The Fleet In The Forest A Novel

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KANSAS CITY, MO PUBLIC LIBRARY

THE FLEET IN THE FOREST

A Novel

FLEET

FOREST

by

CARLO. LANE

COWARD-McCANN, INC., NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1943, BY CARL D. LANE

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must
not be reproduced in any form without permission.

This book is published on the same day in the Dominion
of Canada by Longmans, Green & Company, Toronto.

This complete copyright edition is produced in full compliance

with the Government's regulations for conserving paper and

other essential materials.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To

My Mother

L THE LAUNCH 3

II. THE TRIALS 125

III. THE VOYAGE 319

Noble Ship and Noble Man each straight of
keel and true of build, each tried in storm and
tide and peril lest they perish on the voyage. For
each the goal is freedom; for the ship to live and
sail and laugh, for the man to dream and build
and love, both proud and true and worthy, both
handiworks of God.

PART I

THE LAUNCH

Chapter One

CHID AI/WYN STOOD with the rest of the shipyard hands on the bleak sea-
ward slope of Baptist Hill when Old Man Tatum was buried that bliz-
zarding day in January 1813. Off in the snow curtain he could barely
make out the spars of the Blessed Cause moored in the salt river below,
between a dolphin and the Tatum east wharf. The sight filled him with
a queer excitement, thinking what the privateer was to mean to him and
his dreams, but he kept his eyes reasonably attentive on Reverend Thur-
ber's soaked prayerbook. The Reverend read slowly and dolorously, as if
he enjoyed it, and in the pauses blew noisily on his fingers to warm
them.

Chid could hear the frozen clods thumping on the chestnut coffin
that he and Bob Crown had made in the joiner loft of the old man's
shipyard. Chid and Bob were apprentices there, learning the trade; and
when it came to making coffins, Moses Leet, the foreman, naturally set
them at it. The gang, grinning and proud of the fine-lined packets and
schooners which the Tatum yard had stood for until Tom Jefferson and
his Congress of southerners had killed shipbuilding with their em-
bargo in 1807, always called the coffins steamboats.

"You lads is in the wrong yard," Mr. Diggers, the spar loft boss had
mocked them. "Whyn't you go daown to N'York? I hear tell Mister
Fulton's buildin' another o* his fire and steam vessels. An*, boys, you tell
me what's more like a steamboat hull than a coffin."

"Your head!" Chid had tossed back, driving trunnels.

Chid had been an apprentice since he was fifteen, five years ago, and
forfeacrlearned how to take it and give it. Now, knowing his trade as
well as any and waiting only for his bound-agreement to run out come
August, he could afford to sass a foreman anyway, a loft foreman,

3

spar-making having never been the exact and cunning trade of a ship-
wright.

They had finished the coffin, lining it with oakum and a soft shiny
bolt goods which Mary Leet had brought from her ma's, and made
a few jokes about how handsome Old Man Tatum would look in his
steamboat; then trundled it up the hill above the horse-ferry to the
Taturn house that overlooked all New England, seemed as if. Now, his
handiwork was gone, sunk into six feet of gravelly thawed earth, and the
waste of it somehow made Chid a little mad. Two days and a fair deal
of prime hand-whipped chestnut board and enough oakum to calk the
garboard of a Noanker; just to keep the worms from the carcass of a
grouchy old man a few extra months. There was nothing to show for his
work. It was like his apprenticeship almost five years of hard work and
knocks, and now, with a war on and shipbuilding dead as a gutted cod,
nothing to show for it either. Chid sometimes guessed that he had taken
up the wrong trade, a matter he'd correct if his plans worked out.

The gale had started in the early morning, with rain, and had turned
tb sleet as the church bells tolled for Old Man Tatum. But now it
whined around the burial party a full-blown blizzard in the quick winter
twilight. Reverend Thurber droned on piously, blind to the shivering of
the mourners and the sobbing of old Mrs. Tatum and her attending
ladies.

Folks, Chid reckoned comfortably, must be all-fired cold. He himself
was warm enough. He had contrived to kick together a small heap of
the pine-knot embers which had been thawing the earth ever since the
hour of the old man's death. The warmth of them sifted up through his
homespun great-coat. It felt queer, being so warm inside and yet seeing
the heavy snowflakes pile deeper and deeper on his shoulders.

Nez Nott conjured himself out of the storm, appearing like a swale
wraith beside Chid. Nez was a spar-maker's apprentice, lately discharged
by Mr. Diggers for rumming and such. He had that morning signed on
the Blessed Cause schooner as carpenter rate, and since had been mighty
interested in Chid.

"Noah Brown's arruv," Nez whispered. "He's at the Wagon's and
Seamen's, and, Chid, what you s'pose? The man won't tech rum; not
even on the house. Ain't that suthin', jiow? I'll take, sez he, a spot o'

4

Madeira, landlord; jest a spot fer the chills o' me. Chid, beware you do
business with a man like that."

"Fm not a-feared," Chid said. "Reckon a man can do as he likes about
rum and still have some business sense. Nez, you better spook. We
oughtn't to be seen together till my papers are bought back and I'm
free to ship."

"Why be so damned legal?" Nez growled. "Chid, a week with Cap
Fish on the Blessed Cause, an' you can buy Noah Brown's own shipyard,
the money you'll have."

"f would do me no good in the jailhouse," Chid said. "I've till August
to serve, Old Man Tatum dead or alive. Nez, you lam. I got some profitin'
to do right here before I can even commence thinkin' about shipping."

Nez spit into the wind and silently dissolved into the storm. Nez Nott
was a raggie, on his own like Chid/since the thin vein of iron on Dejec-
tion Hill had run out years ago and scattered the loosely related Nott
tribe. But he'd never made the mistake Chid had, signing apprenticeship
papers to learn a trade, becoming practically a slave, which was what he
considered Chid in the Tatum yard on the Mystick. Nez lived by his
wits, never bothered by understanding how to read or write or cipher.
He had the habits of an animal and could sleep wherever he happened to
be when he became tired and eat anything handy, or nothing, when
he became hungry.

Chid reckoned Nez was all right and in an untroubling way envied
him his freedom. Chid wanted freedom too, but not the kind Nez had.
When a man knew a trade, when he could read and write and own to
folks, even though dead and gone, it wasn't simply the freedom of sleep-
ing and eating that he craved. Chid had his own ideas about the particular
brand of freedom which he wanted; not too well defined, but in his
ambitions it sort of had its basis in money. And somewhere in the idea,
also vague, was Mary Leet and a home a white house, with a slate-
stone sill and good outbuildings and a shipyard. Chid once told Mary
that, when matters turned for him, after the yoke of apprenticeship was
gone, the first thing he'd do would be to start pegging for the shipyard
the Alwyn Shipyard, Chidsy Alwyn, proprietor, he'd pronounced in a
hushed voice, saying the magic thing for the first time out loud.

Mary had laughed and mentioned money. "That," she said, "is where

5

you'd better start, Chidsy." And Chid had nodded to the common sense
of it. He had always remembered her remark. There was, looking at it
a certain way, a kind o a promise in it. Chid supposed the logical
starting place from which to win a girl might well commence on a hard
cash basis; and he reckoned that Mary, in the way girls might, had told
him something like that.

Chid stood directly over the ebbing heat of the embers, misering it
under his coat. He'd not had. much trouble making money; no more
than in keeping warm on this dismal bleak day when everybody else
was cold. The trouble was that it had all been small money, pocket coins,
not advancing his dreams much. There was still a tidy sum needed to get
along with his plans. But Chid calculated that in a few hours things
would be some different.

Reverend Thurber closed his prayerbook at last. He prayed then out
of his head, softly, kind of reviewing Old Man Tatum's life, and the
wind swirled from the north and screeched through the bare branches
of the few twisted pasture oaks hard by the stone fence of the burying
ground. Chid had to wait. What he was going to do, he sensed, couldn't
be mixed with such a solemn moment. But he drew forth his prepared
paper and nodded to Mr. Driddle, the gravedigger, in an understanding
way; then stole silently down the hill and took up a post at the burying-
ground gate.

In the rutted lane beyond, several livery carriages waited. The horses
were blanket-covered, and they breathed steam in impatient blubbering
blasts. From behind the frost scratches on the glass peered the drivers,
gathered round a circulating bottle, wondering how mortals could exist
on such a bitter, wind-swept hill, a-listening to a gol-darned preacher
preach.

Chid was ready for folks when they at last came slowly down the hill.
Mr. Driddle had instructed him, being experienced in graveyard conduct.
Chid showed the paper, passing it through the family groups as they
walked slowly to the carriages. He didn't have to say much for folks
to understand.

"Yes'm," Chid said, making his words slowly, "for him we all loved.
Thank you, ma'am. . . . Mr. Driddle'll call on you in time. Thank you
very kindly."

6

He had no trouble at all with folks who hadn't worked for Old Man
Tatum. Away from his shipyard, Asa Tatum had been well enough
liked, a deacon in the church and one of the burgesses of the township.
Almost everybody was willing to name a sum they'd be responsible for
to place a handsome stone on the bare burying plot. Catching folks like
that, cold and anxious to get indoors and having to decide right in front
of neighbors, had been Chid's idea. Usually Mr. Driddle waited for two
weeks and then made his rounds privately, and he never had raised but
a small stone sum.

All Chid had to do was to mark down the sum and the name along
the margin of the drawing for the proposed stone. It was astounding how
it ran up. He faced the shipwrights unabashed, secure by reason of the
wives being with most of them. William Dalrymple, the rigger, scowled
and seemed about to talk as he might have in the loft, but his wife
patted Chid's arm and said he was doing a right handsome thing, and
mentioned two dollars. William let a booted foot fly at Chid's shin,
hurting him, but Chid smiled and said his thanks to both in the best of
humor.

"A great stone for a great man," Chid told a group filing by. "Even
William Dalrymple promised a sum I'll not mention right out . . and
William, you might say, wasn't on first-rate terms with Mr. Tatum.
Thank you, sir ... I mark it five dollars for the Eldredge family; thank
you indeed."

Chid did it just right. He had sense enough not to go to Mrs. Tatum
or Reverend Thurber. Many told him that he was doing a fine thing,
something truly for all of them. Chid could even feel a small glow of
righteousness and forget for a minute the real reason behind his soliciting.

Mr. Driddle hung in the background shadows, looking anxious. The
snow lay deep on his drawing, and the list of names filled all four
margins. It made Chid feel a little bad when Mrs. Tatum touched his
sleeve and said softly, "God bless you, Chidsy. Asa always believed that
you didn't like him."

"Fm right sorry, ma'am," Chid said and lowered his eyes. "I always
liked him and I'm proud to do this."

She passed slowly on to the carriage which Old Beemis was holding,
the last to leave Old Man Tatum in his lonely new bed. Only Mr.

7

Driddle remained in the graveyard. He came now, like a wolf to a feast,
from behind a stand of alder and clutched Chid's arm. "You done good, I
reckon," he said. "Give over the paper, boy."

" 'Bout two hundred dollars, off-hand figuring,'* Chid said. But he
pocketed the paper, buttoning his coat over it. "Mr. Driddle, less than
half that would provide an all-fired handsome stone. Look, I been up to
New London and I kind of ran across Nehemiah Avery, and he men-
tioned he wasn't so busy this time of the year."

Mr. Driddle looked scared. "Boy," he croaked, "you wouldn't do that?"

Chid laughed and shrugged. "I ain't done nothing yet," he said. "I
don't mean to, you don't make me. But Avery just happened to see your
drawing sticking out of my pocket, and he mentioned, being as he wasn't
busy, that he'd be pleased to make such a stone for an even seventy dol-
lars, any reasonable lettering on it, arid set to Mrs. Tatum's fancy soon's
the frost leaves."

Chid wasn't worried about Mr. Driddle. He had had the digging and
stone trade in Portersville ever since anybody could remember, and it
wasn't reasonable to suppose he'd fuss too much the first time anybody
had ever checked on his charges. Chid hadn't meant to do what he was
doing. The original agreement was ten dollars for the list, Chid promising
that, as one of Mr. Tatum's employees, he would raise an amount which
would surprise Mr. Driddle. They had estimated that a hundred dollars
would be good, and Chid would get his ten out of it. Allowing for that
and some of the pledges becoming uncollectable for one reason and an-
other, Mr. Driddle had designed a good sixty-dollar stone. But now, with
the subscription list almost two hundred dollars, Chid reckoned he'd
been smart to see Nehemiah Avery.

"I only checked on your price," Chid said, not mentioning his disap-
pointment when he had found that Mr. Driddle's figures had been fair
enough. "It was all right... and you can still do the job for 'way under
a hundred dollars, just like Avery."

"What happens to the extra money?"

"Well, now," Chid grinned, "I reckon that's for me to say. I collected
it, and I got the list."

Mr. Driddle swore, not pleasantly, but Chid paid him no heed. A man
had a right, sort of, to let off after being used like that. "Dang it!" Mr.

Driddle shouted, "I'll have you up before a magistrate. You'll end up in
the gaol, I swear."

"We both will," Chid said. "Two hundred dollars for a sixty-dollar
stone's akin to stealing, I'd guess. You been making stones a long time,
Mr. Driddle ... it would be a shame to have it end just because of one
little mess like this."

Old Beemis's horses were straining into the hames, trying to break
the wheels of the last carriage from the frozen ruts; a matter Chid
watched with calculation. Just before they broke out, Chid figured to
give a helping push. It was a cold bitter night, and his help might earn
him a lift into the village, two miles away.

Mr. Driddle blew snow from his yellow Hessian mustache in resigna-
tion. "How much, boy?" he mumbled.

"Fifty/ 5 Chid said. "Fifty is all I need. It's cheap to you."

"All right," said Mr. Driddle, "Boy, you want to rejuce yer rates slight,
we'd make a team, we would. Now, give over the list."

"Nope," said Chid. "I got to have the fifty right now. That's why it's
only fifty. Was I to wait or maybe take your word for it, it would have
to be double. I won't be around these parts much longer, so I'm willing
to settle for that right now."

"Tarnation!" Mr. Driddle growled. "You think a man carries money
like that in his breaks?"

" 'Course I don't. You drop by the Wagon's and Seamen's in an hour.
That's when I'll be needing the money. You'll get your list. But I wouldn't
wait, was I you. It ain't so far to New London, and Avery is almighty
idle/'

Chid heard the carriage wheels crunching on new ice, and hurried to
be on. hand for the break-out. But Old Beemis, on the box, looked at
him with impatience and moved over. "Thought that'ud fetch you," he
grunted. "This here rig ain't been stuck at all, Chidsy; it's been waitin'
on you. What in snum you been chinnin* with Tom about?"

"We were picking out a nice plot for you," Chid said, clearing the
snow from the offside of the double seat. "What you want, Beem?"

Old Beemis made a sucking sound understood by the horses, and they
moved homeward through the blizzard, He swayed close to Chid, turn-

9

ing rheumy eyes on him, and handed him a flat package wrapped in a
swatch of sailcloth.

"This here's fer you, Chidsy," he croaked. "It's why I waited. Nez
Nott figured it wasn't right to give it to you in a graveyard, not with a
preacher to windward, anyways." Old Beemis lowered his voice. "Nez
says to mention that the Blessed Cause drops to salt a-fore midnight. Hell
save yer berth till two bells, no later."

"It's the third bottle of rum he's given me," Chid said, taking the
packet. "They must want me bad."

"Carpenters is hard to get," the old man said. "One flask will fetch up
to able. But it takes two fer gunners and marines, and three, to least, for
cooks an' carpenters."

"How's that?"

"It's like this now," Beemis said, cocking his head to reason the matter
out in words for Chid, "seamen stay with the ship an' share all prizes.
Gunners, they get picked off by topmen and musketeers, an' marines
drink theirselves to death afore land's dropped. But carpenters, boy; they
get sent home with the prizes to keep 'em afloat and get swindled outen
their share o' what's taken arterwards."

"You forgot cooks."

"Hell," Beemis snorted, "I wasn't remindin' meself, lad, bein* one on a
fare smacker when the damned gov'mint leaves shippin* alone. Chidsy,
sea cooks rightly rate a full hogshead o' rum; their own shipmates plague
'em to death the hull danged voyage."

They crunched on in silence, paralleling the river, which was already
icing in the coves. The first house lights o the village appeared like
candles seen behind a smoky sash, and in the coach below Mrs. Tatum
sobbed and made small meaningless talk with her ladies. Chid wasn't
worried about shipping on the privateer, nor being swindled out of his
share of the prize money. He had always had to take care o himself, and
he hadn't done badly. The Embargo Act had stifled all shipping, and
about every New England business depending upon it, and times had
been poor. Squeezing opportunity, after the hard search for it, had in a
way become a specialty of Chid's.

His main trouble right now was the hindering apprenticeship. Binding
him to the Tatum yard had been one of the last earthly deeds of his

10

father's. He was himself a shipwright at the yard, and Chid had gone
into the training joyously, thrilling to the feel of the smooth hickory-
handled tools and the chuffing of the big wooden planes as they bit into
sweet new pine plank. Chid guessed, then, that shipbuilding was sort
of in his blood, as horse racing or seamanship or farming was said to be
in some men's blood.

It had been all right while his father had lived. Flower, who was a
West Indian black girl, had kept house in the place of the mother he
had never known; and Reverend Thurber had told him, citing horrible
examples to make his points, about rum and bad company and females
though he'd been skimpy with examples of the female kinds of trouble,
giving no details and his father had always been a friendly, understand-
ing man.

Chid had felt the loss of his father keenly. A small brig had stuck
on the Tatum launch-ways one summer tide, and his father had taken a
gang under her to clear the jamme,d wedges. When the ship had at last
commenced its belated slide to the river, men's screams had mingled with
the shriek of her tortured blocking, and they had brought three men out
from under the cradle. Two had died, Ned Darrow and Chid's father;
and Chid was left alone.

Mrs. Palmer, who was next-neighbor, and the Leets had been kind to
him, easing the pain and shock of those first dreary days. For a time Chid
tried living with the Leets, enjoying the tidy, low-ceilinged home and the
abundant table and the sport of teasing Mary, who was his own age.
On winter nights the shipwrights gathered about Moses' hoarded nip-
cider before the hearth, and the stories about ships being born were
spun. Chid loved those evenings. From them he took the pride which
he had in his trade, and came to understand in time that he was part of a
great tradition of America. The Leets', save for his father's absence, was
a better home than he had ever known. Even in those days he wanted,
some day, to be master of one like it.

When he was eighteen, grown in pride, Chid had understood that he
was almost a man and that he couldn't stay on at the Leets'. There was
the question of board money, for one thing, for Old Man Tatum con-
sidered the learning he was providing sufficient compensation without a
wage too. And for another thing, there was Mary.

II

She was suddenly, it one day struck Chid, a woman. Not one like
Reverend Thurber had warned against, but a soft, lovely being who
peopled his dreams more all the time. At first the discovery annoyed him,
for, when she was loveliest, she sometimes acted as if she were ashamed
of him, and she often turned on him almost savagely, and made him wash
or watch his eating habits. But there came, in time, a way she had of
looking at him and of avoiding him that scared Chid.

He didn't particularly want to do anything about that look, though
it thrilled him in a queer upsetting way. He kissed her once, all washed
and clean-smelling in Saturday night change, and he used to like to think
that she hadn't forgotten the kiss. He hadn't; he reckoned he maybe
never would. But when the chance came, he moved his small belongings
to the apprentice dormitory, above the sail loft at Tatum's, and bunked
with the journeymen who came to work in the yard.

Thereafter he moved in a man's world, thinking and doing man things.
He learned, quickly enough, how to take care of himself and fight for
his place in their bunkhouse society, and it felt good of an evening, with
his back aching from a long day of adzing breast hooks or whipping
plank, to linger in the Wagon's and Seamen's with pleasant company
over flip and shipyard talk to ease the remembrance of it. It was good not
having to explain to Aunt Leety where he had been. She had always
wanted to know, like a mother, or as Mary did sometimes. Once in a
while, when they'd ask him, Chid would come right out and admit he'd
been at the tavern, taking a peculiar delight in thinking that Mary be-
lieved the worst of him. Mr. Halliday, who was landlord of the Wagon's
and Seamen's, could provide any comfort a starved seaman or hunter
or townsman, too, could want; a matter well known along the coast but
not mentioned except by the menfolks. Tarrying there was wicked in the
eyes of some. Chid didn't believe so. It was what a man did there, not
merely being there, that counted.

For a while Chid used to go to the Leets' for his Sunday dinner, com-
ing early so Aunt Leety could take a swing at patching his clothes and
Mary could decide whether he needed to shave or not. He made it a
point always to wash for Sunday and pull his clothes around as neatly
as he could manage, but they always found something that needed the
needle or fussing over. At first Chid used to tell himself that he was just

12

going to stoke up on some first-class fodder; that these extra hours with
Moses, his foreman, helped him in learning his trade. But he knew, deep
inside, what he really wanted was to see Mary, to catch her with that
queer thrilling look in her eyes.

Moses Leet, after dinner, always took a nap, snoring loudly on the
back parlor sofa, still in his stiff church clothes; and when he'd wake up
Chid and he would plan out the next week's work at the yard. Chid
enjoyed that. Thinking ahead, planning, bringing out some cute short
cut to save time or material, always gave him a feeling of promise, as if,
come time and opportunity, it would be a mighty useful and profitable
talent to have. But always, when he thought of himself in Moses' boots,
it was at some distant time when his bound-papers had run out and he
was truly on his own.

Moses, smoking one of the Philadelphia seegars of the box of fifty
which Mr. Tatum gave him each New Year's Day, sometimes branded
Chid's ideas as cheating.

"There ain't no short cuts in shipbuilding, boy," he pointed out once;
"not in life either, there ain't. It's a lesson you got to learn, Chid, 'pears
to me."

"A job," Chid had argued back, "has got to show a profit. It's what
Tatum or any man takes 'em for. So I reckon a man's got a right to twist
his time and material and work methods 'round much as he's a mind to
to make a profit so long as he turns out the job."

"Well, yes an' no," Moses conceded. "Trouble is, Chid, you look at
shipbuilding and life, too, as a lot o' little jobs, each to show a profit. It
ain't like that. It's all one long timeless job, an' a smart man makes his
profits from hunderts o' little jobs, all strung through the years, losing
on some maybe, but averagin' up handsome enough, most likely. An'
all the while he's buildin' up suthin' besides profit; suthin' poor times an 1
jackasses in Congress and English frigates and human damnfoolishness
can't never take from him. Lay you, Chid, boy, you can't name what 'tis."

"I can," Chid said; "you mean reputation, I reckon."

Chid hadn't missed the quick look Moses had given him. "Aye," he
clucked, strangely not inclined to talk further; "I mean reputation. You
might look to yours, lad."

Chid was just turned twenty then; tall and blond as one of the Swedish

13

fishermen who lived down Pequot way. He was quick all over, eyes,
fingers, and feet, and strong as a young bullock, which he had once
proved by throwing Teelyman's bull calf in under twenty seconds at
Mr. Halliday's annual free June-day party at the Lantern Hill resort.
He resented Moses' advice and suspected that the old man sometimes
deliberately swung shipyard talk around to make it apply to himself. It
was, Chid recognized, a cute way to watch and guide him without seem-
ing to. And Moses, Chid knew, felt a responsibility for bringing him up
decently, just as Aunt Leety felt responsible for his clothes and his cleanli-
ness. He "supposed they considered him almost their own blood and kin.
He could never know, though, that their kindness and concern was
partly because they both understood the look in Mary's eyes.

After a while Chid didn't set every Sunday aside for a visit at the
Leets'. He skipped it, and church, too; and usually when he did so, it
was because his new crony, Nez Nott, had concocted some bit of ad-
venture much more to Chid's liking. And Nez Nott, parents held, was
not good company for their sons.

Nez wasn't bad, but you had to know him to find that out. Most folks
judged him unkindly because Nez never took the pains to make a favor-
able impression. He was concerned only with the physical business of
living, living with the most fun and the least work, matters which every-
body really was after but wasn't open and aboveboard about. Nez would
work until he had achieved his uncomplicated wants. Then he would
quit abruptly, and folks branded him shiftless. He wasn't. He worked
hard, even at the simple chore of providing food, for inshore fishing and
upland hunting were no longer the easy tasks they had been for settlers.
Nez was an expert at both, and he considered it silly to work for money
to buy what he wanted when it was so much more fun getting it direct.

As he grew older and wanted things besides food, he had taken to
periods of work at the Tatum yard; usually in the spar loft where his
untiring strength could elevate rough logs to sound smooth spars as
quickly as any journeymen who really knew the trade. But his taste ran
only to cheap dunder rum, in which he contended there was just as much
fun as ia straight expensive Martinique or Jamaican, and so he wasn't on
Asa Tatum's pay roll very often or for very long at a time.

Chid couldn't rightly define what it was about Nez that attracted him,

14

Chid admired him and his ability to lick any reasonable situation without
losing stride. He was direct about things and never had any trouble
about weighing his decisions. Nez was for or against, friend or enemy,
whole hog or none.

Chid supposed he envied Nez his freedom more than anything else.
But it used to strike him as almighty queer that Nez didn't use his free-
dom as he himself would. Chid's idea of freedom was not to loaf and
keep clear of responsibilities; quite the opposite. Freedom was oppor-
tunity; a chance to put to work some of the notions which Moses Leet,
in his honest, old-fashioned way, had branded as cheating. That he would
soon have it., and without that hindering wait until August, Chid was
now certain.

It depended a lot upon this Mr. Brown and how he'd take Chid's propo-
sition. Chid hadn't met a mortal yet who could argue for keeps against
hard cash. Noah Brown, who was a Stamford man and had the largest
shipyard in New York, save perhaps the famous one of Henry Eckford,
had had his agent buy in the Tatum yard before the old man was fair
cold. Chid didn't know what he wanted it for. But he did know that Mr.
Brown now owned his apprenticeship papers, and not a respectable pri-
vateer skipper on the coast would sign on a hand who was still bound out
to another.

Old Beemis stopped the team at the foot of Tatum Hill. The great
white clapboarded house with the widow's walk perched above the snow-
covered roof frowned down, throwing an edgeless purple shadow on the
drifted snow of the flanking hill fields. In the rising wind the cedars
whined, like hurt animals, unable to flee to warmth and kindness. Beemis
shook his sodden lap robe free of muddy hoof -thrown snow clods, and
made as if to climb down to the road. But Chid, understanding those
things, checked him.

"No you don't," Chid said. "You can make it. You don't need an extra
dollar from Mrs. Tatum."

"Hell, she's got J em," Beemis mumbled, but remained in the seat.
"Drivin's powerful thirsty business, boy. How'm I to get quenched o' the
thirst, payday bein' Satiddy next?"

It was the least Chid could do. The old lady's husband's death had

15

been right profitable to him. Besides, Chid, having never known a mother,
had a peculiar reverence for all women of mother-looking age. And he
could take care of what was bothering Beemis and his Noank thirst.

The driver followed Chid with his eyes, watching his fumbling hands
and understanding. Chid brought out Nez's bottle of rum and handed
it to the old man. Beemis grasped it with rude eagerness, letting it gurgle
steadily at his lips until Chid took it away. Chid took a generous nip for
himself, letting the liquor warm him, then handed it back. "You had a
dollar's worth first draw," he said, "and it's prime Martinique, but you
can have it all.'*

Beemis belched his appreciation, and without a word spanked the reins
on the rumps of the horses. They plodded slowly up the hill, making
slippery work of it; then, at the top, turned into the circular drive before
the Tatum house. Chid helped Mrs. Tatum into the house, letting her
lean heavily on his arm.

She seemed very small and fragile. She walked slowly, with a curious
uncertainty foreign to any Tatum and, it struck Chid, bravely. He placed
her in a chair before the grate fire. Cooking odors came into the rich
quiet room, and Chid guessed that, Mrs. Palmer and Aunt Leety and
perhaps Mary were in there, come to be neighborly to the old lady in
those first empty hours. He didn't want to see them, especially Mary.
When he came back, yes. It would be different then, and he would be
secure in the triumph of his plans far beyond merely talking or hoping
them.

"Stay to sup, Chidsy," Mrs. Tatum said, as her ladies took her wraps
and filled the foot warmer with coals. "Asa asked you many a time, but
you never came."

"No, ma'am," said Chid, not remembering that Old Man Tatum had
ever mentioned the matter. "I've got some business down-street. Ill be
riding in with Beem." v

"If it's Mr. Brown you have your business with," she said, watching
Chid keenly, "it will do you no good, Chidsy. Moses Leet and I made
him agree to finish you. Asa and Moses both say you'll go far, but you
need journeyman's papers. So you'll be off to New York, more than like,
making yourself into what you started out to be. Mr. Brown has plans for
you, Chidsy."

16

"Yes'm," Chid said. He didn't care about others' plans for himself,
and it made him suddenly hotly angry, having plans which concerned
him made without consulting him. But he said nothing to Mrs* Tatum,
acting polite and regretful that he couldn't stay.

"You're a good boy, Chidsy," Mrs. Tatum said. "We were afraid you
might take notions to go off with Captain Fish."

Chid said good night then. It startled him somewhat, finding that
folks had read his intentions so easily and accurately. Only Nez knew that
he wanted to go; and Nez wasn't a talker. Perhaps Mrs. Tatum was re-
membering that time two years ago when Chid had tried to buy back
his bound-papers. He'd offered all the money he had in the world, the
sum of four dollars and a quarter in silver. Asa Tatum had laughed up-
roariously, not taking the offer seriously, not even when Chid had said
some hot, bitter things and threatened to run out of his bondage anyway.
It never occurred to Chid that this reputation which Moses Leet thought
needed looking after might have helped the old lady to guess his plans.

Chid had grown smarter since that experience; a great deal smarter.
And one of the signs of a smart man was being close-mouthed, doing
and not saying. Chides father had been a Cape Anne man, and his mother
was from Quanibogue, two miles to the eastward, and there weren't two
closer-mouthed sections in all the states. Being close-mouthed came natu-
rally, after babbling adolescence, and he'd learned other things along with
it. He reckoned they'd stand him in good stead when he met up with
this Mr. Brown 'and made his trade.

Beemis had finished the bottle. He was in a genial, rummy mood, call-
ing his horses Tom Jefferson and Tom Driddle because they denoted the
end of everything; and, he prattled, half-drunk, that it was the end of
driving those damned horses for him. The job made a man too thirsty,
he said, and anyway he was a prime sea cook, used to stewing horses,
not driving them.

"Fish's Marine captain was askin* 'round," Beemis confided, breathing
heavily at Chid. "He's got interestin' articles fer them as you might call
reg'lar"

"What's so interesting about them?'*

"Gard!" Beemis hiccoughed, "I dassn't say, Chidsy* Honesty was you

17

to turn into me own sainted mother on the spot, I wouldn't dast mention
the details."

"Shut up," Chid said. "Your blood must be pure dunder. What makes
you talk so?"

"I'm sober, Chidsy, too damn' sober; that's what. It makes a man's
mind wander, bein' sober. He sees things an* hears 'em. Fortunate I
recollect I, got a tiny smitch o j dunder stowed on me. Now ain't that
nice, Chidsy-mate? Ain't it so, boy?"

Chid paid him no heed. Beemis was a sot, beyond mortal help. Two
bells, mentioned by Nez, was only three hours away. And dreams, Chid
had learned, didn't come true without a good rugged mortal push. Pro-
viding nothing went wrong, he had time aplenty to push his dreams
along famously before the Blessed Cause sailed.

18

Chapter Two

MR. HALLIDAY'S WAGON'S AND SEAMEN'S stood near the junction of the Post
Road short cut and the boggy lane which led seaward over the marshes to
the fishing wharves of Noank at the river-mouth. Anybody waiting for
the ferry or a change of stage horses was bound to yield to Landlord
Halliday's inviting house. During the day the signboard, surmounted by
a huge rum cask on which, in brass shoe nails, was outlined the shape
of an anchor, could be seen from fifty rods in either direction, or from
the opposite eastern shore of the Mystick and the road which led, even-
tually, to Providence and the Bay Colony. Often some of the barmaids,
by which name Mr. Halliday hired them, disposed themselves upon the
broad veranda which overlooked the salt field between the house and the
river, adding promise to a stay there.

At night Mr. Halliday was careful to keep a welcome light in every
front window and smoke coming from at least two chimneys if the
weather was at all raw. But tonight, in spite of the usual lights which
were ordinarily used by homeward-bound fare smackers as the ranges for
the Ram Island out-channel, Chid was not aware of them until, appear-
ing like witch's fire in a woodland swale, the carriage was suddenly upon
them and the post-yard door made a white blur in the storm. The snow
fell thicker and faster, muffling all sound. Chid could see nothing of the
surroundings; not even the great lofts and shed of the Tatum yard only
a few rods to the southward.

Beemis pulled up the team with a good-natured drunken curse. "J um P?
boy," he said. "Listen, you be heedin* Nez's message, be'nt you?"

"You better get on to the stables," Chid said. "Sleet's makin' to snow."

"Well, naow!" Beemis chuckled; "smarter'n a wart, you be, Chidsy, I
snum. But it's answer enough. I'll tell Nez."

19

"Don't tell Nez anything," Chid said. "Just wanting ain't doing. I can't
say till I've done some trading with a man in here."

"Well, that's a howdeedo indeed/' Beemis croaked. "Three bottles the
captain sent you by Nez, and you don't make answer." He straightened
suddenly, regarding Chid with a cunning look. "Chid/ 1 he said, honeying
his words, "that 'ere message o' Nez's was a almighty effort rememberin',
'twas."

"Here," said Chid, understanding and handing the old man Nez's
second flask of rum, which he'd tucked in his pocket when it had come
to him at noon. "I don't use it regular anyway."

Beemis took a long draught, holding his woolen muffler under his chin
to keep the swirling snow from blowing down his neck. When he
couldn't drink any longer without breathing, he brought the flask to his
lap. "Chid/* he said, "actual I on'y wanted a sip, but I took a fair helpin*
so's it'ud be a lesson to you. You talk too belittlin' about rum, and you'll
come to no good on Preserved Fish's command takin' that attitude.
Privateerin' is bloody business, boy, an' rum helps keep yer insides stowed
down nice when yer mate's limbs commence dwindlinY'

"Let 'em dwindle. The whole crew can die of the rum horrors for all
I care," Chid said, dropping to the road. "It'll be that many fewer to share
the prize money with. That's all I want to sail for. Beero, you go straight
to the stables and stay there till you're sober. Don't you go out afoot in
this, and don't light any candles; you'd have the place afire in no time
the way you are."

"Ar-r-r," Beemis growled; "on'y two flasks an* a smitch, minus yer own
swillin/ an' you name me drunk. What's younkers come to these days?"

Beemis didn't expect an answer. He slumped into his coat and drove off
abruptly. Beemis was an old man, almost sixty-five, and had seen the coast
change from a few plantations and squired villages to a teeming industrial
and farming area, wherein men gadded about with the untiring purpose
of the ant. He didn't like it; and long ago, as a boy, he had learned to
depend upon simple things. His authority was General Stark, and he
would quote him often, like a passage from the Holy Scriptures.

" 'Rum, kettles, an' bullets', sez he/ s Beemis would croak, never caring
who was his audience, " * Vital military stores/ sez Stark; 'got to have
'em/ sez he to Genril Washington, an' I heard 'im say it. An' I ain't

2O

fergit; not never, fer it's damn* good stores any place, I hold. I was drivin'
one o' the supply carts up to Bennington, where we was to turn back
Baum an' his pretty Hessians. Well, Genril Stark, he overtook me like,
an' he stopped an' he sez, sincere as a owl, 'Boys, whip up yer nags. The
hull damned army's waitin' on you boys.' 'Genril/ sez I, man to man, Ve
got a powerful load, an' whoever laid out this goddamn' road humped
her over every quagmire in the blasted state.' 1 reckon they did,' the
Genril said, 'but, boys, if you get into trouble, jest lighten yer load. Pitch
out the kettles, then the bullets, but no matter what, fetch up that rum.
This is a war we're fightin'. An' off goes me Genril. It's a solemn lesson,
ain't it now, gents?"

Beemis had lived pretty much that way ever after; jettisoning every-
thing in life but the rum. He'd allow that other things might be handy
on occasion, but when a man had real problems to solve, rum would serve
best of anything.

"Take that Chidsy Alwyn," Beemis mumbled to the team as it plodded
toward the livery stable without the help of reins. "He's got problems, he
has. Here's Nez Nott, bringin* prime rum, an' opporchunity opens a
door to fair spoils fer the lad; money an' station an' such. Does the lad
whoop? Nossir, he don't. He squarms 'round with his insides which hev
been poisoned by that there Reverend an' Moses Leet an' wimmin folks,
an* he lets them binderin' things annoy the hell outen him, tryin* to
solve his problems cold sober. Naow, a body o' sense an' experience ? ud
recollect Genril Stark's wisdom. 'Fetch up that rum,' sez he. 'To hell with
the rest. Amen, Mister Beemis!' Chidsy, you tarnal fool, whyn't you get
good an' drunk an' fergit 'bout them 'prentice papers an' yer gurl an*
Moses Leet slobberin' on learnin' a trade 'gainst the time when this
country gets some sense banged into it? That ain't never goin' to be, art'
Beemis knows fer certain, havin' fit fer glory an' the two Georges till he's
plagued sick on it. Make yer pile now, Chidsy, an' damn yer scruples or
whatever 's a-holdin' o' you. Oh, you went an* skedaddled on me, hey?
You leave a old man out in a wicked gale, all alone, like he never give
you no wisdom an' good advice. Damn you, Chidsy! 'Don't make no
light,' sez you; like I was drunk! Blast you, Chidsy!"

Beemis lurched to the stable doors and opened them, hiccoughing
gently, at about the same moment that Chid, having spent some minutes

21

peering through the sash into Mr. Halliday's taproom on the lower floor
to size up his man and the situation in general, the post-yard door.
Noah Brown, though it was but six o'clock, had finished his supper and,
with the board cleared save for a candle and a writing folio, occupied one
end of a small round table near the great chunk fire.

He was a slight wiry man, suggestive of hard muscles beneath his
severe broadcloth jacket; and he wore, though he wasn't much more than
thirty, a.jich brown full beard. His eyes, too, were brown; and kind and
quick. Chid had a feeling as he stood inside the plank door shaking off
the snow and stamping some heat into his feet, that those eyes without
seeming to were measuring him, taking his gauge, as they might size up
a hard pine log and see it already whip-sawed into understandable deck-
ing and planking and spars.

Mr. Halliday, who had been elbow-leaning on his mahogany-wood bar,
nodded to Chid; then turned to Mr. Brown. "This here," he said, "is
Chidsy Alwyn, sir. He's one on your list."

Noah Brown looked directly at Chid and made a small bow. "A pleas-
ure, Mr. Alwyn," he said cordially. "Come and join me. We've some
business, I believe."

Chid had never bowed before in his life. He considered it a Tory habit,
or, at least, an effeminate habit of magistrates, preachers, and such. But
he felt himself compelled to bow now, and he made a clumsy attempt,
which spilled melted snow water from his hat brim onto the table as he
ducked his head. Mr. Halliday guffawed, but Mr. Brown made no sign
that he had noticed, and Chid felt a quick appreciation for it. Almost
this meeting had turned out like the last one at which he had attempted
to buy back his bound-papers. The failure of that to Chid had always
been that Old Man Tatum had laughed at him; not even ceasing when
he had laid his savings and his dreams so eagerly and confidently on the
table.

Chid, that time, had wanted his. freedom to join the coming fight. The
cry of "free trade and seamen's rights" and "no search of Yankee ships"
was thick and challenging in the air. Chid did not fully understand the
meaning of the slogans, but they had all sounded grand, coupled with
the fifes of the recruiters and the yarns of adventure which the genial
tarry-haired frigate mates told around Mr. Halliday's fire.

22

Chid had listened to frigate men entranced. When a regular Navy
recruiter came, passing the word that he'd stand the score for all who
would join and listen, the Stars and Stripes flew over the tavern post
yard. It flew to a monkey gaff on a lightning-shivered elm, and it was
said that the gaflE had come from the Cerebus frigate which Mr. Bushnell
had blown right out of the English Fleet with a device called a submarine.
Sometimes, the privateersmen would come and the stark rattlesnake flag
flew beneath the ensign. The rum then was the best Martinique, served
without measuring, and its fire roused men to prideful resentment of
their wrongs at England's hands.

Chid had listened to them all, and had taken his small savings to Old
Man Tatum. The old man had just laughed, giving no answer in words.
It was Moses Leet who had tried to set Chid straight.

"One o* the matters we got to pervide against, Chidsy," he said after
his nap one Sunday, making out to discuss the shipyard problems as
always, "is to see that our young lads don't go off to war onthinkin'. This
war ain't like 'twas in seventy-seven. We was fightin* then for our homes
an' our families an' our lives; for a nation wantin' to be born. But this
war ain't nuthin' but a bit o* licensed murder an* piracy. Any man with
a ten-ton bottom's allowed a Letter o* Marque an' all the prizes he can
rob the sea of. This, lad, is a war for the money-bags an' the southern
politicians, an' they expect New England to fight for 'em. An' New
England, Chid, is jest greedy enough to do it pervidin* it can share in the
loot."

"Free trade and seamen's rights!" Chid had said, making it sound glori-
ous. "It's time we showed England we're entitled to respect; that we're
free men and a great nation the greatest on earth someday. Was I
thinkin' of goin', 'twould only be my duty."

Moses studied him for a moment, then spoke. "You are thinkin' o*
goin*, Chid," he said, blowing smoke at the flies. "It's why I spoke so.
Mr. Tatum told me but he didn't understand, seems *s if. But, Chid,
you're only a youngster, scarce fit to decide yourself. A smart man would
figure that when this was all over he might serve his country a heap
better knowing a trade than stumpin' about the taverns forever after,
prattlin* about the war as if he'd fit it single handed."

23

Chid had laughed, thinking of Old Beemis and scores like him, trade-
less drunkards and loafers and, -really, a hindrance to the country.

"Well," he said then, "all right. I was thinking of going. Major Banell
give a forty-dollar bounty for a man to join his company for a border
campaign, and the best fodder in the whole Army. But I kind of cot-
toned to the Sturdy Yanf^ schooner. Nobody gets any pay, not even
Master Wingate, but all hands share in prizes, and I hear even the cook's
boy came back with nigh two hundred dollars last voyage out."

"I know all that," Moses said, "but I don't believe in it. I'm a Massa-
chusetts man, Chidsy, an* I cal'ate we'd best remain outside any war
this here Carolina an' Virginia gov'ment stirs up for us. I'm even for
sesesh if need be, for bustin' up what I gave blood for thutty-five years
ago. Fd be reasonable if somebody'd but come as can show me he ain't
just minded to dig into the molasses barl whilst the diggin's so prime.
Bounty money, prize money even the Navy pays a lay! Hah, boy, don't
be deceived by cries o' savin' our union it ain't in danger from nobody
but the danged hogs who makes up most o' it!"

"If Mr. Tatum would free me, I'd fight tonight," Chid said, not seeing
the reasoning. "But he won't. Don't you kind of feel different when you
see the flag, proud and waving?"

"Depends," Moses said solemnly, "depends entire on who waves it."

They had let it lie there; and Chid was still bound out, for Moses told
him flatly that he wouldn't take up his case with Tatum. But in time Chid
came to understand some of the cruel truths in Moses 5 words. He under-
stood about the privateer recruiters after Ros Crown's brig came in for
fitting out. He could see that many of the officers who held open house
at Mr. Halliday's were merely rabble rousers, parroting heady phrases in
the fumes of free rum to get a man signed on in spite of his better sense.

Many of the privateers had come into the river to fit out after sea
roving. Chid had seen the shot holes, and the awful havoc of chain and
bar shot; and once, planing dried blood off a bleached pine deck, he had
found a withered human hand wedged bloodily into a solid oak bulwark
stanchion. He had talked with seamen who had fought, listening to their
laments of how prize money had never proved up to promise after the
courts and the brokers and the owners had taken their shares.
24

Bob Crown's brother, Roswell, came in on his sinking brig with both
legs shot off at the knee, the stumps dabbed with hot tar and the smell of
decaying flesh beneath stronger than the tar itself. He had died as his
brother Bob was leaving to fetch the mother. He had died smiling, his
eyes shining with a holy light and riveted to the shot-torn ensign on the
mizzen gaff and his ears ringing with the promise of Mr. Lidbody, of
Noank, the owner, to take care of his mother.

The Crowns could have used the money, Bob's father having been
taken by a British press gang six years ago. But they never got a cent of
it. Mr. Lidbody claimed, making an affidavit to the prize court at New
London, that Roswell Crown had been a stowaway and therefore not
entitled to share. It had made Chid's blood boil, opening his eyes to much;
and Nez Nott, who was Bob's friend too, in his direct way had picked
a fight with Mr. Lidbody and thrashed him soundly, then disappeared
for a while. After that Chid saw that Moses Leet was right it wasn't a
war for their lives and homes and way of living, but licensed pirating by
which a few men were making great fortunes and many men were
dying.

Chid's town, though he did not know it, had suffered along with a
few other coastal places which depended entirely upon the sea and its
shipping for existence and livelihood, very much more than inland towns,
or the great cities whose wealth and efforts were divided. Portersville was
and had been a dead village, its people in real need and with no hope of
better times until war actually came. But in June of 1812, with war at
last declared and Mr. Cheve's Navy Bill calling for armed ships passed,
prosperity had returned. Chid's neighbors turned joyously to ship building
again and to reaping the easy profits that suddenly came. It was oppor-
tunity and succor; not so much to build wealth or hoard as to wipe out
the debts of almost five years of bitter depression. Folks weren't much
interested in fighting; not in the militia or in the Army, and certainly
not in the Navy, where a man had trouble collecting his promised pay
and shared prize money with hundreds of his mates.

Portersville, and some said Salem and Marblehead and Norwich, fought
in their own way, for men's own pockets. Their grievances against a
Congress charmed by Mr. Jefferson and his pacific shilly-shallying foreign
policy, and their refusal to protect private shipping by naval force, were

25

too close and too real to permit them, as communities, to swing into war
in wholehearted, selfless patriotism and sacrifice.

The Tatum yard, in those first months, built twenty of the miserable
little gunboats which every commodore of the Navy had roundly con-
demned as useless against the great frigates of England's first line. It
didn't bother Old Man Tatum or the town that they were useless. Tatum
had his contract and his orders; his profit was assured, and be damned
to these confused Washington politicians who ordered what they didn't
need or couldn't use. Toward the end of the year, Mr. Tatum called his
foremen together, conscious of the distasteful reputation his town was
beginning to get. It wasn't all his or their fault. Near-by villages, like the
peculiar ingrown settlement of Noank, where it was said they still be-
lieved in witches and two out of three children were idiots, had produced
seamen and skippers willing to pirate, and to make cruel raids of looting
and worse upon the islands. The deeds of some of these men had been
laid at the door of Portersville, and New London to the westward.

Mr. Tatum proposed to build a fighting ship, a gift from the town to
the Navy. Salem had once so presented the frigate Essex to the govern-
ment. It would clear the name of the town, and, if the ship was all Mr.
Tatum expected, result in orders for more. Chid himself had worked on
the vessel, a large fair-lined schooner said to be modeled after the old
slave carriers. He was proud of it, and so was the town, until Congress
sent a commission to inspect it.

Portersville never forgave the commission. Nothing was right about
the vessel; it was not what they conceived a fighting ship to be. Some of
the innovations which Mr. Tatum had installed were considered im-
practical in the extreme. Especial criticism was leveled at the revolving
platform on the quarterdeck upon which a long gun had been mounted
for quick independent aiming. Mr. Tatum named some nasty names,
and he wrote letters to Washington about stupid politicians and blind
Navy pups with hidebound ideas, and in the end fitted the vessel out as a
privateer and sold her to Captain Preserved Fish, a strange little man
of uncertain origin but with plenty of hard cash. Fish took the schooner
but on one short cruise, came back satisfied, not saying where he'd been,
and immediately set up table at Mr. Halliday's. He called the schooner
Blessed Cause, some said with his tongue in his cheek.

26

Chid, impatient for August, had wanted to join from the first drink.
But it was not for patriotic reasons now. He had ample proof that this
was a war for self and not for the nation, and privateers made money.
Chid had seen their crews throw coins to the niggers and raggies as if it
were so much hen corn. He'd seen the belly-bank of an unkempt dirty
seaman at Mr. Halliday's where the man drank the very best rum and
kept the girls behaving their cutest while he worked the sea out of his
throat and his mind.

"Two thousand dollars in gold, me lad," the man said. "Zodac Kimble's
the handle, boy. It comes from bein* smart. They fifed me into the Army,
them goddamn' recruiters did but I didn't stay, not the secunt time I
was pizened by their mangy beef. Zo,' I sez to meself, sez I, 'get smart.
Like them beef contractors do, a-sellin' horses an' Injuns an' plain var-
mints fer honest beef.' An' I did, lad. Me capting reported me kilt in the
next skirmish God knows who 'twas! fer a tithe o' what I'd take in
prize money. I give it to him, too, the swuzzlin* hog."

He was off the Blessed Cause,, which was in the river for sparring and
fitting out. In a blaze of coin-throwing he left for New Hampshire, where,
he told Chid, he'd be a farmer king of the whole town of Derry. The
picture of Zodac with money and situation appealed to Chid and fitted
into his dreams. He thought now more than ever of the shipyard he
wanted and of the ships to be built to satisfy Congress' sudden awakening
to the necessity of bottoms to fight and win this war.

It pleased him to know that he could see clearly how things were, not
as the catchy phrases and slogans would have him. His ambitions were
large and expensive, and on all hands was opportunity. A man had but
to get after it and before this war was over, one way or the other, and
it was too late. Even August, sevea months in the future, might be too
late.

Nez, admirin-g Chid, was for privateering, but he wasn't wholeheart-
edly for the idea of money. "What in shadders d'you want it for?" he
asked Chid. "It's but an excuse. A good man don't need no excuse to do
things; he jest does *em because he wants to. Goin' fightin' for money
ain't ary a bit more fun than fightin' fer the flag an* such. Whyn't you
jest call it sport an' go?"

"Everything reduces itself to money," Chid had answered; "even patri-

27

otism, seems 's i. It's a handy kind of a way to express everything in
creation, I guess."

"Rubbish!" Nez snorted. " 'Tain't nuthin' o' value in this mortal world,
save mebbe sweat. Yer talkin' like a preacher. Chid, 'bout things you don't
understand. Neither do I, but I know I don't an' that's the difference."

Chid had laughed. But he hadn't changed his ideas any. Not when
Mr. Tatum, who had prospered by the sweat of himself and scores o
other men, had left nearly ninety thousand dollars to the old lady on the
hill. Not when Noah Brown, this cool-browed man at the table, had
just bought, for cash, a whole shipyard, including the future sweat of these
same men.

"Come set," said Mr. Brown. "I've a friend coming later that I want
you Tatum men to meet. But first we'll do our business."

"Fm not ready to do any business yet," Chid said. "I got to see Mr.
Driddle first."

"You'll not see Tom Driddle now," Mr. Halliday grinned. "Leastwise,
not if you know what's good for you. Chid, he's right engaged, you might
say."

Mr. Halliday ducked his head toward the kitchen. Chid understood,
but it didn't stop him. He hung his coat on the stag horn, and, saying
nothing, strode into the kitchen. Mr. Driddle sat beside the fireplace
deep in the embrace of a deacon chair, and on his knee, deep in his own
embrace, sat one of Mr. Halliday's girls. Chid didn't care about that.
If Mr. Driddle wanted to play the fool every time he made a dollar,
it was his own business as long as he didn't play it with Chid's money.
"Mr. Driddle," Chid said, "you want to talk to me here or where?"

"Not here, boy," Mr. Driddle said hastily, and stood up.

They went into the back hall, standing under the wall sconce with the
single fat candle. "Them gurls is like beagle dogs," he complained.
""They can smell cash a thousand miles off. Twenty-five, you said, Chid?"

"A hundred, I said."

"I swear to Hannah you didn't!" Mr. Driddle croaked. "Come to recol-
lect, it might have been fifty."

"Hand it over," Chid said, and counted tb^e money.

It was in paper. Mr. Driddle explained that he'd keep his coin so he

28

could jingle it and tease the girls. "Do," said Chid; "though hounds'll go
right down in a hole after what they want."

Mr. Driddle grinned sheepishly, and, clapping the coins together like
a man ringing in his cows, went off to the kitchen.

Chid folded the money and stowed it, not wanting it to show as a pros-
perous wad and start any false ideas with Mr. Brown. It was remarkable,
the buoyant confidence actual possession of the money gave him. He'd
never before had so much money at one time, and so had never dared
dream to the extent that he dreamed now. To him, his immediate
troubles were vanished; in his hand he held the assurance that at last
he'd be out of bondage and have the freedom which the recruiters prattled
so about. It was odd, thinking of how men who had freedom had gone
off to war with the cry of freedom on their lips. They were fools, risking
their lives for something they already had.

Chid felt a different man when he again stood before Mr. Brown.
He had no inclination to bow. He walked right to the table, calling to
Mr. Halliday for a cold joint in half a loaf and a mug of flip. "Yes, sir,"
Chid said; "we had some business."

"A small matter," said Mr. Brown opening his writing folio. "Mr.
Alwyn or Chidsy, if I may, please-- I've bought in Mr. Tatum's yard,
lock, stock, and barrel, and that includes your apprenticeship papers.
You've until August next to serve them out; right?"

"That's right," Chid said, and waited.

He liked the man. There was an appealing directness and openness
about him that Chid appreciated. Checking his information that way
showed him a careful man. There was no real reason to think of him, as
Chid had, as an enemy. Chid laid his money on the table.

Mr. Brown pursed his lips and looked at it, but he didn't touch it.
He sat back in his chair, studying Chid, his brown eyes darting over
Chid's face. "You want to buy out?" he asked finally.

"A-yep," said Chid. -'

Ruby, the kitchen girl, brought Chid's food and flip, the spice of the
drink mixing with the steam from the hot finger water always supplied
with a cold joint. Chid tore oft a piece of the beef, washing it down with
the flip. Mr. Brown hadn't moved. He still watched Chid.

"Moses Leet mentioned that this might happen, Chidsy," he said. "I

29

paid little heed; apprentices usually don't have the price. Have you
thought any why I should buy a small shipyard, remote from my own
city, Chidsy?"

"Yes, sir," Chid said; "to get hold o Tatum's white oak stand. There
ain't but small stands left any place in New England, and I guess New
York way there ain't none at all."

"Well, that's good news," Mr* Brown said softly, seemingly pleased.
"I hadn't known that I bought a timber stand, to tell the truth, but it will
be welcome indeed. Well, Chidsy, I bought the yard to get hold of some
shipbuilding talent, yourself and the other apprentices most assuredly
included."

Chid didn't stop chewing. He pushed the money nearer. "It's eighty
dollars," Chid said, not bothering to hide the triumph in his voice.

"Eighty's a handsome sum," Mr. Brown said. "Ordinarily 'twould be
fair. But in this case that many thousand wouldn't do it. A boss bigger
than you or me needs men. The name is Uncle Jonathan. Know him,
Chidsy?"

"A-yep. Plenty," said Chid. "So you're just a recruiter. Mostly they pay
the score and wave a flag."

Mr. Brown chuckled, not angry. "In a way I am," he said pleasantly.
"The only difference is that I don't feel obliged to buy the drinks. You
see, Chidsy, in your case, all I have to do is to tell you what to do/*

Chid let it sink in. That his cash was without power was hard for him,
to understand. But he couldn't misdoubt the finality of Noah Brown's
refusal of it. He reached for the folded bills, hesitating before pocketing
them. "No," said Mr. Brown, "put your money away. You're worth
twenty times that to the nation. Fifty of you are worth all the gold in
New England."

"There's a heap of it," Chid said eating again, not wanting to show
how he was feeling.

"A mighty heap, counting what was British and French."
"I was figuring to get me some of the British kind."

"Moses Leet guessed so," Mr. Brown nodded. "So did Mrs. Tatum.
Don't let the rattlesnake flag fool you, boy. That's not the flag for
patriots."

"It didn't," Chid said. "I wanted the prize money."

30

Ruby came again, taking the cleaned pewter plate. "A real man drinks
flip double at least. Chid," she said with easy familiarity.

"I ought to," Chid said. "A few in me, and I'd do what I set out to
do. There's just a writing between me and it."

"You wouldn't want law trouble,'* said Mr. Brown smiling.

"No. I wouldn't want any kind of trouble."

"After this is over," Noah Brown said, trying to understand Chid,
"we'll have times such as the Union never saw before. There'll be plenty
of opportunity for a man to make money; lots and lots of money. Now
the job is to win this war, get it over with and out of the way and be
ready to trade on the great name we'll have among nations. Are you a
Massachusetts man, Chidsy?"

"Nope. Mystick River. But we're just as sore as the baymen. We've
been starving for seven years. It took the rest of the country till now to
feel the bad times they created enough to fight. We were ready ten
years ago. Now your war's nothing to us unless it pays us."

"It's not my war," Mr. Brown said; "it's ours, yours and mine and
everybody else's. A fair man will grant that Mr. Jefferson hurt your New
England with his embargo. He was ill-advised, let's say; but even at that
he hadn't much choice. It was better to hurt a few states and keep out o
war than to hurt the nation when there was a chance to straighten out
matters with England. New England is used to her hurt, used to living on
in spite of it. What she needs, perhaps, is another hurt to really rouse
her. And it seems as if she might be getting it; any, day. You understand
what I'm saying, Chidsy?"

"A-yep," Chidsy nodded. "But I don't care."

"I think you will; all of us will, in time," Mr. Brown said quietly. "I'm
here to do my small part in preventing that other hurt. It's why I need
you arid the other apprentices and every able-bodied shipwright that I can
talk or argue into it."

"You got Bob Crown?'*

"Earlier this evening; yes. And Sylvester Tatro and the Coons boy and
the others. You're the only one that's balked, and I don't know why I'm
talking so to you instead of giving you your orders. I expect it's because I
can see in you something I had myself not so long ago. But I got over
it, Chidsy, and you will, too."

31

"I'm curious/' Chid said. "Mrs. Tatum mentioned New York."

"That's where we start from," Mr. Brown said; "from there we go to
the Great Lakes, beyond Niagara. The nation needs a Navy up there to
stop that hurt which threatens New England."

"Shucks!" Chid shrugged, not impressed. "The British been up there
for ages, threatening. Nobody's scared of that bunch of cadets in Canada."

"I'm afraid you're right; nobody is scared. But they're wrong, dead
wrong. So far these cadets, as you call them, have been busy in the
Michigan lands, and they took them, too with the torch and the scalping
knife and rum-crazy Indians. Would you want that to happen here?"

"It couldn't," Chid said with conviction. "Anyway, what'm I to do to
stop 5 em?"

"Help build the fleet I mentioned in the best time any fleet was
ever built, and with the greenest, worst stock and against the blindest,
most incompetent naval affairs committee any country was ever burdened
with. But we'll do it, Chidsy you and the Bob Crowns and the veterans
of seventy-seven."

"Sounds like a big order, and not much profit," Chid said. "What do
you want me to do?"

"Just stand by until the party has been formed. I expect a naval officer
here from Newport any moment, name of Perry. He'll do the recruiting
of those we can't order up with us. I hope to get along by noon tomorrow
the latest."

"How about our tools?"

"Gone this afternoon, by packet to New York. I'm glad to see you're
agreeable, Chidsy. You'll be proud of your part in all this some day, and
you'll have your trade and full journeyman's papers from the Noah
Brown yard. A man couldn't be better fitted for the future."

"Well," said Chid, "he might be fitted out with hard cash, seems 's if,'*

Chid rose. The taproom was filling rapidly, and the tobacco smoke of
forty clay and iron pipes was beginning to thicken the warm air. Ruby
and Jerushy scurried among the tables with trays of flip and mulled ale,
and Mr. Halliday, keeping score as fast as he could write on the slate,,
beamed happily on the room.

Chid knew most of the men. They were almost all Tatum men, now
suddenly unemployed again, and curious as to the meaning of the sum-

32

mons to Mr. Halliday's house. It was after seven, but the Providence
coach had not yet arrived. Chid guessed it had been delayed by the storm
and that this man Perry would be on it. Outside of disposing of the
apprentices, things seemed to be waiting upon his arrival. Mr. Brown
ordered a glass of Madeira, for himself only, and talked quietly with
those who asked him questions.

Chid reckoned he'd been smart, not saying yes or no. Mr. Brown had
stated his orders in a nice way, giving him the reasons, Chid was bound
to admit; but he had been positive enough. Chid recognized that it wasn't
a matter of choice; he had to go, just as if Mr. Tatum himself had given
the orders. But Chid appreciated the fairness and humanness of the man.
He liked Noah Brown about as much as any man he could think of.
He wasn't ashamed of the bow he had made to him. Thinking about
that, it was an instinctive thing, the appeal of the man compelling it.

He could laugh with disdain at Mr. Diggins. Mr. Diggins, wanting
to ask a question of Noah Brown, approached with rabbitlike scraping
and pulled his forelock and said "y er honor" as if he were a foremast
hand instead of a boss spar-maker. Chid was certain his own bow had
been in respect, not in fear.

He was glad he'd had sense enough not to pass his word. Then it
would have been binding. So far he'd just listened and it left him still
free. The bound-agreement didn't bother him; that had been made for
him by others, and he wasn't concerned with the right or wrong of
breaking that. It was simply a question of which would pay best, to ship
with Captain Fish and risk law trouble with Mr. Brown as promised, or,
wait until August when he would be free of the long agreement.

It struck Chid as odd to see Moses Leet in the crowd. Moses, as far as
he knew, had never before set foot In Mr. Halliday's place. Chid said
"howdo" to him as always. But it was odd, seeing him there. The day
that Old Man Tatum had died, Moses, after supper that evening, had
told his family that he was quitting for good. Chid had been there.
"Forty-seven years, stiddy save wars, I been buildin' o' ships. I ain't got
the venture in me to start anew for another boss now. My bones git
almighty tired lately. I put it by when I made it," he told them, hiding
his pride, "an* naow I'm jest goin' to rest; me and mother. I reckon

33

anyway Mary mayn't be about ferever and mother 'd jest hev to hev me
on hand to keep her out o j mischief."

Chid remembered that he'd blushed; but not as much as Mary had.
He'd been glad for Moses. Nobody, he reckoned, had ever labored more
loyally or better deserved his rest and peace.

The bar talk was of this northern place which Mr. Brown, when ques-
tioned, had mentioned. He gave no great amount of information, saying
he'd rather have Captain Perry give the details. It was a waiting time,
during which men took extra drinks, and wondered what was in store
for them now. Times had been good these last months. Old Man Tatum's
death and the sale of the yard had been a shock.

"Where in creation's Presque Isle?" one of the gravers wanted to know.

"You -mean Sackett's Harbor," Mr. Diggins said. "It's on some lake
to north'ard, where Henry Eckford's got his gang to framin' up some
more o' those damned Jefferson gunboats."

"I mean Presque Isle, the place mentioned by him." The graver ducked
his head toward Mr. Brown, still at his table. "Sounds damn Frenchy
to me. You don't get/ me goin' to no foreign country. Dang it, we got
our own troubles right here in the States."

"Presque Isle," said the schoolteacher, who lived at Mr. Halliday's
steady, "is on Lake Erie, way up to'other end of Pennsylvania, but you
go through York State to fetch it from here. And it's not French. It's
not even American just an old fort that nobody wants save maybe the
greedy British. A man would be a fool to gd there. Even the French
couldn't abide it."

"It must've been pretty goddamn' bad, then."

"Tumble. Lake fever and varmints and begging Indians thicker'n
owls in a grain barn, though I 'spect they're some tamed by now. Couldn't
say, a man hears so many damnfool tales about Indians. Any of you
gents goin'?"

The ready chorus of nos made Chid grin. It was his own decision, too.
He'd hung fire for a while wondering if Mr. Brown would elaborate on
his proposition, but he remained cordial but uncommunicative. Seems J s
if, Chid thought, if a man took a contract to build ships in a place that
even a Frenchman had abandoned, he'd be smart to estimate on some

34

extra pay. It wasn't reasonable to expect a man to leave his home and
family and the neighborhood of at least some opportunity unless he could
make extra handsome wages out of it. Mr. Brown hadn't mentioned
wages.

The captain of marines from the Blessed Cause came in, flanked by
two snow-covered hands each armed with a cutlass and a boarding pike.

"All hands for the Blessed Cause, Cap'n Fish/' he bawled, looking
truculently about the room, "report on board at once. The Cap'n sails
tonight." His eyes caught Chid. "You Chidsy Alwyn?" he asked.

"A-yep."

"Well, drag your feet then. You're signed."

"I'm not/ 5 Chid said, not bothering to move from his draped position
over the bar.

"Mr. Nott says you did."

"Nez Nott lies/' Chid said. "He only wishes I had."

"Ill tell him/' the captain snarled. "He won't fancy bein* named a liar.
Goda'mighty help you if you are lyin'. I'll tend to you personal."

"Come on/* Chid said; "tend to me."

They glared at each other for a long moment, but it was the marine's
glance which wavered. Chid laughed lightly. The captain stamped off
into the night looking as if he was genuinely sorry that he'd failed to find
some hands to be marched off to the ship at cutlass point. Chid couldn't
say why he still hesitated. He had only to leave silently. No one would
miss him; not until it was too late, anyway.

Moses Leet was watching him, a queer proud smile playing at his
mouth. Chid's father used to look at him that way after he'd boasted
and talked big as a youngster, then done as he was bid and as was
right anyway.

"You done right/' Moses said quietly, drawing on his pipe. "It'll make
mother kind o* proud, boy. We was scared some'at; you seemed so
tarnal cold an' hard an' caPatin' at times."

Chid said, "I ain't decided yet. I got till two bells; nine o'clock."

"There you go again/' Moses said, laughing. "Chidsy, lad, inside you're
all right. I guess we know you better'n you know yourself."

Chid didn't answer. The old man's pride and concern gave him a small
warm feeling. He'd miss him and Aunt Leery no matter where he went.

35

And Mary. Though he didn't think about her. She was different. Mary
lived, near him always, in his dreams.

The door opened, and Nez Nott came in. He was a sparse, bony lad,
though not tall, with a hooked Yankee nose, like a New Hampshireman
from which state Nez had heard the Notts had originally come. He was
a year older than Chid, and troubled by no indecisions. He'd promised
Captain Fish long ago, and signed the articles that morning. Nez said
he'd never been to sea, save codding and such, and it was an experience
a man owed himself, especially as there was considerable sport connected
with it.

He'd been after Chid all day to join too. He came right to Chid now,
and had sense enough to keep his voice low. 'Great airth an* seas," he
said, "Chid, what in blazes d'you want o' the capting, anyway ? You got
twice the rum o' most. Whyn't you show up on board, like you been
preachin' since Gosh knows when? I declare, you make me into a prime
liar, Chid."

"You are. What'd you tell 'em I signed on for?"

"Well," Nez said, rubbing his neck, "I was that sure you would. I was
bein' ragged about knowin* a chicken-heart, an' I jest had to say suthin'."

"Well, I'm coming. But, look out; Noah Brown wouldn't sell back
my papers, and I got to sneak it. Nez, there better be some mighty
important prize money. I'm letting myself in for a pack of trouble."

"Thought you said money'd buy anythin'. Won't it buy a little peace
from trouble?"

"A-yep," Chid laughed. "I reckon enough of it will. You get along,,
Nez. I'll be along immediate."

Nez left, and before the door had slammed, his face appeared beyond
the candle in the window, watching Chid. At the same moment a jingle
of harness bells sounded in the post yard and the mail pouch thumpep 1
mushily against the kitchen door. Mr. Halliday shouted for the hostler,
and thrust half a dozen pokers into the fire to be ready for touching
up the cider.

Mr. Brown folded his writing folio and, draining the last o his wine,,
stood waiting at the door.

"I expect that's Captain Perry Oliver Hazard Perry," he said, with
relief it seemed to Chid. "I'd take it as a oersonal favor, gentlemen, if

36

you'd listen him out. I can only show you how to build ships. Mr. Perry
can show you your duty."

"Hell," said Chid and spit, "another recruiter."

"What?" inquired Mr. Halliday.

"Recruiter!" Chid growled. "Now Congress wants shipbuilders. There's
no end to it."

"Oh!" Mr. Halliday grinned and rubbed his hands. "Ruby, have the
black boy broach another cask o* rum an' warm your mugs ready. Chid,
I hope this war continues forever. It keeps the gov'mint in commotion
an' commotion makes a thirst like nuthin' else I ever see," and he winked
broadly at Chid and jingled the coins in his poke.

37

Chapter Three

THE LANDLORD HAD a table cleared and ready for Captain Perry. His smile
of welcome was his best, and Mr. Halliday, remembering the frigate men
who had run up a regular New Year's Day score and paid for it in gold,
couldn't help the prosperous twist that his smile took.

"This way, sir," Mr. Halliday beamed. "This 'ere table, sir; me greatest.
Tom, you lazy plague o' landlords, bresh the snow offn the gentleman.
Your cape, sir thankee kindly. You'll find the Wagon's and Seamen's
has all the comforts, an* ye've but to raise your wind'ard eye to have
me complete attenshun, sir." His voice grew cunning and confidential,
"An' lookit, sir, I never did hold wi' the gov'ment starvin' o' you navy
men; never. Say the word an' I'll let 'er rain into the rum. More'n
genrilly, y'understand, hah! An* you'll get two scores, a big un an' a
right un, and you pay the one you're a mind to. What's fairer? all
receipted neat an' in order fer your fleet clerk. Tom, draw what the
gentleman wishes; on the house, Tom."

But Mr. Halliday might have saved his welcome and broaching a fresh
rum cask too. Oliver Hazard Perry was no ordinary recruiter. Relieved
of his wool sea cape and his boots swept of the clinging snow by Tom,
Perry brushed past Mr. Halliday, paying him no heed, and greeted Mr.
Brown with quiet cordiality. He sat down immediately, taking the rum
from Tom and downing it in one draught, marking him a deep-water
man, a thing that did not go unnoticed. Mr. Halliday stood at his elbow
in confusion; then stood guard over the large table which he had pre-
pared as if he still had hopes of its use.

Perry was no run-ofkhe-deck naval officer. His figure and his face were
slight, and his features small and delicate, almost girlish. He wore his
hair, which was a rich soft brown, brushed in a wavy fold across his

38

forehead, and long curling side-whiskers lay softly on each cheek. He had
on the full-dress uniform, in the manner of the French, with a stock
and black silk cravat, the collar being ornamented with three gold stripes,
the lower one of which swirled Into a shoulder peak and then followed
the jacket edge to the break of the swallow-tail On each shoulder was
a heavy gold bullion epaulette, draped with easy lines which made them
look like small golden wings.

The first impression to the men in Mr. Halliday's taproom was that
this quiet, refined officer, obviously a gentleman come to rank via mid-
shipmanship and not through the hawse-hole and pitch barrel, was some-
what of a dandy and a fop. The impression was borne out by his voice.
It was delicate and well modulated and extremely low, but audible and
authoritative even though the full womanish lips scarcely moved when
he spoke. No one could ever imagine that voice raised in shouting,
or in harsh anger.

Perry was in his middle twenties, but his weather-seasoned face and
hands bespoke the man of long active sea service. There was, to prove it,
a distinct roll in his gait; as if, as he'd entered, he had expected Mr.
Halliday's scrubbed chestnut floor to heave to the lift of a sea at any
step. After he had downed his rum, he sat slouched in his splint arm-
chair, crossed feet extended fore-and-aft and his eyes roving aloft as if to
gauge the set of a tall ship's canvas, as a skipper might on his quarter-
deck in pleasant trade-wind weather. Noah Brown talked, quietly and
earnestly, bringing a ready, understanding nod from Perry from time to
time.

"Bless the child," growled Mr. Diggers, whispering to his neighbors
at the board where the mulled drinks were served, "I ain't a mite sur-
prised the Navy ships a double set o } spars on its vessels. How's a childer
like him to know when to reef an' douse an' when to set his stuns'ls?"

"Batten it," Moses Leet said mildly, drinking nothing. "This man's a
fightin' man, I hear say. He 1'arned the Barbary heathens a lesson, and
he served on the Constitution; what would you have? A wizened old
capting like the British have for everything over a sloop rate? I'll lay this
manll sail a ship as well as fight her."

"Gunboats!" sneered Mr. Diggers. "Mis'able Jefferson gunboats! I hear'n
on his command, too up to Newport. Thutty o' the things, all layin'

39

nice to permanent mud hooks an' never makin' gunfire the hull war
through."

"Shet up," Chid said. "If he'd just but look at you, you'd scrape to
your belly. We got a fair proposition from Mr. Brown. Listen the man
out." '

Chid's reaction to Perry was entirely positive. Instinctively, as he had
liked Mr. Brown, he liked this man. He'd certainly rather, if he had to,
follow a man like Perry, young and possessed and so capable appearing,
than some of the coarse profane bosuns and petty officers who had come
to recruit in the past. Or some of the old gouty commodores like Rodgers
or Preble, whom he had seen in the inspection parties which for a time
had made life miserable in the yard when Old Man Tatum had tried
building for the Navy. Rodgers once, in a dozen blistering words, had
condemned not only the work of the yard but the entire State of Con-
necticut and all its shipwrights, then stalked off on his cane to his barge
without a smile to show that he was human.

This man Perry, not so very much older than Chid himself, was
obviously human. Chid admired his carriage and his manner and his self-
assurance. These qualities, in a faint un-understood way, checked with
something deep within him, with an ambition or a dream peopled by a
similar possessed, intelligent being who, in the dream, was Chidsy
Alwyn.

When Noah Brown introduced Perry to the company, there was a gen-
eral movement of the men toward the table. Mr. Halliday beamed, but the
usual invitation did not come. Chid thought he would have to strain to
hear the words, so low were they, but, oddly, the taproom was as quiet
as a church.

"I am pleased to address you as fellow Americans," Perry said, stand-
ing and as at ease as if he were talking to a single well-known friend.
"I haven't much to say. I'm not going to have our landlord serve you
spirits and then, drunk and muddled, carry you oft to serve articles that
you would not recall signing.

"Our country, gentlemen, needs shipwrights as sorely as it needs soldiers
and seamen. But it needs them sober and loyal and bound to service
only by their love of these United States and the worthwhileness of what
they are doing. I can't hold out much to you, not much at all. No prize

40

money, exceedingly few comforts, a determined, stubborn, and well-
organized enemy, and time as scarce as trade in New England."

"If yer tellin' us the bad first," Mr. Diggers chirped in a heckling voice,
"the good must be even worse."

Perry turned to him with a courtesy undeserved, quite unruffled. "Sir,"
he said distinctly, "the good is so obvious that it does not require stating.
I think every man of us knows what It is."

"Tarnation!" Mr. Diggers mumbled, "I don't."

"The chance to serve your nation, you swuddlin' fool," Moses Leet
rasped. "This officer ain't no privateer mate, a-prattlin' about rum an
wimmin an } loot."

"Aye," Perry said softly, "the chance to serve your nation. Gentlemen,
that has been the motto of my life, and its meaning and its purpose.
And yet I am, like yourselves, just a plain common citizen, happening
to know how to serve my country with powder and ball rather than with
adze and oakum iron. The leather apron and the woolen shirt is as
honorable as this uniform and far more important."

Chid approved. He could see the cleverness of the man not talking
from a superior height or from behind the awesomeness of gold braid.
He would make his point with ease, having sized up the situation and
attacked it with understanding. Yet Chid could feel that .Perry believed
what he said; that his appeal to the patriotism in them was sincere and
not merely a part of the shoddy show he had seen so often in this very
room.

Perry told them, talking in conversational tones, about Mr. Eckford's
shipbuilders who had gone to Sackett's Harbor. It was all that he could
tell them about. Presque Isle, the site of the new naval construction yard,
was unknown to him. Eckford had taken with him every able-bodied
shipwright that could be spared from the big New York and southern
yards. The tedious long journey had been made on foot northward
from where one of Mr. Fulton's steamboats had landed them near Troy.
Boston, hotbed of the sesesh talk of the Bay State, hadn't sent many of
her shipbuilders. The Delaware and Maryland and Jersey towns were
busy on naval building. There were few places left from which to
recruit experienced shipbuilders save the remote coastal towns of Con-

41

necticut and Rhode Island. To enlist these men was his purpose; it was
why he and Noah Brown both were here.

Chid was fascinated by the story of Sackett's Harbor. A worthy fleet
had been built there, matching the tonnage and the hitting power of the
British fleet of Ontario and keeping the lake open and the enemy at bay.
Far to the westward the enemy had taken the Michigan lands, pene-
trating deeply to the southward and policing it with drunken and mur-
derous Indians. They needed now but to open a secure line of com-
munications through Lake Erie for an army of occupation to pour in
from the sea, northward above Ontario, through Erie and into the Michi-
gan lands. America then would be surrounded as the storm surf sur-
rounded Block Island. Erie had to be closed to the British. It was
America's last chance.

There was no fleet to close it. America's only heavy ship on Erie had
been captured by the British, and the few small remaining gunboats were
bottled up in the River Niagara behind the formidable guns of Britain's
Fort Erie.

Commodore Chauncey, at Sackett's Harbor, could do no more than
hold Ontario, matching adze stroke for adze stroke as he tried frantically
to outbuild the British. He had early comprehended the Erie situation,
and one day, just before the bitter winter storms closed the Indian trails
of northern York State, which were the only paths westward save the
enemy-controlled lake itself, he had sent twenty of his precious ship-
wrights to the new yard. Their orders were to fell trees for the ships to
be somehow built.

"The pity of it was that he could send only a score/' Perry told them.
"Eight died Indians,' the others said when they finally staggered into
Pittsburgh a fortnight ago; 'Indians with English muskets, and the single
purpose of burning the timber which was seasoning at Presque Isle.'
Mr. Brown has seen these men. They're mad as a fresh brew, and are
going back with him. I wish you could see those men. I think you'd get
mad, too; just hearing their story and seeing the cruelty that was practiced
on them by the Indians. Mr. Brown would like to go with many more
than those twelve, but I vow he'd go alone if he had to. How many
Connecticut men are going, Mr. Brown?"

"Five apprentices." Noah Brown said quietly, "so far."

42

"They'll come back heroes. Is that all?"

In spite of himself Chid felt the magnetism of Perry dissolving his
natural caution. He recognized the talk as recruiting talk, cleverly ve-
neered, and instinct told him to be on guard. Yet that elusive something
which Perry put into it as a man drew Chid, and he found himself
wanting to believe.

"You goin' yourself?" Mr. Diggers inquired truculently.

"I am, sir," Perry replied, "as soon as I complete details at this end.
Though I guess I'm something like the fisherman down Kingston way,
over in Rhode Island State where I was born. He wanted my father to
buy some fish. 'Bring *em along,* said my father. 'Well/ said the man,
'as a matter of fact I haven't caught them yet/ I am to command the
Erie fleet when I catch the ships,"

The men laughed, appreciating the anecdote. It was their own lan-
guage and understandable, and made Perry's presence among them a
reasonable thing. It surprised Chid somewhat to see the interest. Mr.
Brown answered questions soberly and with forethought, not painting a
rosy picture of shipbuilding in the remote wilderness he understood
Presque Isle to be. Wages, he said, were high, nine dollars a week, with
free barracks and food. Iron workers might ask ten dollars, and gun-
smiths could ask what they wished. Transportation, too, Mr. Brown said,
was free, but, as he reasonably pointed out, walking was free anywhere.

Oddly, these matters of money did not bother Chid now. It was as
if he had again heard the fife music of the army recruiters of last summer.
Money hadn't mattered then either; his quickening pulse and proudness
had been for something bigger than money. He felt it again now.

Moses Leet stood with tears in his eyes, suddenly shaking Mr. Brown's
hand. "I don't know why I done it," he was saying. "Three days ago I
put my tools away for good, sir. Last war I fit with steel blade an'
musket ball. I reckon it never occurred to me a man could fight with
his tools an' his bare hands. I reckon, sir, though, mebbe it's mosdy a
sort o' faith in a leader like him."

"Moses!" Chid said, scared, "what're you saying?"

"Why, I'm goin', boy," Moses said simply. "Nobody ever gave us the
sense o' it before. All they offered was liquor an' license. I swear, Chidsy,

43

'twas like the sweet sound o' a church bell to know that I was needed
again an' could serve."

"What'll Aunt Leety say?"

"Whatll she say! Why, shell say go to it, Moses an' she'll be proud,
jest like she was in seventy-eight."

It scared Chid, an old man like Moses feeling the appeal of Perry, too.
After all, the man hadn't promised a thing but hardship and reasonable
wages. He hadn't even waved the flag very much.

Chid had heard about men like him: men who were followed blindly
because of some quality of leadership that was indefinable, some faith
that they instinctively built in men. Joshua Barney, the man who had
fought the seventy-six sea war almost single-handed, was a man like that,
according to Chid's own father. Men followed him wherever he went,
demanding nothing but his leadership as an assurance of victory. "He
was, I guess," said Chid's father, who had served as Barney's carpenter
rate on the Alliance frigate, "America itself, Chid; sort of symbolizing
what every man conceived his country to be: valor, courage, gentleman-
liness, right, and such things. A man knew, just looking at him, that
he'd do what every man-jack aboard expected an American and a free-
man to do. Chid, you know what he done when grape from the Atalanta
sent him nigh kilt to the surgeon's cockpit? A lieutenant rate urged
Commodore Josh to strike his colors. We was takin' it then, thicker'n
hail on bare decks. 'Consider yourself under arrest for the words,' Josh
says, 'an' if you can't fight this ship with the captain below, why, dammit,
sir, the captainll go on deck.' And sore as he was hurt, he dumb to the
quarterdeck and, standin' amidst the shot an' fallin' spars, he had us
lick that Britisher in thirty minutes flat. An' the remarkable part of it,
Chid, is that he surprised nobody. Every man of us expected him to do it
an' he did it, all in his stride. What really licked that Britisher, Chid, was
faith in this thing that Josh Barney had come to symbolize for us."

Chid could feel that way about Oliver Hazard Perry now. The man's
simple straightforwardness and the quiet reverence in his voice when he
spoke of America and duty and such contrasted sharply and brightly
with the obfuscations which other men made of these simple things.
Barney and he, Chid reckoned, were the same: men who took duty and
unselfishness and sacrifice as privileges of life. His father had spoken often

44

of the lofty things which Barney stood for in the years following the
war. Curiously, now, there came to Chid the memory of Roswell Crown
dying with his eyes on the ensign of that mean privateer and the strange
holy light in them.

From deep within Chid something cried out to be shown these sacred
and holy things, too. But another part of him reminded him with in-
sistence that these things were valueless to him. You couldn't count them
or trade them or even see them as you could coins or nails or the curious
shell beads which the reservation Indians valued even above English
gold.

No man had ever so stirred Chid before. In a groping way he tried to
understand it, to catalogue and evaluate the experience. He couldn't
help doing that. Chid was faced with the frustration with which all men
of mechanical or mathematical skill are faced when they attempt to
rationalize the disturbing selfless deeds and emotions of such men as
Barney and Washington, the great men of tradition. But Chid, by nature
and by environment, required a ruler when he reasoned. And the
peculiarly selfish isolated coastal region which had been his only home
had provided no ruler save the one calibrated in hard money and material
gain.

Chid was not to forget Perry. In a way he became a symbol for Chid,
too, representing something that he was to grasp but slowly. But presently
Chid was concerned with only two of the matters mentioned by the
soft voice: freedom and liberty. To Chid these were no profound matters,
nor did it occur to him that they ever could be. He wanted these things,
for they were the means which alone would permit him to dream and
plan and build. Nothing stood in the way but to hush that small new
disturbing scruple and proceed with his plan.

Chid edged toward the door, making the movement natural in the
general circulation about the taproom. Mr. Brown had a few names on
the paper; not many but more than Chid had expected to see there.
His own name was the last in the list of apprentices. Moses Leet's was
the first on the list of the volunteers. And, oddly, following Moses*
name was that of Epaphras North, the graver who had so roundly cried
that he'd go to no foreign soiL Mr. Perry hadn't even mentioned the

45

nationality of Presque Isle, another proof, if a man stopped to ponder it,
of the faith he had drawn.

Nez was mad, berating Chid. "Damn near two bells," he growled.
"Chid, how many times you got to make up your mind? I thought that
navy rooster had you hooked.'*

" "He nearly did," Chid said soberly. "He kind of opened my eyes about
a few matters. Nez, you certain that Cap Fish has a Letter of Marque,
all regular?"

"All regular,'* Nez nodded. "You'll be helpin* the damned country
more'n you'll be helpin' yourself. Chid., you goin' churchy on me just
when we're set for some prime fun?"

Chid did not answer. Beyond the post yard there was a queer reddish
glow in the sky, like a faded berry stain on the snow curtain. It loomed
in the storm as a rising moon is sometimes seen at sea, growing larger,
yet having no definite shape.

"What do you make of it?'* Chid asked.

Nez studied the glow, then shrugged. "Nuthin'," he said.

"It's fire, Nez," Chid said. "You know it's fire."

"Well, can't somethin* burn without gettin' fussed over it?" Nez said
and, clutching Chid's arm, he hurried him along the footpath to the
Tatum yard. "Chid, somebody '11 spy it. We jest ain't got time to raise
no alarm."

Chid broke away, running toward the glow. "It's Goudy's stables/'
he cried. "Old Beemis is in there, Nez. Hurry! He was drunk and bound
to light his candle just to show he wasn't. Come on, Nez."

Ordinarily Nez wasn't one to miss the sport of a fire. But now, with
Chid actually started toward the Blessed Cause, he wasn't letting a fire
interfere. Nez overtook Chid easily, then made a flying leap at him.
Chid fell to the snow-covered ground, dragging Nez with him. They
tumbled and fought there, Nez good-natured and profane, Chid sud-
denly mad. He hit for keeps. Once he made Nez howl. But he was help-
less to really hurt the tough wiry bulk of Nez. And while he fought,
Chid raised the alarm.

Mr. Halliday's post-yard door opened, letting a patch of yellow light
stab the storm. Then Tom took up the cry, "Fire! Fire! The stables is
a'fire!" Nez let go of Chid. "Well," he said, "you raised it. Now let's

46

skedaddle." But Chid took advantage of the letup and scrambled to his
feet, joining the men who poured from the tavern.

The fire, feeding on baled hay and ancient timbers, was a good one.
Men were racing from the village now, and above their shouting and
the shrieking of the trapped horses, the thin winter-hushed clang of the
meeting-house bell pealed. The bucket brigade was forming in a ragged
line, bridging the marches from the cove to the burning building.

"There's a man in there," Chid yelled. "Old Beemis is in there, and
he's fool-drunk!"

Chid dashed for the stable. He couldn't go near the leeward side at
all. The red swirling flames swooped from out the cracked sash, licking
the snow, driving him to the windward side. The lower floor was still
untouched by fire, but, as Chid threw open the single-door, he could
see the flames beginning to creep through some of the upper floorboards.
There were other men beside him in the thick hay smoke, some going
for the frantic horses. Chid reckoned that Old Beemis would have crept
into the hay to sleep off the rum. He climbed the loft ladder, missing
steps in the hot gloom. Above him the heat was intense and the fire
crackled and burned in the stored hay. Below, the horses cried like
demons, fighting the pull of the halters and the bags which had been
thrown over their heads.

Chid crawled on the floor, between flanking bales which were not
yet fully ignited. The smoke was acrid and blinding, forcing him to
breathe through his snow-soaked sleeve. He saw nothing of Beemis,
nor was he sure for what to look. Behind him another man was climbing
the ladder, groping toward him. Chid caught the flash o gold braid. It
was Perry.

"Find that man?" he gasped.

"Nope, not yet. On a night like this he'd be sleeping to leeward sure."

"Good sense, boy. But that's where the fire is."

The flames were catching neighboring tinder now, like a man scatter-
ing field fire to clear out varmints. There wasn't much time. Chid lay
as flat as he could, inching toward the heart of the flames. Ahead of
him, shielding him from the awful heat, a small grain tub moved. Perry
was on his belly too, keeping the tub just ahead of Chid with a hay
fork, pushing it each time Chid bitched forward.

47

Beemis lay between a burning bale and a low partition wall. The
hay in which he had been sleeping was already burned and consumed.
Chid couldn't tell about him. He didn't move, not even when Chid
shook him roughly. He still reeked of rum.

"We'll have to drag him," Perry said and took a leg. "He smells
hardly worth saving."

"He's an old man," Chid said. "He fought at Bennington last war.
He was worth saving then."

" 5 Twas an unworthy remark," Perry said. "Out with him."

They tugged the bundle, dragging it to the traphole of the loft ladder.
Burning brands fell about them, and Chid reckoned the roof was due
to collapse any minute. Near the trap, an updraught of fresh cold air
poured on them, driving the crisping heat away. Perry scuffed loose hay
into a pad and sent it tumbling to the floor beneath the hole.

Beemis was a big man, too heavy for either to carry alone. But they
each took one of his arms, hanging him like a drying bear hide, then
let him drop to the hay-softened floor.

The entire building, fanned by a gust, suddenly burst into an ominous
crackle, the flames first licking backward as if to take a sly taste of what
was to follow. Chid and Perry followed their burden to the lower floor,
now suffocating as a making-bake oven. Outside, men yelled. Their
buckets, reaching the line end but half -filled, dashed ineffectually against
the stable. Each breath that Chid took burned sharply, like a draught
of the worst dunder taken with green-tail onion, a croup cure that
was worse than the croup. Chid yelled, trying to bring some help, but
he knew he wasn't making a sound.

"You'd better cut for it," Perry gasped. "Fetch some help. We can't
make it alone."

Chid knew that. What strength he had left was scarcely enough to
drag himself to the square red patch of stable door and the good cold
outside.

"You go," Chid said, and he pushed Perry roughly toward the door.
Then he lay flat, getting his breath and his sense, and when he felt
the blackness leave him he tugged at Beemis.

He couldn't say why he had pushed Perry out, giving him the chance
of escape. He'd never done anything like it before. Wildly, trying to

48

move the bulk of Old Beemis, he thought some nonsense about Perry's
value. To the country, he supposed. But there wasn't any sense to It.
He'd just done it; hadn't even thought about it before. falT

Chid had moved Beemis only a few inches when they found him. But
Chid didn't remember those last minutes in the raging flames and awful
choking smoke. He was suddenly in the night, the cold, melting snow
warm about his bare legs, and he was breathing bitter, stinging air
which cleared his brain. His trouser legs had smoldered away, and his
great-coat had been consumed to the length of a small sea jacket. Mr.
Diggers was chumping handfuls of snow against the smoldering red
cloth patches of his clothing, and some place below him, on his legs,
there were cruel stabbing hurts.

Another bucket brigade had formed, leading to a hole chopped in the
Boggtown Brook. "Set here, boy," said Mr. Diggers; "you'll feel some
better bym-bye. I got to tend bucket."

"Where's Captain Perry?"

"Over to Mr. Halliday's, singed slight, but he'll be all right," Mr.
Diggers said. "He said he was all done in when you shoved him th'ough
the door, boy; couldn't've breathed another blessed secunt. You'll have
a fast friend at that there shipyard o' his'n."

Mr. Diggers legged it. Chid could see the bundle that was Beemis
lying blackly in the snow and partly sunk into it, like a currant in
dough. It was alone, away from the crowd which surrounded the
doomed stable. He felt better now, and he suddenly felt the cold, a
thing which he had thought he'd never mind again. A figure came to
the bundle, spread a blanket, and rolled Beemis into it; then came to
Chid. It was Nez, oddly furtive.

"You be all right, Chid?" Nez whispered. "Look, you feel good
enough to tote?"

"Tote what?"

"Beemis/' said Nez. "He's nigh done in, but hell live to pay for this
yet."

"Who'll bother Beem?"

"Judge Goudy will," Nez said. "He's that sore 'bout his stable burning,
Chid, an' he swears to have Beem in the choky for life. Beem is kind o'

*'* 49

related to me, Chid, somewhere's in our damn' fambly. I mean to spook
him away. You kind o' owe me help, Chid."

"Did I hit you hard?"

"Shucks, don't talk silly. But it's a good way to get things done. You
totin'?"

Chid said he would. They tied the paired blanket corners together,
using reef knots, then took the loop, one at each end, and carried and
slid Beemis over the snow. The bucket brigade was going full blast,
chanting as the buckets passed along the long line, and making noisy
splashing work of it, Mr. Halliday's Torn stood near the hot fire end to
take orders for thirst killers. Nobody noticed Chid and Nez. Beemis was
heavy, in the same way a sack of grain is heavy, and Chid was puffing
in no time.

"Is he hurt much, Nez?'*

"I ain't looked hard," Nez replied. "Burned a mite, but I reckon he
don't feel nothin'. Beem was prepared, Chid. A man's smart to keep a
certain amount of liquor in him in case he meets up with accidents. It
dulls the pain o' them. But I don't cal'ate to have him wake up in no
donjon, an' discover hisself in misery with no chance to get easement
for it. Like I said, he's related."

Nez was in the lead, guiding Chid down the river path. The snow
had fined slightly under a sharper wind turned to the east of north.
It stung as it beat down on Chid. The stable still burned ruddily beyond
the tall dry marsh weeds in which they walked, and Chid knew it was
a goner. Its light helped, making the unbroken path a faint pink ribbon
in the surrounding purple shadows. At the Tatum yard Nez turned,
skirting the fence toward the river.

"Where we taking him, Nez?"

"Onto the Blessed Cause" Nez said without turning. "Ain't no safer
place for Beem than to sea."

Chid agreed. Poor Beemis, with his reputation about town, would be
hunted down like a sheep-killing dog. Judge Goudy had warned Beem
often enough in his court. Beemis, this time, had destroyed property in
his drunkenness, and, to save his face, the judge would have to commit
him as a proven public enemy.

The Blessed Cause was beside the Tatum east wharf, her stern lines

50 ,

reaching off Into the rolling river and her starboard bow snuggled
against the piles. Flares moved on her deck. Snow was being pushed
overside through the freeing ports by men with board drags, and high
aloft, unseen In the black sky, unsheeted canvas rustled harshly. Chid
knew that the schooner was preparing to sail.

"It's 'way past nine," Chid said. "You said nine sharp."

"Cap's been waitin'. For me an' you."

Chid said nothing. He was doing, at last, what his sense and reason
told him was smart and profitable. But that odd something, like a slight
belly pain, was telling him something, too. Chid, actually on the
schooner, had no trouble forgetting the pain*

"What you got, Nez?" a voice called.

"A feller was hurt," Nez said. "Give a hand, Marky."

"At the fire? Alec Drake jest come aboard; he was sayin' she's a
dandy."

They laid Beemis on a hatch cover, snow-cleared and already battened
down for sea. Nez, oddly, paid Beemis no more attention. "Chid," he
said, "I want for you to meet up with Cap Fish. Step below. Cap's
waitin' an' anxious."

"You better take care o Beem."

"Beem's all right. Step below, Chid. 5 *

Chid dropped down the ladder, feeling with relish the absence of
the bitter wind. He stood in a small alcove from which opened several
low doors, evidently to cabins. One opening, into a passage, led forward
to a small man-filled space. Nez opened the after-door without knock-
ing, pushing Chid before him.

"Well, Cap," Nez said, "this here is Chid Alwyn to last."

Chid saw before him a small wizened man, clean-shaven and bald-
headed. He sat in a winged fireside chair, oddly out of place in the small
cluttered cabin, and seemed hardly to half fill it. His feet reached the
floor only because he kept his toes pointed downward. Chid noticed
the eyes most. They were a sharp, inquisitive gray, shrewd and cruel,
and capable of outstaring a timid man. Chid thought him a good man
to make money and probably fair, becoming hard and cruel only if he
had to.

"Your serv V Chid said, looking him straight in the eyes.

51

Captain Preserved Fish held Chid's eyes for a long searching moment
Then he stood up, as small a man as Chid had ever seen. But there
was nothing about him to make Chid laugh. "I don't want servants,"
the captain said. "I want men who can fight and who I can count on,
win, lose, or draw. You'd naturally have a question to ask. I'm pre-
pared to answer before we talk articles, Alwyn."

"A-yep," Chid said, "it's fair burning me. What in blazes are you
and Nez Nott so all-fired set on shipping me for? I'm only a carpenter."

"That's the right question," Fish said and sat down, seemingly pleased.
"Well, first we need carpenters. There's but Nott and Antwine Some-
diing-or-other. The right kind of carpenters is as essential as gunners,
times. Some of the boys don't hold with me on that, but I've been out
on a Letter before, and I know. Second, Alwyn, Nott states that you're
dead set on some prize money. That's the kind of talent I want. It's
better than notions about patriotism and a hate for the British for as-
suring me the loyalty I need in this business. Question answered?"

"A-yep," said Chid, "answered good."

"Say 'sir,' " Fish said sharply.

"When I'm signed on, it will be sir," Chid said.

"Chid, you better sign," Nez said. "I been to a heap o' bother to fetch
you away from that charmer Perry. I thought sure you was a goner, ixi
the taproom there. You was a-gazin' on him like he was a heavenly
angel just lit down to pass out salvation. This here's a smart man's
salvation, like you yourself's been rantin' on these last weeks."

Chid laughed. He'd been wondering himself how he had managed to
veer so far from his purposes these last hours. First it had been Noah
Brown, talking a sort of sober sense; then Captain Perry, stirring emo-
tions Chid hadn't suspected owning. Standing before Captain Fish, Chid
had the conviction that at last he had caught up with something that
he had been aiming at for a long time.

Fish opened a page of his log and dipped a quill, offering it to Chid,
Chid scanned the page-head above the listed names.

for three months or until a major prize has been taken at no

wage but a share in all prizes, duly adjudged, valued, and condemned
by a prize court of the United States of America, as by law provided,

In that part set down following each name, said part being the proper
part of the sum remaining after the lay of the owners and of Pre-
served Fish, Master, has been subtracted, by common calculation, from
the whole. . . .

"What's the lay?" Chid asked

"One thirty-second."

"With only three carpenter rates?" Chid said. "Seems 's if a man
might be worth more."

"One thirty-second," Fish said, his eyes steely.

Chid took the quill. Sometimes, trading, you met a man as smart as
you were, or a little smarter, and It took a good head to know when to
quit milking.

"Make a cross," Fish said.

"Chid can write," Nez said with pride.

"I reckon you ought to know Fm bound out," Chid said. "I'm run-
ing out on my papers."

"You ever murder anyone?"

"Nope."

"Well, sign then," the captain said, amused. "Privateers ain't fussy
so long's a man's still breathing."

Chid wrote his name, clumsily because he didn't often have occasion
to use the quill. Fish carefully wrote "1/32" after it, then, scanning the
list, crossed four names through with the quill.

"Hail the mate below."

The mate...?"

"Aye, Mister Tinker," Fish growled. "He's likely on deck. Lively,
boy!"

C Yes, sir," Chid said, ,and climbed the companion ladder.

Mr. Tinker, in a great-coat which reached to his feet, was superintend-
ing the last of the deck work under the flares. Snow-bound sheets and
halyards were being freed, and warm water from the galley fire was
being poured over all the lower blocks to free them of ice. Mr. Tinker
went below immediately Chid spoke to him, saying nothing.

A moment later, from the quarterdeck, his pipe shrilled, like a banshee
in the storm, and the cry of "All hands!" went over the schooner in a

S3

rippling wave. Men came from the watch below, and from dark places
above the deck. Chid guessed there were thirty-five in the ragged line
they formed along the weather bulwark, spaced between the tarpaulin-
covered guns now lashed inboard behind closed ports. Chid, finding
Nez, stood with him and an onion-smelling man in queer logger's
leatherstockings, obviously a pea-souper. Mr. Tinker called the roll,
reading from the log.

"All present, sir," Tinker said when he'd called the last name, which
was Chid's. "I'd say we're ready to sail."

The captain whispered to Mr. Tinker, who touched his forelock and
again faced forward.

"Barns, Mennenger, Clark, and that bastid you call Snitchy," he called,
"captain orders ye aft. Lively, now!"

The four men slouched aft, not very willingly. Chid saw then that
Captain Fish had brought a large pistol from under the folds of his
coat. Mr. Tinker had taken up a gunwad screw in his hand, its hooked
and twisted point gleaming cruelly in the flare light, and behind them
six musketeers had lined themselves.

Fish looked without emotion on the four hands who toed the edge o
the quarterdeck break.

"Get off the ship," he intoned flatly.

Mr. Tinker made a stirring motion. It awakened the men from their
dumbfounded staring. One of them, hands outspread, took a step toward
rf the captain, but Fish's gun was pressing his chest before the "step was
completed.

"Get off," Fish said with a curious snarl, "and never mind your chests.
You'd have sent us off in the boats on colder seas than this without our
possibles, we hadn't found you out. Get ashore."

The men filed over the brow and into the shore shadows.

"If you see a head, shoot it, Mr. Tinker," the captain said, "and any
more, they go the same way. But you might mention that there won't
be land so handy. Get her under plain sail, Mr. Tinker it's a prime night
to slip to sea."

Chid wasn't of much use in the ensuing activity. It was a job for
seamen. Immediately the staysail and storm trysail on the main were set.
Hawsers came in wet and stiff, the sails were sheeted in, and the

54

schooner ghosted away from the wharf under press of the tide .and the
gale In her almost naked spars. About all Chid did was to throw
the flares overboard when Mr. Tinker spoke from the darkness of the
quarterdeck.

"Home the heads!," Mr. Tinker called. "Helm up, man! Way up and
meet her."

The bow of the Blessed Cause fell away from the land, and the wind
passed over the stern, filling the storm sails with a muffled crack that
sent snow and thin ice shapes showering to the deck. With gathering
speed the bkck schooner bucked the river drift ice and growled her way
seaward.

Chid, shivering in the waist, which was deep with frozen uncoiled
line, found Nez. He was cutting a chew to drive off the seasickness which
he feared more than enemy action, a navy topman having recommended
tobacco as the only stave-off.

"How's Beem?"

Nez chumped his chew, softening it, making a mouthy sound.

"Beem's dead," he said after a while. "We'll have to scuttle him at sea,
I reckon. He was dead when we brung him on board, Chid."

Chid shivered, not from the cold. It was curious. Old Beemis himself
had recommended rum in preparation for just such an occasion not four
hours ago.

"I had to get you here," Nez said. "I jest had to after that Perry made
himself a real hero for you. I was scairt I couldn't, for Perry, over in
Halliday's, was hollerin* for you. Totln* Beem was the first thing I struck
onto. This ship had to have you, Chid. Them four hands the captain beat
ashore was plannin* to take the schooner and sail her on the account once
Fish had 'em through the navy patrol. Cap, he got onto 'em, but he didn't
know how many to maroon till he was certain o* you. Three on 'em were
carpenters, you see."

"There must be more."

" 'Course. But Cap like reckons they're scairt yaller. It's why he had
to be sure o* you, an' you see you was almighty important, Chid. But I
never did 'spect I'd have to spook you to what you always wanted to do,
I never did. Chid, you ain't sore, are you?"

"Nope," Chid said, meaning it. "I figure you did me a favor, sort of.

55

That damn' recruiting kind o got me this time. But, blame it, Nez, !
wished Fd known. I'd never have settled for only a thirty-second lay."

Nez spit expertly and grinned. "Chid," he said, "you're the one-
thinkin'est man I ever met up with. Don't you lay store by nuthin' but
money?"

Chid thought it over. He guessed that there were other things too, but
they all seemed to start with money and what money could buy and make
of a man. Money and freedom. Chid had never had much of either. But
both were in sight now. In fact, he already had the freedom; had, in a
way, earned it. It had been an effort to fight that insistent inclination to
stand with Noah Brown and Captain Perry and the vague but somehow
warming good things they stood for. For a while, back there in the tap-
room, he hadn't even wanted to fight, but just follow with the stark faith
of Moses Leet and his burning eyes.

He was glad that Nez had contrived to get him away; to fight himself,
as it were, and come out where he had started. There was a stubborn
satisfying honor in that, prideful and warming.

"I guess," Chid told Nez, "money is just a tool. What I really lay store
by are my ambitions. I just need the money to fashion 'em around fair
and sound and smooth."

"Ambitions!" Nez snorted. "Hell, Chid, I only got one, an' my stom-
mick takes care on it. You ain't never goin' to have no fun till you get
shut of your ambitions. There ain't nuthin* worser to trip a man up."

The Blessed Cause was off the untidy wharves of Noank, making
fast going of it, so close that a good spitter could make the shore easy.
A militia sentry fire gleamed on the point, like a baleful red eye winking
in the snow gusts. Abreas of it the schooner was hailed by trumpet.

"What ship is that out there?"

"Blessed Cause" Mr. Tinker shouted across the dark channel. "Whyn't
you be that concerned 'bout your damned Noank smugglers when you
spy *em?"

"Where you bound?"

"Where you Noankers ain't got the guts to go."

"Hunh! What cargo?"

"Cargo!" Mr, Tinker boomed. "Why, preserved fish, you goddamn
by-product, you!"

56

Chid joined In the hilarity of the watch on deck. Nez roared, clapping
him hard on the back. It was a good start, off to sea with the ring of
laughter on deck; a happy ship, the pea-souper named them. Chid, drop-
ping below, hoped it would be a lucky ship, too.

57

Chapter Four

A SULLEN WINTER dawn fell on the Blessed Cause. She was running free,
on the starboard tack, riding the long breaking swells that rolled down
the Atlantic from the Arctic, skirting the unseen sandy south shore of
Long Island. There were two men on wheel watch to fight the constant
threat of yawing. Her plain sail was set now, each sail full-bellied and
comfortably sleeping but showing an inclination to collapse as the vessel
slid into the deeper of the calm water valleys.

There had been na trouble making the sea turn off Montauk. Neither
British nor Yankee ships attempted a close inshore patrol in storm, and
Preserved Fish, threading the shoals by lead, had raised nothing all the
long night.

Dawn had been an anxious moment, but the gray curtain had lifted
only slightly, leaving visibility less than a cable's length, and remained
there. The snow had stopped now, and the wind failed to pick up with
the daylight. The sea was bitterly cold and tremendously disturbed, but
no sail appeared on any quarter. The Blessed Cause was like a lonely
star in outer space, dipping and rolling in her sweep to the southward.

Chid, being a carpenter rate, had not been required to stand deck watch.
He was glad of that, for he was utterly tired and weary. Mr. Tinker,
who, in warm lantern light and shed of his shaggy great-coat, seemed a
kind man, had roused out some pork grease from the galley for Chid's
leg burns. They were forming into blisters, becoming baggy with water,
and Chid was glad that he had no britches legs left to chafe them into
raw wounds.

The grease was simmer-warm but hard enough to stick to his legs.
In places there were patches of his small-drawers stuck into the flesh.
Mr. Tinker drew them out with kindness; then swathed both legs from

58

ankle to above the knee in soft picked gun wadding over a clean linen
cloth which, Mr. Tinker explained, his wife had made him take to tear
into nose rags. He bound outside, spiral-wise, making the warmest pants
Chid had ever known, long strips of light stuns! canvas.

"There you be, youngster," Mr. Tinker had said when he had finished,
"wormed, parceled, and served, like a blasted pair o' lower shrouds. A
man can't work or fight when he's bothered by ailments, sez I."

Chid had simply crumbled backward from the berth edge upon which
he'd been sitting, falling into a heavy sleep at once. Nez and the pea-
souper, whose name was Antoine Paul Marestiere, had gone forward to
make certain of the hawse-hole and spill-pipe plugs, calking between
the wooden stoppers and the entering chain links. When Mr. Bolt,
the second mate, could think of no more sailing chores for a car-
penter to do, they came to sleep in the same berthing space with Chid. It
was the room which Chid had seen from the after-companionway, not a
forecastle but a steerage, like the berthing space of the boat-steerers of a
whaler. Drake, the master gunner, and Mr. Lefferts, who was the same
captain of marines who had come looking for stragglers at the Wagon's
and Seamen's, berthed there, too. Chid didn't hear them roll into the
narrow storm-railed berths, nor the constant thumping on deck as the
watch kept the ice spades scraping at the freezing spray which threatened
to get lumpy and log the ship down. His weariness was almost a form
of drunkenness, poisoning him.

But he felt all right when the captain of marines roused them all at
dawn, pulling the shuck-filled bags from under each and rolling them
onto the cold bare board slats from between which came the dank fester-
ing smell of bilge.

Chid, dressing, didn't mind the motion. He hadn't been to sea very
often and, by rights, should have felt the sickness. But it was Nez Nott
who was sick. He lay on the berth boards, breathing in the bilge smells,
not caring about anything. Chid tried to rouse him, but Nez only groaned
and formed himself into a tight huddled ball.

"Let him be," Antoine told Chid. "Bym-bye, oops he comes. Den you'
fran*, she feel better, wasn't? Hall good sailors catch it. Dat's how day
tlnk, *Ah'U sail de ship fast lak anytlng so's Ah come back home queeck,
hein?* Ever* tarn Ah gets sick, mebbe one-two hour when she sail, me."

59

"He's been to sea more than I have," Chid said. "It must be awful."

"Non, non!" Antoine grinned. "She don't work when she lak dat. Is
lucky, dat fran'."

Chid borrowed Nez's wool stocking cap. Nez's shoes were too small
by far. The marine captain, who was pulling on white dress pants, offered
Chid a pair of marine's boots, taking them from a wooden sea chest
which stood, lined with others, inboard of each berth. They fitted, and
Chid said his thanks.

"Hold on, sonny," Lefferts said. "I don't pass out practically new
English-captured boots for the sport of hearing them squeak on strangers.
You got any cash?"

Chid said yes, some. He needed sea clothing, but had figured that what
he had might do if they were to continue to the south or if, as he hoped,
the voyage would be short. But boots were a necessary expense. Chid put
his hand into his stern pocket, feeling for his wad of eighty dollars. It
was gone. Yet he recalled, after Noah Brown had refused it, lashing it
with a rawhide whang and tucking it securely into that very pocket. The
pocket hadn't burned through, and that struck Chid as odd. "I guess,"
he said, slipping off the boots, "I don't have money anyway."

The captain eyed him keenly, his fat pig face puckering around the
deep-set pinkish eyes.

"What lay you got?"

"One thirty-second," Chid said.

"You cute little bastid!" Lefferts said without humor, "damn near as
good as my own, and you don't have to stand watch or fight. Tell you
what 111 do. You make over a twentieth of it and the boots are yours, we
take prizes or no."

Chid considered it. He needed the boots. But it was a bad trade, for
he had no doubt that they'd take prizes. The boots might, with a few
good captures, cost him a hundred dollars or more. "Nope," said Chid,
"111 make out without 'em for a while."

Lefferts snatched the boots angrily and threw them into his chest, then
strode aft and up the ladder to the deck. Chid didn't miss the look of
active enmity the captain gave him.

"Is good t'ing you didn't was," Antoine told him, nodding his approval
of what Chid had done. "Hall tarn hims make dat. Ever'body on de
60

goddamn ship owes hims from de lay. Fo' what? Nozzing! Well, mebbe
somezing boots, de shirt, de knife, hall t'ing him steal from de Eenglish
when we take de prize ship. But not me; non! You want dunder, Cheed,
you mus* spik nice on Leffert an* mak hims part o* de lay. Is bad feller;
ver* bad, by Gar!"

Chid said he'd be damned if he would. But he really needed those
boots. Even here below decks and out of the wind he was bitterly cold.
The unpainted deck was saturated with a salt wetness and felt like raw
lake-ice under his bare feet. Antoine looked at him in sympathy, then
suddenly brightened.

"Have it, me!" he chirped. He was. Chid thought, like a child eager
and anxious to please and incapable of hiding from his face or manner
any emotion which he felt.

Antoine slipped into Nez's shoes; then gave Chid his own heavy moc-
casins, unlacing the babeesh cords to make them large enough to fit
Chid's big feet. Without stockings, which Chid did not have anyway, they
just fitted, feeling warm at once.

Chid, grinning, said his thanks. Antoine wouldn't hear. He walked the
two-berth length in testing steps, as if wearing Nez's shoes, once excellent
cordwainer's handiwork, was reward far too much. Chid felt that he had
found a friend.

Mr. Tinker looked in, asking about Chid's burns. "A hatch cover come
adrift last night," he said. "You better batten her down again."

"Yes, sir," Chid said. "Look, I had some money stolen from me last
night. What do you reckon I ought to do about it?"

Mr. Tinker took on a sober look. "How much?" he asked.

"Eighty dollars."

"Why," Mr. Tinker grinned, "that ain't money, Chid. Not on a pri-
vateer, it ain't. Couple-three weeks from now you'll have so much you
wouldn't even miss eighty dollars."

"Well, that's good," Chid said, "but I don't like to be taken in. The
point is, the money's mine."

" 'Course 'tis," Mr. Tinker conceded, "and I'm goin' to mention it to
the captain, Chid. You just belay the matter till then. Hell catch the

scallywag, Fish will'*

61

It seemed to Chid that the mate was being too eager to hush him, to
retain his trust. He couldn't believe that the captain would mix into such
a matter. But he didn't think about it then. Antoine was urging him
forward, through the hold, to the carpenters* storeroom in the bow of
the vessel.

The tools weren't much, and they were in fearful shape. Every cutting
edge needed both grinding and honing. The only bright tool in the lot
was a double-bitted ax of a pattern which Chid had never seen before.
Antoine swung it proudly after testing the edges with his horny thumb.
"Him blong to me," he told Chid. "Logger on de Big Otter, me."

It wasn't much of a job repairing the loose hatch cover. Antoine, with
an exactness unreasonable to expect from such a heavy field tool as the
double-bitted ax, shaped out new pine wedges, driving them with the
flat of the shiny steel head. Chid calked the hatch seam, using oakum
from the storeroom cask.

Just before the change of the watch the cook banged his spider, and
Chid got in line, filing aft. He had borrowed Nez's kid and pannikin, and
his sheath knife. Nez was still curled miserably on his damp, evil-
smelling berth, not interested in anything.

Chid took the ladle of mush only, not caring for the black tarry
molasses which he could have had. He took two hardtack biscuits from
the barrel under the watchful eyes of Mr. Lefferts, then held out his
pannikin for his rum dot. The food wasn't much nor was it appetizing,
but, oddly, Chid ate with relish, sopping the biscuits, which were not
nearly as hard as they would be later, into the rum.

He sat on the cold deck with Antoine and the master gunner, Alec
Drake. Drake was from Monmouth, in New Jersey, a quiet sober man of
nearly fifty whose legs were completely laced with distended blue veins.
Drake looked perpetually sad, as certain breeds of hound dogs do. He was
stoop-shouldered, his hair was iron-gray, and he moved slowly and pain-
fully, Chid guessed, because of those horrible blue legs.

Chid's mates were a strange assortment of men and boys. Besides the
coastal men there were a few Canucks, like Antoine, two Negroes, and
a morose, bleary-eyed Mohegan Indian from Groton. The coastal men
were obviously used to the sea, for they set the shipboard habits for the
others, Chid included. The gunners seemed to be navy-trained men.

62

They alone wore any semblance of a uniform, the stiff canvas breeks
and double-wool striped shirts and stocking caps of the frigate men.

He felt an odd faith in the gunners, and in their master, Drake; more
than he felt in either Mr. Tinker or Mr. Bolt, the mates, though Mr.
Tinker, Chid reckoned, was a man you couldn't be sure about. There
was something sly about him, and Chid suspected that 'he made it a point
to create the feeling that he was a true friend as well as a man's superior
officer. Captain Lefferts, Chid felt, was an openly dangerous man, who
took no pains at all to conceal his disdain for everybody on board save
his six uniformed, constantly watching marines.

Marky, the hand who had hailed them last night, was a Liverpool
Britisher, a small wiry man with a perpetually ingratiating manner. "Fm
all that's left of the Cutbarb" he told Chid, talking without encourage-
ment. "Fish, he sunk her uncommon fast, he being under chase by our
convoy sloop at the time. But when his boat pulled back to this here
vessel, why there was Marky, stowed neat under the foresheets. It
seemed a good way to get to America, Mr. Alwyn.'"

"Hims ver* good hand," Antoine said. "First, Cap she want for to cut
de throat" Antoine demonstrated, drawing his belt knife across Marky's
prominent Adam's apple "but Marky, she smart feller an* say how she
know de English signal Is come in handy, dat, eh, Marky?"

Marky admitted it had. On trie last voyage Fish had penetrated into
the very center of the Christmas merchant fleet under the British secret
code hoist supplied by Marky, and taken five prizes before the fleet had
scattered beyond further chasing. "But Antwine's wrong about the capting
slittin' my wizzen, sir," Marky offered. "He's a prime gempman an* no
bleedin' murderer. I lay my last that if a hand rated killin' Capting Fish
*ud hang him decently from a yardarm. In the British service even a
ship's boy's got a right to die like that."

Marky said the voyage, though short, had been a handsome one. Being
a stowaway, he hadn't shared in the prize money, but Fish had presented
him with a voluntary gift of five hundred dollars if he'd agree to sail
again. He hinted that he held the speedy success of this voyage in his
hands, though he was quick to say that Captain Fish's undeniable cute-
ness was needed also. Marky said that heavy guns were all right and
necessary for defense, but for offensive work against merchantmen there

63

was nothing like the captain's cuteness and Mr. Lefferts's deadly marines.
Nothing could defeat them, save an armed ship; and Fish, Marky guessed,
wouldn't be foolish enough to tangle with one if he could avoid it.

"He sees straight, does the capting," said Marky. "GF him the spoils
an' leave the glory to the Navy an* damn fools. Mr. Alwyn, d'you ever
witness seven men capture a prize single-handed? Well, you attach your
blinkers onto Mr. Lefferts an' his lads."

Chid didn't think much of the marines. They messed alone, grouped
about the pump forward of the mainmast, and took pains to show their
hatred of the seamen. They were in dress uniforms of peculiar style,
British-looking and flashy, which Antoine, recounting the prizes which
had provided the various parts, said they were in fact. Each marine
always carried his musket with bayonet fixed, like a militiaman on
parade, and the deck was never innocent of at least half the command.
The long muskets caused no end of trouble by fouling in the rigging as
the marines paced their regular beats, and Mr. Tinker and Mr. Lefferts
were always at loggerheads about it in a jovial, joshing way. Mr. Tinker
said he worried about cut lines. Mr. Lefferts said regular beats and full
service kits and uniform was the only way he had to build and preserve
the discipline he required of his "hellcats," as he termed his command.

There was little conscious discipline among the seamen. They were
easy-going and docile, and had no snap whatsoever. Even Mr. Tinker,
for an officer, seemed almighty free and easy. He seldom raised his voice
except to pass an order aloft, which, on the Ittessed Cause, wasn't often.
She was a fore-and-after, with but two pairs of yards, and sail handling
was done almost entirely from deck, making an easily worked, fast, and
nimble vessel not to be improved upon for privateering.

Mr. Tinker put Chid to fox-wedging the locust trunnels of the gun
carriages. "There's other work a'plenty," Mr. Tinker said reasonably,
"but I don't believe in just makin' work for a man. So long as we can
fight the ship. It's what we're all here for and there's no commodores
or owners to come nagging about the last splinter in sight. How's Nez?"

"Still motion-sick. Hell soon come out of it."

" 'Course he will and hell have to take a ragging, too. Chid, we're
soon in the way of the Jamaica Line. You do one carriage to once only.
'Tain't smart to tie up more'n one gun at a time."

Chid went to work with enthusiasm. The gun captains were civil,
joking with him about his friend Nez but approving his careful, quick
work. The gun crews were at handling practice, striving for smartness.
Alec Drake, when Chid came to him with his mallet and rock-elm
wedges, laid off and lighted his Iron pipe. Drake and his crew, Chid
noted, were, like the others, excited.

"We're likely out first, lad," Drake said. "Nobody but Fish would
clear in a blitherin' snow-gale, and anythin' at sea is tnore'n probable
patchin' gear 'stead o' spoilin' fer prizes. We got every chance to fetch up
suthin' interesting lad.'*

"What's the Jamaica Line?" Chid asked.

"Well," Drake said, searching for the words that always seemed to
come hard for him, "it's sort o* a path in the water, say. The British
send up their stores from Jamaica on it, to Canady an' the North Atlantic
fleet. Marky, like he was hinting reckons some paymaster boats is due.
You got a prime chance to see how good your wedgin' is before many
glasses, lad."

"Marky said the marines do the fighting. 9 *

"Well, well see," Drake said and became quiet.

Chid felt a joyous pride in the schooner. He had worked on many
like her from keel up, and no part of her was strange to him. But he
had never before sailed on one, and he felt, as does every man who sails,
that intangible something which a living ship gives forth. Poets name it
the soul, and plain men name it heft or feel and with affection call their
ship "the old bitch," but all men feel it and have for even the worst^
mannered hull afloat a fierce, loyal pride.

She swept southward and westward now under every last sail, sheets
started and halyards and weather stays thrumming like the plucked
strings of a parlor harp, their songs prolonged into infinity. The seas
had become long and flat and green-topped. The ice in the rigging had
tinkled to the deck and gone, and in the strengthening steady breeze there
was the first hint of more moderate weather.

The mate wasn't one to make the vessel shine, nor was there need to,
her usefulness to him and his company being but a matter of a few
months. But the Blessed Cause was ready for action, and her people
were united in the common cause o taking all the prizes possible. Cap-

65

tain Fish hadn't appeared on deck. Mr. Tinker or Mr. Bolt worked the
ship, and Mr. Lefferts and his sour marines policed her.

Just before noon Mr. Tinker asked Chid to sound the well. There was
under seven inches in it. When Chid reported, the mate noted it on a
shingle which was nailed to the binnacle and said there was no need
to pump yet. Then Chid, feeling very useful, held the big log reel over
his head, a hand on each axle, while Mr. Tinker ran the stray line out
into the creamy turbulent wake. When the first knot had passed through
his fingers, he called sharply for one of the wheel watch to capsize the
glass. Sand and line ran out, and when the glass was empty Mr. Tinker
stopped the line smartly and, while Chid hauled in the line and the cap-
sized chip at the bitter end, made some calculations.

"Some better'n I reckoned," he said, his mouth not so smiling. "We're
gettin' up into the Delaware current an' like to raise somethin' any
time. Lad, if Marky's correct, thisll be a famous voyage indeed. You
keep a sharp watch. First to spy rates double rum for a week if he's alive
to take it."

Chid felt good. The leg burns were not hurting, just itching slightly
and pleasantly beneath the warm dressings. Yesterday and last night
were ages away, and he didn't even think about them. It was as if all
time before dawn this morning was in some remote period of his life
which had no connection with what he was doing now.

He had thought but once about his running away. Mr. Brown could,
if he wanted to, make considerable trouble. Breaking a bound-agreement
was a matter for the magistrates and could lead to jail. But he hardly
thought that Mr. Brown would go that far, even providing he did some
day catch him. He hadn't seemed either a hard or vindictive man.

After all, Chid had offered to buy out, and at a fair price. Having done
that ought to count with any magistrate hearing the complaint. It took
him slightly out of the class of a mere runaway apprentice boy. In fact,
looking at it another way, it placed Mr. Brown in the class of a slave
owner.

He could prove his fair intentions if need be. Eighty dollars, cash in
hand presented in court by a runaway, could not be denied as evidence
of them, seemed if. But Chid suddenly remembered that he no longer
had his eighty dollars. It had disappeared, and not through a burn hole

66

In the pocket either. It scared him for a minute, worrying him, until
he remembered that his share of this voyage, as Mr. Tinker had said,
might make eighty dollars not even seem money.

But It left him sore. And It gave reason for his Instinctive hatred of
Lefferts and the porky moon face over the sweeping blond mustaches.
Chid could imagine no one of his bunkmates- being a thief save Lefferts.

But it was another matter for him or for Captain Fish to prove it.
Whatever else he might be, Lefferts was no fool.

The afternoon watch was just drawing to a close when Antoine, from
forward, raised the cry, "Ship! Ship!"

"Where away?" Mr. Tinker demanded with startling alertness.

"Dar! Dar! Ees ship!'* Antoine yelled. "Ah spy hims, dar, me!"

Chid couldn't see it at once, not even by following Antoine's excited
pointing. The Canuck, Chid reckoned, must have eyes like a forest beast
to pick up a tiny triangle of sail against the heaving gray horizon and
recognize It as a ship before the old experienced hands even knew it was
there.

The stranger, it could be seen a few moments later, was almost down-
wind, beating northward, some miles south and east. On deck there was
orderly activity at once. Each gun was readied, canvas gasket stripped off
.and the serving tools laid out on the deck. From overside came buckets
of sea water for the sponge tubs, shot racks were rigged, and Mr. Bolt,
calling Chid and Antoine, dropped below and unlocked the magazine.
Chid helped fill the descending rope-net slings with round and bar shot,
sending it aloft to unseen hands when filled. The powder boys came
down, their clothing soaked in cold sea water,. They filled the fire
buckets, then shooed Chid and Antoine away.

When they reached the deck, Chid saw that four beef barrels had
been sent to the crosstrees and lashed there. From each extended a
musket manned by one of Mr. Lefferts's marines. Antoine said that he
had personally made the shields; that each was a small cask within a
larger one, and the space between was filled with beach rubble. Captain
Fish was on his quarterdeck now, holding the high weather side, looking,
oddly, in spite of his diminutive stature, every inch an able commander.
Mr. Tinker was forward of him* A cutlass swung from a leather belly

band buckled over his great-coat, and two pistol handles appeared in his
pockets. Mr. Lefferts had his sword bared for no apparent reason, and
he alone, Chid thought, looked somehow ridiculous.

The stranger wasn't large. She was ketch-rigged, in the Bermudian
style, having jib-headed sails. It was the first such rig that Chid had ever
seen, though he had heard often of their swiftness. Antoine signaled him,
breaking into his study of the prettiness of the vessel. They laid out clear-
ing axes and hung a wrecking saw from the trunk bulkhead, then sifted
sand over the entire deck. "For de blood," the Canuck said. "Lak ice,
whoop! Down de man is!"

"Don't we get arms?" Chid asked.

"Oh, sure t'ing," Antoine said. "Ah got him, me," and he patted his
double-bitted ax which was slung, like Mr. Tinker's cutlass, from a rope
belly lashing. "You tak what you t'ink keel best, Cheed. Me, Ah lak
hims. How you lak de pike?"

Chid had no taste to arm himself. It had never occurred to him that
there might be hand-to-hand fighting, with an individual enemy lusting
for his blood. In the sea yarns, engagements had always been fought
with the guns at reasonably long range. The enemy was the ship. But
he suddenly remembered the dried blood and the human hand on that
brig which had brought Bob Crown's brother home to die. Thinking
about it, he supposed that, as Moses Leet and others had contended, pri-
vateering and war itself, in fact, were but a form of murder. Licensed, of
course, but by what? By whom?

There seemed nothing murderous about putting a match to the touch
hole of a huge impersonal gun. But Antoine's lethal ax, which he could
use with such accuracy, or Mr. Lefferts's marines hidden in their safe
shields like long-tongued serpents for cool deliberate killing Chid tried
not to think of these things.

The stranger made signs of running off, a maneuver that Marky
hailed with delight, for it proved her an enemy and probably valuable.
She showed no colors or signals, nor did Captain Fish.

The matter turned into a stern chase shortly, both vessels scudding-
to the southwest on a fast reach. But the Blessed Cause was by far the
more powerful and easily outfooted the small islander. Studying her
through the glass, Mr. Tinker announced with satisfaction that she car-

68

ried but two insignificant swivel guns, one on each quarter-break,
nothing to bother them.

When they were about a thousand yards off, the mate had Drake
touch off a gun. The boom of it sounded flat and somehow disappoint-
ing. It caused the stranger to send up the English ensign, but she con-
tinued to sail on with annoying swiftness for all her diminutive size.

"Watch out she don't jettison ballast for speed," Mr. Tinker said to
Captain Lefferts. "A little feEer like that's likely one of Marky's pay-
master boats; or dispatches."

"Damn dispatches," Lefferts growled. "There's no money in them.
But first one comes near the rail 111 have drilled."

"Do," said Mr. Tinker sweetly.

It struck Chid that even dispatches, provided they could be taken
before being sunk, might prove useful to the Navy. But nobody men-
tioned the possibility, and he said nothing.

It was obvious now that the little vessel would be overhauled within
the next quarter-glass. Evidently the stranger realized it as well She
suddenly luffed into the wind and lay a dead thing, facing her bow
into the seas and plunging it deep into the attacking crests. On her
deck men hastily handed in her sheets and, dropping the halyards a
few feet, killed the drive of the sails. She waited, obviously, for a hail
and demand, and had no intention of fighting the heavily armed pri-
vateer.

Mr. Tinker looked relieved. "Don't light no matches," he said. "Mr.
Lefferts can handle this, I reckon.'*

The gun crews began securing. Above him, Chid suddenly heard
the crack of scattered musket fire from the crosstrees. The marines
were firing, the ragged deliberate fire of sharp-shooters. On the ketch
two men fell. The rest dove for the hatches. One man, risking the fire,
remained to cut the ensign halyards before disappearing. One of the
fallen men struggled to a sitting position, then fell backward and tried
again. Mr. Lefferts pointed with his naked sword; a crack sounded from
above and after that the figure lay still.

No sign came from the ketch. Save for the two bodies rolling on
the deck like lumps of jelly, she seemed utterly deserted. At best there
could have been but sevea or eight on her. It made Chid mad, the elabo-

rate shaming caution of Mr. Tinker did. The Blessed Cause circled the
tiny vessel four times, her topsails now dowsed, Mr. Lefferts alert and
aquiver, like a coon dog with the coon treed but wanting the real
courage to close in.

It was almost dark before Mr. Tinker finally hove to and ordered a
boat over. He had, so far, neither shown a flag nor hailed the stranger.
It was, Chid thought in disgust, like a great armed bully turning on a
small boy without warning or decency, lashing and stabbing even
after there was no possible chance of resistance. Fish hadn't said a word
since taking the deck. But as the quarterboat was lowered, he said to
Mr. Tinker, "Take a carpenter. I don't want her."

Mr. Tinker looked forward with purpose, but Antoine was already
sliding eagerly down a boat fall, his ax hanging from his belt like the
tail of some nimble tree animal. Chid, though he'd stepped forward,
was glad that his name hadn't been spoken. There was something shame-
ful and criminal in taking part in the capture. Those two dead men
had been entirely unnecessary; so had Fish's extreme caution, circling
the harmless little vessel so often and throwing musket fire into her.

Mr. Bolt said that the two dead men were probably whites. Mr. Lef-
ferts, he said, had urged that it was easier than making prisoners of
them, and if white men were left alive, they could lead a pretty good
fight against the boarding boat. The rest of the crew were likely niggers,
with no heart for fighting and sometimes useful on a privateer, being,
if they were Jamaica men, excellent seamen and not sharing in the prizes.

The boarding party was in possession of the ketch. Antoine's ready ax
had cut the halyards, sending the sails tumbling downward in billowing
white folds. They trailed overside entwined in the severed bowsprit
rigging, quieting the seas alongside. The boat shortly put back, and
Chid could see that she was now pulled by four buck blacks, naked to
their waists. Mr. Tinker in the stern sheets and a seaman in the fore-
sheets each had a pistol trained on the rowers.

The blacks climbed to the schooner's deck, looking neither happy nor

distressed. Without orders they went forward and to windward, and

squatted docilely on the deck there. The boat picked up two men to pull

her again to the prize. Mr. Tinker, passing alongside, made jokes 1 to

70

the men hanging over the rail. "Full o gals/* he called jovially, "nice
full-modeled gals, just a-pinin* for a boarding party. Hah! and likker!
Lord Harry, wattll you see!"

They were back again before total night had settled upon the sea.
They brought nothing with them but four curious tubs, extremely
heavy and requiring the handy billy to bring them on deck. The ketch
had been dismasted and stove, and she wallowed in the darkness a
swamped wreck, the seas washing her from bow to taffrail. Chid
guessed that Mr. Tinker hadn't wanted to burn her for fear of raising an
inquiring sail.

Somebody had cast the two bodies overside, an eloquent rite which
raised a dead human slightly above a dead ship. It made Chid wonder
about Old Beemis. His body was gone at dawn; nobody had mentioned
him, and Chid himself hadn't thought of him until this moment.

The Blessed Cause was put on the wind, and she reached away on
her former course under reduced night sail. Mr, Tinker and Captain
Fish went below immediately, following the tubs. After a while Mr,
Bolt and Alec Drake, too, were invited down. They, the cabin boy
said, were to represent the crew in the matter of the division of the
prize. Chid lounged with the hands in the midship, sharing their ex-
pectancy. "'Twas hard money, I reckon," one of the men who had
boarded said. "Otherwise, she was bare save for stores an* stun ballast.
Not even a bottle or a cask, damn them penurious Jamaica skippers."

At the end of the second dog watch, a British system of staggering
the watches which Mr. Tinker had borrowed from Lefferts's marine
organization and which pleased the hands no end, they were all called
aft. The tubs had contained a gold coin shipment. Captain Fish had
reckoned it. It came to one hundred and thirty-one dollars, the sixty-
fourth lay. "Provided/ 5 said Mr. Tinker, who spoke for the captain,
"provided, we don't put it through the prize court and have the gov'-
mint and the brokers and the owners and every other son of a bitch
in creation helping theirselves to it."

"It's just a matter of keeping mum," he told them. "No trace of the
ketch, and a storm to make foundering a reasonable guess. Mr. Bolt,
whyn't you take a vote?"

71

Mr. Bolt didn't bother to make it formal. It was apparently a cut
and dried matter. "Don't hear no deacons singin'," he said without
hesitation. "Fd say we favored."

"Well, good/' Mr. Tinker nodded. "Line up the hands. Every man-
jack gets his money, here and now. That's the kind of dealings Cap'n
Fish stands for. Fair and square to all. Alwyn, take care of Nott's lay,
seeing's you're friendly-Iike."

The actual feel of the cold hard coins gave Chid a peculiar sensation.
It was somehow disappointing; there wasn't the free joy in them that
he had imagined; rather, in an un-understood way, they seemed like a
burden. But he took them eagerly enough, making a poke for them of
his shirt front.

"Just a minute, Alwyn," Mr. Tinker said, drawing him away from
the others. "Cap'n Fish found your eighty dollars, lad. You ain't to
mention it, boy; the cap'n requests you don't. Here 'tis."

"My money was in paper," Chid said, .taking the coins.

"Well, the captain got it back for you in gold. That ain't no cause to
holler, is it?"

"Nope. Reckon 'tain't," said Chid. "Say my thanks, sir."

"I've done it. The Cap'n don't want no enemies, Chid. He was glad
to get it back, but you better keep it hid after this."

"I will; don't you fret."

The bleak New England coast seemed remote and of another world.
The weather had turned pleasant, and it was growing warmer almost
hourly. Marky, as they gathered on deck after mess, said they were
hauling into the Gulf Stream, a channel of hot water that came up from
the pit of the earth or somewhere, he wasn't sure just where. He said
that all the dead bodies ever drowned in the sea collected in it, and that
they drew fish. Some fresh fish was likely tomorrow or the next day.
It dampened Chid's enjoyment of the spring-like evening, thinking
about Old Beemis and those two poor white Jamaicans who glided
lifeless beneath the gray water.

He had two hundred and sixty-two dollars, his one-thirty-second
lay. He had more money than he had ever seen at one time; and it was,
even to his returned eighty dollars, all in British gold. Chid couldn't,
thinking about that small fortune, let himself become depressed.

72

The off watch made the proper overtures to Mr. Lefferts and brought
rum flasks from some secret place below, and somebody In the darkness
forward sang a sober song about an idiot girl on October Mountain,
not melodious save in its accompaniment of wave music at the run and
the thin regular complaining of a fatigued throat block aloft as the
schooner ran with the long flattening seas. It became a genial hour,
very pleasant indeed. Mr. Tinker* who was Inclined to good-fellowship,
told some indecent stories. Chid didn't understand every point, but he
laughed along with his mates. He had himself a good drink of some-
body's kill-care, feeling the liquor lighten him; and it wasn't, after
that, very hard to make himself forget about those two murdered men.

Marky reckoned that a whole fleet of paymaster boats might be at
hand. They sailed in small squadrons, he said, dividing their cargo and
depending upon their speed to slip by Yankee ships. Sometimes they
had a convoy, but the storm had likely scattered the fleet, and it was
making the best way it could to the British fleet off American waters.
Or possibly, Mr. Bolt offered, the President frigate, which he heard was
cruising on the Jamaica Line, had caught the convoy ship.

Nez came on deck, stepping from the steerage hatch with a sheepish
grin on his face, saying he was all right again and had been just too
lazy to get up that day. To prove that he was feeling good, he cuffed
Antoine playfully and the two tumbled on deck, kicking and biting in
the best of humor. "Ho! 5 * Antoine puffed, "hims do de knee, hunh!
Nez, you watch out Antoine, she get de ax!" Nez quit then, laughing,
and came to sit with Chid.

Chid mentioned that he had his lay, all counted and waiting for him.

"Keep it," Nez said. "I'd never hang onto it, even in the middle of
the damned ocean. But for Hannah's sake, Chid, hide it or suthin'.
That Lefferts would have picked you like a turkey biddy picks lice. Here's
your money roll," and he passed Chid his eighty-dollar wad, still tied
with its rawhide whang.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Why, I tuk it ofPn you last night, a'fore I turned in," Nez said.
"Great airth an' seas, didn't you have that bastardly marine figured
out?"

"No. But I'm getting on to him. He tried to trade me a pair of boots

73

for a share In my lay. I'd be paying hundreds for 'em if this easy picking
keeps up."

Nez didn't answer. Chid, following his eyes, saw why. On Nez's
feet were a new pair of boots of exactly the same pattern as those which
Lefferts had offered Chid that morning.

"What did they cost you?"

"I signed a writin'."

"Tarnation, Nez! Ain't you got more sense than that? Did you read
it?"

"Well, not exactly. The letters curl around sort o' confusin' an' mostly
I don't bother. Lefferts he read it to me, Chid."

"Nez, we got to get hold of the lay-writing. He wanted a twentieth
of my lay for those boots. Gosh knows how much you signed for. This
is all my fault for taking your boots, Nez."

"No it ain't," Nez said. "Hell, I don't begrudge my friends anything
they're a mind to take o' mine. But it gets me sore to be taken like a
trapped varmint."

Nez was all for dropping below on Lefferts at once and settling the
matter, and he reached his hand to his shoulder knife significantly. Chid
held him back. There was nothing to be gained by seeing the porky
captain now. He'd laugh at Nez and reckon one more enemy, a matter
probably untroubling to him.

"We can't do it that way," Chid said. "Don't you see the odds? What
do you guess those marines tromp about armed for all the time? Lef-
ferts does this all the time, Nez. He runs a business of looting the hands,
and he needs his men to save him from some of the hating he must get."

Nez grinned and admitted that seven was more than he wanted to
tackle at once. "Well," he said, "I got time. Someday I'll catch him just
right."

"Look at it square," Chid said. "All you want is a look at the writing
to see that it's fair. Taking it out of Lefferts's hide won't help none."

"Oh, yes, it will!" Nez said. "Chid, you an' me never see eye to eye
about what we're fightin' for nohow. But I always know jest where
you stand. You jest won't stir 'cept for money."

Before he turned in, Chid hid all the money, over six hundred dollars.
He hid it in the bottom of the oakum cask in the carpenter's storeroom

74

forward, then locked the door. He reckoned it would let him sleep
better, knowing the money was safe. It was curious and, thinking about
It, troubling, about that eighty dollars he'd lost. It had been returned to
him twice, and Tinker had given him the false sum. Chid hadn't the
least idea why, but he could imagine it was for no good purpose. It
was hard even to try to think of the significance of It.

But he was certain now that Fish and his officers were evil-hearted
men. He could feel their evil about him, like a sudden night wind
from some corrupt place. It was shocking to find himself a part of It.
Two men had been wantonly murdered. Every man-jack of them had
accepted his share of the prize money, becoming party to what Chid
supposed was piracy. And the schooner was rotten with a system of
filthy exploitation apparently condoned by the officers, the hatred it
aroused controlled by armed men in the guise of a marine complement.

The schooner was making easy way of it. Drake, coming off wheel
watch just as Chid rolled himself into his coarse, damp quilt, said
that Fish had come on deck at four bells. He was drunk, but sober
enough to order the Blessed Cause laid on and off in the vicinity until
dawn. He hoped, he had hiccoughed to Tinker, to fetch another pay-
master boat.

Chid was almost asleep when he heard an unearthly scream from the
deck. It was quiet after it, with only the small noises of the working
vessel audible. Lefterts came down the ladder shortly afterward, treading
with decent quiet but puffing slightly.

"All done?" Mr. Bolt whispered down the hatch.

"Aye, all done. One of them broke from his lashings, and I had to
stick him. But he's over with the rest. No courtll ever know about the
prize."

Chid almost retched, feeling sick. Not two, but six men had been
murdered in cold blood. Not even remembering the handsome stride
he had taken toward making his dreams come true this day could
sweeten his troubled sleep.

75

Chapter Five

THE Blessed Cause CRUISED for two days without sighting a sail o any
kind. The sea had become warm and gentle, its ripple laughing against
the smooth black hull as if to make amends for its black destructive
mood just past, and the continuing northerly winds brought the day up
bright and sparkling. It was grand, effortless sailing and gave the crew
welcome muscle-easing hours on deck.

Antoine and Nez evolved a kill-time game of sorts on the gear-
cluttered foredeck which they pursued by the hour, surrounded by the
loafing watch-off.

They had lashed a hard-board to the after-face of the wooden knight-
heads, and in its center they stuck a small chip of pinewood with spit.
The game was to split the chip. Antoine, standing eight paces aft of the
target, used his double-bitted ax, throwing it with an easy, lightning-
quick swing. Nez used a common bone-handled skinning knife, start-
ing his cast each time from the leather sheath which he carried, on a neck
thong, between his shoulder blades.

They were both experts, and their mutual respect expressed itself in
constant gentle ragging of each other. Chid enjoyed their quick banter
as much as he did their beautiful dramatic skills. It was, as always, a source
of wonder to him how Nez so easily and naturally became one of what-
ever group he happened to join. Chid was aware of the real liking that
the men had for Nez. He himself, he knew, did not enjoy their friend-
ship in the same open, unquestioning way. He supposed it was because
of his natural caution and uncommunicativeness. He hadn't talked much
to any man. He was civil when spoken to and had made conversation
only with Alec Drake and Antoine, both of whom had seemed to like

him. But he had listened an attribute that he had always laid more
store by than talking.

Antoine, now, stuck a tiny chip to the target, a bit o whittling dif-
ficult to see from a few fathoms away. With utter carelessness he took
his casting position, maintaining a belittling tirade against Nez the
while, then, stiffening suddenly, flashed his ax in a cold keen arc and
buried the blade a full two inches in the hard-board. The chip fell to
the deck in two specks.

"Hah, by Gar, Nez!" Antoine chanted, "do dat, you. For Antoine is
nozzing, nozzing, my fran'. Hup in de bush Ah t'row mah ax an*
Ah cut de flyin* bee in two leetle piece, an' you know what? Bot* pieces
is weight exact de same!"

Nez stood on the throwing line, bidding the severed chips be left
on deck where they had fallen. "That there ain't so much, even if I did
blieve it, you tarnal froggy. Down where I do my grazin* a decent man
wouldn't even mention a feat's insignificant's that one. Why, hell's
a'mighty, Antwine, we kin hit things down there a mortal cain't even
see!"

"Is what, hein?"

"Wall," Nez drawled, "you take one o* them skunks. You must know
'em, Antwine, 'cause they don't smell no prettier'n a Frenchie, an' you're
all probly related, no doubt. Wall, even a childer in my parts kin hit
suthin' you cain't see on 'em every try. Even in plumb darkness we kin
do it. Know what 'tis?"

"Non, non! Is no skunks on de Big Otter. Dey all oiler you Con-
necticut soljer when de Franchy chase 5 em home long, long tam ago.
Hp! Nez, what you' hit dat you no see, hein?"

"Why, the smell o' the critters, you gol-darned Canuck, you. Your
brains ain't no nimbler'n your ax. Stand away."

Amidst the laughter Nez threw his knife. It quivered in the deck
after an unseen flight and beside it ky two halves of an already halved
chip.

"That cost you a hundred dollars," Nez said. "Don't you know when
you meet up with a good man, Antwine? Give the money to Chid
sometime. Or you want to settle all you owe me for a good dollop o*
kill-care right now?"

77

It was all very pleasant; but behind the good-fellowship of the lazy
days on deck Chid was aware of a growing unrest. He had heard whis-
perings, suddenly silenced when he drew near, and once, passing a
group which was stranding rope ends for chaffing gear, he heard his
own name mentioned. Alec Drake, too, in a cautious obtuse way had
been trying to tell him something for the last day, but had never come
to the exact point.

On the evening of the fourth day an American sixteen-gun brig
appeared, making mast-head signals. Captain Fish hove to and made
his identifying signal of two red swallow tails below the rattlesnake flag
and sent the ensign to the main gaff peak. When the two vessels were
alongside, the man-o'-war hailed from over the calm sea between. Mr.
Tinker, without batting an eye, reported them as the Salem privateer
Diligence, five days out of Boston with no prizes seen or taken.

"At sunup," Mr. Tinker informed the officer who had mounted the
mizzen sheer pole with his speaking trumpet, "we was chased by a
Britisher, a forty-four likely, by the looks of her, but sailed lubberly and
we shook him."

"Where away?"

"Why, up to north'ard, I guess. You lookin* for a scrap, she'd make you
a dandy."

"She'd be suicide for us, I'm afraid. But we're on patrol and better
look into her, though it's a frigate job to settle her. Obliged to you, sir
and fair hunting."

Chid heard the shrill of her bosun's whistles, then watched the smart
orderly bracing of her yards as she made off on the westward board for
the upwind beat. Mr. Tinker smirked behind his smiling report to the cap-
tain, up with his rum bottle for the balmy evening air. "It kind of clears
the sea for us," Chid heard him say. "If Marky's right we ought to fetch
up another of those paymaster boats right soon. We like missed a couple,
I reckon."

"There's supposed to be eight of them according to the dispatches
Marky stole," said Fish, drawing on a long clay pipe, Dutchman style.
"Tinker, don't take any more prisoners. I don't like 'em in this business."

"Aye, sir," the mate agreed. "They leave a trail like a whaler on boilin*
day. Ill mention it to Leiferts."

78

The marine captain had made no effort to collect his share of the prize
money which Nez had received. Chid felt keenly his responsibility for
getting Nez Into the scrape, though he knew that, had it happened to
anybody but a friend, he would have felt In no way obligated. Nez, as
he had stated, didn't care about the money but, in the right humor,
which would probably occur the moment Lefferts tried to collect, Nez
might forcibly resent being hoodwinked. For Chid had no doubt that
the assignment upon which Nez had placed his mark would contain a
damning provision of one-way benefit. Antoine had hinted at such a
possibility.

But as yet Chid had no notion of how he might get a look at the writ-
ing or get the writing if it did assign Nez's entire lay to the marine
captain. Lefferts seldom left the quarterdeck. He took his meals with
Fish, and when he made his nightly inspection of the ship he was
always accompanied by a file of his outlandish marines. The seamen
called them "doodle bugs," and they did not look unlike fat, garish*
hued bugs as they paced their beats or climbed into the barrels In the
crossdrees.

That night Fish put the schooner about, reaching away from the coast,
still under light northerly breezes. Anything beating up the Jamaica
Line from the islands had had head winds for almost a week. Fish had
but to cross and recross the path and stay clear of ships of the line,
both British and Yankee, and the laws of probability would fetch him
a fair number of the scattered and delayed pay fleet.

It was another beautiful mild night, prime for drinking, but not many
of the hands imbibed. The discipline of the ship would not have stopped
them, and Chid, reasoning it out, suspected that it was this unrest which
was keeping them sober and on the alert. Without its being obvious,
Chid thought he could see a division in the crew; could detect small
signs which showed them dividing into two groups.

Alec Drake was slow, as usual, when Mr. Bolt, who had the deck,
called for rolling tackles on the main and fore booms. His legs were a
livid blue, and he had been rubbing them with turpentine and cayenne,
on Antoine's advice, to get the aching tiredness out of them. A marine
pricked his stern with a bayonet point, watching the old man hump with
relish.

79

Drake showed no fight, and Chid thought that in itself a dangerous
sign. But a hand named Reefer turned on the marine and cursed him
with bitter venom, East Boston style and punctuated with spitting
which Chid couldn't rightly say was deliberate or the result of the
tumbling fury of his cursing. But Reefer earned only a sharp jab of a
gun butt in his groin for his pains for Drake.

All the while, a group who had been drinking and were on watch and
subject to orders, were left unmolested in the midships waterways. They
sang, without melody, a drunken song about "Captain Hake was a
Yankee slaver . . . traded in niggers and worshiped his Saviour.'*

Chid wished that he could fathom what was going on about him. As
yet> though, there was no pattern to it. He wondered about the revolt
that Fish and Nez had mentioned. But there was no sense to that now.
They were on the account since the capture of that first prize and the
division of the spoils without benefit of condemnation by the Prize
Court. There was something else; something sinister and evil and
dangerous.

Lefferts, oddly, slept aft in the quarterdeck trunk that night and had
taken his chest with him. Whatever plans Chid had for rifling it to see
Nez's assignment were now destroyed. But the steerage seemed a vastly
improved and cleaner place.

Shortly after meridian the next day the Blessed Cause took the second
paymaster boat. Like the first, she was a Jamaica ketch; a poor ship
with patched sails and fished spars that waved like willow wands in the
ocean roll as the privateer made her cautious preliminary circling. She
struck immediately but the third time around her and with a man on
the main truck to watch out for a protecting ship of the line upwind,
Fish nodded to Lefferts, and his deadly sharpshooting commenced from
the barrel edges in the crosstrees. Four men were down in two minutes.
The rest, all husky blacks, threw a small yawl boat into the sea and
followed it in wild dives from the deck.

Mr. Tinker was put to run down on the frantically rowing blacks so
the marine fire could bear, but before a shot had found the range the
crew went overside, keeping the boat between themselves and the
schooner. Fish, cackling like a small angry bird, reminded Tinker of
his orders; then himself put the Blessed Cause a cable's length to wind-

so

ward of the drifting boat and the black figures clinging desperately to it.

Mr. Tinker understood at once. Grinning his blandest, he jibed the
schooner and ran, full and by, down on the yawl boat. With a shudder
of horror Chid heard the crunching and grinding of the yawl as it
passed beneath the schooner. He didn't look overside. Those blacks
who swam away, iinging themselves clear with the aid of the marbling
bow wave, died under Lefferts's murderous fire before they reached the
quarters*

The wake showed but splinters of wreckage and one lone figure,
swimming frantically. Mr. Tinker considered it a waste of time to double
back and kill it. "There's nary a thing for him to hang onto ? is there?"
he asked reasonably o Captain Lefferts. "I'd say the job was done."
Chid tried not to watch the desperate black swimming far astern and,
after a while, when he did look, he could see nothing.

Chid was ordered over with the boarding party this time. He fol-
lowed Mr. Tinker and a roll-gaited seaman named Griswold, axing
the lockers and bins they indicated. The money was in a small iron-
bound sea chest under what had been the skipper's berth in the small
crowded cabin. Tinker looked no further when he had found It but
bade Chid cut its deck lashings and give a hand lowering it into the
boat.

The mate wanted the sticks cut out and the hull stove so she'd sink
quickly, but Chid, listening to the ominous gurgling under the floors,
opined that the Jamaican would not last ten minutes. She had seemingly
taken a terrific beating in the gale and was leaking badly. Probably
only constant pumping had kept her afloat this long, and her condition
had been the reason for her failure to attempt an escape. The news
pleased Mr. Tinker.

"Well, good," he smiled. "I reckon was she in convoy, they'd have
shifted to it and abandoned before this. Cap'll be pleased to know. With
no convoy to worry about maybe we can search about a mite more open
now."

"Look/* Cnid said, "I didn't ship for this sort of thing."

"What did you ship for?"

"Why, profits/ 7 Chid said, "but not trouble."

"Well* Td say you was doing right handsome with the profits, boy.

81

And Capll take care o the trouble; he's no damn* fool Don't tell me
you've got one of them blasted consciences?"

"No, It ain't that; not altogether. I wouldn't kill men for money my-
self, but If others kill 'em and I can't stop it, there's no sense letting their
money go by me."

"Look at it this way," Tinker said. "Cap's doing a patriotic turn for
his country; he's clearing the seas of these plagued devils."

"He ought to be regular about it, bound to his Letter."

"You ever hear of a privateer bound to his Letter? You ever hear of
a soldier or a sailor bound to his articles? No, boy, you ain't. They're
all out for Number One unless they're pure ninnies or fools. Cap didn't
take you for one when you signed on. I wouldn't want to tell him you'd
gone softy on him. He was counting on you, in a way."

"Well, he can. I'm under his orders/' Chid said. "But I'd sure like
to know how all this Is coming out."

Chid could heartily wish for no conscience at all now. In the past,
when he had been cute or smart and could count it in profit, no con-
science had ever come to bother him. He had merely met an opponent
on equal footing, in no way dishonorably, and either outsmarted him
or been outsmarted himself. There was no reproach in a thing like that.
It was life itself, life and survival and, In a way, SL man's duty to him-
self and his aims. But this deliberate and criminal cunning sickened
Chid; it rasped harshly on what he supposed was conscience, though
he named it to himself a fear and disgust and shame. Mostly, it was
fear. As the captain's deeds involved him more and more, he could
see no way for himself to keep clear of their rewards. It made him
wonder about the rest of the crew. It seemed unbelievable that they,
to the last man, were of the caliber of Fish and his officers.

Drake had found two kegs of black powder which he sent to the
boat by a sling. The others had all taken some small memento. One man
had the whaleoil binnacle lamp and another had a curious conch
horn. Reefer had found a pair of flint-lock pistols, rather nicely tooled
in the English fashion; but Tinker, with that sudden hard twist to his
mouth, dropped them overside without a word. It meant nothing at the
time to Chid.

82

Before he returned to the boat Chid covered two of the slain men
with the bunt of the fallen mizzen sail, keeping his eyes averted and
not wanting to see the wound from which had come the congealing
red pool on the white deck. It was almost an involuntary act; he had no
idea why he did it. But in a curious way it seemed to excuse his own
participation in the attack and looting.

His act had not gone unnoticed. That evening after the Blessed Cause
had been put miles away from the scene and the sun was dipping into
the western sea, Drake, with studied casualness, sought him out. They
hung over the weather rail, feeling the lift of the vessel as she reached
gently eastward for another crossing of the Jamaica Line. There was fog
to the eastward, following the sun; not dense as Chid had seen it
beyond Fishers and Block Islands, but wispy and scattered, like a swale
mist.

"It's the end of pleasant weather," Drake said, chumping on a new
piece of twist. "You take fog like that, what ain't made up its mind, it
can mean anythin'. Easterly winds for certain; mebbe one o* them
lashin' gales again. Boy, I seen you cover them two bodies this after-
noon. It was a human thing to do."

"I couldn't help it. There was ncf need to kill those men."

"No need at all. No need for lots o' things," Drake said quietly, "I
covered the other two. Mebbe you seen me."

"No," Chid said, "I didn't."

Drake chewed, spitting into the ripple of the run and watching the
brown juice mingle with the green seas and pass aft, not saying any-
thing. It was Drake's way, this clumsy hesitation and cautious weigh-
ing of his words and his attitude. He had tried it on Chid before.

"There's others on board," the gunner said, "as might consider such
a deed human, too. Back in your town, there was four on 'em I know
would have been proud to call it so. Three carpenters an' a hand, I
recollect, seems *s if."

"They were planning to take the ship and pirate," Chid said, "That's
why they were beat ashore."

Drake looked cautiously about, then glanced aloft. When he saw that
they were utterly alone he studied Chid, then, with a sudden resolve,
talked as freely as he had talked guardedly before.

83

"That was a cock an' bull yarn the mate told you an' Nott to get
you signed on. Them men wasn't going on the account; they was
plannin' to keep the hull ship from doin' jest that. Fish, through Lef-
ferts, long ago wanted for all of us to do jest what we're doin' now.
We was agin it an' said so and figured, bein' half the ship an' more,
we was strong enough to stay agin piratin'; make the rest behave. But he
had us in a nice situation, boy; signed on, Lefferts creditor to half the
hands for advance money and tucked away in your remote little swamp
o' a town without liberty, save by twos o 9 a evening hour. He tuk us
complete by surprise, maroonin' them four hands and shippin* o' you
two. It sort o* upset the balance though 111 admit free we never tuk
the hull matter serious till what happened. Well, boy, this here way o'
taking prizes an' dividin' don't set good wit' some on us. It'll lead but
to a hangin' an' disgrace for a man's f ambly. D' you ship for a hangin',
boy?"

It made Chid think what he had shipped for. Money; yes . . . and
something beyond money. His share of the second prize had been rich,
over six hundred dollars, and he now had all the money he had ever
dreamed a man might use up in a lifetime, much more than he needed
to get his ambitions rolling. And there was Nez's share, too. Nez, in
his careless manner, had told Chid to keep it until he needed it, which,
he said, might be never. Mr. Bolt, after the reckoning, had lined them
up, not bothering to call for a vote. The staggering amount was safely
hidden with the rest of his prize money in the storeroom.

"No," Chid said, "I didn't ship for ... hanging. I got what I shipped
for now. I ain't too proud of the way I got it, but it's right spendable."

"Aye boy. An' you got piracy an' murder, too. Them ain't things you
can spend away. You ever think on that?"

"Lots. I already got trouble ashore."

"Well, some on us might never get ashore. Don't worry none about
your trouble there till you get by what you got here. Look, this Fish
an' Lefferts an' them ain't fools, boy. They know jest where they're
goin'. You an* me don't, do we?"

"Nope."

"I figure that arter the last prize has been took some on us is bound to
jine them poor niggers. 'Twouldn't take much more'n a gun crew to

84

work this schooner to some lonesome coast, say Africy or mebbe some
Carib Island where a man could be forgotten for a spell. You take good
prize money like we been takin* divided amongst say ten, an' a man
could live a famous life for hissclf for a danged long time."

"We can't take paymaster boats forever."

"Fd say no. What we got Is luck an' the figurin* o* that cute Marky.
Course, there's reg'lar prizes. The Frenchll buy 'em. A mite o' British
blood on the cargo don't count as spoilage to the French. But Fish don't
even need more prizes. What's been tuk is sufficient, boy, an' don't you
fret but hell get back all he can o' what's been divided. What I'm fear-
ful o' is the way he'll do It. Boy, where do you stand In all this, to put
the matter direct?"

"Why," Chid said, "I guess I'm with whoever'll get me an' my share
ashore safe. What d'you want of me?"

"Nuthin*. Nuthin' yet. Jest you stay bowsed down ontil I speak with
some o' me mates for'ard. Trouble Is, you come from the wrong town
an* we ain't sure o' you an' Nott. We need you. 111 admit, for you'd
ekalize that there balance I was sayin' about. We sort o* got some plans,
boy."

"Look/' said Chid, "you better speak plain or hush up."

"I can't speak plain. I'm doln' this on my own, kind of/'

"Why?"

"Well, a fondness, we'll call it, lad. I know about what you did in
that there fire what burned that poor sot up. Perry reckoned you about
saved his life, he was that tuckered out. He was right grateful, but he
couldn't find you to say you so."

"I don't know why I did it," Chid said. "He's a spellbinder, ain't he?"

"No," Drake said soberly, "he's only a human man. What fetches
you about him Is what he stands for. Mebbe you don't know it right off,
but that's what it is. It sort o shines through him. It ain't what he
makes o' the things he loves, but what them things made o' him, that
a man admires. I know, boy. I see him grow up on the Constellation an'
I learnt him what he knows about burnin* powder in the long guns.
We fought together, we did in the Nautilus gunboat before the Bey o'
Tripoli's hellions, an* we bled some an* we starved some; but we never
scant good because Perry don't know the word. Them things make

85

sta'nch shipmates. Personal, I'd ruther follow Perry than any officer in
this hull un-i-verse."

"Well, why don't you?"

"The gov'mint got penurious a year or so back, like it does every time
some new bloke is runnin' it. They laid thousands o' old navy men off;
even me. I thought I could serve my country this way, lad; but I see
I'm in a service that don't reckon no country at all. Well, boy, like I
was comin' to say, Master Perry's kind o' in your debt, an' Alec Drake
is proud to pay the debt for him. It's why I mentioned this hull matter."

"You must rate me in danger."

"Packs o' it; you an' Nott. Y' see, you're in the middle. We don't
know which way you'd jump was there trouble. You shipped from that
backwash town what'll take its profit anywhere it can get it regardless,
an* you're under the wings o' the quarterdeck, so to speak. But like I
say, I'll speak with me mates for'ard. They need you an' you need
them, I'd say; but they got to be all-fired sure o' you both before they
even broach the matter to you. An' lad, you better stay aft till you're
invited for'ard. Some has got notions you might be spying an* I ain't
sayin' there ain't hotheads amidst us."

"I got to go for'ard to get at the carpenter's stores."

"Damn seldom, you do, the work Tinker makes for carpenter rates.
It makes some o' the hands feel mebbe you wasn't shipped for car-
penterin'. Well, you do have to come for'ard, step open an' don't get
caught listenin'."

"You better tell me the plan."

"Oh, no; that I won't."

"Mutiny?"

"I ain't sayin'. Boy, even now you could have me keelhauled by jest
whisperin' the word aft."

"Rest easy," Chid said, "I won't tattle. If there's trouble comin 5 , 1 want
to be where there's the least of it."

Drake shuffled oE, stoop-shouldered and old-looking. Chid remained
for a long time in the gently moving shadows of the shrouds where
Drake had left him. There was much to think out. Chid believed
Drake, with his queer warped notion of paying a debt. His voice had
been sincere, and his thoughts hardly cunning. And the situation was

86

beginning to make a pattern. Chid could fit in the parts somewhat
and make reason of them.

He thought that he could detect in the pattern that Fish and the officers
wanted him and Nez on their side. It explained the return of the eighty
dollars by Fish. That money had come out o his own pocket to keep
his good will and to make him suspicious of Drake's men. And there
was Tinker's jettisoning of the pistols which Reefer had looted from the
prize. Chid, thinking about it, reasoned that Fish must be on the alert
and fearful of having arms of any kind outside of the armory, the key
for which he himself kept always.

He had not the least doubt of what Drake's mates planned. It was
mutiny, or whatever a man chose to call it, and they waited only for a
reasonable chance of success to take the Blessed Cause from their murder-
ing officers and sail her into some port, there to tell their story to the Prize
Court. Chid had small doubt but that they would be believed, for the
story was easily proved. And privateers turned pirate were not uncom-
mon. Chid knew of one such out of Nantucket, and he'd heard of others.

The mutineers, too, wanted him and Nez. If they would have them,
Chid considered it smart to join them. It wasn't a moral issue with him;
not particularly so, anyway. His money was forward, removed there
from the clutches of Lefferts. To have free access to it was the obviously
smart thing to work for.

He put it up to Nez, in whispers, before turning in. Nez was amazed
and said so, scratching his head ruefully. "If they was on'y things 'stead
o' people," he grumbled. "I wouldn't have no trouble understandin'
them. I don't never have no trouble understandin' things, Chid."

"Things stay put," Chid agreed. "You can count on them. People don't.
They say one thing and mean another, and they'd knife you all the while
smiling like a parson come to dinner."

"Me an' Antwine could do some chip-splittin' on Fish an* them an'
mebbe end it."

"I reckon that would be called plain murder ashore. Anyway, the real
power aft is Lefferts. He's got the weapons, handy as a wheel becket."

"What do you reckon we ought to do, Chid?"

*"I don't think it's time to say yet," Chid said, feeling proud that Nez,
usually so self-sufficient and able, had asked him. "I'm fair sick of this

8?

voyage, and I'd as lief quit as not if I could. But I don't figure to lose my
profits; or yours either. Someway, we got to get our money aft under our
own eyes again and keep it there.**

"You got any ideas how?"

"Nope. That coin must weigh a hundred-weight; we can't just hide
it in our pockets. I'd make a move to join them forward, they'd let me.
Trouble is, Nez, it seems they ain't got a chance of winning. Fish is onto
them, 111 lay. Even with us they like couldn't count on more than hah:
the hands; say twenty against twenty-two or so. But the twenty have
the weapons, Nez. 'Course, a man on the winning side might come in
for a right good share of additional prize money when noses are counted
after a scrap. But I allow he'd mebbe have trouble hanging onto it, was
he with Fish's party."

"Chid, you wouldn't figure like that, would you?"

"Well, no. Not deliberate. But a man's got to look at all sides of a
question; he kind of owes it to himself. I suppose if we went aft and
told the captain, he'd take us with him quick."

"They'd cut Alec Drake to ribbons on the triangle."

"I know," Chid admitted. "I wouldn't want that on my head, profit or
no profit, Nez. I think we ought to stay in the middle till we have to
jump."

"You're a funny feller, Chid," Nez said, not smiling. 'You ain't all
bad, but you ain't all good either; just on a eternal steelyard ready to
gallop to the tipped end whichever. It comes from bein' raised in civiliza-
tion, where you're surrounded by people 'stead o' things. It makes you
onreliable, like them. You take us Notts, Chid. We all growed up deep
in the hills. OF Gramp Nott, who was a hundert an* still head o* the
fambly, had Indians an' Tories an 1 raggies an' Jason knows what in camp.
All he asked was a man be steady like the bresh an' sky an' crags which
surrounded us. An' a man was; he couldn't help it because his roots, so
to speak, pretty soon tuk holt o' plain oncomplicated things what didn't
change an* go gaddin' 'round creation gettin' involved. I don't mebbe
tell it so good, Chid, but I feel it, an' that ought to signify. The p'int is,
a man ought to make up his mind. It ain't never comfortable on the nub
a' a steelyard. It's much better in the pan; either side. I reckon, Chid,

88

you don't know which way to jump "cause you don't know what you
want."

"I know what I want/ 9 Chid said. "Right now it's to save my neck an 9
my money."

"No, it ain't either/' Nez said positively. "That's on'y part o* it. What
you really want is to save yourself. Chid Alwyn has you plumb con-
founded, Chid. Part o* him is you, an* part is what folks an' their tarnal
doin' an' sayin' made him into. Some place in the mess things is in, you
can find Chid Alwyn. It don't matter which side your money is on or
which side has the most guns.**

"How about you?"

"Why, I'm with Drake an' Antwine, o' course/* Nez said promptly.
"Them fellers is friends an' damn' good ones. You can have my cussed
money, jest to prove it ain't that*' 9

"I don't want your money."

"Neither do L It ain't what 1 signed on for. Chid, you better make
up your mind about this."

"If I had our money right here with me, I could see clearer/' Chid
said. "Right now, you and I are the balance of power. I don't reckon
anything will happen till they settle about us for'ard."

"With them, win or loose, you'd have a clean bill with the gov'mint,
Chid."

"A-yep, I been considering. Trouble is the court and the owners and the
lawyer people and the rest would bite fearful into our prize money, say-
ing we got in all right."

"Let 'em/ 5 Nez said. "You'd be alive for packs o' sport an' doin*s yet.
That's somethin', Chid."

Chid allowed it was, not wanting to continue the troubling argument

In some ways, Nez was right. But he was very wrong about that steel-
yard with Chid on the nub. The real foundation went beyond the steek
yard, to the thing from which the steelyard hung; and Chid reckoned he
was pretty decided and steady about that. It was his dreams and his hopes
and his ambitions, and these other things were but means, to be used or
ignored, as he saw fit. He did not have to decide for either side of the
steelyard; not this present one, anyway. Both sides might be valueless
to him in relation to what lie was really striving for.

Chid saw that he had been thinking along obvious lines, trying to get
in step with the plans of others. Trouble was, both sides were dangerous
and, for Chid, wrong.

Drake and his friends, whatever their motives, whether fear or honesty,
hadn't a chance. They did not even have, as they seemed to believe, the
weapon of surprise in their meager war bag. Lefferts's marines could
quell any uprising in minutes. Chid couldn't believe that the crew's plans
were brilliant or even carefully charted.

Fish's plans had been crafty. It would suit him perfectly to be rid of
all but enough to work his ship to escape to limbo, then find their prize
money and redivide it. It had been cute, distributing the money, lulling
the hands into security, for it made them all, in a sense, fellows to the
piratical captures. It was all hard to believe possible, but Chid had the
evidence before him. Oddly, he was not much surprised. The whole
situation proved again what he had seen back on the Continent that
war was a time of opportunity for smart men. Only the method surprised
him. It had never occurred to him that men could be so cruel and wanton
and false, not even for selfish gainful purposes.

He could, strangely, view the situation impersonally. He could feel
active hatred only for Lefferts, and that was based purely on suspicion
and instinctive dislike. Lefferts had not hurt him directly. But he knew
that some day he would have to face the marine captain. That matter
of Nez's assignment still hung between them. It had been made because
he had shuffled Nez's boots around, and he was responsible for protect-
ing Nez's prize money.

He could see now why Lefferts had made no effort to collect the sum
or deduct it from the prize money as it was handed to his debtors. Leflerts
knew that he would some day get it without asking for it. The final
reckoning would be made between himself and Fish, and Chid had no
doubt that the agreements gave him far more of the lay than he had
verbally agreed to. In the situation, Chid saw the solution of one of the
problems confronting him as he became aware of the plan which was
slowly presenting itself to him.

Long into the sultry, restless night, Chid tossed in his berth. The
Blessed Cause creaked and groaned in the roll. Her gear slatted aloft in
90

the windless air to the walls of the complaining blocks and cordage, and
the foul bilge smells, warm and strong, pervaded the hot steerage. Lefiferts,
for a reason that Chid could now surmise, still slept aft. Drake and his
bunkmates snored in nerve-racking disharmony about him, and Nez,
still fearing the seasickness, chumped his quid wetly and noisily In his
sleep.

There was, Chid made himself understand toward morning, only one
smart thing to do : play a lone hand founded upon plans which were his
own and could not go wrong. But he saw, /caching a decision at last,
that for a while at least his course must lie parallel to the course of Drake
and his friends. At all costs he must be accepted by them. In no other
way would he have free access to the carpenter's stores in the bow and
his hidden money. Almost two thousand dollars in coin was not a sum
to be concealed In a breek's pocket. A bit at a time, requiring many trips,
it must be smuggled out. Nobody forward or aft must be allowed the
smallest suspicion that a third plot existed.

For Chid had decided that his best course, which meant the safest and
most profitable one, was to make his escape from the Blessed Cause.
Looking at it Nez's way, he was still on the nub of the steelyard. And he
reckoned it was the real Chid Alwyn that was there. A man, he guessed,
couldn't be In a better place, no sir, not and come out with a whole skin
and what he had started out for.

Chapter Six

IT DID NOT strike Chid as particularly odd when Mr. Bolt the following
morning ordered him to sheathe the opening which gave forward from
the steerage into the midship hold and the forecastle. He recognized the
barricade as a good protection from a below-deck attack from forward.

Now that he was alert to what was breeding, he could see many addi-
tional signs of intrigue about him. He had, apparently, been hopelessly
dull not to have perceived them before. Seemingly, this brewing revolt
was no news to the officers; they expected trouble and were preparing for
It. Nez and Antoine, at the crack of dawn, had skidded the water butt aft
to the break of the poop under LefJerts's own eyes. It was an old trick;
control the water butt and you control the ship. Nez had heard Lefferts
mention it in just those words to Bolt when the job was finished.

It was shocking to Chid, remembering those pleasant evening hours
with his mates and the convincing kindness of Tinker, to find that behind
it these desperate plans had been forming. Chid could not know the
details of the captain's earlier efforts to sway the hands to free-booting.
It had all been done quietly and under cover, and the little birdlike man,
working through his officers and that part of the crew which he had man-
aged to gather to him by his own devious devices, had never actually
proposed anything irregular. He had weeded and tested, and when he had
achieved a majority in favor, he had boldly proceeded with his plans.
Almost before the hands had realized it, his trap had been sprung; each
had been given a share of the prize money so temptingly displayed and
was enmeshed.

Chid had guessed Fish's strength Lefferts's armed pacing marines,
rowdy bruisers parading in military uniforms. He could find no strength
on the side of Drake's band. They were simple men, not used to intrigue

92

or very much forethought^ and their arms were nothing but right and
truth and decency; mighty poor weapons against serpentine powder and
cold steel and cunning, long-prepared plans. He felt sorry for them and
curiously glad that he himself would not be dependent upon their success
for his own escape from the black conspiracy rumbling about him. He
needed them but for a very short time, and for but one thing.

Chid cut the boards from some flitch-sawn pine dunnage which he
found atop the beach-rubble ballast. He boarded the forward side of the
narrow opening horizontally, then spiked a vertical sheathing on the
after-side, making a solid bulkhead almost four inches thick. It looked
strong. But Chid, or any man knowing about it, could smash it down
with a hand hook plied from the forward side in two minutes. The
anchoring fastenings were into a set of false jambs, overlooked by Mr,
Bolt, who, when Chid had finished, pronounced the barricade secure.

Chid was glad the second mate hadn't taken the inspection as an oppor-
tunity to sound him out, using the purpose of the barricade as an excuse.
It proved that he and Nez were considered of the captain's party, an
important matter if his plans for escape were to succeed.

During the morning Chid had a chance to check the position of the
Blessed Cause. He had been French-polishing the captain's writing case,
smoothing it with pumice and then applying a new-fangled oil said to be
extracted from the earth near Pittsburgh, in Pennsylvania. The sailing
track, marked with a quill scratch on the battered hand-drawn ocean chart,
showed the schooner approaching the end of her westerly board; not too
far away from the Capes of the Delaware but that a small boat under
oars and sail could make it handily. Chid rubbed the case, feeling a warm
satisfaction as he always did when wood grew useful or beautiful under
his hands, impressing the details of the chart upon his mind. He would
rather have had Nez see it; he himself was not much of a sailor and
knew almost nothing of navigation.

When Chid was able to tell him, Nez was for the escape, rising to
immediate enthusiasm. "It'll be more adventure'n I see so far on this trip;
even with a scrap comin'. All that way in a mite o' a boat an' stole, too!
No more seasickness for Gramp Nott's fav'rite. But, Chid, you recollect
what I told you. I jumped. I'm with Drake's boys."

"They haven't asked you, have they?"

93

"No. But that don't bile no sap. Chid. Alec an* Antwine, too, would
ask if their mates 'ud let 'em an' that's what counts. We got to take them
two with us. Otherwise, I ain't for it."

"I'll go, if it's alone. But we can take them. Don't you mention it till
we're ready, though. First, we get the money aft; then we invite. Nez,
we got to head west of north, about two hundred miles; you better lift
a boat compass some place."

"Shucks a'mighty! We don't need no compass. When you're homin',
there's on'y one course on the North Atlantic. You got to stay sober
enough to make out which is sunset an' which is sunrise; then you head
into the sunset till you raise a large chunk o' continent. That's Ameriky.
It works every time, Chid."

"Well, it better for us. I got the money wrapped in small packets, all
tucked back in the oakum cask. They were watching me pretty close; and
I reckon, Hke Alec says, some of 'em don't like us prowling about forward.
Whenever you got a good reasonable excuse to go to the storeroom, you
better sneak a packet aft. We'll get it into the boat at night."

"Which boat you figurin' on, Chid?"

"There's two. You pick one, Nez."

Nez decided for the stern boat at once. It was a heavy launch, with
sailing gear lashed to the thwarts, and it hung over the stern from wooden
horns which were extensions of the oak rail caps. The captain's boat
rested on skids in the waist and would need man-power and time to swing
her over the rail and outboard. Chid was satisfied with the easily launched
stern boat. His regular duties saw the boat's water cask filled, and he
could easily lift the stores necessary for a two- or three-day trip.

"All's might stop us is the helmsman, Nez. We'll go at night; but we'll
have to settle him."

"Well," Nez said, "I can th'ow my knife good in the dark if I got to.
But first, I'll give him a chance to come along."

Chid went to calking an open covering board over the officers' cabins.
He worked slowly, bare-shouldered, letting the sun beat on him, and he
was careful not to keep his oakum sack too full. He thus had plausible
and visible reason to visit the storeroom and managed to do so three
times. Each time, concealed in the oakum wad, he brought a small coin
packet aft. These he tumbled into his shirt and, just before noon, took

94

the shirt to the steerage and transferred the money to his berth. It wasn't
the safest place, but It was all he could think of.

The schooner rolled lazily, making less than two knots. Far off on the
lee beam a pod of whales sported on the calm sea, and to the eastward
the fog still hung like a fluff of white cotton wadding. Preserved Fish came
on deck and stripped, then had one of the watch draw sea water and slosh
it over his thin body. The standing rigging was slack, and under the rails
it was airless and scorching. It was hard to believe that it was only Febru-
ary and that in New England, not so far northward, the snow and ice still
covered the land and would for a long time.

Drake made no joiove toward him. Once, when he was forward, Chid
definitely felt the hostility of which the gunner had warned. Griswold
had dogged his footsteps and lounged purposefully on a rope coil while
he rummaged in the carpenter stores. Chid hadn't been able to take a
packet that time. He made it his business to stay aft for a while. At all
costs the way to the storeroom must be kept open. But he managed,
during the afternoon watch, to steal some salt meat and biscuits, keeping
the cook busy the while by asking him to prepare the hot reefing hooks
which he needed to clean the pitch out of the seams which he was re--
calking.

A marine loafed near the water butt always. Watching, Chid could
almost reckon the division of the crew. Drake's mates came aft to the
butt with a hesitant shuffle, like men testing new pond ice, eying the
marine with distrust, then drinking hastily. The captain's men came with
swagger and stayed long to relish the drink. But nothing happened all
the long warm afternoon. Mr. Tinker stood his watch lazily, sitting on
the weather rail with his feet hooked behind a carvel for steadiness. The
look-out reported a ship once, hull down and leagues down alee; nothing
to bother. Both forward and aft, though, Chid, now sensitive to small
signs, could detect a tense waiting silence, potent but not yet ominous.
Drake, without pattern, circulated among the dozing men on the f oredeck
but never once looked Chid's way. Chid could guess that the morning's
work on the barricade was being counted against him.

He wished that, without being noticed, he could show Drake the weak-
ness in the barricade. It would help Drake's arguments and show his own
sympathies. He couldn't blame them for hesitating. They had to be sure

95

of himself and Nez before broaching the matter in any way. And car-
penters, by tradition, were undeclared enemies of seamen. He and Nez
berthed in the quasi-officialdom of the steerage and had upon them the
stamp of approval of the quarterdeck by reason of having replaced four
loyal men.

Nez finished setting up the cedar wedges between the deck planking
and the after-timber heads, almost a daily chore since the hot drying
weather, then came to sit with Chid.

"That boat's all right/' he said, studying the softly rustling idle canvas.
"She's tight an* all her gear's in her. I snuck a look-see whilst wedginV

"Good. I reckon we better get that money aft fast's we can now an' get
off tomorrow night before we wear east'ard again. Griswold and those
fellers for'ard were eying me awful suspicious. I wouldn't want to chance
any more trips today,"

"I hear'n Tinker say he looks for wind come night, from the east; an*
if it comes he'll claw off the land right away. Chid, we better get
off tonight."

"I'm not leaving without my money, Nez."

"I got one packet aft."

"You were for'ard more times than that."

"Well, yes. But I kinda forgot some o' the other times. Tarnation, Chid,
do we have to bother so with that damned money? This is a simple matter
o' gettin' away from where we don't want to be; easy's walkin' out o' a
prayer meetin' you didn't make it so danged complicated."

"I can't help circumstances, Nez. All I can do is to try and lick *em. But
we can't go tonight; not unless I do something I don't want to do."

"What's that?"

"Why, show Drake and his boys where I stand; prove it and stop the
arguing against us. They'd let us for'ard then anytime. Did you ask
Antoine and Drake to come, Nez?"

"On'y Antwine, Chid. I don't want to lose track o' that bucko. Me an'
him's goin' trappin' up in his Big Otter some day. He plumb loves that
place, Chid, an' he says he was a goddamn' fool to heed them recruiters
what drug him down to salt. Chid, Antwine jined with the notion he
was to help this here war. Ain't it funny the way so many o* these hands
had that notion? You an' me never give it a thought, Chid."

"I did. But It didn't fool me any."

"Well, I didn't. I figured 'twould be fun an' that there Mister LIdbody
was crowdin* me with the law for Kckin* o* him to hunker up some on
the way he used the Crowns. But, Chid, there must be suthln' to It;
fightin' jest because you reckon the nation needs you. Dang It, times I
can almost kind o' feel it; like suthln' was actual say In', c Nez Nott, damn
your sportin' soul, they's more to Evin* than funnin* an' grabbin* onto
rum an* jollification, wherever! But, damned If I know what 'tis. Chid.
Do you? 55

"Not exactly, Nez. But I don't reckon It's a natural thing. You got to
ferment it up with fife music and liquor and flag-waving and such; and
bounties. Good Lord, Nez, If the gov'mint starved your family for years
and drove you into debt and then came around and said they'll get you
out of it and make you a handsome cash gift to come and fight for three
months, you'd like to do it, were you caught like that. It's about all a man
could do, but he likes to name it patriotism to himself and his neighbors."

"I ain't so sure," Nez said. "You see some awful dumb bastards In the
militia and the Navy, but once In a time you run up against a feller like
Drake, or that Perry feller, or even Antwme. There's suthin* good about
them fellers; I'd admire to know what 'tis."

"They just got to make excuses to themselves for what plain-seeing men
do right out."

"No, It ain't that," Nez said. "Plain-seem' men don't even see what
they see, I reckon. It ain't money, nor sport neither. Gramp Nott would
have knowed what 'twas. He mayn't ha' named it, but he'd respect it.
Chid, what makes you so bitter?"

"I'm not bitter. I'm just hankering for what every man's got a right to
hanker for, and I'm doing something about it. The gov'mint won't, the
Army won't, nobody won't save myself. Nez, you're getting on the nub
p a steelyard yourself."

"Not the nub. Chid, the pan; but I ain't too stubborn to shift pans if
it so be I discovered I was in the wrong one."

"Well," said Chid, feeling vaguely disturbed and curiously resentful,
"is Antoine coming or not?"

"Yes; he's comin*, whenever we give the word,"

It suited Chid* He liked the French-Canadian and his simple straight-

97

forwardness. He liked Drake, too, but in a different way. He felt a sharp
sympathy for him. He had laid something noble and good on the altar
of his ideals when he signed on the Blessed Cause, and it must have been
shocking to him to discover the depths of the deception. Like Nez, Chid
could not completely understand men like Drake.

Nez's news was disconcerting. The fog bank was much closer now,
though there was still no appreciable wind. At her present rate of sailing,
which Chid hoped would remain the same for another day at least, the
Blessed Cause would be within small-boat sailing distance of the coast.
He watched the fog with concern, trying to find in it signs of a breeze
strong enough to make Fish put away from the lee shore. But he knew
little of these signs of the sea, and realized that he had to wait upon
sailing orders for reliable guidance. And that might be too late.

Chid kept himself conspicuous and easy for Drake to find. Mr. Bolt
had the deck. He paced the port side, in imitation of Fish, giving super-
fluous instructions to the helmsman in a profound voice. Lefferts was
below preparing himself for the nightly inspection of the ship, a solemn
ritual with him. He appeared each day at this time, always in full dress
uniform, dress sword at his side, varnished boots on his feet, and white
cotton gloves drawn over his stubby fat hands.

Chid figured that he had ten minutes. If Drake did not seek him out
before, he'd have to force the issue and leave no doubt as to which side
he was loyal to. For, as the sun sank into the low horizon haze, the breeze
picked up with a faint but portentous force. The lazy booming of the
slack canvas ceased, and the silky ripple of the reef points quieted; small
dark catVpaws scurried over the sea and vanished, and under the bow a
small wave was slowly but steadily building. Chid knew that if he was
to make his escape at all, it would have to be tonight.

But at last Drake detached himself from his mates and came shuffling
to him, his long sad face set and grim.

"I done the best I could, boy," he said. "The lads was listenin' like
schoolboys till you barricaded that door aft. They don't even like what
Nez did, an* you both been for'ard too much to suit 'em.'*

"But you still need us, don't you?"

"Some, but not so much. You was to supply 'em with carpenter tools
for fightin* till we got the armory open. But Reefer, he found a way to

get Into the storeroom without your key. They figure you ain't worth
askln' now, not an* run the risk o' Fish knowin'."

"He does know."

"Mebbe. But he don't know when."

"When?"

"I wouldn't say, boy. When Is the only real weapon we got. It's up to
you now. I done all I could to pay back what Master Perry owes you.
I reckon I failed; which you might say ain't novel for Alexander Drake."

"I been figuring/' Chid said, having to say it at last, "to make you a
good sign where we stand."

"How?"

"I know how. You want it?"

"Not me, lad. But me mates, I guess they got to have it.**

"All right," said Chid, "111 make it."

"Mind it," Drake suddenly whispered. "Inspection's comin'."

"A-yep. I know it."

He slid to his feet from the rail. Lefferts and Mr. Tinker, paced by two
marines turned out to a gouty admiral's fancy, were moving slowly for-
ward through the vessel. Tinker was genial and talkative, pleasantly
pointing out the small evening chores to be done. Lefferts was sharp-eyed
and alert, and he seemed extraordinarily suspicious tonight as he poked
into corners with his whale-bone dress cane.

Like Chid, the hands all stood at attention, singly and in small groups.
Nez and Antoine ceased their endless game of split the chip. Three bells
sounded, like a cracked porcelain bowl being struck, for Fish had long
ago had the clapper muffled against sound carrying. From aloft, above
the empty crosstree barrels, the look-out hailed softly, "All's well aloft,
sir!" To Chid is seemed as if all time and motion had ceased to watch
him make his sign.

He licked his lips, suddenly gone dry and hard. Leflerts paced slowly
toward him, not hiding his scowling dislike. Chid kept his eyes inboard
and unmoving, but he spoke loudly and clearly, his hands clenched.

"Permission to speak, sir."

"At mast, damn your impudence!" Lefferts growled.

"Now," Chid said firmly.

99

"Hear him." Tinker smiled, stopping the captain. "Alwyn's a promising
lad."

Chid fought for steadiness, driving down the sudden feeling of panic.
"I'd like to see Nez Nott's assignment," he said. "I been hearing how you
cheat fellers such as him, and I reckon it's time I checked."

"Eh? Tinker, am I hearin 7 correct?"

"A-yep; damn right you are," Chid said. "This is a matter between
you and Nott, and I'm taking over Nott's side. You knew he couldn't
read; so I'll read for him. I want to see that writing. If it's like you told
him it was, 111 pay you now. If it ain't you won't get paid at all. I don't
want no truck with cheats and conniving bastards."

"Jesus Christ, boy!" Drake breathed.

Chid hadn't known what he was going to say; not the exact words.
He knew instantly that he had been clumsy; that anger and hatred had
flooded into his words. But it made no real difference. He was showing
exactly where he stood with the quarterdeck. He stood glaring at Lefferts,
feeling the man's hatred, watching the pudgy white hand creep to the
sword handle. "Easy, cap'n," Tinker whispered, suddenly grim, "easy
does it. We ain't ready for trouble this minute."

Lefferts nodded sullenly, understanding. He could not risk letting this
encounter become the match to the fuse which led to that smoldering
trouble forward. He fought down his anger, the blood rushing suddenly
into his pasty face, and showed Chid a broad tolerant grin, only the small
pig eyes showing craftily from their lairs behind the fat cheek flesh.

"The lad's sick. Mr. Tinker, this poor boy's ravin' sick," Lefferts said
loudly. "Damme, he's witless with it. Aft to the captain with him, I say;
he needs medicine bad, I d'clare."

"No you don't," Chid cried. "There's nothing wrong with me. This is
man to man. Where's the writing?"

"Writing?" Lefferts said with heavy patience. "Why, there ain't no
writing. Mr. Nott don't owe me a farthing; not a damned farthing.
Tinker, let my boys help the poor sick lad."

"Aye," Tinker agreed, "the captain'll mend your ailments, Chid. You
got some sun, boy. Come on, lad."

Chid was completely baffled. He stood before them, looking as sick as
they said he was, feeling the hot shame of his defeat creep over him. All
IOO

he had wanted was a good hot argument, man to man with Lefferts; to
damn him and say what he could to show that he wasn't one of the
captain's men. But they had totally foiled him.

He tried desperately to think, to find something to clutch upon to save
himself. Once aft, Lefferts's revenge would be savage and complete. But
he could find nothing. Two marines moved to his side, guns at present,
the solid walnut butts threatening. Drake stood riveted to the deck, a
queer trembling at his mouth. Tinker seized Chid's arms, offering sup-
port. "Don't be a damn fool," Tinker snarled close to Chid's ear. "Come
peaceable ... all hell's ready to slop over, an' you ain't goin* to start it."

And then Chid saw a hope, a desperate, dangerous chance. He could
start the mutiny. He held the key to it in his two fists. Drake would act;
so would Nez. Others would follow. It was a long chance. But the after-
guard was disorganized and separated, the barrels unmanned; Fish, and
now Bolt, too, were below and unaware of the situation on deck. The
only strong weapon of the mutineers, which was surprise, was suddenly
available to them, and Chid could place the weapon in their hands.

Chid took two docile steps to clear his brain; to kill time. The men
stood exactly as he had seen them but two minutes ago., waiting for
inspection. But there was something changed about them, too. That silent
waiting tenseness had suddenly become dangerous. Chid could feel it;
in Alec Drake's sad eyes, now suddenly sharp and cunning, he could see it.

Chid swung; both arms arced backwards, striking back-handed blows
on the faces of the two marines flanking him. They closed immediately,
gun butts ramming upwards viciously. Chid stepped suddenly backward.
He heard the two marines collide; the sharp scream of one o them. He
butted Lefferts savagely with his lowered head, hitting him in the stomach
exactly where his white leather shoulder belts made a cross over the scarlet
jacket. And then two steely hands were at Chid's throat, the fingers feeling
for the hold of strangulation, and Tinker was on his back. Chid punched
blindly, trying to put strength and accuracy into the backward blows.
The mate's legs closed around Chid's middle, the feet locked, and they
rolled over and over on the deck.

Lefferts was shouting orders. From some place aft issued musket fire.
Drake was shouting, leaping into the close confused melee with a belaying
pin swinging. Antoine's terrible ax flashed forward and, above the horrible

101

gurgling In his head, Chid could hear the gleeful whoops of Nez Nott
near by. Tinker snarled and clung to him like a forest cat, but the awful
stabbing pressure at Grid's throat did not relax. He shook Tinker from
his back, bucking like a mule, and dealt him close hard body blows; but
the hands at his throat would not let go.

A pistol cracked from the quarterdeck, and a man clutched his belly
and puked. Forward there was noisy hand-to-hand fighting, ^stabbed by
savage cursing and screams, and from a stand of marines at the water
butt came irregular spitting musket fire. Chid heard it as if from another
far-away world. His mind was darkening, his strength ebbing. But he still
tumbled and rolled, lashing like a snake in a crotch trap, trying to shake
off those pressing fingers.

And then suddenly the terrific hurt stopped, and clear sharp air burst
into his burning lungs. Blood fell on him in warm, disgusting gushes,
and Tinker's body became heavy on his. Chid pushed it away in frantic
horror, recoiling from the soft Hfelessness of it. And he saw, as the mate's
body slid to the waterways, that a bone-handled knife projected from the
forehead, exactly between the eyes.

Chid lay beside the dead mate, unable to move, gasping for breath. A
foot trod on him, hurting him, but he was powerless to move from under
it. Men fought all around him. Lead whistled overhead. The pistol still
popped from the quarterdeck. From far aloft came a thin cry, "Sail O!"

"You all right, Chid?"

Chid could only nod to Nez and lie still. The knife was gone from
Tinker's forehead, and it flashed again in Nez's swinging right hand,
keeping the sweating bodies away from Chid. Drake crept on his belly,
a long saber gash from, his ear to his jaw point flowing hot blood* But he
stabbed with almost detached concentration at the moving figures with a
cruel steel gun screw.

"Sail O! Ahoy, the deck!"

But no acknowledgment came from the deck; only the panting and
cursing of fighting, angry, hurt men.

A man came at Chid, swinging a hickory capstan bar. Chid lashed to
his belly, taking the stinging blow on the rump; then, feeling a curious
lust for personal revenge, tackled the man's knees. Chid stayed inside the
swinging bar, brought the man to his back on the deck, and bit the hand

102

until the bar dropped from It. Grasping it, he swung it savagely from a
kneeling position. He felt the bar mush into the man's face, like bashing
in a dozy melon.

"Ahoy, the deck! It's that damned Yankee brig as spoke us. Come
outen the fog bank sudden, an' she's close aboard an' hailinV

Chid could tell nothing of the battle's swing. The Blessed Cause sailed
on, her wheel in a becket. Through a freeing port from which he breathed
sweet chilling air, he could see the man-o'-war. She sailed with purpose,
paralleling their own course; and as he watched a gun spat red fire and
a ball whirred across the bow. It was almost dark. Suddenly Chid was
thinking clearly again.

He crept forward, avoiding the fighting groups. At the forepeak hatch,
Chid obligingly tripped a man for Griswold, saw with satisfaction that
Griswold swung his bloody saber at the prone figure. He dropped
quickly below.

The storeroom had been broken open, and the heavy tools were gone
from their pegs. But the oakum cask was undisturbed. Chid threw the
oakum out, then dragged the cask aft. At the barricade door, he hacked
at the few fastenings with a hand hook. The panel fell forward. In the
steerage, where he had full headroom, he lifted the coin-heavy keg, placing
it at the foot of the after-companion ladder. Then he crept to the deck.

Captain Fish crouched in the protection of the trunk house. He was
aiming his pistol. Mr. Bolt lay beside him, cursing and clutching a wadded
jacket to a spreading red spot in his middle. The body of a marine lay
across the water butt. Fish's gun cracked. OS in the gloom Chid could
hear the rush of a ship sailing close aboard.

"I managed to get aft to help, sir," Chid said.

"Good," Fish said coldly. "Keep me a pistol loaded, boy. Where's that
damned Lefferts?"

"Ain't seen him. Give me your powder horn, sir."

Fish bent, unfastening his belt pouch. Chid took the pistol by the warm
barrel, raised it, then cracked it smartly on the captain's head. Fish crum-
pled with a tired sigh. Mr. Bolt moaned and lay against the wheel stan-
chion. In his left hand was clutched a curiously curved dagger.

The boat still hung on the stern horns. Calmly Chid brought up the
cask and tumbled it into the boat. Then lie went to his berth in the

103

steerage. But the packets which he had hidden there were gone. Two
hundred dollars. Chid swore. He put the provisions in the boat. His head
ached horribly. He could feel a hot burning in his throat as if Tinker's
fingers had come away from his body and were still pressed deeply into
the flesh.

He crept forward once more, below decks. The man-o'-war's gun
boomed again, muted by the hull. He had no taste to be on hand when
the Blessed Cause was finally brought up. Law and the government would
be on the navy ship, inquiries and trouble; things which would cut into
his dreams and his money and his time.

Nez wriggled his way to the shadow of the rail when Chid called him
from the hatchway. "Chid, I thought you was a goner."

"The boat's ready. Where's Drake?'*

"He's kilt, Chid."

"Antoine?"

"Right here with me. He's cut bad."

Men still fought and tumbled. It seemed to Chid that they had been
fighting so for hours, but it was less than ten minutes ago that he had
started this bloody fray. Nez and Antoine came silently down the ladder*
Antoine chanted a curse in French, over and over through gritted teeth,
and he twisted a rope end around his thigh, above the spongy, sopping red
stain in his breeks. They were at the steerage door when a full broadside
from the brig crashed into the schooner. It was navy fire, uniformly fired
and heavy metal, and from frightfully close. Chid could hear the tortured
timber and plank tear asunder under the iron rain.

"You count twenty between 'em," Nez said. "That's the time a man's got
to move."

They crouched in the passage, waiting for the next broadside. It was
higher, aimed at rigging and spars, but a solid shot tore into the steerage,
only inches above Chid's own berth, showering them with splinters. They
stumbled up the ladder. Amidships a heavy lower yard crashed to the
deck, covering the midship with slowly collapsing canvas, like a great
shroud.

"All right now," Chid cried. "Into the boat."

Fish was a small unmoving bundle on the deck. Mr. Bolt sagged against
the stanchion, breathing with a gurgling sound. In the waist somebody
104

yelled, "Surrender, surrender/ 9 In a feeble, almost childish whine. The
sea was dark and wind-ruffled, just commencing to roll. Nez dashed to
the starboard falls. Chid went to larboard, knife ready to cut away. There
was still time, and the sea and the night were dark . . .

"Nez!"

"I notice, Chid. Christ!"

"The boat's gone. Nez, she's gone!"

He looked Into the darkness astern in numbing disbelief. The falls
swayed crazily overside, the shattered wreckage of the bow and stern
breast hooks still hanging from them.

"Shot away. . . . Nez, the money's gone, too. Come on, the other boat.
Maybe we can . ."

"Hell," Nez said quietly. "Chid, there ain't no other boat. Lefferts got
away in her." Then he climbed to the trunk top and stood tall and
straight, waving his arms above his head. "Surrender," Nez hailed.
"Surrender!"

"Is good," Antoine murmured. "Nez, is good, dat."

105

Chapter Seven

THE BRIG WHICH swung her grappling hooks Into the lower rigging o
the Blessed Cause was the United States sloop of war Adder, Captain
Josiah Farlow, on patrol and merchant ship protection. She had left
New York after a violent gale and snowstorm which had at last brought
real winter to the Hudson Valley. She had spoken a bold Salem privateer,
the Diligence, one calm evening, then cruised northward to look into a
British 44 which the privateer had reported in the neighborhood. She had
seen nothing of the enemy ship but had sighted some wreckage which
Captain Farlow thought rather confirmed her proximity*

It was almost dark when the bow lookout reported the wreckage,
seemingly of a small coastal vessel, and fog was beginning to roll in from
the eastward. It was not until the brig was close aboard the tangled mass
of gear and deck furniture that the sailing master discovered a black man
clinging to a stove-in yawl boat some yards away. He hove to at once
and put the quarter boat over and brought the poor fellow on board. The
black's tale, when he was able to speak coherently, brought Captain Far-
low himself to the man's pallet in the forecastle.

Farlow was young, like the Navy itself, just getting accustomed to the
dignity and responsibility of command. But he was no fool. The black's
story and the man's horror-ridden eyes were convincing. Farlow agreed
with him that the vessel which had attacked the Jamaican was a pirate.
Every sign pointed to it ... the cautious cowardly attack itself, the quick
disposition of the prize, and the attempt to murder the crew to the last
man. But the man's description of the vessel puzzled him for a long time.
It fitted exactly the description of the Diligence. She had seemed an
orderly and well-managed ship, making the proper identification, as he
had watched while his officer of the deck had spoken her.

Nevertheless Farlow posted orders to keep a special lookout for her.

106

It was highly Improbable that a Salem privateer would be sailing on the
account, but it was not impossible. He'd heard of several Connecticut
vessels that had and one from New Jersey. He felt that there was small
chance of meeting her again, but he dropped south to her latitude for a
half -day, then bore west. He struck thin making-fog in the late afternoon
watch the next day. Sailing with it under a freshening breeze, he suddenly
ran into a clear sunset against which, less than two miles downwind, the
privateer he was seeking sailed on a broad reach.

Farlow was Navy trained. He immediately cleared for action and
lighted his battle lanterns, a precaution which his officers approved. A
ten-gun schooner of unknown intentions and suspicious history might
require more than a hail from under the United States ensign to bring
her to for questioning.

The Adder^ being to windward, had no trouble heading the black
schooner. Farlow made flag signals in the usual manner, wondering at
the audacity of the schooner to ignoring them and sailing on; then, with
quick decision, ordered a shot across her bow.

She failed to pay any attention, even after two more warning shots
were given, and at no time did she show either colors or signals. Through
his glass, Farlow could make out a commotion on her decks; she was
being handled in anything but a smart manner, and his topmen reported
that they could hear the sound of musket fire. Farlow braced round on
the wind to parallel the schooner's course, noting that the wind was
getting livelier and careful to hold the weather gauge. At half -cable's
length off he could see and hear her trouble. A giant hand-to-hand fight
was going on.

Whatever the cause, and whatever the service of the schooner, he was
entirely within his duty to interfere. The black, his eyes rolling white and
his queer Oxford-English speech trembling with excitement, confirmed
the vessel as the one which had attacked and killed his mates. Grimly,
Captain Farlow passed the word for the port battery to open; half with
solid shot and half with chain and bar into the rigging. It took but two
rapid broadsides to sweep her decks and kill her drive. Then the Adder
rigged for boarding and ran down on the crippled privateer.

Farlow stayed on his quarterdeck where he belonged, but the reports
of his boarding officers gave him the picture of the bloodshed and murder

107

on the black schooner. First, her name was not Diligence, but Blessed
Cause y and her Letter gave her port of hail as New London, in Connecti-
cut. Her crew list showed forty-six hands signed on, of which four names
had been scratched through with a quill pen; Farlow wondered why.
Twenty-six remained alive, eight of them wounded. There were eleven
dead and five missing. Her captain and first mate had both been knifed
to death, and the second mate was horribly wounded, as if by an ax, and
likely to die within the glass. The missing men were all marines, their
captain among the number. The boarding party had met no resistance
save from one pain-crazed wretch who had thrown an adze and had been
pistoled where he lay. The rest had surrendered with hands upraised.

Farlow herded them forward of his own mainmast under heavy guard
and sent his surgeon to care for the bloodiest. He called his officers and
then, one by one, a half -dozen of the prisoners. It was difficult to make
sense of the garbled stories they told. Some were insolent and some sullen.
A tall rugged fair-haired boy named Chidsy Alwyn, unhurt, told a
straightforward story, not difficult to believe. He claimed that the honest
hands had revolted against their officers' career of piracy and murder.
But the wounded second mate, to whom Farlow had to go himself,
claimed that it had been quite the opposite. Alwyn and about half the
crew had mutinied, murdered the captain's loyal hands, thrown the
marines overside, then broken into the prize money and divided amongst
themselves. Farlow, checking the story, sent a searching detail with flares
and axes, proved the story to some extent. Not a cent, nor prize goods
of any kind, were found aft. But forward, hidden in berths and sea-
chests and the secret places of the vessel's frame which all sailors know,
they found sums, all of approximately equal amounts, which tended to
prove the mate's story.

There were many unexplained mysteries about the matter. Farlow wrote
out his report, leaning toward the theory that the officers had been plotted
against and overcome. Alwyn's story had been clear and plausible, but
Farlow had been aware of a cold calculation in the boy's eyes as he spoke.
He was, the captain considered, of a timbre above the average seaman
and mentally quite capable of planning and leading a mutiny. But Farlow
had no time for a long inquiry. He could merely take down essential
first testimony of the serious affair as justice and his duty demanded he
108

should. The weather was making up for a gale again, and he could not
stay lashed to the schooner for very long.

"I'm going to send you all into New York, under arrest," Farlow said.
"What you have told me, and what we have seen, will become part of the
official report and testimony. Your guilt or innocence is a matter for the
court to decide, I am impounding all captured monies, together with your
log and documents. The black will go with you as a vital witness."

"It's fair, sir," Griswold said, breaking his sullen silence. "We're honest
men, caught in this damned trap, an* we ain't afeared o' no law trouble.
We go in the schooner, sir?"

"Yes."

"She's holed," Griswold said. "Sevril places is makin' water from your
fire, an' she's a shambles aloft, sir. It ain't hardly fair with weather
cominV

"It's aU that I can do for you. But I'll give your carpenters freedom of
the ship to mend and patch enough to keep you afloat. Until they start
trouble. I warn them not to... for Lieutenant Steel and his men will
have orders to shoot at the first sign of it. Where are your carpenters,
man?"

Griswold ducked his head at Chid. "Him/* he said, "an' Nez Nott an'
the Canuck. But the Canuck's hurt, sir."

Farlow had Nez brought aft to the wardroom, studying him under the
swaying candle lamp for a long minute. "Well," he said finally. "Nott
will do. Nott, you will make all necessary repairs on the schooner. If you
need help, use your Canuck for striker. I can't spare you help. But under
no circumstances is Alwyn to be given freedom of the ship. I consider the
facts sufficiently damning to regard Kim as a ringleader and a dangerous
roan/*

"Aye^ aye, sir/' Nez said, in the best of humor. "But Chid's all right,
sir."

*Tm glad that you think so, n Farlow said, signing his report. "Never-
theless, the order stands. Now get aboard your vessel, all of you, and
remember that you are United States prisoners."

Chid could hear Nez's hammer blows in all parts of the ship, for the
familiar steerage in which he was confined with Antoine, Reefer, and

109

Griswold was a quiet place, away from the rushing growl of the bow
wave and the constant creaking of the mast heels as they worked in the
steps. Most o the damage caused by the broadsides was high up, near
the bulwarks, but several solid balls had hit the hull near the waterline.
Nez had stoppered them as best he could. The hole at his berth was large
and ragged, with long brittle yellow-pine splinters radiating from the
shot hole. Fortunately it was high above the sea. Nez, on the first night
of the rolling slant to New York, had battened a double patch of canvas
outside it. But occasionally a storm-driven wavetop seeped through as
the Blessed Cause swept northward in the wet easterly gale.

Chid hadn't seen Nez since. That was two days ago. He figured that
New York was but a few watches distant. Reefer and Griswold had been
silent, almost sullen, and not inclined to talk even when Chid tried to
tutor them in making a plausible and orderly recital of their story in the
trial which Chid knew would come.

"Hell," Reefer growled, "we ain't got a chanct, boy. Why tell *em
any thin'? A man might beat down mutiny or murder or piracy, but he
can't beat down all three."

"We're right," Chid said. "If we're straight on our stories we'll be
cleared."

"Look," Reefer said, chewing a splinter that took the place of his
usual quid, "suppose we admit to mutiny, which was the on'y thing we
done. All right. We're still up for piracy, ain't we? An' some on us is up
for murder; niggers an' officers both, ain't we? Why'd you commence
that trouble anyway?"

"I didn't," Chid said. "I just used it. I just kind of advanced the time a
mite and saved you from being slaughtered. Fish knew all about your
plans; you didn't have a chance except to take him by surprise."

"The lad's right," Griswold said. "He commenced at the on'y time
good for us. I don't hold Chid here no grudge, I don't. It's carcumstances,
wicked unnatchrel carcumstances, an' no mortal can lick me, sez I. We
need Fish an' Tinker and Lefferts alive. We'd beat the tale outen *em, I
swear to God. we would!"

"Bolt, too," Reefer said.

"He's alive; leastwise the doc sez he'd save him. What we need is him
dead. But mostly we need that money aft which Lefferts swiped when he

110

jumped ship on us all. Trouble is, they was a mutiny an* the hands have
all the money, an 9 that's all that sticks out for to see."

Chid could obtain no comfort from them, nor, as he pondered his
situation, from himself either. He himself was marked as a ringleader.
If Bolt lived, he would name him as Fish's murderer, though Chid could
not explain the knifing of the captain. He had never felt such black,
hopeless defeat. It was different from having just his money or his dreams
in danger. It was his life now, and his eternal freedom. In the dark
dungeon to which his hopes and spirit had descended there seemed no
foothold from which to start anew.

"I knew about a feller onct," Reefer said dully, "what got himself
snagged into a mess similar to this; only mebbe not even as bad. Well, he
was right; all-fired right an' 'twas so proved. Qa'y the feller was dead
then."

"Hung?" asked Griswold quietly.

"By the blasted neck o' him," Reefer said, and Chid thought he was
going to weep, his voice trembled so. "On Finnie's Wharf to Baltimore,
an* the judge sez he was very sorry. I don't want to mention this thing
no more."

Antoine's sunny spirit alone remained unquenched. His wound was
painful and had been plastered with hot tar by the surgeon. But the
Frenchman picked the hard tar off with a spike and bled the wound
freely until, as he ^aid, he got dizzy; then lashed the limb with his bloody
rope end and, stretching out on the berth under Chid's, claimed he felt
much better.

The rest of the hands were forward under battened hatches and an
armed guard. There was no possible way to effect the organization neces-
sary to storm the deck, a possibility with which Chid and Antoine toyed
to while away the time.

On the second night the violent working of the schooner eased; and
Reefer, breaking a long, morose silence, said they were getting under the
lee of Sandy Hook off New York. They heard the noises of sail-shortening
after a while; then the clicking of lead blocks and the prolonged squeal
of the rudder tackles as the schooner lurched over to the port tack for the
first time since they had left the man-o'-war. She stayed on that board

III

but a short time, the seas meantime quieting noticeably, then shook her
sails for a long run through what Reefer named the Narrows.

The guard hailed for Antoine, demanding to know if he could do
some carpentering. There was drift ice coming against them from the
North River, and Nott was having trouble keeping his patches secure
forward.

"Mus* have Antoine, see?** 'Antoine chirped brighdy. "Ah come, sojer."

"Don't be a fooV Chid whispered. "You bust that cut open, youll bleed
to death."

"A-rrr, Cheed! De bear can no fight in de trap, hein? Why you no
fight; wit' de brains, lak can do; you?"

"I been kicked too hard in 'em/* Chid said sourly. "You show me some
way to lose these troubles; I can't figure nothing.**

"Shut up," Reefer growled. "There ain't no way. Ain't I been figurin*
till I'm half-addled? 'Course, you're welcome to go th'ough that shot hole
if it so be you can swim amidst salt ice in a black gale."

"No one can," Chid said. "Go on, Antoine. If you and Nez get a chance
to spook, go ahead."

Antoine slipped through the door under the guard's cocked navy pistoL
He limped to the ladder, babbling o the nice stormy night cheerily.

Chid tried to sleep, but he couldn't. His mind tumbled and turned in
dizzying confusion, trying to sort and arrange the fantastic events of the
last weeks and his apprehension lay on his belly like a colic. It was un-
believable that he, seeking merely what everybody else was seeking, should
be caught in this strangling web. No one in the world could help him.
The evidence of plundered ships and murdered men and stolen gold
would outweigh any story told. There was no such thing as complete
innocence, for to deny one charge was to admit to another.

The only key to the true story was Lefferts. To find him and his stolen
gold would clear them. But Chid had small hopes that he and his marines
had survived the gale in the tiny shingle-built captain's gig. Even suppos-
ing that they had run southwest, avoiding the worst of the storm, and
made a landing it was hopeless to believe that Lefferts would permit
himself to be found. Griswold had claimed that no court would convict
them out of hand. There was, for most of them, a reasonable doubt. But
112

that he himself would be shown as the man who had killed the captaia
Chid had no doubt. From that damning fact there was no escape.

The schooner battered ice regularly, staggering as she bucked the larger
unbroken floes. The vessel had made water, and her pumps were thump-
ing on the deck above. But the wind held fair, and she slowly plowed a
wet cold path through the ice meadows. Griswold snored in stuttering
discord. Reefer wheezed heavily and from time to time cried out in his
troubled sleep.

Chid had no idea of the time when the anchor was let go. The rattle
of the wooden winch forward and the booming of the idled sails awak-
ened him, and he supposed that he had slept for a long time. He lay on
his bunk, listening to the crunching of the tide-borne ice against the hull
and the steady chunk of the pumps. He felt, oddly, a curious refreshment*
Cold night air was blowing upon him, and in some far-off pkce he could
see a pale yellow light behind a smothering white curtain of falling snow.

Nez's canvas patch no longer covered the shot hole. Chid pulled his
stocking cap over his face and crawled deeply into his one quilt. As Reefer
had said, a man couldn't swim in winter-iced water.

"Chid!"

He was alert at once. The voice came from the shot Eola

"It's Nez. Sneak it, Chid; feet first, then drap/*

"What to?"

"Do you always got to know, Chid? Jest drap."

He put his feet through the hole^ turned on his belly; then hung by
his hands. He could feel Nez's fingers guiding his legs. It was bitterly
cold, and the snow swirled icily about him.

"Now, Chid. Drap!"

Chid let go his hold. He fell, fetched on something solid, then slipped
and lay flat. He lay there a long time, feeling the coldness of what he was
on seep through him. Nez poled noiselessly. They moved slowly, first
with and then sharply across the current; away from the dark blur which '
was the Blessed Cause* The pump still throbbed noisily. Beside him ky
another figure. It was Antoine, chuckling quietly, hugging himself close
to the ice floe. Frigid water flooded the floe, creeping into Chid's clothing
with breath-taking shock. To leeward there were misty shapes; wharves
and ships, Chid reckoned.

"Stay flat or we'll capsize her," Nez whispered. "Chid, that there's
New York."

"Let me pole. I'm freezinV

"Shucks, you won't die. Rub your hide, but don't do it too rugged."

Rubbing helped some, and it stilled the chattering of his teeth. After
a long while the floe grounded under a pile wharf. A soft chuffing sound
filled the dark, dank space under it, and beyond where they had landed
the tide whispered against a hull. Chid stepped into the water and waded
ashore. The snow was almost a foot deep.

"This here's a shipyard," Nez said. "That sailin' master off the Adder
headed for it when he see we're nigh to founderin'. He thinks I'm fixin'
them holes but I ain't, and so hell be pumping for a while yet. He's got
to get on the ways quick."

About them lay the sheds and lofts o a large shipyard. The ragged
heaps of edge-cuttings and the crisscross bracing of scaffolds and launching
cradles and the several partly framed vessels wavered behind the driving
gale, like the stark skeletons of forgotten monsters. The snow fell thick
about them; far off a belfry clock struck four times 3 and from the hull
beside the wharf the queer chuffing sound continued.

"We ain't out o' the bresh yet," Nez said. "Chid, me an' Antwine figure
to leg it up into his country on the Big Otter for a spell. They'll be
searchin' us out in these parts for a while."

Chid nodded. They'd have to leave the city. That was obvious. But it
would be hopeless to attempt it on foot. The cold was intense and already
beginning to still the wind. Chid had on only canvas breeks and an ill-
fitting jacket over two cotton shirts. He still wore his stocking cap of
black and Antoine's moccasins, now frozen into brittle, hurting casings.
Nez and Antoine had little more, though both had wrapped themselves
in long spiral strips of topsail canvas beneath their clothing.

They picked their way through the yard. Chid reckoned it was a large
one, fit to build frigates and packets, and he felt an odd warmth in the
familiar sights as they conjured themselves out of the storm. There was a
pit-saw and a long keel on blocks, waiting for the adzes, and underfoot
was the soft homy feel of wood chips deeply laid. They kept the wind on
their backs for direction. But after a while the wind came from the side
and then from ahead, and there was no turning to get it right because on
114

one side there was always the crunching ice of the river. Chid halted them
suddenly. They were treading in new snow tracks made but a short
time ago.

"They're ours," Chid said, feeling sudden despair. "Look, we're on an
island, Nez. We've come clean around. This is the wharf again.'*

Chid was certain of it. He heard the chuffing sound again, as if one of
the bony monsters snored with a long sad sigh and then blubbered in
rapid wet exhalation. Then another sound came to join it, the sharp clang
of iron. A dull red stain showed on the snow curtain and, watching, Chid
could see a man throwing wood chunks into flame beyond a small door.
The sound ceased abruptly, and the stain dulled. Antoine cursed with
agitation.

"By Gar! You know what hims is? Sacre ... we mus' spook, Gardamn,
but queeck. Cheed...Nez; come!"

"Hell's tootin'," Nez growled. "Tain't nuthin' but a steam mill, you
rabbit-gutted froggy!"

"Is no!" Antoine cried. "Is steamboat! Jes' Chris', tarn t'ing blow de
hell outen we. Ah sees hims on de Lac de Champlain; roar an* mak' fire
an' den boom! Is no safe, not t'ousan' mile near."

"I'm going on her," Chid said.

"Non, non!"

"Don't be a damn' fool, Antoine. How can you get off an isknd except
by boat? Once that Navy crowd gets ashore, they'll have us rounded off
this island in five minutes."

They crept toward the thing which Antoine had named a steamboat.
Chid could make out nothing of her detail save a tall shadow that reached
into the sky and from which issued an occasional tiny wood spark. They
dropped to the thing's deck, feeling their way to a warm spot where,
curiously, there was no snow. Chid felt warm brick under his hands;
then hot iron trembling with a slow bubbling surge. A huge stack of
cord wood filled the space between the rail and the brick boiler foun-
dation. They crawled into the woodpile, pulling over themselves a heavy
tarpaulin which had covered the wood. Small red flames played lazily
behind air holes in an iron door, and in the night above a valve blubbered
like a tea kettle on a kitchen crane. It was warm and dry, and out of the
awful stinging wind. Antoine trembled.

115

"It ain't nuthinV' Nez growled. "Nuthin' that'll hurt us more'n we
been anyways. You see that fire tender open her right up, didn't you?
Chid, what do you make o' it?"

"She's the Firefly* says so plain, of New York and Albany. Reckon no
matter what shell get us off this danged island."

"Gardamn! She ta' we to de sea. Den ... boom!"

"Shush yourself, Antwine. These here pots cain't go to sea. Chid, you
figure she might be headin' for Albany?"

"Likely she is. It's why her fires are up. I'm staying."

The east grayed with the false dawn. The snow hissed against the hot
iron cylinder which rumbled so ominously. Nez passed his tobacco twist,
and they each took a chew to assuage their hunger and hitched their
belts an extra notch. Antoine complained and watched the purring con-
traption with apprehension.

It was true dawn, washing the snow with gray and purple, when Chid
heard the far-off hail from the direction of the river. At first it sounded
like a wolf call, muted by the snow, but,, listening, Chid could make it
out as a human voice.

"Ahoy! Ahoy the shipyard! Send a boat."

It was repeated again and again. Below them there were now stirring
noises, as if men moved on the boat, and the fire-tender came again to
stoke the iron cylinder. This time he -threw twenty wood chunks through
the door, and the rumbling became ominous. The man stopped suddenly
and listened.

"What in hell you doin* about there?" he hailed through cupped hands.

"Ahoy, the yard. Send a boat. We got to get onto the ways."

"Who in hell're you?"

"United States Navy, damn your thick hide. That's Brown's yard,
ain't it?"

"Aye, 'tis. But we can't send no boat in this ice; anyways not till the
boys get here at seven. You fellers'll damn well wait till we're ready to
fetch you."

Men were coming on deck now, moving cautiously over the new snow

blanket. A flare glowed astern, yellow in the dawnlight. Chid made

himself small, keeping under the tarpaulin, now as warm as if he Were

before Moses Leet's hearth again. Melting snow-water ran under him,

116

taking the Ice out of his clothing and his bones, and men labored at the
frozen hawsers under the direction of a calm low voice that Chid seemed
vaguely to recognize.

The iron cylinder groaned and hissed. Smoke, laced with swirling wood
sparks, poured from the chimney, and from aft of the woodpile there
came suddenly a steady metallic clanking, like chain passing over a
winch; then a fearful sucking beat from overside. Through the half-light
Chid saw that they were moving slowly away from the wharf. But a
long heavy hawser still stretched from the steamboat to the wharf.

"Clear a path to that ship, pilot," the calm voice said. "Fve sent Mr.
Killy to rouse out the hands and get number two ways ready to take him.
Must have been in a scrap at sea. Pass him that dock line; he can warp
himself in on his capstan. Mr. Chance, can you get us up the river? 9 *

"Till the ice stops us, I can. Avast, sir, the navy vessel's hailinV*

"Chid, that's Master Steel on the schooner," Nez whispered. "This is
a close squeak."

Chid could hear the bellow of the sailing master. It seemed almost
directly above him, but he dared not look. The churning ceased, and the
deck sounds echoed against the cold hull of the schooner like a drum
in a well. The Firefly's hawser crawled to the Blessed Cause, and Chid
heard the capstan pawls take up their steady cold music.

"It's all we can do for you right now/* the calm voice said. "Put your
bow on the cradle first, that's where you seem hurt most."

"You seen any thin* of two men got away from us last night?'*

"No. We've been on board waiting the tide and daylight."

"They gave us the slip. We were taking them to the United States
Marshal under arrest for piracy ."

"Piracy?"

"Well, suspicions of it, anyway. One of them danged privateers gone
crazy with easy prizes again. Two kds, they were; maybe not too guilty,
but they sure had facts heaped against 'em."

"Raise the alarm ashore. We're moving to Albany while we can."

"Albany? Way up to river head?"

"Aye; Albany and four hundred miles beyond to Presque Isle."

"Never heard of that location, sir."

"You will. Good or bad, you will."

07

"Well, I'm obliged for the ways so quick."

"That's all right. This yard is all Navy since the war started; you'll
find Lieutenant Chadwick in charge. You have a clear paddle-path,
through the ice now, and you'd better warp in before it closes. Mr. Chance,
turn your water wheels now; we've got a long way to go."

Chid could almost touch the pilot's boots as the man climbed to the
paddle box. He held a heavy iron-shod cane in his hand which he sud-
denly rapped sharply on the cylinder; twice; rap, rap a signal to the
engineer. The clanking and sucking commenced again immediately;
the men on deck gave a feeble cheer and scuttled below, and the Firefly
moved away from the schooner and into the bleak river. Ice stabbed at
her, and the paddles crashed into the white ice floes with deafening
booming and crunching. And alongside, giving them warmth and life,
the iron cylinder grumbled and snarled, and every three seconds a queer
yokelike beam flew into the air and plunged rapidly downward.

"Is on de way to Albany," Antoine whispered with satisfaction, used
to the danger of the dreaded steamboat already. "Tarn, Cheed, is one
week dar to de Otter.'*

"I'm not going to the Big Otter," Chid said.

"Chid, you ain't got a chance; even in Albany. The gov'mint 'ud snag
onto your trail in no time. On'y the bresh is safe," offered Nez.

"I got a chance where I'm going."

"Where at?"

"Presque Isle."

"Place o 9 fire, Chid! Are you addled?"

"Nope."

"You hunger-crazy?"

"Nope, but I'm right hungry, Nez. That feller you heard was Noaii
Brown."

"Jehovah! Chid, beware; he owes you one."

"He won't pay it," Chid said easily. "I got him where he won't; not if
shipbuilders are as scarce as he said they were. I reckon you and Antoine
ought to come with me."

"Well, we don't."

"Look," Chid said, "I belong here, kind of. You two don't. You're those
118

two prisoners from the schooner Mr. Brown heard tell about. You are * . -
unless I tell 'em you ain't, Nez."

"Blast you. Chid! Don't be so goddamn smart Me an ? Antwine don't
admire to have you save your own hide usin 5 us rotten like this."

"I'm not using you rotten. I don't even need you; though 111 admit
free it'll help my case some. Look, they'd ferret us out o the Big Otter
country soon's word spread. We'd be always on the jump. Up to Presque
Isle we'd have the best protection a man could want.'*

"Like what?"

"Well, it's remote."

"So's Antwine's crick. 9 *

"But look. At Presque Isle we're valuable to Noah Brown, and to
Perry. Shucks, they'd make a fight to keep us, I'll bet; though they
wouldn't even likely hear about us being wanted. But if it came on to
getting crowded, why, Nez, we just got to step into Canada and
we're safe."

"CanadyP

<<A-yep.

"Non!" Antoine exploded sharply. a ls why Ah come to de States; me.
Tarn, Cheed, is one woman dar, look fo* Antoine wit' de heart lak de
wil' cat. Fin' Antoine; is dead, me lak nozzing!"

"Chid, you're jest gettin* things complicated again. I'm damn sick o' it;
it turns my gut, havin* to live a eternal dodge. Gramp Nott's camp was
hellions compared to us, but nobody bothered us 'cause we lived peaceable
amongst ourselves. We can do the same. I reckon I'd even like it again,
way off in the hills an' removed from the botherin' things I've had ever
since I fust come down to Portersville five years back.' 5

"Might be," Chid said, "but how can a man make money up in the
lonesome hills, Nez? You got to be near where money is to gather it,
and I reckon Presque Isle might have a heap of it now with shipbuilding
and all."

Nez chumped on a splinter for a long minute, rolled on his belly,
studying Chid from propped elbows. The Firefly trembled and vibrated
and rammed into the ice. She had turned the Battery and entered the
North River, and the snow and wind drove now from the outboard side,
dispelling the heat under the tarpaulin.

119

"Chid," Nez said, speaking with deadly earnestness, "there ain't no-
body in God's creation can make me go to this here Presque Isle if 1
don't want to. But I want to go. You know why?"

"It's handy to Canada i trouble comes too close."

"Don't say that no more. And don't say money no more either. Chid,
I got to talk plain an' to hell with if you like it or not. You shipped
privateerin' for money an' I shipped for sport, an' we both o' us got
skunked and set in the midst o' bad trouble. We was wrong from the
beginnin 5 ; mostly 'bout suthin' we scarce knew existed up to home.
I mean this here United States business, Chid. But now we do, both o'
us, an' we ain't got no excuse for our doin's no more. Chid, we been
like damn' spyin* Britishers minglin' with American folks an' stabbin'
them in their backs. We don't go to make a good nation; we pull it
down. Gramp Nott, I lay, wouldn't've let us remain in his camp, bad
as it was. A man could do anythin' he wanted, but he had to be honor-
able about it. We ain't been; no more'n Fish an' Tinker an' Mr.
Lidbody, Chid, this nation's sick an 9 beset, an' we're a-pickin* on her
when she's down complete."

"You been hearing preaching?"

"You might say; on'y not the kind you think I did. I hear'n it from
myself mostly. Alec Drake, he died in my arms, Chid. You know what
he said a'fore his eyes shet? 'God save Master Perry an' the United
States o' Ameriky,' he said, reverent as hell, an' he died."

"I saw Bob Crown's brother die similar to that."

"Well, it should have signified, Chid. When men die they say what's
in their hearts, not jest words. Them lads o' the Adder was to sea almost
stiddy for nigh seven months; but never a grievin' word did they have
at mess. You think Noah Brown has to go traipsin' to that godforsaken
Presque Isle to make money with a shipyard like he's got here? Or that
Perry, who could likely get any soft job from Congress he'd be minded
to? No, sir! Them fellers is pure good inside; givin' what they got to
this here sick nation. But, it seems 's if, for one o' them kind there's two
o' us'n. We blank 'em out, Chid, and when the goin' gets rocky we
talk o' slidin' into the enemy's camp, slick's a weasel"

"I wouldn't be an enemy.'*

1 2O

"Oh, yes you would. The minute you saw a loose dollar 'round you'd
track It down, an* to hell with who pays for It; British, Yankee, or
Injun. Yer a leech, Chid; both o' us are. You can't only earn dollars an'
fun; you got to earn the right to earn 'em fust. You got to be part an'
passel o* folks what make it possible, to call it a tribe or a town or a
nation. I ain't reformed or nuthuf, Chid . . .1 jest never been far enough
away from Portersville an' that stinkin' Noank to catch on how things
really was. Now I see 3 em good an' clear, an* I wish you would too."

"I do sometimes."

"I expect you're bright enough to. Qn'y you squelch 'em when they
come botherin'. I did for a while, too, but I ain't peaceful inside no more.
Ill bet you ain't either, times."

"You didn't talk like that back home. You even tricked me onto the
Blessed Cause!'

"I didn't know about these things then, Chid. Now I do. Didn't
that there shipyard make you feel good this mornin', kind o' homy,
like's if you got your hands an' your wits on suthin' understandable?"

<<A-yep.

"Well, it did me. I want to catch up with that feelin' again. I want
to go to Presque Isle an' work like hell an' feel with the good folks o'
this nation. I wisht I could say it better, Chid."

e ls good, dat." Antoine nodded soberly. "Is better to do dan say;
but, Chid, how you mak' us go to de Presque Isle?"

"I can do it easy, Antoine."

"With no trouble, Chid?"

"No trouble till it catches up with us, Nez."

"All right; go ahead. But, Chid, I sure wish you'd be laeadin 9 there
for the same reason I an' Antwine is."

"I guess I will be, for a while."

Chid crept out from under the cover. The Firefly moved in a white
whirling world, trembling fearfully, only the hot boiler and stack and
the green patches of the river showing dark. The pilot was a white snow
man on the larboard paddle box, his trumpet and signal cane poised.
At the fire door a man poked four-foot logs into the hungry flames, one
every minute. The cross-yoke plunged up and down, up and down, and
the paddles sucked and crashed into ice. Aft, at the tiller, two men stood,

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snow-plastered. One smoked a home-whittled alder pipe and the other
a thin seegar.

Chid, stretching, strode boldly to them.

"Good morning, Mr. Brown. I'm Chid Alwyn."

"You ought to be in jail," Mr. Brown said, grinning.

"I reckon. I had considerable trouble getting here."

"You ran off after the fire, didn't you?"

"No, sir. Not exactly. I came down the coast a ways to get two friends
to go along with me. One's a ship's carpenter and the other's a logger.
Thought they might come in handy."

"They will indeed."

"They're forward, sir. We got a little nipped last night, and we came
over the ice to the yard, and it seemed all-fired warm alongside that hot
iron affair amidships."

"You weren't the only ones," Mr. Brown nodded, not smiling, "but
you were the last. Chid, bring your friends below. I expect there's still
a bite of breakfast handy for you. Moses Leet and I were certain that
you had shipped on the Blessed Cause"

"My Golly! I had an apprenticeship to serve out, Mr. Brown."

"So you did, boy," Noah Brown said. "So you did."

"Till August," Chid said.

"Aye, till August."

It was a good breakfast; regular tavern food. Moses Leet was tickled
to see him, and he said he was very much relieved, very much indeed.
Nez was showing the company how to split a chip at six yards thirty
minutes after he'd said howdy all around. Antoine crawled behind a
berth curtain, clutching his wounded leg, explaining that Yankee
dunder always hit him in the leg.

"You want to play strap?" a man at the cabin table asked Chid, "a
copper a rubber, Mr. Alwyn?"

"Nope," said Chid, "I ain't got a cent to my name right this minute."

"Embarrassing ain't it?"

"Nope, Just kind o' challenging, sir," said Chid.

122

PART II
THE TRIALS

Chapter Eight

THE WAY OF the winter traveler from New York City to Lake Erie in
the year of 1813 was D 7 the long road; from Albany to Utica to Geneva,
and then into the wilderness beyond. The Lake Erie turnpike road to
the south of it, which extended the new Military Road, was for the
most part still a promise of the politicians and the land agents. It wound
its muddy, log-paved way westward in irregular links of road, Indian
trail, surveyors* blazes, and rolling virgin forest. Nobody used the Erie
Road in winter. From Bath to the lake there wasn't a decent traveler's
house nor a village fit to be called such.

The Ontario and Genesee Turnpike Road, which held to its early
name of the Great Genesee Road, was the popular and safe one. It
shot almost straight westward from Utica, for two hundred and twenty
miles, to Buffalo Creek and the lake. The way to the great artery
was through Schenectady and along the Mohawk River, by the double
well-traveled road which boasted any number of taverns: Bent's, De-
wight's, Hudson's Indian Castle, Mr. Aldridge's at German Flats, and
then a good hotel with an inside wash barrel and a separate ladies'
refreshment parlor at Fort Schuyler in Utica. From here one half the
road crawled northward, along Oneida and the Oswego Creek to Lake
Ontario and the fighting country. The Great Road continued west, the
one reliable road to the Genesee Country. Military stores and settlers'
needs and mill machinery and farm tools and bolt goods from far-away
China went over the road in an endless stream of heavy wagons drawn
by matched teams. And settlers and immigrants; always people and
more people. And many were now in uniform; uniforms of the militia
and of the dandy town brigades and of the regular Army and a very
few of the Navy, for behind Ontario, near Sackett's Harbor, a great

125

force was gathering to whip the British who threatened on the northern
shore of the great lake.

The road wound through the old Military Lands, past Van Epp's and
Mr. Wemp's in the Oneida Reservation, and Sill's and Young Keeler's,
whose spring tasted of salt and was said to have salubrious effects upon
those suffering with gout or bilious fever; and from Onondaga Hollow
it went to Rice's on Nine Mile Creek and vanished for a few muddy
rods at the Cayuga Ferry, and at last arrived at Geneva, where Mr.
Powel's tavern had a new signboard naming it, with pride and bold
challenge, a first-rate city hotel. Roads branched from the turnpike, north
and south; but mostly to the south, for nobody yet knew for sure
whether north was British or American country. Since the Revolution
and before, there had always been the British, just across Ontario.

The settlers and immigrants scattered into the rich farm lands about
Geneva, sharpening their plows for a sure harvest. The men in uniform,
what few reached Geneva, went on to the westward to New Hartford;
hanging on a last nipper at Searson's, on the State Road; then marched
northward along the Genesee River and past the four great falls and
so to the forts of the lake. And some went on to Batavia and there fol-
lowed the Tonawanda and came out of the brush under the rear-guard
guns of General Smythe's ragged army that kept the British on the far
side of the rapids of the tumbling Niagara River.

It was a populous teeming road, in winter and in summer, and the
taverns never shut their doors day or night. The back fences of the
original wagon yards had been knocked down long ago, throwing open
the rolling fields beyond the ever-increasing number of teams and wagons
and sleds. Two stages a week, one with United States mail, rattled from
frontier Geneva to Albany, the four matched bays of each always at the
gallop and the box horn truculently demanding the clear road.

The immigrants were Yankees and Jersey-men, and Germans and
Irishers and English and Swiss and watery-eyed Scandinavians. Some-
times they were herded along in great bands by a suave seegar-smoking
land agent. But they were always eager and impatient to push along the
road to the fabulous stoneless bottom lands in the new country, said to
cost only nine dollars the acre to clear and plant, and the first year to
yield twenty-five to the acre in any crop you cared to name.

126

There were no mountains; just gently rounded swells of smooth land,
crested with hardwoods and pines and cedars, and between them were
well-watered intervals o poplar and alder and great natural cleared fields,
protected and warm, where the grass grew so lush that a full-grown
bullock couldn't be seen in it at harvest time. And here and there were
ancient Indian orchards, needing only pruning to yield fruit; and
crumbled French forts where a man could find lead and iron and some-
times gold coins. To the north, indeed all about, were lakes, endless
lovely lakes which tempered the north winds; and to the south were
the ragged Pennsylvania Mountains which held back the humid wither-
ing weather of summer and the rotting rains of winter. A man. could, like
the Indians before him, grow apples better than any other place in the
States, and he was taking no chances at all if he was of a mind to put in
tender peaches or grapes or truck vegetables. Everything grew and pros-
pered in the Genesee Country.

Travelers came, and preachers and gamblers and fakers and politicians
and, lately, recruiters. It was good land, with good growing towns and
hundreds of mills and scores of distilleries. It was worth saving and
worth fighting for; it was a precious home to sixty thousand people.
The recruiters didn't have much trouble signing these men into the
Army; nothing like they had in bitter, war-scarred New England. Folks
here had something to defend. The recruiters* fifers didn't blow a note
a week; the drinks were on the recruit, not the recruiter. You had just
to mention the British and how they were getting ready to invade, and
these men would look at you with sober eyes and sign with heavy,
grim strokes.

Only the Indians had to be liquored into joining. They would come
in from the reservations, or more likely lurch from behind the wagon
yards where they lived in dirty bottle-strewn hogans; dull-eyed, lousy,
fat creatures. A good recruiter could make them touch the pen after
three drinks if he named them in proper order gin, rum, and then
gin spiked with ram, none with spices or butter and have them
marching north four hours later.

There was an army to receive them there; the army to which these
vast stores were going* General Dearborn was at its head; a cautious
man learning war as he went along. And there was a navy, too, though

127

that was something that the York folks didn't take much stock in. An
officer named Chauncey, a Congress-commodore, was in charge of it. He
had even built some ships, small ones, some of them not much bigger
than the arks which drifted cattle and boards and sacked grain down
the Conhocton and Canisteo, and so to distant Baltimore. The house
carpenters of the new country from as far west as Bath and New Hart-
ford had helped in the building of these boats, working under the
direction of a New York master shipwright named Henry Eckford, a
man who loved ships and seemed to understand their mysteries first rate.

But these things were all to the north and the east of the Genesee
Country.

The land beyond, to the west, was an unsettled wilderness. The great
road led, almost straight as a crow's flight, through thick forests and
gradually flattening land to lazy Buffalo Creek; thence along the creek
to the shores of Lake Erie. On the road, once Batavia was passed, there
was not a sizable village; none which attempted to afford the comforts
and luxuries of the eastern state towns. Mr. Peterson, who traded in furs,
held open house for the few who traveled the road at Big Spring, and
beyond one Ganson had a rough log tavern with straw-covered puncheon
beds and admittedly cut liquor. From there there was nothing much
until you reached the tiny hamlets of New Amsterdam and Black Rock
on the lake itself.

Renegade Indians prowled along the road here, and British deserters
and highwaymen who sometimes relieved travelers of purses and lives
in thirty swift seconds. It was flat, desolate land, not poor but not as
rich as that farther east near the lakes of Cayuga and Seneca and Canan-
daigua and Crooked. North of the road here were the mysterious Hepatic
and Inflamable Air Holes, treasured for some obscure reason by all of
the Six Nations Indians; and near the end of the turnpike, a short haul
north of Black Rock, were the Great Falls of the Niagara.

These were worth viewing according to the surveyors and Indian mis-
sionaries and the few who had traveled to see them. They fell from the
rapids of the Niagara River one hundjred and seventy feet to a mag-
nificent gorge which emptied into Lake Ontario. It was the only inter-
ruption in a watercourse thousands of miles long, from Lake Superior
to the St, Lawrence River and the Atlantic Ocean. On the British side of
128

the obstruction there was a team carry of eleven miles. Since long
before the turn of the century there had been mild agitation to build
a canal from the Tonawanda Eiver 3 which emptied into the Niagara
above the Falls, to Mud Creek and the Genesee and thus short-cut the
road. The proposal was to construct a lift-lock canal around the four
falls o the Genesee and by it bring large vessels to and from. Ontario and
Erie.

There was talk of it again; had been since the war had commenced
ten months ago. Both Commodore Chauncey and Dearborn, it was
known, believed that a naval force was needed on Erie to back up
General Harrison's army which lay bivouacked and waiting to strike
at Detroit, now in British hands. But a canal opening both lakes was
out of the question now. It would take years to build. And, as some
pointed out, It would lead only to the guns o the British forts which
covered the Niagara from the Tonawanda to the lake. General Smythe
was in the vicinity of Black Rock with six hundred assorted companies,
but the few travelers who came eastward along the Great Genesee Turn-
pike this winter reported that he had all he could do to keep the British
on their own side of the river and away from the tiny new navy yard,
much less cover vessels being towed against the rapids Into the lake.

So there came along the road not canal builders but shipbuilders. At
first they were house shinglers and barn builders and cordwood sawyers.
Some had helped build Commodore Chauncey's little ships kst fall,
There were not many of them, a score at the most, traveling by wagon
under heavy fur robes and with their tools in the box behind. They
went to Bkck Rock, reporting to Lieutenant Jesse Elliot, a Navy man,
then were swallowed by the denser wilderness to the westward along
Erie's rugged shore. Rumors came back along the road; horrible rumors,
disheartening and discouraging like those of last year which told of the
frightful massacre on the River Raisin and of the shameful surrender
of Detroit and of the occupation of the whole of the Michigan Lands by
the British and their drunken looting redskins. It was said that the first
detachments of carpenters had been killed by raiding Indians while
felling trees. Another story had it that some of the men had escaped
down the Allegany from Presque Isle and reached Philadelphia, more
dead than alive. Of the two later detachments^ nothing was heard. No

129

stores or materials went over the turnpike to them; no news or car-
penters came back; no navy grew.

The people around New Hartford and Batavia and Bath prepared for
the winter with growing apprehension. The British, it was now plain to
see, were not only north o them but west as well. The enemy, so the
veterans of the '77 war said testily, was up to his old tricks: building
the perfect army before invading. He was establishing his chain of
communications and supply routes along the northern shores of both
lakes, connecting the Michigan army with the seaboard; making them
impregnable. "How," these veterans asked with reason, "can twenty
carpenters build a navy? What happened to the ships we had on the
lake? Aye, the British captured them! Where's Harrison; what's he
doing? Anyway, say we did hold Erie open couldn't the British use
the north shore of the lake?" The defense of Erie and the pathetic
preparations made so far were considered hopeless. The whole situation
along the border, the stupid generals, the insufficiently trained men, and
the lack of supplies were just new evidences of the utter stupidity of
Jemmy Madison's easy-going Congress.

Many families moved eastward during December and January. It was
an unusually severe winter, nothing like the mild ones which the land
agents had promised were eternal. The rivers and creeks lay frozen and
snow-covered. You took an auger even to a deep well if you wanted
water. The northern lights flared with mysterious flutterings and flame-
like color whenever it came off a clear night, which wasn't often. Bands
of wolves roamed the intervales, howling against the biting winds and
the deep snow, crust upon crust. Mr. Ganson buried his rum casks in
manure and locked his log tavern, then sledded it along the Great Bend
Road all the way to Newton on the Tioga. He went not only east, but
south as well. "Fifteen hundert fruzzen sojers an' a dozen barn car-
penters, buildin* a damned navy, between me an' the British! East ain't
enough, I snum!" he said at New Hartford and drove on.

Geneva called back half of its militia brigade from the Army of the
North along Ontario's shores. Other towns followed suit. They came
with white frost on their buckles and blue toes sticking through their
worn cow-hide boots, and their bellies were thin under the silk frogs
of their swallow-tail jackets and their faces gaunt beneath their cockaded
130

plug hats. They went on sullen sentry duty before their own farms and
around the fires told bitterly of the lack o food and equipment and
leadership In the army of General Dearborn. "The Navy? Great Jehovah,
neighbor, they don't do nuthin'. Nuthln' 'tall! Sails up, sails down;
2^un practice with hardwood shot, busted this an' busted that, an' they
don't move a damned Inch; alwns waitin* for sailors, for guns, for
shot, for surgeons, for rope, for officers; damn It! for guts!"

The snow came again in early February; heavy large flakes, falling
straight and silently, hushing an already hushed and threatened land.
The biggest lakes froze over, Oneida and Crooked, and there was ice
even on deep Cayuga, and the sleds from Utica broke new snow each
morning as they toiled slowly westward to Geneva. Beyond Geneva
there was but the mail rider's single track to New Hartford. Beyond
New Hartford the Great Geneva Turnpike lay unbroken; a dull white
serpent writhing over the hills and intervales between frosted green pines
and ending at Lake Erie where twenty men had gone to build a navy.

And Into this bitter, desolate country, the eight heavily laden sleds
Batting deeply into the smooth snow blanket, came Noah Brown and his
thirty-nine shipbuilders.

"Ordinary," said Moses Leet, downing the rum, "I don't imbibe. But a
Chid, I reckon a man's better for it in this weather."

'-It's bitter, 5 * Chid said. "There ain't no salt in the air to temper it." He
downed his rum in one swallow.

"I never knew you to take more than flip/* Moses said, plunging his
tnittened hands into his pockets and hunching himself against the driving
wind. "Chid, you sure you were nipped that night you came on the Fire-
fly?"

"I'm afraid so, Moses. We had a powerful amount against coming
down the coast in the snow."

"Well," Moses said, looking at him keenly, "It sure hit you hard.
You looked kind o* scairt an* whupped, boy; not just Hkkored up."

"No," Chid said, "I guess I was nipped, all right."

"I'm going to write home tonight, before we jump off," Moses said.
"Mary'll be glad you didn't go on the Blessed Cause, Chid. You should
have spoke with her before you left."

131

"I didn't have anything to say/' Chid said. "Fm not ready to speak
yet, Moses."

"I don't know, boy/' the old carpenter said quietly. "She'd listen.
Our gal don't want the things you want; they don't count much after
a while, an' she's got sense enough to see that."

"They count for me."

"I see that, Chid. But money an' station an* such don't make you
rich; not sure-fire rich. There's other things."

"Tell Mary my love, Moses. And Aunt Leety, too. Come August I'll
be free, and it will be different."

"Your job won't be finished by then; it'll take a long time to get this
here fleet ready."

"The fleet ain't my job; that's Mr. Brown's and Perry's. I'm just a tool
for 'em for a while. They got a right only to my labor."

"What's behind them, Chid, has a right to your heart, even to your
plans an' your dreams an' your life."

"You talk like Nez. He got patriotism like Friends get religion-
sudden."

"I noticed. An' he's a better man for it, Chid."

"Well, it bothers me, times. But I don't see it, Moses."

"I pray to God you will, boy. It's all that's wrong with you."

They got into the sleds again, drawn up in line on the white road
before Mr. Ganson's deserted tavern. Nez had led the break-in and found
the rum under the manure easily. He considered Mr. Ganson's loss only
just; when a man hung out a tavern sign, it was his bounden duty to
be around and make good on it.

"Come on, boys," Nez trumpeted, "we got to push on afore the boss
fetches us. He ain't one to admire you fellers enterin' a poor tavern so.
I'm danged glad I was able to stop you!"

"Gripes, Nez, how fur's the temprachure got to drop to cease you
clownin'?" grinned a carpenter.

" 'Bout twicet's cold's 'tis."

"Now, that's a cozy riddle, boys. How cold's twicet as cold as now?
That's one to chew on 'tween towns, ain't it?"

The sleds moved on, the horses plodding into the raw sharp wind.
Mr. Brown always rode in the last sled. "To cover the rear," he had
132

joked. Nez had Joked right back, a To kick the rear. Uncle Noah, case
anybody decides to drap out, hunh?" Nez called him Uncle Noah right
out, and Mr. Brown didn't seem to mind. It sounded odd; Noah Brown
wasn't much older than Nez himself save In years.

"It's his beard makes him a uncle," Nez had grinned once. "Uncles all
have beards. But I envy him It; ain't nuthin' warmer'n a lush beard
'round sweet-water cold. I aim to have me one."

"Look out you don't calk It right Into a seam some day, Nez."

"God a'mighty! Uncle Noah's welcome to It if it'll make a ship to
whup them British. Last two days It's downright depressln* seein* them,
towns so scairt o* the invasion."

It was early afternoon. The sky was lowery and threatened still more
snow, and the wind blew steadily from the northwest. Batavla, as the
Big Plain Station folks wanted their settlement to be called, was at least
three hours distant.

The road was easy; not many up-hills. But the men welcomed even
a small grade; It gave them an excuse to get out and push and walk
to keep warm. There were forty carpenters, only eleven of them from
Portersvllle. Two were from New London and two from Essex, on the
Connecticut, and there was a logger from Haddam. The rest were New
York and Jersey men. Mr. Brown, so the word went, hadn't been pleased
with the way New England had helped, but he hadn't been surprised.
Even the British regarded New England as still doubtful and, counting
on the unpopularity of the war east of Long Island, hadn't extended
the blockade to It yet.

Chid did not know all the men. There hadn't been time to during
the quick trip of the Firefly, Near Albany, with the bow rammed deep
Into solid ice, the pilot had thrown his signal stick into the wake in
defeat and made them walk up the frozen river. Since then the group
had broken into small sled parties; five carpenters to the sled plus the
hired driver. The took and the bags and trunks alone made a good
pull. Chid rode with Nez and Antoine and two of the Tatum appren-
tices. Bob Crown traveled with a brooding bitterness, thinking always
of the death of his brother and the villainy of Mr, Lidbody. Sylvester
Tatro spent the weary miles under all the robes the sled afforded suffer-
ing with a severe cold.

Culver Coons and Tonk Slinker, who were both block-maker's appren-
tices, were In another sleigh with Epaphras North and the other New
Englanders. Mr. Brown wouldn t risk mixing them with York or Jersey
men. A short distance beyond Ganson's the lead sled stopped at the
call of an Indian who stood with upraised hand in the road between the
flanking snow-laden cedars. The man wanted a lift to Black Rock.

"Go back in the sled with the boys/ 1 the driver said, clucking to the
team. "They ain't so heavy's us."

The Indian sprang into the sled, musket tightly clutched, and nestled
beside the carpenters in the box. Chid could smell the rancid grease
with which he had protected himself from the winter; a sweet sickish
smell that was always to mean Indian to him. But the man was to lee-
ward, for which they were all grateful.

"What you shaved for?" Nez inquired sharply.

"No shaved; hair cut, like sojer," the Indian grunted. He was an
old man, his leathery face a mass of expressionless wrinkles, but his
body was lithe as a young buck forest runner's.

"You be, too! You're ready in' to paint for war."

"No paint. Friend; ver' good. Damn British. Me, army runner. Cap-
tain Brown, York m'litia. From Sackett,"

"You be? How's the ships doin' there?"

"Ver' good, oh, ver* good. Captain, he want more. Have message.
Where Elliot boat man?"

"Oh, him. Why, he's to Black Rock, waitin' for Perry to come. Let's see
the message."

"No. For Elliot. You sojer?"

"Hell, no! We're carpenters. We got to build the ships on Erie."

"Damn fool," the Indian said. "You got tobac*?"

Nez let him grind off a chew of twist. The Indian spit once, then
covered his head with his blanket and subsided into a piece of lifeless
freight. They rode on in silence. The snow creaked under the runners
and the team plowed tiredly into the drifts pastern-deep and better. It
was dark when the two dim lights of Batavia appeared like red angry
stars between the drooped, defeated ears of the horses.

The village was one of the newest on the road, built beside a future
mill-site on a Tonawanda feeder. There were already six frame houses,

134

lying unpainted and stark In the smooth flat snow. The other buildings
were log-built, single cabins with the end sash long since boarded against
the winter. There was no traveler's house, just a tiny store-tavern with
a single teamster's dormitory above and piles of stale tangled straw to
which a man could help himself if he wanted some padding under him.

In the face of so much unexpected business, Hank Purdy, the bonif ace,
forgot to be genial He looked the party over doubtfully. They filled his
taproom, crowding about his small fire, clothes steaming and heavy boots
melting small pools on his sanded floor.

"You ain't Quakers," Hank said. "You sure ain't land agents or mis-
sloners. Wait; let Purdy guess."

"The British Army/* Nez said.

"Oh, no!" Hank said but looked scared nevertheless,

"We're shipbuilders, landlord/* Mr. Brown Interposed. "We want a
good meal and bedding down until daylight. I'll pay for It now, In gold,
so you won't get It confused with the liquor scores later."

"Shipbuilders! God In the mountains; In this woods? I d'clare. We
need soldiers and they send us shipbuilders. In gold, you say? None o*
them damned paper notes?"

"Gold, landlord."

"Why, welcome, damn it! Purdy can pervide handsome, an* it'll be
a dollar a man, without splints or extras, you know what I mean.
Teams can go inter the shed, free, save you want to pamper y em with
grain. The Injun's got to go there too; this is a decent place."

Mr. Brown counted out forty dollars, then sat down before the fire
and lighted a seegar.

"A dozen o* ye In the loft above; pervidin' you boys promise to lay
'cross the beams. You ky with *em, an' yell like break through an* get
scrambled with them as sleep below here. Some'll have to bed round the
town houses I can get for you."

"The apprentices can go out," Mr. Brown said.

"Aye. So youll want likkor, hey? A good tootin* afore you jump
off; It's nadieral, ain't It? But I want to say fair, we ain't got sufficient
wimmin. This ain't fancy wenchin' kentry like east. Hell, forty'd tax even
Uticy, I low. I on'y got th'ee gals to call; an* you gents please let *em
be till they get yer victuals served."

135

Chid reckoned that Mr. Purdy delayed the meal deliberately. It was
almost two hours before the kettles of hard potatoes and indifferent
corn-mush cakes and gravy-warmed venison came to the long table
hastily made by laying rough frost-stippled boards across the few regu-
lar tavern tables. He sold a good deal of rum during the wait. Chid
would have liked a noggin, but he was utterly penniless. The condition
depressed him; made him blindly angry at fate. Two thousand dollars
had been in his hands within the week. Now he was broke, as he hadn't
been since he was fifteen.

Three girls waited on them, two of them busy with the bar orders
entirely. The one at the table was a slight sallow-complexioned girl with
long dull black hair falling in two braids over her shoulders and over
her high, small breasts. She was- small, almost tiny, and she took par-
ticular care of Chid.

"What's your name, pretty?" Nez demanded, observing.

"Beaumelle."

"God! Beaumelle what?"

"Trask. I'm extra for Hank."

"Well, he's got a eye! But you better don't make such a extry fuss
over Chid here. Chid's got a gal."

"Shut up, Nez."

The men were noisy. Somebody started a song after the weak un-
sugared tea. It was a graver's short drag. In the beating refrain in which
they all joined you could almost hear the thud of the graver's mauls as
they crashed on the oak wedges; and the creak of the hull as it was
gripped in the pole shores, like the hub of a wagon wheel, and you
could feel the cold dripping of the dank masonry benches of the graving
dock. It made Chid homesick for salt water and the smell of ships build-
ing and acrid oak chisel chips. And, curiously, for Mary Leet; for things
he could understand and get a grip on.

The song ended in a burst of drunken whooping. Nez was asked to
split a chip. He sliced one from the board table and stuck it on the log
wall sixteen paces away.

"Every splitll cost somebody one drink, boys!"

"Sure! Go ahead, Nez."

Nez earned six drinks, one right after the other. He gave Chid the

136

third one. Antoine tried, bemoaning the loss of Ms double-bitted ax*
and earned two drinks. Mr. Brown dozed over his writing portfolio.
Moses Leet laboriously wrote his letter with a quill pen and berry ink,
thinned with cider vinegar. The two bar girls moved about nimbly,
ducking the good-natured experimental slaps aimed at them. It was the
last night for a toot. Tomorrow, the real wilderness, the jump-off for
Black Rock, and then the long unknown road to Presque Isle where a
man was cut off from everything, saving, perhaps, more danger than it
was pleasant to think about now and for some the deep Inward con-
tentment of unselfish service.

Beaumelle touched Chid lightly on the shoulder.

"You're to sleep at Pa's," she said.

"All right. I'm ready to."

"Jesus!" a man close to Chid cried. "Why ain't we still apprentices?"

Chid followed the girl, feeling his neck hot and red. It felt good to get
into the cold dark night, away from the coarse out-spoken envy. She
was a small dark figure, walking in the snow beside him. The cold
had subdued the wind. It was still as an Idle ship's hold. A fox barked
far in the distance, towards Bkck Rock. The northern lights made a
pale greenish boiling beyond a stand of naked hickory.

"It's the coldest yet," the girl said. "Unseasonable."

"I expect. What's your pa do?"

"Teams. But mostly he drinks. He's In jail now."

"Is your ma home?"

"No; she was killed at Fort Dearborn by British Indians/'

"That's hard to hear. Look, I better not go home with you."

"Don't be silly," Beaumelle said, "I accommodate Hank like this lots.
Pa ain't never to home."

"Does he pay you?"

"Yes; he takes it off what Pa owes him. Put some bark on the fire;
we don't need no candle."

The cabin was a poor single-roomed log one, furnished with hand-
made stuff of pine board and hickory slash. A decent-sized fireplace
occupied the center of one end wall, and a rope bed stood in the center
of the other. A sapling kdder led to the loft, now shut off by a trap

137

door. It was warm and homy, and the bark-light threw long wavering
shadows against the uneven log walls.

"In the loft or down here?" the girl asked.

"Down here for me," Chid said.

She seemed even smaller than before, but, silhouetted before the fire,
stretching her fingers to the heat, Chid saw that she was rounded and
warmly formed; not skinny or sallow as she had appeared under the
harsh tavern lights. He guessed that she might own to eighteen. She
had a strange sweet smell about her; something like when he had once
breathed in the smell of Mary's chestnut hair on a spring night.

She sat down beside Chid on the puncheon bench before the hearth
and took off her shoes. "I always leave them by the fire. You better too.
Can I call you Chid?"

"Surely."

Chid took his moccasins off, then stuffed the stockings which he had
borrowed from Moses into them. The girl hung them over a chair back.
She watched Chid with dark searching eyes, studying him. He was
handsome in a way that she was not used to; tall and broad and bronze-
colored with hair that looked, in the firelight, like golden straw.

She got up and went over to the bed. Chid could hear the patter of
her bare feet and the rustle of her clothing as she hung it on the pegs
on the warm wall opposite the fire. He kept his eyes in the flames, not
wanting to look. Then he heard suddenly, and disturbingly, the creak
of the bed ropes.

"Chid, ain't you sleepy?"

"Some. I'll need the candle to see in the loft"

**You don't need to go to the loft, Chid."

He stopped at the ladder. "It wasn't nice of me to grab the warmest
place for myself," he said.

"Don't you understand, Chid?"

"A-yep," Chid said quietly, trying to hide his confusion. "I reckon.
Look, I wasn't meaning to Miss Trask, I ain't got a cent of money."

"It don't matter, Chid," the girl said from the bed.

Chid could feel her eyes staring at him from the dark bed corner.
He felt as if he had taken a sudden draught o rum on a cold day, felt

138

the queer pounding pulsations of it. He sat on the bench again, feeling
suddenly weak.

Beaumelle jumped nimbly from the bed and sat beside him, hunched
forward toward the fire, looking into it with him. Her hands were
clasped, and her toes curled from the floor. She was very close.

"Chid, this is somehow different. I wouldn't mind."

"You're about the only girl I ever was this close to," Chid said. **l
never thought about it much. I guess it ain't been in my dreams."

"What are your dreams about? That girl?'*

"Part."

"What's her name?"

"Mary Leet. She comes from my town back on salt**

"Do you love her, Chid?"

"I guess I do. Only not this way. She's more just part of my plans.
Fm waiting until they come true before. ..**

"What?"

"Well, thinking of her close and real like you.**

"You're a funny fellow, Chid," the girl said. "Most men grab onto
the girl first off, anyways they can; then worry about dreaming for
her."

"That don't seem right. It's like building a ship; you got to plan It
all out careful, then lay her up just right, everything fitted neat and
of first-rate quality. You got to be certain of each step, so it can't go
bad on you, else everything's spoiled later if something goes wrong."

She leaned close to him, her head on his shoulder and her black hair
soft against his cheek. Chid, leaning back against the wall, let her lie
there. She was soft and warm, but oddly it did not annoy him now.

'You're awful good, Chid," she said.

"No, I ain't. I can't help thinking things out and kind of planning
them. I reckon I'd be unhappy if I didn't/*

"What do you want to do?"

"Get free, I guess."

"No, I mean now, Chid.'*

Chid didn't reply. He wasn't shocked, nor scared. Beaumelle was nice^
nicer than Jerushy and Ruby at Mr. Halliday's, who were girls like

139

her. He felt oddly comfortable with her, yet terribly aware of her. She
put his arm around her, and he left it there.

"Tell me about your girl. Chid."

"Yes; that's what I'd like to do. Talk, just talk."

It felt good, putting Mary into words. He never had before. She was
hardly flesh and blood in his own thoughts, just an objective like his
dreams of money and the shipyard. It was queer, shaking and exciting,
having Mary come alive and desirable to him sitting hundreds of miles
away from her with a strange girl nestled warmly beside him. Moses
had said that his girl would listen. It had never occurred to Chid that
she might not. Moses had said some other things, too, things that he
thought about out loud now.

He didn't tell the girl about the trouble he was in. His instinctive
caution made him silent about that. But he wanted to tell her. He
wanted to tell her everything, just have her listen and lie close to him
before the warm embers.

"I reckon you think Fm a stubborn fool," Chid said, "driving on with
plans so. Trouble is, I ain't seen no better ones, or no better way to make
mine come out right. I can't help it, like I said. A girl ain't an orna-
ment. She's got a right to ask a man how she's going to do, living into
his life and such things. I figure she's got her own plans to be loyal to,
and her plans have naturally got money and station and comfort and
security in 'em*"

"She's got something you ain't mentioned, Chid. She's got love in her
plans, and the rest of it can go hang when she meets the man that she
loves."

"It don't make sense," Chid said, "but I think you're right; partways,
anyway."

"Yes, I'm right. Chid, you love that girl; love her all you can, even
over the long miles. Don't make plans, just you love Mary Leet; that's
the most important part of them. No matter what goes wrong, you'll
have that. And she will. . . oh, Chid!"

The girl was crying against his shoulder, crowding her face into his
neck. He could feel the warm tears, and the brush of her wet lashes.
Her arm crept about him, holding him tightly to her. After a while
she looked into his face.
140

"Chid."

"A-yep."

"Will you kiss me?"

Chid kissed her. Her lips were warm and sweetly trembling. She lay
close in his arms, her heart beating against him.

"Now go up to the loft, Chid."

"Good night"

"Good night, Chid. I won't cry any more. I never wanted to kiss a
man before."

"You didn't? 59

"No. They just wanted to kiss me. Good night."

Chid slept good. He woke up still feeling baffled by the girl below. It
was funny, a girl like her wanting just to be kissed.

The sleds pushed on at dawn. The men were quiet and inclined to
nod on the long windless stretches. Nez said that it had been quite a
party; quite a party. They got into Black Rock just before nightfall.
Against the dull sunset Chid saw the spars of a schooner, moored in
the naval basin. It was the best place he'd seen on the journey yet.

141

Chapter ftfine

THE EATING PLACE at Black Rock was in the barracks of the militia
company which did guard duty at the tiny new navy yards. It was a long
low log building at the end o a deep shoveled snowpath which led to the
basin in which several small boats were moored so that their guns
commanded the narrow entrance to the place. The drifted snow reached
almost to the eaves of the messhouse and lay soft and deep on the
shallow A-roo The tracks of an animal led over the roof to the stone
chimney as if the beast had followed the smell of food to it.

It was warm inside, and crowded with militiamen. Their muskets
stood in racks flanking the slab door, and innumerable pairs of boots
and pieces of woolen clothing dried on a ledge pole before the great
fireplace at one end of the room, giving off an odorous effluvium unlike
anything Chid had ever smelled sweat, boot-dressing, cooking food,
corn mush, and wet wool. It was different from the homy smell of a
ship's steerage or forecastle, lacking the sharp tang of oakum or tar to
temper the raw smells.

Tou boysll have to eat light," a red-whiskered sergeant grinned,
herding them to a long trestle table. "We don't get what we requisition
for at this post by a long shot, not gun nor food nor powder nor any-
thin*. But you'll wish you had even this much where you boys are
headed for."

"Shet up an 5 bring on the grub/' Paph North growled. "Well be
under Navy requisitions."

"Yeanh! You sure will. That's why I was feelin' sorry for you. What
Navy stuff come through this post damn* seldom gets to Presque Isle.
It don't even stay here. Ain't you heard about Chauncey's museum?"

"He's way east on Ontario, sojer."

142

"Ohi, my! Well, his grabbin* fingers reach clear to here. He collects
for Ms museum at Sackett's Harbor, shipbuilders, sailors, grub, guns,
navy supplies; cripes! It's a storehouse. He never uses nuthin'; jest col-
lects 'em an* to hell with whoever needs the stuff. Chauncey's boss on all
the lakes."

"Perry's commander on Erie; soon's he gets here."

"Mebbe so. But he better outrank Chauncey good an* plenty if he
wants supplies 'way to his camp. Listen, mister, Chauncey's so jealous o*
supplies and stores an* reserves he's fretted hisself Inter the stomack
heaves grabbln' on to *em. They say he jest sits making rousers at a
tumble rate an* counts his supplies. No mortal ever heard o' him fightin',
anyway. You ask Elliot or Dobbins, they know. You'll be goin* down
the lake with Cap Dobbins."

"When?"

"Why, right off. Soon's you eat. You stay here, Chauncey'd have you
on his lake by mornin*."

Mr. Brown, Moses Leet, and a foreman, George Carmody, from the
New Jersey contingent, were absent, having been invited to mess with
the post officers and have a conference at the same time.

Chid didn't think much of the navy base. It was more than a mile
removed from the barracks and at least thirty from the main army
encampment. Directly across the river, dark against the snow, lay Fort
Erie and the British guns. Fort Erie controlled the lake outlet. This was
the chief reason that the President had ordered the new naval station
to be located at Presque Isle, ninety miles down the lake. Erie could
drop mortar shot right Into Black Rock and had whenever her gunners
wanted a little fun with the Americans.

"You should have been here last fell/* the sergeant told Chid and his
mess neighbors. "Lieutenant Elliot, he snuck over to the British side In
a couple o* arks and took a brig from 'em, slick's skinnin' a sarplnt.
He burnt another; you could see her bones was you to be here by day-
light. If the British had them two ships yet they'd never let you get
down Brie tonight. You can thank Jesse Elliot. He's all right, boys, an*
lots here don't think he's gettin* a square deal, havin' this man Perry
come In as head. There*s too much politics in this hull frontier*"

"I reckon, maybe the gov'mint thinks Perry a better man*'*

143

"Do you know him, Mister?"

"No. I saw him once, though; so did Chid here. Fd say your man
Elliot had to be powerful good to be better'n Perry.**
* "Perry ain't done anythin' special in this war, I heard."

"No; we got politics on the seacoast too, sojer. It ain't his fault. Wait'll
you see him. He kind o* charms you, you let him."

"Well, no navy man'd charm no army man I ever hear'n tell of. But
he better charm somebody right proper if he wants to get some boats
built. You want to sign a petition to keep Elliot commander o' the Erie
fleet?**

"No.**

"Well, it don't matter. The militia all signed an* so did some o' the lads
down to Presque Isle. I jest wanted to get you started right, boys. How
Txmt you, straw-hair?"

"No," Chid said, "Fm started right I was a couple of times. It's the
way I end up that bothers."

"Jesus! You talk like an old man, mister.'*

After supper, the drivers were called and paid off by a paymaster's
clerk. The freight had been loaded into the hold of a small one-gun
schooner which lay alongside a log bulkhead at the basin. Some of the
men tried to sleep. The cooks scraped their pots and hung them on
rafter pegs, in a row of copper suns. The barracks was becoming stifling
hot, the stench strong and vile.

There was no rum at the post; and, tonight, no songs. It was a waiting
time, and in it there was a vague apprehension. Chid had wanted to
write to Mary; he had been thinking about it all day. But he made no
effort to get at it. There was nothing to say save one thing, and it didn't
seem right to put such a matter coldly down on paper. He would have
liked to talk to Mary as he had to that girl of last night. Talking to her
had given him a peculiar satisfaction. He had never before put into
words some of the things of his mind and his heart. Doing so somehow
sorted them out and let him think clearer. Some of the things which
he had clung to and counted as important and essential became much
less so when put into words.

He recalled, sitting here waiting, the long talks he used to have with
Moses Leet. He owed a lot to them. They had kept his two feet firmly on

144

the ground and made his approach to his trade sane and real and proud.
He thought that when Moses returned he would talk with Mm again as
he used to. Only not about shipbuilding. Moses and Aunt Leety had
made a good life o it. They knew the secret and had always stood for
the kind o a family which Chid had wanted and pictured for himself.

Chid wondered if man could really toss over every dream and desire
he had and still come out on top. This war, up here, was a close, terrible
thing. He'd talked with men all along the Great Genesee Road and
heard their bitter stories of brothers lost and houses burned, farms rot-
ting and weed-grown because the men had gone off to fight. Sometimes
he wished that he could answer his question on the basis of right or
wrong. He suspected that he was wrong, as Nez had so outspokenly
told him. But he couldn't forget other men who used the war and every-
thing else they could to better themselves; Fish and Leflferts, gouty old
Chauncey, perhaps even this young Lieutenant Elliot who permitted a
petition of advantage to himself to be circulated. He was confused. Moses
Leet could help him. All Chid needed was a reason, a good compelling
reason to hold against that instinctive yardstick that he placed against
almost everything.

Sylvester Tatro's cold was very bad. He was a kd of sixteen, slight of
build and wiry; Nez's type, now a second-year apprentice. He hadn't
eaten in two days. His eyes were dull and listless, and from deep in his
chest came a frightening wheeze and rattle.

Chid made a poke of his stocking hat and filled it with hot floor sand
which he heated in an iron kettle over the crane. He kept the sand bag
on Sylvester's chest and back, as Aunt Leety had so often done for him.
The boy slept after a while, quietly, his brow turned damp and cold.

Chid was just rolling him gently over, changing the sand bag, when
Mr. Brown and the two foremen came in. A militia officer and Lieuten-
ant Elliot, who was a sharp-eyed small man of perhaps twenty-five in
an immaculate naval uniform, were with them. There was trouble on
the faces of all of them.

"Boys/' George Carmody said, "plans have changed. We shouldn't
have picked up that Indian; he had a message from Chauncey. It kind
of busts things up."

"What now, George?"

H5

"Chauncey has ordered us to Sackett's Harbor."

"The hell you say! What In nation for?"

"Lieutenant JElllot says he always does, just to look us over an* keep
the best for his own yard. Everything clears through him. The lieutenant
here's furious, but he can't do anything about it."

"Well, damned if I came to this heathen country to go into a museum.
I came to help the nation an', by Jesus, I will! My old woman'd be fit
to ax; she Evin' on her Pap again jest so's I could serve."

"Shut up, Art! You talk Independent's a militiaman."

"Well, I'm a freeman, ain't I? I don't have to take no orders from
gold braid."

"None o* us do. But, by snum, if we're sincere *bout helpin* the nation
we ought to do what they want us to. No matter what, we got to have
a leader, seems if."

The men argued back and forth. Chid thought that it was their right
to. After all, considered as a group, the shipbuilders were here as a result
of patriotic appeal; they had been told that there was a vital job to be
done and that no one in America could do it but themselves. "Museum
pieces!" Paph North snorted. "Hah! I don't fancy tellin* my gran'childer
'bout this, I don't."

Noah Brown stood by the fire, his face black and clouded. It was not
the first time that he had been hampered by petty military authority,
and he thought often that the military had far too many personal stakes
involved in making war decisions. Here was Isaac Chauncey, jealous of
his rank, protecting his personal honor and his chances of advancement
by robbing a neighboring base. On the other hand, the continued control
of Lake Ontario was essential to the large effort. Brown's own loyalties
were seriously challenged. By inclination he wanted to build Perry's
fleet, to start out fresh and new, to create. To create had always been
the greatest lure of his trade. But he could also understand the wisdom
of authority, and he could understand, too, the rights of his shipbuilders
to decide for themselves.

Nez came to Chid, talking close to his ear. "Sackett's Harbor's too
civilized for us, Chid," he whispered.

Chid nodded. Sometimes he almost forgot about the trouble that hung
over their heads. It was remote in miles and, somehow, in time, too.

146

"It would be reserve duty/* Nez said. "Easy's sleepln*. Chid, you ain*t
thlnkin* o ? goin f , are you?"

"No," Chid said. "I don't want to go there. Nez, Chauncey ain't our
boss, Is he?"

"Hell, no! Uncle Noah Is, an* no one else, Chid. I'm with him, so
long's It ain't SackettV*

"It was what I was thinking, Nez," Chid said. "Come on, we'll put
it up to him."

Mr. Brown was appreciative. He said that the men were free citizens
and could do as they liked; even go home, as some of the men said they
were going to. He didn't wholly blame any man; It was a stupid hard
thing to whip men Into a patriotic fervor, cart them four hundred miles
Into bitter winter and privation, and then tell them their sacrifice wasn't
wanted after all.

"Nez an' I," Chid said, "are going to Presque Isle anyway. There'll be
some others, too, I reckon, sir/*

Mr. Brown said nothing. He looked at Chid with a new awareness.
"You were such a cocky youngster down In Portersvilie,*' he said soberly.
"What's corne over you, Chidsy?"

"Nothing," Chid said.

But something had; Chid couldn't say what. He knew he wasn't going
down to that remote base just to get away from his trouble. It was some-
thing more than that; something bigger and finer, which he did not
understand. "I just want to, I guess/' Chid muttered, and Nez clapped
him on the back and said, "Chid, you're amazin'. Damned if you ain't!"

Chid and Nez went to the fireplace. Oddly, each knew what the other
was doing, though neither had mentioned it. Chid climbed into his
great-coat, the same which he had worn in the cemetery on the day Asa
Tatum had been buried, still showing the burned patches from the stable
fire which had killed Old Beemis.

He had come a long way since then, a long way in thinking and
experience. He had tasted of the power of leadership. He put on his fire-
warmed moccasins and eased their hardness by pacing the length of the
room. His seabag was over his shoulder, his few belongings making a
small flabby sack. He could feel the men watching him, feel the crystal-.
Bzation of thdr resolves flow about him and what he represented. It had

147

been so on the Blessed Cause when, by his own declarative act, he had
started that mutiny which for both sides was a decision at last.

He stopped in front of Mr. Brown.

"Where's the boat that's to take us, sir?"

"Where you heading Chid?" a man called.

"To Presque Isle, of course," Chid said easily. "It's where I agreed to
go, ain't it? I'm working for Noah Brown, man, no one else."

"Well spoke, by God, Chid Alwyn! I'm with ye."

"Follow the path to the river," Mr. Brown said quietly.

"Aye, aye, sir," Chid said and crossed the room to the door.

Nez and Antoine were beside him, dressed for the night. Sylvester
Tkro cried out from his blanket pallet and started to struggle into his
outer clothing. Mr. Brown still stood at the fire. His face was no longer
worried. More than half the men joined Chid at the slab door. With
sudden determination Mr. Brown put on his fur coat and, taking up his
writing folio and a large roll of linen-paper drawings, strode through the
door and down the path to the boat basin.

Chid followed, Mr. Brown's words ringing in his ears. They were
good words, warming and comforting, that Mr. Brown had spoken as
he passed. "I could not have done it in the face of that order, Chid; it
was up to the men themselves. I'm grateful to you, more than I can say
right now." But it wasn't the words alone. It was the look in Mr.
Brown's eyes and the sudden sincere pressure o his hand on his arm.
It moved Chid strangely.

Twenty-nine men gathered on the snow-covered deck of the little
gunboat. The others had elected to go home or take the easy berths at
Sackett's Harbor, though nobody had said so outright, just reckoned
they'd better follow orders. The militia officer was profane in his dam-
nation of those with Chid and had threatened Mr. Brown with arrest;
things that nobody took seriously. Elliot had been delighted, though he
couldn't show it before either shipbuilders or his brother officers.

The sailors were sorting the tool boxes, putting back on shore those not
claimed by the men on board. Sylvester Tatro had been carried below,
tears streaming from his eyes when Mr. Brown said he might come.
Moses Leet stood suddenly beside Chid, offering his hard horny hand.

"Good-by, Chid."
148

cs AIn't you with us, Moses ? w

"No, I'd like to be. But Noah asked me to take the other gang to
Sackett's. Fin glad to do it; it saves his face somewhat an' God knows.
Chid, Noah is needed at Presque Isle more'n any man on earth right
now. Ill be seein' you soon again, Chidsy, soon's I can get back where I
really belong." Moses hesitated in a curious pondering way, then sud-
denly looked directly into Chid's face. "Chid," he said, "that was the
Blessed Cause off in the river that raornin', wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Chid.

"Did you come from her?"

"Yes. She was a disappointment."

"I reckon so. I wasn't sure at first, but Fm glad you told me/*

"I was meaning to, Moses. I was figuring to have a long talk with you,
about a lot of things."

"You in trouble, Chid?"

"Some."

"Bad?"

"It might be. Does Mr. Brown know?*'

"No; he don't know the schooner an* so didn't connect you with it.
But Livy Bracket from Noank did an* told me so. Them Noank people
Is malicious gossip-mongers, Chid, an* they got minds can make up the
wickedest lies with no truth to go by 'tall. Fm takin' Livy to Sackett's
with me where he can't hurt you none. 1 *

"You're good, Moses," Chid said, meaning it sincerely. "You always
have been . . . well, like my father was."

"I ain't good, Chid. We love you, that's all; me an' Lib an' Mary, too;
like you was our blood. 1 ain't so old I don't recollect when I was young
an' full o' ginger. It was times jest like these be; a war on an* all o* us
kds still fightin' desperate for our individu'le plans. It got more confusin'
all the time till one by one we had to give our private notions up an*
combine to lick the thing which was hurtin' us alL Some never come
'round, an' we named 'em Tories an' traitors an' worse, an' some got
kilt an' some got bitter, an' most o* us never did catch up with our own
matters; but we created suthin* good an' beautiful, Chid. Liberty an'
freedom; they ain't idle words. Not to us. They're real as rocks an' iron
spikes an* life in your body. You couldn't figure on no future 'tall with-

149

out *em. Your aims ain't no different than anybody else's, Chid; it's on'y
that you're more stubborn than most in pursuin' *em. That's why you
got into trouble; that's why you'll get into more if you don't modify.
But, boy, it 'pears to me you got yourself set in the right trace now."

"I'm going to serve out my full apprenticeship."

"It's a good start, Chid. Don't fret about your trouble. Ill keep Livy
bowsed down at Sackett's. That Navy man on the schooner hinted you
ain't as guilty as might seem, an' was it peace times I'd say go an' get it
all cleared up legal. But right now, there's a bigger job to do first."

er [Jp here," Chid said, "what you said about Perry having my heart as
well as my labor kind of makes better sense, Moses. I can see where a
soldier has to be armed with more than just a musket, and a shipwright
with more than his tools. It sort of has me guessing."

"Be proud of it, boy. Don't question it; it's the good in you, like I say
you got. Chid, I got to leave now; Dobbins is makin' signs o' sailin'.
Good-by, my boy; good-by, Chid."

" 'By," Chid said, "an', Moses, come back. Mr. Brown needs you more
than any of us."

"Yes an* no," Moses said slowly. "I got some other ideas, an' I told
him o' them. Chid, when he speaks with you, listen sharp. I don't know
but what it'll set better with you than all this talk o* ours. Chid, good-by."

A sailor made the rounds of the cluttered deck, picking his way with
that springy tread of the seasoned mariner. A deep-water man, thought
Chid, and the only one I've noticed in this country so far.

"No lights or talk, gents," the sailor said as he reached the shipbuilders,
standing in a group amidships. "You don't want a farewell broadside
from Erie, do you?"

"Goddamned if I care," a New York man scowled. "The British might
run this country better'n you roosters up here are doin' it."

"Mister," the sailor quietly said, standing very still, "I'm twenty years
in this nation's Navy. Was I a plain civilian, I'd hammer you one for
that."

"Just try it!"

Chid felt a sudden desire to hit the New York man. He'd never before
wanted to, not for this offense, anyway. He might have, had not Lieu-

150

tenant Elliot sharply called for silence. The man slunk away in the dark-
ness, dropping below to the cabin.

The warps were drawn on board. The pilot dumped his pipe overside
and took his station at the tiller. Captain Dobbins ordered his men to the
low bulwarks, each with a long sweep reaching into the black waters o
the basin. Fort Erie was a silent blur against the snow-sheeted hills across
the Niagara, outlined faintly by the greenish glow which commenced
the nightly display of the Borealis.

"Give way together! Handsome, boys... like Perry hisself was here.
Pull for him., lads; for Perry, a Navy man an 5 a gentleman ... Jesus
Christ, how this damn Navy up here needs him!"

The gunboat moved silently into the river. Not an oar squeaked; not
a man missed stroke. Erie remained a sleeping watchdog only a fair
musket shot away.

In the open lake the vessel spread her dark sails and reached down
Erie shore to Presque Isle. She wasn't much of a ship; forty tons and
jerry-built. But Chid, feeling the life of her trembling through the deck
into his own body, smiled with a strange comfort. There would be real
ships for Erie now, great proud ships, built by shipbuilders and manned
by deep-water men, commanded by a Navy man and a gentleman. And
he'd help to build them.

Through all the confusion of his mind and the staggering experiences
of these weeks, that stood out with sudden satisfaction and promise. To
build ships; to feel the good feel of smooth, ash-handled tools once again,
with his own hands to make wood become useful and beautif ul . . . to
smell all the good smells of a good ship building. It was something real
and understandable, a new, fresh start.

His big mistake had been ever to get away from it. It was what had
been wrong with that horrible voyage on the Blessed Cause. He was a
stranger to her kind of a ship and her kind of people. That was what had
licked him; not understanding her. A man couldn't be licked by some-
thing that lie knew.

Chid faced the black night off the bow, the cold wind biting on his
right side. Ahead was Presque Isle, about as remote and distant a pkce as
a coastal man could think of. There was danger there, and intrigue, and
inefficiency and an almost hopeless job to be done. But that job was ship-

building; shipbuilding was the foundation of the place, and if a man
knew the foundation, loved it and understood it, no framework could
ever be built on it that would confuse or baffle him. He could measure
and weigh things then, good or bad, because he knew the scale to the
measure.

Chid went below feeling a personal new peace and hope. He couldn't
help feeling that he had someplace along the road gained some freedom.
He couldn't define it, or put his finger on it. Everything was the same;
he was still an apprentice with time to serve, he was in trouble, his
dreams had not been advanced one iota. But, nevertheless, Chid felt
better, inside, than he had in weeks.

It was long after ten o'clock, but the men still lounged on their seabags
under a swaying candle lantern in the low creaking hold. Sylvester alone
slept, rolled in blankets, in a hammock triced between the heel of the
foremast and a bulkhead which separated the compartment from the
rude after-trunk cabin.

They were guessing riddles, roaring at the stupid answers of some.
The New England men held up well, Chid noticed. They studied the
questions soberly, and if they answered at all it was to give a smart
answer or the right one. Moses Leet had taken Livy Bracket and five
other New England men with him. Four men had gone back over the
Great Road, disgusted and sick of their choice. Five of the New England
men remaining in the Presque Isle party were apprentices: Sylvester,
Bob Crown, Culver Coons, Tonk Slinker, and Chid. The rest were
journeymen, big lumbering Paph North, who reminded Chid somewhat
of Alec Drake; Honest Huntley, Tatum's best calker; the five other Con-
necticut men, and Nez. Nez didn't rate as anything. He had at one time
or another done about everything in the Tatum yard, not particularly
well unless he wanted to win a bet or have something to boast about.
Moses Leet used to call him the best striker he ever knew, though. Put
a man with Nez, and first thing you knew Nez, the helper, had his
team-mate working twice as hard just to keep up with him.

Antoine belonged to neither the New York, the Jersey, nor the Tatum
gang. He was a logger, strange to the talk and ways of salt-coast ship-
builders. His wound had been painful, and Chid could only guess how
152

he had suffered with it in silence. But tonight, like the rest, he was bright
and chipper as if this last link in the long journey was for him, too, a
beginning of something new and fresh.

"Now, you take two ships, a hundert miles apart, sailing smack again'
each other. One sails six miles the hour; t'other sails four how many
hours a'fore they meet?"

"Gripes! A man cain't do that in his head!"

"Well, figure it any way you want to. I got a shilling sez you don't do
it right in two minutes.'*

"Here's my shilling, damn it! It ain't no harder 'n figurin* some o' the
mold plans I been up against."

The schooner made comfortable noises, striding into the night. The
hold was warm with cozy body-warmth, and the candle in the lantern
was fat and bright. From aft came the low murmer of voices; Mr. Brown
and George Carmody were in the cabin making their plans, The tiller
creaked slowly as the pilot met the short lake seas. Chid couldn't think of
a thing more important to do than to solve that riddle. He didn't need
to figure it any place but in his head. A shilling was a good stake,
making his brain suddenly sharp and clear.

"Ten hours," Chid said. "Ten hours even"

"Damn you, Con-e-teecut! That's correck, blow me, 'tis!"

Chid pocketed the money with satisfaction. He had earned it. He had
had plenty of money lately, but he couldn't recall when he had earned
any. There was something different about this.

"Obliged to you," Chid said. "Now, I got one for you boys."

He rummaged in his breeks^pocket, and drew, out eight iron nails. He
spread them out on his left palm, showing them to the men. "How many
nails are there?" Chid asked.

"You're sly, feller! I ain't bettin' on that one."

"Come on. A dollar you don't call it right."

"Saints! It's like takin' candy from a gossoon. I got wits, me b*y, an'
they're better'n eyes right now. There's thuteen nails there; eight irun
ones an' five on your blasted fingers!"

"Nope, that ain't right, mister," Chid said.

"Ho! I can see, cain't I? How many do you say?"

"Fifteen," Chid said.

153

"Yer moon mad, complete. Eight an' five is thuteen any day."

"Listen," Chid said, saying it just right, "will you give me a dollar i
I'm wrong?"

"Sure I will, b'y!"

"All right," Chid said, "give over. I'm wrong."

"Well, be Gaisus! Hoodwinked! An' by a buckeen easter, too!"

The roar of laughter was good to hear. Chid pocketed the money.
*'You got to lay the word dollar in good and heavy," Chid pointed out.
"Kind o accent it to keep the man's mind away from the real meaning.
He'll fall for it every time. Mister, I'll give you back your money, you
want."

"By the Holy Mither, no! I learnt a dollar's worth, b'y."

Chid had two dollars now. Curiously, he didn't feel quite right about
the second one. He'd tricked it to him, not earned it. But there was no
sense pressing it on a man if he didn't want it. It was still a dollar and
right spendable.

The low door in the after-bulkhead opened, and George Carmody
poked his shaggy head into the hold. "Where's Chid Alwyn?" he asked.

"Here."

"Mr. Brown an' me want to see you. Aft here, boy."

Chid went into the cabin. Mr. Brown and Carmody sat at a swinging
table, papers strewn before them. Lieutenant Elliot dozed in a quarter-
berth along the sheathing, his uniform neatly folded on a sea chest.
Mr. Brown's seegar gave off thin gray smoke. He smokes a raft of them,
Chid thought, waiting for him to speak. I wonder if he's got enough to
last him up here in the wilderness?

"This upset has raised hob with our work schedules," Noah Brown
said in his direct way. "We've got to lay out some new ones,**

"Yes, sir."

"We need at least a hundred shipbuilders," Carmody said. "We round
up forty, and twenty-nine get where we need 'em."

"What's the matter with the gov'mint, anyway?"

"It ain't the gov'mint, Alwyn. It's some of the men that have sworn
to serve it. We got to build a fleet in spite of them. Boy, we need a
foreman."

"I'm not a foreman," Chid said. "I'm not even a journeyman."

154

"I wasn't till I tried," Carmody said. "Today I'll build you a forty-four
from a half -model and the boss's go-ahead."

"Someday I want to, too," Chid said.

"Chidsy/' Mr. Brown said, "we've got to build ships in a way that
they've never been built before; fast, of green wood, and with poor and
little help. I've told you these things before. Now, I don't want a man
that knows how to build ships too well. He'd have too much to unlearn.
You've got the fundamentals; I saw your ability to lead an hour ago
and you've got some unique ideas, according to Moses Leet. He never
approved of them much, Chidsy, but he was fair to say they'd come in
handy for this job. We talked it all over back in Portersville, but I wasn't
sure about you then. You had some unique ideas about other things, too."

"What ideas?"

"Why, about money and serving out your time and such. And, well,
this thing we call patriotism, Chidsy. What you did tonight at Black
Rock changed all that. It just took one man with courage and right-
thinking like that to sway the rest; I couldn't have ordered it, you under-
stand. It's the kind of thinking, the kind of loyalty and patriotism we
need up here even more than shipbuilding talent."

"Won't^ Chauncey raise ructions?"

"Loud, he will," Carmody nodded grimly. "But it don't matter. The
boys all came here as free citizens. Mr. Brown an' me have ships to
build; you're here and we hire you, that's all."

"Hire?" Chid asked.

"Yes, Chidsy," Mr. Brown said. "I think you'd be worth pay for the
extra work. I'd want you to take over the New England men and finish
off one of the three gunboats now building. You'd be boss of that hull,
free to use those short cuts Moses spoke about."

"What happens in August?"

"In August you're free. If you want to be."

"I've looked forward to it for five years," Chid said. "I'll want to be,
all right."

"Then it's settled?"

"Well"

"The pay is, say, ten a month."

"I wasn't thinking of that, Mr. Brown," Chid said, and it felt odd,

155

hearing himself say that. "I was wondering if a man might put together
one of those steamboats for fighting. Seems to me "

"Now, Chidsy," Mr. Brown said, his eyes twinkling, "we don't want
our ideas too unique."

"I reckon not, sir. But someday I want to build one."
"So do I," Noah Brown said warmly, "but first we've got to win this
war. It takes a free country to invent and develop such things, Chidsy.
We've got to keep it free right now; there's no time for anything else
until that's done."

"I can see it," Chid said. "I can see it more all the time."
George Carmody handed Chid a packet of drawings. They were
labeled "Gunboat Number 3; Lake Erie Fleet." Chid took them to the
lantern in the hold. He studied them all night, in a small, tight, pleasant
world apart from the snores and tossings of the shipwrights. He reck-
oned, come launching, she'd be about the best ship a man had ever built.
And burned into her stem post, by an ancient right, would be the initials
CA those of her master-builder.

156

Chapter Ten

FROM THE TINY slabwood shanty which was to be Chiefs home and office
for many months, he could, looking through the north sash, see the harbor
of Presque Isle. It was a broad flat bay, almost landlocked by a long
sprawling peninsula which extended from the mainland hookwise to
the northeast. From its tip, where a stone watchtower stood, the water
distance to the shore was less than a mile. At first he hadn't considered
it a very safe harbor. A good-sized attacking fleet could easily stand into
the bay in battle line, and it seemed entirely open to the violent north
and northeast gales. But that was before he knew about the bar.

The real protection of the naval basin was the bar. It extended from
the peninsula to the eastern shore a submerged sandy barrier only five
feet under the rippling waters, and there was but one deep channel over
it. The channel was, at this time of year, about twelve feet deep. Dobbins,
who held the naval rating of sailing master, and a few others alone know
its ranges. On the day that Chid arrived, still heady with the plans which
he had studied all through the night, Dobbins had almost missed the
channel. Chid had seen, like a sheer yellow wall alongside, the shadowy
edges of the submerged cliffs. But the gunboat had slithered through and
without touching rounded to a mooring in the deep, quiet waters of the
bay itself.

From that hour on Chid worked as hard and as long as he ever had
in his life. Only at noon, when the yard closed down for fifteen minutes
and Chid and his mates climbed the steep snow-covered bank to the rude
cookshed on the plain above the lake, was there any respite from the
long laboring day.

He could watch the building of the schooners from the window of
his shack. There were three of them slowly taking form, ranged on paral-

157

lei ways on the broad iced beach beside a clear stream called Lee's Run.
To the westward a few hundred yards, at the mouth of Cascade Creek,
Dobbins' country carpenters had built two rugged launching ways. The
heavy brigs which were to be built there were stijl pathetically small piles
of green timber at the ways head. George Carmody was in charge of
them.

Chid's gunboat was to be named the Arid. She consisted now of only
a long hand-hewn keel, a curved stem piece, and the predictions of
Orlando Hog, a fat, dour man from Bath.

"Y'understand, Mr. Alwyn," Hog told Chid, watching the retreating
figure of Noah Brown, "I didn't want to say nuthin' in front o' the boss.
But they's trouble with this here boat; bad, bad trouble. I done the best
I could so far."

"What kind of trouble, Mr. Hog?"

Mr. Hog slid his mittened hands into his leather apron belt.

"The plans," he said in a sly whisper. "Whoever made 'em don't know
boats. Jest don't know 'em, Mr. Alwyn. I've built arks an' I've built flat-
boats, ten o' them at least, sir, an* I ought to know. But these here plans
call for the bottoms o* this boat to be curved; round, like a barrel. Now,
ain't that suthin'?"

"It can be done, Mr. Hog," Chid said, not laughing. "Real shipbuilders
can build round bottoms as easily as flat bottoms. Have you ever been
down to the coast?"

"Durn correck, I have. Way down to Baltimore. But I didn't look par-
ticular at no boats there. You see, then I was a teamster an' not interested.
You mean to hint boats on the coast is round-bottom?"

"All of them, Mr. Hog. It means every piece of timber has to be
selected to fit the exact shape it's to take and then worked by hand. Of
course, plank and such we can steam to shape."

"Well, 111 be damned! Maybe them plans ain't so crazy, heh? John
Shallus's sawmill down to Waterford is cuttin' out timber. I give him
orders just like's if 'twas for a house or a barn. I declare! You know,
Mr. Alwyn, I was a bit sore when Noah Brown says you're to be in
charge. Dunno now but what he done me a favor, sort of. What you
want me to do, Mr. Alwyn?"

"Well, sharpen up your tools, Mr. Hog. It'll give me time to get ahold

158

of things. Have some o the boys move those planks around to north'ard;
they'll make some protection from the wind and speed things up. Take
my apprentices and set them to whittling trunnels the while. We've got
to be forehanded, kind of plan ahead of the men."
"That's all right if you know what you're doin', Mr. Alwyn."
"I reckon I do, Mr. Hog. A ship is only wood and iron and maybe
brains."

"Not up here, it ain't," Hog grinned sourly. "It's fightin* for tools an'
stock an' time an' keepin' your fingers crossed that them goddamn.' con-
tractors down to Pittsburgh send what the Navy men say they're to send.
An' you alwus got to hide your choice stuff lessen one o' Chauncey's
boys come by an' requisitions it."
"I reckon you and I can lick that, we try hard."
"I reckon! Mr. Alwyn, every spike I drive into this here boat is like
stabbin' an Injun to me. Two o' my relations is buried up on yonder
bank. They came last year, to fell trees an' get the yard ready, but they
never got away."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hog. But it'll make you a good workman, I reckon."
"Good! By Christ, Mr. Alwyn, the best. One was my own brother."
The place already looked like a shipyard. Thousands of flitch-sawn
planks lay stacked and air-drying, piled so they looked like the wigwams
of the Indian winter camp which Chid had seen on the River Mohawk.
Underfoot the chips and shavings made a soiled deep carpet over the
crusted snow. The busy forge of the only blacksmith at Presque Isle
smoked near the Cascade yard, and the anvil clanged cheerily in the thin
raw air. An oxen team crept from the dense forest which skirted the
shore along the edge of the clay bank and behind it snaked a stout,
trimmed oak log. Antoine rode the log, his red woolen cap bright against
the snow and his rich nasal voice raised in a French logger's lay.

Chid loved it. It was, in a sense, home. He understood this place. It
was friendly and warm. Its challenge did not scare him, and he faced
its problems boldly and with confidence. What had to be licked was not
sinister or evil. What had to be licked could be licked by courage and
faith and sweat and hard labor and brains. He felt keenly, those first
days, the goodness and the importance of what he was doing. He remem-
bered often Nez's sober words as they lay concealed beneath the tarpaulin

159

beside the boiler of the Firefly. Nez had felt the magic of Noah Brown's
great shipyard of the East River. It had made them both feel as if their
hands and wits had at last touched something understandable in the
midst of their black troubks. "I want to catch up with that feelin* again,"
Nez had said. "I want to go to Presque Isle an' work like hell an' feel
with the good folks o' this nation/' That was it; being counted, if only by
yourself, with the good people, with Noah Brown and faithful tireless
Dan Dobbins and Real Taylor, the naval rating in command of Presque
Isle's meager defenses, and with Captain Perry, with all these ship-
builders who had sacrificed and come to this bitter, remote post.

Chid found himself often gazing through the sash of the shanty in
fascination at what was being accomplished. His Ariel was the least
advanced of the three schooners at the Lee's Run yard. The other two
were already well in frame, growing ribs each hour. He wondered often
how so much progress had been made. No supplies of any kind reached
the winter-bound station. Supplies tools and spikes and iron and fit-
tings had all been ordered. But nothing came north from Pittsburgh;
nothing but an occasional dispatch bearer from Washington demanding
more speed. Nez, whom Mr. Brown had appointed a forager, spent his
days in the countryside beyond the near-by town of Erie searching for
food and milk, for clothing and medicines, for anything that he could
borrow, buy, or steal in the sparsely settled region south of the lake.
Antoine, cheerful and tireless now that his wound had healed and he
had ceased his eternal blood-letting, took charge of the timber-cutting.
His time was spent in the forest, searching out the oak and pine and
chestnut and larch the builders required. He worked always with paper
patterns in hand, exact tracings of the crook or knee required; and the
measurements were not indicated by numerals but by ax-handle lengths,
for Antoine, like Nez, could not read.

Noah Brown, after his first survey, plodding slowly over the snow with
his assembled foremen, had become more depressed at each step. He had
spent the entire afternoon writing letters demanding material and men
to Commodore Chauncey, to Congress, to the President, and a long sad
report to Captain Perry, still on the coast gathering the force of seamen
and gunners for these ships yet unbuilt.

It was almost dark when he sealed the last letter. Chid, coming to

160

warm himself and to demand his share of the few spikes available,
watched him with sympathy. On this quiet man's shoulders were all
the problems and worries and heartaches of not one but five ships.

"Nez and two Tuscaroras are reported on the road, Mr. Brown,"
Chid said.

"Let's hope it's beef at last," Mr. Brown said quietly. "How are your
men taking the short rations, Chid?"

"Good. They're used to it, I guess. If they growl I set 'em a double-
hard job."

Mr. Brown smiled. "A man can't work if he doesn't eat, Chid. Let's
see what Nott brought in. He's a great lad, Chid. It gives me heart just
to hear him take an order. Never a gripe, never a scowl. I am indebted
to you for fetching him along."

Nez and the two Indians were pushing through the snow ruts in the
path outside. Each Indian led a horse dragging a travois. The loads were
heavy, swaying under their hide covering.

"What you got, Nez?" a workman called, leaning on his adze.

"Gals," Nez cried. "Prime gals, bound an' gagged an' not touched
by no man yet! You boys keep to your work. I ain't tradinV

"You can have 'em, Nez!"

"Christ, Nez! Whyn't you fetch fodder? Gals hah!" a man from the
Ariel snorted.

"These gals is extry special, Davey. They can split logs an' do chores
an' set a man so to ease he thinks he's in Jemmy Madison's Congress.
Wait'll you see."

Nez's load was a horse-operated pit saw. He had discovered it near a
mill site in the Donation Lands along the road south to Waterford. It
was rusty and the beam was dozzy and cracked, but it would save hours
of laborious sawing with the two-man plank saws.

"No beef, then, I take it, Nott?" Mr. Brown inquired.

"No, sir. I got two milk cows located, though. But this seemed kind of
essentialer."

"It almost is, I swear. But we must have some beef soon."

"Tomorrow," Nez promised. "Mr. Brinkerhoff wants twenty dollars
a head. That's plain robbery. You say the word, Uncle Noah, an' they
won't cost you a copper."

161

"No/ 5 Mr. Brown laughed. "I guess you had better pay for them,
WeVe enemies enough to the north and the west without rousing our
own countrymen against us."

Nez looked ruefully at his snowshoes. "It would've been more fun, jest
spookin' *em off. It gets me sore, everybody raisin' prices the minute I
heave in sight. You'd think they'd catch on that this hull fleet's bein'
built jest to protect 'em, wouldn't you?"

Noah Brown did not answer. It was but one more proof to him of the
general indifference of the entire nation to the war effort along the
northern border. It was as if the nation, led by Congress itself, had
abandoned this place which alone could stave off the invasion from the
north. The British were known to be preparing a formidable fleet across
the lake with which to open and protect a permanent supply line to their
army which had captured Detroit. If they succeeded, if these five small
vessels which he must complete and arm and man in such a short period
failed, then the nation must be cut in two; then America must face
blockade from the west by land as well by sea from the east. Already
he had word of the great nineteen-gun Detroit, in frame at Maiden, in
Canada, and of the building of her supporting gunboats along the north-
ern shore of Erie. It was for him a shipbuilder's race. He dispatched his
letters by Indian runners with a feeling of discouragement. It was so
difficult to make those far-off men, secure in their warm homes, under-
stand that their canvas and cordage and copper and guns and blocks
were needed now, that no navy in God's world could hold Erie unless
it first had ships.

"I need iron for to hang my rudder," Chid said, "and oakum any day
now."

"You know the state of the storehouse," Mr. Brown said wearily.
"I'm expecting stores of all kinds daily. Somehow, they just don't seem
to get here, Chid."

"I guess I understand," Chid said. "Maybe some of those short cuts
you mentioned would come in handy about now."

"Perhaps they would, Chid. I leave it up to you."

It added an extra problem to the building of the schooner, but Chid
attacked it with a savage glee. Somehow it made the vessel even more his
own, this necessity to fight for material as well as time and loyalty and
162

courage. The Arid, though she had commenced to grow only weeks
after her two sister ships were recognizable as ships, was not far behind
them. Licking them, beating the time of his rival foremen, gave him a
fierce delight. His gang, led by Paph North and the willing but clumsy
Mr. Hog, caught his spirit and made a race of it. By the end of the
month the Ariel was planked. Her clean pine deck was laid, with the
exception of a curious circular well amidships which had the other fore-
men guessing. The well did not appear in the plans. It was partly Chid's
own notion. The butt blocks were being fastened and doublings for the
rigger's fittings morticed into the strong oak frame members. Overside,
in the lee of the hull, where the sun beat warmer each day, Tonk Slinker
and Culver Coons, working under the keen eye of Honest Huntley,
roughed out the spars from tall, straight pine logs.

It was a month which Chid never forgot. Dog-tired and hungry as he
was most of the time, he could always turn to the Ariel and draw more
strength and resolve from her. He never tired of watching her grow,
watching her hourly become prouder and braver and lovelier. One day
in mid-month Captain Perry arrived from Sackett's Harbor. Chid did
not see him for several weeks. He did not particularly need to or want
to. He could draw all the courage he needed from the Ariel, from the
men who labored beside him from dawn to flare-lighted night.

By the first days of April he reckoned he was ready to launch. He still
needed the oakum and rudder iron. But with luck, he'd beat those other
two boats by a week. After that he knew what he wanted to do, though
he hadn't worked up the courage to mention it to Mr. Brown yet.

The shanty was a pleasant place; warm now, even without the constant
bucket of live charcoals from the forge under the board table on which
Chid did his laying out. Flies buzzed at the sash; already a man could
swat mosquitoes outside, get in practice for the swarms that the natives
promised by May when the lake began to fall, and, in the lee of the
material piles and the hulls of the ships themselves, new grass, pak and
yellow and short, sprouted from the mud.

Chid carved at a wooden model, whittling with his familiar third-
round gouge the soft, silky pine block. Next to drawing, which Chid

163

was only beginning to be handy at, there was nothing like a model to
show a man how something was to be made.

He reached to a peg above the door frame and took down a cowhorn
which Antoine had made for him. It was part of the system, the time-
saving system, of which Chid was so proud. He blew it twice. Twice
was for Paph North at the last of the decking.

Paph looked, at the model and shrugged. "I dunno* Chid," he said, "I
think What in hell is it, boy?"

"A revolving gun platform. Paph, you built one on that navy boat
Asa Tatum did last year. This is an improvement on it."

"Not me, I didn't, Chid. I wasn't on that hull. How's it work?"

Chid showed him, explaining the model. It looked like a flat wooden
wheel on a pivot, supporting a wheelless gun carriage. North wasn't
impressed, though he'd learned not to disagree with this youngster who
was his boss. Chid didn't take kindly to disagreement, especially when
it came to not agreeing with one of his new ideas. But Paph had to
admit to himself that without some of those ideas the Ariel would still
be a wooden skeleton insead of the most advanced vessel in the yard.

"We sink it in the deck amidships," Chid said, his eyes gleaming.
"Stick a couple of iron straps on the edges and turn her with a pair of
capstan bars. It's six times as fast as swinging and aiming a carriage gun."

"Wherell you get the iron?" snorted North.

"Well ... make wooden straps, Paph."

"Gripes! Them boats ain't nuthin' but wood; you'll be calkin* "em
tight with wood and riggin' 'em with wood yet,"

"Well get supplies, any day now," Chid said, wondering how many
times they had all said that. "Paph, take Bob down and get at this thing."

"I ain't finished matchin' to the king plank for'ard,"

"Never mind. Honest and I will do that under flares tonight. You
do this."

"All right," Paph said dubiously. "But I think you'll shoot the masts
outen your own boat with this contraption."

"Not if you make it like the model. See it's off the fore-and-aft center
line. You can shoot fair ahead or fair astern, and no gunboat'd be fool
enough to show his broadsides to an enemy."

"Well, that's different." Paph shrugged. "Chid, how in nation are we

164

goln' to get this fleet ready, anyhow? God, I need everything you can
mention. Brown hollers an 3 Elliot hollers an' you holler iron, spikes*
paint, blocks, rope; anything your bloody plans say! But them things
just ain't here, Chid. They're in Chauncey's museum, or on the way, or
jest ordered!"

"Brown and Perry are down to the Pennsylvania towns now, trying
to open a supply line from there. It's been bad, having everything clear
through Sackett's Harbor; it leaves us only wood to work with," Chid
said.

"Gripes! The Pennsylvania towns ain't far enough. Washington, that's
where they ought to head. Right to Congress or somebody who'd give a
continental for us up here."

"We're getting some stufl from Black Rock, any time now. Dan
Dobbins went after it in the sloop. More men are coming from Phila-
delphia."

"You got to show me," North growled. "I'm fair sick o' this chore.
An* there's others, too. Them New Jersey fellers on the far brig's ready
to quit."

"You can quit any time you want," Chid said, watching North.

"God in the mountains! I do, boy. Right now." North threw his calk-
ing mallet savagely on the floor and dusted his hands. "When's they a
sloop boat leave east?"

"There ain't none, not that will take quitting shipbuilders, Paph.
You'll have to leg it."

"Hunh! Through that Indian country south, alone? Not me."

"Well, maybe you better stay then, Paph," Chid grinned and handed
him the mallet. "Nez and Antoine have some deer coming in, I hear
from the cook."

"Venison!" Paph grunted and grinned sheepishly. "Chid, you're too
smart for me."

Chid watched Paph resume his work on the gunboat. It wasn't venison
nor fear of Indians that had sent North back to work. Chid couldn't say
exactly what it was. He supposed most of the growling men, like Paph,,
just growled and never intended to make good on their threats. But if
you drove them, tried to make them eat their words, they became sud-
denly stubborn and proud, was it? and really might quit. You had to

165

give them an out, a handle upon which to fix their rationalization. Like
venison. Let them growl and sputter; then give them a handle. It was all
part o shipbuilding, o foremanship.

But he must leave a note on the shingle or, better yet, find Nez at
Stone's in the town and warn him that venison was expected. Paph
North was a dullard and a sour man, but you couldn't lie to him.

Chid hated the guard duty. He felt that it wasn't his job. Right now he
and Honest ought to be matching the last of the deck planking into that
king piece. Really, he wanted to do that; his hands seemed always to itch
for the feel of tools. It had been a hard job, selecting the right stock for
the vital member, laying out the long oak plank and carefully figuring
the exact angle of each stepped jog. But he'd done it, studying the thing
over all of one night and giving the paper pattern to Honest Huntley
the next morning with keen satisfaction and pride. He'd forgotten that
he had guard mount when he'd told North he would complete that job
tonight.

Chid finished his flip. Duncan's Erie Hotel was crowded tonight as
always. Mr. Stone, who had bought the place cheap from Duncan when
the war had scared him away, had done a fine business ever since the
shipbuilders had arrived. Three days ago Sailing-master Taylor had
brought eighteen thirsty sailors into town; more carpenters were expected
daily; and sometimes the patrol gunboat, from Black Rock, lay in over-
night and gave her men liberty. Duncan's was the gathering place for
them all, and Stone didn't give a care whether the Erie civilians patron-
ized him or not.

"We got some extry good Jamaica came up today, mister," Stone men-
tioned to Chid. "You want to give it a try?"

"No," Chid said, "I got to go on sentry duty in twenty minutes."

"A waste o' time, mister. A damned waste o 5 time. That's Taylor's
idea guardin' the place from a few drank Injuns. If the British come,
it'll be by the lake, an' well all have time to skedaddle south. Whyn't
you tell Taylor to go scratch hisself ?"

"I can't. I'm still an apprentice, and Brown posted orders for us. Listen,
how can you get all the rum you want up from the coast while we can't
even get a keg of spikes through?"
166

"Why, hell, up the Allegany, the Connewango; then French Creek an'
carry to the Erie shore. Nuthin' to it till the water gets low in the fall.
Your trouble is at tuther end; you ain't got the suppliers back o* you
like I have."

Chid agreed bitterly and paid his score. He was still spending from the
first dollar he had won from the carpenter coming up from Black Rock
on the navy schooner. He was saving his wages against the time of his
freedom. About the first thing he'd need then would be some money.

Chid walked to the sentry house south of the closely huddled village,
sloshing through the thawing mud. To the northwest he could see the
dancing orange flares of the Cascade shipyard. Work proceeded there
until far into the night. Some of the men, like himself, simply worked
until they dropped. Counting in the men they had found at work, there
were still only fifty-five carpenters. Chid felt a constant amazement at
the amount of work that they had accomplished.

Peepers were singing in the swale ponds, becoming silent as he ap-
proached. Their song reminded him of calking mallets, pounding musi-
cally on a raw hull. Right now such music should be coming from the
yards. It would be, once that long-delayed oakum arrived. Thinking
about that stupid delay could make Chid mad any time.

Sailing-master Real Taylor was captain of the guard. Me was about
Chid's own age, a serious, sober chap who seldom smiled. Knowing him
was the only pleasant thing about the irksome guard duty which was his
for four hours every fifth night. Real Taylor was one of Perry's junior
officers, trained at the Newport station. He and two other officers had
brought one hundred and forty deep-water tars from there; experienced
sailors and gunners and firemen and pikemen. But Chauncey had kept
all but eighteen and sent him on to Presque Isle.

"Evenin*, Real," Chid said, entering the log sentry post.

"Hello, Chid. I had word you fellows weren't coming up."

"From who?"

"Carmody. He said the Cascade yard men had kicked; it was the gov-
ernment's job to guard the place. The deuce of it is, he's right.'*

"Any of the Arid men refuse?"

Real consulted his watch schedule and shook his head.

167

"No. There's none on tonight. Tomorrow night North from eight to
twelve, and your Canuck from midnight to four."

"The Canuck's in the woods, trying to find me some larch for
stanchion braces. Don't count on him, Real. If North don't show up,
let me know. I can boss my own gang at least."

"I wish I could count on all you foremen like that, Chid. And the
civilians. They're the worst. Perry was mad as a hurt she-bear when
he found this place unguarded. He gave me the job of organizing a
civil guard. I've got six men, but they're usually drunk as owls. I don't
like to have to call on your chaps, but I can't do different."

"It's all right by me," Chid said.

Chid had found a certain satisfaction in the idle four hours of the
duty, however. The nights were now balmy and starlit, and it gave
him a chance to think clearly. Sometimes, in the rush of work on the
Ariel, a whole day would speed by and, tired as a fox-run hound dog
at night, Chid would realize that his thoughts that day had not once
been on himself or his problems. On sentry duty, propped against a tree
or nestled into a bough windbreak, he had time to clear his mind. But
even then it did not always work. Often his thoughts went back to the
Ariel and to the short cuts he planned for her.

"Where'Il I guard tonight?"

"Take the Le Boeuf Pike, at the Cobalt Rill ford, Chid. Don't hamper
the civilians; they're only drunk. But check the Indians half of them
would be with the British if they could connect. Perry's afraid of an
Indian organization behind us.'*

"Same signal?"

"Yes; two and one, quick's you can load."

The man that Chid relieved was a civilian, a slouching, loose-jointed
tavern hanger-on, smelling now of stale whisky. He had a good fire
going, right on the corduroy road, and mentioned that the bough bed to
leeward of it was still warm from himself.

"You oughtn't to make a fire there," Chid said. "Somebody built that
road."

The man laughed, showing brown tobacco-stained teeth.

"Hell's fire, mister," he croaked. "You should talk. Think what they're

168

goln* to do to them ships you're bulldln*. If that ain't waste* what Is?"

"Anything happen on this post so far?"

"Nope. But they's goin 5 to. Two men will be along arter a while.
They'll be wantin' to see you."

"What for?"

"Dunno, mister. I was to tell 'em when you was on a post they could
reach 'thout bush-whackin'. Tonight you are. Be polite to *em. Goo'
night."

Chid kicked the lire over to the sod and stretched out on the cedar
boughs. He wanted to think of a shipyard site that he had found on the
bay inside the peninsula. It was a dandy; much better than even the
navy-yard site on Cascade Creek. The shore shelved gently, and the hard
shingle extended deep into a high, firm earth-and-stone bank* There was
deep water a rod off shore. A man could build up to six large hulls
there at a time. From the high bank he could, without a derrick, drop
material right on deck, or step masts with a minimum of the man-
handling which consumed so much time and energy in the usual yard.
A gully to the east provided a natural road for teaming, and there was
plenty of space where the bank curved closer to the shore for a forge,
the sail and molding lofts, and the necessary shipyard outbuildings.
With four or six stout stringers on A-bucks, from the bank to the hull,
you could slide even such things as heavy iron boilers and steamboat
machinery into a ship without much trouble.

It was funny the way his mind kept running to steamboats. He knew
nothing about them and, until the voyage on the Firefly, had felt much
as Antoine did about them. Down on the coast they were unknown, not
being in any way fit for sea voyaging, though Mr. Fulton had one on
Long Island Sound, and Chid had heard a fantastic tale of one running
down the Jersey coast to the Delaware. But the Firefly had run well
even In floe ice. Chid remembered her chuffing past the tied-up sloops,
It seemed to him in chuckling triumph. She wasn't much different in
build from the sailers which he knew so well; a mite of extra kneeing
and frame-backing around the heavy steam plant and double bilge-
stringers; that was all. He had, as he had watched the Firefly's revolv-
ing water wheels, seen several places where some thrust bracing would
have been helpful. In New York Bay, when the steamboat had rolled,

169

lifting one paddle high, there had been a cruel twist to the hull. Chid
would have liked the time to study it out, to devise a hog brace or a
wrench keelson to eliminate that twist.

But a steamboat up on the lakes here that was a different proposition
than on the ocean. The seas were short and steep, and Chid doubted
that they would build up to the giant ocean combers which could seize
a steamboat by the water wheels and capsize her. He toyed with the
idea, watching the flames lick at the hardwood slash of the sentry fire.
It was not a new idea tonight. He had thought about it often at odd
moments. But not completely; he had reached no conclusions.

Chid had been surprised entirely by the country he had come over.
It was not as unsettled as he had imagined. The Genesee Country, for
example, was only fifteen years old; yet there had been good settlements
all the way to Geneva. Though he hadn't actually seen the village part
of it, he understood that Black Rock was growing steadily. At New
Amsterdam, passing through it in the sunset that night, there were
plenty of houses, some of brick or stone. He'd seen a schoolhouse there,
and a tight market section on a wide street called Schimmelpennick
Avenue. A gossipy man had told him, as the horses were being watered,
that New Amsterdam had been planned like Washington, and by the
same man, a Frenchy named UEnfant, with ninety-foot avenues radiating
from a center, connected by streets sixty-six feet wide. There was agitation
afoot to call the place the City of Buffalo, because the bison passed over
the near-by traces in extensive herds to and from the salt licks at the
Hepatic and Inflamable Springs to the northeast. The man had shown
them a newspaper, of that day's date, called the Buffalo Gazette, to prove
it. The trouble, though, he had admitted, was communications roads
and good water routes. It was the trouble with all the new towns round
about, he said.

Presque Isle, too, was a surprise to Chid. Not that the place was any
more than predicted. It was centered about an ancient ruined French fort
and peopled by trappers and hunters and fishermen; a frontier society just
beginning to think of itself as a permanent settlement. What surprised
Chid was to find the place an outpost not of New York State, but of
Pennsylvania and Maryland and Virginia. The village of Erie shopped
to the south, not by way of the lake and New York on the coast*

170

All o Mr. Stone's rum and supplies came up from that way, by flat-
boats and arks and teams. Mr. Brown and Captain Perry evidently had
made the same mistake that Chid had thought of the supply route the
long way.

Someday, Chid reckoned, this lake country would be as open as the
thickly settled seacoast or the Genesee lands; a stagecoach would run
through three or four towns before changing horses. Lake Erie already
had Buffalo and Detroit, though the British held that place now, and
Black Rock was growing; there were some good settlements to the west
and across the lake. Beyond Erie there were three other huge lakes.
Thinking of this vast area as being settled from the south, not the east,
left Chid with an odd feeling of promise. He toyed with that shipyard
idea with a peculiar new hope.

It was an engaging notion, a trained shipwright starting a shipyard
way up on a wilderness lake not yet settled. Building steamboats. On a
lake they'd do all right, linking up those towns; perhaps, in time, drive
sail away, as some people held they would do on the Hudson. Chid could
almost see the yard, spread out before his eyes as if he viewed it from a
great height. Behind the yard, on the bank, was a neat white dwelling
house, under shade trees with a well-worn footpath to the lofts and ways
on the shore. It was the first time that his dream had taken such definite
shape, assumed location and dimension and detail. He found it a heady
dream.

It would get him away from that trouble down at salt; or at least
fend it off for a long time, perhaps forever. There would be no competi-
tion; not for years. It was a danged challenging idea worth thinking
about some more, thought Chid comfortably. Of course, he'd have to
have money, and somebody would have to wake up and drive these
British back where they belonged.

Chid heard voices down the corduroy road coming from the south. He
threw shredded bark on the fire for light and scrambled to his feet. Six
men came out of the forest, shuffling along with the weary pace of far-
travelers. They had sticks over their shoulders, and their bundled clothing
hooked over them. Chid reckoned they were nipped; they sure sounded it.

"Who goes there?"

"A-r-r! Boys, Fd say we'd arruv. Who wants to know, mister?"

171

"Civil guard of Erie/' Chid said, feeling silly; "I'm supposed to check
on everybody going through."

"Well, go ahead an* check, sonny. You want a drap fust?"

"No, thanks. I just want to know who you fellers are and where you're
going; that's all"

"Well, sir, this here is the right hon'rable Sid Lomax, late baron o*
lower Weehawken, heir to all the toads on Hackensack Plank road; a
gempmen an' a Jersey man, sir. An* this here noble gent, what belches
so constant, is none other than Prince Luddy White o' "

"Quit it, mister. Are you the block-makers and riggers from Phila-
delphia?"

"Dammit, you guessed it, sonny."

"Where's the rest of you? Thirty are expected."

"Where, indeed? Well, I'll tell you. They're mostly still to Pittsburgh
like we ought to be. Jesus, what a trip! No gals, no decent likkor nor pay
nor consarn for us. Them as had sense enough to stay sober quit long
ago."

"Mr. Brown expected you three weeks ago. Where you been?"

"Restin'; just restin' along the way. Travelin' time's on him, ain't it?
Mister, where's Presque Isle at?"

"Just follow this road a piece," Chid said, feeling renewed disgust.
"The flaresll be the shipyard. Ask for George Carmody; he's in charge
right now. Where are your tools?"

"Hell, how should we know? We give *em over to a flatboat man at
Pittsburgh who said he'd bring 'em. You take yer job damn' serious,
sonny."

"A-yep," Chid said with bitterness. "Damn' serious."

The six riggers lurched toward Erie, calling and hooting like rowdy
boys at a barrel-burning. Of the seventy shipworkers promised from the
coast since Chid's arrival, these six were the only ones to reach Erie.
Isaac Chiauncey had held onto some of them. But this contingent had
been routed north directly to Presque Isle, not by way of New York
State. Chid supposed that the real trouble lay deeper than Chauncey's
selfishness; that it lay, too, in the inefficiency and disinterest of the poli-
ticians and the timid Navy Department. It was getting to be an old
story, disheartening and discouraging. Chid wondered often how Captain
172

Perry, and Noah. Brown, too, found the heart to drive ahead with the
building and the naval plans.

Chid turned to thinking about the Ariel with relief. She was real and
steady and solid, a physical object that would remain unchanged except
to grow as he himself directed. He reckoned that he would send Antoine
to scout up some casks in the farming country to the southeast and rig
them in the crosstrees as he had on the Blessed Cause. Only there would
be real United States Marines to man them, perhaps with sea experience
on a frigate; not the depraved mercenaries of George Lefferts.

There was not much sense in dreaming about a mythical shipyard oa
the bay. That was as hopeless almost as dreaming about those stores ex-
pected for so long; or the whereabouts of the tools of those drunken rig-
gers; or how the fleet could be finished before the lake went down so
far that the ships couldn't be gotten over the bar. Chid couldn't help feel-
ing, remembering all the disappointments and the growing depression of
Mr. Brown and Perry, that they all had been monstrously betrayed.

Nez Nott lay in- a wet gully beside a deer run which he had discovered
southeast of the Erie one day while driving pigs from Link CaswelFs
farm to the navy yard. He had meant to try for that deer for a long
time. It bedded each day in a thick hemlock swamp, using this run
from an orchard near the lake shore where it fed at night.

"I'm personally/' Nez muttered to himself, "damn' sick o* hog and
cow. Chid gets the notionest ideas, times. 'Venison/ he sez. 'Venison, for
my Ariel boys.* Gramp Nott, your fav'rite's sure goin' to be one o* the
Ariel boys when this buck's roasted."

He laid his musket carefully on the pine-needle-covered sod, covering
the run. It was almost dark. A thin yellow streak of daylight remained in
the western sky, and the stars were beginning to sparkle overhead.

Nez was happy. The assignment of foraging had removed the one
great distaste from his resolve to work hard. He had visualized work
at Presque Isle only as shipbuilding. He did not dislike shipbuilding; it
was only that he doubted his ability to remain for any length of time at
one job.

There had been no monotony about his assignment. He now knew the
land about Erie as well as most of the natives. He seldom traveled the

173

same road twice and never knew exactly where hunger or night would
overtake him. It did not matter to him; all his life had been so, and Nez
would not have traded his lot with any man on the face of the earth.
That his talents could be of use to the nation and to Noah Brown, who
personified the entire war effort for him, gave him deep satisfaction. His
wanderings were unquestioned by any man. His task was but to find and
procure somehow whatever was needed at Presque Isle. So far he had
not failed once, though he was cautious about revealing the details of his
successes.

It was almost full night when Nez heard a faint stirring in the forest
gloom beyond the deer run. It was not the deer. Deer made noise only
in the autumn woods, never in wet spring. Instinctively he curled his
finger about the musket trigger and waited.

He could see what had made the noise now. Across the run, not ten
rods away from him, an Indian had crept from the forest and thrown
his musket to cover the deer's path. He could smell the thick rancid
grease which protected the savage from insects. Nez guessed the Indian
was one of the Corn-Eater's tribe and hostile. He'd brushed with them
before and the Corn-Eater had cause to remember him.

Nez remained quiet, with a patience born of many a stalk like this.
His situation posed a new problem, however. To shoot the deer would
draw the Indian's fire to himself; to shoot the Indian would certainly
scare the deer. And deer meat was the object, not Indian, Nez reflected.

The deer suddenly stood upwind, sniffing the night air, wraithlike and
silent. Nez sensed radier than saw the beast. He steadied his musket,
squinting carefully over the battered sights whose error he alone under-
stood.

The deer paced daintily along the path, pausing from time to time,
not entirely unsuspicious. There was a night shine to the eyes, sometimes
seen even in humans, and Nez always waited for this green gleam before
firing. His problem, he reckoned, would be solved in two more of the
deer's high prancing steps.

He heard with satisfaction then, the sudden loud crack of the Indian's
gun. The deer fell as if stoned, with a tired sigh. Nez pulled his trigger
then, aiming between the two green eyes. He heard another sigh, then
the clatter of the Indian's gun as he fell upon it.

174

Nez kicked the body with an exploring toe. The Corn-Eater's brother
was stone dead. "I never see one yet wasn't a pure damn' fool," Nez
mumbled, setting his belt knife Into the deer. * Well, I better not mention
this to Chid an' the Ariel lads. No sense spilin* their venison."

Nez reached Erie with both hind haunches about midnight.

"Now, a really smart man," Nez mused over his nightcap at Stone's,
"would've figured it out so that damn' Indian would've done the totin* too.
Nez Nott, yer slippin 5 , 1 d'clare!"

175

Chapter Eleven

CHID SUPPOSED THAT he had been dozing. He was utterly weary these days.
His foremanship had not excused him from manual labor, and the quiet
guard duty permitted him many a welcome little nap.

Half-asleep, he heard the far-off reports of two musket shots, and when

he opened his eyes fully he was aware that two men sat on the opposite

side of the sentry fire regarding him intently. Chid had seen one of them

in the yard many times. The other was a stranger and obviously a city

man.

"Don't stir for us, please, mister. I reckon you got a right to snooze
the way they're treating you fellows."

"You better say who you are," Chid said sleepily. "I'm supposed to be
on sentry duty."

Both men laughed in a friendly manner. The city man offered Chid a
gold-trimmed snuff box. Chid declined it, waiting.

"My name's John Shallus, of Baltimore; your servant, sir. At Erie on
business. This is Christopher Kemp, my associate. You may have seen
him about. I'm talking to Chidsy Alwyn, am I not?"

A-yep."

Mr. Shallus stood up and shook hands. He was a dandy, turned out in
neatly fitting clothes. He held his hard gray hat gracefully against his
flowered waistcoat with his left hand and twirled a heavy silver watch
chain with his right, letting it wind on his finger to the curious charm at
the end, then twirling it the other way, unwinding it. He was smooth-
shaven, save for deep sideburns of blue-black, and Chid noted the firm
set of his jaw.

"Shake hands with Mr. Alwyn, Chris," John Shallus said. "You two
will get to know each other right well in time, I hope,"
176

Chid shook, careful not to let go of his musket. He wasn't sure about
the two men yet. They seemed friendly, almost too friendly.

"Chris," said Shallus, "is a woodsman; a timber expert, you might say,
Mr. Alwyn. He works for me. Chris has been watching you."

"I recollect. He's been hanging around the Ariel!"

"That's right, he has. He's mighty pleased with that boat, the timber
in her, that is. Chris tells me you got a knack of picking out good ship
stock."

Chid felt complimented. "All ship timber has to be good," he said,
"even on hasty ships like these. I try to put in the best, at least the best
my Canuck can find hereabouts. Mr. Hog made the mistake of getting
his lumber from some mill at Waterford, a houseboard mill . . ."

"It was my mill," Mr. Shallus grinned.

"I didn't mean offense," Chid said.

"Nor did I take any, Mr. Alwyn. Indeed, when Orlando Hog cut me
out, I looked into the trouble and realized for the first time that this sec-
tion was rich in virgin ship timber. Mr. Hog did me a favor, you might
say. Timber is my business, Mr. Alwyn; not ship's timber, but house-
boards and match-sheathing and shingles and whatever they want down
at the cities within reason. I've got four sawmills in this state."

"Ship timber ought to be your business," Chid said. "We spend half
our time up here sawing instead of building. I reckon I could mention you
to Mr. Brown, and he'd have some business for your mills if youll cut the
way we need it."

"It's good of you, indeed. The trouble is, though, that I can ship heavy
timber only one way by boat down the streams and rivers, to the south.
I can get all the business I want that way. But a man can always do with
more, can't he?"

"I guess if he had the market, he could," Chid said. He sat down again,
his curiosity thoroughly aroused. He thought that he could smell op-
portunity. Mr. Shallus was working up to something. Chid had no idea
what. Shallus stretched himself beside Chid, leaning on one elbow, still
twirling his watch chain. Mr. Kemp leaned against a tree and commenced
whittling.

"After Mr. Hog opened my eyes, I went south and found a market,"
Mr. Shallus said and took snuff with dainty relish, "a tremendous market

177

the whole Navy on the coast if I can get material to them. They're
building like fiends right now; so are the privateer companies and the
steamboat companies on the Ohio. I can sell anything I can deliver, spar
pine, knee oak, rock elm, chestnut, white oak. They'd give their souls
for decent white oak."

"The good coastal timber was cut down years ago, Mr. Shallus. But
there's still plenty of it up here, I'd guess the best oak I've ever laid eyes
on. All you got to do is deliver, and it seems that you got that licked."

'Yes; pretty good. My big trouble is shipping the right timber. Chris
tried two arks full a while ago, but it was the wrong stuff. No blame to
Chris, y* understand; he doesn't know ship wood like he knows board
and shingle stock. The Navy turned down more than half of it, and I lost
on the deal. I'm trying to find a man who could pick sure-fire stuff, right
from standing trees, and say how to cut it right. It seems to me a ship-
builder could do it best, don't you?"

"A-yep, he could, sir."

"What's a breast hook, anyway?" Kemp asked. "They keep wanting
breast hooks." Chid laughed, feeling a curious excitement.

"It's a natural-grown knee, used for bracing in tight bends, like at the
stem and the quarters. It's mostly a matter of cutting the right log the
right way. Breast-hook stock has to be field-grown, out alone, not in
the big stands."

"Chris, pay attention," Shallus grinned genially. "We've got something
to learn from Mr. Alwyn. Suppose," he said to Chid, "we did the
selecting instead of the shipyards? Right up here. Send down only market-
able material?"

"It would be the smart way to do it, Mr. Shallus."

"How would you like to do it for me, Mr. Alwyn?"

"Fine," Chid said. "I guess you'd pay me more than ten dollars a
month."

"Lord!" Kemp snorted. "Is that all you get?"

"Yes. I'm only an apprentice. I will be, for three months yet."

"Ill make it a point to see Mr. Brown," Mr. Shallus said. "I could buy
you out."

"I doubt it/' Chid said. "I tried it before. Besides, I don't think I want
to get out of it; not until the fleet's been built. I passed my word I'd stay."

178

"Money Is magic, you know. Who'd you give your word to?"

"I guess I gave it to myself, Mr. Shallus. It took me a long time to see
the right of well, doing my duty, you might say. A gunboat depends on
me, and a crew o men; maybe this whole lake frontier. I wouldn't want
to quit right now with things so confused and licked up here. I could
work for you after July, I reckon."

"That's when we send the last arks down. The rivers get too low in
summer to navigate, even to raft. This war might be over by then and
the chance to make money be gone, Mr. Alwyn."

"I reckon."

"You could teach Chris how to pick the right stuff. I'd pay you good
for that."

"Nope. I wouldn't want to do that."

"I'd pay five hundred dollars, Mr. Alwyn."

"It's handsome," Chid nodded, "but it would be like selling the key
to a treasure vault. Anyway, I reckon it ain't a question of money, Mr.
Shallus. Someday I want those trees myself."

"Lord Harry! Mr. Alwyn," John Shallus laughed, "there's timber
enough a whistle north and a holler south to build aU the ships Lake
Erie will ever require. This land all belongs to the Pennsylvania Popula-
tion Company, but it doesn't know what it owns or doesn't own. The
timber is anybody's, and the company is glad to have us open logging
roads from the river-head settlements into their sections. I don't suppose
this country will ever run out of limber."

"I don't know," Chid said. "You ought to see what the farmers did to
the timber stands down along salt; cut them for fences and cordwood and
buildings and just plain bonfires. I recollect my father going all the way
to the Penobscot, in State of Maine, for plank pine when I was a shaver.
I don't reckon there's a decent lower spar in all Connecticut, not that ain't
somebody's front-yard pet-tree."

"Well, we needn't worry there is all the timber here that we'll want
in our lives. Mr. Alwyn, if you ever change your mind, or say I can get
you bought away from Noah Brown, I think we'd do well together."

"A-yep," Chid said and took the hand that was offered, "I think so too.
I wish you could wait until August."

Chris Kemp snapped his knife closed and shook hands also. "Come

179

down to the Le Boeuf an' look us over, Mr. Alwyn," he said cordially.
"I cal'ate our mill's interesting and educational to a man what knows
mechanics like you."

"I will," Chid promised, "first chance I get. The job right now is to win
this war."

"Aye; win the war and make a profit, eh, John?"

"They go hand in hand," Mr. Shallus said with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Somebody always gets rich on war; why not us? You think that angle
over, Mr. Alwyn. Good night."

Chid's tour of guard duty was ended, and he could hear his relief
trampling down the corduroy road, whistling loudly. He said good
night. Mr. Shallus and Chris went south, to Waterford near which
Shallus had a big mill that shipped to Pittsburgh by way of French
Creek.

He turned over his musket to his relief, the man having forgotten
to draw one from the guardhouse on the edge of the town.

"Captain Dobbins come in from Black Rock 'bout ten," the man said.
c His packet was jest two cables ahead o* the British patrol schooner.
Dobbins said if he'd had one o 5 them turnin* guns like you're makin' he'd
a sunk him. As t'was, he couldn't cast round to make his gun bear,"

"Did he bring the supplies?"

"Nope. Not a damn 7 item. That stuff went to Sackett's Harbor like
usual. It never even saw Black Rock, What you fellers goin' to do now?"

"I don't know," Chid said. "Without those supplies, the Ariel's at a
standstill."

Honest Huntley hacl the king plank all fitted and set when Chid made
a quick inspection with a cedar flare. Nez was lounging before a chip
fire in the lee of the hull, his eyes riveted on the black bay of Pfesque
Isle.

"Chid," Nez said, "I made a turrible mistake a-growin' o' this danged
garland on my chin. It itches an* smells like feathers in hell these warmin'
days. You want to hack her off fer me?"

"Nope; not tonight, Nez. I got a letter, I see."

"From Moses?"

"Nope. Better'n Moses, Nez."

"Hunh! From Mary, then "

1 80

"A-yep. Let me be now, Nez."

The Indian dispatch-runner had placed the letter on the shack laying-
out table where orders and dispatches were always left. Chid broke the
seal in wonderment. The mail agent's quill, careless and scratching, had
written in the upper right hand corner of the folded paper packet
"Sackett's Harbor to Erie, 12 cents: Paid." Was it possible that Mary Leet
was at Sackett's Harbor on Lake Ontario? Hastily Chid read the letter.

Mary's news was amazing and, in a way, disturbing. She was at the
Ontario naval base. Moses had taken lake fever, one of the first of the
sixty who were now stricken. Mary, answering the alarming communica-
tion from Mr. Eckford which had pointedly suggested that some of
Moses' family be near by, had made a dash by the mail stage to Albany
and then north with a government supply train. Moses was out of danger
now, as the result of a drastic cure which had seen the old man plunged
into a barrel of hot water several times daily to induce sweating. He was
still terribly weak and able to do but the lightest of work.

. ..his eyes burn with the fire of a boy's [Mary had written in her
neat precise hand], and he simply will not hear of returning home with
me. He has told me how much the fleets, both ours and the one on
Erie, need you shipbuilders. It makes me terribly proud of him and of
you, too, Chid.

There is much to be done here, and father's great experience is worth
a score of the worthless loafers who work for outrageously high wages
as shipbuilders here. Commodore Chauncey plans to make an attack on
the British fleet and to take the forts on the Niagara River and depends
utterly upon the few like father to see that his ships are in fighting
trim. I strongly suspect that father wants to join in the shooting, for I
have seen him many times, ramrod in hand, show the poor farm boys
who man the lesser vessels how to sponge, load, and fire their carriage
guns. I have forbidden him to take over a group of these boys for gun-
nery training. Indeed, I have had to call on Mr. Eckford (who, Chid,
is a very wonderful and decent Christian gentleman indeed) and ask
him to restrain father under penalty of my returning him home at once.

Mr. Eckford agreed, very civilly, nor was I put to the use of a feminine
demonstration which I had rehearsed at some length, to assign father
to overseeing the cutting of the ship's timber as it is needed. He will
thus be in the good outdoors, and I have made him promise to sit by

181

only, contributing nothing but his direction and his experience, until
lie is somewhat stronger. He growls like a fouled smack master, sitting
each day on a stump in the sun, his tally book open and his musket
handy, for there is always the possibility of one of these British-Indian
raiding parties stumbling upon us but he knows he is doing a very
valuable service to the cause. As always, however, father is inclined
to measure effort by manual accomplishments . . .

There was more, for Chid's eyes alone, little words and phrases, mixed
in with the newsy gossip, as if the memory of that sweet, bashful kiss so
long ago had crept into the tight handwriting.

... It was so good to learn that you really were with Mr. Brown's
party, Chid. We were all afraid that you had sailed off on the Blessed
Cause with that hateful Captain Fish and his rabble. Why did you let
us think that? And why did you go of! without saying good-by to us,
Chid and to me? But it does not matter now. You are in the one place
that your talents can be useful in this dreadful war, and we are glad.
We have heard that Captain Fish got into some sort of trouble at sea
and came into New York terribly cut up and sinking. He is dead; so is
Mr. Tinker, his mate, and only Mr. Bolt is alive to tell the true story,
whatever it is and providing he lives beyond the frightful wounds he
suffered

Give my regards to your friend Neziah Nott. He is a wild boy, Chid,
but father insists that he has his peculiar uses at Presque Isle. I was
sorry not to have seen him when he last was here. Commodore
Chauncey was furious with him, especially at his effrontry in "demand-
ing" certain supplies which he had been sent for. It is rumored that
Neziah got the supplies, stole them, in fact. Livy Bracket, who was
supposed to be on civil guard at the time of the theft (though father
will not hear any man name it that) was found to have been con-
veniently asleep at his post and has been fined a full week's wages for
his lapse.

Good night, Chid, I pray that I might soon again say that to you
under peaceful heavens back in our own land. May God take care o
you, and may He spare you the strength and will from your tre-
mendous tasks to write, however brief, to

Your friend,
MARY LEFT

182

Chiefs reply to the letter was cautious. During these last weeks, in
this strange cold region, sometimes hurtingly lonesome for the simple,
homely little things of his Hfe in PortersviUe, Chid realized that he was
deeply in love with Mary. Ever since that curious, moving experience
the night he stayed with BearnneUe Trask, he knew. Mary, after that
night, suddenly emerged for Chid as a woman. She, too, could be soft
and desirable, could be yielding. She was no longer merely one of the
cold components of his dream, a mere lifeless part of his plan. She was
now, though separated from him by hundreds of miles of unfriendly
wilderness, oddly closer to him than she ever had been at Portersville,
closer even than on that summer night when they had shyly, experi-
mentally, kissed. He wanted desperately to tell her that he loved her, to
feel again the thrill of her nearness.

He was careful not to declare his love in stark strokes of the quill.
But he reckoned, closing the letter long after the midnight change of
the guard, that Mary could read between the words. He meant for her
to. Girls had that knack, like that thin, pathetic girl of Hank Purdy's
who could even read between his silences.

Chid lay down on his rough canvas bunk at last with a curious anticipa-
tion that his dreams would be of Mary. But he slept in heavy blackness,
and his first thought in the gray dawn was not of Mary, but of that long
talk with John Shallus and Chris Kemp.

A man who could offer five hundred dollars just to learn how to log
off a tree for ship's timber must be making fabulous profits.

"Mr. Alwyn," Orkndo Hog said, through the shack door, "the boys
is all set to lick in them rigger's fittin's. Only trouble is, Dan Dobbins
didn't get the fittin's from Black Rock. Now, what do you recommend,
Mr. Alwyn?"

"Mr. Hog, you keep the boys at something useful for the day. Nez and
I have been scheming up a little plan."

"Well, I sure hope you schum good. By Goddy, this is the damndest
way to build a ship. I don't reckon I could frame up even a satisfactory
barn 'thout I had the material."

"You'll have material," Chid promised. "Just keep busy and don't lose
faith."

"Faith! Hah! In who?"

"Mr. Brown and Captain Perry."

"Hunh! Them, aye but 111 stick my faith onto you, I reckon, Mr.
Alwyn."

Daniel Dobbins knew about the plan which Chid and Nez had con-
cocted. He could admire the audacity of it, even allow a fair chance of
success, but he hated to take the responsibility of giving his official ap-
proval. Yet he understood, better than any man at the bleak, starved
naval base, the need of supplies and material to keep the five little ships
from which the nation expected so much growing and becoming useful.

Dobbins was in a curious situation. He was at present in charge of the
base, Captain Perry and Mr. Brown both having gone south to far-off
Pittsburgh and Philadelphia to beg the help so desperately required. He
knew the problems of the lake frontier. He had grown up with them,
for he had been an Erie man since 1796.

He knew the lake well and had made his living in the salt-carrying
trade from Canada to the American shore. His little sloop, the Salinq,
was one of the eight commercial vessels on the lake, and Dobbins always
maintained that he was the first pilot registered on Lake Erie. It was
he who carried the news of the capture of Detroit to President Madison
at Washington, and he never forgot that memorable visit with James
Madison.

The President was furious, not only with General Hull, who had so
shamefully surrendered the Detroit fort without making a fight, but with
the Navy Department which had so stupidly neglected the defenses of
the lakes.

"It is obvious," the President told Dobbins, striding the carpeted length
of his shoddy office, "that we must gain control of the lakes."

"You've set the course, Mr. President," Dobbins retorted. "Now, you
get them sleepy commodores o 1 yours to get a fleet started."

"The commodores have had their chance, Mr. Dobbins," Madison re-
plied wearily. "I am privately thoroughly disgusted with them. Mr.
Dobbins, I'd like to have an Erie man, yourself, sir, take charge of our
problems on the lake. I can offer you a master shipwright's commission
and three thousand dollars in gold for expenses and my own authority
behind anything that you do. Will you take the job?"

184

The commission suited Dobbins. He was a man of action, sometimes
very sudden action. He was plodding over the frozen trails to Presque
Isle that very night, and within a month had gathered a crew of choppers
and barn carpenters and commenced the building of the fleet. Indians
ran his men off once. The winter was bitter. Neither the promised supplies
nor the pay for his men arrived, but Dobbins was never daunted. On
Christmas Day, 1812, he left for Washington and before New Year's Day
he had the promise of real help; Master Commandant Oliver Hazard
Perry and Noah Brown would take charge of the Presque Isle base which
he had started.

He still had the naval rank of master shipwright, and Captain Perry
and Lieutenant Jesse Elliot were both his superiors. But at heart he was
a civilian, used to fighting with the only weapons he knew; his knowl-
edge of the lake trade and that cunning with which he had often in the
past outwitted the arrogant British patrols and the Indians. So now,
with Chidsy Alwyn, the youngster in charge of the Ariel gunboat, and
that intrepid individual of his own ilk, Nez Nott, standing before him,
he was inclined to listen to their proposal with attention.

"I can't," Dobbins said, "give you permission to undertake a naval
operation, y'understand, boys. On the other hand, I can't stop you from
well, taking a little sail on the lake, can I?"

"You're all right, Dan," Nez said with a grin. "But I reckon you don't
get the idee complete. We need the only sloop at Presque Isle. She hap-
pens to be yours."

"The Salina?"

"A~yep."

Dobbins considered the question carefully. The Salina was all he had
in the world. Even his government pay was but a signed requisition, not
spendable until it had been pawed by a hundred hostile, quibbling Wash-
ington Navy Department clerks. But he did not hesitate.

"Here's the key to her cuddy, boys," he said, trying to make it sound
inconsequential. "You'll find her an able little vessel."

"By God, youVe a sport, Dan," Nez said, with sincere admiration.
"You're like never to see her again."

"I know," Dobbins said and grinned wryly. "Good luck to you, boys.
I wish I was with you."

185

They met Antoine at the stone wharf on the bay shore under the
town. It was almost noon before they had the Salina under plain sail
and scudding before the brisk, warm, southerly wind. Chid guided her
over the bar, amazed again at the sudden abrupt shoaling of the deep
water. But the Salina, which was a drop-keeler, like those the Dutchmen
used for ditch-crawling, did not touch the bar and, veering north, reached
swiftly toward the cruising grounds of the British patrol gunboat.

"Is bad thing," Antoine observed ruefully. "Kill de nice littly boat lak
dis. Gardamn, Cheed, but ant no odder way to do him, Ah d'clare."

"Nope, .no other way, Antoine," Chid agreed. "But I reckon it's better
to run the chance of losing one sloop than see the Arid killed before she
ever gets launched."

"Oh, yas, suh! Ah t'ink dat ver* much, me."

Nez was busy in the shallow hold. He rolled six gunpowder casks
under the main hatch, then methodically broached each head. He laid
a short fast fuse from the center one, then led it upward through the
hatch and tied it carelessly to a ring bolt. On the hatch cover he placed
a gun-match and then went aft and lighted a battle lantern. This he
kept screened under a staved fish tub.

"Let 'em come," he announced, joining Chid at the long locust tiller
aft. "Chid, you raised that patrol yet?"

"There's been a sail to windward for the last ten minutes, Nez. She
just changed tack for a beat down to us. I reckon it's the Britisher."
'"Well, I hope she's a big un, a schooner rate at least."
Chid held his course until he was sure that the Salina had been sighted
and was under chase. When she was at last hull up on the heaving green
lake, the Britisher proved to be one of the Maiden four-gun schooners.
Slie was one of eight, built to support the heavy rates which were
building on the Canadian shore.

"Ah t'ink," Antoine cried, "dat Orlando Hog he lak ver' much de Ton
from dat dar boat, Cheed. Why she so low in de water, hein?"

"Loaded, Antoine. Stores or ballast and I'm praying it's stores. Get
a tops'l set, boys, and give her another jib. We've got to make out a
good chase, or they'll try to take us in small boats."

The light sails fluttered in the brisk breeze and crept up the stays,
hanks clanking musically, then suddenly stiffened to full-bellied working
186

canvas as Nez and Antoine braced home the sheets. The Salina growled
under her forefoot and shucked spray in leaping rainbow showers along
the immersed lee topsides. The Britisher sent up square topsails, then
laced a driver to her main and altered course to a long converging reach
that would pin the Salina between herself and the steep clay banks of
the shore. She would. Chid estimated, bring them up under chaser guns
before darkness. And that was all right by him.

The sun was lowering before the first shot came whistling across the
waters. The British vessel was fair astern now, using her bow chaser
regularly. She gained fast, for she was a powerful sailer, of at least a
hundred tons.

"Cut your tops'! halyard, Nez," Chid cried, "and don't be seen. 7 *

The sail suddenly cracked like a musket aloft, then, unsheeted, bil-
lowed forward, whipping and flailing to leeward. Chid reckoned with
satisfaction that it looked accidental. He could not bring himself to sur-
render yet, even though it meant risking heavy close gunfire. The British
well knew the courage of the Americans. This capture, up to the very
last minute, must appear to be genuine.

He held his course. Without the powerful topsail the sea-room between
the two plunging ships lessened by fathoms each minute. That last bow
shot was close, too close to make an exposed position at the tiller com-
fortable.

Chid crouched behind the solid bulk of the taffrail. Musket fire from
the marine detail which all these Britishers carried was not impossible.
He felt an odd detachment, as if he directed this dangerous maneuver
from a safe far-off position, as if this was all play-acting and at any
moment the participants would cease playing and retire from the stage.
But his mood was quickly shattered. A solid bar shot crashed into the
counter, its impact whacking the rudder sharply over, the sudden electric
life of the tiller stinging Chid's gripping hand as if lashed by a leather
whip. Nez was lighting the powder match from the covered battle lan-
tern. From the pursuing schooner there came a hail garbled by distance,
but Chid recognized it as a demand to surrender or suffer the full fire
of the man-o'-war.

The time had come, and upon him alone depended the next maneuver
in this wild plan.

187

He threw the tiller hard up, bracing his back against the terrific re-
flected pressure of the full sails. Slowly the Salina luffed into the wind,
.stood straight and lay, a dead killed ship across the course of the
-Britisher. In a moment the enemy matched the move; her sails, too,
fluttered idly, and before her way ceased she lay neatly along the star-
hoard side of the Salina.

Grappling hooks crashed into the ratlined shrouds, a dozen muskets
covered the three Americans, pipes shrilled for the sail trimmers. An
officer, a young man hardly older than Chid, in full uniform, regarded
the prize coldly from the port-quarter rail.

"What ship is that?" His clerk called.

"SaUna, out of Erie, Pennsylvania," Chid said carefully.

Nez, he noted, was where he should be, his match lighted. Antoine
hung over the knightheads, already gossiping in French with a Canuck
seaman on the Britisher's foredeck. Chid wondered if he had trailed the
gig overside as they had agreed. It would be their only possible chance
of life if the Britisher proved stubborn or stupid.

"What cargo, please?" came from the clerk.

"In ballast," Chid said, "and a mite of powder."

"Where bound?"

The unwinking musket bores, aimed at his heart, gave him a queer
creepy feeling. He had a momentary fleeting fear that this cold young
Englishman, so aloof that he could converse with his enemies only
through a fleet clerk, might forget the military aspects of the situation,
might reduce the cool enmity in his eyes to personalities. He depended
upon this captain to remain impersonal, to accept what was coming
without individual passion. After all, he would receive a choice which
the trained military mind could solve in but one honorable way.

" Where bound, I say, captain?" the clerk repeated.

"'Right to this spot," Chid said. "We came out to capture you."

The English commander smiled thinly in lofty amusement. A gunner,
blowing his smoking match into fire, guffawed loudly. Behind their
muskets the marine file tensed.

"A pity to disappoint you, captain," the clerk observed dryly. "Were
you going to perhaps, ah, use fisticuffs?"

"Nope," Chid said and watched Nez. "Blow you up. Fm still going

188

to i you don't abandon ship within five minutes. You'd better take a
look at Nez he's that skinny man standing over the main hatch with
the lighted match. Right under him Is a hold full of powder. I reckon
were you to do anything we don't like, he'd set off that fuse. 'Course,
you could shoot us but Nez would drop his match right into the pow-
der then. We're grappled mighty close onto you, captain; we'd both go.
It takes some consideration, I reckon.'*

The darkening twilight crept over the two vessels, like a descending
shroud. The wind drifted them to the northward. A long-tailed slick of
calmed water reached from the two ships like a tail. Shore birds dipped
and cried over it, annoying the surfacing smelt schools. It was as if all
the world had paused, waiting for the answer of the British commander.

Chid could feel sorry for him. Likely he was a decent fellow, perhaps
on his first command. Now he must lose his ship, surrender her without
a fight because of another of those simple Yankee tricks which always
so upset the military calculations o the trained fighter.

Finally the clerk turned from his captain and again addressed Chid.
"I am ordered to count three," he said. "The marines will shoot you
where you stand upon the third count unless that man over the main
hatch throws his match overside before."

"I'd advise you come and have a look," Chid said steadily. "One man
may come."

"One."

Nez brought the fuse end to within six inches of the match. The
action was not missed on the British quarterdeck. The commander him-
self stepped hastily to the break of the poop.

"Mr. Lefferts," he called clearly, "board that Yankee, please, and let
me know if there is powder beneath the hatch. Alone, please."

"By Goddy," Nez muttered, "Chid, it's that bastard George Lefferts.
How do you suppose ..."

"Quiet, Nez. Let him have a look."

Chid felt again that strange sense of play-acting. George Lefferts, in
full British marine captain dress, immaculate as always, stepped daintily
from the gunboat to the deck of the Salina. It was as if the play were an
old one, acted before, and Lefferts was again stepping forth upon the
Blessed Cause to make his nightly round of inspection.

189

They eyed each other for a long pregnant minute. Chid felt his hatred
for the fat captain rise again, could feel that hatred returned doubly.
Lefferts, during that last fight, had escaped and taken with him most
of the prize money, that money which was to have meant so much to
him and to Mary Leet.

"Ah, the carpenter boy's fortunes have risen/' Lefferts said with a
calm sneer. "Well, well you learned from excellent teachers"

"You better look at that powder," Chid said quietly.

Lefferts strode forward. He peered briefly into the hold. Without a
word he reboarded the gunboat. "Six casks, black serpentine powder/*
he said to the captain. "I know these men, sir; they're not bluffing."

Antoine was conversing excitedly. His Canuck acquaintance on the
Britisher was from near his own village, east of Quebec. The woman
whom Antoine feared had married. She no longer searched for him with
the heart of the wildcat. One child had been born, shortly after the
marriage. The woman was now a good wife, an excellent mother.

"Le bon Dieu smiles/* Antoine babbled happily. "It is dam sham dat
you aire to be blow hup, ma franV

Nez's match sputtered in the gathering gloom. A bosun's pipe on the
gunboat cut the night sharply. The Britisher's quarter-boat was being
lowered; the chocked midship yawls were being slung overside.

Chid breathed in relief. His English adversary was a competent officer
and understood the needlessness of sacrificing lives to save a doomed
ship.

"You can take anything that you can carry except muskets," Chid
said boldly. "Leave your sails standing. Row toward the middle of the
lake until I sail clear. Then you can make for Canada. It's a good day's
going unless you'd rather land on the Pennsylvania shore."

They paid no attention to Chid. This was not a naval capture; he did
not merit the notice of even the defeated. But it was all right with Chid.
The Arid would go on. This gunboat would supply her with fittings
and iron enough for her completion.

Nez tossed his match overside at last. The British were off on the lake,
in three boats, already making for Canada under sail. Antoine cut away
the grappling-hook lines. The two vessels parted, veered round on the
wind, and raced through the night toward Erie.

190

Chid was alone on the prize, serving the helm, keeping off the dark
port shore by sight and the echo of the growling bow wave. She was a
monstrous vessel for a single man to handle. But there would be no sails
to trim, nothing to do but steer her for Erie shore and the waiting ship-
builders.

He felt a tremendous pride in the achievement, almost a personal
ownership of the captured gunboat. It was a pity to burn such a vessel,
for she was honestly built, fitted with genuine tested deep-water fittings,
not the makeshift ironwork of the Presque Isle fleet. But, hoarded and
carefully used in only the most necessary places, her stores and fittings
would outfit three or more of the American vessels.

Just before dawn Chid grounded the gunboat on the rubble beach at
the mainland end of the bay reef, near the naval storehouse. Then he
went to the office for some sleep. Before he awakened, Real Taylor and
the civil guard had removed all the naval stores. There were coils and
coils of fine-quality hemp line, casks of Stockholm tar, spare sails,
and bolts of fine canvas. The bosun's storeroom yielded tools of fine
Swedish iron, and bags of rigging and ship fittings, spare blocks, dead-
eyes, lizards, sheaves and pinions, gun tools, dry bolts for the gun car-
riages, cutlasses and muskets, all of a quality far beyond anything that
could be expected from American forges.

The steward's cubby produced some fancy London food, evidently for
the officer's mess, and the orlop barrels of ship's biscuit and salt beef, all
branded with the crown of His Majesty's Britannic Government. The
powder was French, fine-grained and fast burning, and the lower hold
contained shot in efficient British abundance.

The spars were cut away and floated ashore with lines and blocks still
attached, to be stripped later. By sunset the gunboat was a naked hulk,
and when Chid came to her from his sleep, the first flames were licking
at her. By another sunset she would be ashes and cooling spikes and bolt
iron and straps and hangers.

Daniel Dobbins was proud of the capture and delighted that the
Salina had been returned whole to him.

"I always figured she'd do well as a two-gun boat," Dobbins said to
Chid and Nez. "When Captain Perry returns I'm going to offer her to
him. We can mount the British guns on her and use the British shot,

191

which won't fit our bores nohow. I kind of caPate she was spared for
that."

"She's sure a charmed critter," Nez said. "I don't know what them
English'ud done to her if they discovered we was on'y bluffin'."

"There was no bluff," Chid said. "The only chance we had was to
jump overside and try to make the gig Antoine had trailing."

"Oh, you an' Antwine wasn't bluffing" Nez said. "But, hell to Betsy,
Chid, I was. Them casks was no more powder'n mud is. Fact, that's what
'twas, good pulverized Lake Erie black mud. I filled 'em myself.'*

"You had a requisition for powder, Nez."

"Aye, I did; signed right by Dan here. But Elliot, he wouldn't let go
o' none o y his powder from the arsenal. Anyways, he had on'y two casks
hisself. So I done the best I could. Chid, a man can't get all set for some
prime fun like that there and give up just 'cause o' missin* a mite o'
powder, can he?"

It was funny now, and Chid found himself laughing. It was Dan
Dobbins, however, so much like Nez in many ways himself, who really
appreciated the story. He guffawed in the firelight until he was hoarse,
then circulated among the shipbuilders, retelling the incident.

After the gunboat had been reduced to a charred backbone, awash
and smoking in the bay, they all marched to Stone's tavern.

"The score's on me, boys," Dan Dobbins said. "By Cripy, the pure
nerve o' that New Englander, a-standin' over six casks o' mud, my own
Lake Erie mud! I never, no sir, I never! Nez, tell the boys again. By
Goddy, the British have got somethin' to be sore about now. Tell *em
again, Nez!"

192

Chapter Twelve

CHID WAS UP before dawn on the second day of May. It was stickily
warm, even before the sun rose above the great stand of virgin white
oak which bordered the hemlock swamp east of the village. Nez and
Antoine were both in from the woods. They slept now on the shack floor,
rolled into thin blankets, looking like soiled, discarded bundles.

Chid pulled on his pants, rolling up the bottoms to his knees. He had
not worn shoes or a shirt for the last few days. A week ago it had come
off hot, changed suddenly from a cold, wet, raw spring to the murkiest,
most depressing heat that he had ever experienced. In Erie, gossiping on
the board sidewalks of the main street, the farmers from the Donation
Lands called it "growing weather."

He walked in the gray light to the deep pool above the falls of Lee's
Run. Here he doused his head in the clear brook water and splashed his
chest and arms. Ever since the lake fever had come, it was forbidden to
wash in or drink from the lake water. Captain Perry, after his return
from the south, had given the orders; and Real Taylor, who doubled for
surgeon rate, not only ministered to the sick, but enforced the rule as well.

There were over twenty men sick, and the hot, sultry weather which
caused it but a week old. The malady was known to the medical science
as swamp vomit or bilious fever. It was believed to come from the putre-
fying vegetation which had been left along the lake shore by the drop-
ping of the water to summer levels. It came each year with the growing
weather and persisted into the late fall. There was no known preventive,
though whisky was popularly supposed to ward the plague off if taken
before the skin and eyeballs actually turned yellow. Once a man was
stricken and his body heat raised, there was nothing to be done save
blood-letting and the administration of teas to induce perspiration. If

193

black spots appeared upon the body, especially if accompanied by obsti-
nate costiveness, the only known remedial procedure was to prescribe a
dose of cinchona bark. It turned the sufferer into a delirious maniac,
oddly every second day only, but either killed or cured.

But cinchona bark was unknown in Erie. A very small quantity of it
had been found in the stores of the British gunboat, but Real Taylor
could only guess at its use and the correct measurement of the dose. The
sufferers were all men of the graver's gang who were to launch the
Arid today.

They had worked waist deep in the lake, building the underwater ex-
tensions of the launching ways, and had been in the very midst of the
decay and slime, breathing its poisonous gases and plagued by swarms of
vicious mosquitoes. One by one they had collapsed and been carried to
the rude emergency hospital above Mr. Stone's traveler's rooms at the
Erie Hotel.

Antoine had volunteered to complete the ways and take charge of the
launching.

"Ah do; me," he had insisted. "Ho! Fo' t'ree year Ah log de muskeg
country; is nozzing, dis, fo* me, Cheed."

"Let him," Nez had grinned. "Them danged insects'll all get poisoned,
they nip o* Antwine, Chid. An' the smell o' the lake no Frenchie'll even
suspect."

Chid had let him take over the arrangements. He needed no more
stock from the woods for the Ariel, and Antoine was his best man on
heavy timber work.

When Chid got back to the shack, Antoine was shaving off Nez's
reddish beard with a honed hunting knife.

"What a day!" Nez said. "I'll never forget it losing this danged set o'
whiskers'll change my whole life, I swear, Chid. When does the Arid
take her ride?"

"Whenever Captain Perry passes the word. She's ready now.**

"What then, Chid?"

"Why, the riggers will take her over. Then the Navy men, to fit her
out, I guess."

"What Navy men?"

"Well, we've got almost a hundred here now, Nez.* 9

194

C Yeanh! A lousy hundert, an' we need eight times that, all trained an'
made inter fightin* men. I declare, Chid, sometimes I think we'll have
to fight these damned ships as well as build 'em."

"Not me," Chid said with conviction. "I'm glad to build this fleet,
Nez, even kind o proud of it, you might say. It sort of gives me a respect
for myself. But I figure I'm doing my share, an* damned if I'm going to
double for those easy livers down to the states. I've got some plans, just
as soon as I'm free of this."

"Supposin* the fleet ain't finished by the time your 'prentice contrack
runs out?"

"I don't know, Nez. I reckon the way I feel now, I'd quit. Hell, if
everybody did as much as you and me and the gang up here, the war
would be over in two weeks."

"Well, don't count on *em doin* it. But, Chid, you can't figure that
way, kind o' dolin* yer patriotism out to suit yerself. You got to keep
pourin*, right till the bucket's empty."

Antoine finished the shaving with a flourish.

"One tarn AhU know hoi* trapper in de nort' hwoods/' he said gravely,
"an' hall dat dar feller's life ant nozzing he wants mo' better dan to mak*
de farm fo* living. So bym-bye^ one day, he catch hall de pelts an' he
carry dem to de factor an' he say, *Ah don* wants flour, Ah don* wants de
traps or needer powder or de shot or nozzing. Ah jus* wants cash money
'cause I t'ink Ah'll buy me de farm/ Dat feller, he done dat. He buy de
farm, all tilly nice on de sout* sidehill, an* he tak* de wife an* he'll tink,
'Now, Ah jes* set comfly by de stove an* Ah smoke an* bym-bye de seeds
dey grow an* dar ants nozzing to do again in mah lifes, fo* never.' Is
dat de truth? Non! Sacre, non! De bear come an* ruts hup de co'n, an*
de *coon heats him hup de hoats, an' de skonk mak* dig hup right ba ev'y
littly seed hill an* ant nozzing fo* po* hoi* fran' but work, all tarn work
an' mo* work. Dat feller get mad, lak hell. Oh, terrible! *Ba Gosh,* he
cuss. *Ah ant trapper no mo*! Why mus' Ah catch de bear an* de 'coon
an* de skonk? Gardamn, I ants do him no mo*, me, ba Gosh!' An*,
Cheed, dat feller don* no mo* catch de animals. An* bym-bye dem animals
heat hup hall de co'n an* hall de bin an* p'tackers jes' cause dat mans ant
be trapper no mo*. Is tarn shame, dat! But mah fran* is stubborn Que-
becer an* he sit ba dat stove an* smoke like dat stimboat we ride him an*

195

pooty soon, voiladem varmin's heat hup hall de whole farm. Ants noz-
zing left on dat nice sidehill! An' mah hoF fran' ants needer de trapper
or de farmer, he ants anyzing, an' he ants got nozzing."

Antoine cleaned his knife and stuck it into his belt sheath.

"You're a riddlin' fool o' a Canuck," Nez snorted. "How does that
talk signify?"

"Wall," Antoine said in confusion, "is parable, ba gosh, Ah t'ink. Is
lak dat wit' Cheed, Ah guess. He build de boat an' bym-bye he say he
ants do no mo s . But de British peckly at de boats wit* dey guns an' den
dey come where Cheed sit by dat stove lak' he plan an' all sudden, ba
Gosh, Cheed mus' chase dem enemy de hell outen dar odderwise he ants
got no boats or no plans or not heven no country left. Is de truth, dat, Ah
t'ink."

"Well," Nez said, ^dry-washing his face, "when you explain it all out
it makes a little better sense, Antwine. I guess, Chid, that's about the
right o' it. There ain't goin' to be no freedom for nobody, not the real
kind, till this war's won. It don't matter when the fleet's finished, or
when your papers run out. You want to beware you don't get hung up
onto that steelyard nub again, Chid. You was way out on the right end.
I reckon you still are inside you."

"I'm doing this job because I'm bound out yet," Chid said savagely,
"and to keep clear of that Blessed Cause trouble till it blows over. I've
still got well, my own plans, Nez."

"It ain't convincing Chid." Nez laughed and clapped him on the back
with a lusty blow. "You can't make me an' Antwine blieve you'd risk
yer life like you done catching that Britisher last month fer them reasons.
You're a hell o' a good shipbuilder. Chid Uncle Noah sez yer the
drivin'est foreman he ever come acrost why in tarnation don't you try
bein* a hell o' a good Chidsy Alwyn?"

"I am."

"You're not. The difference between the way you talk an* the way you
do is scandalous, Chid. But you jest watch out you don't get to thin\in f
the way you talk. I wouldn't be so proud to be named your friend then,
I reckon."

They went up the cliff path, sweating in the hot, airless dawn, answer-
ing the music of the cookshed triangle at the Cascade yard.
196

The two heavy brigs which they passed were advancing slowly. The
keels lay like serpents in the oozy shore mud, and on the bending rack
the huge built-up frame timbers were taking the forms of sweeps and
full-bellied curves and double-S bends.

As always they looked with apprehension out upon the graying lake.
No British fleet. Not yet. But some day it would comeand before that
day not only the Ariel but her four sister ships and the gunboats still
blockaded in the Niagara River must be complete, fitted out with guns
and shot and sails and men to make these things live, must be drawn up
in battle array somewhere on this vast lake to demand of men their all.

Right till the bucket's empty. Chid thought.

The Ariel stood on skeleton blocking, gleaming in new still-tacky
black pot lead. She was a live thing in the sparkling sunshine, and Chid
stood away from her, letting his eyes take in every detail, as an artist
might view his completed canvas after the long fight with his tools and
his colors and his creative ability. Chid found her good to look at. He
wished, strangely, that Moses Leet could see her. More than anybody
else, he would have liked Moses to say in his quiet way, "Chidsy, you've
built a ship."

Moses could put reverence into the word ship. So could Chid's father*
He could, now that he also had built a ship, understand why. It was
almost as if he had created a life, had invaded the mysterious realm of
God and built into the Ariel human life and a mortal soul. The Ariel
had a soul for Chid; she was alive, a being. And by her deeds from this
day of birth on she would assume a soul and life for other men. Chid
had never felt so about any other ship. He did not feel so about George
Carmody's vessels, or the Blessed Cause, or the British gunboat which he
had sailed down the lake alone on that starlit night.

Besides the Ariel, the two other schooners were ready. Chid could find
plenty of evidence of the careless vessels they were. Were they his, he
would not have permitted them to go over yet. Their paint, it seemed,
covered too many mistakes. The oakum had arrived but five days ago,
more than two months late, and in the haste to launch, the house car-
penters had, as Nez derided, "just festooned the calking into them." The
seams of the Ariel were tight and tamped down to solid wood. Chid

197

knew his schooner would never leak nor work herself into a plank-com-
plaining wreck.

Captain Perry and Noah Brown came from the Buehler house, on
French Street, their headquarters, in the government rig about mid-
morning. It wasn't much of a launching party. There was no fife-and-
drum corps to play and no audience to cheer save the gunboat workers
themselves. A group of women from the town, on their way to the
berry patches on the peninsula dunes, idled under a twisted shagbark,
and two dull-eyed swamp Indians lay back in their dirty blankets in the
cool shadow of Chid's shanty.

Paph North had on his Sunday wool and a hard hat in spite of the
heat, solemnly aware of the significance of the occasion and for once
forgetting to complain. The apprentices still busily swept and picked up.
Chid wanted Mr. Brown to remember this hull, to remember that it
was complete as far as he could take it, even to cleaning up. The riggers
and the sailmakers and the Navy, who would take over after the launch-
ing, must feel in accepting her the same fierce pride he felt in presenting
her.

"You've managed your iron rudder heel, Chid, I see," Mr. Brown said
affably. "I'd better not ask where you got it."

"The Cascade forge made it," Chid grinned. "The iron came from
Mrs. Buehler's carriage shed. I reckon it's the last bit of iron left in the
region. Nez got it when the moon was kind of dark."

"She hasn't missed it yet, or she'd have raised Ned."

"She oughtn't to. I nailed two dollars to the shed doorpost."

"Good. Put it in your accounts, Chid."

"I did," Chid said. "Look, you care to look her over before I give the
word? I want to get in ahead of those other two hulls. My boys have
been racing them."

"You'll go over first, I promise," Mr. Brown smiled. "Chid, you're an
odd lad. Last winter I was sure I was going to have trouble with you."

"Last winter I'd have given it, I reckon," Chid admitted. "Things
have happened since."

Captain Perry was delighted with the Ariel. He inspected her with
the expert eyes of a naval man and could already see her guns mounted,
her men stationed, and the battle flag whipping at the masthead. He

198

couldn't see yet where these things would come from. Real Taylor's
hundred seamen were still the only deep-water sailors in Erie. Down
in Pittsburgh, Captain Wooley was supposed to be casting guns and shot.
So far nothing had come north from him. But the building of the ships
had come first Perry had fought even harder than Mr. Brown for the
building stores.

The revolving gun platform drew Perry's interest above all else. He
had been frankly dubious about it. The idea had been tried in the past
but had always failed. The pivot had been the weak part. It always
broke after a few shots.

"This one is different," Chid said with pride. "You mount your gun,
sir; I swear it'll hold. This platform rides on twenty-four round shot;
that takes the real shock. The pivot's only hickory to keep the thing
together and on center."

You could turn the platform with one capstan bar, inserted in the
wooden strap which North had growlingly shaped and fastened. Perry,
trying it, said a peculiar thing then.

"Alec Drake should see this, gentlemen. Drake taught me all I know
about guns; an old-time Navy gunner, he is. I'd fight the British now
with only a hundred like him."

"Drake is dead, sir," Chid said.

"No! You know him, Alwyn?"

"No, sir. I heard it; from a man in a tavern in New York."

Almost Chid had said too much. He seldom thought of that trouble
on the coast, but once in a while, like the passing of this chance remark
by the captain, it was brought sharply home to him. Nez, when he men-
tioned it, which was seldom, believed that the trouble would eventually
catch up with them.

The discovery of George Lefferts up here on the frontier had been a
shock to the three of them. It was as if a ghost of the past had risen and
come to dwell with them. But, as they reasoned the situation out one
evening sitting in the tall grass behind the cliff edge above the yard,
Lefferts was in no better position than they were. His crime had been
deliberate. That he feared capture and punishment was proved by the
fact that he had crossed the border and entered the British service.
Antoine reminded them that Lefferts could do them no harm, nor would

199

he have reason to. "Is lak de skonk, dat mans,'* Antoine said. "Nozzing
but de smell, an 5 dat ant hurt no one. But Ah kill him jus' de sam lak a
de skonk wan Ah see hims, me."

Chid had almost forgotten about Leflferts until this moment.

"This platform would let even an Army gunner shoot good," Chid
said hastily. "We ought to try it out."

"I'm afraid there will be little chance/' Perry said soberly. "When this
fleet speaks for the first time, it will be against the enemy. It must be
perfect without trials. Behind the bar we are safe; once over and into
the lake, there will be no protection save our guns and our spirit."

"When will the brigs be ready, sir?" Chid asked.

"In six weeks, I hope and if I get the guns up soon. They've got to
be if we are to get them over the bar before the lake falls for the summer.
I am advised that the British ships are ready and waiting only for the
completion of that new nineteen-gunner."

Chid wondered often how Perry managed to keep up his faith in the
fleet. The man was everywhere, and no one had ever seen him other than
cheerful and hopeful. General Harrison's Indian spies kept him informed
of the British preparations, and the news, as it was pieced together to
make a pattern, seemed always black and disastrous. The enemy now
had, including the new Detroit, six heavily built ships mounting a total
of sixty-three guns. So far, at Presque Isle, there were but five incom-
plete vessels and no guns. In the Niagara River, held there by the threat-
ening ramparts of Fort Erie, there were four more ships; useless to count
upon until they were actually in the lake and joined with the fleet. What
impressed Chid most about the captain was the generosity of his thought.
None of his great difficulties in procuring supplies and men were due to
his own lack of vision or preparation, but he never once damned those
who were failing so miserably.

It was open knowledge that Chauncey still kept the very best seamen
and gunners for himself and sent on only the boys and landsmen to
Lake Erie. A small band of them had come into the base a week ago;
ragged, unkempt, and unruly fellows who needed a sobering term in the
guardhouse before they could become useful. It was well known that the
reserve strength of Sackett's Harbor was ample to man completely the
Erie fleet, and that it comprised for the most part deep-water sailors,

200

seasoned in the frigate service and the merchant ships. Real Taylor had
hastily issued a call for a volunteer navy. So far he had enlisted about
twenty boys and indented blacks. They drilled with wooden staves
shaped like boarding pikes and muskets and were sometimes taken on
board one of the building ships to acquaint them with shipboard duties.
Mr. Brown had finally to stop that. They did more damage than good,
and it took the vital time of the shipbuilders to straighten things out
after they had left.

But none of these things seemed to depress Captain Perry. He was like
a great bright star shining down on the little wilderness world on the
windy lake shore, giving strength and hope to those who labored against
such odds. At times Chid felt the influence of his example so strongly
as almost to forget himself and his ambitions.

Perry stepped aft now. From a common paper poke he drew a folded
ensign and bent it to the mainmast flag halyards. It was an impressive
moment. To Chid it seemed as if this little man with the soft brown hair
and tight, sensitive mouth was alone defying the might of Britain. That
might was not yet real to Chid. More to be reckoned with were the
enemies within the American lines those men in high and low places
who were stealing time and material and faith and loyalty.

The captain choked back his own emotion. Since his midshipman days,
his life had been devoted to the one motto, "To meet the enemies of my
country." He had met them in the past, at Tripoli and on the Charles-
ton station and before Fort George. Now at last, God willing, he would
meet them in the vital struggle to determine whether free men or a king
ruled the continent of America.

Slowly and solemnly, with short smart heaves, the stoppered flag bundle
crept to the crosstrees.

"You may give your graver the word, Chid," Noah Brown said quietly.

"Yes, sir."

Antoine had shucked his buckskin shirt. He wore only pants and a
cockaded militia hat. He spit on his hands for a good grip on the maul,
swinging at Chid's grave nod*

The Canuck's sure, powerful strokes on the last wedges cracked like
defiant musket shots in the still morning. Under Chid the Ariel trembled
and quivered like a creature being born. The apprentices, riding her in

2OI

the time-honored tradition of the shipyards, broke into a lusty cheer, and
from the crosstrees the flag broke in a blaze of color and waved lazily in
the breeze of the schooner's own making, as she rode, screaming and
groaning on the smoking blocking, to the lake at last.

She looked beautiful in the water, the most beautiful vessel Chid reck-
oned he had ever seen. She leaked no place but at the stopwaters, where
she should, and they would soon swell tight. Captain Perry shook Chid's
hand warmly. "She should prosper well," he said simply. "She was built
by a fine American." Chid considered it the nicest thing that had ever
been said to him.

The women berry pickers had gathered at the shore in talkative excite-
ment. Their men would know within the hour of the fact of actual
launching. The Erie fleet was no longer a vague something to be laughed
at. The two Indians slipped silently into the brush. Their nation, too,
would know; perhaps at last make up its mind whether to ally them-
selves with the white men south of the lakes or follow the great Chief
Tecumseh who had taken his people to the British side.

As the Ariel had plunged into the great rainbow of the disturbed lake,
three musket shots had rung out from the redoubt above the Cascade
yard where Captain Forster's recently arrived militia company did sentry
duty. From Forster, General Harrison's army, harassed by British and
Indian raids but still hopeful of an open lake and a full-fledged campaign
on Detroit and the Erie north shore, would know, too, that at last the
pathetic naval base at Presque Isle had performed as promised. And
there were unseen eyes that would know, belonging to men who would
wait for darkness before stealing to a rendezvous in the black forest and
send scribbled notes by Indian runners to the British from the Michigan
Lands to the St. Lawrence.

The riggers came over the gangplank, leather aprons bulging with
hastily improvised tools. Their own had never been found. A whip from
the foremast carried, as its creaking first load, a bundle of sails. They had
been made in distant Albany by women who had never made sails be-
fore, from patterns which Chid had drawn while the spars themselves
were still standing trees. He hoped that they would fit. A farmer and
his two sons trundled lake-stone ballast on board, dumping it into
chutes that led beneath the hold and the orlop.

202

"She'll sail," Nez said, coming ashore from the final wedging of the
masts into the partners, "within a week. Uncle Noah, she's quite a
vessel."

"Quite a vessel," Mr. Brown nodded. "Good enough for what she was
built one fight."

"Where are her guns?" Chid asked. "That's the next big chore."

Mr. Brown shook his head. Chid had asked that twenty times; so had
Perry and Taylor and General Harrison's stall officers. Mr. Brown did
not know. Nobody knew. They had left Pittsburgh, twenty long twelves
and a short thirty-two for Chid's revolving platform, two weeks ago on
flatboats. Since then not a word had been heard of them. They were,
like everything else, "on the way." At least a man could now be sure of
that. With the use of the southern supply routes Chauncey no longer got
his clutches on the supplies and stores,

"I could check on those guns, Mr. Brown," Chid said, "on the other
stuff, too, you want. I've got some . . . well, connections to the south. Fd
have to go down to Waterford."

"It's an idea," Mr. Brown nodded. "You could use the government rig;
we can spare it today."

"Can I take Nez Nott? Fm not much with a horse."

"Apprentice's holiday," Mr. Brown chuckled. "Well, you deserve it.
Chid. Go ahead."

Chid and Nez set off at noon. It was a fourteen-mile jaunt, over cor-
duroy and baked-mud road and through frequent fords at the gullies
which cut the rolling parallel heights of land. Tall virgin timber flanked
both sides of the road once the lake was left behind. He could see the
occasional ragged stump surrounded by slash, where Antoine had been,
logging off. He was impressed by the quantity of timber. As John Shallus
had said, there was enough to build all the ships Lake Erie would ever
need.

"Drink, Chid?" Nez asked, producing a flask.

"A-yep. I ain't had one in ages. Foul cables to you, Nez."

Chid drank deeply, letting the fire of the Monongahek whisky seep
into his body. They stopped once to eat sausage and a hunk of Utica
cheese, and another time to water the aged bony horse. Robert Brown,
the tollgate keeper near the halfway marker, took their coins, and re-

203

ported no naval stores on the Waterford Turnpike that he knew of.
"Nuthin' but salt," he said. "Eternal salt goin' down and whisky comin'
up." He took a nip with silent gratitude, holding the fire in his mouth
for a long time before swallowing it; then gave the directions to Mr.
Shallus's mill.

"Folly the pike to the fust farm; a log house 'tis, with a Pennsylvania
brigade camped onto the cow lot an' the sarjints plaguin' o' the Lytle
gurls. By there, you swang east onto a tote road, through slash, an' bym-
bye out you come on Le Boeuf pond... an' there's yer mill. You log-
gers, boys?"

"Nope. We're at Erie, with Noah Brown.' 5

"Ain't that a to-do at Erie now?"

"We launched the first boat this morning. There'll be two more this
week."

"My Gee! You don't say? Mirandy! We never took no stock in that
Navy back-country here. A boat launched; well, I d'clare!"

They pushed on. Chid was eager to see the mill. They came upon it
first, as Nez said, "by ear." A soft chuffing noise came whispering through
the forest, followed by the prolonged harsh rasp of a power saw. Save
for that chuffing noise between cuts, reminding Chid of the breathing of
the Firefly that winter dawn so long ago, it sounded like any water mill.

"Steam mill," Nez pronounced.

"A-yep. Steam's the coming thing, I reckon, Nez," Chid said. "I get to
thinking about it lots of times; steamboats, I mean. I found a danged
good shipyard site on Presque Isle bay. I been toying with the notion
to build a steamboat there some day."

"You'd be crazy to, Chid," Nez said promptly. "Leastways till we
get finished fightin' about whose country 'tis. Anyway, you ain't got ary
a extry dollar to commence no shipyard."

"Nope, not now, I ain't. But I was put in the way of a prime oppor-
tunity. Mr. Shallus, the man who owns this mill, wants me to select ship
timber for him, standing timber."

"You wouldn't do that, Chid?"

"Wouldn't I, though. Come August you watch me, Nez."

"Oh, August is all right, I reckon. But you wouldn't quit Uncle Noah
now, would you?"

2O4

"I guess I couldn't. Building that Ariel gave me a whale of a pleasant
feeling, Nez. I don't suppose I could ever feel better about building a
ship save if I was building her for myself. I reckon that's what I'm
planning for once I'm free."

"Well, you'll be outen yer bound-papers soon," Nez said dubiously,
"but Gosh knows how free you'll be, Chid."

The Shallus mill stood in a clearing where the muddy Le Boeuf
entered a pond; above the fork where the stream joined with French
Creek. Great piles of slash and bark slabs surrounded the two long saw
tables. Bare-waisted men jacked the logs onto the feeder stringers and
guided them, butt ends first, into the whirling vertical saws. The steam
plant chuffed beside the stream, using its water, and a long hide belt
snaked up the bank to the saws. In the shade clumps at the edges of
the clearing, oxen teams, three to a yoke, rested after the haul from the
woods. At the end of a rutted clay road carts waited, the nags swishing
their long, braided tails at the swarm of flies. On these carts Chid could
see some ship knees and crooks of poor quality. Evidently John Shallus
still needed him. A driver stopped plaguing a toad with his rod-long
snake whip and told Chid that such fancy stock went by team way to
the south Genesee country; then down the Susquehanna to the building
yards on the Chesapeake and the seaboard.

"What do you bring back?"

"Nuthin'; not from the east. From the south, Pittsburgh and them
towns, we fetch back nigh anythin' you could mention. All the Alle-
gany trade goes by flatboat mostly. There ain't no good roads yet."

"Guns. And iron shot?"

"Them items is a plague to the boaters, Mister. They don't take 'em
unless they have to, an' they don't have to. I hear they's a hull mess o'
guns pitched ashore to Bad Woman Island, forty miles south o' here.
The boatmen jest quit; draggin' heavy stuff like that over riffles don't
pay nohow."

Mr. Shallus was in Baltimore on business. Chris Kemp was on hand,
however, checking record shingles in the shady end of an open-front
shelter. A rude wooden sign pronounced it the office. Kemp was glad to
see Chid. He proved it by pouring a generous portion of a drink that he
named "oat blood" and knocking off work.

205

"I hope this visit means you've changed yer mind, Mr. Alwyn," Kemp
said. "I want to tell you we're having a devil of a time cuttin' out ship
stuff."

"No, I wasn't meaning to change my mind."

"It's too bad your boss wouldn't sell you out to John. John tried, he did,
hard. It's a shame you got to wait till August. We're nigh finished for
the season by then. Sometimes the rivers get too low to ship even before
then. Say, your Navy boys figured on the lake dropping, ain't they?"

"A-yep. The fleet'll be launched and over the bar long before August.
Low water won't trap Perry."

"Maybe not. But his supply people might, they don't hustle. I hear he
needs men terrible."

"He needs eight hundred; he's got about one hundred. It's a good
thing the British ain't ready to fight yet. They could blast Presque Isle
right out of the lake."

"Well, it ain't none o' my worry. Look around, boys. We're modrens
this mornin'; even got us a steam engine. She's a buster, she is; a blun-up
one, from a Ohio steamboat. John bought her awash, for a pipe tune,
an' we run her low-pressure. Well ... no call to leave a bran'-new engine
for the British, is they?"

Chid approved of the mill. He considered the shipping of the lumber
especially cute. The river here was unfit for rafting, and Kemp shipped
in large shallow arks made of houseboards cut on the site. These arks
were similar to the flatboats which were the common carriers on the
frontier rivers, flat, square-ended boxes, about thirty feet long and twelve
feet wide. They were shapeless save for the bow, which was raked like
that of a barge. The lumber was piled into the arks to the gunwales,
then securely spiked to the boat itself to become the ark's real strength.
There was neither keel nor deck. Atop the cargo a lean-to living shelter
was built, and this was flanked by fore-and-aft plank trestles from which
the polers, with a firm set from the bow position, walked the ark be-
neath them as they tramped to the stern.

Upon reaching Pittsburgh, a logger told Chid, the arks were broken
up and sold as regular lumber for half price because of the spike holes
and water damage. In that way not only was there no expense in bring-
ing the arks back, but they paid a profit as well.

206

"Could a fellow buy a whole ark at Pittsburgh?" Chid asked.

"Why not?" Chris Kemp grinned. "Extra cheap; say fifty apiece."

"Could a boat like that carry naval guns?"

"Them to Bad Woman's Island?"

"A-yep."

"Why, Fd say it could be done with proper loadin*. The trouble would
be a crew. Polers get paid by the mile; they ain't extended the towpath
this far yet. Bat they wouldn't touch such slow heavy stuff for usual
rates."

"Would you give me an option to buy some arks; say for ten dollars
the option, Mr. Kemp?"

"Your word's all John Shallus would want," Chris said.

"All right, I give it," Chid said, calculating with his boot toe in the
sawdust carpet. "I can let you know in two days."

"It'll be time. We won't ship before that, Mr. Alwyn."

Chris passed the jug again and wished them luck.

Chid said good-by. He was strangely silent on the ride back to Erie.
Nez, who was feeling gay and songful, twitted him. "Chid's on the
track o* money again." Nez singsonged tunelessly to the sunset:

"Oh, there was a young blade from the coast
He'd make millions o' dollars, he'd boast

So he goes to a lake

There to cut inter his cake
And-"

"Shut up," Chid snapped. "I want those arks for Noah Brown, not
myself. Nez, you're drunk!"

"Drunk's a Hessian on Christmas," Nez guffawed and spanked the
reins. "Chid, oP frien', lemme tell you suthin' yer jealous, jes* god-
damn' jealous."

Nez took another long drink from the generous-sized jug of bat
blood which Chris Kemp, with sincere cordiality, had insisted that they
accept. Chid did not drink. His mind was sharp and keen. Tonight,
with that long thinking time on the ride ahead of him, he wanted to
keep it so.

They were halfway to Erie, several miles past the Lytle farm and the

207

militia encampment, when Chid first heard the thunder. It rumbled in
the north, like cannonading a great distance off. The deep forests about
were dark with dusk, and night was only an hour off. Chid, who had
taken the reins when Nez had fallen into a noisy, lurching sleep beside
him, spanked them on the nag, hurrying the plodding horse. He'd been
through several of the violent lake storms. They formed over the lake
after such hot humid days, riding the unbroken sweep of miles of water,
then lashed at the land in maniacal gusts and drenching downpours of
rain and hail. He reckoned that he could just make the tollhouse before
the storm broke.

The cart path was rotted corduroy, said to have been laid by the French
invaders in the 1750*5 as a portage road between the lake and Le Boeuf,
which was the original name of Waterford. The carriage jounced fear-
fully; Chid had all he could do to hang on. Nez rolled himself aft, into
the small box, a safe place for a drunk.

After a while the land became more open. The hardwoods were less
abundant, and the rolling terracelike hills, flat and meadowlike, reminded
Chid of the natural fields of western York State. This was good land
here behind the lake. It would settle in time; Erie would grow into a
big town, perhaps a city.

It made him think again about the future of this land. He had thought
of it often lately, been alert and observant, to see for himself if his hopes
were based upon reasonable premises or only wishful thinking.

But he felt certain now that a shipyard could make out on the lake.
Until the war had come last June, there had been a lively, profitable
carrying trade for the few vessels there were. Daniel Dobbins and his
Salina had done well. Dobbins owned a farm east of Erie and a great
stand of pine timber in the Donation Lands, both properties for which
he paid spot cash, it was rumored. There were two other captains in
Erie, and three registered pilots, and the lake Marine District roster at
Black Rock showed over a hundred men directly connected with navi-
gation. To the last man, these men sailed on shoddy jerry-built vessels,
the best that they could procure. They would appreciate real deep-water
designs, built in the honest tradition of generations of New England
sailing-ship builders.

The steamboat was still a vague part of Chid's plans. He would com-

208

mence with anything that he could manage to contract for sail, flatboat,
or even the little seiners o the white fish and smelt fleet. When the time
for the steamboat arrived, the smart thing would be to be in a position
to own and operate it himself. But as a starter he needed to get that
shipyard site bought in.

He thought ruefully of his resources. For all this hard grueling work
he had earned thirty dollars. John Shallus's offer, upon which he had
been depending, seemed definitely unproductive unless he accepted it
before August. Perhaps next winter when the cutting commenced again
he could accept it. But by that time the war would be over. Perhaps
other men would think as he did about shipbuilding on the lake; per-
haps the yard site, even the near-by timber, would have been bought in
by others.

That was an odd song that Nez had sung. It had made him curiously
angry.

So he goes to a lake
There to cut into his cake
And...

And what? Nez had thought that he had bought those options on
the arks for himself. He hadn't, he honestly hadn't. But it was a good
idea. A man might make a handsome profit, toting for the government.
And do the government a sweet turn, too. All he needed were the arks
and his own time.

It was a witless dream, not unlike his others. They all depended upon
money, upon capital; upon the freedom to gather the capital, pursue the
dream. But, jouncing along in the wagon, the candle lantern swaying
from the front axle, Chid knew how he'd like to end that foolish song
of Nez's.

Oh, there was a young man from the coast.
He'd make millions of dollars, he'd boast.
So he goes to a lake
There to cut into his cake
And returned only for the girl he loved most!

"Shucks!" Chid grinned to himself wryly. "Thirty dollars! And I made
fifty in ten minutes once just writing down names for Mr. Driddle. I

209

reckon I better not get going on these ambitions of mine again. You
can't make 'em come true without money 5 and when you got money you
don't need the ambition. Get on, hoss that thunder squall is ringing
right up."

Chid was suddenly aware o a woman standing in the road ahead, her
arms outspread to stop the carriage. She was middle-aged, reminding
him somehow of Mrs, Tatum, and she was scared. Chid could see that
in his first look.

"Mister, mister! Pull up. The Lord sent you," she cried.

"Ma'am," said Chid and pulled the nag to a stop. "Ma'am, what's
the trouble?"

2IO

Chapter Thirteen

TOKK SLINKER AND Culver Coons moved cautiously over the deserted
deck of the Ariel. The gunboat lay alongside a lakestone mole, creaking
gently against her breasting booms. The riggers had gone to the Cascade
yard in answer to the cook's triangle. Tonk and Culver had decided that
what they planned to do was worth giving up supper for.

Tonk was a large pink boy of fifteen. He carried, by an iron reefing
hook, a bucket of live charcoals stolen from the blacksmith's forge at the
Cascade yard. His leather carpenter's apron was hitched around to his
left hip to protect him from the intense heat of the sullen red fire in the
metal pail. Culver carried a long rusted iron rod, sharpened to a blunt
point. He, too, was a large boy, almost fat, but he was dark-complected,
with flashing black eyes set wide apart under a shock of unruly jet-
black hair.

"All clear below," Culver whispered to Tonk, who had remained on
deck. "I reckon we can do it if we work fast, Tonk."

"God, if Carmody should catch us!" Tonk breathed.

"I ain't scared o j him," Culver grinned. "They took him up to Stone's
this afternoon, yeller as a butter ball with the swamp vomit. It's Chid
Alwyn I'm a-scared of."

"Well, don't be. He's gone downstate, him an' Nez."

"I know. But s'pposin' he ever takes a notion to lift o* them deck
boards 'round the stem. He'd see for sure."

"Aw, let him. By Jesus, Cul, he ain't the on'y one's had a hand in
buildin' this hooker. I reckon me an' you rate some, too."

They crept forward, stooped to avoid the deck beams, traversing the
orlop deck. The smell of acrid new wood was heavy in the airless below-
decks. Rope coils and piles of blocks, thimbles, and lignum-vitae dead

211

and heart eyes were strewn on the deck; lines on the stretch crisscross
between the stanchions and mast buries, some partially wormed, parceled
and served. The riggers would be back soon to continue their work
under lantern light far into the night.

Tonk Slinker set the bucket down at the heel of the knighthead.
Culver dashed his iron rod into the glowing coals. They tugged at the
triangular flush hatch immediately aft of the solid, bulky oak stempiece,
sliding it aft a few feet, exposing the stem clear to the keel scarf.

"Lord!" Tonk groaned, "how I hacked at this chunk! Chid wouldn't
scarcely low me time to hone up my adze, he was that pushy. What
d'you reckon they'll have him on now, Cul?"

"Dunno. I heard Lanny Hog say Chid was mentioned to take over in
Carmody's place."

"What? Build a brig? Jes', Cul, one o' those'll be chosen for the flag-
ship."

"I reckon," Tonk shrugged. "I on'y hope Chid picks me in his gang.
He drives hell outen us, but, by Jes', Cul, he sure gets things done."

The iron rod was now red hot. Tonk wrapped a piece of sailcloth
around the end and carried it gingerly to the deck opening.

He bent over on his knees, reaching into the tight wedge-shaped space.
Carefully he burned into the oaken stempiece, several feet below the
brand, "C. A. Mstr. Bldr. 1813," the initials T. S.

"You want for me to burn yours in too, Cul?"

"Don't you dast," Culver growled. "Ain't nobody a-burnin* o* my
initials but me. Hand up the irun."

The rod was heated again. Culver Coons reached into the space and
again the sweetish smoke of scorched oak arose. C. C. C. Culver burned
into the stempiece. The middle C was for Chauncey. But it was some-
thing that he kept quiet about. Chauncey was not a popular name around
Presque Isle.

They replaced the floor hatch. Only Chid's initials, well above the
deck, could be seen now. They crept again to the deck and threw the
bucket of coals overside.

"By snook," Tonk grinned, "it kind o' makes me feel she's part mine
now."

212

"I always felt that way," Culver said gravely, "but this kind o" binds it.
Tonk, do you s'ppose well get a chance to fight her, too?"

"I ain't supposing CuL I'm goin' to. I wouldn't miss that sport for
anythin'. Me an* Sylvester Tatro an' some o' the local boysVe been
drillin' with Real Taylor's Civilian Marine Brigade. We'll elect you in,
you want"

"What do I have to do?"

"Jes' drill; gun drill, sail drill, general quarters drill. When the fleet's
finished, we can join a ship."

"By jing, yes, Tonk. I ain't had all this hard labor an' starvation to be
sent home an' miss the real fun. Does Chid belong?"

"No, he's in the Civilian Guard."

"Well, count me in. Hark, Tonk what was that?"

They both listened intently. A gun had boomed far across the bay. As
they listened another sounded.

"That was the watchtower on the peninsula, CuL"

"No!"

"By Goddy, 'twas. That's the alarm. Come on, Cul,,^ou're elected into
the Brigade right this minute. Jes', I hope it's the British at last!"

Antoine sat with his stockinged feet in the brick chimney oven in the
kitchen of his friend Baptiste Bodette. Baptiste was a French-Canadian,
a wizened aging man, who had crossed the lake from what was now
the town of Lacolle many years ago. He had come to get away from war
and the cold. He had found the American side only slightly warmer.
Even on a warm, sultry day like this Baptiste found the fire pleasant. He
thought the American climate much more agreeable to his grapes. But
war was with him always.

He raised grapes for a living and was the only grower west of the
Finger Lakes, where grapes, especially those of the red varieties, did so
marvelously. He sold a few fresh grapes in the Erie markets and sent
some to the south when the rivers permitted. But he turned most of his
crop into wine, a sweet-sour red wine, unlike anything European, yet
with a lingering delightful taste and a rich body which made the limited
gallonage of the winery always eagerly sought after.

Antoine sipped some of that wine now, raising his glass first to his

host. Baptiste nodded sleepily. Since chance had directed a fellow Cana-
dian to his fireside, his evenings had become more pleasant than he had
ever known them. He and Antoine were already fast friends.

Baptiste had just concluded a story, the one in which the parish priest
of St. Evariste had freed the spirit of one of his flock from the animal
body of the dread Le Loup Garou.

"Ah tlnk," nodded Antoine thoughtfully, "is good wolfs story, dat."

"Werewolf, mon ami," corrected Baptiste. "She is badder."

"Oui. She remin' me, dat story, on what happen to hoi* fran' from me.
Long tarn a go, Ba'tis', but Ah t'ink Ah could rememble."

"O, tell, Antoine. Bon fran' wit' de fire Mon Dieu, is what can be
more better dan de hoi' country story den."

"Honly de drank wit' hims. Ho, Ba'tis' -you' glass she have de leak,
Ah d'clare."

"Pardon, pardon!" Baptiste murmered and hastened to fill Antoine's
wine glass.

Baptiste dearly loved a story. He believed very few of them, even the
ones he told himself. But the truth of them was unimportant. Listening
was a pleasant pastime, and he fancied that life in Mother France, where
he never had been, might be like this: a friend, a flagon of mellow wine,
and unending pleasant conversation. Men like himself, he often reasoned,
found in conversation, in spoken story and anecdote and debate, what
those who could read found in books. His wife, before she had died two
years ago, had been an excellent storyteller and, more important, an
even more excellent listener.

How very fortunate, therefore, that Antoine Marestiere had come
partially to take her place. If only this American war did not descend
upon him. He had seen war for most of his life, French, British, Indians,
the American Revolution; had been on its fringes for as long as he
could remember, always fleeing before it. War hovered again. And again
he was ready should it envelope him.

"You mentioned de story, Antoine."

"Ah! Wall, Ba'tis'. Ho, now Ahll tell } bou 5 de wolfs what come fo' de

life o' dat fran'. She was a trapper, dat fran', nam' Marcel, an' she have

de trap line deep in de hwoods, way away f'um de town whar Ah was

leetly boy, long tarn 'go. Ah see dat Marcel plenty tarn in summer but

214

nevaire whan de fur is prime an* de wissels an' martin an' fox is hongry.
Non! Marcel, he live by hisself den, in de leetly log soddy-shack an* hall
day long dat feller trap an' trap. Honly wance, mebbe two tarns, hall
winter, whan de flour bar'l get low an' de heart cry much fo j de swit
womans an* de dance, come dat feller hout to de town.

"We have not see him fo' one mont', mebbe two mont'. Is long tarn',
dat, in de hwoods, alone, Ba'tis', an' sornetam feller she go crazy, hein?
You t'ink mah fran' Marcel go crazy? Bah; Non, dat brave feller, no!
But she have trouble mais oui, tr-r-rouble!

"One col' day Marcel scratch de haid an' say, 'Bah Gar, jes' look on dat
flour. Is no. Is tarn near hall gone. Jes' Chris', an' look on dat bacon, dar
ants none an' dar ants none co'n needer. Diable a quatre, Marcel, Ah
t'ink you shak de hass an' catch hup some mo' grub, but queek.' An'
mah fran' put on fo' de snowshoes an' tak de gun an* he t'ink he go to
town fo' grub b'fo* he starve hisself dead.

"But, dat feller do not go. Non! Houtslde de doo* dat feller see de
wolfs, hongry skinny wolfs, hall wit' de tongue rollin' an' de teet' mak*
white spit, wit* hangry an* wit* honger; hall want to heat hup mah hoi'
fran'. Marcel, he see one grea* biggly wolfs, mebbe de capt'n o' dem
hall. 'Ho,* say Marcel, an' raise hup dat musket to shoot, "Ah t'ink, bah
Je', you die an' den dar be no mo' trouble.* But Marcel nevaire shoot.
Befo' he mak' de beat pouflE! De odder wolfs come 'round de iDack,,
an' on de flank, an* dey nips an' snaps. Pooty soon mah fran' is surroun'*
pooty soon mah fran' is island, lak in de St. Lawrence, wit' white water
surroun' hims honly de white water is wolfs. Hall 'round is nozzing
but wolfs. Ho! Mah fran* go in dat doo' queek, lak fast Ba'tis' 3 lak
hell!

"What to do? Hall night long dat feller t'ink an' t'ink. Hall nex' day,,
he t'ink, too. He is hongry. De grub she is gone. Dar is nozzing in de
shack, nozzing, nozzing, no whar he look, nozzing. So he t'ink some
mo*, hard lak anyzing, an* always houtside dat doo' he hear de wolfs
gr-r-r-r! Ar-r-r-! Mra-a-a-! G, honderts wolfs! Hall de wolf s in Quebec
come to heat hup mah fran'."

Antoine paused and nodded significantly at his glass. But Baptiste was
spellbound. He did not notice.

"She leak some mo', mon ami," Antoine hinted.

215

"Pardon, oh, pardon," Baptiste apologized and hastily refilled Antoine's
glass. "Le bon Dieu spare you' fran', hein?"

"Non, mah fran' do dat hisself, Ba'tis'. Y'on'erstan' dat Marcel Is ver*
hongry? Y'on'erstan' dat she does not wish to be heat hup by wolfs?
Oui, is good, dat. So wall, Marcel, he t'ink an' he t'ink an' she is mos'
nearly a wik gone by. Oh, is dat feller hongry! So he t'ink one mo' tarn
an* voila! He have hit!

"Mah fran 3 do not shoots, non! He do not lay hisself down to die, non!
You know what she do, him? Bah Gar, dat brave feller he tak de beeg
long coil rope f um de hook an* den he sit down by dat col' stove what
she has nozzing to cook on an' he ritch o* hees skin' knife an* he mak
de littly deep cut, right in his laig. Is not much bloodly lef ; tarn leetly,
Ba'tis', but is enough so mah fran' mak de teeny bloodly spot on dat rope,
ever* half meter, hall de way to de hend. Oh, dat feller is wik, wit* dizzy;
terrible! But she go to do doo' an' she hopen him, jes' littly crack, an'
she rare back an' she slang dat whole rope way away into de hwoods an*
she honly tie de wan hend in de shack.

"Such a t'ing! Mon Dieu! Dem wolfs sniff an* dey snifP an' den pouff,
dem bad hanimals fin' dat rope wit' de bloodly o* mah fran' freshly hon
it. Ever* goddam wolfs take bite on dat rope! ever' wolfs! One half
meter apart. An* day not le' go, Ba'tis', oh, non, not dem mad hongry
wolfs. She hoi* on, tight wit* de teet*, growlin* an' gnashin' an* hall mah
good hoi* fran* do is pull dem wolfs to hims an' kill hims one at de tarn
wit' de hax."

Antoine drained his glass and rose, sliding into his moccasins.

"You blieve, Ba'tis', hein?"

"Mais oui 9 Antoine, of course."

"Wall, den Ahll tell you de tra*. Ba'tis*, mon ami, Ah say him lak dat
so you not feel badder. Dat feller Marcel, hoi' fran', is me, Antoine Paul
Marestiere!"

"Of course, of course. Why did dis dumbhead not suspect? Antoine,
mo' better you have some wine, hein?"

"Merci," Antoine nodded. "Is mo' better story wit' de wine.'*

He was just about to raise the sweet, strong wine to his lips when a
dull shot echoed from the direction of Presque Isle bay. Baptiste looked
at him in sudden panic, then wearily removed a brick from the hearth.

216

A small iron sap pot lay in the hiding place. It was sealed over with bees-
wax, all except a small slot, into which the old man could slip his saved
coins.

"Again it comes," he sighed without anger, '7# guerre. Ah t'inks she
is tarn to move again, Antoine."

Antoine helped the old man load his low, small-wheeled vineyard
wagon. There was not much to load, a rope bed, a chest of drawers, a
toolbox, a bronze crucifix in a deep bolectioned walnut frame with
Gothic-arched cabinet doors, and the iron sap pot. They buried the vine-
yard tools and the few wine kegs. The goat and its kid they tethered to
the wagon. Baptiste Bodette lifted himself tiredly to the plank seat. He did
not speak except to murmur a low good-by to his new friend.

The arbors stood in neat, terraced rows on the sunny sidehill above
the plain log cabin, the pale leaves catching the lowering sunlight, the
new green bunches of fruit dusty with a reddish light. To the northward,
beyond the supper-fire smoke of Erie the lake sparkled. Far on the
horizon two tiny white sails hung as if suspended between heaven and
earth.

Antoine turned toward Presque Isle, shutting out the sound of the
retreating wagon wheels. About halfway to the town he met another
wagon, horses lathered, heading south. Only a leather trunk and three
frightened children were in the box behind the woman who drove. A
dog trotted under the wagon, eyes rheumy from the road dust. Between
there and the naval storehouse where the Civilian Marine Brigade was
forming ragged ranks, he met three other wagons. All carried frightened,
fleeing people.

Mais oui, la guerre had come.

The woman who stopped Chid on the Waterford Turnpike could
hardly talk. She was out of breath and stumbled to the carriage. Chid
jumped to the road and offered his arm. She took it gratefully. Chid felt
the shaking of her.

"Take it easy, ma'am. Nothing's chasing you, is there?"
"No. I got away before they came, I heard their horrible whooping
and screeching in the brush before they got to the clearing. They're
going to burn down our house."

217

"Who?"

"Indians. Scads o *em. They're on the warpath."

"No Indians here would be on the warpath/' Chid said. "Did they
bother you?"

They had not. Nor had they seen her run for it. Her name was
Maggie Baxter. She and her husband had cleared an intervale meadow
in the Donation District some rods in from the turnpike and built them-
selves a slab cabin and a barn. She had been there alone when the
Indians had come howling in from the west. Some were on ponies;
others on foot. They were armed and nasty, and as she had peeped from
her concealment in the underbrush beyond the hay lot, she saw that
they were kindling a fire. Mrs. Baxter reckoned she knew what that
meant.

"I expect they're just sporting, ma'am/' Chid reassured her. "They're
like going on to Erie."

"First they'll touch off the house it's their natcher," the woman
wailed. "I was trying to get word to the tollgate. They might make
trouble in town, and I thought to warn 'em."

"I don't think they will. They probably just want food.' 9

"An' likkor too. Injuns always want likkor."

Til go up," Chid said.

He took Nez's jug. He reckoned they were after liquor, all right. He
expected he knew who they were. He plunged into the dark woods,
keeping the patches of light sky to his right. When he came to the edge
of the clearing, he saw the fire. It was a loose blaze of tops, under con-
trol, and silhouetted against the leaping flames he could see the figures
of the Indians. Most of them sat docilely on the ground. A few danced
and jumped, like mechanical puppets, and from time to time emitted
half-hearted whoops and yells. Chid approached boldly, making no pre-
tense of concealment. None of the Indians bothered him, though they
all eyed the jug with calculation.

"Where's your chief?" Chid asked a painted dancing brave.

"Um!" Chid could follow the man's pointing.

A group of ancient Indians huddled together near the fire. They ate
from their warbags, chewing the dried, leathery meat and parched corn
slowly, making it seem like a feast. It surprised Chid to see that they

218

were in war paint. But only the very young men behaved in a warlike
manner, brandishing old Revolution muskets. They were not very con-
vincing.

"Chief," Chid said. "Head man."

"Corn-Eater; here." A wizened, stooped Indian unfolded his blanket,
baring his naked chest, on which was painted his totem. Chid had heard
^t the man. His renegade tribe was one of those which so far had not
gone either British or Yankee. He guessed that the two Indians who had
soberly watched the launching of the Ariel had gotten word to the
Corn-Eater.

"Hurry," Chid said, making his words slowly. " 'Merican captain
needs the chief tonight. At Erie; big feast." He wished that Nez had
been in shape to handle this. He felt inadequate. Nez knew about these
matters better than did he.

"Want Corn-Eater, must feed." The chief nodded toward the rude
Baxter shanty."

"Too poor," Chid said. "At Erie big food, big camp for great chief.
Go away from here, chief. Bad food here." Chid presented the jug. The
Corn-Eater sniffed at it, then he took a long gurgling draught. "More at
Erie. Go now," Chid urged.

Chid didn't care what he promised. Some of the young men, he was
afraid, might work themselves into a raid on the house. It was a miser-
able, dilapidated shack, but it was somebody's dream. The Baxters prob-
ably had their life's savings in the place. The land itself he knew had
been free, one of the many Donation District tracts given by the land-
poor states in lieu of hard money to the veterans of the Revolution.

The Corn-Eater shook a gourd rattle, and the dancing ceased abruptly.
There was some mild objection among the younger braves and a dispo-
sition to remain for the feast of dog. Two Indians were preparing to
brain the Baxter watch dog, a large, shabby cow driver. But without
further word the Corn-Eater climbed into a contraption made of the
hind wheels of a small buggy upon which the original box and seat
were precariously balanced, and a young Indian boy led the horse over
the furrowed meadow toward Erie. The ragged braves followed docilely,
their warlike antics suddenly quelled. The last Chid saw of the chief
was the flash of the jug bottom in the flame light.

219

Two young bucks still idled near the house, eying the low, open sash.
The dog, released, barked and nipped at their bare heels, worrying them.
Chid walked boldly between them and into the cabin. He felt his way to
the fireplace and reached for the musket that he knew must be there.
It was an antique French-lock, probably of little use save as a cudgel,
but Chid stood in the doorway and brandished it, and the two Indians
disappeared with ludicrous suddenness in the direction the Corn-Eater's
tribe had taken.

The cabin was all right; nothing had been touched. Chid stamped out
the brush fire, then whistled in the cow dog and made his way back to
the carriage. It was full dark now. The thunder had lessened, as i the
storm were waiting to ride the night breeze in from the lake. Mrs. Bax-
ter's gratitude was overwhelming. It embarrassed Chid until he realized
that the woman was on the edge of hysterics.

"Ill take you to the tollhouse, ma'am," Chid said, clucking to the nag.
"Mr. Brown's your nearest neighbor, I take it."

"God bless you, young man. I never thought Yd see the dog again.
Those heathens grabbed him first thing. My husband depends on Barna-
bus . . . it's his name, young man, the dog's I mean . . . he's a flatboater,
and the dog knows every riffle here to the Forks of the Ohio. He don't
miss a one, and it kind of keeps my man from wrecking I mean Barna-
bus's barking him awake when the boat's just drifting. My man's in
Erie today. He'll fetch me at the tollhouse; you leave me there."

Chid said he would. Mr. Brown, when his waving lantern brought
Chid's horse up at the gate, was agitated. "Them damned louts o' the
Corn-Eater's," he growled, "used the road till forty rods south, an' then
scooted 'round back o' me. Nary a copper toll did I c'llect from *em."

He was glad to care for Mrs. Baxter, and figured that her husband
might be along any minute to take her home. "You done her a right
good turn," Mr. Brown said. "Ain't you the shipbuilder?"

"A-yep. Alwyn's the name, Chidsy Alwyn."

"Pleased to meet yuh, Mr. Alwyn." Mr. Brown shook hands, and for
some unaccountable reason Mrs. Baxter did likewise. "Mr. Baxter'll be
powerful grateful. He's a fine gent. You ought to remain by to meet up
with him."

22O

"I was figuring to stay here till that thunder squall passed over, Mr.
Brown."

"Welcome. I figured sure we'd get it by now, but it kind o* eased of?
after sunset. That ain't a nach'rel storm, Mr. Alwyn; there ain't the right
feel in the air, an* stormheads was missin' at sunset."

"We better get my friend in," Chid said. "He ate something didn't
set right, I guess."

"So did them damn* Indians," Mr. Brown said wryly, "et it right outen
a stun jug, Mr. Alwyn."

"They had a gallon," Chid admitted. "I gave it to them so they'd
leave Mrs. Baxter's place alone."

"Well, a gallon won't make more'n one Indian drunk 'cause only one
Indian'll get at the jug. Them savages swill likkor like water, but they
can't hold it worth a hoot they either fight or fall asleep."

They sat on the dusty stubbled sward in front of the tollhouse waiting
for the storm to break. But the thunder gradually thinned out, and after a
while it could not be heard at all.

A lone figure came walking swiftly from the direction of Erie. They
could hear his tuneless whistle a long way off in the dark. Barnabus
suddenly stiffened and whined. "I cal'ate that's Azial," Mrs. Baxter said
tremulously and sighed as if a burden had been removed from her
shoulders. Behind the figure distant wagon wheels creaked.

Chid shook hands with the man. He could not see him very well, but
he sensed that he was a giant. His hand grip hurt.

"Happy to meet you, Mr. Alwyn," Baxter said in a deep bearlike
growL "Maggie, what in creation's ailin 5 o' you? Yer shakin* like a
whupped puppy."

"I be scared, Azial; plumb scared/*

She began telling him about the Indians. He listened with concern.
Chid could see his big hamlike hand creep around her waist, drawing
her toward him. She was telling her husband about stopping Chid on
the road when the wagon drew up to the tollgate.

"Halt!" Mr. Brown cried. "Goldurn yuh, cain't you see that lantren
spang in the middle o* the road?"

Baptiste Bodette grunted, and his bony horse came to a tired stop.

221

Mr. Brown's lantern revealed the old Frenchmen's weary face, the loaded
household goods in the vineyard wagon.

"Movin', be you?"

"La guerre," Baptiste said thinly. "She comes again. AH go, me, mon-
sieur."

"Well, go, whatever the hell's a-chasin' o' you. The toll's twenty cents,
mister, plus five fer the goat."

Baptiste shook his iron sap pot until the copper coins fell into the circle
of lantern light on the plank seat. Mr. Brown picked out his toll fee and
waved the wagon on. Baptiste made a muddy sucking in his throat, and
the horse plodded on toward Waterford.

"Now, what's a-eatin' on Bodette?" he mused aloud. "By gum, he's
got a handsome good crop a-comin' up to the lake shore. What in snum's
a la gare,' Azial? You reckon that oP coot's got a woman drivin' on him?"

No telling, Azial opined. Them Canucks was funny critters. Over to
York State and Vermont they was a real problem, like the Injuns here
and the niggers was getting to be to the south'ard.

Chid led Nez to the carriage. It was obvious that the storm had blown
itself out over the lake. And he did not relish listening to Mrs. Baxter's
hysterical praise again.

He said good night and whipped up the horse. He wanted to get to
the sentry post fast to tell Real Taylor about those Indians. Somebody
would have to feed them or there would be trouble. After all, if the Corn-
Eater was coming as an ally at last, it would be policy to treat him as one.
That meant above all a welcome of food and liquor upon arrival.

But at the post only a vacant-eyed civilian dozed beside the stacked
muskets. The man said Lieutenant Taylor had taken his boys and gone
to the bay about six o'clock. "Kind o' excited, they was," he mentioned,
"an' loaded fer bear. Don't ast me why them Navy fellers don't tell
nuthin'. Injuns, mister? Dang it, so that's what that there whooping was
a spell back. I shoulda knowed ;t. Injuns, yes, sir! It sounded like some o f
the boys fum Stone's out sportin' or mebbe drivin' varmints."

Chid drove on. On the south-bound road, from which his own cart
path was separated by the swampy hummocks of Murderer's .Swale, he
thought he heard several wagons passing toward the tollhouse.

He felt defeat and hopelessness again. It seemed always that the bright

222

spots were offset so sharply by the failures and the stupidities. An hour
ago he had felt a keen sense of triumph as he thought of those arks which
could bring up the missing stores and guns and so easily solve the des-
perate problem, of equipping the fleet. Now the bright hope was shadowed
by the recollection of the drunken Corn-Eater and his loot-bent tribe., and
this careless and indifferent civilian sentry. Folks needed, as Mr. Brown
had said gravely back in Portersville, to be hurt. Only then would they
realize that the danger threatening was real; that war was not a vast
picnic.

Nez stirred as the first houses of Erie loomed darkly in the night.

"You want me to drive?" Nez asked. "I feel some clearer now, Chid."

"Nope; we're most to Erie."

As soon as the dense forest gave way to the first cleared patch beyond
which was the village. Chid slowed the rig. He turned off from the ship-
yard road opposite the Erie Hotel and entered a rutted clay road between
tall arching chestnuts. At a square clapboarded house set in a neat clipped
lawn he stopped and tied the horse to an iron ring in a tool-marked
square stone post.

"It's French Street," Chid said, jumping to the sod. "Buehler's house.
I got to let Noah Brown or Captain Perry know about those arks. If
they'll buy 'em, our troubles will be over. We can control the whole sup-
ply line, and there won't be stuff thrown ashore on Bad Woman's
Island when those flatboaters get to feeling greedy. You wait."

The Buehler house surprised Chid. It was furnished with a quiet, rich
elegance that bespoke wealth and culture. It reminded him of Mrs.
Tatum's home. There was the same awesome softness of deep-pile car-
peting, and the dull gleam of mahogany and rosewood. In the cool hall
a pendulum clock, the movement a recent invention of Eli Terry of Chid's
own state, clucked in solemn measiired beat. It was disconcerting, finding
such elegance in this wilderness. But there was a promise in it, too, as if
he had suddenly come upon a pattern for that dwelling house which, in
his dreams, stood under shade trees behind the shipyard.

"Captain Perry ain't hyar, suh," said the black who answered Chid's
knock.

"Mr. Brown, then. I must see one or the other."

"Him neither, suh. Dey bofe gone to wah."

223

"What war!"

"De British wah, suh. Two dey ships come dis eb'nin' an* commence
bangin* away at de shipya'ds, suh. Ain't you hear 5 de firm*?"

"Firing?"

"Yassuh. Dey shoot eve'thin* to hell an* gone, suh. Folks done all run
to de sou' kentry. De M'rine Brigade an' de ships' builders done try an'
keep dem f m landin* now, suh."

"I thought it was thunder, all the way coming from Waterford. Did
they hurt the ships?"

"Dunno, suh. All Ah do is keep looksin' till hit come off dahk. But
dey's powerful heaps o' smoke down by de bay. Cap'n ain't got nowhere
near 'nough sojers, suh. He cuss dat Commodore Chauncey good an'
proper, but Ah don't reckon dat fotch him de men he need."

"What's your name?"

"LeGrand Quitnby, suh."

"Do you know me?"

"Yessuh. You's de man what build de Ariel schoonah, suh. Cap'n
Perry mention you galore. He say do he have two mo' men lak you
an'...'*

"Never mind. Did you ever feed ninety Indians?"

"Neber, suh."

"Well, you're going to, LeGrand. I can keep them off for about an
hour. After that you have your people ready with all the chickens and
roast hog you can lay your hands on."

Chid went to the door. He called Nez into the house.

"You know this man, LeGrand?"

"No, suh. He look lak de man what wuk long wid you, on'y dat man
he have whuskers, suh. Look, Ah don* lak do all dis . . ."

"I guess you know him. He's going to watch to see that you do exactly
as I told you. You better do it, LeGrand. Mr. Nott will see that you do."

"I don't know nuthin' about it, Chid," Nez said, "I been kind o'
sleepinV

Chid hated to waste the time, but he hurriedly explained the situation.

It was all-fired queer, where shipbuilding led a man to flatboats, an
insidious lake fever, renegade Indians; a man had to know a lot more
than merely handling tools to build ships. "Throw your knife for 'em,

224

Nez," Chid said. "Send to Stone's for a keg of dunder; make a speech;
do anything until Real Taylor or someone comes back from the bay. The
Corn-Eater's been dawdling over that gallon. But hell fetch town by the
pike any minute now. Head him down here to Buehler's barn and keep
LeGrand's people feeding him and his tribe."

"Ninety Indians ain't so important. Chid."

"It's ninety that ain't British. I guess that's the way Captain Perry would
look at it."

"Mas* Alwyn," the black said with sudden respect, "Ah reckon de
cap'n want me to do dis, suh."

"I reckon he'd whip you if you didn't," Chid said; "and lock up the
dog if you've got one."

"Yessuh! Mas' Alwyn, de Sackett's Ha'bah runner fotched a letteh fo*
you, suh. Mas' Brown say sen* hit to . . ."

"Give it over."

It was from Mary. He thrilled to the small, intimate handwriting. Like
the words it formed, it was for him alone, not to be read now. He
reckoned Nez and the Buehler servants could take care of the Indians.
That was important. But not as important as the Ariel.

Even now she might be needing him, might be hurt by the mighty
gunfire which distance had made sound so like a terrific lake storm.

Chid ran as fast as he could to the shipyard on the bay. For the first
time that he could remember since he had been in Erie, he could feel
genuine anger, blind, hot anger, for that enemy across the lake.

They had, at last, hurt.

225

Chapter Fourteen

As CHID PLUNGED through the dense black forest, he had the distinct
feeling, mounting almost to a conviction, that he was on the brink of
impending events of tremendous portent. He could not say why. His
awareness was without reason. But it lay on his belly like a dreadful
apprehension, and seemed to urge him on to hurry.

He could recall nothing of particularly ominous significance having
occurred during the long weeks at Presque Isle. Thinking back upon
the period, he recollected only the eternal physical weariness of it. The
days, until this one, had been but hours of endless hard work. He had
driven his muscles to the limit of their endurance by daylight, and his
mind to throbbing dullness far into each night. Only seldom, usually
between the time he at last laid himself down and the moment of clos-
ing his eyes in dreamless animal-like sleep, had he thought of himself or
his ambitions. He hoarded his thoughts of these like a child with sugar
candies, saving them until the end of the day, then found himself always
too tired and too sleep-hungry to enjoy them.

Today Chid had found real rest, far away from the cares of the ship-
yard; away from the endless problems of building the Ariel, of obtaining
or improvising her fittings, of meeting and defeating the growlings of
his gang, who were as weary as he himself. It seemed that he had per-
sonally, and oftentimes physically, to fight for every spike and tool and
bit of forge work and loyalty that the schooner required. Only a week
ago he had had to threaten old Paph North with dismissal for his
eternal complaining. One bright day in early spring, he had had to lick
Tonk Slinker for stealing to the pool above the Cascade Falls for an hour
of swimming and loafing. All the while Chid himself would have given

226

anything to plunge into the cool beckoning depths o the stream and for-
get the staggering tasks he had undertaken.

His own loyalty to the task and to Noah Brown and Captain Perry
was something that he did not attempt to rationalize. The problem, the
dragon to be slain, was personalized for Chid in the Arid. She had
had to be built, quickly and completely and well, and he was seldom
aware of the larger meanings of his struggle. In a vague way, hardly to
be characterized as patriotic consciousness, he sensed the threat of the
British and their Indian allies to the country. But he was never blind to
the fact that by defeating this enemy the lake would be kept open. In
that way only would it become the safe region that it must become in
order for him to build the ships he dreamed of, to build that home and
career and fortune. Always Chid had to reason and understand in such
terms. As a boy, these things had been but words of brave boasting; now
they were yearnings. Something deep within him demanded that these
yearnings be satisfied, that the practical steps toward their fulfillment be
taken whenever opportunity offered.

In a way, he had been living a dual life. Always he was impatient for
the end of the actual one which he was living, that of building Captain
Perry's fleet. Yet he could not, by nature and training and his deep love
of his trade, abandon that life until the job was complete. But at all
times, like a sleeping thing within him, that driving dream was present.
Though he did not think about it directly for days at a time, it was
always there to color and flavor and influence almost his every deed and
thought. At times it came to the fore and was in sharp conflict with the
motives of the moment.

Chid was untroubled by any precise moral considerations. He was a
realist and slightly bitter. He was sure that he wanted nothing but what
everybody else wanted. He differed from most only in that he knew
positively what that was, and that he would have to go after it alone.
It would not come as the reward of patience or of prayerful hope, blind
loyalty or patriotism to any cause or any person. He had seen the truth of
that amply demonstrated many times.

Of one thing he was certain. He knew now that he loved Mary; that
she had become in some strange manner perhaps because of the very

227

leagues between them real and desirable and dear. He realized that in
her quiet, rich way she loved him, that she had for many years.

His love for her was not a thing of complete beauty yet. Mary was,
in part, still only a component of his plans, a part of the plant and struc-
ture. Chid was not blind to Mary as a woman; he never had been. But
he was apt, too often, to think of her as merely peopling his home and his
establishment. But as the expiration of his apprenticeship drew nearer,
Chid became more and more aware of the physical fact of Mary; that at
no very distant time she would be intimately with him as his wife. Mary
reached each day further beyond that reason and sense and stubborn
rationality which were both the curse and the blessing of Ghid's nature;
each day she reached deeper into his heart. And Chid, thrilling to the
strangeness of it, treasured the new emotion and drew from it much of
the reason and motivation which he must always require.

But in these good thing$ Chid could find no cause for his disturbing
apprehension now.

He went to the gunboat yard first. The Ariel was a dark shadow
against the blackness of the night, her taut new rigging gently humming
in the cooling night breeze. The two other schooners were still not
launched. One of them, Chid realized, studying the shadows, had cap-
sized. She lay on her port side, canted against the earth gully on the floor
of which the wooden ways had been laid. The damp, evil smell of the
rotting shore vegetation pervaded the night, and mixed with it was the
acrid odor of burned wood, of destruction by fire.

"Who goes there?"

Chid started. It was unusual to find a sentry on yard duty; even more
unusual to find a sentry alert.

"Chid Alwyn . . . friend. Who are you?"

"Bosun O'Leary o' Taylor's command. Where you heading Mr. Alwyn?"

"To my office, I reckon. I'm a builder."

"I know. But, cripes, you ain't got much of an office no more. Them
British blasted her roof off almost the fust broadside."

"Did they hurt the schooners?"

"They holed yours, Mr. Alwyn. But they shot the stocks out from
under the Scorpion, an' she's laid herself down like you see. They're
after the brigs mostly, I guess.

228

"Did they do any damage?"

"Damage! Hell, yes! The whole Cascade yard is a shambles. Busted
up the rigger's storehouse, they did, an* shot so much cannister into the
stockpiles they look like tinder bark heaps."

"They were right in the bay?**

"Damn right they were. One still is. Came through the channel an*
cuss the peninsula guns. I dunno how many hot-shot broadsides we
took. They was fires aplenty, and whilst we was quenchin' them, the
British landed a couple o' boats full o* marines and such down west o
Cascade. Perry an' Taylor held them into a gully, got *em there yet but
an orderly jest went up to town to turn out every damn* human in pants.
The British is landin' with two more boats. We don't hold 'em, Mr.
Alwyn, we can say good-by to every ship in the bay, I reckon."

"A lot in Erie have skedaddled, I hear," Chid said bitterly.

"I reckon. Folks never took this war serious till it come. But, by God,
they will now, Mr. Alwyn. Say, Cap'n Taylor was lookin' for you."

"I'm looking for him, too. What did he want?"

"He thought you should see what can be done for the Artel, case she's
holed under the water. Noah Brown got himself a splinter in the gut,
and George Carmody's to Stone's with the lake fever bad. Cap'n Taylor's
west with the Brigade."

Chid struck fire to a sap-pine flare and made a quick inspection of the
gunboat. She was unhurt except for one hole in the bow. A thirty-two-
pound ball had caught her fair on the stem, directly under the bowsprit.
The great piece of oak was split asunder above the waterline, and
the wood face upon which only yesterday he had so proudly burned his
initials and the legend: Mstr. Bldr. 1813, was a ragged torn surface of
furry splinters.

It made Chid thoroughly angry. That ball was a personal insult, a
personal defiance. It had been fired at Chidsy Alwyn. It had ruined
the slim graceful beauty of that smooth level bow of the Ariel. It had
destroyed a part of that which was composed of his own aching muscles
and bitter sweat and sacrifice.

Looking at that exploded mass of torn and twisted wood, Chid felt
that he had been hurt, had been wounded, as surely as if it was his own
flesh which had been pierced by British iron. He knew that he would

22,9

never rest content until this deed had been avenged, until the Arid was
again made whole and was manned by angry hearts like his own, and had
returned this hurt a hundredfold.

He thought that he ought to report to his post with the Civil Guard.
But his real job was ships, not guard duty. The Cascade hulls, too, might
need him. And he would have to get Real Taylor or someone to take
care of those Indians before they stalked off feeling insulted or neglected
and march northwest to Tecumseh and the British.

He ran to the brig ways. The long hand-hewn backbone had sprung
ribs since morning; stout oak frames reached into the night like crooked
fingers. He could see no damage.

Candlelight gleamed from the slab laying-out shanty. There were
men inside. Beyond, to the westward, he could hear ragged musket fire
around the gully beyond which was the site he had picked for his shipyard.

"Gangway, mister."

Chid let the stretcher pass. Two surgeon's mates carried it. He thought
the figure on it looked like Orlando Hog. Chid went to the shanty. He
had to find Taylor, or Captain Perry. The newly arrived Navy doctor
was working over a naked body strapped to the plank designing table.
The wound was in the shoulder, at the socket joint. Small wooden clips
protruded from the mass of mashed flesh; purplish blood bubbled in a
muddy ooze all about the doctor's quick flashing knife.

"The saw, mate. And give him a gag to chew on."

"Aye, aye, Dr. Parsons."

The doctor's gold naval braid flashed beneath the long linen apron
flecked with frothed blood. The saw was a beautiful tool, with perfect
teeth perfectly sharpened and set, about like one which Chid would select
for joiner work or for building a fancy captain's gig. Dr. Parsons used
the saw beautifully, too no fumbling, no false cuts.

The wounded man was a rigger, a Philadelphia redemptioner, with a
stupid Irish face. The soggy leather gag was clenched in his broken teeth.
The straps creaked suddenly, cut deeply into the tough, arching flesh of
the man's abdomen.

Chid got out of the shanty. As he stepped into the suddenly chilly
night, again he heard the Irisher scream, a long horrible bubbling, cry

230

that echoed against the forest like the cry of some unmentionable demon,
like the death scream of a werewolf.

He stumbled upon a covered unmoving bundle in the new soft grass.
Beyond it were more bundles, some not covered. None moved. Looking
carefully, in the faint 'light from the shanty sash. Chid saw that one of
the bundles was Tonk Slinker. There was a smile on his face, a cold
bloodless but contented smile.

A bat flitted over him. Chid struck at it frantically. He almost tripped
over another of the yielding bundles.

He went on to the westward, to where he could still hear the steady
ripple of musket fire. He felt weak, physically sick, as he had felt on the
Blessed Cause during that awful fight on the gory decks. But somehow it
was different. He was part of that fight killing, defending, avenging . . .

Out on the bay he saw a dancing light, heard the silvery shrill of
bosun's pipes, then the thin wail of sheets and braces being overhauled
through blocks. He supposed that the British ship waited out there for
the raiding party to return.

A man detached himself from the gloom. Beyond him were other
men, walking backward, firing into the darkness. Bullets whined over-
head, like angry bees, winging straight.

"Chid!"

"Real! CanV-can't you hold?*'

"We haven't the men, Chid. They're pushing us hard. I'm supposed to
protect Perry's flank, but they've got us outnumbered bad."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Yes, fight while we can. They've landed two cannon, Chid. All hell
will break loose soon."

I_I think I can get help, Real."

"I don't know where. But if you can, for Christ's sake, do it!"

He didn't know if the idea would work. The trouble would be the
Corn-Eater and his braves. They might, with usual Indian logic, refuse
now to do the very thing they had set out to do. He hoped that Nez had
plied them well with liquor. A drunken Indian was likely to be brave
and boastful and daring.

Chid set off for the Buehler house again at a dead run. He stumbled
through the brush, heedless of the tearing brambles and the twisted snag

231

roots that upset him every few yards. He saw at last the glow of a great
fire between the trees. The Indians were dancing around it again, screech-
ing and whooping wildly. Chid thought it looked like a colorful child's
play at a picnic that had gotten out of hand. Individuals strutted without
audience. A military drum in the hands of a battered old man beat out
a stuttering rhythm; some group chanted a monotonous guttural song.
The Corn-Eater sat on his comical vehicle, screaming commands and
orders to which nobody gave attention.

"Are they drunk ?" Nez repeated. "Chid, due to a slight error, you
might say, they're plumb staggerin'! The Corn-Eater's boys unburied
some Frenchie's wine casks on the way here. Then they raided Stone's an*
gutted the place. I reckon every one o' the thievin' dog-eaters has got at
least a keg."

"It's all right, Nez. Can you get them to the Cascade yard to fight?"

Nez thought it might take a special gift to the Corn-Eater: the old
Indian could stand liquor better than his braves, and he wasn't so far
addled that he would go off to fight for the pure sport of it. But the
Corn-Eater shook his head at this wiry paleface who could throw knives
so expertly and converse in an unknown Indian tongue, but^ oddly,
intelligible nevertheless.

"What is gift?" the Corn-Eater grunted.

"Food," Nez said, "a bran'-new skinnin' knife for every one o* you;
plenty whisky for chief for long time."

"No gift," the Corn-Eater said sourly. "Money."

"He wants cash, Chid. The damned old sinner."

"How much?"

"Money," the Corn-Eater grunted, and took a drink from a jug. It
was not the jug which Chid had given him.

"All right," Chid said.

He took out his sow's-ear purse. It jingled with coin and gave off a
soft rustle of notepaper. It was all the money that Chid had in the world,
his pay so far for building the fleet. It amounted to thirty-three dollars.
Chid emptied the purse into the Corn-Eater's greedily cupped hands. He
was glad that much of it was in coin. The Corn-Eater, fingering it eagerly,
seemed interested in the copper and silver more than in the paper notes.

Their magic shrunk the old man's wrinkled face into a grinning toothless
mask.

His gourd, the Corn-Eater's only voice o authority, rattled in sharp
command. The chief stood in his rickety carriage and said a few staccato
sentences. The cries of the dancing braves became suddenly hideous and
portentous. The dance became wild and abandoned. The roasting pigs
and fowl over the red pit were forgotten. A young warrior staggered to
the roasting pit and removed a shoddy torn militia uniform coat and
threw it into the fire. Then he unfolded a full war bonnet of eagle
feathers and placed it, with drunken, fumbling fingers, upon his shaven
head.

Presently, the Corn-Eater slid to the ground and snatched a musket
from a near-by Indian. He made a throaty sound, like a crazy cackle
and his people suddenly became silent and stealthy and purposeful. One
by one, following their chief, they were swallowed by the dark shadows
of the great forest which bordered the lake.

Chid and Nez took the cart path on the bank edge. After a while they
could hear the musket fire on the beach again. It was punctuated by the
occasional boom of a field piece.

"The British must have landed their cannon," Chid said. "Nez, Real
and Perry have got to know about the Corn-Eater, They might fire on
him."

"Mostly I'm a-scared the Corn-Eater will fire on them," Nez said
gravely. "Hell flank attack, from the cover of the woods. It won't be
a nice thing to see, Chid."

"I reckon not. Nez, you're my witness to paying that money over.
Thirty-three dollars. I expect it back.'*

" 'Course, I'll witness for you. But Gosh knows when you'll ever see
it the way items come into this condemned country. Chid, what in hell
makes you think o* money at a time like this?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Chid snapped with sudden belligerence.

"Keep your hair flat," Nez grinned. "You're the damndest one when
suthin' o' your own gets stepped on, Chid. Come on, we better cut for it."

Real Taylor's men were making a stand behind the skeleton frame of
the number two brig. The forest stood deep and mysterious on the bank
to their left. Perry and his frigate men held the shore buildings and the

233

saw pit to Taylor's right. Flashes of gunfire pricked the night ahead, like
fireflies on a still summer evening. The field piece fired spasmodically;
each time closer, as i the unseen British files were slowly creeping toward
the defenders.

"If Perry'li fall back, and make out to seem druv," Nez offered in a
whisper, "them British'11 nacherly swarm into the pocket. You can hold
'em here, Real an* meanwhile I'll sneak the bank an' have the Injuns
close in from the west. We ought to have 'em bagged and clean into the
lake in no time."

Taylor nodded. "Chid, can you pass the word to the cap'n? He's north,
about thirty rods."

"Surely, Real Will he take orders from from you?"

"You don't know Perry, Chid," Real said with warm sincerity. "We're
not cap'n and lieutenant in times like these. We're partners."
, He watched Nez creep -away to the woods. Then Chid passed along
behind Taylor's ragged line, keeping low, out of the breast-high line of
those whining British bullets. Once the cannon barked, and the near
side of the forge shed collapsed. He could hear the brick forge hearth
fall, the clang of the scattered tools and bar iron. A man at his feet sud-
denly threw his musket away with a tired sigh and reared up on his
knees. The man coughed, deep and rattling, then quietly slid to the
ground and lay still.

"Cap'n Perry/' Chid addressed a moving blotch in the blackness. "Mes-
senger to Cap'n Perry."

"This way, sonny. You carry any solution to this goddamn' mess, hurry
fast. We can't hold for much longer, I swear!"

"Hang on," Chid whispered, "for just a mite yet."

He found Perry on his belly with his fighting seamen. They were cut-
lass and pike fighters, with small faith in muskets; anxious for the
British to close for the hand-to-hand fighting which they knew. Chid's
message to fall back was greeted with a muttered growl.

"Avast," Perry said in that unruffled arresting voice. "Save this fleet,
my lads, and I'll promise you your chance to mix yet. Pass the word to
fall back, Lieutenant Elliot; slowly and fighting."

Somebody slid a straight heavy navy cutlass into Chid's hand. He
wriggled slowly back a few yards. Ragged hindering fire was directed

234

at the British position on the beach. Lead thudded dully into the wooden
buildings near by. Muffled orders sent small details of snipers into the
lofts of these buildings, ready to pour fire upon the enemy when they
advanced to this position. A bugle sounded suddenly from the English
lines, terribly near.

"It's the advance," a man said at Chid's side. "If they only didn't have
them durn field pieces! They're loadin' 'em with beach rubble."

A cannon charge cut into the trees and bushes above their heads, rain-
ing a shower of green leaves and small branches upon them. They took
prone positions behind the buildings. Chid wondered when that rear
attack of the Indians would occur. Already it seemed as if he had been
crawling here in the damp clay for hours.

He could hear Taylor's line still firing. But it was to the left and ahead
now, no longer on the flank. A leather bucket of water passed up from
the lake, pausing as each man took a hasty drink. Chid reckoned that he
was near the center of Perry's line. It was dark with the pitch-darkness
of a mine. A frog suddenly croaked in a lull in the firing, and a youngster
laughed shrilly, almost hysterically, like a woman.

Then suddenly Chid heard the blood-curdling yell of the Corn-Eater's
drunken braves. It came from beyond Real Taylor's position, from the
beach behind the British formation a hideous pagan chorus of murder
and torture.

A tenseness passed along the line. Chid felt his own grip on the cutlass
tighten until his fingers hurt. Without thinking, he rose to a crouch, like
a runner awaiting the signal to lunge forward.

"Steady!"

The British fire swung away from them. The bugle blared again. A
drum rolled grimly. A man screamed off on the beachhead that had
become a death trap; from the lake itself oars splashed as the British boats
hurried in to take off the raiding party.

"Forward!"

Chid was immensely glad to dash to the charge at last, to end the awful
suspense of waiting. There was not much to go by, only the crossed white
tunic belts that always made the British such good targets. The night
was suddenly full of hurrying slashing figures all pressing toward the

235

lake, all converging upon that desperate routed band. The Corn-Eater's
men killed, bloodily and with savage joy; they took no prisoners.

The British were at the very water's edge now. Some dashed, waist-
deep in the bay, for the boats. A file stood with hands upraised 'at the
cliff base, completely surrounded. The Indians hacked cruelly at them
with wooden lances, beat them down with musket butts. A seaman
swung suddenly at Chid with a boarding pike. The hooked blade was
almost upon him before Chid's wits cleared and he yelled, "Friend.**

"Pardon, neighbor. You was nearly number four for me."

The man dashed on. A drunken Indian was stooped over a fallen
British soldier, one hand clutching the wounded man's scalp, the other
reaching for his belt knife. Chid put his cutlass point against the Indian's
throat, under the ear, and pushed savagely.

"Good fer you, mister/' a militiaman cried in his ear. "Them devils is
as bad as the British."

"We got 'em licked," Chid said. "There's no call forfor this."

Lanterns began to glow. Somebody threw together a brush fire on the
beach. The four English boats were pulling rapidly away for the ship.
Perry and his seamen were launching a small work raft, bent upon harry-
ing them. Chid guessed that there were twenty prisoners rounded up by
the fire. He couldn't say how many English dead there were; it was
hard telling which were English.

He was turning in the cutlass, at the fire, when he heard his name
called.

"Chidsy Alwyn."

At first he did not know where the voice came from. It was repeated,
and Chid swung. A marine prisoner, standing with the others inside the
cordon of guards, had detached himself slightly.

"Mr. Alwyn," the man whispered, "remember me?"

"Nope."

"I was on the Blessed Cause, corporal to George Lefferts. I seen you,
many's the time. Richard Phelps's my name."

"Look. You better stay under guard with the prisoners."

"It ain't much of a guard we need in enemy country."

"You're not in anything but what you chose, mister. You're an Ameri-
can."

236

"Well, yes an* no. We was a curious lot, George's men was, from all
over. I'm a Cape Codder myself, an* I got in some trouble an' George
took me in. He took good care o' us until he talked us into going over
to the English after we got away from the Blessed Cause. But he had a
kind o* a holt over most o' us, especially me, an' we went. I see I was
wrong now."

"How'd you get away from the privateer?"

"In the gig. She was ready for days before before we had to use her.
George never meant for it to get to a fight. But you upset him on that, Mr.
Alwyn. We run sou', near to Edenton, an' then landed on the Carolina
beach at night. We struck west an* came up here along the Mississippi to
Fort Detroit."

"What did you do with all the money you stole?"

"We got some on it. But George, he hid the coin, buried it, I reckon.
I don't know where, save some place near where we landed. Mr. Alwyn,
I got consid'ble money on me right now. I'd pay uncommon handsome
was you to well, say, help me get away."

"You must think I'm crazy."

"No, just sensible. I'd go all I got, nigh two hunderd dollars."

"No. Get back in line or I'll call the corporal, mister."

"Well, no harm tryin', Mister Alwyn. Maybe when you think about it
it'll appeal more, I guess I won't be hard to find."

Phelps laughed lightly and sauntered to his fellow prisoners.

The ship in the bay was making sail now. Chid could hear the piping
of her sailing master and the creak of the boat booms as the landing barges
were decked.

It was curious, this disorganization after the fight. Men wandered about
aimlessly, without direction, showing a morbid interest in the wounded
and the dead. The Corn-Eater's people were gathered by themselves,
dividing the loot from their victims. After a while the prisoners squatted
down, and soon the guard followed suit. Only the surgeon's mates passed
busily among them, always with that white pale stretcher, sometimes light,
sometimes heavy. Prisoners and guards were swapping stories. A man
soberly sang a hymn. Others joined him.

"I reckon we better get some sleep," Nez observed to Chid long after
the British vessel had passed into the open lake.

"A-yep."

They went back to the office shack. The roof was completely gone. The
candle sputtered in the lazy breeze from the lake, insects soared madly
down and into the flame and lay curled and crisp on the plank table.
But late as it was and poor as the candle was, Chid read Mary's letter
before he finally lay on his narrow bed and stared briefly into the strange
starlighted patch of heaven where the roof had been.

In the days succeeding the British attack, Chid forgot all about his ap-
prehension. Overnight the temper of Erie changed; its indifference to the
war, its cynical attitude toward the efforts of the shipbuilders and the
seamen, was replaced by feverish co-operation. The Civilian Marine
Brigade took in thirty-two new recruits the morning after the attack. The
Civil Guard was able to detach all the shipwrights from sentry duty after
the quick influx of trappers, farmers, shopkeepers, and townsmen.

It suddenly freed Noah Brown's men, permitting them to spend all
their time at the two yards. Chid reckoned it was as good as getting twenty
or more of those skilled workmen which Commodore Chauncey still
detained at Sackett's Harbor.

At dawn the next morning all hands turned to to repair the damage,
which was considerable, especially at the Cascade yard. Buildings had to
be restored and made weather-tight. Stores had to be checked and those
hurt by fire or direct hits sent to the riggers or the forge or the joiner shop
for repair and 'salvage.

By slowly and painstakingly wedging between the floor of the gully
and the bilges, the capsized Scorpion was righted. A week flew by before
she again set on even keel and the stove-in topsides were exposed for
repairs. Mr. Knell, the forgemaster, borrowed two carpenters from Chid
and put his vital iron shop back into production in three desperate days of
labor.

Chid's gang, pushe.d by him as it had never been pushed before, laid
the bow of the Ariel bare by removing most of the planking between the
covering boards and the waterline on both sides. With the frame thus
exposed, Chid ordered temporary braces secured to prevent the hull from
curling open like a blossoming flower and ripped the shattered stem out
with saw and ax. Fortunately, by studying his problem long into each

238

night, he could make the repairs without docking or beaching the
schooner. It was necessary to move all stores aft so that the bow would
rise above the water, and to shift this weight as the repairs progressed.
Old shipbuilders came to admire the ingenious solution and to compliment
Chid on the success of his operation.

"I reckon even Henry Eckford would have sent her into the graving
dock," a New York shipwright told Chid one noontime. "Seems *s if they
teach you 'prentices pretty good down to Connecticut. But, lad, shell
never be fit to ram ice."

"Shell never have to ram ice; just a Britisher or two. I reckon she'd
do it all by herself if I turned her loose on the lake.'*

The Ariel's third sister, the one-gun schooner Porcupine, was launched
on the fourth day after the battle. Work on the brigs had almost ceased,
for Perry gave orders immediately to complete the most advanced vessels
so that they could be counted upon for the protection of the harbor. The
British might be back in force any day. All hands labored on the three
gunboats. George Carmody remained critically ill. Noah Brown, not hurt
badly by the flying splinter which had downed him early in the fight,
was nevertheless confined to his chamber in the Buehler house upon the
orders of Dr. Parsons.

Antoine again logged the forests to JCj^lace the umber stocks which had
been destroyed. He was accompanied by some of Forster's state militiamen,
under orders to saw, chop, or fight, as circumstances dictated. A rear
attack by a force landed on either or both sides of the bay was not thought
impossible by the Navy men. Nez came in, after a long day's search, with
two yoke of oxen to haul the logs into the base. The original teams, their
work finished, had been slaughtered for beef.

The activity in the yard exceeded even the previous tremendous efforts.
The men worked now with an angry doggedness, as if every adze stroke
and hammer blow was an actual blow at a real physical enemy. The days
were longer now, and the nights warm. A cask of whale oil had been
wheedled out of Sackett's Harbor, and Mr. Knell converted whatever
could be found in the way of bottles, buckets, and pots into open-flame
lanterns. They smoked and stunk horribly, but if he could stay awake, a
man could work the whole night through by the light of one of them.

"Leastwise," Paph North pointed out, "them lamps keep the plagued

239

mersquiters away. Tarnation, I may some day ferget the ache o* my body,
but I'll never ferget them pests."

The timid of Erie had fled to the south, to Waterford, then fanned out
into the eastern villages. Many likeside farms were deserted, their crops
still growing. It was from these that Nez obtained much of the great
store of food that was required. Nez would locate the supply; the next
day the wagons of the foragers would come, and by nightfall few living
things, vegetable or animal, would remain in the locality.

The town records were removed from the village for safety. Judge
Nash Belmont, due to hold Circuit Court at Erie in May, struck the town
off his calendar. He said he'd be damned if he'd try to concentrate upon
dispensing justice when a Crown broadside was almost certain to interrupt
him. Stone's Erie Hotel still kept open house though Mr. Stone, restoring
the place after the visit of the Corn-Eater's tribe, vowed that Congress
would pay the bill and Denny's Saddlery Shop, the Pennsylvania Em-
porium, Slack's General Supply and Provision Storehouse, and a few
lesser merchants remained open. The proposed stagecoach line from Black
Rock to Sandusky, which would make Erie a meal stop, was held in abey-
ance. Improvement work on the road it was to travel was abandoned. Erie
was a town waiting, the faint-hearted already gone, the remainder ready
and packed to leave upon the first alarm. But it looked with faith, at last,
to Captain Perry and Noah Brown. Their still-unbuilt fleet alone could
save it.

Chid did not get to the village very often. His trips there were seldom
further than the Buehler House on French Street, on the shipyard side
of the main market section. On one of these visits he had a long intimate
talk with Noah Brown.

The shipbuilder was still in his bed, surrounded by plans and half-
models and his drawing instruments. From a corner post of the bed there
hung handy a brass-bound telescope, and he spent hours with it fixed to
his eye. He could see, through the open bay window, the shipyards, the
naval storehouse, the lake, and the hasty new defenses which gashed the
earth in fresh scars all around Presque Isle bay.

Chid had many things to talk over, but first he tackled that next job
after the Arid. Noah Brown listened soberly, almost gratefully.

"Carmody's out/' Chid said, carefully, sitting on the edge of the

240

brocaded Frenchy chair near the bed. "You're not well, quite fit your-
self, sir. Orlando Hog was a good willing man, not a shipbuilder but a
first-rate handler of men. It was terrible he had to die. Paph North's all
crippled up with ague. Honest Huntley's good, but mostly brawn, and
so-"

"It leaves Chidsy Alwyn," Mr. Brown smiled.

"A-yep," Chid grinned. "I'd be proud to help out."

"Fd be proud to have you, Chidsy. You see what we are up against
lack of men, material, adequate defense, I need not recite the dismal list.
Have you ever built a full ship?"

"No, sir, not completely. Only the Ariel'' Chid said. "But Fve worked
on plenty. I reckon it's not much different than building a schooner,
some bigger, that's all. It struck me that a man could build two almost
as easy as one just make everything twice, that's all. Time would be
saved all along the line one set of measurements, one set of templates
and patterns why, Mr. Brown, I reckon if I said 'make two' instead of
'make one,' we'd have the second brig kind of like a by-product."

Mr. Brown smiled and shook his head.

"It's a dangerous proposition, Chidsy," he said. "Industry has toyed with
the idea; it's called quantity production. The pottery trade, some of the
forges even the furniture trade have all tried it. But it's a vicious
practice, Chidsy. It stifles good craftsmanship, it places a premium on
speed and quantity that cheapens the product; worst of all, by saving labor,
it insidiously destroys labor itself. When one man can do the work of two,
when, further, he uses some of these hellish labor-saving machines that
are coming into such common use why, in a generation, he has nothing
to do; a monster of his own creation has devoured himself and his trade.
I'm almost certain of one thing, Chidsy, that ships cannot be built that
way."

Chid considered Mr. Brown's remarks gravely. What he had said was
true; he had often heard the noon-hour shop talk at the Tatum yard
forward the same idea. But that was in peacetime, when the nation only
desired ships, did not demand them.

"I reckon that it ain't fair to think like that at times like these, Mr.
Brown," Chid said cautiously. "There ain't anything more important
than speed right now. Quality don't matter much, not when this fleet has

241

only to fight once. Oh, I know that you stand for the finest in ship-
building in America, that a hundred little back-creek yards will follow
the latest methods of Noah Brown. But it still don't matter. Destroy a
tradeit's better than having the British destroy a whole country, isn't it,
sir? I know I could save weeks of time i you'd let me build both brigs."

"I'm still a young man," Noah Brown murmered, looking out across
the bay, "yet right from under my feet a new generation of thought
rises. Perhaps I'm just blind, perhaps reason must always be a decade
behind inspiration. Chidsy, I'm not in favor of your method. I feel that
I'm betraying an honorable craft. But I cannot quarrel with your asser-
tion that speed is of the utmost importance. You have my permission to
try this this double building. You are in charge of both brigs from this
day on, Chidsy."

"No questions asked?"

"No questions asked," Mr. Brown nodded, unsmiling. "I shall design
and indicate construction details as always; you shall build."

Chid stood up, feeling the strong resolution within him like a heady
potent wine. He had arrived at the top, had become a foreman, not of
one but of two of the most vital ships on the earth. There was only one
more step ownership of his own yard. Chid savagely brushed the
thought of that away. He was eager to try out his ideas, to organize the
two now-separate building gangs into one, to try this new method which
had been named dangerous.

"At Waterford," said Chid, feeling the strange new power creep un-
willed into his tone, "I bought four arks, Mr. Brown. With them we can
maintain our own supply line from Pittsburgh. Cap'n Wooley's guns
are ditched on Bad Woman's Island; we can pick them up easy. Ill
need two hundred dollars. And thirty-three dollars that I had to give to
the Corn-Eater to fight. I reckon I ought to make a bill out, all regular."

"Do," said Mr. Brown. "But I want to tell you something, Chidsy.
Congress and the Navy Department are fighting like stubborn fools
about appropriations for the whole Erie fleet. Outside of three thousand
dollars that Mr. Madison gave to Dan Dobbins, there hasn't been a
copper sent for all we've done here. Dan's money went long ago, before
we got here, in fact."

"But we've been paid right along."

242

"Aye, with my personal funds, Chidsy. I'm not a rich man; I can't
continue much longer. I've borrowed and wheedled, and I'm at the end
of my hawser. I don't know when Congress will pay our bills or give us
funds. Captain Perry's men haven't been paid in two months. The Black
Rock Navy men have already quit because they haven't been paid since
they arrived."

"I'll bet Sackett's Harbor gets its money."

"It does. Chauncey seemingly has the proper political connection;
possibly his seniority on the Navy lists gets him attention. I don't know.
But we must carry on, Chidsy. Sometime this nation will realize that we
are at war and provide the sinews."

"A-yep," Chid nodded. "We must carry on. But sometimes it makes
a man think that John Shallus and Preserved Fish and Chauncey and
Mr. Stone are the smart ones. They all make something out of the war,
rank, profits all that comes first."

"Don't despair, Chidsy," Mr. Brown advised quietly. "I have this
morning sent yet another letter demanding funds. Make the best of it.
It will soon be all straightened out, I'm sure."

"What about those arks, Mr. Brown?"

"We need them, I grant. But, Chidsy, you're a foreman now. I'd say
that they were your worry."

"A-yep," said Chid and took his hat up. "They're my worry, sir."

Chid went to the Cascade yard. Antoine was just coming in with a
team dragging a huge root stump on a flat stoneboat. The brig skeletons
remained as they had been left when the British had appeared. All hands
were still at work on the schooners.

He moved his few belongings and his drafting instruments over to
the porched board shack which had been George Carmody's office. He
returned for a thick book of drawings and for a small bundle of cured
furs which belonged to Nez. Nez called the furs his "gravy." They were
from the game he had shot for the kitchens, and he planned to sell them
when a trader happened through. Dan Dobbins said a wolverine skin
was worth up to two dollars and two dollars would buy eight gallons
of the best Monongahela. Chid laughed without humor Fish, Shallus,
even Nez, they were all out for number one.

He had his organization completed before noon. After dinner, the men

243

were divided into three gangs. "Three?" Paph North questioned. "Your
new job gone to your head, youngster?"

"Nope/' Chid said shortly, "I meant three. One takes over brig number
one, one brig number two, and the third gang just keeps the sized fin-
ished stock coming to you as you want it."

"By God, Chid. Damned i I'm goin' to build up 'thout I pick an'
shape my own stock. No shipbuilder ever worked that way."

"You're going to, Paph either that or you can go home."

"Hunh! Home? I'd love to, but I got the queer notion I won't have
no home if this fleet don't get itself built damn' soon. George, Chid, I'm
rugged glad I learned my trade when a man could learn it complete.
'Nother ten years, an' a man'll be nuthin' but but a specialist!"

"Well, I learned the trade complete, Paph. That's why I can short cut
now. I reckon you can be sub-foreman on number one."

"What do you do?" Paph inquired truculently.

"Well," Chid said, "for one thing, get your supplies. There ain't any-
thing's important as that right now. Paph, get your gang moving. I've
got to go down to Waterford right away."

244

Chapter Fifteen

CHRIS KEMP WAS ALL for making a party of it for the night. Tomorrow
would be time enough to go into the woods. But his visitor from Presque
Isle would not hear of it.

"I still got some bat blood on hand, Mr. Alwyn," he suggested.

"No, thanks, Mr. Kemp," Chid grinned. "Say, that stuff sure laid my
friend Nez out. Down to the coast they used to consider Nott's stomach
and a cannon about the same things. Nez claims that some of the boys
once poured a quart of dunder into him and another into a thirty-two
long for a test, and it rotted the gun through in twenty-two minutes but
Nez called for another quart for a chaser. But it wasn't as 1 potent as that
liquor of yours."

Kemp laughed and poured two drinks into horn cups.

"But, seriously, Mr. Kemp, I've got to get back to the yard. I want to
catch a forager's cart that's due through here about dark. Can you get
your boys together?"

"Surely. We can tramp down toward Meadville a few miles and find
all the trees we need for practice."

Four burly loggers followed Kemp and Chid along the trace trail
through the deep virgin forest. They carried double-bitted axes and
shovels over their shoulders and keen slash trimmers in their belts, each a
huge bearded man that walked with a bearlike roll and chewed strong
twist tobacco with a contented bovine expression.

"White oak," Chid explained as they marched, indicating near-by trees
as he made his points, "ain't just white oak. To a shipbuilder it's frames
and rub molds and rail caps and battle plank and almost anything but
decking, spars and crooks. You've got to understand the construction of
a ship to cut stock right. I've brought you some drawings of the schooners

245

we built and a list of the most usable cuts. Study them up, Mr. Kemp,
and make out you're a shipwright when you log. See it through his eyes
all the time. He wants clear, straight-grown trees, always long lengths
and watch out for pin-doze and sap pockets and any red-oak smell. You
can always tell red oak; it smells like a barnful of tomcats. You won't
have much trouble with oak."

"No, not much has been rejected. But them knees and crooks and
breast hooks; they're sons o' bitches to cut right."

They stopped at an ancient gnarled oak. Chid indicated the ground
which was to be cleared and the feeder roots to be cut. The loggers had
the great tree down in thirty minutes, its roots an earthy bundle higher
than a man's head.

"Gripes," Kemp muttered, "we been takin' them knees an* such from
the heavy crotches, nigh the big lower branches. You take 'em from the
roots, eh?"

"Root stock lasts longer down under the waterline where this stuff is
mostly used. And it'll bring you double the price of top crotches," Chid
explained. "Now watch this scratch I'm making. So that snag'll give
you as good a quarter knee as there's in the Constitution, and she's as
near iron as a wooden ship can be. Cut it rough first. Let it dry in the
open, say for a couple of weeks; then trim down to the biggest uniform
dimension she'll make with your adzes."

"Well, good, Mr. Alwyn. Now, take spar pine. How'd you go about
searchin' out for a yard? What in hell's a yard anyway?"

Chris Kemp was an intelligent man and learned quickly. They were
back in the sawmill camp long before dark. Chid ate the bountiful supper
with relish. There was a crisp roast of hog ribs and boiled new potatoes
and a buttered red cabbage which had been steeped in cider vinegar. The
bread was tough, heavy, and filling. The loggers called it "mellowed
Shallus hide" and winked and ate vast slabs of it plastered with a limpid
mixture of goose grease and wild honey.

"John Shallus," Kemp observed, "don't believe a man can work with-
out proper grub. Bless him, says I."

Chid reckoned it the best meal he'd ever had outside of Aunt Leety's
House. It made him almost angry, thinking about the miserable govern-
ment food at Presque Isle.

246

They sauntered to the road on which the forager was due, picking
their teeth. Kemp belched comfortably, his thumbs hooked into his
snake belt.

"Five hundred dollars is a nice sum for an afternoon's work/' he said
to Chid. "John'll send it soon's he gets my report that you learned us
We're much obliged to you, Mr. Alwyn."

"I only want three hundred/' Chid said. "He's to take two hundred
out for the four arks."

"What in tarnation you want them for?"

"I don't want them. The government does. I'm just laying out the
money, and I don't know when I'll get it back. But we've got to have a
way to get our supplies up. We finally got most of them rounded up at
Pittsburgh; now we've got to get them carried to here. I reckon there's
nothing like doing things yourself if you want it done good."

"That's a good rule. Well, Mr. Alwyn, anyway you're still three hun-
dred dollars ahead. I hope you have some luck gettin' boatmen."

"I haven't thought much about them yet."

The forager's cart rattled along the hard baked mud of the pike. A
militiaman drove the heavy team which hauled the ridiculously light
wagon.

"I went to where Mr. Nott said," the driver yawned, "but somebody
must've got there fust. With cash, I reckon. I didn't get a slab o' the
copper an' on'y one lousy keg o' powder an' no leather 'talt Hell's
a'mighty, Mr. Alwyn, people 'round this territory won't touch Noah
Brown's notes o' promise for what they sell, an' they get sore when Mr.
Nott swipes the stuff. How're we to get that fleet finished anyway?"

"Good night, Mr. Kemp," Chid said and sprang to the wagon seat.

"Good night, Mr. Alwyn. An' we're mighty obliged. John'll double his
profits with what you learned us, I swear."

Chid tried to sleep. But the wagon lurched uncomfortably, and the
militiaman babbled unceasingly about a girl that he expected to sleep
with once he got a sloggin of rum into her, and Chid spent the long
ride into Erie in planning out the next week's work on the brigs.

He worried for a long time about a crew of polers and boatmen, but
two weeks later, a few days after the Ohio steamboat had delivered the

247

barges at the lowest white water of the Allegany, his problem was
settled unexpectedly for him. One mild evening Azial Baxter came to
see him.

Chid was laying out the eight-squaring in preparation for tapering a
bowsprit at the time. Mr. Baxter, as he had guessed, was a. giant, a hulk-
ing, hairy man with huge feet and a lithe catlike tread. But his voice,
in strange contrast, though deep, was mild and gentle, almost timid,
and he approached Chid with a shyness that was comical.

Tm aimin' to see Mr. Alwyn," Mr. Baxter said, doffing his hat like a
servant.

"I'm him," Chid said. "Don't you remember me?"

They shook hands.

" Twas dark that night," Azial Baxter said, "an' I may have been a
bit excited."

"It's all right," Chid said and sat on the spar, his feet tucked under him
as if he were perched on a split-rail fence.

Mr. Baxter cleared his throat and made a careful small speech that he
had obviously rehearsed. It was his thanks, and his wife's thanks, for the
favor Chid had done in, as Mr. Baxter said, rescuing her from the terrible
savages. It embarrassed Chid. What he had done was nothing. But he
could understand Mr. Baxter's thanks, and, in a strange way, value them.

"Those Indians helped us plenty," Chid said, trying to place the man at
ease. "I guess I really owe you."

"I heard about the fight you fellers had. Matter o' fact Mr. Alwyn, I
saw the ships sail in. A mighty sight; a mighty sight. It sets a man to
thinkin', havin' a actul live enemy right under his eyes. I was in Erie that
day looking for some capital. I or my wife, you might say, thinks it's time
I quit flatboatin' and got on my own. We tried f armin' once, but I expect
I just ain't one to raise things."

"Did you get your capital?"

"Not a smell o' it. Erie money's all scared downriver, seems. I'm goin*
to hire back into flatboatin' ag'in; me an' Barnabus is, an' I got to admit
I'm satisfied. It's the missus who ain't."

"I could do something for you, Mr. Baxter," Chid said, thinking fast.
"That is, if you want to stay on the river."

"God, how I dol I don't know nuthin' else. Mrs. Baxter, she wanted me

248

to set up a sawmill an* take on boarding an' general order-cuttin' for
folks. But it would have took up'ards o* five hundred dollars capital. All
we got is the site; purty's a picture mill, she is, an' fast water ten months
a year, right on our land but, hell's fire, Mr. Alwyn, I just don't know
the trade. An' what's more, between us, mind I don't want to know it."

"How would you like to haul for the government ?"

"Haul what?"

"Anything they've a mind to send up guns, shot, anything."

"Up, you say? Up costs like sin, Mr. Alwyn."

"Up, Mr. Baxter, from Pittsburgh to Waterford, an* team from there
to Presque Isle. The gov'mint'll pay good."

"I got two teams. The wagons ain't so good. But not my own boats."

"I've got four boats. We could make out. I'll put in the arks, and you
put in the teams."

Chid explained. The details came to him as he talked. It was as if he
had planned this thing for years; that the workings had been carefully
studied and proved.

"I can get the arks any time, down to the steamboat head. The first
load up will be guns and shot from Bad Woman's Island. You ought to
get double pay a mile for that haul. Then go down empty and fast. You'll
be loaded with naval stores up, and I don't know but that I can get some
lumber for you on the down trips soon."

"I'll have to hire me some polers. And teamsters, too. It'll take cash."

"I've got three hundred dollars to get started with," Chid said.

"Good. It's sufficient an' then some. Mr. Alwyn, it ain't any o' my
business, but it sounds like you was puttin' in your own boats an' money."

"A-yep. Technically they're mine. But the government'll pay me back
so soon's Noah Brown requests."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Damned effen I wouldn't druther be partners
with you than the gov'ment. I kind o' cotton to you, Mr. Alwyn, you're
young an' lively an' well likely ambitious. Mrs. she sez to me, she sez,
*Azial, that Mr. Alwyn, now, there's a lad to watch. You was like him
when you married me. But you never come to nuthin' much. You didn't
have that fire in your eye like Mr. Alwyn; you lacked suthin', Azial but
I see it in him.' She's a sagacious woman, Mrs. is."

"I'm sure she is, Mr. Baxter,"

249

"Make it Azial. My folks was fancy, Mr. Alwyn."

"So were mine. Name's Chidsy; just Chid, to friends."

They parted, Azial Baxter promising to pass on developments from
time to time through his wife. "She/ 5 he said without shame, "is the brains
for me, Chid. You don't mind?"

"Nope. Mrs. Baxter seemed able enough."

"She is, Chid. Goddammit, she is! Just give her an' Barnabus a decent
opportunity, an' I'll be suthin' yet."

It was a smooth-working arrangement from the first. Azial Baxter left
the next morning for the south, and seven days later he and the polers
which he had hired at extra good wages had the jettisoned stores from
Bad Woman's Island on the repaired wagons headed for Presque Isle.
For the first time since the fleet had been started there were sufficient
supplies, and the building proceeded as Chid planned.

He had a pit dug near Carmody's shanty and had Culver Coons board
it over with slabs. A small trap door led to the treasure room, which con-
tained the precious kegged spikes and drift rod and oakum and paint
that Azial's second trip south yielded. If the British came again, their fire
could not destroy the stores this time. He rigged a small ship's bell to the
trap door. Nobody could enter the sunken storeroom without ringing the
bell.

Chid was excitedly happy about the progress of the brigs. Daily they
grew under his direction. He took a huge satisfaction from a visible gain,
as when, after days of careful preparation of the frame the tedious dub-
bing of the bevels, the housing in of the butt blocks, the cutting of the
limbers the application of the planking was at last commenced, and a
whole side of a brig became complete between a sunrise and a sunset. As
dusk fell after a day like that, Chid would half -close his eyes as he turned
away from the vessels and see them full-rigged and proud, with living
men on their decks, standing out of the bay for that terrific trial which
was to come.

News of the British fleet trickled into the base from time to time. Dan
Dobbins often made mysterious voyages into the lake in the dead of night
to meet the spies and agents. Indian runners, gaunt and hungry, some-
times staggered into Erie with dispatches. Several of the prisoners taken
in the raid were coaxed to talk. Of one thing there was no doubt: the

250

British intended to fight for the lake and fight hard. As near as could be
learned, their fleet would consist of six vessels. The most formidable was
the Detroit, still not completed because of the acute shortage of skilled
shipwrights. She was a full ship, as was her sister, the Queen Charlotte,
measuring four hundred and ninety tons, and was the flagship of Captain
Barclay, an English officer of reputation as a fighting skipper. Barclay had
been seasoned in the service of Nelson, a British gentleman officer who
was prouder of his wounds than his medals and rank.

The battle fleet, as Perry pieced together the information from Canada,
would aggregate about fifteen hundred tons and would include two full
ships, one brig, and three schooners capable of throwing a combined
broadside weighing four hundred and fifty-nine pounds. Against this
formidable line Perry could throw only five vessels, with a total tonnage
of about twelve hundred tons.

Numerically, the advantage of the British was not so great. But the
American fleet contained no full ships only the two brigs building and
the three schooners akeady launched. The total broadside weight almost
matched the enemy, but it was in the form of light metal carronades.
Perry could fire only ten long guns and was hopelessly outweighed by
the English broadside of heavy guns.

As the burden of making the American fleet useful gradually passed
from the shipbuilders to the Navy, it was apparent, however, that the
great lack was sufficient and adequately trained seamen and gunners. By
almost superhuman efforts, which included recruiting of even Kentucky
mountaineers, Captain Perry had gathered together about three hundred
men to man the fleet. They were a motley crowd^ insubordinate, surly,
and without trained leadership. With the coming of the warm weather
about one-third of their number were stricken with the lake fever in varying
degrees of intensity, and always thereafter one out of every three was in
some stage of the disease at Stone's tavern or in the adjoining brick house
which the owner, one Enoch Blattenberg, had turned over to the govern-
ment. As summer descended upon Presque Isle the crying need was no
longer for material but for men, men for the forges, for the rigger's gang,
for the joiner crews, the gunsmith's shop, and the sailmaker's loft, fight-
ing men for the fleet.

Captain Perry realized long before the brigs began to sprout lower

251

masts and be pierced for guns that, because of his light cannon, any battle
against the heavy long-range guns of the enemy would have to be a close
action for him. Only so, within musket shot, could he hope to make effec-
tual fire against the great ships of the English.

Toward the end of the month, Perry departed for Lake Ontario to
lead the seamen who were to take part in the attack upon Fort George
on the Canadian side. Great hopes were entertained for this expedition.
If successful, it meant that the four American naval vessels bottled up in
the Niagara could join the fleet at Presque Isle. Original plans had been
to disregard these vessels in planning the lake fleet, and to build entirely
new what ships were needed. But as the weeks flew on, with supplies
never reaching the demand for them, and the builders decimated by the
lake fever, and the well men tired and overworked, it became evident
that the five vessels building would be the limit of the Presque Isle
yard's production.

Chid stood at the mole and watched the captain and Jesse Elliot embark
upon the Salina. It was a cool evening, after one of Erie's hot sultry days,
the western sky a blaze of sunset fire and the east already a deep purple.
Fish hawks screamed over the surfacing bait schools in the bay, an owl
hooted solemnly in the beech stands beyond the naval storehouse, and
the bite of the distant pit saw in the Cascade yard marked the passage of
time in steady measured rhythm.

Perry paused at the gang plank of the Salina. He shook hands with Mr.
Brown, who had been driven to the mole by LeGrand. The mayor of
Erie, a large hound-faced man, pushed forward to wish him luck and to
press his hand.

"Bring back them ships, cap'n. I never reckoned nobody'd consider this
lake worth fightin' over. But if you keep this region United States, 111
promise to make Erie the best town in it."

Perry laughed softly and stepped suddenly toward Chid.

"Your fate, sir," he said to the mayor and placed his hand on Chid's
shoulder, "still rests with Mr. Alwyn and his men. Without them it would
be foolish to talk o fighting; stupidity to even hope for a victory."

Perry shook hands with Chid.

"Good luck, sir," Chid mumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

It made Chid proud, being included with these important men by

252

Captain Perry. Somehow, as he watched the Salina join gently with the
darkness out on the lake, he could feel a vast peace, as if, as the fat mayor
had hinted, the war was over and Erie was marching forward to greatness.
In that time to come he, Chidsy Alwyn, would still be an important
man, a man to be included when other important men shook hands.

He rode up the hill to French Street with Noah Brown. The ship-
builder was quiet and uncommunicative, busy, Chid supposed, with his
own endless problems. But Chid had to know about one thing. He broke
the silence as the carriage reached the lakeside cart path.

"Mr. Brown, I've been wondering about that money owing me by the
gov'mint. It's been a long time. Did you send for it?"

"Twice," Noah Brown answered. "But we've got to be patient about
such things, Chidsy. Likely, the Navy Department will have to have the
bills yours and mine both approved by Congress. A democracy is a
cumbersome thing in times of war or emergency. We, the generals and
admirals and shipbuilders, must become virtual emperors supreme in
dictatorial command in order to achieve our purposes; but Congress,
democracy, the voice of the people, Chidsy, always controls us. Were we
to wait upon the people's approval or to depend upon their direct instruc-
tions why, we'd never get things done. So we have to risk our repu-
tations, our personal ranks and station and credit, even our capital if
necessary, to serve our country as it expects to be served/'

"I can see that," Chid said, "but our claims are fair. We loaned the
gov'ment money; it's fair that it's returned."

"Of course it's fair," Mr. Brown nodded. "And, though it may take
time, I'm sure that Congress will approve our requisitions."

"I s'ppose. But when? Just a simple little matter like paying an honest
debt seems to get all involved in politics and official seals. I been figuring
on using that money I laid out for the arks and the Corn-Eater."

"Soon?" ,

"Yes, sir. August ain't so far away, and when my papers run out I got
some plans."

"Well, don't worry, Chidsy. I'll write again tonight. I assure you that
Fm anxious to have my sums returned also."

Chid said good night. He walked along the path in the falling dusk,

253

guided by the winking of Mr. Knell's forge hearth. But he did not to-
night return to the Cascade yard.

He walked rapidly to the day cliff to the west. He knew the ground
there almost by heart, could visualize it just as it would appear when it
would be the Alwyn Shipyard. That time was not so far off. He had no
idea of what price might be asked for the site by the Pennsylvania Pop-
ulation Company. But it could not possibly be great, not when land in
the near-by Donation District was free, not when a man with one hun-
dred dollars cash or its equivalent in stock, tools, and seeds could have a
forty-acre farm as a gift.

Azial Baxter had sent word that he'd pay the three hundred dollars
Chid had advanced as soon as he collected from the government, possibly
sooner if John Shallus continued to keep him loaded on the down hauls.
That and the ark money and the back wages would give him almost six
hundred dollars. Old Man Tatum used to boast about starting his yard,
in 1763, with a fifth of that and "guts." Chid reckoned he had the guts.
But now he needed the money.

He stopped suddenly, his toe against a new white birch stake which
had been driven into the soft clay soil. Chid examined it with a sinking
sensation. It was maul-flattened on top. Beyond it were other similar
stakes, forming a shape which enclosed a large tract. He knew them for
surveyor's stakes.

Returning in the darkness, he felt again that almost stilled apprehen-
sion, the urge to hurry, hurry . . .

Sylvester Tatro met him opposite the Cascade yard.

"I've been lookin* for you, Chid. All over, I have," the boy panted.

"You better call me Mr. Alwyn/' Chid said. "Anyways, in the yard in
front of the others."

"All right, Chid. Look, Honest Huntley's raisin' Ned about the bul-
wark sheathin'; sez you're to approve it before he puts in such sappy
stuff. An* Nez Nott come in from the country, an' he claims they ain't
a fathom o' marling in all the county. We got to let the riggers use raw-
hide instead. But you got to say."

"Is that all?"

"No. The stavin' o' number two's magazine's so green it's shrunk

254

enough to pitch a cat through the joints. Lieutenant the feller's to com-
mand the Ariel, Chid . . ."

"Packett, Lieutenant Packett."

"That's the one. Well, he says no matter what, we got to close up that
magazine, or the first spark from a honin' stun or the cook's firell blow
the ship to hell an' gone."

"I'll be right down," Chid said. "Golly, I wasn't gone over an hour
or so."

"That's right. But, Jes', Chid, don't it make you feel good to be so
important?"

"A-yep," Chid said and slid down the bank to the ways level, "I reckon
it does."

He was busy until midnight and up with the dawn. He could not
leave the brigs for even a few moments. Everything depended upon
their completion in the quickest possible time. Nothing could interfere
with that, not even worrying about those mysterious stakes on the ship-
yard site. It would be so for a month at least. After that, he could take
time to breathe, to dream again. And after that would come August,
August and freedom . . .

255

Chapter Sixteen

"MR. ADAM TRUNCHARD, ESQ.," the letter from the Pennsylvania Popu-
lation Company had informed Chid in reply to his inquiry about the
shipyard land, "is our accredited sales agent for the Erie region. He will
be pleased to have you call upon him at his home, corner Guardhouse
Street and Hemlock Swamp Lane. . . ."

It was almost dark when Chid reached Mr. Trunchard's white clap-
boarded cottage. He knocked on the six-paneled door, and a small, jovial
middle-aged man opened it to him.

"Mr. Trunchard?" Chid asked.

"Well, that depends," the man answered, looking at Chid roguishly
from over square, silver-bound eye glasses. "Now, was you the sheriff,
I'd deny it. But was you, say, owing me money, I'd admit to it."

"I might be owing you, Mr. Trunchard," Chid grinned.

"Well, then, come in, Mr. Alwyn," the agent said heartily and bowed
Chid into the summer parlor.

"You know me?"

"I think so. My company informed me that a Mr. Alwyn had written
about a certain lakeside tract. So, naturally, I expected you. Enter and
light, sir."

Mr. Trunchard brushed several dozing cats off the caned chairs and
indicated one for Chid. A double whale-oil lamp burned cheerily on an
octagon walnut pedestal table in front of a pockmarked mirror, throwing
a ruddy, cozy light over the low-ceilinged, papered room. Trunchard,
Chid thought, seemed to live comfortably, even prosperously.

"Now, that land you wrote about, Mr. Alwyn," Chid's host said, "is
spoken for. I took an option on it from a party Fm not free to name; a
three-months' option to be exercised if and when Cap'n Perry chases the

256

British back to Canada for good. It's the smart way to buy land in un-
settled times. What did you want with that land, way off from town, not
much timber on it, and no good for farming?"

"I'd rather not say, Mr, Tmnchard."

"Well, you don't have to. I wouldn't, did I have plans for it. But I
can guess. A farsighted man can see this town grown even to there, and
it would make a handsome home section. Once some o us bought a cow
farm outside of Black Rock Buffalo, you know and folks thought we
were addled. It's got eighteen houses and a church on it now, Mr. Alwyn
too bad you missed on that tract. If this other party fails to take the
option, I'll notify you."

"How much is it worth?"

Mr. Trunchard lighted a stogie over the lamp before answering.

"All of ten thousand dollars, Mr. Alwyn. But my company's placed
a thieving price on it. Only one thousand dollars; cash money."

"I was afraid of that. I haven't that much money, Mr. Trunchard."

"Credit might be acceptable, Mr. Alwyn. But my company's liable to
up the price slight for credit. But, look, I take it you want to make a
quick dollar?"

"A-yep."

"A foolish question, I see you answered so prompt. Well, I've got an
A-i timber tract adjoining the Donation District, right nigh a good
creek. It's mostly oak, some birch and pine and scatterings of larch, elm,
and beech. Right now timber land is a top investment."

"I don't have the time to run a mill," Chid said.

"You don't have to. A feller from Waterf ord's after the tract. Was you
to buy it ahead of him and heft the price just moderate, you understand
why, he'd pay the difference, I swear. A Waterford citizen is always
fair game for an Erie man, I might say so don't get concerned about
ethics."

"Ethics shouldn't bother when you're after a profit, seems *s if. How
much are you holding it at?"

"Another thieving bargain, Mr. Alwyn. You can have the tract, with
riparian rights to the creek, for fifty cents the acre. There are five hun-
dred and thirty acres, more or lesscall it two hundred and fifty dollars
even."

257

"You're sure this party is after it hard?"

"Terrible hard. He'd go four hundred easy. Make the deal, and I'll
name him to you and guarantee the facts."

"To tell the truth, Mr. Trunchard, I haven't any cash. But I take it
you're a man to listen to a proposition."

"Surely. Selling land in wartimes doesn't keep my cats in liver. I'm
glad to turn an extra dollar where I can."

"All right," said Chid, thinking fast, 'Tve three hundred dollars owing
to me by a feller south. It's good as soon as he gets paid for some freight
hauling. Inside a month for certain. I'll give you my claim for the tract.
You'll make fifty dollars."

Mr. Trunchard was a cautious man. Azial Baxter was not known to
him personally, but he studied Azial's promissory note to Chid with
attention, figuring carefully under the lamplight with pencil and paper.
After a long time, while Chid played with a manx-tailed cat and hoped,
Mr. Trunchard stood up and offered his hand.

"Fifty dollars is handsome interest," he said. "I'll want to check before
passing title, Mr. Alwyn."

"A-yep. See Noah Brown or Cap'n Perry's clerk at the navy yard. Ill
look you up in a few days."

They shook hands and said good night. Chid reckoned he'd ask a
hundred and fifty dollars profit on the land. He'd come out a hundred
dollars ahead and, what was more important, have that much of his
money in hand against the time when the shipyard tract option would
be taken up or let lapse. He was terribly disappointed. That land had
grown on him these last months; lie secretly considered it almost his
own. The price was high, above a dollar an acre. But he supposed that
a land development company, like Mr. Trunchard's in Buffalo, was seek-
ing it, depending upon Erie to grow and absorb it after the war.

He comforted himself a little by promising to buy the lake front no
matter what. The three hundred and fifty dollars he would soon have
free certainly ought to purchase the shore piece. Perhaps sometime In
the future, somehow-he could buy in that elm-shaded pleasant knoll
where he wanted to build the brick house modeled along the lines of
the Buehler house on French Street.

Mr. Trunchard came to him two days later. He was satisfied with

258

Azial Baxter as a credit risk and had the transfer papers drawn up. Chid
signed, feeling nervous. He had never before signed his name to any
legal paper except the articles o the Blessed Cause.

"All right, you got a good claim and I got the land," Chid said. "Now,
who is this party that wants it?"

"A man named Shallus, o Waterford."

"John Shallus?"

"Yes. Do you know him, Mr. Alwyn?"

"Do I know him! Why, Mr. Trunchard, it's John Shallus who owes
Azial Baxter the money to cover your claim."

"Great Jehovah! What?"

Mr. Trunchard exploded in a burst o uncontrollable laughter. He held
his fat belly and shook, like a jolly St. Nick. A waistcoat button popped
off. He sobered, watching it roll across the floor of the shanty, then
laughed again until the tears stood in his eyes. Chid joined, laughing at
the little man as well as with him. He hadn't laughed like that in months.

"Just picture it," Mr. Trunchard gasped. "John Shallus, providing you
with capital so you can hook him for a profit! Mr. Alwyn, it's the grand-
est story on a Waterford man yet. Boy, oh, boy, waitll the deal goes
through Lord love us, Mr. Alwyn, what a tale for Erie ears! I never "

Chid left him still guffawing, trying to regain his breath.

He was needed on the brig staging, something about cutting the
quarter-rail to accommodate the chaser guns. Profit or no profit, the
building must go on. Without the fleet to make this region safe forever,
there would never be profit, never be a great city of Erie, or a shipyard,
never opportunity, or a brick house like the Buehler house.

Chid was writing his letter to John Shallus, offering him the timber
land for four hundred dollars, cash money, when Mrs. Baxter knocked at
his office door. It was Sunday and a cool overcast day. Work went on at
the yard as always. The brigs appeared, to the inexpert eye, to be com-
plete. Lower masts were in place, gunports fixed, the hulls painted a
somber black above the green waterline. But Chid knew the vast amount
of work still to be done. No ship was ever finished when it looked to be
finished. The body was there, but all the accoutrements to make the body
useful were still needed. Men worked in small cramped interior spaces.

259

Their measurements here were in quarter-inches, not feet, and Chid's
bold scheme of duplication of parts was of no value now. Used to broad
tolerances in the rough outside work, they were suddenly confronted
with intricate joiner and cabinet work, with the building of small fit-
ments, cabin furnishings, bins and cubbies for the hundreds of items the
Navy people demanded orderly storage for.

Riggers, doing what preliminary top hamper work they could, ran
over the hulls like ants. Painters followed carpenters, hardly allowing the
cleaning boys time to sweep up shavings and chips. Cross-legged sail-
makers were busy in their fields of white canvas in the midship, the
gunners watched the construction of their carriages like hens fussing
over the hatching of their first broods, the seaman, and in the early eve-
ning the Marine Brigade also, drilled and practiced from stem to horn
timber, from ballast dunnage to the half-completed lower tops.

The din, the babble of voices, the pounding of hammers, and the
scream of rigging screws were nerve-racking. By these sounds alone, Chid
knew exactly what was going on, even in his shanty at the head of the
ways. He had learned to detach himself from the sounds, from the ships
themselves. His own problems as foreman often were concerned with
matters leagues away, with a shipment of supplies halfway up the Alle-
gany, with a tub of needed tallow held by a stubborn man in distant
Meadville, with Nez and Antoine, seeking always in remote and far-off
places for the stores he needed. Sometimes, at night, Chid ached with
tiredness, as if he had received a terrific physical beating. He often slept
with his clothes on and seldom reached the outdoor tables at the cook-
house in time for a hot meal.

Even now, writing with little relish to John Shallus, phrasing his propo-
sition carefully, he was on stolen time

"Azial," said Mrs. Baxter, settling herself into the one chair of the
shanty, "is over to the commissary unloading. He fetched Quaker flour
and some salt meat he couldn't abide to stay downwind of, it stank so.
I rode up with him. Mr. Alwyn, the land company surveyor was work-
ing over a piece near us t'other day. He said, when he came over to
borrow some milk, that you bought it* I reckon that makes us neighbors,,
don't you?"

260

"Well/' Chid said, "I bought it blind, ma'am, to resell quick. I didn't
know it was near your place."

"Right southeast; the creek divides us. It set Azial to thinking, Mr*
Alwyn. He always wanted a sawmill on the creek. Not that he's com-
plaining about the opportunity you threw his way. Well be eternal grate-
ful for that, Mr. Alwyn. We were both pretty discouraged about the time
you come along with that government freighting. But what's to happen
to freighting now with the Navy boats almost built?"

"I wouldn't worry, ma'am. Azial's a prime boatman, he can always
make a living on the river. Seems if Azial mentioned meaning no
offense, ma'am that the sawmill idea was yours."

"I guess it was, Mr. Alwyn. Azial's a strong, willing man, but I've
always done the brain work for him. I let on that ideas are his, it seems
fitter that way. Well, I was thinking, Mr. Alwyn, why couldn't you and
us combine? We have the mill site, Azial's a freighter. You have timber,
Pittsburgh wants it."

"And who builds the mill?"

"Why, Azial has cash coming above what he owes you, and I cal'ate a
man like yourself might have some tucked away."

"I haven't a cent except what the gov'ment owes me, Mrs. Baxter. Nor
have I the time."

"My Lord!" Azial's wife exclaimed. "Ain't you made nothing out of
this, Mr. Alwyn? Why, it seems we ought to log off that place just to
hunker up with you. You've been fair and square with us, more than
that."

"I'll think it over, ma'am," Chid said and closed a book over the letter
to John Shallus. "I want money. I need it. The work on the fleet will be
easing off soon. Might be, between then and when I'll be free in July,
we could turn a dollar. But I wouldn't want to see the fleet suffer."

"I guess it'll be in Cap'n Perry's hands before then, Mr. Alwyn. You
let me look into this thing. Azial's found a man In Pittsburgh who will
take all the lumber he can get. He'll even sell us a water saw and the
machinery on easy credit, he's so anxious."

"You seem to have it all figured out, ma'am.'*

"I have. A sawyer has a respectable station in life, Mr. Alwyn. We're
gentlefolks. Azial was a barrel-stave manufacturer back in Peach Bottom

261

on the Susquehanna. I had a slate-stone house and four slaves and
accounts with a dozen Philadelphia merchants. But when the embargo
hit the rum and molasses trade in 1807, we lost everything almost over-
night. We came here to the only thing we had left, Azial's land donation
for fighting with the Pennsylvania Rifles. We tried farming, which is the
only thing a poor man can do and be a freeman. But it didn't go, and
Azial drifted to flatboating. Now, I'd give ten years of my life to have
him in a decent civilized business again."

Azial's wagon lumbered to a stop outside the shanty. Chid escorted
Mrs. Baxter to it and shook hands with the big freighter.

"I'm doin 5 famous," Azial grinned shyly when Chid asked about busi-
ness. "Got leven men workin' for me, and two arks on the river all the
time. We got to look over them boats soon, Chid, they're leakin' occa-
sional, nuthin' serious but danged annoyin', times. Shallus loads down,
nigh every trip, an' I'll have all he owes me by next week. The gov'ment
stuff's thinnin' out, though; mebbe two-three weeks'll see it all carried
here to Presque Isle. Mrs. has some ideas then."

"So she told me, Azial."

"I'd admire powerful to associate ourselves with you, Chid. You been
like a blessed angel to us, I'd be proud to have you share some profits."

"Thanks, Azial. When the fleet is finished I can think about myself."

They drove off in the gathering dusk, Mrs. Baxter talking earnestly to
the great patient man. The* song of the peepers in the swales had turned
into a full-throated frog chorus now. The forest leaves were large and
heavy, many hid green nut clusters; the tall wild grass rustled with sum-
mer dryness when the hot south wind soughed gently over the rolling
intervales. The buffalo herds were moving east again, following the
ancient traces, and the hair of the foxes and berry bears rubbed off in
ragged tufts on the full, heavy thornbush and hazel and bull briar.

Chid sat in the gloom on a bilge block at the ways head for a long
time. He had taken to smoking a cob pipe lately, and he found comfort
in the sweet, mild Erie-cured tobacco now.

Mrs. Baxter's idea had much promise. If the trees on that land he had
bought were logged off as ship's timber, the idea was bound to show
profit. And as he had told her, he needed money, more money.

Suppose the company which had the option on the lake tract refused
262

to sell him the shore piece? He'd have to offer to buy the whole tract
at a profit to them,, of course. Suppose the land company failed to take
up the option? It would then take a thousand dollars to buy the whole
tract. And he had, if the government did not delay the money due him
still longer, less than four hundred.

He had no difficulty in analyzing his problems clearly. It was not un-
like planning a complicated bit of carpentry for the ships. All the ifs,
buts, and whens must be weighed and considered, given their proper
value, brought into focus.

"The only real if," Chid muttered, knocking out the ash heel of the
cob pipe, "is this war. If a man could be sure who would win, there'd be
no risk in trying almost anything."

But he did not complete the letter to John Shallus that night.

He hoped that Mr. Trunchard had not told that story around. If he
had, John Shallus might be the one who would do the laughing yet.

"Tomorrow," Mr. Brown said, "we are going to launch the brigs. I
had hopes that Mr. Carmody would be well enough to make the last
inspection. He isn't, and I'm asking you to do it, Chid."

Chid felt the honor keenly. Upon his word two great ships, certified
worthy by himself, would plunge into the lake.

"How early tomorrow?" Chid asked.

"As early as possible; you can inspect today. The wind is north, from
off the lake, and I think it will hold. You'll have the deepest water with
such a wind."

"All right," Chid said. "You watch, Mr. Brown, say an hour after sun-
up. I reckon the fleet'll be ready for fighting right soon now. I was
wondering what the next job is."

"I suppose," Noah Brown said with a smile, "that I could let you go
like the others. But I'm not going to. I have plans for you, Chidsy, saying
you are willing when the time comes."

"It depends on what they are." ,

"Of course it does. On the last day of July you will be a journeyman
shipwright; we'll talk about it then. Meantime, there are still a few
things to be done on the brigs after they are launched."

"The supplies are almost all here now."

263

"Thanks to you and Mr. Baxter. Chidsy, I want to talk to you about
that requisition. The Congress or some busybody in the Navy Depart-
ment has seen fit to challenge the price you paid for the arks. I'm de-
fending your action. But there'll be delay, I'm afraid."

"They were cheap," Chid said, suddenly angry.

"Cheap at any price, we needed them so badly," Mr. Brown agreed.
"The Army people also feel that inasmuch as your Indians were not en-
listed and did not take the oath, they are not entitled to pay. I'm sorry,
Chidsy. That's well, Washington. I'll fight to the death for you, and
I have no doubt we'll collect in time."

"Sometimes I feel's if I'd been a plain damn' fool"

"I don't, Chidsy, and I've advanced thousands and thousands. I'd do
it again tomorrow."

"Well, I don't reckon I would, Mr. Brown. But it won't make any
difference," Chid said, not wanting to talk about it. "Just let me get
those brigs launched. I know what to do about all this."

"Nothing rash, Chidsy?"

"Nothing that anybody else isn't doing," Chid said defiantly and hur-
ried to the Cascade yard.

He was absorbed in his inspection of the two brigs all the rest of the
day. They were well and beautifully built. Live-oak sheathing protected
them from some feet beneath the waterline to the rail cap. Each brig
was pierced for twenty guns, though the guns had not yet arrived. The
upper masts and yards lay on the smooth white deck ready for hoisting
aloft, almost completely rigged. The strong, delightful odor of Stockholm
tar, taken from the Britisher which he and Nez and Antoine had cap-
tured, filled the still, warm air. A handy-billy snaked gun-carriages and
water butts and hatch covers and gratings up a skid-plank from the side
of the launching ways to the deck, and over the whole scene there was
a gay holiday spirit. The long job was almost completed. Chid felt a
fierce jealous pride in the brigs, overshadowing even the discouragement
of his talk with Noah Brown.

"When you leavin', Chid?" a carpenter asked, oiling his tools.

"When Perry accepts the ships, I s'ppose. Three-four weeks, maybe."

"Hell, me an' the York State fellers leave directly after the launchin'.
Brown's cuttin' down on the gang."

264

"Where you heading?"

"Dunno. The coast, I reckon. They's scads o* buildin' goin' on there,
I hear. You ought to get in on it easy work an' damn* good pay, not
like here."

"I don't want to leave particular/*

"You don't! God, I hated ev'ry secunt o* this. Worst is, I don't see no
damn* sense in the hull thing. Lookit that bay."

"What's the matter with it?"

"It's lowerin*. Inches a dayChrist knows but hossesll have to drag
these ships inter the lake yet. How's Perry figurin 5 to clear the bar?"

"Light, o course."

"Aye; light, you say. That means without guns nor shot nor fightin*
gear. What's to happen when the ships get t'other side with no guns, an'
the goddamn* enemy's waitin' er *em?"

"There's depth over the bar; there will be for some time, I reckon."

"How long? D'you or Perry or Brown know?"

"Nope."

"Well, then, like I say, what's the sense?"

"You talk like a Tory. Perry and Noah Brown have it all figured out.
The way supplies are coming in now, they'll have these brigs ready in a
couple of weeks; long before the lake goes down or the British organize
a squadron. Their Detroit ain't even launched yet."

"All right. Say they have it figured out 3>ut damned if I got as much
faith as they have. Where's the crew to man these here ships? I lay there
ain't three hundred in the barracks."

"Oh, they'll come/* Chid said. "You'd better keep working even if it
is your last day."

He left the man. His words were too near the truth to be cheerful.
Chid wanted the fleet to be everything it was expected to be. But he
could do nothing for it except what he was doing keep faithfully at the
building and do as he was ordered in the terse notes that came from
Mr. Brown's chamber, and now too from George Carmody, who had
been established on a couch in front of the Cascade joiner loft.

He was not worried about the lake level. Dan Dobbins, back from
Black Rock, had been exploring the bar for the best passage, and had
reported that, unless the lake dropped to unheard-of summer levels, the

265

ships could be taken over. The plan was to reduce the weight in each
broadside to four guns, and to carry only enough shot for serving them
ten times each. The schooners and, if Perry's attack on Fort George
proved successful, the Niagara River vessels as well, were to anchor in a
protecting cordon in the lake beyond the bar to hold off any attacking
British squadron. Chid noted with satisfaction that many new earth-
works had been dug on the outer peninsula. These waited now only for
guns. Perhaps Azial Baxter was poling them up the Allegany this
moment. Real Taylor, who was not an optimist, had pronounced the
protection of these batteries sufficient, and declared that a gun on a
steady land platform was worth three on a rolling ship.

Dobbins believed the bar would permit the passage of the brigs if they
drew seven feet or less. Chid, scaling the building model, found that
their designed draught was a trifle better than nine feet. It would not be
difficult to strip them of enough unimportant gear, including some ballast
and all the spare yards and spars and stores, to a seven-foot draught.

Work ceased on the two brigs at sundown. It was odd, this night,
watching so many of the men fold their aprons and stow the oiled tools
in the great chests burned with the inscription Noah Brown, New Yor^.
Chid completed his inspection in the warm summer dusk. They were
good ships; as good as New England men could build, as good as his
own Ariel. He told it so to George Carmody, and Carmody, nodding,
thanked him for taking over his job.

"What you onto, then, Alwyn?" Carmody asked.

"Same thing. I'm staying, I guess."

Carmody looked at him tiredly. Like all the victims of the lake fever,
the disease had wasted him away to gaunt skinniness.

"Was I young an' any venture remained in my bones, danged if I
wouldn't try this country. It's good land, Alwyn. Timell see it prosper-
ous an' settled. A feller gettin' in previous, might do well for himself."

It pleased Chid to know that he was not alone in his hopes for Erie.
Carmody 's opinion was important; he was a famous foreman, and Noah
Brown's right hand.

Nez swung into his path from the martingale rigging of the brig
which Perry had selected to be his flagship. He reached for his shoulder
knife and solemnly cut his leather apron into shreds. He had again beea

,266

assigned to a carpenter's gang after it became apparent that the surround-
ing country had been stripped o everything of use to the fleet.

"I been lookin' for'ard to this for some time/* Nez said. "Ain't it funny,
Chid, I mean waitin' on doin' it when I could'ave done it any time?
Trouble was, I didn't want to. Somehow it's all different now. The job's
done, so far as we can do it, an' it sort of gives a man a freedom."

"You're finished, too, Nez?"

"Sure thing. So's Antwine. Chid, I wish you was comin' with us."

"Are you heading back to Portersville, Nez?"

"Not me! You forget we're in trouble on the coast, Chid? Antwine an*
me is aimin' to meet up with the Green Mountains an' his Otter Crick.
We'll go east with the gang to the Genesee an' then to Albany. From
there well bushwhack. If they been huntin* o' us in that region, it's done
by now, an' we'll be safe's a pair o' muskrats under ice. We'd both like
to have you join us, Chid."

"Pm staying on. For good, Nez. Didn't I mention the shipyard?"

"Certain, you did. But I didn't believe it."

"Well, you can now. Nez, I always figured you and Antoine would
kind of be with me in it."

"What in tarnation could we do, Chid? Goda'mighty, you know I
don't like the trade it's just a go-by for me, suthin' to do whilst I'm
waitin' for suthin' else to do. Antwine, he never would have come savin*
for that trouble."

"I suppose," Chid said. "Nez, don't get drunk tonight."

"Huh! Won't I, though. We're goin' to drink Erie dry's a witch's
soul. Man, that's freedom. We kind o' earned it, Chid. I feel proud as
hell o' what I did here; it'll let me live with myself for a long time to
come. It's up to Perry an' his boys now."

"I reckon, Nez. A man can't be expected to do more'n his duty."

Chid walked to the village in the twilight with a feeling of dejection
and loneliness. He felt some better after he had stopped at Mr. Trun-
chard's house and sold him his claim against the government for exactly
half price. "It's a handsome interest," said Mr. Trunchard, "even if I
have to wait a year, like you say. I'm satisfied, Mr. Alwyn."

"You told the story on Shallus yet?"

"Oh, no. I'm saving it "

267

"Well," Chid said, "if I were you I wouldn't mention it."

He had a noggin of rum at Stone's and called for a quill and ink. His

hasty letter to Azial Baxter and his wife was short. The money enclosed

would do the real talking.

Go ahead. Ill be down first chance I get to show you how to cut
the trees. The arks are mine until they are paid for by the government.
I contribute them and the timber. It is getting terribly dry up here, but
I think that we can send most of what we cut before the river drops
too low. . . .

At the shanty he tore up the letter to John Shallus.

He could hear the celebrating carpenters whooping it at Stone's. He
would almost have liked to be with them, but his head ached like sin
tonight. He wondered if he had a touch of sun.

But he remembered suddenly that there had been no sun that day.

Mrs. Slinker knelt silently beside a small rounded mound on the barren
sand dune above the placid waters of Misery Bay. Sand spurs and wire
grass crept from the near-by sparse dune growth, covering the raw yellow
earth with harsh pale green tracery. An unpainted wooden cross, branded
with the initials T. S., stood at the head of the rounded grave. Tonk's
mother did not know that it was piece of the Ariel., that her son himself
had engraved those stark silent letters.

The long trip from Portersville had been terrifying. She had been
alone, as she now would be for the rest of her life. Her husband had died
on an English prison hulk after being impressed from a New London
China packet. Tonk had been all that remained of him.

Mrs. Slinker prayed in a faint weary murmur, her purse clutched
tightly in her clasped hands, her eyes closed, facing the great blue lake.
She did not see the three sails which burst suddenly from the bay behind
her and raced madly in chase of another larger sail which had come
winging from the north. Once she was faintly aware of cheering and the
booming of cannon in some far-oflf place across the water. But she
prayed on. There was so much that she wanted to tell God about Tonk.

After a long while she dried her eyes. She replaced the wet handker-
chief in the purse. Then she drew from the purse a small battered wooden

268

doll. Bits of printed red cotton clung to it, as if the doll had at one time
been clothed. Gently, stilling her trembling hands, she scooped out a
shallow hole in the soft sand and placed the doll tenderly in it. She drew
the purse string tight again. Save for the handkerchief, it was empty.

Mrs. Slinker rose slowly to her feet, a heavy, large-footed woman, per-
haps once pretty. She did not cry as she walked down the hill to the
shore where the boat waited.

Antoine helped her into the rowing gig and manned the oars without
speaking.

"I I had to see where he was," said Mrs. Slinker, almost belliger-
ently after a while.

"Yas, ma'am," Antoine nodded gravely. "Ah t'ink Ah un'erstan*, me,
ma'am. Tonk she was goo' boy, Ah t'ink."

"He used to play with the doll, Mr. Marestiere. He was never without
it, not till he was grown almost. Every night when he he went to sleep
he had to have it with him. It made him rest peaceful."

"Yas, ma'am," said Antoine and pulled strongly. "Ah t'ink Ah hear
de cheer an' de shoots when de brigs she is la'nchV

"Tonk was a good boy," Mrs. Slinker said. "His father made the doll,
out of a timber from the Oliver Cromwell^ when we lived at Saybrook.
Tonk was born in Saybrook, Mr. Marestiere."

Antoine rowed rapidly. It was almost two miles across the bay. Mrs.
Slinker sat motionless and alone on the stern thwart. She looked back
toward Misery Bay only once. They landed at the stone mole.

"Ah t'ink Cap Dobbins she sail to Black Rock tonight, ma'am," An-
toine said helping her out. "Is better you sail wit' she."

"No," said Mrs. Slinker, "I spent every copper I have in the world to
come up here. I must find work in Erie."

"Bah Gar," Antoine snorted, "is bad, bad place, here. War, ma'am,
she come, ver' bad war wit' beeg battle, wit' British, wit' tarn Injun!"

"I know/' Mrs. Slinker smiled quietly. "But Tonk would like to have
me near him, Mr. Marestiere. Do you think Mr. Stone might be needing
a kitchen maid?"

"She better was, ma'am, she better was," Antoine replied softly. "Ah
don* reckon Ah know what de boys she do on dat Stone she don' fin*
you good work, ma'am."

269

Chapter Seventeen

CHID AND NEZ LEFT the homeward-bound shipbuilders on the board side-
walk in front of the Buffalo, Mohawk, and Ontario Bank on Schimmel-
pennick Avenue. Chid had fourteen dollars in his pocket. He had received
it, standing in line with Noah Brown's men, from a mustachioed dandy
behind an ornate wooden grille in the bank's bare public room.

"Note for twenty dollars," the dandy had intoned loftily to a scribbling
clerk at his side, "favor of Chidsy Alwyn, Portersville, Connecticut.
Signed Noah Brown, countersigned, Stephen Gowdy, paymaster clerk.
United States Navy, Lake Erie Squadron. Wages for the months of for
heaven's sake, Charlie, just ditto it; it's like all the others. Mr. Alwyn,
this note discounts to fourteen dollars."

"You've been giving sixteen for twenty," Chid had protested.

"Not for Connecticut residence, only New York State. If that note goes
bad, we got to go clear to Connecticut Courts to collect. Two dollars
is cheap for the extra risk. Take it or leave it."

"I intend to stay in Erie. That's only ninety miles away."

"Look here, young fellow, you can't change residence like you change a
shirt to cheat this bank. If you don't like our offer, take your paper down
to one of the sharks on Boston Row. But don't come crying to me later."

"I'll take the fourteen," Chid had said sourly and endorsed the note
over to the bank.

He wasn't the only one who growled. Most of the men cashed only
enough pay notes to take them home. But Chid needed all of his money.
In Buffalo, where everything was high because of the war, even fourteen
dollars wouldn't go far toward outfitting him for his call on Mary.

They walked uphill, away from the water front where the Salina had
landed them at noon. Nez steered Chid into a cheap tavern and ordered

270

dunder. "Not, y'nderstand, for likkor's sake," Nez grinned wryly and
pressed his temples. "Today it's medicine, Chid. It's a human necessity
after that last night at Erie. Did you toot too? You look damn peaked,
Chid."

"No, I tried to work on my chandlery accounts, but I had a queer
aching tiredness all over. I slept till Dan clapped his sailing bell."

"Jing! you missed suthin', I tell you. We nigh made a shambles o'
Stone's, the greedy lout a-grabbin* for our score with one hand an' callin"
for peace with the other like we had no right to cut loose after all these
months. I reckon he was kind o* sor.e on account o* Mrs. Slinker. Antwine
give it to him straight he skips her wages once or works her too hard
an* the hull Navy'll be on him an wreck his goddamn* place. She's a
very nice woman, Chid when you go back you ought to keep your eye
on her."

"I'll watch to see she makes out all right, Nez. I only hope she gets over
Tonk. It hit her terrible hard. But she only cried once when I told her
about cutting those initials out of the Ariel's stem for Tonk's grave. She
said it was the nicest thing his friends could have done for him. I'm
glad that Moses and Mary could take her with them as far as here. It
must have been an awful trip all alone."

"Well," Nez said, "you never would have known your girl was only
ninety miles away but for Mrs. Slinker. You hollered for time off loud
enough when you heard. What you goin* to do. Chid?"

"Ask Mary to marry me," Chid said. "It's about time I got that settled,
too."

"By Gee! Chid Alwyn married!" Nez laughed. 'You're gettin' too
damn' civilized for your friends, Chid, I swear."

This main avenue was handsomely wide. Sixteen-foot board sidewalks
lined the rutted dirt road. Sapling elms studded the street; iron-bound
hitching posts and half-log watering troughs graced the frontage of the
largest shops; in several places, especially in the neighborhood of the tony
Niagara Hotel, near the hub of several wide avenues, covered wooden
awnings extended over the sidewalk. Wagons, light rigs, and mounted
riders, citizens, soldiers, farmers, and backwoodsmen made a busy, pur-
poseful traffic.

They joined the late morning throng, Chid in search of a barber, Nez

271

killing time until George Carmody had -arranged for coaches to take the
party east. Chid looked forward with anticipation to the haircut and
shave, conscious here in a city of his ragged appearance and his worn
leather-patched frontier clothing. His hair was bleached to a golden
yellow, falling in neck-long curls- to his cotton shirt, covering his ears<
He walked with a long swinging stride, shoulders back, missing nothing
of the strange busy place.

Buffalo, he thought, was almost as big as New London, the only other
town of size he knew. He supposed that New York, possibly Albany
also, were as large. But he had passed through these places at night and
had not seen. them. He couldn't begin to estimate the commerce of such
a city. But in peacetime it must be vast. Coming In that morning he had
seen the many wharves and storehouses in the harbor. Now you $a\e
about two hundred tonners, Chid thought, not too deep, with an easy-
handled fore-and-aft rig, high booms to accommodate good dec\ loads
they'd ma%e goad la\e carriers. Or steamboats. A-yep steamboats;
Alwyn-built steamboats to carry that commerce faster and safer than
sailers. These lakes were worth fighting for, worth dreaming for

They came to a wedge-shaped piece of grassless land between two brick
stores, tightly surrounded by crowding buildings. In the center of the lot
stood a dirty tent with red pole patches. People stood in line before its
curtained door. Transparencies, gaudily lettered and illustrated, hung
from a rope stretched in front of the tent. These announced:

AN AFRICAN LION
LIVING! BREATHING! ROARING! FEEDING!

This Noble ANIMAL is between four and five feet HIGH
and measures 10 FEET 3 INCHES from tail tuft to nostrils
and is of a beautiful DUN COLOR. He is eight years old
and weighs better than SEVENTY STONE. His limbs and
tail are THICKER than those of the common ox. The
BEAST is a native of Goree in Africa. He is under excellent
subjection and is amply WORTHY of the contemplation of
the curious and the inquisitive.
272

For the better accommodation of those who wish to view
the LION, the owner has been to considerable expense to fit
a room where Gentlemen and LADIES can all have seats.
The LION will be let loose to perform twice every hour and
will be FED a WHOLE SHEEP each afternoon at four
o'clock.

The price of admission to the LION ROOM is
25^ to grown persons
(Children half price)

Nez wanted to see the beast, but Chid felt that he could not afford the
price of admission. "I reckon anyway," Nez consoled himself " 'twould
be better seein' the critter eat up that sheep at four o'clock. Do you
s'pose the sheep's alive. Chid?"

"I don't think so, Nez. This is a civilized city. They probably have
laws against feeding living food to animals."

te l reckon. By God, I hope Antwine's country ain't so damn' fancy. It's
downright depressing such folderol."

The shops were all open and doing a good business. Chid steered Nez
into one which bore the name of M. Abrams, Gentleman's Draper.
Chid knew the moment he entered the cool, darkened front parlor that
he could not afford M. Abrams' prices. He took one look at the ex-
pensive tailoring and frilled shirts and London bolt goods on display and
fled before the echo of the spring bell on the door had ceased jingling.
They hurried up the avenue. Two doors west on Seminary Street they
found the Empire Merchandizing Company. Its stock was displayed all
over the front of the unpainted wooden building, pails and lanterns and
farm tools intermixed with denim work clothes and ready-made pants
and boots dancing in the breeze.

"This is more like," Chid grinned. "How much do you think I ought
to save out for the haircut, Nez?"

Nez reached into his shirt collar for his knife.

"Stoop over," he said. " TTwon't cost you a copper."

"No you don't," Chid cried, ducking Nez's clutch. "I reckon when a
man asks a girl to marry him he's got to look his very best."

"Yes, it'll help. But I don't reckon you'll have any trouble with Mary

273

Leet. I'm kind o 5 surprised it ain't all settled you was lovin' on her back
home. Hell, even I knew it, Chid."

"I never asked her right out, Nez. We both know only I guess the
words have to be spoke. She's staying at the Niagara Hotel with Com-
modore Chauncey's sister while Moses went down toward Fort Niagara
to see about the schooners bottled up there. They got to be ready to
scoot to Presque Isle the minute Perry and the Ontario fleet open up
the river to 'the lake. I'm -I'm to see her tonight."

"A reglar date?"

"A-yep. I sent her a note by Sylvester Tatro, and she replied. You can't
just storm in on a girl you want to propose to."

"Depends on the gal, Chid. But I can see some sense tacklin' Mary
Leet the way you are. She was alwus kind o' well, real ladylike."

Chid bought a pair of strong sensible gray cotton pants, a pale-blue
shirt to which was attached one of the new-style soft collars, a plain salt
and pepper surcoat with hide-lined pockets, and a pair of thick-topped
laced boots. He needed no hat during the summer; he had four pair of
socks and a suit of jersey small clothes which Mrs. Slinker insisted he
accept from Tonk's traveling chest.

"Now for galluses, young man," the spry elderly clerk said to Chid,
Td recommend these the very latest, from Providence, and I want
you to observe that the elasticity is provided by a genuine India rubber
link none of your cheap iron spring yokes that cause cancer of the
stomach."

"I've got rope galluses, they're good enough."

"Mister, if you'll take these galluses at fifty cents extra to the lot, I'll
throw in, absolutely free, a pretied cravat. You'll never again need a
mirror silvering is that scarce since the war I doubt if you can even
buy a new mirror and your knot will always look neat, attractive to
the female eye, which, as a man of your obvious experience undoubtedly
knows, is expert in the detection of the most minute n

"All right," Chid said, hefting the spring of the galluses, "111 take
them."

It came to just under twelve dollars. He considered it worth the money.
He wanted Mary to see him as different, as successful. She must know
now, when he again spoke of the Alwyn Shipyard, of what he wanted to

274

do at Erie, of that challenging steamboat, that he was not still dreaming.
These clothes, new and stiff and so carefully selected for tasteful har-
mony, were symbols; they were proof that he had risen to foremanship,
that he would soon be a fully certified journeyman, that, back in Erie, he
owned timber land, was a partner in a producing sawmill, that he was
on the way to becoming a man of station and means. A girl, he reckoned,
would want to be assured of those things, not merely have them recited
to her.

He had the clothing bundled and tucked it under his arm. He would
change, make the transformation, at the barber parlor.

The barber, in the basement of the Lyceum Theater on Court Street,
was busy. A company of Geneva Volunteer Rifles, from Fort Niagara,
had descended upon him. They were ragged men, gaunt and weather-
beaten, but jubilantly cheerful about going home at last.

"Our time run out in Aprul," a corporal told Chid, "but we had to wait
till yestiddy to get our pay. We been two months over our enlistments/"

"You mean to say you got paid?" Nez snorted.

"Notes, mister, only pay notes. An* do they discount 'em scandalous
in this damn' town! Well, the hell with this war from now on, sez I."

"I thought Chauncey was moving on Fort George?" Chid said.

"We been hearin' so for ages. But nuthin' ever happens when Chaun-
cey's the boss, mister. If he is movin*, we need some co-ordination. That's
what's the matter with this whole war, there ain't no goddamn' co-
ordination.'*

"There will be now. Oliver Hazard Perry is with him."

"Oh, the feller from Erie?" the corporal asked. "Well, mebbe he can
do it. I hear he's quite a do-cr. Some o' our boysVe been itchin* to get
under him for some excitement, but they can't get no orders through to
shift *em. You men know this Perry?"

"We've been building his fleet. We both know Perry pretty good."

"By gollyl" the corporal cried warmly and shook hands. "Fm right
honored to meet up with you. Come an' meet some o' my boys, men."

They shook hands all around. Somebody passed a bottle of rum. Chid
answered their questions about Presque Isle and the Erie fleet with
pride. Evidently, Noah Brown's efforts were not unknown to the rank
and file. The Rifles made Chid feel like a minor hero. Td enlist again

275

could I be sure o' gettin' down to Erie. There's goin' to be a dandy scrap
there, I'd say/' the corporal said. "Well, sorry to keep you boys waitin' on
yer haircuts. We'll be all out in two-three hours."

Chid and Nez sauntered along Schimmelpennick Avenue, taking in
the sights, killing time. Toward the end of the afternoon, they met
Antoine idling along the avenue. He was still in his soiled leatherstock-
ings and moccasins, a strange dress even in the strange variety of dress
in Buffalo. He was enthusiastic about seeing the lion eat the sheep at four
o'clock and agreed to accompany Nez to the exhibition tent.

"Is samt'ing to tell de hwoman, dat," he said solemnly. "Mon Dieu, la
lion!"

"You got a woman on the Otter, Antwine?" Nez inquired, looking
worried,

"O, non! But she will be, Ah fink, Nez. Always, she is, hein?"

They said their good-byes between the barber parlor and the lion tent.

"This ain't for good, Chid," Nez said with sudden gravity, pressing
Chid's hand.

" 'Course not, Nez. I reckon you'll always wander, but every once in
so often you'll show up. But you'll find me at Erie unless everything turns
out wrong:"

Antoine tried to be gay, but Chid could see that the little Canuck was
affected by the leave-taking. After all, they had been through a lot to-
gether; the ties of those experiences could not be dissipated by a mere
farewell.

"Antoine, if you ever run against that coast trouble, don't aggravate it,"
Chid offered.

"She not trouble, Cheed, 'cause Antoine is not catched, hein? No catch,
free lak hell. Ah not worry, me."

"I wish that I could feel that way about it."

"Is but dat Mis' Bolt say de truth. Den is hall right, hever* t'ing,* 1

"Bolt is probably dead. He was wounded bad. Meanwhile we got
Captain Farlow's report against us, that and our escape from the Blessed
Cause"

"In de hwoods," Antoine said soberly, "Ah meet wit' de nest from de
hornet. Is not trouble, Cheed; non. But poke hims wit* de stick. . . . M on
Dieu! Is tarn trouble, dan; she. Cheed, don' poke."

276

"I reckon that's fair advice, Antoine. Trouble is, for me it ain't only
a question of saving my tide, like 'tis for you and Nez. This thing
threatens my plans and my future. Twenty years from now it could ap-
pear and ruin everything I hope to have by then."

Antoine swung a contemplative moccasined toe in a broad arc on the
plank wall. "Cheed," he said, "don't have nozzing. Always dat mak
trouble. Be lak de hanimal; she not hongry, she not col', nozzing else do
she want. No trouble, no danger; happy lak hell all de tarn."

"Until," said Chid, "some hunter comes along."

"Den de hanimal, she bite; she claw. A-r-r! You t'ink too tarn much,
Cheed. De brain, she is for to live wit* now; not nex' monf ."

Antoine, oddly, had tears in his eyes. Chid offered his hand. The little
Canuck took it, pressing it sincerely, but he suddenly threw his arms
around Chid and kissed him on the cheek. "Gardamn," he whispered,
"don' b'lieve Antoine, Cheed. Is no good for feller lak you. Mon ami,
adieu!"

Chid left them with an odd feeling of envy. They and the departing
shipbuilders were free men. They were going back to New England and
New York and Jersey, to home and family and familiar things. He had
elected to stay in this new land, which was still to be won and made safe.
They had come as free men, attracted by good pay and subsistence,
standards of duty and notions of patriotism; they had been swayed and
inspired by the appeal of able recruiters, perhaps by fife music and the
dashing swirl of a wind-whipped flag. They had growled and revolted
and criticized. But they had stayed and done the job; done it well and
in quicker time than any gang had ever built a fleet before. Chid knew
that he would miss them keenly. They talked his language, thought,
and reacted as he did. They were New England men. Walking up the
avenue again, Chid was suddenly strongly conscious of the flat, toneless
speech of those he passed. Yes, he would miss that coastal twang, those
resonant nasal tones which spoke of the rote thundering into sea caves
and the growl of tide on the mud flats and eternal sea wind in the
dwarfed misshapen sand cedars.

The barber would be busy with the Rifles for an hour yet. Chid idled
with a curious restlessness, thinking that perhaps he ought to rehearse
what he wanted to say to Mary. He wished that Moses, who understood

277

and loved them both, was here in Buffalo. Somehow, having Moses near,
knowing how he felt about it all, would have made it easier.

He felt a momentary panic. It had been a long time since they had seen
each other. Perhaps Mary had changed. Without doubt he had. But he
remembered those letters from Mary, not the words but the impression
of them. They were from the same girl, from the girl who lived in his
heart and peopled his every dream.

With sudden anger, he felt resentment at the necessity of putting his
heart into words, of asking the question, of dressing in new stiff clothes,
wearing a cravat the first he had ever owned in his life. Well, it had
to be done. He wondered if he ought to drop to his knees, make a wordy
plea, say things which he felt but which would sound ridiculous between
two people who had lived together as children, had shared joy and dis-
appointment and punishment like brother and sister. He remembered
suddenly a page in a schoolbook long forgotten, in the back of the book,
following the examples of promissory notes and "A Letter of Recom-
mendation" and "To Congratulate a Young Lady Upon Graduation from
a Female Academy." "While it is never proper or respectful to propose
marriage except by the ardent spoken word," Chid remembered, "in cases
of dire necessity, understood by both parties, it is permissible to address
a polite note to the feminine LOVED ONE. Such a note should be
written (with quill and ink only) upon carefully selected tinted paper

of quality and taste, as follows: (My) Dear Miss , We have known

each other for years. During this time the respect and friendship which

I have always entertained for yoii has grown into what those of far
greater literary attainments than myself so eloquently decribe as love . . ."

"Nope," Chid growled to himself. "Mary would hate me. I reckon I
better say it right out."

He hadn't eaten anything since the rough breakfast on the Salina at
dawn, but he did not feel hungry now. There was a curious gnawing
in the region of his stomach, but it was not hunger. He stopped and
lighted his cob pipe. The tobacco tasted sweet and comforting; it settled
that strange, expectant gnawing.

On a street corner he joined a small crowd which was watching a tall,
bony man mount an upturned vinegar cask. The man's horse stood

278

drowsily in the thick dust, saddle bags bulging, the saddle worn and
shining like oiled mahogany.

The man took a small Indian war drum from a saddle bag and began
to beat it. His neck jerked forward in rhythm as he beat, as if it were
attached to him by a hinge concealed directly beneath the wide flaring
collar. "Arouse ye! Arouse ye!" he croaked loudly. "Hear! Oh, come all
ye! Closer, friends, make room for those on the outer fringes of good
news, please. Hear! Hear!"

Chid pressed close, standing beside a second upturned cask. He puffed
on the pipe comfortably. The sun was lowering. Farm wagons began
to move out of the city in lazy dust clouds; a few stopped to listen to
the bony man, drivers hunched on the seats chin in hand.

"Do you know," the orator suddenly cried, shaking a lean accusing
finger at his audience, "that the inhabitants of the United States consume
more tobacco than any other civilized nation on earth, the Turks only
excepted? Do you know that, my friends? Are you ambitious to bear
away the palm from the Mohammedans for those unenviable qualities
which that indolent, ignorant, and barbarous nation of smokers and
chewers proverbially possess?"

He put down the drum and glared fiercely at them.

"Hark, I say! It is difficult to contemplate man in more absurd and
abased light than in his attachment to tobacco; a weed even more nauseous
to the taste than it is unfriendly to health and morals. I assert on the
highest authority that the use of tobacco impairs the appetite, it promotes
indigestion through the waste of saliva in chewing and smoking, it pro-
duces many of the disorders which are seated in the nerves, as tremors of
the hands, headache, epilepsy, palsy, apoplexy and spare the thought
barrenness in female slaves of the weed! Moreover, the hot smoke of
tobacco has destroyed a whole set of teeth in three months. Chewing
fouls the mouth and necessarily renders the breath and the immediate
atmosphere extremely offensive. The use of snuff injures the voice,
obstructs the nose, and causes blackheads in the vicinity of the nostrils."

The speaker frowned upon his audience. His eyes fixed on Chid with
menace. "Young man," he thundered, "will you kindly step up on this
barrel?"

Chid obeyed before he had time to think. He found himself beside

279

the bony man looking over the heads of the crowd. He had no time to
retreat; the long fingers clutched his left arm, holding him there.

"Observe, my friends," the inexorable voice went on. "Oh, gaze and
hang your heads in shame that you are blood brothers! Here we have a
fine appearing young man tall and straight, bronzed in the sun of God-
yet from his mouth protrudes the very same device which relieves the
steamboat and sawmill of its waste combustion. Do you drink spirits,
young man?"

"A-yep," Chid said belligerently. "You better let go of me."

"Aha! As I thought. Friends, what more proof is necessary? Tobacco
has given this young man a thirst for strong spirits. It has turned him
from a dutiful son into a drunken idler, a loathesome wastrel, a blemish
upon Christian society, unfit to lick the boots of those who . . ."

Chid stiffened suddenly, his eyes riveted on the outer edge of the
tight crowd about him. He continued to puff his cob pipe, now with
frantic confused haste, burning his tongue. He wasn't sure at first. But
he could never forget the way she held her head; the way the sun shone
on her red-gold hair.

"Arouse, then, oh, ye snuff-takers and chewers and smokers! Exert your-
selves to cast off the destructive evil. But be warned, it is no task for
weak mortal flesh, friends. God has mercifully revealed to me a helpful
formulae, a magic potion which, if taken three times daily from this
large-sized bottle which is yours for the small sum of one dollar '*

Chid clutched his bundle, ran his hand frantically over his coarse tat-
tered clothing. His unkempt yellow hair tickled his ears. He took his
glowing cob pipe from his teeth.

". . . will positively discourage forever the use of tobacco in any form.
And what is more, friends Owww!"

Chid had spilled the hot pipe into the large collar of the bony man. The
clutching fingers relaxed, flew upward, beating. Chid clouted the man in
the stomach. It was good to hear the agonized grunt, to smell the faint
aroma of burning hair and scorched cotton cloth.

He *jumped from the barrel, pushed through the uproarious laughter.

"Mary!"

"Chid! Oh, Chid!"

Together they ran down Schimmelpennick Avenue. But no one chased

280

them. Chid could hear the howls of the owner of the magic potion above
the slap of their footsteps, above the pounding of his heart.

The cook on the Salina gave them fried pork and warm buttermilk
and Utica cheese and a big basket of drop biscuits for supper. They were
like strangers at first, eying each other across the stanchion table in the
after-cabin, eating carefully.

Yes, Moses was looking after the schooners and the Caledonia brig,
making them ready for the lake. He should not have gone; he was still
terribly weak and ought to do no more than superintend the cutting of
the timber as he had promised. But this had been so important. Yes,
Mrs. Slinker had had to come by way of Sackett's Harbor. That's how
she had happened to join them on the journey west. Oh, the note why,
yes, she had received it with surprise, she had no idea that he was so near.
Really, only ninety miles?

"You had a bundle," Chid said, brushing his hair back with his palms,
"I hope I didn't interrupt an errand, Mary."

"No, you didn't. You had one too."

"New clothes," Chid said blushing. "I was heading for a barber's. I
wanted to look well, kind of good tonight . . ."

"Yes, Chid? I I had a new dress in my bundle."

"You did?"

"Dark blue, Chid, with plain sleeves and Salem loom stitching on
the the front. I only ordered it after your note came."

"You did? By jing, Mary."

They went on deck, watching the sun go down into the lake. Chid
told her about himself since that long-ago in Portersville. He worked in
a guarded hint of the shipyard and his partnership with Azial Baxter,
sort of implied that there was more to these things than his bare words
said. Mary listened and said nothing. Their shoulders touched, sitting
close on the after-trunk, and they drew away quickly. The night wind
picked up. The rigging of the litde vessel began its chorded hum; loosely
furled sails rustled as if eager for the hour of departure.

"We don't sail till midnight," Chid said. "We could walk."

"Yes," Mary said quietly. "I'd love to walk along the beach."

They rested on a bleached squared log, half-buried in the shingle, near

a clump of wild blackberry not so far from the Salincfs berth. It was dark
now, the sky a soft velvet pricked with silver. Fish splashed in the still
pools in the lee of the ragged offshore reefs; back country a whippoorwill
lashed a shrill, desperate song. Chid wondered wildly if his breath
rendered the immediate atmosphere offensive. What a shameful show that
had been!

"I I wanted to be inbetter clothes, Mary," Chid said. "I haven't
had much time to think about them, but "

"Your clothes are all right, Chid. They're as good as a uniform, I guess."

"That's a nice thing to say. I should have let Nez hack my hair with
his sheath knife like he wanted to."

"I'm glad that you didn't, Chid. You used to wear your hair long
like this always. I I used to envy you. Mine won't grow except in tight
curls."

"Curls look good on you."

"You used to pull them and say they looked like cedar shavings."

"By jing, did I?"

He could feel Mary close at his side, feel the brush of those tight curls
against his neck. They did not draw away when their shoulders touched.
In the darkness, driving people close together, it was different.

"You used to tease me terribly, Chid."

"I did? Well, I don't reckon I'd do it any more, Mary."

He wanted desperately to smoke. But he could not afford to remind
her of how they had met this afternoon. She had not mentioned it and
that was kind of her. The light breeze was cool as always, damp and
chilly.

"Are you cold, Mary?"

"Just a little, Chid. But it's so lovely here, watching the stars. Tell me
about Erie. Is it civilized, Chid?"

He let his arm steal around her, resting it lightly against her waist,
feeling her sigh snugly against him. Erie, Chid explained, was pretty
crude. But lots of men had faith in it, risked their savings and their repu-
tations and their future on what Erie might become. Why, just take the
lake trade, in peacetime . . .

The whippoorwill moved many times, calling his song of yearning
from the flat slate rocks. After a while Mary laid her head on Chad's

282

shoulder. He could feel her breath soft on his neck through the long
yellow hair.

"There was a night Mary, once, long ago, a spring night . . ."

"Four years ago/ Mary whispered. "I always remember, Chid. 5 *

"So do I, Mary. Always. I said some things then, Mary."

"I did too, Chid," she said quietly. "It has never been any different
for me."

"It is different, I reckon, Mary. We've grown up. You're a woman.
I've sort of got the right now if you still want to remember, Mary."

"I do, Chid. Oh, Chid, it's been so long; you've been so far away, doing
man things. . . . Chid!"

She turned her face to him, soft in the night, the stars in her hair. He
held her tight, drew her very close. "I want to kiss you, Mary. I want
to..."

"Yes, Chid, I want you to. I want to be in your arms, close to you.
Forever, Chid, as I've dreamed."

"As we've dreamed, Mary."

"Yes. Chid, kiss me."

He could feel the strong trembling of her, the soft warm challenge of
her lips, the yield of her as their lips met.

"Forever, Chid."

"Forever, my darling. Ill love you forever and ever, my Mary."

They lingered in the sweetness of it, whispering it again and again,
entwined in eager embrace, thrilling to the magic of the full rich love
which was at last theirs.

He heard the bell of the Salina ring out the passing hours. The Great
Dipper wheeled silently in the sky. They did not talk much. In an hour
he would be winging down the lake, going back to harshness, to war.
This enchanted evening would be over; only its memory and promise
would remain to drive him on so that there would be for them a long
and safe and happy life, a life of endless enchanted evenings when their
lips would meet and not be drawn apart.

"I reckon about August," Chid said, "things will be settled by then,
my things, the war. I'll come for you, Mary."

"It doesn't matter when, Chid dear, we said forever."

"Forever, Mary. I'll love you, forever and ever."

283

They returned slowly to the city, arms entwined, sometimes stopping
to kiss. They said good-by at the Niagara Hotel

Dan Dobbins cast off his hawsers at the eighth stroke o the forecastle
bell. Chid, almost too late, jumped the widening span between the ship
and the dock, throwing his bundle before him. It bounced on the rail
and burst open. Mary's blue dress lay on the deck, and a white petticoat
lay beside it.

Dan Dobbins and the quartermaster gufifawed, holding their bellies,
driving Chid below with the hastily picked up garments. But Chid could
see nothing funny in the mishap. It was as if, touching her garments,
he again felt the intimate warmness of Mary, the beat of her heart against
his breast, the smell of her hair, the trembling surrender of her lips. . . .

284

Chapter Eighteen

CHID WAS ON the road to the Donation District and his timber tract by
seven o'clock. It was Sunday, the first workless Sabbath to be declared
since the commencement of the building o the fleet. The Navy carpenter
rates had the vessels well in hand; Chid's service now was mainly in
supervising their labor. The apprentices ran from ship to ship, finishing
up the last of the details. They were staving the inboard side of the
bulwark rails with live oak, giving real protection to the gunners. The
Porcupine had lost an entire gun crew in one of the numerous brushes
with the British patrol because of inadequate armor of her bulwarks. It
would not happen again.

Moses had declared the Niagara ships ready for the lake and re-
turned, with Mary and the Commodore's sister, to Sackett's Harbor.
Word had come that the Ontario forces were actually moving, sweeping
westward on the lake toward Fort George. The two new brigs lay at the
fitting-out mole inside the bar, their sparring growing daily. A man could
begin to understand them now, see for himself their formidable grimness,
their purpose.

Chid heard the bell of the Catholic Mission in Erie toll the mass. He
walked rapidly. He still had that headache, that annoying tiredness. Mrs.
Baxter's short note had said that the water mill was operating, reminded
him that the cutting of the trees depended upon him. He paid his copper
at the tollhouse.

"I reckon," Chid said, answering the tollgate keeper's question, "Perry
can be over the bar and into the lake in two weeks. A man might count
on this country being safe pretty quick after that."

"How," Mr. Brown asked, sucking on a gourd pipe, "can the captain
reach way inter Canady with his guns, Mr. Alwyn? Some on us been

285

ponderin' on that. Seems if the gov'mint's expectin' an all-fired miracle
from them few vessels."

"Why, the fleet's but one of the horses of the team, Mr. Brown. If
Perry whups the British fleet, it cuts off the supply lines from the sea
to the Crown army. Then Harrison moves against them, by the lake,
guarded by Perry. The British'll have to quit. They wouldn't last a week
without supplies. The Detroit army'd have to give up for the same reason.
The Ontario fleet'll make the same move there at the same time. The
whole frontier would be saved. There'd be an end, complete, to this in-
vasion worry."

"It 'pears to me it's win or lose; draw don't count."

"Right. Draw don't count. It's lick 'em or be licked, Mr. Brown. But
we ain't planning to be licked. Azial Baxter's brought near all the naval
stores in now. And as soon as Chauncey makes the attack on the Niagara
forts, I guess we'll have plenty of men."

"I hear they's plenty still sick."

"Plenty, Mr. Brown. I'd guess about a third of the crews we got so far
are down."

The gatekeeper studied Chid for a moment. A chipmunk searched
unafraid in the butternut shucks that Mr. Brown had been cracking on
a hardwood block. "I been hearin' o' rumors, Mr. Alwyn."

"Rumors about what?"

"That the Erie country's a-goin' to be sacrificed to save York State.
How else kin you explain all the lollygobbin' that's been a-goin' on? ...
delayed everything damned poor food, an' not much o' it, not a decent
number o' fightin' men to man even one ship? The hull sity-ation stinks
to the summit o' heaven o' lollygobbin'. You an' some others can talk
big. But word's about all through the settlement it's high time to get out.
Everybody knows that if the British choose to attack right now, they'd
just have a picnic o' it. They'd light on the beach, pretty's a lady step-
pin' outen a swan boat, an' they'd walk onto your fleet like they was goin'
to church, not a bother to hinder 'em."

"We'd fight," Chid said stubbornly.

"What with? Guns without shot? Ships without crews? Why, Great
Jehovah, Mr. Alwyn, you still got to get your boats inter the lake proper.

286

Us what know this land ain't 'tall certain you can do that even the
lake's droppin' steady."

"I wouldn't worry, was I you/' Chid said shortly.

"Well, I ain't a-goin' to no more. I'm goin' down-country till I see
what happens."

Chid got away from the tollhouse quickly,, sick of the unpleasant
arguments. He had heard them all before. But they had never depressed
him as Brown's talk did today. His head ached horribly. He felt a chill
loneliness, as if the departure of the shipwrights and the absence of the
main naval forces were in a way desertions.

He met the first team of Azial Baxter's train on the road near the Lytle
farm. The Pennsylvania Brigade had disbanded. The four-month enlist-
ments were up, and the soldiers, weary of dusty drilling and short rations,
had struggled home. The train had no guns this time, but was heavily
laden with round and bar shot and, at last, several tons of kegged black
powder.

"Show *em," he told the lead driver, "to every man you see. Make 'em
count the items you got. When you get to the tollgate, make Brown lick
the shot."

"You sporting Mr. Alwyn?"

"Nope."

"By God, you sound teched, Mr. Alwyn. You all right?"

"A-yep. Go on now. Do as I say."

"Damned if I will, sir. Azial alone'U give me orders. Lick the shot!
God in the mountains, that's a crazy notion!"

Chid tramped on to the Baxter land. The house was empty, but he
followed a new well-worn path over a rolling intervale and came out at
the sawmill site. The rig was a Duquesne piston saw, with a wooden
beam, belted to the oak overshot water wheel which turned slowly under
the fall of clear spring water from the new sluiceway.

Mrs. Baxter, in denim pants and a sunbonnet, superintended the mill.
She offered Chid spring-cooled ginger beer, then introduced him to the
foreman.

"This is Mr. Tarnip; Mr. Alwyn."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Alwyn. Bugle Tarnip's the name, jes* Bugle,
you like. Do we get at that lesson, Mr. Alwyn?"

287

"Come on."

Chid's land was good. The trees were not crowded. They had grown
tall and straight, in the lee of a gentle hill which divided the twisting
north wind. Bugle Tarnip was a good logger, an Adirondak man, sixteen
years in the Pennsylvania forests, and he learned well. They reached the
turnpike boundary late in the afternoon.

"Mrs. Baxter, she allows to cut for ship timber first; then salvage for
houseboards and such. Is that agreeable?"

"A-yep. But carry the ship timber down to Pittsburgh first, that's the
present high market. What's she paying you, Mr. Tarnip?"

"Eighteen a month, plus keep. Have a drink?"

"A big one. I kind of feel rotten all over." Chid drank the firy whisky,
hardly feeling its flame. He felt hot inside, not only from the potent
liquor but as if from a fire kindled deep in his belly. His head throbbed.

Bugle Tarnip laughed. "I guess you ain't over that Erie farewell party
total, hey? Them affairs got a way o' hangin' onto a man for weeks."

"That's it. It was one hell of a toot, Bugle. I got to get on."

Chid could not recollect the return journey. He shucked his shirt,
walking along the hot dusty road toward Erie, grateful for the beat of
the warm sunshine. But hot and sweating, he would suddenly feel a
clammy coldness creep over him and hastily put the shirt on again.
Some place along the road, past the Baxter clearing, a three-oxen team
and a wagon overtook him, going downhill.

"Chid! Hell to Betsy, it's good to see you, Chid."

It was Azial Baxter, bound to Erie from the ark landing with the last
of the powder and shot. He drew up at the foot of the hill and invited
Chid to climb to the box.

"Chid, this was a fust-rate trip. Light stuff, mostly, lighter'n cannons,
anyway, 'twas, an* the boys made swift time. Mrs. cal'ates we make sev-
enty dollars this week. Ain't that a caution o' money for six days' work ?
Dang it, we're never goin' to get shut o' bein' obliged to you, Chid. We
ain't; an' that's gospel! I jes' see Mrs. when I passed our place an' Bugle
Tarnip reported he's onto yer marked trees an' fellin' 'em rapid,"

"Who's Bugle Tarnip?"

"Shucks, Chid! You jes' met o' him. He's doin' the loggin' off fer us.
Tarnation, Chid, you jes' learned him."

288

"I recollect/' Chid mumbled. His insides seemed to be burning. His
whole body ached and throbbed with a withering pain.

"Four more trips an* well have the gov'mint stuff all hauled. You got
to lay up the arks before you tote much timber. Chid. They need seam-
pluggin' here an' yon, an* the groundin* strakes must be rubbed complete
of? n 'em. Chid, you stand to make a hell of a purse o' money on our
deal. Me an' Mrs. is glad fer you. We don't begrudge Chid!"

Chid had hung over the side of the wagon and vomited. Aziafs great
arm reached out, sliding under his shoulders for support. Chid was white.
He slumped against Azial, struggling close to the body warmth. o the
huge man, chilled again to shivering.

"Hell to Betsy!" Azial muttered in amazement. "An' I never smelled
the likkor till this minute. Boy, I thought you was behavin' odd. Giddap!"
he clucked to the lumbering oxen. "Git on, you lazy cre'turs, you. I got to
get Chid to Erie afore he ruint's hisself with his hull future."

"Take me to Stone's," Chid said weakly.

"The hell I will, Chid. You had enough likkor."

He laid Chid in the box on a blanket pad spread over the kegged
powder. He reckoned Chid was horribly drunk; the reek of powerful
liquor was heavy about him. Azial reached Erie at dusk. He cut around
the settlement and drove straight to the Cascade shanty office. Nobody
answered his knock. After a cautious peering into the sash and the dusk
shadows about, he timidly opened the door. Then he carried Chid in
from the wagon and laid him, with a shy tenderness, on the hard bunk.

"You'll be sober come mornin', boy," Azial whispered softly. "Dang it,
I wisht Mrs. was to hand; this ain't my line. There you be, Chid. I hope
sincere you won't get in no trouble over this."

Azial drove his outfit to the unloading platform of the brick magazine
of the naval stores yard on the shore, and late that night reached his own
fireside. In the morning he was oft again by ark to Pittsburgh.

Neither Azial nor Chid had seen the letter which lay, unopened, upon
the board table. It was dirty and pawed, and the handwriting labored, as
if written under a sputtering candle by a person unaccustomed to
handling a quill.

Dear Mister Alwyn [the letter read]. I write to lett you know what

Moses Leet hollered afore he was took off. He hollered Lett Chidsy

289

Alwyn know for godds sake. We was fellen trees in the woods astern
Sackett's then. Mary was along with us pickin berry and Moses he was
tallyin and thar they war. They was British marines and Indians. I am
shot. They skipped me but I am not ded and I hear Moses Leet. They
went away on a yawlboat and Mister Sears the bosun sez they are
tooken to detroit to work on the British vessels. I do not know. Thar
was 6 on them and Mary. She was not capchered. But she went on count
Moses is week and is like to get sick agin. They went acrost Ontario
like to the west. I bare yu no illwill Mister Alwyn, I recond you and
Mister Nott was on the Blessed Cause schunner. Moses he swore me not
.to tell and I am not that kind, yur friend Livy Bracket.

Mr. Knell, the blacksmith, who had been put on the Navy pay roll
to make up the great variety of gun-carriage iron needed for the brigs,
found Chid in the office about noon the following day. He took one look
at him, and sent his striker for Dr. Parsons. By daylight no one could
mistake Chid's trouble. The surgeon had Chid carried to the pest chambers
over the Erie Hotel taproom within the hour. Chid was desperately sick
and unconscious when Mr. Knell and his striker carried him up the three
flights of narrow box stairs to the pest chamber. Dr. Parsons, shucking
his gold-braided uniform jacket, prepared for a long siege. He had seen
over two hundred cases in the last months, and no two were exact in
symptoms or reaction to treatment. But he recognized Chid's case as
critical as he called for emetics and purgatives, his first attack always.

"Has the lad been working in the lake rot, Mr. Knell?"

"Dunno, sir." Mr. Knell touched his forelock respectfully with a char-
coal pocked hand. "Ordinary, no, sir. He's on the hull. He goes inter the
woods sometimes though, sir."

"Yistady morning," the striker offered timidly, "I see Mr. Alwyn fair
up to his gut in the lake. Fixin' the brig rudder chains, he was, sir."

"Hah! Now, we're getting a history. He inhaled, likely. Yes; yes. He
laid all night alone with no care. He tried to dose himself with spirits.
That's it, Mr. Knell. We've got a serious case here. Can you men help?
The cure will have to be drastic. I hate it as much as an amputation."

Dr. Parsons called for hot water in the yard barrel. While it was
being heated by Mr. Stone's redemptioner, the doctor undressed Chid

290

and wrapped him in a blanket. He then melted a cake of beeswax
and plugged Chid's ears and nostrils. Mr. Knell carried him, like a sack
of grain, to the barrel of hot water.

"Ordinarily I'd prescribe three and three," the doctor said, his brow
furrowed. "H'm . . . swamp and lake fumes both; a nasty combination
indeed. Make it five and five, Mr. Knell. The cold first, please."

Mr. Knell and the striker plunged Chid into the cold-water barrel,
submerging him until he could barely breathe. Dr. Parsons, reaching
into the slimy, previously used water, reached for Chid's pulse. It was a
professional gesture, of little value, and in a weary, helpless way the
doctor knew it. "Very well/' he said after two minutes had passed, "now
the hot, men. Handsome, please.*'

Chid was soused into the barrel of hot water; then again into the cold.
At the seventh plunge Dr. Parsons stopped it. There was almost no pulse.
He shook his head and ordered Chid again to the bed in the pest chamber.

"I dare not do more," Parsons muttered as if arguing with himself. "To
let blood now would finish the boy. I wish to God man was vouchsafed
the same knowledge of medicine that he is of war."

"Can I do anythin' more, sir?" Mr. Knell whispered.

"Yes," the doctor said quietly. "While you're forging your goddamn'
guns, you can pray for Mr. Alwyn."

The form of the lake fever which Chid had contracted was known as
intermittent fever, the most dreaded of the several forms which the
plague took. It was severe and dangerous always,, but, as its virulence
grew less intense with the passage of time, the disease staggered its attack,
alternating the days. One day its effect was mild, lulling the victim into
a sense of returning health; then, on the following day, it rallied and at-
tacked with all its symptoms of extreme chills and fever and terrible
delirium. But it was many weeks before the malady definitely proved
itself of the intermittent type.

Chid was taken by the lake fever on the twenty-fifth of May. He had
no recollection at all of time until mid-June. One day he awoke from a
black dreamless sleep, near nightfall, with the sound of guns booming
in his ears. At first the reports only pounded on his brain with meaning-
less dull thuds superimposed upon the constant throbbing of his head.

2,91

He lay on a single rope-webbed cot on a shuck-filled mattress in a
small garret room. Alongside was another cot, empty. A painted tin
coach trunk stood on the floor, beneath a window which gave a view of
the expanse of Presque Isle and the great lake beyond. The room was
stifling hot, but Chid's one sensation, as he opened his eyes to rationality
for the first time in more than three weeks, was one of bitter damp chill.
He shivered with it, unable to control himself, and with an effort that
took all his strength pulled the quilt tightly into his neck. His exertions
rang a small brass bell which had been fastened to the bed ropes. He heard
its tinkle, like a far-off waterfall, without interest. Only the thud of the
guns pounded upon his dulled senses, and he cried out against the pain
of listening to them.

Mrs. Baxter came cautiously into trie room. She bustled about Chid,
making him comfortable, her sharp alert eyes worried.

"Be still, dearie," Mrs. Baxter whispered softly. "Guns will always rouse
you men. There now, 'tis nothing. Go to sleep, Mr. Alwyn. When the
doctor comes, hell say what's to do next. You ain't stirred so much since
Azial found you were here. If the doctor'd only stop lettin* your blood,
dearie, I swear I'd have you rational in no time. But I s'pose he knows
best. Now sleep, Mr. Alwyn.'*

Mrs. Baxter stole softly out of the room- The guns still boomed. Some-
times with the sharpest of the reports the glass sash in the room rattled,
and against the panes there darted from time to time reflection of thin
red tongues of flame.

Chid was not to JcnoW that day that What he was hearing was the
final action in the campaign against Fort George. Winging up the Erie
shore on the freshening night wind, their quartermasters searching anx-
iously for the Presque Isle bar ranges, were the five warships which had
been bottled in the Niagara. Behind them, spitting angrily from bow
chasers, pounded the British fleet.

Chauncey and Lewis's army several weeks ago had cleared the Niagara
region of the British in a fierce bloody attack on Fort George, the key
stronghold. Fort Erie, as the British had retreated to Queenland, had
been evacuated. The whole Niagara frontier was in the possession of the
Americans; the enemy line of supply and communication to Detroit had
been driven far to the north, into the remote wildernesses o Canada.

292

If it could now be severed, at the water link through Lake Erie, the
offensive would be placed in the hands of the waiting western army of
Harrison, and the vast Michigan lands, the valley of the Mississippi,
indeed the continent to the Spanish states and the Pacific, would be pre-
served for the Union. More than ever before, the responsibility for success
rested upon Captain Perry and his still-unready fleet.

The task of getting the freed ships into the lake had been no easy one.
For two weeks Perry and his inadequate naval crews and growling hired
teamsters had warped the vessels through the swift racing currents of
the Niagara River. Only four days ago the squadron had finally assembled
in the lake and, buffeted by head winds and heavy seas, commenced the
tedious beat along the south shore of Erie. Until dusk this very night the
Captain had eluded the British squadron which was searching for him.

The enemy was in his wake now, close-hauled on the full breeze which
swept from the watery west. The racing squadrons plunged onward
through the last of the daylight. The bar of Presque Isle was the goal
Inside the bay Perry's new squadron would be safe.

The watchers on Erie shore that night could only guess as to the progress
of the desperate race. The staggered gunfire and the sudden tiny blazes
of red in the darkness might be from either fleet. The cannonading drew
nearer, until it was suddenly echoing against the shore buildings and
the steep clay banks of the lake shore. It filled some hearts with pride and
with sudden belated resolution, and some it filled with fear and dismay.
Already the laden wagons were again creaking south along the Waterford
Turnpike on which Mr. Brown had not collected toll for two weeks, piled
high with household goods and with children, the stock pacing the tail-
boards with anxious looks back at Erie.

Mrs. Baxter, bathing Chid with vinegar as she had just been instructed
by Dr. Parsons, kept her eyes glued to the window. In the large main pest
chamber adjoining, those patients who could filled the window openings,
the Navy men sniffing the night like hound-dogs for the whiff of powder
and damning their luck to be beached at such a time. Behind them the
surgeon's mates packed handbags and medicines. If the British succeeded
in closing with Perry and followed him through the channel, the ranges
of which his course would reveal, the order stood to evacuate. Wagons
and hitched horses, their ears laid back against the gunfire, waited before

293

Mr. Stone's taproom. The drivers, this night, did not congregate in the
bar but remained soberly upon the boxes.

"Alwyn," Dr. Parsons pronounced, shaking his head sadly, "can't be
moved, Mrs. Baxter. No matter what, he'll have to remain here."

"Alone?"

"Of course alone, ma'am. Ill leave written instructions to the British
surgeon should it be necessary."

"It won't be necessary, sir," Mrs. Baxter replied with an odd choke in
her voice. "I reckon I wouldn't leave him."

"No," the doctor said, "I reckon you wouldn't. You've been more than
a mother to him, Mrs. Baxter. Are you related?"

"No, sir. He's just a good man. He's kept his word with my husband
and me, and he's treated us fair and honest. It's more than we've ever
had before. We're the kind that value it, sir. It's why I came when I
heard he was sick."

"I'd say," Parsons said quietly, "you rather deserve whatever good
fortune Alwyn has brought you. Good night, ma'am."

Added to the gunfire now there was the ragged crack of musket shots.
To the watching Navy men, it meant that the ships were within range
of marine fire from the tops. Perry would have to slide inside the harbor
or turn and give battle in minutes. The flashes now, and the close, space-
filling booming of the long guns, were almost abreast of the town.

There came suddenly a cheer from the windows of the pest chamber.
Off on the black lake the red flashes stabbed the night now like a dense
swarm of fireflies. The pursued squadron had crossed the bar, quickly
spread fanwise, and rounded to. Perry's five ships now lay with luffing
sails in the calm bay pouring broadside after broadside into the surprised
enemy. Hastily the British ships killed their way to avoid stranding.
As they came about, they received the full weight of Perry's careful fire
into their exposed topsides. Realizing the trap, they quickly scudded off
before the wind under hastily organized return fire, presenting only their
sterns to the defenders; and as they did so, running parallel with the
shore and the peninsula, the shore batteries opened a rapid murderous
long-gun fire and made the rout complete.

"Mr. Alwyn," Mrs, Baxter whispered softly, "I reckon we won't be
alone."

294

Chid's sleep became untroubled and quiet. There was no longer that
awful pounding, that terrific paining sound as if guns were firing. He
felt cool now, not chilled.

He awoke in the early morning with a clear awareness that was sat-
isfyingly fresh and strange. His vision focused on the bay beyond the
window. It sparkled bright and living under a gentle, crisp, north wind;
and under the nigh shore, swinging to taut chain cables, were not five
but ten ships; and from the main gaff of each flew the American ensign.

He felt light and spirited, like getting up. His mind was clear and
sharp and suddenly filled with the recollection of his affairs. He had
choppers in the woods and a mill sawing busily. Azial Baxter would be
hauling stores on the arks which he owned. Mr. Brown would be ex-
pecting him to be on one of the ships; many shot racks were still unmade,
and Dr. Parsons had requisitioned for a large oaken table with leather
straps to be through-bolted to the deck in the center of the cockpit floor
of each brig. He had, somehow, to burn a late candle and write to Mary,
to make their plans for meeting, when his apprenticeship was ended.
And, while his hand was in it, to accept the offer of Ballston & Adams,
the timber agents in Pittsburgh, to handle the shipment of choice air-
seasoned ship timber due to leave Waterford on his own arks about
August the first. There was a matter to be taken care of on the coast,
too, an ancient danger that he had grown to be forgetful of but which,
in his heart, he knew would always threaten the liberty which would be
his when he became at last a freeman and ruled over that prosperous
dream-shipyard up the bay.

Without willing it, he struggled to get from his bed. The bell tinkled
on the bed rope under him. Mrs. Baxter, looking sleepy, opened the door.

"Ma'am," Chid said. "Ma'am, I want to get up."

"No," Mrs. Baxter whispered. "This is fine, Mr. Alwyn, fine; but it's
your good day, like the doctor said. Tomorrow you'll be down again.
Mr. Alwyn, do be still, please you've a neighbor now. He's a very sick
man."

Chid turned his head slowly to the other bed. Wrapped in quilts to
the throat, the perspiration trickling in shiny beads from his pale wan
face, was Captain Perry.

295

Chapter Nineteen

ON HIS GOOD days Chid never tired of resting back against his straw pillow
and watching the fleet at battle practice. It consisted now of three brigs
and seven schooners. Its tonnage and weight of broadside metal almost
matched the British fleet, even including the new Detroit, which was
being rushed to completion by forced captive labor.

He liked to watch the sham battles. Each day three or four of the
schooners slipped their cables and, spreading their white wings, ma-
neuvered about the bay in sail-handling drill.

They fought innumerable battles for position with each other, each
trying always for the weather gauge. When any two got within range
of each other, sheets would be let fly; they would stand up into the wind,
the bulwark ports lift ominously, and through them appear the black
muzzles of the guns. The guns were never fired. Powder was too scarce for
that. But the gun captain would blow a whistle, its sound reaching Chid
like the silvery muted call of a bay bird's, now that his window was per-
mitted to remain open; and the crews, accepting it as the touch of the
match, would run the piece in handsomely, sponge, reload, and have it
run out, waiting for the whistle, in less than a minute.

Sometimes the schooners would signal by flag hoist to the watchtower
on the peninsula, and if no enemy sail was on the horizon, which was
not often, move into the broad lake itself for the maneuvers. Chid no-
ticed that even they with their light draught did not cross the bar any
more. They worked carefully through the winding channel, searching
for that one deep, safe path. The lake had dropped fearfully. On a calm
noon day, from his window, Chid could plainly see the shadows of the
ships on the sandy bottom. As they moved under the light summer winds,
the vessels were followed always by this shadow, like a shark trailing

296

them in the cool depths. Lately, some ojE the bar itself was visible, a yellow
ribband creeping almost awash from the mainland to the cape of the
peninsula, broken only at one place by the deep green of safe water.

Often, when the vessels practiced on the lake, the watch gun on the cape
would bellow, and, like ducks alarmed by the hunter's musket, the fleet
would tack smartly and race for the protection of the bay. Then the
play would cease. The yawl boats and punts which hung always astern
of the three brigs would fill with the crews which had been fitting out;
they would pass swiftly to the schooners, and Chid would hear the harsh
scream of the battle rattle as general quarters were taken in earnest.
Without anything having been changed, the schooners would suddenly
become grim and lethal, and slither to their stations in support of the
shore batteries.

But the British never closed for a real attack. They seemed to be recon-
noitering, to be watching the progress of the shipbuilding, and remained
always out of gun range. Once, when the British observation force num-
bered only two small schooners, Chid's own Arid broke from the forma-
tion like an impatient child and gave spirited chase. She sailed deep into
the afternoon sun, spitting fire from under the press of white canvas,
and when she returned at dusk it was with ragged shot holes in her
bulwarks and her bowsprit splintered. The Ariel, Mrs. Baxter reported
jubilantly when she came to settle him that night, had shot the foremast
out of one of the Britishers and smashed the stern battery of the other,
but, darting in for the kill, had discovered two of the heavy ships of
the enemy standing toward her, and had run for cover.

Chid took the doughty little Ariel's attack as a personal triumph. She
was to him a living thing, created from nothing but an idea and hard
work and his own pride in his trade. He could pick her out from the
fleet at any time. There was a jaunty rake to her masts, a smooth even
sheen to her black topsides that bespoke perfect workmanship in 'the
frame and plank beneath. He felt about her, he guessed, as Captain
Perry felt about the number two brig. Number two, he told Chid, for
no real reason save that he somehow had faith in her, was to be his flag-
ship. He had asked permission from the Navy Department to name her
Lawrence in honor o his old friend, Captain James Lawrence, who was

297

now roving the North Atlantic in command o the great rigate-of-the-
line Chesapeake.

Perry's attack o the fever was light, and he was on the mend long
before Chid. Dr. Parsons believed his collapse due mainly to over-exertion
on behalf of the fleet. But, nevertheless, he confined him to his bed.

The room had become Perry's office. Document-littered tables sur-
rounded his bed, and his brass-bound rosewood writing case was always
near at hand. The papers and books and letters became untidy piles about
him, overflowing onto the one chair reserved for the visitors who must
see him. Noah Brown, who could navigate slowly now with the aid of
a stout hickory cane, came frequently. He had delayed his departure for
Lake Champlain, where he was to build some vitally important naval
ships, and undertaken the completion, of the brigs for the captain.

For both sides the race was one of completing the fighting ships.
Neither dared risk a decisive engagement until the fleets were matched,
and up until now it had been a contest of shipbuilders. But there was no
more time for new building. Summer was passing. The British had a
huge army in Detroit, and the Americans had one equally large to the
south of them. Whichever side could first destroy the opposition's supply
and communications lines would gain the offensive and carry the war
into the other's territory and to victory.

Lieutenant Elliot, who was second in command o the fleet and com-
mander of the brig which had been named the Niagara, was a frequent
visitor. To him Perry had assigned the task of training the crews. Elliot
was a defeatist. In spite of a brilliant record, which included the original
organization of the Black Rock navy yard and the capture of the Cale-
donia from the British, Elliot regarded every measure of preparation for
the coming battle for the lake as hopeless.

"We have so far," Elliot remarked heavily one day in Chid's hearing,
"three hundred and ten seamen, sir; only enough to man the schooners."

"We have a civil reserve, lieutenant. You must remember it."

"I do, sir. No man ever could forget that rabble. They they are worth-
less."

"No man is worthless," Perry said softly. "You forget, lieutenant, that

298

every man has a heart. All we can do is to train and train. The smell of
powder and the scream of a ball does wonders for courage and will."

"Lieutenant Packett of the Ariel has enlisted forty-two men for the
Naval Brigade, sk," Elliot said stiffly, "mostly from hereabouts."

"Excellent," the captain smiled; "now send him east, Elliot, to Black
Rock and Geneva and Utica. Commodore Chauncey can't have taken
every last man. We need eight hundred men; but, damn it, with the ships
so nearly complete and the British spoiling so for a fight, 111 engage with
half that number."

The problems of Perry and his cheerful, hopeful attack upon them
amazed Chid. He suffered with the characteristic attacks of nausea and
body ache during this time when the parade of naval officers and civilians
and Army men and Indian chiefs filed by his sick bed. But, in some in-
explicable manner, the man's mind rose above the mortifications of his
sick, exhausted body, and he met every problem with clear understanding
and sharp, shrewd solution. He was worried about only one thing, and
when Chid was sitting and opportunity afforded. Perry would sometimes
discuss it with him.

It was the lake level. He watched it like a hawk. Real Taylor had
brought a telescope from Perry's sea chest in the rude after-cabin under
the flagship's quarterdeck, and he anxiously studied the slowly widening
shore many times each day.

"Captain Dobbins," Perry said once, talking more to himself than to
Chid, "reports that the main channel is less than ten feet deep, much
lower than is usual at this time of the year. But I've noticed that the lake
rises after a period of northerly winds. Now, Chid, I presume that we can
unburden enough to clear."

"To seven feet/'^Chid said. "Less, and you'd run the risk of capsizing."

"The brigs will need eight feet at least then. I'm praying desperately
that well have that much depth and a north wind when we're ready to
cross the bar."

"The ships are almost ready, sir."

"Aye, the ships are, Chid. It's we who are not. I begged Commodore
Chauncey to spare me sufficient men to go out and meet the enemy. If we
had the man-power, I swear, I'd cross within the week."

"Cross and anchor behind the schooners^ sir."

299

"It's a risky chance, I'm afraid. We've got to enter the lake fighting.
The minute we make the first move, there will be signal smoke behind
us to bring the British. The fight will be in sight of Erie, I believe."

"And the chances, sir?"

The captain studied the distances for a long moment before answer-
ing. "Good for victory," he said finally. "We match the enemy almost
exactly. But we have something which the British do not have, Chid;
something that, in the last analysis, wins battles and wars. Our men
fight for their homes and their dear ones; for their lives and freedom and
liberty. Our enemies fight they know not why; for obscure reasons be-
yond even their commanders. It's the essential difference between us.
It's the intangible that brings victory in spite of"

"Chauncey and Congress, official stupidity and greed."

"It would be unworthy of me to say it, Chid," Perry said shortly, and
fell silent.

But Chid knew that tie worried always about the lake. He himself
took to watching its level anxiously. Unless the fleet was manned and
trained at once, it was liable to find itself landlocked within Presque Isle
bay until the next spring. The whole effort would then have been use-
less; the whole frontier would again fall to the British, and, strengthened
and freshened, the enemy would the next time make good their threat
of invasion and division.

Chid tried not to think what such a calamity would mean to his own
plans. On these days when he felt strong and eager and, as Azial who
had come to visit him once had put it, "settin* on ginger," he managed
his own affairs through Mrs. Baxter.

She was utterly capable and more than willing to become Chid's
physical self. Azial and Chid, reckoning future profits, had spared the
price of a horse for hen This nag Mrs. Baxter rode wherever the mill
business required that she go.

The Pittsburgh agents waited anxiously for the shipment^ of timber.
A Captain Shreve planned to build some new-type steamboats on the
river, and was demanding timber of a specification and growth that could
not be supplied from any of the western valleys. Naval agents were in
Pittsburgh, too, ready to outbid both Shreve and his competitor, Robert
Fulton, on ship timber, and cart it to the coast at their own expense.

300

Azial, not understanding the full import of the gossip he had heard to
the south, told these things to Chid.

Listening to Mrs. Baxter's careful, Detailed reports, he could visualize
the great stock of sawn timber seasoning beside the mill. Within a week,
Chid estimated one day, studying the measurements of the arks, Azial
could commence hauling the bulky straight-grained keel and stringer
oak to Waterford in preparation for the first loading.

He always felt good after a talk with Mrs. Baxter. She cared for Chid
as a mother would have, with a tenderness and concern that often, as she
covered him or brought his food, showed in her sharp, intelligent eyes.
It was at these times, or when the captain talked with his many visitors,
that she discussed the hauling and mill problems in a low voice with
Chid.

But these things were all on Chid's good days. After each one, during
the night, would come again the dreadful chills and fevers, and all the
next day he would toss and writhe in the throes of the terrific headaches
and the searing muscular pains. Toward evening the attack would wear
off arid, weak and exhausted, he would find good dreamless sleep at last.
The next morning he would be without pain and eager to return to the
managing of his affairs again. And always, on those bright mornings, he
wanted to get up, to go forth and personally wage his war against time.
For, like the captain, he worried about water levels. Early August was
positively the latest at which the arks could thread the pools and rapids
of the river to the timber markets.

"You just squeezed through, Alwyn," Dr. Parsons would reply to his
eternal requests to be dismissed; "just, my boy. It was out of my hands.
Providence, I reckon, kd, isn't through with you yet. Ask me tomorrow,
my boy."

Chid would grin wryly. Tomorrow was always the bad day. He
wouldn't even feel like asking.

The sentry boat pulled smartly along the edge of the bay. A Master
Marine sat in the stern sheets sourly regarding the shore line. He ought
to land at the Cascade yard. He had not checked the desolate place in
weeks.

"Hold your water, bosun. Ill have a look ashore."

301

Bosun O'Leary stood up beside the marine and eased the tiller yoke
lanyard, heading the boat for the beach.

"Oars!"

The rowing ceased, oars idle athwartships.

"Way enough! Handsome does it, laddy-mates!"

Six oars were tossed as one. The boat drifted, losing way, to the muddy
shingle. The Master Marine sighed and looked at his boots. They were
newly blacked, gleaming like obsidian marble. Mr. Denny, the saddler
in Erie, had just tapped them; charged a whole dollar because the war
had made oak-tanned leather as scarce as Quakers in the militia. One
wetting and they'd hurt like sin and he knew from experience that
O'Leary, for all his snappy seamanship, would contrive to handle the
boat so as to get his boots wet. That ancient battle between the Navy
and the Marines had not ceased because of a mere war between nations.

"Bowmen, stand by to point oars!"

"Go over by the brow, sir, all ready, sir," O'Leary said stiffly to the
Master Marine and saluted.

Here It was, thought the Master Marine oars neatly pointed, a gentle
pressure on them, and the boat would slide from under him as he stepped
to the beach. O'Leary, damn him, wouldn't have to give an order or
overlook a positive action. Any Navy youngster, messboy to midshipman,
would know how to do it, and would they do it!

"I've decided not to land, bosun," the Master Marine said with dignity.
"I can see from here."

"As you say, sir," O'Leary murmured, his victory bold in his laughing
eyes. "Out oars, my hearties!"

The Master Marine flitted his eyes over the old Cascade yard. A few
piles of slash, a weed-grown set of launching ways, an empty unpainted
storehouse or two, the board shanty that the foreman used to bunk in,
a heaped mound that covered the common British grave since that raid
long ago Christ, what a dismal place!

"You may proceed, bosun."

"Aye, aye, sir. Give way together, lads. Hup two, hup four! Them's
prime slick boots you got there, sir, if I may say so."

"Mind your damn' boat and shut up!"

"Aye, aye, sir."

302

The boat passed along the shore of the bay, the wake bubbling,
chuckling, almost laughing

And so the letter from Livy Bracket remained undiscovered where
the runner had placed it on the board table of the shanty, propped
against the half-model of the Arid so that Chidsy Alwyn would surely
find it.

Mrs. Baxter sat in the guest chair. The captain's bed was unoccupied.
But spread upon it was a large square flag of blue bunting. Upon it Mrs.
Baxter was sewing white letters. She worked nimbly and with concentra-
tion. Chid slept gently on his bed near the window. It was his good day.
All the days, lately, seemed good. Even those days of pain and ache were
not so exhausting now, and Chid had several times walked unaided into
the general ward to visit with the other patients. The fever was leaving
him with characteristic rapidity, and this morning Dr. Parsons had
mentioned with satisfaction that his days in the infirmary were numbered.

Chid stirred, watching AziaFs wife at her work. She had been good
to him, to him and to his dreams; like an extra pair of hands and feet.

"Ma'am," Chid said sleepily, "ma'am, what are you doing?"

"It's a battle flag for Captain Perry, Mr. Alwyn." She held the flag
for Chid to see. " 'Don't Give Up the Ship/ it says. See. They were the
last words of his friend. Captain Lawrence, when he was killed on the
Chesapeake last month. The news- upset Cap'n Perry no end. They were
midshipmen together long ago. The Captain got permission to name his
ship Lawrence by the same post that he got the dreadful news. He got
up that afternoon, Mr. Alwyn; against Dr. Parson's orders. It's the first
time I ever saw him mad. Til get up no matter what you say. There's
work to be done,' the cap'n said. 'You'll not, sir,' says the doctor. Til not
permit it.' That's when the cap'n got mad, like I say. 'You forget,* Cap'n
Perry said, *that I am your superior officer. Have my clothes made ready,
Dr. Parsons, please.' He was on his ship an hour later."

"Is he well, really well?"

"I don't know. He was still terribly weak. But I do believe his spirit
will keep him on his feet."

"I reckon," Chid agreed. "Ma'am, has Azial hauled the arks out yet?"

"Yes, he did. They're all four on the bank of the Le Boeuf, near to

303

the turnpike, so's you can get the material to them for repairing up.
Last week's cutting beats all, Mr. Alwyn."

"Good, ma'am. Someday I want to make all this right with you and
Azial; I mean what you both have done for me while I've been sick."

"There's nothing to be made right. I guess without you, sick or well,
Mr. Alwyn, Azial and me'd still be dubbing along like always. Azial's
having a new suit made down to Pittsburgh, It's his first since Lord
knows when. He's a loving man, Mr. Alwyn; he wouldn't order it till
I promised to have me a dress made."

Chid grinned. The late afternoon shadows crept from the forests,
mellowing the raw scars of roads and clearings about the settlement.
Mrs. Baxter put away her sewing kit.

"Bugle Tarnip says to tell you that hell have all the stock ready and
seasoned by next week," Mrs. Baxter said. "He'll load the arks as soon
as they're fixed and launched again. Who is going to repair them, Mr.
Alwyn?"

"I reckon I can get to do that myself now, ma'am."

"Good. I expect there's nothing left after that but to deliver and collect
in profits. I take it yours'll be consid'rable."

"All I've got, ma'am, every cent to my name, is invested in that
timber."

"You'll be the king of your town back home, I suppose. Lord, it must
be nice, thinking of going home to a place that's settled and put. I get
crazy if I think about this territory too much. First it was the Indians,
and now the British. It seems we'll never get settled down to grow and
prosper in peace and security like your towns on the coast."

"I'm not going back, ma'am. I reckon to remain right here if the
country stays American."

"God bless you, Mr. Alwyn. All this land needs once it's safe is young
minds and young muscle. Azial's kind done their work, clearing and
building the roads and chasing off the savages. Your kind must come
now, to build real things, schools and churches and a county govern-
ment and new families, Mr. Alwyn. Though a man will find that
difficult; girls ain't bountiful hereabouts."

"I got a girl, ma'am."

"You have? Are you spoke?"

304

"Yes, ma'am/' Chid said blushing. "We're to be married just as soon's
things are settled up here. I saw her last month and told her that I
loved her. I knew it for years, ma'am, but now it's real. It used to be
just kind of between the words of a letter, but now I can hear it come
singing across the wind; I can see it in the sunshine and in the stars."

"Yes," said Mrs. Baxter softly. "Tell me about her, Mr. Alwyn. What's
her name?"

"Mary Leet. She's at Sackett's Harbor, though I ain't had a letter for
a long time."

Chid told Azial's wife all about Mary, and all about his plans. He felt
no need to be cautious or reserved with her. It felt good, terribly good,
to talk so, to put all his secret hopes and thoughts and yearnings into
actual words.

"She's a sweet girl, seems. I'd admire to be neighbors with your Mary."

"Thank you, ma'am. I guess she's kind of grown to be the best part
of my dreams. There wouldn't be much sense to the rest without her.
You'll like her, I reckon."

"I'm sure I will. Good night, Mr. Alwyn. I'm not coming any more."

"Good night, Mrs. Baxter. Ill be down to repair up the arks in a few
days."

Chid lay for a long while looking idly over the lake. Below him the
fleet hung lazily on the green waters. The brigs had joined the schooners
at the moorings now. They rested in the sparkling path of the sunset
with 'wings folded, like gulls gathered in some pleasant cove for the
night. The sentry boat passed between them, leaving a crisp wedge of
ripple. He could hear the hail of the guard and the answering "All's
well" from the watchmaster of each vessel. Thin wood smoke ghosted
straight up into the warm evening from the brick galley chimneys.
From the Lawrence Mrs. Baxter's flag suddenly crept to the truck of the
mainmast. It brought a lusty cheer from the men who had gathered at
the rails, and on the Ariel somebody commenced to sing in a deep,
strong voice. Out where the dark green swath cut the yellow shallows
of the bar, a rowing boat lay like a floating chip upon the bay. From
her bow a man sounded with a long staff, plunging it deeply into the
waters as the boat moved slowly into the lake.

305

The sun dropped to the western horizon and hung there for a brief
pause as if to give the watchers on the peninsula a last look for an
enemy sail; then it abruptly sank into the lake. From the spot then there
spread in a wondrous quivering fan all the colors the earth and skies
had ever known. They paraded through the heaven and clashed to
combine and again divide, a gigantic orchestration of color beyond the
hearing or understanding of mortals. Quickly the silent music faded to
wilting purples and lavenders and died, with a final burst of somber
blood-red, into living velvet-black.

It had been one of those rare pauses in the eternal motion of the
universe when men could look away from earth and into the heavens,
to draw from the spectacle promise and courage so that life could pro-
ceed anew, refreshed and invigorated and hopeful. It was such a moment
to Chid. He felt keenly, for those brief minutes, his own insignificance
as an individual, and saw himself and all other men as a vast milling
swarm, like ants or hiving bees. He could see, within the limits of his
comprehension, the united effort of all in forwarding what concerned
them all. It was as if all humanity was for the moment merged into one
individuality, and that individuality was dedicated to the common, un-
divided purpose of living decently and cleanly and at peace.

His mood was quickly over. His practical mind, unbidden, fought
down and obliterated the strange picture. Nevertheless, the experience
left him refreshed and buoyant. He took his supper with relish.

A sober member of the Friends' Society, who served as orderly in
the pest house without any compensation except the knowledge of his
own faithfulness to his belief and his conscience, came for the pewter
dishes.

"Thee dined well, friend," the man said. "Another few days, and
thee will be gone from here,"

"A-yep. I been waiting on it."

The Quaker smiled. He was a queer, small man in dull black clothing,
with a shy smile and light blue eyes and curious pointed hair waves at
each temple. Chid thought he looked like the bisque statuette of Pan
which used to stand on Aunt Leety's back-parlor whatnot.

"Thee is invited to join in the ward singing this evening," he said,

306

watching Chid oddly. "Indeed, 'twould be seemly of thee, as thee may
learn."

"I might," Chid said.

He had no particular desire to join in the weekly hymn singing, but
when he heard the Quaker's pitch pipe in the next room and the
strangely lusty singing that followed, he got up and walked slowly
into the ward. There were about forty patients there; all naval men,
hardy, rough-skinned sailors and ship's boys.

Chid sat away from the window which was open to the night. The
Quaker stood in the center of the great garret room under a lantern
hanging from the cobwebbed rafters, beating out the measure of the
hymn by clapping his hands. The singing, it struck Chid, was extremely
loud and spirited tonight, and in the crowded room he detected a tense-
ness that he could not at first understand.

He waited for a chorus, in which all hands joined, before asking about
it. A gnarled ancient seaman sat beside him, trying to be as noisily song-
ful as his mates.

"Not now, matey. One goes," said the old sailor nodding toward the
window. "Sing, goddammit!'*

Chid sang, still not understanding. A man had gone to the window
and, grasping a rope which swayed in the darkness, dropped over the
sill, and, hand over hand, disappeared downward. As he watched, an-
other man broke from the ranks and followed.

"We're goin' to join the fleet," the seaman whispered to Chid. "Word's
out that Perry's goin* inter the lake tonight. His battle flag's flyinY*

"Why go this way?"

"Hell! We're counted sick men, inatey. Some on us is, I guess. But
the cap'n's got too damn human, sez I; he wouldn't hear o' lettin' us
back to our berths yet. Whose war is this, anyways? It ain't his'n alone,
is it? No, sez we, it ain't; not by the pawls o' the capstan, it ain't! So
we're goin'."

"All of you?"

"Tom Shad, he ain't; nor mebbe two-three others. They still got
the fever inter their bones. But by the liver an' lights o' Barney, laddy-
mate, they's times when they's nuthin* like some action for on'y half-
sick men like us. We put it up to Cap'n Perry, an' he was damn ap-

707

preciative, but he give us orders to stay an' sot a marine guard to the
bottom o* the stairs to make 'em stick; he did. The pure gall o' the
cap'n fair staggers us, mate. He's ready to fight it out wit' his ships
on'y a third manned."

"Some more men came from York State today, didn't they?"

"Huh! Cap'n, he was waitin' fer two hundert; sixty come. We had
to do this; can't y' see?"

"How about die Friend?"

"Blast me, 'twas his idee! Now, you sing loud, mate, to cover them
lads a-droppin' down the topsides o' this here hulk. My lad, the gunsll
speak at last."

There were five men and himself left when Chid finally stopped
singing. The Quaker, looking more than ever like Pan, peered at Chid
through the echoes of the bare loft, and dimmed the lantern.

"Thee is not leaving the singing, friend?" he inquired.

Chid hadn't thought of it. He doubted that he had the strength to let
himself to the ground. But he suddenly wanted to go, to leave this place
which had been almost a prison, to also do something.

A-yep," Chid said, "I'm gain'."

"Every man was his own judge," the Quaker said, "but for thee 'tis
different. Thee is yet plainly weak, friend."

"I want to go."

"So be it then." The Quaker's eyes held respect, "Some of us," he said
quietly, "cannot fight. But, friend, 'twas Jesus Christ Himself who gave
authority to help where help be needed. Tom Shad, friend, give a hand
if 't please thee."

Shad and two seamen hauled the end of the escape rope to the silL
With quick expert motions Shad threw a French bowline into the fall.
He swung the bights over Chid, one to sit on, the other for a body sup-
port. Then the three men lowered Chid to the ground.

"Go with God," the Quaker called softly from the window. "Aye, and
make it passing hot for the British, friend."

Chid did not answer. Ahead of him lay a cleared pasture and beyond
was the shore of Erie and the blackness which shrouded the fleet. It would
be moving at last, moving stealthily through the inky moonless night to
thread the narrow channel and spread its wings before a surprised and

308

unprepared enemy with the dawn. There were men swimming to the
vessels, to be hidden by understanding mates until the battle rattles called.
On the dark peninsula the pit guns would be manned; the rowboat,
holding position against the freshening south wind over the channel,
would have a shuttered blue lantern ready to guide the pilots. Chid heard
the slow, muffled clink of capstan pawls far offshore. That would be his
own Ariel, getting ready to follow her towing boat.

He felt a sudden exhilarating pride in his own part in the building of
the fleet. It had been body-killing work. Whatever this land was to mean
to him, it would always be good to know that he had had a hand in
carving and winning it.

He felt virtuous and no longer troubled or questioning about pa-
triotism and sacrifice. If fate was tempered with justice, he would have
his reward. He had given as much as any man in the building of these
ships. So had many others, and like them he, too, would now go on to
his reward. He could give no more; nor could fate in justice ask for
more.

It was now up to Captain Perry and the fleet.

Before another sunset the fate of the lake would be decided. The
land and the water would be made safe and secure for America, for his
dreams and his ambitions, for Mary and the life ahead for them both.
Or it would not.

Chid walked rapidly, fighting against the quick tiredness that surged
through him. He walked south, along the Waterford Turnpike. He was
on Mrs. Baxter's horse, over her vehement protests at the wisdom of it,
before midnight. He slept for a few hours in AziaPs blankets in the rude
lean-to on one of the hauled-out arks.

At dawn he was at work, taking it easy, conserving his strength. He
paused from time to time to listen, resting the iron-bound calking mallet
on his shoulder. But there came no rumble of cannonading from the
direction of the lake.

309

Chapter Twenty

CHID WAS AWAWE first of the scolding of the disturbed crows far back
from the Le Boeuf shore; then the absolute stillness of the forest as
its life waited. Presently he heard the complaint of a dry axle. Chid
calked on until he could see the wagon. Time was precious. At last
the outfit came into view on the cart path skirting the creek bank. Azial
Baxter swayed on the summit of a huge pile of natural crooks and knees.
Beside him was a passenger whom Chid did not at first recognize.

"Chid!" Azial greeted. "Dang it, the way Mrs. said, I 'spected to find
you caved in. You all right?"

"Good," Chid said, "the old swing is coming back fine. The arks are
about calked. Who you got along with you there?"

"Old friend o' yours, Chid. Come on him a-hoofin' it."

Chid saw who it was then, not believing until the passenger dropped
to the grassy path shoulder and ran toward him.

"Nez!"

"Chid, you oP son of a bitch!"

They clouted each other, gripping hands. "Whyn't you two kiss?"
Azial grinned and commenced unloading. Chid sat down, exhausted
by the greeting.

"What in nation you doing in seaman's uniform, Nez?"

"I jined the Navy Brigade, Chid. Lieutenant Packett, he stood me one
too many snorts on Brother Jonathan down to a tavern in Uticy. I
jined, But I ain't sorry, mind. I was a damn' fool to try to run away
from it all, Chid. A man can't do it, an' I know it now. Just because
you're told you can go, ain't no reason to thinly you can."

"Where's Antoine?"

"In Canada captured."
310

"Nez, you better tell me about it."

"I aim to. I got lots to tell you, Chid. Come on in the shade."

Nez and Antoine both had enlisted. They had been made very drunk
at Utica by Perry's recruiter, and neither had remembered much until
they had awakened in a jouncing freight wagon bound west along the
Great Genesee Road. Antoine had been resentful, cursing this new delay
in reaching his beloved Otter. But he had been too sick the first several
days to do anything about it, and when he was able to it was too late.

There were eighty-three recruits in the wagon train. They reached
Erie shore on the fourth day and camped on the beach several miles west
of the junction of the Black Rock road to wait for the boat from Presque
Isle which a mounted courier had been sent for. On the second day of
the encampment, lounging after the noon mess, they found themselves
suddenly surrounded by a force of British marines and Indians. There
was nothing to do but surrender without resistance. The British marine
captain quickly divided the group to his liking. Thirty were selected,
after questioning, as carpenters and blacksmiths and sent on board
Uie armed schooner which had now come to anchor off the shore. They
were, the whispered word had it, destined for the British navy yard in
Canada where the new Detroit was being pressed to completion. Antoine
was with this group. Lieutenant Packett and his yeoman, a beardless
schoolboy, were held as military prisoners. The rest, obviously farmers,
were divided into small groups and the Indians given orders to drive
them to the south and scatter them.

Nez was in a group of twelve which was at once prodded along an
old trace path by the delighted savages. Nez did not dwell upon the
details of their escape from the Indians. Chid suspected that he himself
had engineered it. But one early dawn near a great bog, tea of the
party had washed warm drunken Indian blood from their bodies and
retraced their steps. They had reached Presque Isle on the morning of
the day that Chid had left the pest chambers.

"You were in the fight yesterday, then, Nez?" Chid asked.

"What fight? There was none, Chid. I was put on the Ariel 'cause I
knew her so good. Us schooners got through die channel fine. We
waited till daylight for the brigs, but nary the Niagara or the Lawrence
got through. They was a peppin' south wind, you recollect, an* not

3"

hide nor hair o' the British fleet. 'Twas our one chance, an' we muffed
her."

"Not enough water?"

"Not enough by twelve inches, even with the brigs lightened. They
both stuck fast. An' don't you think 'twas bunglin', Chid. Perry and
Uncle Noah done all they could. The fault's way beyond them, back to
them stinkin' patriots what held up shot an' powder an* crews so long
whilst the lake was deep an' the bar could've been crossed any time."

"Perry can try today again. The wind's varying northerly."

"The hell he can; not for. a long while to come he can't, Chid. There's
the devil to pay an' no pitch hot at P'resque Isle* The Lawrence's got
herself a stove bow, from settin' on a ledge. An* she careened so far
she commenced bustin' o' yards an' top hamper. We got her beached,
waitin' on shipbuilders that ain't to be had. Off the mouth is the hull
British fleet now. They can't get in an' we can't get out, an 1 it suits 'em
fine. Word come this mornin' that their army's gettin* ready to move
south. Chid, this hull nation right now ain't worth one hoot more'n
Perry's chances o' gettin' into the lake to fight."

Nez stretched ou.t on the cool sod, chewing a switch of black hazel,
drawing the sweet cloying oil from it. He looked gaunt and unusually
thin. His beard was beginning to sprout in reddish stubble again. He
regarded Chid in a long appraisal for several minutes; then spoke ab-
ruptly.

"This here call ain't all social, Chid/' he said. "I been detailed to
locate you to help repair up the "Lawrence. There's no real shipbuilders
to Erie save you an' me an' Uncle Noah. Did you get out o' the pest
house with the others?"

"A-yep. How did Perry take it?'*

"Like you'd 'spect, Chid. He like to cried, then he give 'em all three
lashes an* doubled their rum dots for the duration. He made the Quaker
hon'ary fleet chaplain. He sez any parson who can say 'Go with God an'
give the British hell/ or some such, ain't no ordinary man."

"He said that to me, Nez."

"Tom Shad said he did. He thought you was goin* to join the fleet
when he helped you get away."

"Nope. I came straight here, Nez. I just got to repair up the ark$,

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then load and ship. In eight days, I'm free with Noah Brown. Ill be a
rich man then, Nez."

"I dunno, Chid/ 5 Nez said quietly. "Uncle Noah thinks you snuck off
an' joined the Navy. He says you're the beatin'est for a lad that had the
notions you did to Portersville, but he's kind o' proud o' you, too. I
couldn't find you no place, an* I got scared you'd crawled off some
place an* got the fever worse. Elliot, he give me leave to find you; you
see, Uncle Noah promised you to Perry, to the nation, you might say,
Chid. The Lawrence has got to be fixed afore we try again."

"So you're going to try again?"

"Why, for certain! We'll likely get a north wind an* a high lake
again."

Chid studied the shimmering Le Boeuf, his eyes averted from Nez.
He was suddenly hotly angry.

"You might," he shrugged, "but I ain't building my plans on it any
more. By jing, Nez, do they think I'm a damn' idiot? I did my share
and more. I did everything that was asked of me. I stuck to Noah Brown
and to Perry. I took starvation and driving and sickness "

"Chid!"

"I mean it. I did my duty, Nez. Nobody is promising me to the nation,
not again. I've given up opportunity, the chance to make money why,
I could have had two hundred dollars for helping a British marine
escape that was exchanged for a lousy relative of General Lewis's.
John Shallus would have paid me anything I asked to log ship timber
for him. That money would have bought my shipyard, Nez; right out,
for cash. I'm sick of it, I tell you, I "

"Shut up, Chid! You better know that I'm under orders to fetch you
back by the seat o* your britches if I have to. I b'Heve in them orders
sincere. I'm warnin', Chid."

"I don't give a goddamn! I*m a freeman, and 111 take so much then
111 fight. Only I'll fight like Congress does, and Chauncey and their
contractors and the Navy and five out of every six people I ever met,
for myself! Lie, cheat> steal, delay, blunder, and not even our rightful
pay, not even thanks. I'm sick to the gut of it all. The fleet can go to
hell for all I care. It's ruined. Stupidity ruined everything we did; it can't
save this country for me, and I'm through with it. I'm going south with

313

the arks, to make money and be damned to anybody that don't show
me a profit!"

Nez stood up and spoke with feeling, his dark eyes flashing, his
fingers curling into hard fists. "God scorch your everlasting soul, Chid
Alwyn," he cried bitterly. "I guess you found yourself at last."

Chid jumped to his feet, white and shaking. His blind anger, his
disappointment and disillusionment, made him forgetful of his weakness.
He swung a terrific surprise blow at Nez.

Nez, turning, saw it coming and parried it. He put up his own fists,
in hasty defense, readying to return the blow. But he was suddenly
aware of the pallor of Chid, of the trembling of him, the small, tight,
fever-marked eyes. He reached quickly out with both clawlike hands.
He grasped Chid's shoulders and spun him around. Then he held him
helplessly before him and kicked him resoundingly. "For some," he
growled, "there ain't nuthin's good as a smart kick in the stern. It's what
a whole nation thinks o' you, Chid Alwyn!"

Chid stumbled forward into the tall grass of the riverbank. He lay
there stunned and strengthless, unable to summon the power to rally
and fight.

"I don't reckon you're even worth fetching in," Nez said disgustedly.
"We don't want your kind to Presque Isle. This here," he said, reaching
into his pocket and drawing forth a faded letter, "was in the shanty
when I went there lookin' for you."

He threw the letter beside Chid and without a glance backward
strode off on the cart path to the turnpike and Erie.

Chid spurred Mrs. Baxter's horse. He overtook Nez about a mile
down the turnpike. The words and import of Livy Bracket's letter
burned like hot coals in his mind. He felt suddenly physically strong.
He was mad and determined, and in a desperate haste.

"Nez," Chid called and dismounted.

Nez stopped and stood sullenly at the side of the dirt road. Chid
walked up to him, clenching his fists. Nez, looking puzzled, put up
his guard slowly. Chid swung with his right fist. It smashed into Nez's
long lean jaw, rocking him. Chid's left followed, rising from his knees.
The impact lifted Nez from the ground, spoiling his own swing at

3H

Chid. Chid was thinking clearly now, wasting no strength. He did not
have much of it, but he knew whence it stemmed. He knew that, if he
was careful., he'd have enough.

He parried Nez's blows with ease now. Twice more he smashed ter-
rific rights into Nez's jaw. On the third, Nez fell backward. He lay in
the dust, collecting his senses, then started to rise slowly to his knees.

"You could throw your knife," Chid dared, panting.

"No," Nez grunted, "it was a fair lickin'."

"I wasn't aiming to lick you, just square up. You had enough, 111
tell you something."

"I had enough."

"All right. What I said still goes. I got the eternal right to say what
I want. But I know now I can't do what I want. That letter changed
everything. Get on the horse with me. I'm going back to Presque Isle."
They did not speak in all the miles to Erie. They were abreast of Stone's
Tavern when the silence between them was at last broken.

"Have a drink, Chid?"

"A-yep. And it'll be on me, Nez."

They went into the cool taproom. Coming over the last hill, Chid
had seen the dipping white British sails beyond the bar. Through a
stand of thinned forest, half-drawn on the beach, he had seen the hulk
which had been the Lawrence.

"Have another, Chid?"

"Nope, I only wanted a thirst quencher."

" 'Twas more'n a thirst quencher, wasn't it, Chid?"

"I reckon, Nez. A long time ago you said you'd be proud to call me
a friend by what I did, not by what I said. Does that still go?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Nez," Chid said quietly and took the hand that was
offered. "Come on there's work to be done."

315

PART III

THE VOYAGE

Chapter Twenty-one

THE Lawrence LAY upon the Cascade ways, a formidable monster lurk-
ing in her own shadow, reaching searching angular tentacles, laced
with cobwebs of rigging, into the sky. It was a brilliant moonlit night
in late July. The still bay was cleft by a path of silver extending into an
infinity of soft blue water and heaven. On the distant dunes, a night
creature laughed shrilly; under the counter of the brig, a feeding fish
slapped the sleeping water. Beyond the bow of the brig, snuggling close
against the limits of the shipyard, the forest brooded black and silent
and dead. Occasionally, like a whisper in a cathedral, the gentle south
wind sighed in the timber, tiredly and without spirit.

On either bow of the vessel, almost as if aglow with ghostly marsh-
fire, gleamed two patches of raw white wood. But these grew gradually
smaller and were replaced in time by wet blackness which captured
the liquid moonlight in a patina of obsidian. At each patch a living
shadow moved silently. On the quarterdeck of the brig another shadow
moved; round and round, pacing the balustraded rail.

Chid was at the starboard patch at the bow. Azial Baxter was at the
port one. They were painting, with thick pot lead, the crisp new planks
which now sealed the wounds of the ship. Beneath the planking was a
solid blanket of live oak, and beneath that strong, hand-hewn rock-elm
timbers, notched and trunneled, fitting faithfully wood to wood and
bedded in hard-driven oakum. It had taken six long, painful days of
unceasing labor to make the hurt ship whole again.

Chid swung the corn brush with weary strokes, smearing the thick
gummy coating on the hungry new wood. Presently he came shoulder
to shoulder with Azial at the bow, and there were no more of the
white patches, Neither man spoke. They placed their empty pots on the

319

scaffold from which they worked and wordlessly climbed to the deck of
the ship by a sapling ladder from the lake^ shore.

Chid laid himself down on the bare midship deck. But Azial first went
aft to the pacing figure.

"How now, Mr. Baxter?" Captain Perry whispered.

"Finished, sir. You can la'nch when yer a mind to; say after two-
three hours to let the lead dry some."

"And the wind?"

"I'm sorry, sir/* Azial said; "it'll be south ag'in tomorrer, like it's been
this last week. I know this here climate, sir. Only a stiff norther would
pile up the lake to where you need it, an* I don't see no norther in the
signs."

"Thank you, Mr. Baxter. You have done a very fine thing in helping
us out."

"Chid wanted it that way, sir," Azial said. "Took me right from my
loggin', he did. But I'm kind o' proud to do it, sir. I fit pike an' piece
in sev'nty-nine, with the Penn Rifles; but a corn brush's 'bout all I can
handle now. Ain't you sleepin* none 'tall, sir?"

"I wish I could, Mr. Baxter. I wish I could."

"Good night, Cap'n."

"Good night, Mr. Baxter."

Azial lay down beside Chid. The watchman came to them and slid
back the shutter of his lantern, letting the pale yellow beam fall on the
two spent men. They were both asleep.

The man peered long into the night over the vast still lake. Then he
marched noislessly on bare feet over the smooth white deck to the bronze
bell on the forecastle poop. He struck it four times, with two double
swings of the clapper.

"Four bells . . .an' all's well; the flagship."

And like echoes, from the unseen reaches of the bay, came the silver
answering four strokes from each ship of the Lake Erie fleet.

Chid stirred in his dead sleep to the trembling of the great wooden
bulk beneath him. He had the sensation of dropping rapidly down and
through a steeply slanted subterranean tunnel filled with a rumbling
roar. There seemed to be no light, no end, to the tunnel. It led on, and
always down, to some fearful terminal. He struggled against it> trying

320

frantically to clutch at the dank, staved walls. But the walls were coated
with slimy curdled pot lead, and his fingers always slipped. There was a
fearful brink ahead, deep and damp and black. His speed increased,
became crazy with a curious swaying, twisting motion . . . there was no
hope, no hope . . .

"Easy does it, matey-lad," a kindly voice said, and he felt himself
being shaken. "Belay the scramblin' o' ye, sez I. We're water-borne, mate;
in the bay ag'in. Cease it, sez I; pipe it down; the Master-at-Arms'U have
ye up to mast fer tipsyin' too sufficient las' night."

"I ain't drunk," Chid growled, awakening.

"God's truth, mate. Yer tired, damned tired, done in an' no way on.
I seen what you done, lad, an' I'm fair admirin'. 'Twould a-taken 'em
twenty days down to East Boston Navy Yard, I swear twenty at least."

It was the old seaman beside whom Chid had sat on the night the
fever patients had escaped from the pest chambers. The man was now
bright and alert, and his pallor was giving way to a bronze weathering.
He smoked an iron pipe, tamping the coarse glowing tobacco coals from
time to time with a horny, insensible thumb.

"You was under orders to be restowed anyways, lad," the sailor
grinned. "The pipe's called fer long gun practice. We'd soon have ye
mashed under the broad-wheels in yer present berth."

"How's the wind?"

"Sou 3 ; still etarnel sou*."

"The British?"

"OflPn the bar, like alwus."

"I got to get ashore."

"Aye," the old man nodded, "we'll be after warpin' longside the
fittin'-out berth's fast's Master Dobbins' longboats can tow."

The dawn mists were still heavy over the bay as the Lawrence was
laid beside the wharf. Her stores, which had been taken off by lighter
when she had partially capsized in the channel, stood waiting in great
piles on the mole. From behind these now, stretching and yawning,
appeared a band of ragged men.

Chid remembered that they had been expected. Lieutenant Forest,
who had gone recruiting in Packett's place, had sent word of their
coming. The men lined the wharf stringer, looking over the brig with

321

frank curiosity. Many had never seen a ship or boat o any kind before.
They had come sober, drunk, needy, some even vengeful, a motley hinter-
land rabble with questioning eyes and an odd belligerence. Forest
understood them. They could be coaxed and wheedled, perhaps gently
prodded, but on them the lash must never be used. They were not like
his enlisted men. These men were proud freemen, citizens, volunteers.
They had come because he had personally convinced them of the great
need, of the peril that threatened their families and homes; he had
begged them, pleaded with them, making them understand.

Forest formed them into a ragged line now, each man a pace behind
his pack or his carpet bag. He walked to the bow of the Lawrence, point-
ing as he explained the mysteries of the strange vehicle.

"This is the bow, men. Not the front, please; the bow, B-O-W. The
other end is the stern, S-T-E-R-N, stern. Now, then all together. Let's
show Captain Perry how lively we are. This?"

"Bow."

"This?"

"Stern."

"Excellent. Come aboard, please. Now, then, this side, when you look
toward the bow, is always the starboard. Starboard; right hand is star-
board. Left hand is larboard; larboard."

"Starboard."

"Larboard."

A short fat farmer o forty stepped out of line, raising his hand timidly,
like a school child.

"When de we fight, mister?"

"Sir, please. Always, when you address an officer, it's sir."

"Aye, When do we fight, sir?"

"Well learn how first, my man. Now, between bow and stern,
bounded, yon might say, by the rail to starboard and the rail to larboard,
is the midship. Aft o the midship is the quarterdeck. Respect it; you
are permitted there only in the line of duty or by invitation.'*

Chid went over the gangplank. The scene filled him with new im-
patience. He could admire the spirit of the men, of Forest and his hard-
working fellow officers. But the remembrance of the wasteful stupidity
and indifference that had made all this pathetic belated preparation

322

necessary made his blood boil. Nothing now moved fast or well enough
for him. Casting his debility aside like a hindering great-coat, he had
worked harder and longer and to more effect than ever before in his
life, than he could ever have believed possible. The hurried, fevered days
of spring, when the fleet was building, were child's play in comparison*

Nez had taken over the spar repairing, Chid the hull. Both had im-
pressed from the fleet what labor they needed, but it was mostly un-
trained and at best but extra brawn. Save Noah Brown, who had himself
taken up his tools when he could be spared from his drawing board and
the procurement of the materials which Chid and Nez demanded, there
were no shipbuilding brains available.

Each day the jaunty little schooners tacked back and forth on the bay
side of the bar, skirting the exposed sands, harassing the enemy fleet
and guarding the channel entrance, which was now plainly visible be-
tween two sand spits. Perry feared a concentrated attack of the British
light-draught vessels or the launching of a fire ship through it. But day
after day, as the great Lawrence was readied, the schooners held off an
offensive.

Chid was filled with a vast impatience. The lake was dropping slowly
but steadily. The wind held calm or south for days on end. With Noah
Brown and Captain Perry he had figured and refigured trying to find
means of unburdening the Lawrence and the Niagara enough to pass
through the channel. It simply could not be done. One means defeated
the other. To lighten to the draught now necessary meant the almost
certain capsizing of the ships in even a faint puff of breeze. To remove
the spars, or send down the topmasts to prevent capsizing, would leave
the vessels helpless before the enemy. To strip them of the heaviest of
the guns robbed them of the power of defense. There was no hope save
a sustained strong northerly blow; a storm to raise the lake level and
one other thing. Chid was going now to meet with the captain and
Mr. Brown about that. He had no idea what it might be.

He walked quickly up the path to the town. Today, he did not pause
to gaze upon the shipyard site beyond the Cascade Falls.

He was utterly weary of dreaming or planning except for one thing.
The letter from Livy Bracket had been a chilling shock. From the
moment he had read it, lying there on the grass where Nez had kicked

323

him, he had been possessed of a dogged stubborn will to fight for and
win the one component of his dream that alone mattered, Mary.

He had thought of her every moment since. She filled his waking and
his sleeping hours. He pictured her, alone, bravely guarding Moses, in
the wilderness fort of Detroit, moving about in the confusion of an
army preparing for battle, amidst drunken red savages and leering
white men; hungry, tired, unprotected; a prisoner. Moses, sick and
weak, might be dead. Mary might be utterly alone and friendless. His
weary brain played cruel tricks on him, reminding him always of a
new danger for her. Sometimes, at night, he would wake, thinking that
he had heard her call . . .

The four partly repaired arks, drawn up on the muddy banks of the
Le Boeuf, and the piles of stacked timber which represented his entire
wealth were forgotten. Nothing mattered but that the fleet must be re-
paired and launched into the lake to meet and defeat this thing which
had taken Mary from him. Through the whipping battle flags and the
powder smoke of the savage little schooners, through all the prepara-
tions which seemed so futile and hopeless, he could see nothing but
the image of Mary.

Noah Brown and Perry sat at breakfast in the cool, darkened dining
room of the Buehler house. With them was a perspiring little man, ob-
viously nervous and upset. Chid knew him to be a Justice of the Peace
named Strange; a petty politician working hard at Stone's and elsewhere
to arouse the Erie citizens to demand full township status from the
Legislature. He owned a site upon which he believed a courthouse, if
Erie got one, would look well and a small job-printing shop where, if
the lake remained American, he planned to publish a weekly newspaper.

He nodded briefly to Chid, then turned again to Captain Perry with
whom he had been conversing.

"I ain't exactly scared, captain," the little man said. "I just want to
know what's best to do, that's all. A heap of folks have gone south..
Them British guns drive more away every day. I ain't one to waste
my time on a doomed land."

"What you need is faith, sir," Perry said gravely.

"I got it; in myself, Anthony Herkimer Strange, sir. What else jnight
a man have faith in in such times?"

"The United States of America, sir and her Navy and her Army and
her future."

"Aye, the future interests me, I'll own. Do you calculate this land will
stay set, saying you somehow lick them British?"

"I give you my word, it will, sir," Perry said with conviction. "But,
man, don't be so pessimistic. Try to think of this territory as it will be
in ten years, in fifty. Ill tell you what victory* will do for it: You'll see
the mid-channels of these great lakes the boundary line between our
country and Canada. You'll see great cities grown from villages like
York and Erie and Cleveland and Fort Detroit and Fort Dearborn dot
the shores of these lakes. You'll see canals, and packet service, perhaps
by steamboats; youll see astounding things come down the lakes from
this new nation, timber and grain and salt and beef cattle and perhaps
even the iron and copper ore of which we hear rumors. And up the
lakes will go settlers and emigrants and educators and ministers of the
Gospel; ideas and ideals and culture. But across the lake, in both direc-
tions, will go the greatest commodity of all the good will and mutual
respect of the people of the United States and the people of Canada.
We are not much different, Mr. Strange; we both love liberty and free-
dom, we are both nations of freemen. Don't go south, Mr. Strange. Stay
here, where it is uncrowded; where this community and a hundred like
it will need men of courage and vision. You have the courage, Mr,
Strange; you took it in hand when you came here. You fought down
the Indians and a hundred pioneer perils it's your land by right of
conquest. It has become my duty to preserve it to you forever. Before
God,*I believe that the future will be as I have told you, Mr. Strange."

The little man stood up, turning his hard hat in his hands, resolution
in his eyes.

"I never seen it quite that way, sir," he said. "It it does kind of buck
up a man's faith. You're a specialist, Captain Perry; you know fightin'
like I know printin'. You certainly ought to know what you're talkin'
about, seems. I reckon I'll fix to remain, sir."

"Youll make no mistake, sir. Unborn generations of Americans will
live and prosper in the border nation which I have described to you."

3*5

Mr. Strange hesitated at the door.

"Could a man of fifty-two I mean could I be, well, useful, captain?"

"Men of seventy are serving guns on my ships, Mr. Strange. If you
will report to Lieutenant Forest, sir, he will welcome you."

"Thank you, captain. And I won't be alone, damme, sir. I'm a bit of
a politician, sir. I have sort of an organization. I calculate I can sway 'em
when I've a mind to."

Mr. Strange left, leaving the room curiously empty. Perry sat staring
before his empty breakfast dishes, wrapped deeply in his thoughts.

"You've promised him a hatful, Oliver," Noah Brown said thought-
fully.

"No more than is possible," the captain replied gravely. "I believe in
that future; it is the only justification for the suffering and dying that
Is to come that has been."

"It is predicated entirely upon your meeting and defeating the British
fleet, Oliver."

"I know the British. I know their strategy and their mode of sea fight-
ing. I am not worried, Noah. What I told our Erie friend is predicated
upon but one thing, getting the Lawrence and the Niagara into the lake.
That is the main and pressing problem. Its solution can remain no
longer dependent upon the chance good fortune of a north wind. We
now have the guns and the shot and the man-power. We have but to
meet the enemies of our country, and they are ours. I have promised so
to Commodore Chauncey to the President himself, Noah. I am not
afraid, nor in doubt. But once again, the whole nation is dependent upon
you shipbuilders.'*

"You'll find us willing," Noah Brown said quietly. "But I don't
know that you'll find us able. There are only Alwyn and Nott and a
few boys and myself, Oliver. We are all of us spent and tired to death.
But what do you want done?"

"I want floats, camels; four of them at least. And girders and the
brigs pierced for them."

"Pontoons!" Mr. Brown breathed softly. "Upon which to raise the
brigs and lift them over the bar. Damme, it's clever! It's possible! Chidsy,
do we have plank whipped?"

"No, sir."

326

"Do we have girders; say four o them sixty feet long and stout
enough to support the weight of an entire brig?"

"Manned and all guns mounted," the captain amended.

"No, sir. Not cut. I know o standing trees . . ."

"So do I, Chidsy. It's the man-power that we need; to make plank,
to fell trees, to build these great camels. It's a task almost as huge as
building a brig itself, Oliver."

"I'm well aware of it. But can you do it? In, say, three days at the
most? Harrison is being pushed. The fleet alone can save him and pre-
vent invasion."

Chid saw Noah Brown make a gesture which he had never seen him
make before. He shook his head sadly.

"No man- could," he said simply. *

"You can have a hundred men from the fleet, Noah."

"Brawn only. I need skill and experience; shipbuilders, Oliver."

The captain pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet. He
walked to the long window facing the bay. He stood there, silent and
brooding, for a long time. He saw, dipping and tacking like sporting
gulls, the white sails of the two fleets on their eternal patrol of the chan-
nel which cut the yellow bar. He heard from time to time the distant
boom of single long guns, the sound following long after the puff of
yellow smoke from under the bellied sails. Back and forth the opposing
vessels tacked, like gamecocks facing each other from opposite sides of
a picket fence.

LeGrand entered silently. He stood respectfully at Perry's side, hold-
ing out a silver tray upon which lay a folded dispatch. Perry was not
aware of him until the Negro touched him lightly on the sleeve.

"Fum de navy yahd, suh."

Perry read the dispatch, refolded it and put it into his pocket. Then he
turned to Noah Brown and Chid.

"I asked too much," he said. "But when man can do no more, God
may do it for him. Gentlemen, Master Dobbins reports the wind veering
strong east and very likely to swing north before nightfall."

Chid and Mr. Brown left by the front door. The great Eli Terry clock
still boomed out the seconds in solemn cadence. Chid noted that it was
a few minutes after ten o'clock. And then, with an odd impersonality, an

327

indifference, he saw something else. The dial which showed the moon
phases stood on the significant figure of August the first.

They walked up French Street. The day was bright and clear, sug-
gesting a crispness most unusual for summer. Many of the houses and
shops of the settlement were closed, the windows boarded up and the
weeds growing tall and golden in the flower beds. There were not many
people about, and those who were walked with apprehension, worried
eyes upon the lake.

Mr. Brown paused before the saddlery of William Denny.

"I must go east," he told Chid. "The Navy wants a fleet built on Lake
Champlain. An invasion attempt is expected there, too. I can offer you,"
he said carefully, "journeymen's wages and a good situation there, Chidsy.
I had thought that you, not I, would be the one to remember what this
day is*."

"I just remembered it," Chid said. "I've looked forward to it for years,
seems 's if, Mr. Brown journeyman, at last. It's hard to believe. But I
can't go with you to Lake Charnplain."

"Not even as foreman, Chidsy?"

"No, sir. I don't know what I'm going to do. I was all set until, well,
things suddenly changed. I was going into business right here, sir."

"I'd not like to see you desert your trade, Chidsy. You are almost a
Carmody."

"I wasn't meaning to desert my trade, sir. I love it, and it's all that I
know. I was going to open a shipyard."

"On Erie?"

"On Presque Isle bay. I had it all picked out. A man couldn't find a
fitter location deep water, high solid banks to save manhandling; behind
it all the timber in the world, and "

"Then you found some stakes on it one day, Chidsy? An option had
been given."

"A-yep," said Chid, "that's right."

Mr. Brown studied Chid for a long minute, chuckling to himself in a
curious, delighted way. He suddenly put his arm about Chid's shoulders,
as a proud father might embrace his son.

"Chidsy, I don't know why not. I don't indeed. Brown and Alwyn;
shipbuilders," Noah Brown laughed. "I was the one who optioned that

328

site. For the same reasons that you wanted it, for the same reasons that
the captain just pointed out so solidly to Mr. Strange. But it could be
Brown and Alwyn; it could indeed."

"I was figuring to build^ steamboats when the time was right."

"Why not? I told you was it coming up the lake from Black Rock?
that I believed in them. You are smart, Chidsy. The Fulton-Livingston
:ombination hasn't yet throttled these lakes with their stifling franchises.
Smart and forehanded I don't know but that I'd rather have you a
partner than a competitor."

"I reckon/' Chid said, "that I could work with you, Mr. Brown.
Trouble is, my money is tied up. I've been in a little venture down Water-
Eord way and it's well, not working out good. You'd want some money?"

"Yes/' Mr. Brown said carefully, "with you, I would, Chidsy."

"Well, I'd want to put my share in. Seems 's if, with the power of
money behind me, I'd really be a partner. You couldn't change your mind
about me without it costing you."

Mr. Brown chuckled, not displeased. "I hadn't thought of it in exactly
that way," he admitted, "but there's nothing wrong with the reasoning.
Chidsy, besides stage accommodations, friend Denny trades in my favor-
ite Madeira. Will you join me?"

"Obliged," said Chid and followed Mr. Brown into the harness shop.

They sat on an unpainted spoke-bench. Denny, passing tumblers,
poured the rare wine from a stone jug.

"Next coach is tomorrer, at six in the evening, sir," the harness maker
said. "It's an uncertain service yet. Bango Cutler, what drives, don't know
the roads good yet; fact, they's plenty places they ain't no roads. But
Bango, he greases the axles an' straps good an' rides the slickest o* the
buffalo traces. Some on the boys think stage service is damn previous.
Personal, sirs, I got faith in this here territory."

"It's not at all previous, Mr. Denny. You stick to your faith," said Mr.
Brown. "Chid, to Brown and Alwyn."

"To a north wind, Mr. Brown," said Chid. "That's what I want first
of all."

They talked for almost an hour. To Mr. Brown, the new yard was
merely another in his growing chain of shipyards; opportunity and the
chance of a bright, promising partnership. To Chid, thinking about

329

those deserted arks and the timber on the lowering Le Boeuf and of
Mary, it was like planning for a Christmas that was past.

All that first day of Chid's freedom, the wind held east. It slackened,
then veered, sometimes north and sometimes south; but when it again
steadied, it blew from the east. On the bay, the fleet was getting ready
to cross the bar. The Lawrence and the Niagara were lightened to bare
guns and shot until they stood two feet above their normal waterlines.
One by one, the schooners* were signaled in and additional temporary
guns slung onto them. The long boats 1 , towing lighters, crossed the choppy
bay many times laden with field-pieces that had been spared by Har-
rison's weary forces to the west. These were drawn quickly to hastily dug
earthworks on the peninsula and trained upon the lake beyond the bar.
The raw recruits which Lieutenant Forest had marched in the night be-
fore were already assigned to ships. Mr. Strange appeared at the wharf,
ready for duty in a borrowed Pennsylvania Brigade uniform, stiffly
shouldering an antique ball-and-patch musket. Behind him were twenty
men, his political party. On the first hill, behind Erie, an old bosun
watched a wind weft two-blocked at the top of tall lightning-shivered
pine. In his seabag was a red pennant, the signal to Erie for a north wind.

Chid was desperately tired. On every second day he still felt the tor-
ments of the lake fever. Today had been one of those days. He watched
the preparations of the fleet as long as the daylight permitted with petu-
lant impatience. There was no sunset tonight. A damp gray murk stole
in from the east at dusk and pervaded the sky from horizon to horizon.
Just before complete darkness fell he took a last look at the signal pine
behind the settlement. The wind weft still waved from it, pointing lazily
to the westward; but no red pennant flew from the halyards.

He had not thought of a place to sleep. From habit he trudged up the
path to the old shanty office.

He was not aware of the figure which waited on the block step until
he was almost upon the man.

"Mr. Alwyn?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Peleg Ruskin, United States marshal."
330

"A-yep," said Chid with a sinking sensation, "I'm Alwyn. What do
you want?"

"To talk; private."

"Come in."

Chid struck fire to the stub candle. Ruskin, he noted by its pale gleam,
was a chubby middle-aged man with a moon face and alert gray eyes,
His trousers were tucked into cloth boot tops and he smelled, strongly
but not unpleasantly, of horse. He seated himself with assurance, as if
taking possession of the dusty room. Chid noted that belted under his
coat there was a flint-lock pistol, its brass-bound handle conveniently
turned forward for a quick cross draw.

"What do you want to talk about?" Chid said carefully.

"Well, Mr. Alwyn, several things. Let's begin at the beginning. What
do you know about a privateer called the Blessed Cause!"

Here it was, at last. Chid felt suddenly ill. All these months, though
unrernembered for days at a time, that trouble had hung over him to
shadow even his brightest moments.

"Never heard of her," Chid said, making circles in the wax candle
drippings.

"Let's get understood between us, Mr. Alwyn," Ruskin said without
annoyance. "I know most of the story and can guess the rest. It would
be better for all concerned that you don't let me guess too much."

"All right," Chid said, "I know her; I wish I never had. You'd better
say where I stand, first, though."

"Fair enough," Ruskin said. "I want your statement as a witness for
the United States in the trial of one Bolt, United States prisoner, and
one George Lefferts, whereabouts unknown, for assorted crimes, includ-
ing piracy and murder."

"Lefferts is in the British Navy," Chid said. "I met up with him once
when we took a schooner away from them."

"You did? My boy, you should've hung onto him."

"Well, I didn't. Where'd you find Bolt?"

"He was easy in a hospital on Staten Island, recovering from wounds
that would kill an honest man. By that time we had the stories of the
crew pretty well sorted out. The court could not help but wish to believe
men, especially two chaps called Griswold and Reefer, I think

331

the name was. But we had to have proof. We let Bolt go free and trailed
him. He met Lefferts in Carolina, and we caught them redhanded dig-
ging into a cache near Wilmington Beach. But Lefferts scared, and he
shot one of our boys dead and skedaddled."

"You found the money he took away in the boat?"

"Not very much of it. Lefferts was aiming to cheat Bolt, I guess he'd
already taken the lion's share for himself. But we found enough to break
up Bolt's defense that the crew had taken the money and divided it. The
Jamaican nigger crucified them both aplenty for the slaughter of his
mates. Then we got after that matter of the murdered captain not that
it was a great loss, y'understand. But murder is murder. Now, answer,
careful, Mr. Alwyn, Did you hit Captain Fish with a pistol butt?"

"Yes."

"Where was Bolt when you did it?"

"On the other side of Fish. He was wounded."

"Aye. Was he in a faint, out cold?"

"No. I heard him cursing, a couple of times."

"Then he could have stabbed the captain after you pistoled him, hey?"

"A-yep. Look, I didn't do any stabbing, Mr. Ruskin. I I can't prove
it perhaps. But I didn't do it."

The marshal looked at Chid keenly, studying him.

"So that's why you broke arrest and lit for here, hey?" he said finally.

"A-yep. I couldn't see how I could get out of that. I had a chance with
the other stuff. I mean the mutiny and piracy."

"Mr. Alwyn," Ruskin said, lighting a Havana from the candle, "you
made a common mistake; innocent, you fled from the law. Dammit, sir,
didn't it ever occur to you that this is a free country ? Didn't it ever occur
to you that the law and the gov'mint is just as interested in freeing an
innocent man as convicting a criminal?"

"N-no."

"Well, it is. What in nation do you think justice is? Words? Mouth-
ings? It ain't, sir, not by a long shot. It's a national way of living, it's
every man's right to stand on his hind legs armed with nothing but
God's honest truth and come out on top. The law don't persecute, it
prosecutes and it turns up as many innocent men as guilty ones out of

332

these wicked pitfalls o circumstance that folks get theirselves involved
into. Don't you ever forget that, Mr. Alwyn."

"Well," Chid said, "where do I stand?"

"Free as a bird," Ruskin replied. "Your story checks; you told me the
absolute truth. Griswold, he saw just what you told me."

Mr. Ruskin stood up and drew a large silver watch from his pocket.

"Whew! Nigh on to midnight, Mr. Alwyn," he said. "Now, I'll have
to write this out and have you swear to it. It'll clear you legal and cook
Bolt's goose."

"Surely. I'm willing to swear."

"Good. I'll look you up in a couple days. Ain't this war terrible? By
God, I hope that Perry gets it settled soon. Things are at a standstill on
the coast, waiting on him, I suppose. Say if you ever lay hands on that
Lefferts, save him for me."

"I don't reckon I will, Mr. Ruskin."

"No telling, no telling. He must have all of thirty thousand dollars
belonging to you boys. Well, good night, Mr. Alwyn."

"Good night, Mr. Ruskin."

Chid, undressing, felt buoyant lightness. He had never before fully
realized the depressing weight of that Blessed Cause trouble. But it had
been present always, like a threatening cloud that would some day move
into the brightest of his skies and spill its storm and destruction upon him.

He could understand Moses Leet's advice now. "Was it peace times,"
Moses had told him, "I'd say for you to return and get it all settled legal-
like. You're innocent, ain't you?"

Yes, he was innocent, proved so now. It was good to be shut of the
whole matter, even the memory of it. But, like the handsome offer of
Mr. Brown's, it gave him no great unalloyed joy, no real freedom. He
could think of nothing but Mary. She alone mattered in all his tumbled
world.

He had done all that he could to free her. For him, as for the nation,
it was in the hands of Oliver Hazard Perry. As soon as that north wind
came, the fleet would be over the bar and on Erie. One brief, decisive
battle, and Harrison would move upon Detroit. His banners would
inarch upon the fort. A hundred waiting Americans farmers, soldiers,

333

settlers, craftsmen would cheer the flag of liberty and freedom, be
restored to its folds and to their loved ones.

Chid fell finally into dreamless sleep. An hour after he had closed his
eyes it began to rain. It rained heavily and steadily; in fitful chilling
gusts driven by a strong east wind that veered more and more to the south.

334

Chapter Twenty-two

"CHID!"

Chid awakened to rough shaking. Bleak, raw dawn filled the shanty;
rain beat noisily and monotonously on the shed roof and splashed loudly
into spreading puddles under the eaves.

"It's me, Azial."

"Hunh?"

"Stir yourself, Chid. You got a visitor.' 9

"Ya-ah."

"Feller named Packett, Chid. An officer you 'member him. He was
taken by the British long with Nez an' your Canuck friend. He roused
me an* Mrs. out two hours back, an' I hitched up an' brung him. Wake
up, Chid."

Chid was aware o the rain-soaked figure beside Azial. Of course he
remembered Packett; he'd commanded the Ariel before Perry had sent
him east to recruit,

"I shouldn't be stopping, Mr. Alwyn," Packett said, his young face wan
and drawn under a month-old blond stubble, "but it'll take but a moment
to tell you."

"You got away?"

"Yes, from Fort Detroit, six days ago. Mr. Alwyn, I saw Miss Leet
there and her father, your friend Antoine "

Chid jumped to the floor, fully awake.

"Tell me!"

"Don't worry, Mr. Alwyn. They're all all right. Miss Leet wanted you
to know. It didn't work out so good, the idea of using prisoners on naval
building. There were strange fires, missing tools; the damndest mistakes.
Mr. Leet got sick again."

335

"Lieutenant "

"It was faked, Mr. Alwyn. He didn't do a tap of work for the British.
But Miss Leet played at nursing him. Antoine got into so many fights
that they confined him. But they got the Detroit finished somehow, and
she's on her way to join the squadron."

"What are they doing now?"

"Getting ready to attack, I take it."

"No, I mean Mary Miss Leet; Moses?"

"Oh. Well, they're being taken east to Montreal to be exchanged.
They'll be leaving any day now, by a galley called the Lion a Bermudian
rigger, the only one on the lake. I'm asking the captain to warn our
patrols to let her alone; a scrap would only see our own people killed."

"Thank you," Chid said. "Lieutenant, you're hurt."

"One of Tecumseh's savages a spear, Mr. Alwyn." Packett shrugged
and patted the empty sleeve which Chid had seen. "I had to crawl
through the lines at night. Well, I must get along to Captain Perry and
my ship. I have news of the utmost importance for him. I learned that
the British squadron is to withdraw and join the Detroit at Maiden;
Royal Navy ceremony, Mr. Alwyn full gun salute, Commodore Barclay
to take formal command, and that sort of thing. Utterly silly at such a
time, of course, but fortunate for us. I imagine it will permit us to get
into the lake at once."

"Azial, where's the wind?"

"South as hell, Chid," Azial said gravely. "The lieutenant's news is
good if we could only get over the bar."

Packett turned at the door. "I'll walk into headquarters," he said.
"You've been a real friend, Mr. Baxter. Oh, and Mr. Alwyn, Miss Leet
said to tell you 'forever'; said you'd understand."

"Yes," Chid said quietly, "I understand. Good-by, lieutenant."

Azial wrung the rain from his soaked coat. "Chid," he said brightly,
"south ain't a bad wind for you, not when it brings rain with it. The
Le Boeuf is likely up to thaw levels; it'll hold so a day or more. You got
a chance, boy. We get at them arks lively, we can send 'em south on the
crest. Come on, I got the team outside, an' Mrs. went to rouse out Bugle
an* his lads to load. Chid, you done all you can for the fleet; there ain't
another blessed thing a mortal can do. Mrs. sez you got your girl now;

336

time to get after thinkin' about layin' by for her. We want to give you
all the profits o' this first load, Chid; it's small payment for what you
done for me an' Mrs."

Chid rose slowly, pulling on his pants with trancelike motions. He
could never after recall his exact emotions then. They stemmed from
deep within him, from depths which he did not fully understand. But
he did not question them. Once again he held the solution of a vital prob-
lem within his own power. But, oddly, this time he required no strong
motivation of self -interest, of profit.

"Look," he said slowly, almost in a whisper, 'Tve got everything I
want, Azial. Fm free, I'm a journeyman, a foreman; Mary is coming
back to me; Mr. Brown wants me as his partner in a shipyard. I got it
all without money. But I can have a big chunk of that too, now. Azial,
I reckon I been chasing the wrong thing, something that really doesn't
matter."

"But, Chid, you got them things, like you say."

"Yes, I got 'em. But I don't really want 'em. I only want Mary and one
other thing, I guess. Nez named it to me long ago. It's being able to live
with myself, Azial; it's earning the right to have 'em "

"Chid!"

"I been troubled, Azial. But I ain't any more. You want to help me.
All right, you can. Take your team to Waterford, hire more teams,
horses, oxen, wagons. Pick up Bugle and his gang "

"Bugle's quicker'n a mink. He's a fast loader."

"He's not to load, Azial. Understand? Not to load. He's to get those
arks up here to the navy yard. Tote them, snake 'em over the mud I
don't care how, just so he gets them here by noon."

"Chid, this is your hull future!"

"No, it isn't! I been thinking it was, that's all. I don't reckon any man
has an individual future. It's only the nation that has a future; if that's
lost, there's nothing ahead for any of us. Now go ahead, Azial; do as I
say. I'll be getting the brigs ready. Nez will be felling those girders."

"You're goin' to use the arks?"

"A-yep. All four of 'em, for camels, pontoons."

"The wind might still come north."

"Might ain't good enough!"

337

"Don't get sore, Chid. I on'y want to help the way I allus figured you
wanted it."

"I'm not sore, not at you, Azial. It's it's at myself, I reckon. I got
myself about everything I ever was after. But it's not enough, those
things aren't really enough "

"I don't foller, Chid."

"You got what I want, Azial. You won it, twenty-five years ago with
the Rifles, and here on the frontier. Nez has it. He's the free-est man I
know, but he's got it. So has Noah Brown for all his money, and Perry,
and a little man named Strange. It's something beyond seeing and count-
ing. I can't say it so good, but I can feel it; it's sort of a personal brand
of respect, of freedom."

"You put her in pretty good words, Chid," Azial nodded thoughtfully,
buttoning his coat. "A personal brand o' freedom aye, when you get
her, she's yours forever, Chid."

Azial plunged into the rain and climbed to the wagon seat, taking the
sodden reins in his great paws. He clucked to the team. The horses
snorted steam and slithered the wagon over the slick clay. With the great
bulk of Azial Baxter hunched against the driving rain, the wagon dis-
appeared into the wet gray mists.

Chid stared to the northwest for some minutes. Almost he could
imagine that the murky sky in that direction was lighter, shot with
streaks of promising blue, as if there, over Maiden, the weather was
smiling, as if there the rolling scud parted ever so slightly so that a
whisper could come to him from across the watery miles "Forever,
Chid, forever and ever."

He ran as fast as he could for the mole where the two brigs lay, dis-
consolate and defeated.

In the dripping rain shroud the Lawrence seemed huge. She lay on
the surface of the bay, her slab topsides enormous, in a still, unrippled
pool. Around her, beyond her overhangs, the lake danced with the
splashes of the rain drops, like wine in ferment. Her normal waterline,
marked by hoary green bay weed, was far above the lake's surface. It
was as if the bay had turned into molasses or butter and refused to
cradle the vessel.

338

Chid stood idle on the wharf at last, hugging the lee side of the store
shed. His tools were oiled and put away. He watched the great ship rise
slowly out of the lake with satisfaction. He and Nez had been piercing
the two brigs since early morning. They had cut four opposite matching
ports above the normal waterlines. Real Taylor's men had inserted the
girders thwartships, like giant skewers in a roast. Under the unbarked
projecting ends of them the four arks from the Le Boeuf were now
swamped. All day long the fleet had lain hidden in the folds of the lash-
ing curtain of rain. The pumping had commenced at last.

Chid could hear the steady chunking of the wooden pumps as six men
bent to the flailing yoke on each ark. The expelling water, adding to the
wet desolation, splashed noisily into the bay, and from time to time the
great vessel groaned as a new lifting strain was put upon her by the rising
arks. The Lawrence rose steadily, ominously, like a giant lake squid
emerging after ages from fearful subterranean caverns.

Noah Brown had climbed into the government carriage behind Le-
Grand and left for the town. It was almost time for the stage from the
west. Nez and Bob Crown's men completed the slinging of the girders
on the "Niagara. Now the gang waited on the wharf until it should be
called to replace the carefully removed sections of planking over the
girder ports. That would be after the brigs had been lowered by swamp-
ing the arks again, when they floated at last into Lake Erie.

O'Leary, in a light rowing boat, ghosted to the wharf, coming from the
lake. He had stopped for a moment at the Lawrence, talking briefly with
that figure on the quarterdeck which had been pacing the rail since early
morning.

"Clear, bosun?" Nez called softly.

"All clear. The lieutenant's information was correck; not a Britisher
on the lake hereabouts. Everything's auspicious, savin' that nor' wind."

"I reckon Chid Alwyn is our north wind, friend."

"That's God's honest truth, mister!"

O'Leary sculled the boat lazily away from the wharf. Chid could hear
the steady suck of the blade; then the muted hail from the Porcupine,
off in the rain, as he joined his ship.

The splashing o the pumps suddenly ceased.

"And how now. Master Dobbins?"

339

"She draws for'ard five feet, sir."

"And aft?"

"The same, Captain Perry; five on the mark, sir.'*

"Very well. Belay the pumping, Master Dobbins."

There was sudden activity in the dusk. Men had waited for this
moment all day all month, all year, Chid reckoned.

"Stand by the towing boats, Mr. Elliot. Master Dobbins, I take it well
pass over the bar?"

"By a full twelve inches, sir."

"Get a strain on your hawsers, then. Signal out the schooners to pro-
tect the passage."

"Schooners proceeding to station, sir."

"You may commence towing, Master Dobbins. Lieutenant Forest, battle
stations, please. Open your magazines and light your matches. Is the
Niagara ready?"

"All ready, captain. She'll join us as fast as the pontoons can be re-
turned, sir say an hour."

"Very well. Into the lake then, men, to meet the enemy of our country!"

Slowly the Lawrence moved away from the mole, sliding like a ghost
into the bleak mists of Presque Isle bay and Lake Erie beyond. Chid's last
view of her was the momentary revelation of her battle flag, the stark
white letters etched like silver strands against the coming night: "Don't
Give Up the Ship."

Nez shook the rain from him and came to stand beside Chid.

"They'll be pipin' for carpenter rates immediate, Chid. Will will you
be comin?"

Chid did not answer. He took Nez's extended hand and pressed it
silently.

"It don't matter," Nez said very quietly. "I want you to know I'm
proud to be your friend, Chid. Some on us fight with our blood, an' some
with our brains, an' some with our dreams. It don't bother which, so long
as the freedom a man finally gets is earned some way."

Nez dropped quickly into the waiting work barge. It followed the
"Lawrence^ a tiny black smudge hung in horizonless gray space for a brief
moment; then it, too, disappeared.

Chid was wet and chilled. He felt terribly alone. He turned his jacket

340

collar up and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets. Then, hunched
against the storm, he climbed the footpath to Erie.

He understood that matter of freedom now. A little, anyway. He felt,
looking back on this day, that he had achieved it; a measure of it, at
least. You did not achieve it by acting or thinking freely. It had to be
earned, as Nez knew, and the price was giving up station and fortune
and dreams even freedom itself for a period or lose it forever. He had
earned freedom, had paid for it. He reckoned he would value it for-
ever. It had cost him everything. He had nothing more to give except
one thing

At William Denny's Chid turned off the board sidewalk. He pushed
the door open. Inside there was a warm, wet smell of leather and harness
oil and rain-soaked wool and logs burning on a grate. Mr. Denny stitched
upon a worn cavalry saddle under a new-fangled lamp which burned an
oil that ran out of the ground down near the central part of the state.
Mr. Brown waited for the stage on the spoke bench. A few travelers
lounged about the shop, inspecting the sketches showing views of a
turreted brick building labeled Proposed County Courthouse.

Chid stood at the hearth, warming himself, watching the two pools
of wet creep from under his shoes and soak into the limestone slab. He
saw Mr. Brown then. The shipbuilder's beard had been trimmed to a
civilized cut again. His feet rested on his carpet bag, and he sipped a
tumbler of Madeira thoughtfully.

"The stage is late, sir."

"Bound to be on a day like this, Chidsy. I don't mind. I'm only thank-
ful for the faith of the man imagine, starting a stage line in the middle
of a war."

"It must be a fearful trip. 9 *

They sat in silence listening to the drum of the rain and the cozy
crackling of the fire. Hoofbeats suddenly splashed in the deep mud out-
side.

"She's come, gents/' Mr. Denny announced triumphandy. "On'y forty
minutes late. That ain't bad for wilderness goin', is it now?"

"Not bad at all, Mr. Denny," said Mr. Brown, taking up his carpet
bag. "I hope we make as good time all the way to Champlain. Well, sir

341

keep up your faith in this territory, Mr. Denny; it's a coming land, and
111 be back soon."

Noah Brown turned quizzically to Chid, "Well, Chid?"

Chid swallowed hard. He wasn't afraid. But it would mean more de-
lay, lost opportunity, disappointment sacrifice. Almost he could wish
for the help of the swirl of recruiter's flags, of shrill compelling fife
music, the beat of drums and marching swinging feet. He had given so
much. But it was not all, not all

"It shall be the foremanship at Champlain, Chidsy. And Moses Leet
with us after the exchange."

"Yes, sir."

"After that the shipyard here. The money can wait."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Denny's apprentice led out fresh horses. The militia guard
sheathed his musket and climbed wearily from the box with the dispatch
bags. Mr. Denny superintended with fussy pride. "To Buffalo, Geneva,
Uticy," he trumpeted, "and Albany, with connections there to New
York by boat sloop or steamboat, folks to Boston and Hartford by
transfer coach, prime accommodations all the ways, no hardship for the
wimmin or the childer. Lively, please you Bango's late slight."

Chid stuck out his hand.

"I think I know what you have done, Chidsy," Noah Brown spoke
softly. "Shipbuilding is essential, just as patriotic you don't have to do
this."

"I I think I have to, Mr. Brown. Good-by, sir."

"Perhaps you do, boy, perhaps you do. Good-by, Chidsy."

He walked back to the lake front. Azial Baxter was just leaving. He
stopped the team.

"Next spring we can raft again, Chid," Azial said. "Ill keep cuttin'.
If it so be that Perry whups them British "

"Yes, next spring, Azial."

He dropped to the log float at the head of the mole. A boat was just
about to pull away.

"You passing by the Ariel?" Chid asked.

"Surely. Come aboard. You one o' Lieutenant Packett's boys?"

342

A-yep."
"Volunteer?"
"You might say."

"Well, good luck tomorrer, lad. An' tell your mates Don't give up
the ship!"
"We won't/* Chid said. "By God, we won't."

343

Chapter Twenty-three

CHID FINISHED THE letter which he was writing. His desk was an up-
ended tub. He sat in the early shade o the Ariel's pivot gun, his break-
fast of pork sausage and what Hercule Misereau, the misnamed cook,
thought was Indian pudding, heavy on his belly. The dew was wet on
the deck; it stood in thinning pools in the folds of the furled sails. The
sun, though still only on the horizon, was strong and warm as it had been
each day since the squadron had been searching for the British fleet.

The pine-wooded shores of Put-in Bay were cool and beckoning. Birds
sang among the branches; the axes of the woodchoppers, cutting billets
for the open brick deck fireplaces of the fleet, rang clear and clean, echo-
ing against the solid rock face of lofty Gibraltar Point and the neighbor-
ing Bass Islands. The fleet sprawled in the sylvan bay, cables short as
always. Already men were crawling aloft to the endless chores of main-
taining the rigging, gun crews were at their eternal practice fire, sponge;
powder, ball, and patch, then ram Chid had seen it for many days now.

He glanced anxiously aloft. The lookouts, the eternal watchers, were
in their masthead barrels, sweeping the lake with extended telescopes,
hoping for that rating of sailing master promised by the captain to the
first man to cry the British fleet. "Any day now," Dan Dobbins had said,
interpreting the gibberish of the Wyandot who had come out of the sun-
set two evenings ago, paddling his log canoe furiously. "Maiden is gettin*
short o' rations since we cut off the lake route from the Long Point base.
Barclay has orders to sail east an' fetch stores. By God, sir, well have
him out of his lair yet!" It might be today, Chid reckoned. The wind
was southwest, moderate as yet; promising a good sailing day.

Chid's letter was to Aunt Leety. He had thought long before writing

344

it. For him it was not like for the other hands; he had no parents, no
father nor mother save Moses and Abby Leet.

. . . and so, it will not be long now. We have been waiting endless
weeks, it seems to us for the English fleet to stand forth from be-
neath the protection of Fortress Maiden and give us battle. We are
ready, indeed impatient. I hear from my mates always the cry that
they must get home for autumn chores, for the harvest and woodcut-
ting against the winter. After the battle, we will again be freemen, for
our enlistments read "for four months or until a major engagement
has been fought." For many the four months is long past. Even I, who
am one of the newest of the recruits, am impatient for the end, for
that time of peace and prosperity that Captain Perry has promised us.

The captain has been stricken with a return of the lake fever. But
he is on his feet again this morning. I can see him from where I write,
pacing the quarterdeck of the Lawrence as impatient as the rest of us.
He is truly a great man. Not one of us can help but feel the magic of
him, his quiet faith and loyalty. Some of the malcontents, particularly
a young lieutenant named Jesse Elliot, who has always been jealous of
Captain Perry, growl that this is a one-man fleet; that we are lost
should the captain fall. I do not think so. His example and his spirit
have been transferred to his officers, to the ship's boys, even to the two
stupid Delawares who serve on my own vessel. My own commander,
John Packett, I know, has been inspired by Captain Perry and even
alone would follow the ideals and purposes of the fleet to the death.

But, dear Aunt, I would not write about only these matters. Rather,
in this hour before the battle, it is to set my affairs in order. I have
written above of Moses and Mary. They are to be free possibly they
are at this moment and for that I am thankful. It sets the greatest of
my affairs in order, for beyond them and yourself I have little of value
on this earth.

But for that little, in the event that I do not return from what must
come at any moment, I ask you to inquire of Maggie and Azial Bax-
ter, of Erie. Whatever is mine they will surrender to you. I want one-
tenth of any such sums to be given to Mrs. Slinker and the rest to
come into the joint possession of yourself and Moses and to pass from
you to Mary. And now, dear Aunt, I shall close this letter . . .

Chid folded the sheet into a packet and sealed it with a tallow dip. He
was aware that it was a sober, mature letter; that he had never before

345

written one quite like it, so measured and carefully phrased. But he felt
sober and suddenly mature, as if a juvenile period of preparation, of in-
significant endeavor and achievement, had now passed, and the coming
trial would be the real contest. The stake now would not be mere failure
or disgrace; it would be life or death, for himself and for four hundred
others.

He was not afraid. He did not regret his decision. Deep within himself
he felt a calm, almost buoyant peace.

He dropped the letter into the leather dispatch bag which hung from
the main fife-rail. There were other letters in it, addressed in smeared,
labored writing. Mr. Knell's striker, a tow-haired boy named Steve Win-
ter, was sealing the Ariel's log and code in a lead box. Gravely, then,
John Packett took a turn around it with a codline, lashing it to the taflf-
raiL "Gentlemen," he said quietly to his sub-officers who lounged on the
port side of the quarterdeck, "if we must strike, whoever survives this
must go overside."

"Very good, sir. I I reckon it'll be there when when it's all over, sir."

"I pray so, Mr. Macklin. But this, sir, is war, war ..."

Nez honed his sheath knife on a foot-treadle grindstone forward of
the knightheads. Behind him waited the armorer, in his arms a stand of
cruel pikes and battle axes. A man danced jerkily on an upturned biscuit
cask upon which a tiny shipmouse was tethered by a hind leg. The thin
groups surrounding him were disinterested. Today the exhibition had no
appeal; it did not matter if the swift feet crushed the mouse or not.

The piper played wearily, then suddenly pocketed his flute.

"Aw, the hell with it," he growled. "Stow it, Bob."

"What be I to do with the critter?" the dancer cried. "Half the watch-
oif I spent in the hold a'capcherin' o' the varmint. Throw your coins,
boys, I be in me best fettle this fine mornln'. What ails o' ye all?"

"Belay it, Bob. Stuff yer damn* mouse in a shroud an' bury him to sea
for all we care."

"That remark ain't funny mister, I snum, 'tain't."

"Aye, Tom Shad, souse that bastid down!"

Macklin irritably broke the group up, touching bottoms with the flat of
his sheathed sword, his steely, troubled eyes fixed on the lake horizon
beyond the low rail.

346

Even after he heard the lookout's lusty hail to the deck, Chid had
the feeling that the fleet had tensed to the news several seconds before
the cry. He heard the long-awaited call across the quiet waters, from the
perch above the main royal yard of the Latvrence "Ahoy the deck!
Sail O, sir. Hull down a'lee, sir; mebbe five, mebbe six."

"British?"

"Aye, sir; out from the haze off Maiden, sir. I make one a full ship, sir,
wF a schooner in the van "

"Keep them in your eye, man!"

When Chid looked to the deck again, the dispatch pouch was gone.
The mail gig was leaving from the port ladder, bound hurriedly for the
other ships of the fleet. A white-haired veteran of Ti in leatherstockings
but bare-waisted sat in the sternsheets. "Good luck, Ariel? he called and
waved his one blue-veined arm.

Chid could hear the tinkling capstan music again, as he had heard it
that night long ago when the Arid had followed the blue light of the
pilot over the bar. Sails tumbled to the deck, spilling the dew puddles.
Without orders, sail-trimmers moved grimly to the halyards. The long-
boat, which had been trailing, crept up the flat transom, swayed two-
blocked under the horned stern davits.

The figure on the Lawrence's quarterdeck was still now. Perry stood
with his hands braced to the rail, feet spread, searching the lake beyond
Gibraltar Rock. But Chid knew that he was listening, not seeing.

"How now, aloft?"

"Two ships, sir, another schooner full an 5 bye, standin* east, sir. Avast,
sir, there comes another! I make it a brig, sir. Aye, a brig an 5 a schooner
escorting. Red dusters all, sir I reckon it's the British fleet, sir!"

Chid felt the tension which ran through the waiting ships, could al-
most hear the curl of bare feet as they sought to grip the smooth holy-
stoned decks.

"Did you make a writing boy?" a voice asked at Chid's side.

"Yes, Tom."

"It's fitten," Tom Shad sighed. "Me well, I can't write, to spit it right
out bold, boy. Lookee, lad, I got a ol' woman to your state, daown Killing-
worth Taown way. I ain't seen her in twelve year but, times like this,

347

should anythin* happen, lad, you might say, a man sort o' feels he'd want
her to know "
"I'd let her know, Tom."

"Thankee, laddy-mate. Thankee kindly, Jerushy Shad 'tis i she still
honors the name; Jerushy Annie-belle O'Foggarty otherwise."

"Yes, Tom. You better get to your gun; they're readying to pipe."

The old man shuffled to the pivot gun, shucking his striped cotton
shirt, contentment in his leathery hard face.

A silver pipe call floated over the bay from the flagship. Chain cables
stood up-and-down; tripping iron pawls clinked out the waiting seconds.
A forestaysl and mizzen spanker swept aloft on the Lawrence; then on
the Niagara. Chid heard the creak of the fores! throat blocks as the gaflE
crept up the foremast of the Ariel.

"General quarters! All hands, general quarters!"

A clarion bugle took up the call; rolling marine drums at the main
hatches repeated it in a mighty thunder, echoing it against the evergreen
shores of Put-in Bay.

"Jibs an' tops'ls, lads! Sail-trimmers aloft; jibs an' tops'ls. Stand by to
sheet home handsome all!"

"Jib set, sir!"

"Sheet her snug; we've Gibraltar to weather! Lively!'*

"Aye, lively it is, sir."

"Gunners, post! Keep formation, quartermaster. Mains'! overhaul
your braces an' bowlines handy! Topmen, away! Carpenters, get your
decks doused and sanded!"

Chid cast his bucket into the orlop bin by its lanyard, drew the sharp
Erie sand to the deck, scattered it fanwise where the blood would flow
thickest. He could see the fleet, suddenly blossomed in the billowing
white of new snow, anchors a'cat and dripping into the blue lake. One
by one the ships rounded onto the southwest breeze as it came strong
beyond the lee of the island; leaned gently away from it, as if tickled by
it; laughing, chuckling, a little grimly and followed the Ariel in single
line to that watery meeting place, that place of battle, where the six
British sail had luffed into the wind and stood awaiting the fleet that was
built in the forest.

They were past the Middle Sister, shining like a green emerald in a

348

shield of blue, in the single line formation which was the battle order.
The Ariel, in reward of her swiftness, led the line. The Niagara, flanked
by the Scorpion, plunged a half-cable's length astern; beyond her the
fleet the Lawrence and the Caledonia; Almy's saucy little Somers; the
Porcupine; the Tigress; the Trippe schooners all, stretched into the wind
for a mile. It's too bad, Chid thought, that Dan Dobbins was sent off for
supplies in the Ohio. Too bad well, perhaps Dobbins, who had cheated
death on Erie so often, would cheat it once again.

He could see the English fleet plainly, standing straight and tall, the
ships with backed yards, the schooners with killed mains'ls, only four
miles away, dark against the distant blue of the Canadian shore. He
marveled at them, their perfection as ships. They gleamed with new and
ample paint; rigging was taut, served and tarred, splices shining black
navy style, running rigging a clean, slick, pale yellow. These were real
fighting ships, as perfect as any ship of the line in the ocean service, not
frontier-built hulks, armed with short-range pieces, manned by farmers
and trappers and merchants. This was the Royal Navy, the might of
Britain built to rule wherever there were waves to rule.

Chid felt a sudden blind hatred for the insolent red ensigns which
waved lazily from the mizzen peaks of the arrogant fleet beyond the bow.
But it was quickly replaced by pride, by sudden overwhelming faith, as
he turned aft and caught sight of the American ensign at the Ariel's
mainpeak.

He glanced aft to the Lawrence. Her battle flag flew, that same flag
which Mrs. Baxter had labored over. The flagship was the second brig in
line, having chosen the powerful new Detroit as her own adversary. But
Chid saw suddenly that the Detroit was not second in the British line;
she led the squadron. The change in the estimated British formation was
discovered at the same moment by Captain Perry. By trumpet Real Tay-
lor ordered the Niagara to drop astern. Quickly the Lawrence surged
forward. She sailed now in proud escort of the Ariel.

"Watch that damn' Elliot," Shad growled to Chid, drawing on his
iron pipe imperturbably. "He won't like that order worth a continental.
Not that young hot-head, mate. By his own calculation, he is the hero of
this lake. Hah! look, boy; as I told you. He's laggin' fearful, asneakin'
up to wind'ard the while. By Jed, matey, the Niagara's spoiled the line!"

349

"He's backwinded by the Lawrence, I reckon, Tom. He can't help it."

"My eye, he can't. Elliot's a sailor, lad. By Jehovah, he's agoin' to let us
run in alone!"

They were interrupted by the raucous grind of the battle rattle. At the
same moment the Lawrence signaled a change in course of four points
alee. Like the tail of a comet, the fleet followed, now directly at the dis-
tant British fleet. "Here 'tis, mate," Tom Shad said quietly and offered
his horny hand. "Luck, boy."

"Luck, Tom."

The magazines were open, shot and powder were swinging in nettings
to the deck. Chid could hear the militiamen in the trestle-tree barrels
charge their muskets, sending home their patches with a curse. A boy
brought fire from the brick galley arch, touching it to Tom Shad's newly
fused match; then sluiced lake water on the remaining wood coals.
Macklin came and tested the pivot, revolving the gun platform a few
times, taking mock aim. "This pivot," he said patting the thirty-two in
approval, "is worth any four guns of ordinary broadside, Shad. Serve her
well" Shad didn't answer. His eyes were already riveted on his target,
the schooner Chippeway, saucy and leering on the flank of the Detroit.

Hercule Misereau passed along the windward rail with a tall clay jug
of grog and a sack of biscuits. Chid, as his mates did, downed the coarse
liquor, then munched on a hard biscuit. It was something to do. Culver
Coons gagged, tried to assuage the fire of the unaccustomed grog by a
gulp from the sponge bucket beside the long gun. "Ninnies shouldn't
drink," the cook sneered, retrieving his tin cup. "By God," Culver re-
turned, red-faced, "they have to drink to stay alive your rations are too
lousy to eat!" It was good to laugh, to ease the tension of the wait for
that first gun.

It came at noon, when the wind had died to a whisper and the lake
even here offshore was calm and glassy; when the two fleets were separ-
ated by less than half a mile. It was a range-testing shot from the Detroit,
a harmless missile. Shad swore, "Let me, sir!" Packett shook his head.
"Hold fire, my man. You're long enough in the service to know you'll
await orders."

"Aye, aye, sir," Shad grumbled, touching his forelock.

But it was nerve-racking waiting in the profound airless hush, taking
350

those testing shots while the fleet drifted slowly, slowly toward the black
muzzles which stared at them like unwinking eyes of doom.

Chid hung over the low rail of the Ariel. He could feel again in this
careful approach that unruffled calmness of Perry, admire the pure, cool
nerve of him as he held fire and ghosted slowly into effective range with
his pathetically light guns. The fleet was taking regular hits from the
British long thirty-twos now. He could hear the balls whistling overhead,
crying like swift-winging birds, the angry spent whine of long-range
musket fire from the tops.

It was curiously impersonal. Chid had the distinct feeling of being only
a spectator. But he felt sudden hot anger when a twelve-pound ball thud-
ded dully into the Ariel's quarter. That hurt to the little schooner which
he loved, which more than any other ship of the fleet was his own, some-
how made him a participant.

"Half -canister range," Shad observed knowingly and spilled his pipe
heel. "A smart man would open and cut up riggin' awhile."

As they turned, Shad toward his pivot gun, Chid to his clearing axes
and fire buckets, they heard the bugle from the Lawrence. A cheer came
from her decks, was echoed in the tops, and sprang from ship to ship
like fire in a dry forest, reverberating along the long American battle line.

"You may open, Shad," Packett called. "Sta'board twelves, bar and
chain into their sailing gear, the thirty-two into British oak."

"Aye, sir," Shad bellowed jubilantly, his grin bland as a schoolboy's,
"into British oak and British hearts!"

His gun spoke, the first shot of the fleet and before the great piece
had lashed against its tackle, broadsides swept from the entire line. Lazy,
acrid smoke and tongues of blood-red fire filled the air. Battle was joined
at last.

Packett supported the Lawrence bravely. He soon saw that the strategy
of Barclay was to concentrate upon the flagship and knock her and
more likely her commander out of the action at the beginning. As the
fleets closed and each ship locked with its assigned adversary, he found
that the two heaviest of the enemy ships, the Detroit and the Queen
Charlotte, were both arrayed against the Lawrence. The flagship was
taking a fast, murderous concentrated fire from both. Packett could do

351

nothing in direct aid; for against the Ariel were ranged the Chippeway
and the brig Hunter.

Shad's long gun, which he could aim almost like a quarter swivel,
fired with the regularity o a clock tick. Macklin, glass to his eye, called
the results with savage glee, shouting above the din. Nez was in the
bow, sprawled on his belly, serving a musket with the calm detachment
of a yokel at a turkey shoot. "Got him," Nez would croak while he re-
loaded. "Now, lobster coat, jest show that weather eye o* yourn ag'in, do."
And his musket would spit.

Chid had nothing to do. He felt silly picking up splinters and spread-
ing sand while men were dying on the battered Lawrence. Sometimes,
in the sudden lulls of firing, he could hear their shrieks, see bleeding,
mangled men being lowered to the cockpit where Dr. Parsons would be
making grim use of those oak tables with the leather straps. He remem-
bered with a shudder that awful scene in the shanty office during the
British raid on the naval base, heard again the rasp of the saw that had
been set so perfectly, the cry of that man who was being cut up before
his own eyes. . . .

He did not want to look at the Lawrence. In an incredibly short time
she had become almost a hulk; top hamper a shambles, fire on her fore-
deck, her quarterboat a mass of splinters hanging from the davits. Like
the boat of the Blessed Cause, in which he had tumbled the casks of
prize money, thought Chid.

He sensed that Packett and Macklin were talking abqut the Niagara.
She was desperately needed to engage the Queen Charlotte as had been
planned, to relieve the flagship of one of the fanged snarling beasts which
tore at her flesh. But the Niagara lay with mainyard backed a safe half-
mile to windward, out of the fight, firing spasmodically without plan or
purpose, making brave noise. Chid was aware suddenly of the tide of
hatred for her which flooded the Ariel. "Elliot," he heard, hissed, with
snarling curling lips. "Coward! Elliot, that yeller-gutted bastard!" With
a curious sense of satisfaction, he saw Nez swing to the larboard rail and
open a careful deliberate fire at the Niagara. "By God, he deserves it," a
man growled, passing canister to the twelve-pounder battery. "I wish to
Christ we was closeter Nez'ud lay that bastid Elliot out where he be-
longs."

352

Packett's speaking trumpet was suddenly turned to the midship deck.
"Lads, stand by to close in. The commander can't take that fire much
longer. Double-shot your pieces and hold your fire. Sail-trimmers, away!"

The Arid surged slowly forward, moving into the terrific fray. Directly
astern of the Lawrence she luffed and lost way. Each of her batteries
now bore on an enemy. The gunners blew their matches bright and
whooped as they pressed them to the touch holes.

"That did it, Tom!"

"By jing, fore an* main royal in one shot! More chain, my hearties;
that's the stuff for close work."

"Raked her deck like parin' an apple! Cookie, build up your fire an'
we'll give 'em hot shot."

The thick yellow smoke burned Chid's throat, coated his mouth with
a medicine-tasting bitterness. He felt a splinter slice his thigh, the hot
surge of blood soak his pants and trickle into his shoe. He slapped the
wound, as he would have slapped a mosquito sting, and thought no more
about it. There was a man down at the larboard forward twelve, tearing
at his knee and cursing. The surgeon's mates clutched at him like wait-
ing vultures; bore him moaning below. Chid spread sand on the place,
kicked the severed foot overside with a sudden nausea. He wished that
he could fight, not merely help, like a witless chambermaid.

They had the Hunter under effective fire, diverting her offense from
the Lawrence. But even Chid could see that it was too late. The Law-
rence's fire had been growing steadily weaker as gun after gun was dis-
mounted. Less than two-thirds of her crew remained able to fight; nearly
thirty of her one hundred and thirty-six men had been killed. He was not
to know that day that he was witnessing the bloodiest naval engagement
ever fought.

The Ariel herself now lay in a deadly cross-fire. To walk upright was
to court death. Canister and grape and sweeping marine fire thundered
over the little vessel. She suffered much in the rigging from the high fire
of the two-deckers; her idly flapping sails were holed and ribboned.
Hercule crawled forward on his belly, building a fire on the hearth, roll-
ing round shot into it. Steve Winter took them out with, tongs, molten
red and hissing, inching on his elbows with them to the guns. "God-
damn* that Elliot," he muttered once. The next moment Winter shud-

353

dered and lay still. The hot ball dropped from the tongs, rolled across
the deck, leaving a scorched smoking path in the clean white pine.

He was dead when Chid crawled to him. Chid could see the clean
bloodless hole of the musket ball in the forehead, over the left eye. It
was a quick, perhaps painless, way to die.

"A man can do nothing greater than give his life for his country," the
cook said piously as Chid dragged Winter forward.

"Don't be a damn' fool," Chid snapped, suddenly angry. "The greatest
thing he can do is to stay alive and fight for his country."

He looked suddenly upward. He was almost under the deep stern over-
hang of the Lawrence. Captain Perry stood on his quarterdeck, his eyes
playing over the scene of carnage unafraid, confident, somehow trusting.
It surprised Chid to hear his own name suddenly called.

"Alwyn!"

"Yes, sir!"

"You're hurt, my boy." It was so like the captain.

"Nothing much. I almost forgot about it."

"Do you still have your longboat on the Ariel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, ask Mr. Packett to send it to me, please.'*

"Aye, aye, sir."

It was curious, talking to Perry so now, remembering him that snowy
night at Portersville, in his fever bed at the pest chambers. But even then.
Chid recollected, creeping aft, he made you feel that he was a great man,
cut of hero cloth.

Lieutenant Packett helped Chid lower the longboat over the stern. The
little boat lay bobbing in the circular ripples caused by the gunfire on the
calm lake. Packett cast a calculating eye over his men, his lips pursed.
"I I could run her ahead, sir," Chid offered.

Packett gave him a warm smile.

"Do so, Alwyn. As you see we're ah, pretty busy."

Macklin, beside the commander, gave a short cackle. "Aye, busy, sir,"
he said witheringly. "But fighting not deserting our ship because we're
whipped."

Chid heard the sharp gasp of John Packett, saw the red anger steal
over his young face. "I have known Commodore Perry less than two

35'

months, sir," Packett said quietly, "but sufficient time to know that no
action of his need ever be questioned. I shall expect your apology, sir."

Macklin scowled and mumbled quick apology, his face in shame. Chid
dropped to his knees, the painter of the longboat in his teeth. Slowly he
worked his way forward behind the bulwarks, passing the line outside
the standing rigging, dragging the boat alongside. He could hear the
sudden volley aimed at her, see the small explosions of wood splinters
from the lightly built boat.

When he reached the bow he waited for the lull which always came
after a heavy cannonading. Quickly, he then dodged over the rail and
dropped from the bowsprit to the longboat. He gave a mighty shove
against the stem remembering suddenly those initials just inside of
where he pushed and propelled the boat under the counter of the
Lawrence. The air above him was screaming with swift metal; cannon
spit their smoke and fire only a yard above his head.

A boat crew from the flagship scrambled into the longboat.

"Where's the captain headin'?"

"Dunno, mate. But you can lay it's for the good o 5 the fleet. Jes 9 , what
a lickin' we're takin'!"

Perry stepped lightly down the port ladder, oblivious of the danger of
exposure. He carried his blue battle flag folded neatly over his right arm,
with his left he held his sword. This is no commander deserting his ship,
thought ( Chid, this is a man victorious!

"By God! He's transferring his flag!"

"To the Niagara, 111 lay! She ain't hurt a hair."

"Lord," a bugler breathed, "my lips ache from tryin' to signal her in,
damn 5 that swill-hearted Elliot!"

They pulled swiftly away from the doomed Lawrence. Chid could see
the great gashes in her sides, the long furry splinters of the raw un-
seasoned pine which had gone into her planking. He found himself with
an oar in his hand, pulling desperately. Marine fire showered mercilessly
about them, sending savage geysers from the lake to blind them.

Perry stood in the stern sheets, unmindful of the terrific barrage which
was leveled at the little boat. A flailing chain shot whistled over them,
crying and moaning; he thought suddenly that whirling bar shot sounded
like a whistler duck taking off from the salt marshes of Ram Island oflE

355

Noank. A lead musket ball slapped against the flat of the captain's sword,
dropped dully to the stern grating. Perry shrugged, his gaze fixed ahead.

"You better sit down, sir," Chid panted, pulling hard, "They're
they're after you."

Perry did not answer. He was taking in the battle, estimating the
chances of snatching victory from this horrible defeat.

"Please, sir."

But the captain remained standing; aloof, disdainful, brave beyond
fear of personal danger

They slid under the bow of the Detroit, under the golden figurehead
of the pagan chief Tecumseh. A seaman poised his cutlass, then cast it
with all his power. Chid brought his oar quickly to the toss as the lethal
blade hurtled toward the standing figure. The cutlass glanced off the
oar, cut cruelly into Chid's knuckles, splashed spent into the lake.

"Please," Chid cried. "Sit down, sir! Get under the gunwales!"

"Easy, Alwyn," Perry smiled.

"I've got the right," Chid cried hotly. "Once in that fire long ago
you said I saved your life. If I did, your life is mine now, I beg you to
take protection, sir!"

"Well spoke, lad," a seaman grunted behind him.

Perry looked at Chid oddly and suddenly sat down. As he did so a
ball screamed a few inches over his head. He turned suddenly pale,
looked at Chid with queer understanding. "That's twice. Chid," he said
quietly.

The yellow powder smoke lay thick and choking on the water. Wreck-
age lay in their path, shattered spars and great sodden bundles of canvas,
rigging entwined yards, the Lawrence's crushed yawl boat, two bodies,
slowly turning the swill of battle.

They could feel a faint stirring of the wind as the longboat pulled clear
of the engagement. A deafening bombardment roared from the long
battle line. The Caledonia lay parallel to the British line, firing her small
ineffective twelves into the tough live-oak-sheathed enemy brigs; the
schooners, suddenly alive under the new breeze, darted in and out, pour-
ing iron into an enemy which they already believed victorious.

Behind them the Lawrence was burning, her foremast already col-
lapsed over her shattered bow. "Waste," thought Chid, "waste like that

356

coffin we made for Old Man Tatum. Months of sweat and ache and
grief and hunger and sickness, prime timber, iron human life destroyed
in, thirty minutes." But he thrilled to the lazy swirl of the ensign above the
rising black smoke. It was not waste, not to keep that flag flying. No ship
was dead, destroyed, while that flag still flew above her.

They cheered as the captain climbed the ladder to the deck of the
Niagara. Pipes stalled suddenly, the main braces slacked, headsails filled
gently, and the new flagship began to close to the battle. Slowly, omi-
nously, she ghosted in, gun ports open and the yawning mouths of twenty
fresh guns, served by twenty fresh crews, eager to spit their red hate at
the enemy . . . and from the fore-royal truck flew the bold flag of a
bold warrior: Don't Give Up the Ship*

The longboat clung under the lee of the Niagara, moving with her.
Abreast of the Ariel Chid slid silently into the lake. He swam swiftly
to the schooner, curiously grateful for the cool, clean water on his dirty
bloody body. As he climbed handover-hand to the deck, he heard a
distant terrific rending crash, then cheers from the deck of the Ariel*

"Tom done it! Ya-aa-h! Tom Shad, what a shot!"

Chid saw then, peeping over the rail, that the Queen Charlotte, mov-
ing under the new breeze, had locked bowsprits with the Detroit. The
two great vessels lay entwined and unmanageable and as he watched, the
Niagara moved slowly upon them under cover of a murderous raking
fire from both her batteries.

"Shad slang a barrel full o' chain at the Queen's headsls whilst she
was passin' o' the Detroit'' Nez told him. "She got out o* hand, like you
see. I reckon we'll close now, too."

The call was passed along the deck. On their bellies, the sail-trimmers
sheeted home the main and stays'L Beside the Ariel f whispering at their
bows of victory to be snatched from defeat, the Lake Erie fleet moved
in for the kill.

The concussion of the mighty salvos staggered Chid. Broadside after
broadside thundered from the embattled ships. He could not understand
how hulls could take such grueling punishment and remain afloat. The
little Ariel shrieked as the searing metal poured into her body. But still
she lived, lived to return the hurts, savagely, vengefully, almost joy-
ously. . . .

Lieutenant Macklin suddenly clutched at his throat and fell beside the
pivot gun. Chid crawled to his place. He knew the gun, had built the
platform. He was proud of its steadiness under fire, the ease with which
he could swing it and aim it by the stout bar inserted into the wooden
staple which Paph North had growled so about.

He wanted desperately to aim at one of the tops, to destroy a nest of
those murdering red-coated marines. Somehow, he hated the marines
most of all. He wondered if George Lefferts was on one of the vessels.

"Lower, boy," Tom Shad sang lightly. "Well squeeze some hot shot
clean through that Queen's planking, roll 'em plumb inter her magazine,
by Jehovah!"

"Lower she is, Tom!" Chid knew the weakest spots in the frame. The
pivot gun was aimed at one now.

The explosion drowned all other sound, deafened the ears for minutes
after. But Chid always reckoned that shot of his and Tom's was the last
cast of the dice. He watched with curious impersonality the deluge of shat-
tered ship and torn human bodies which rained upon the Queen Char-
lotte. He watched in wonderment a great thirty-two-pounder pitch its
ton of iron forty feet into the air, fall twisting slowly, like an autumn
leaf, carrying heavy spars and stout rope in its path. The hot blast swept
past him, leaving his flesh seared; it touched sudden crackling fire to the
tumbled wrecked deck of the fouled Detroit.

A bugle sounded dully from the British flagship; an officer with a
bloody canvas bandage over one eye waved a small white silk handker-
chief from the quarterdeck of the Queen Charlotte.

"Cease fire!"

The trumpet call echoed down the battle line. "Cease fire!" "Cease
fire!"

The stillness was strange, heavy. It was curiously moving, almost tear-
provoking, to see that small, immaculate figure alone on the quarterdeck
of the Lawrence, hands clasped, head raised to the heavens, the full lips
murmering words not meant for man. . . .

"Cease fire!" Packett's young voice broke.

"Aye, aye, sir," Shad cried. To Chid he whispered slyly, "But 111 keep
my match aglowin', mate."

Through the clearing smoke Chid watched the torn, beribboned red

358

ensigns fall slowly, caress the bowed British heads. He glanced expect-
antly along the ragged battle line standing stark and wounded against
the distant shore of Canada. But no cheer came from the victorious ships.
Victory had been too terrible, too gory, for jubilation.

Chid was stopping shot holes with oakum and pine battens in the
after-hold when he felt the Ariel heel to the wind. He heard the maga-
zine lock being opened again, then the ominous rumble of the pivot
gun as it revolved on its cannon balls on the deck above.

He met Nez at the ladder of the main hatch. There was laughter
in Nez's eyes, anticipation. He was finished with one chore, keen to be
off on the next. "It's just a go-by fer me, Chid" yes, that was Nez
Nott.

"Why are we under way again?'* Chid asked.

"We ain't done yet," Nez chuckled. "A couple o' British longboats
loaded up with picked bigwigs and lit out for the Canady shore. They
got nigh two miles away afore some'un discovered o' them. We got
orders from the flagship to go fetch 'em back."

"What's so funny about it?"

"Why, I jest like the cuteness o' it, Chid. You can't blame a man for
trying to get away from where he don't want to be, can you? Tom Shad
sez with that pivot gun he can pick 'em off easy's peggin* rocks on
turtles. The longboats is tryin* to make a schooner that was headin*
east from Maiden."

Shad was making elaborate preparations, choosing his round shot, with
professional care, hefting them for weight and roundness. Chid finished
calking the last shot hole. He could hear the swish of the water just
outside the planking, then the squeal of blocks as topsails were set. He
climbed to the deck, blinking in the bright afternoon sunshine.

Tom Shad was restowing his shot in disgust. "They got to the
schooner, damn 'em," he growled, "an' the captain he give orders I ain't
to fire on her. Now ain't that a howdedo, mate?"

Chid focused his eyes on the fleeing schooner, shading his eyes against
the brilliant path of the lowering sun.

"Why, she's a Bermuda rigger, Nez!"
"She is, Chid. And damn hard to catch."

359

"The only one on the lake, Nez."

"I reckon."

"Nez," Chid said quietly, "I reckon we look hard enough, we could
see some friends of ours Antoine and Moses Leet, your boys from
Utica. ..."

"By God, Chid, an' Mary Leet."

"A-yep," Chid gulped, "and Mary Leet."

360

Chapter Twenty-four

CHID WAS GRATEFUL that Lieutenant Packett knew about the Uon. It
would have taken vital time to convince some other commander that the
little peak-headed schooner which winged so swiftly toward the guns
of Fortress Maiden carried fellow Americans, that she must not be fired
upon. But Packett understood, and time was spared for Chid, precious
time which he needed for it was a sailing race, a battle of straining
canvas and taut rigging, and the Arid had suffered horribly.

Unbidden, Chid took charge of the repair work which must be done
to make the Ariel again sail fast. He alone knew how to fish ruptured
spars so that they could bear the press of full canvas once more; only a
shipbuilder would know how to anchor severed backstays, where in that
torn frame to find solid wood so that lead blocks and carvels and cleats
and fairleads could become useful again. Chid alone had the weapon
which could triumph in this final battle which must be bloodless; he
alone knew how to use it.

He had in Nez his only ally. Together they chopped open the deck
no longer the holystoned white of smooth pine, but now stained in
darkening red patches, smeared with disgusting caking clots. They ex-
posed rough-hewn sturdy deck beams, making ragged holes fore and
aft of them. "Pass your backstay tails under the beam," Chid cried,
hurrying the sail-trimmers. "Pad with double canvas it'll hold your
topmasts in!" He did not wait there. There were other holes to be cut
forward, aweather and alee, for that time when the Ariel would have
to tack. As he chopped at new holes furiously, he heard the sudden hum
of the tautened stay as the bowed topmast and the awful urge of the
great billowing sails strained against it.

He shaped long pine fishing planks for the fractured fore-gaE, hoi-

361

lowing the insides to a rough fit with a routing-adze. They did not
grip the spar faithfully, wood to wood; it was not the proud work of
a journeyman shipwright, a foreman -but it had to suffice. He left the
two Delaware Indians serving the wound with tarred spunyarn. He was
driving a shattered shieve out of a jammed jib sheet block when, he
heard the foresail creep up the mast on its repaired gaff; felt the eager,
quickened gait of the Arid as she accepted the drive of still another
sail.

He was not worried about the Ariel He knew that she could outsail
anything on the lake, even a Bermuda schooner. All she needed was
honest full sail, courage at the helm, and the understanding nursing
of one who loved her.

He did not know how John Packett planned to take the schooner.
That was Packett's job> the Navy's job. All that he could do was to make
the Arid whole and swift again so that she could catch this reeling
ship which held the only thing that he valued in the world.

For him those few escaping men were not important. He could under-
stand that they might be to Packett, to Captain Perry, For him the
victory was Mary, to save her again from her captors, from oblivion in
the ranks of an enemy which now faced defeat and starvation, which
must retreat into the wilderness of Canada, an army to whom hostages
might be valuable. . . .

"By Gee," Nez cried at his side, "I traveled fast before, Chid, but
never like this. What do you reckon we're doin'?"

"It doesn't matter. How fast's that Britisher goin'? That's what
counts."

"Considerable," Nez answered. "She's scuddin' into shore. We'll have
to head her off inside three miles or go in an' take her from under the
fort."

"Tell John Packett to hang a driver on the main, Nez. Tell him to
set a bonnet and water sails if he has *em."

"Them's mighty windbags, Chid. She won't stand *em."

"Go ahead, Nez. I know what I'm doing, I know what I'm fighting
for."

He cut two more backstays into the deck, making ready for the great
sails which were being sent up from the sail bins. They fluttered aloft,

362

flapping crazily, then suddenly stiffened as the sheets drew them hard
and stiff before the brisk quartering wind.

He could pause now to look at the Lion. She sailed not so far ahead,
stretching down the lake shore, white plumes o hard-spanked spume
dashing from under her bows. He could see figures on her deck red-
coated marines, blue-shirted seamen; the sail-trimmers laying onto a
boom tackle, coaxing another inch an hour from the plunging vessel.

The Ariel's men were suddenly about him, purposeful looking grim
as muskets and pikes were handed to them by the armorer. Yes that's
about all that John Packett could do, Chid thought board and trust
that the Americans on her would either keep out of the way or help*

He could see the deep indentation in the coast behind which the
guns of Maiden must already be shotted, the garrison alert and waiting
to protect its own. But he could see, too, that the Arid was matching
the racing Lion stride for stride, gaining, creeping slowly into her
creamy wake.

Steadily the Ariel stole upon her enemy. She creaked and groaned
in her straining hull, complained bitterly at the hurt of the cruel straps
which bound her to the wind. But she winged swiftly on, with deadly
purpose.

"I reckon," Tom Shad observed, "them Britishers what skedaddled
was mostly marines. Ain't it like the sons o' bitches?"

There was definite overlap of the two vessels now, the Ariel was in
the essential windward position. Less than a mile ahead reared the
mainland of Canada, a headland behind which was the protecting
river and the formidable might of Maiden.

He wondered when Packett would give the order to close, to lay the
Lion by the board and swarm over those clean decks, splatter them
with blood and gore. By God, Chid thought, I've seen enough carnage
today!

You'd think that the Lion would quit, save more death and maiming.
She was without armament, a helpless ship, her one weapon of speed
now torn from her. Still, there was one chance. Only one short reeling
mile ahead there was victory for her. He didn't blame her for trying,
for risking the fire of that thirty-two which she must plainly see, for

363

chancing the murderous thrusts of those keen glistening battle-axes
and pikes. , . .

John Packett paced his narrow quarterdeck in a black quandary.
What to do? If he could only be sure about those American prisoners.
Were they below, reasonably well protected from his attack? If so,
were they confined, chained unable to escape if he had to sink her?
Would he kill them, merely exchange British lives for American?
And there was that pretty girl, too. . . .

But he made the only decision which his service permitted. "At
least," he mused bitterly, "I'm not firing that murderous pivot gun
into them."

"Quartermaster, you may veer to board!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Gently the Ariel turned toward the Lion, toward those white faces
which lined the rail, those red- and blue-clothed figures which sud-
denly reached for muskets and small arms, for weapons spurned by
gallant ships, weapons valued only by man.

If Packett only knew. If he could only be sure about those country-
men of his. One shot from the pivot gun would settle it, he was sure.
No hand weapon would dare to challenge its red tongue. It was crimi-
nalalmostto order his boarders away, send them to suffering and
maiming and death once again today.

Still, that headland was less than five minutes of sailing away. Those
British officers marines, he guessed free in Canada, could lead again,
become again dangerous to other of his countrymen.

The trouble, he knew, was that the enemy knew of his quandary,
depended upon it to gain that small bit of time they needed.

Wearily Packett turned forward and raised his trumpet. There was
no choice but to board, cut into flesh and bone to victory

Something whizzed suddenly past his head, singing angrily. Quickly
he turned. Over his head, embedded deeply in the great main boom,
was a double-bitted ax, still quivering and from the helve there flut-
tered a small white paper, tied tightly to it with codline.

Packett unfolded the note in wonderment. He was suddenly aware

364

of Chid Alwyn at his side, the boy unmindful of the sanctity of his
quarterdeck.

"Only one man in the world could throw a double-bitted ax like
that, sir," Alwyn rasped at him. "A Canuck Antoine Marestiere, sir."

"One of the Americans?'*

"One of the finest, sir. Read read the note."

Packett read the two lines, then passed the note to Alwyn. After all,
he too had a stake in this engagement.

We are all aft of the mainmast, in the hold. Do not hold your
fire because of us. Mary Leet.

Packett sighed gratefully. "Shad," he trumpeted, "rake her decks
with cannister for'ard of the mainmast, mind! And Alwyn if you'll
be good enough to get off my quarterdeck . . . !"

It was almost funny to see the yellow-haired boy redden and stumble
forward. He was a good lad. Packett had been in the service since
the Tripoli affair, but he'd learned something from that boy today;
new tricks, a sudden realization that the weapons of war were not only
powder and ball and steel blade.

The pivot gun had to fire only once. It did not surprise Packett; no
enemy of military perception would require its truth to be spoken a
second time. The red ensign crept slowly down from the main truck.
But Packett had called "Cease fire" for the second time that day as the
signalman stepped to the halyards. There was a thin line, imperceptible
at times, beyond which war became murder.

With a smile he nodded to the impatient yellow-haired shipwright.

"Yes," he said, "you may go with the boarding boat aft of the main-
mast, in the hold, my lad!"

"Thank you, sir."

How quickly, daought Packett, they remember what they are really
fighting for. Or, more likely, they had never forgotten.

365

Chapter Twenty-five

THE MINUTE GUNS had ceased their solemn requiem over the twilight
shadows o Put-in Bay. All the long bright afternoon the flag-draped
barges had plied between the two great fleets, intermingled in peaceful
anchorage, and the wooded island. Sixty-eight bodies, true brothers
before God at kst, rested side by side in the common grave each
beneath the flag of the eagle or the flag of the lion according to his
choice in life. The grave was a lonely sandy mound drawing the purple
shadows from the vivid Erie sunset. The stirring lake breeze held the
tang of autumn, whispered faintly in the dense evergreens.

Peace.

Yes, thought Chid, peace; peace on Erie at last. He would never
forget those measured solemn minute guns nor the quiet sober words
which Oliver Hazard Perry had spoken over that raw red mound.
"There is no victor, there is no vanquished. In that future before us
we shall look back on this day as a uniting, a fusing not as a day
when two great nations were tried but as a day when a great race
was preserved...."

Peace peace on Erie.

They walked slowly to the mole where the Ohio lay moored. His
arm was* strong -about Mary. She felt so small, so soft, so yielding. They
did not talk. He could understand her tears, the quiet emotion which
had made her sob as the funeral boats had landed their heroes at the
burying place on the beautiful, now hallowed, island.

They paused at the mole, lingering in the warm evening. Dan Dob-
bins spoke from his quarterdeck, his gruffness softened. "We sail in
five minutes, Chid,"

"I'll be ready," Chid said.

366

There was not much more to say. He had told Mary all as the Arid
had sailed from Maiden shore. She knew now that he loved her as life
itself. Their kisses had been sweet, promising; their plans were made.

"Take care of Mrs. Slinker till I come back/' said Chid.

"Of course., Chid. We shall be together, busy in the hospital, for a
long time. Watch over father, Chid. He's well again, but he's not young
any more only in his heart."

"I reckon," said Chid, "that's the place to be young in."

He drew her into the shadow of a great spruce. His lips searched
eagerly for hers,

"Forever, Mary, my Mary. . . ."

"My darling. Forever, Chid...."

The Ohio, her supplies unloaded onto the fleet, ghosted into the lake.
She caught the new breeze off Gibraltar Point and reached swiftly
east to Black Rock. Chid stood at the rail, his gaze fixed on the fast
disappearing shore of Put-in Bay. He could no longer see the dear
figure, the waving arm but he could see for a long time the tall spruce
under which they had stood saying those last lingering words.

Nez Nott slipped silently to his side, spitting reflectively into the lake.
With him was Antoine.

"Chid," Nez said, "did you know that George Leflferts is in the
brig for'ard?"

"No."

"Well, he is, in irons. The Master-at-Arms turned him over to Peleg
Ruskin, the U. S. Marshal; him an* his money. He had nigh onto
thirty thousan* dollars in good paper when they took him ofPn the
Lion!'

"Ah t'ink," observed Antoine, "dat skonk she get what she t'ink
she give de odder mans, hein? Ah t'ink is good, me."

"Antwine," Nez grinned, "you speak when yer spoke to before yer
betters. Don't forget I licked you good an 5 proper at splittin' the chip
this mornin'."

"Is tease, Ah t'ink,'* Antoine laughed. "You hit de main boom wit*
de hax, hein? Ah fink no, Nez, hoi' fran', me!"

367

"That warn't nuthin', Antwine. But, say, where'd you cast that ax
from anyways?"

"Fom de hwinder in de littley Lion boat. Ah steal de hax, bah Gar."

"Well," Nez grunted, "'twas a pretty good cast, I got to admit.
But naow, you take a shoulder knife, honed up keen an* cast by a
expert . . ."

They went below arm in arm. He would see a lot more of them.
They were going to the same place that he was, a step nearer that
beckoning Otter where, Nez insisted, the hills had no valleys, the rum
casks no bottoms, and the women no virtue.

They were good friends, tried and true. He respected them, and
they respected him. He reckoned that that was a mighty essential in-
gredient of friendship, even of a man's friendship for himself.

Peleg Ruskin met him as he turned from the lighted wardroom to the
berthing alley.

"Mr. Alwyn."

"Hello, Mr. Ruskin. I'm sorry I couldn't see you before."

"Well, I ain't, sir. You was on damn important business, for me an*
sevril million other folks. Well, I got the paper, all ready to sign. Ahem!
Now whereas this is a true and faithful account of what transpired
on a voyage of privateering . . ."

"Where do you want me to sign?"

"Why, here if you please, Mr. Alwyn." The marshal's finger found
the white space at the end of the cramped writing.

Chid signed. It was a good trouble to be shut of at last. It was a
freedom of another kind that Ruskin was giving him; a kind that you
did not have to earn, a kind that was every man's right if he was an
honest worthy citizen.

"Thank you, Mr. Alwyn. Now about the prize money. I don't rightly
know how much it will figure out to, but the court will decide an j
distribute it in due course."

"Do we get that?"

"Certainly. It's yours, ain't it? But don't be impatient likely 'twill
take consid'rable time before you see it."

They shook hands. Chid went forward and began to undress, tak-

368

ing care not to disturb the bandage which Dr. Parsons had bound
around that healing splinter wound.

Peleg Ruskin appeared suddenly at his side.

"Mr. Alwyn, your address. I nigh forgot it. We'll want to know
where to forward that money."

"Well, Mr. Ruskin," Chid said, <c Well I guess Erie, Pennsylvania,
care o the Brown and Alwyn Shipyard. But I reckon not for a while
yet. There's still a war to be won before a man can commence chas-
ing his own plans. You better address me at the United States Navy
Yard, Lake Champlain, care o Noah Brown."

"Thank you, Mr. Alwyn. I'm right proud to have made your ac-
quaintance."

"Good night, Mr. Ruskin."

He was utterly tired. But tonight he did not sleep in blackness his
sleep was gentle, paced by pleasant dreams, provoking, challenging
and promising.

369

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