Barney Blake, the Boy Privateer; or, The Cruise of the Queer Fish

by Herrick Johnstone

  CHAPTER II.

  OUTWARD BOUND.

  "Then come, My friends, and, sitting well in order, strike The sounding furrows, for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars until I die."

  --TENNYSON.

  A brighter morning never flung its golden beams upon the dancingdominion of old Neptune than that bright May morning when the windlassof the Queer Fish creaked with the rising anchor, and the mainsails,topsails and top-gallants fluttered slowly out from her graceful spars.All Boston knew we were going, and a large number of people were outupon the piers to see us start. So we ran up the Stars and Stripes toour peak, and gave a rousing salute with our guns, as we movedmajestically down the harbor. We were soon out of it, and "the world wasall before us," our path to choose. Taking the line of the southeast, wegot all of the gale into our bellying sails, and bowled along gleefully,with a good lookout at the mast-head, to spy a prize, or sing out, if acruiser hove in sight.

  How could the Queer Fish even _start_ to sea without something funnyhappening? There was one incident which I must not omit mentioning.

  We had been overwhelmed with peddlers, bumboat women and fruit-sellers,for some time before our departure. Although they had all been warned toleave the ship in time, one of them, a Polish Jew, allowed his avariceto get the better of him, and remained parleying and auctioneering histrinkets till the anchor was up and we were fairly under way. He thencoolly went to the captain, and requested to have a boat to be putashore, when he was greeted by a sound rating, and an assurance that hecouldn't leave the ship short of the Bay of Bengal.

  The astonishment of the unfortunate Hebrew can better be imagined thandescribed. At first, he was simply crushed, and, like Shylock, kept aquiet despair. Then, as the land grew beautifully less behind us, terrorand rage began to take possession of his soul.

  "Mine Gott! mine Gott!" he exclaimed, tearing up and down the deck, andwringing his hands. "V'at vill de vife of mine poosom zay v'en I comesnot vonce more to mine house? Oh, Repecca, Repecca, mine peloved vife,varevell, varevell!"

  We all enjoyed his misery to our hearts' content, for he was an arrantskinflint, who had swindled three or four of the crew out of their veryboots. The captain also enjoyed the sight until we brought up alongsidea pilot-boat, on board of which we put the pork-despiser in a summaryway, and left him to find his way back to Boston as best he might.

  A number of British cruisers were hovering along the coast, and weexpected to have some trouble before getting fairly to sea. Nor were wedisappointed. We were hardly four hours out before a sail was descriedon our starboard quarter and another on our larboard bow. We hoisted theBritish jack and drove right between them, hoping to escape molestation,as we had little doubt that the sails in view belonged to Britishmen-o'-war. We were correct in this. And, although we escaped the biggercustomer to the northward, the other stranger came so close that we wereright under her guns. She was a heavily-armed brig, and could have sunkus at a single broadside, but contented herself with questioning us.

  "What ship is that?" was bellowed from her quarter deck.

  "The brigantine Spitfire," sung our little captain through his trumpet.

  "What luck have you had?"

  "Have destroyed sixteen smacks off Gloucester and are now in the wake ofan Indiaman that got out last night."

  "All right."

  And the unsuspicious brig drove by us with all sails set.

  "We pulled the wool over _her_ eyes, at any rate," mused our littlecaptain, with twinkling eyes, as we continued on our course.

  We next fell in with an American vessel, homeward bound, and gave herdirections how to escape the blockaders.

  "Sail ho!" sung out the lookout, an hour later.

  We were immediately in a stew of excitement, thinking that this, atleast, must be a prize. But this also proved to be an American, and wewere compelled to chew the cud of disappointment.

  "Why in blazes ain't you a Britisher?" muttered Tony Trybrace, yawningindignantly, as the true character of the stranger was discovered.

  We kept our course, without incident, until the sun went down behind us,and the stars, one by one, began to stud the darkening vault.

  Behind us flowed our wake of fire; Tony Trybrace played several tunes onhis scrapy violin; and then, as it bade fair to be a peaceful night, wegathered round old Bluefish for a promised yarn.