puzzled captain.
"I really believe the bone of my upper arm is broken," replied Marcy,feeling of the bunch to which he had referred. "It doesn't hurt muchexcept when I touch it. It only feels numb."
Just then the howitzer spoke again, and another shrapnel flew wide ofthe schooner and burst among the sand dunes. Another and anotherfollowed at short intervals, and then the firing ceased. The launch hadgiven it up as a bad job; the pursuit was over and Marcy and the captainwere the only ones injured.
"She has either run hard and fast aground, or else she is amusingherself with them buoys of our'n," said Beardsley, when he becamesatisfied that the launch was no longer following in the schooner'swake. "Now, where's that good-looking son of mine who fired the luckyshot that tumbled that Yankee officer overboard? Whoever he is, I'lldouble his wages. He ought to have it, for he saved the vessel and hercargo. Let him show up."
The second mate obeyed the order, exhibiting the revolver that had firedthe shot, and the captain complimented him in no measured terms. Marcycould not help acknowledging to himself that their escape was owingentirely to the prompt action the mate had taken without waiting fororders; but all the same he was sorry for that Federal officer.
Less than an hour's run sufficed to take the schooner out of the Inletand into the Sound, and when Beardsley had given out the
course and seenthe sails trimmed to suit it, he went into his cabin, from which hepresently issued to pass the word for Marcy Gray. When the boy descendedthe ladder he found the first mate and two foremast hands there besidesthe captain; and on the table he saw two pieces of thin board, andseveral strips of cloth that had evidently been torn up for bandages. Henoticed, too, that the atmosphere was filled with the odor of liniment.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, in some alarm.
"We're going to set that--that--what-do-you-call-it of your'n," repliedthe captain cheerfully. The name that Marcy had given to the bone of hisupper arm was too much for him. He could not remember it.
The boy knew that all sea captains have more or less knowledge ofmedicine and surgery. It is necessary that they should have, for sailorsare often seized with illness, or meet with serious accidents when theirship is at sea, and so far from a doctor that without immediate aid fromsome source they would surely lose their lives. Marcy had read of awhaling captain, one of whose men was jerked overboard from his boat bya wounded whale, dragged for six hundred feet or more through the waterwith frightful speed, and who was finally released by his leg giving wayto the strain. The captain saw that that leg must be attended to or theman would die. His crew were too badly frightened to help him, so heamputated the injured member himself; and all the surgical instrumentshis ship afforded were a carving-knife, a carpenter's saw, and afish-hook. But he saved the man's life. Marcy thought of this andshuddered at the thought of submitting himself to Beardsley's rudesurgery.
"I believe I would rather wait until we get to Newbern," said hedoubtfully.
"Why, man alive, we may not see port for a week," answered the captain."How do we know but what there are a dozen or more steam launches, likethe one we've just left astern, loafing about in the Sound waiting forus? If there are, we'll have to get shet of 'em somehow, and that willtake time. If we don't 'tend to your arm now, it may be so bad when thedoctor sees it that he can't do nothing with it without half killing ofyou. Take off his coat and vest, men; and Morgan, you roll up hissleeve. There is folks around home who think you are for the Union, andthat you ain't secesh, even if you do belong to my vessel. If you runfoul of one of 'em while you are gone on your furlong, just point toyour arm and tell him to hold his yawp."
"Are you going to give me a leave of absence?" asked Marcy, who was sodelighted at the thought that he could scarcely keep from showing it.
"I reckon I'll have to. I ain't got no use for a one-handed man; butI'll keep your place open for you, never fear. Just see that, now. Ain'tthat a pretty looking arm for a white boy to carry around with him? Itmakes me hate them Yankees wusser'n I did before."
The wounded arm was already becoming inflamed, and it was painful, too;and although Beardsley's assistants were as careful as they could be,Marcy winced while they were helping him off with his coat and vest androlling up his sleeve. When this had been done one of the men, inobedience to a slight nod from the captain, seized Marcy around thechest under his arms, the mate by a movement equally quick grasped hisleft wrist, and both began pulling in opposite directions with all theirstrength, while Beardsley passed his huge rough hands up and down overthe "bunch" until he was satisfied that the protruding bone had beenpulled back to its place. The operation was a painful one, and the onlything that kept Marcy from crying out was the remembrance of Beardsley'swords "I ain't got no use for a one-handed man." That broken arm wouldbring him a furlough.
"There, now; that'll do. 'Vast heaving," said the captain, at length."Put some of the stuff in that bottle on one of them bandages and handit over here. Pretty rough way of getting to go home, but better thannone at all, and I reckon your maw will be just as glad to see you asshe would if you had two good arms. Don't you reckon she will?"
After his arm had been bandaged and placed in a sling, Marcy was quitewilling to go into the forecastle and lie down in his bunk; and there hestayed until the schooner entered the Neuse River and a tug camealongside to tow her up to the city. This time there were plenty ofcheers to welcome her, the first coming from the working parties whowere building the fortifications, and the next from the soldiers andloafers who were assembled upon the wharf to which she was made fast,and who howled themselves hoarse when they caught sight of the holes inher sails, her broken bowsprit, and her splintered rail.
"I see that blockade running has its dangers as well as privateering,"said Beardsley's agent, as he sprang over the rail and seized thecaptain's hand. "The _Hattie_ is cut up pretty badly, but the _Osprey_was never touched. Been in a fight?"
"Well, no, not much of a fight, because we uns didn't have nothing tofight with. But the schooner ran through a pretty tol'able heavy fire, Itell you."
It was all over now, and Beardsley could afford to treat the matter withindifference; but Marcy remembered that when that splinter knocked himdown, the captain was the worst frightened man in the crew. However,Beardsley was not as badly hurt as he thought he was. When he came tomake an examination of his injuries, all he could find was a black andblue spot on one of his shoulders that was about half as large as hishand; but he made more fuss over that than Marcy Gray did over hisbroken arm.
"Anybody shot?" continued the agent.
"Well, yes; two of us got touched a little, but not enough to growlover. You see it was this-a-way----"
"I suppose I may go ashore now and hunt up a surgeon, may I not?" Marcyinterposed.
He thought from the way Beardsley settled himself against the rail thathe was preparing for a long talk with the agent, and that it would be agood plan to have his own affairs settled before the captain became toodeeply interested in his narrative to listen to him. There was little todetain him in Newbern. On the way up the river Beardsley had given him awritten leave of absence for ninety days, and a check on the bank forhis money; and all he had to do besides presenting that check was tohave his arm examined by a surgeon.
"Of course you can go," replied Beardsley. "And if I don't see you whenyou come back for your dunnage, don't forget them little messages I giveyou for the folks at home, nor them letters; and bear in mind that Iwant you back as soon as ever you can get well."
Marcy promised to remember it all, and the captain went on to say:
"He's the bravest lad that ever stepped in shoe leather. When themYankees sent that shell into us and knocked him and me down and smashedhis arm all to flinders, he stood in the bow and piloted us throughCrooked Inlet as slick as falling off a log; and there was his armbroken all the while, and hanging by his side as limp as a piece of wetrope. Oh, he's a good one, and I don't for the life of me see how I amgoing to get on without him. I've said as much in them letters I wroteto the folks to home."
Under almost any other circumstances Marcy Gray would have beendisgusted; but as it was, he was quite willing that Beardsley shouldtalk about him in this strain as often as he felt like it.
"Perhaps it will help me with those secret enemies at home," he said tohimself, as he stepped upon the wharf and forced his way slowly throughthe crowd, not, however, without being compelled to shake hands with adozen or more who wanted to know when and where he got hurt and who didit, and all about it. "I should really like to see the inside of theletters the captain gave me to hand to Shelby and the rest. I wonder ifhe thinks I am foolish enough to open and read them? He'll not trap methat way; but I wouldn't trust any letters to him that I didn't want himto read, I bet you."
Arriving at a drug store which bore the name of a medical man upon oneof its doorposts, Marcy entered and asked where he could find somebodyto tell him whether or not his broken arm had been properly set andcared for.
"Step right this way, and I will tell you in less than five minutes,"said the man who stood behind the counter. "How did you break it?"
"I was knocked down," replied Marcy.
"Who knocked you down?"
"A Yankee!"
"Heyday! Bull Run?"
"No, sir; Crooked Inlet."
"Well, I thought you l
ooked like a seafaring man. What vessel do youbelong to?"
"The blockade-runner _Hattie._ She used to be the privateer _Osprey._"
"Were you one of the brave fellows who captured the _Mary Hollins_?"exclaimed the surgeon, giving Marcy a look of admiration. "It was agallant deed."
"I was there when she was taken," answered the boy, while the doctor washelping him off with his coat. "Do you know what become of her crew?"
"They were paroled and sent North long ago. We didn't want such folksamong us."
"But they are not prisoners of war."
"That doesn't matter. They had to promise that they would not take uparms against us until they were regularly exchanged; and if they do, andwe find it out, they will stand a fine chance of being strung up. You'vegot a pretty good surgeon aboard your ship, and he has made a good jobof this. I wonder if I know him. Is he a Newbern man?"
"No, sir; he hails from up toward Plymouth. And he isn't a doctor,either. He's the captain."
"Oh, ah!" said the surgeon, who was very much surprised to hear it. "Isee, now that I come to look at it closely, that it is not quite asstraight as I thought it was. It sticks out a little on this side, andyour arm will always be more or less crooked. It is unfortunate that youdid not have a surgeon aboard; but we will have to let it go."
"Of course I can't do duty with one hand," said Marcy, "and so thecaptain has given me leave to go home for awhile. I can travel on thecars, I suppose?"
"There's nothing in the world to hinder it," replied the medical man,who seemed on a sudden to have lost all interest in Marcy and hisinjured arm. "I will do it up again and give you a little medicine, andyou will get along all right. It's a mere trifle."
When Marcy asked what his bill was, he told himself that he made amistake when he said it was the captain and not a doctor who set hisarm, for the surgeon charged him a good round price for his trouble, aswell as for the little bottle of tonic he wrapped up for him; and whenhe went to the telegraph office, the operator who sent off a dispatch tohis mother made no distinction between him and a citizen. The dispatchran as follows:
Arrived from Nassau this morning with a valuable cargo after a runningfight with the Yankees. Had two men slightly injured. Will leave forBoydtown by first train.
"After mother reads that she will not be so very much shocked when shesees me with my arm in a sling," was what he told himself as he passedthe dispatch over to the operator.
"Did you have a fight with one of the blockaders?" asked the lattercarelessly. He had become accustomed to the sight of wounded men sincethe battle of Bull Run was fought, and did not take a second look atMarcy.
"It wasn't much of a fight, seeing that there was but one shot fired onour side," answered the pilot. "But that one shot was what brought usthrough. It wasn't a blockader, either, but a launch; and if you want tosee what she did to us, step down to the wharf and take a look at the_Hattie_. One more round of canister would have made a wreck of us."
"And you happened to be one of the two who were wounded, I reckon," saidthe operator. "Fifty cents, please."
"The last time I sent off a dispatch from here you did not tax me a centfor it," Marcy reminded him. "Is your patriotism on the wane?"
"Not much; but you couldn't expect us to keep up that thank-ye businessforever, could you? How would we run the line if we did? We think asmuch of the brave boys who are standing between us and Lincoln'sAbolitionists as we ever did; but it takes the hard cash to payoperators and buy poles and wires."
Marcy had no trouble in getting his check cashed, and when he went backto the schooner after his valise and bundles, he had twenty-one hundreddollars in his pocket. But there were seventeen hundred dollars of itthat did not belong to him. He was only keeping it until he could haveopportunity to return it to the master of the _Mary Hollins._ He foundthat Captain Beardsley had gone ashore with his agent, and as Marcy hadalready said good-bye to him, it was not necessary that he should wasteany valuable time in hunting him up. He took a hasty leave of hisshipmates, hired a darkey to carry his luggage to the depot, and was intime to purchase his ticket for a train that was on the point of leavingfor Goldsborough. He had hardly settled himself in his seat before hebecame aware that nearly all the passengers in the car were looking athim, and finally one of them came and seated himself by his side.
"You are not in uniform," said the passenger, "but all the same I takeit for granted that it was the Yankees who put your arm in a sling."
"Yes, sir; they did it," answered Marcy.
"Well, now, I want to know if it's a fact that the Yankees outnumberedus two to one in that fight," continued the man.
"You refer to the battle of Bull Run, I suppose. I don't know. I wasn'tthere, and I don't hesitate to say that I am glad of it. One howitzer isas much as I care to face. I got this hurt while coming into CrookedInlet on the schooner _Hattie_. She's a blockade-runner."
"Oh! well, if there's going to be a war, as some people seem to think,you blockade-runners will be of quite as much use to the Confederacy asthe soldiers. We shall be dependent upon foreign governments for manythings that we used to get from the North, and men like you will have tosupply us. Was it much of a fight?"
Marcy briefly related the story, and when it was finished the man wentback to his old seat; but during the journey the young pilot was obligedto tell more than a score of people that he was not present at thebattle of Bull Run, and consequently could not have got his injurythere. He kept his ears open all the way, and was gratified to learnthat the Confederates had not followed up their victory, that they werenot in Washington, and that there was no reason to suppose that they hadany intention of going there immediately; and he thought he knew thereason why, when he heard one of the passengers say that a few morevictories like Bull Run would ruin the Confederacy.
At an early hour the next morning Marcy stepped off the train at Boydtown and found Morris waiting for him. That faithful servitor's eyesgrew to twice their usual dimensions when he saw his young master withhis arm in a sling, and without waiting to learn the extent of hisinjuries, he broke out into loud lamentations, and railed at the Yankeesin such a way that the by-standers were led to believe that old Morriswas the best kind of a rebel.
"The Missus done tole me two men shot on the _Hattie_ and las' night Idreamed you one of 'em," said he.
"Silence!" whispered Marcy angrily; "can't you see that you are drawingthe attention of all the people on the platform by your loud talking? Iwasn't shot, either. Come to the carriage and I will tell you all aboutit."
Even after Morris had been assured that the young pilot had merely beenknocked down by a splinter, Marcy didn't tell him that that "splinter"weighed between fifteen and twenty pounds, for he knew it would get tohis mother's ears if he did; and that his injuries were by no meansserious; the old slave was not satisfied, but continued to scold andfume at such a rate that Marcy was glad when the carriage whirledthrough the gate and drew up at the steps, at the top of which hismother stood waiting to receive him.
"Da' he is, Missus; but the Yankees done kill him," exclaimed Morris,opening and shutting the carriage door with a bang, as if he hoped inthat way to work off some of his excitement.
Marcy the Blockade Runner Page 7
