They had lashed her there to the sound of Macgregor's first broadside, a broadside which crashed through the English frigate, the heavy shot entering at the starboard bow and making its dreadful whistling way through the larboard quarter. Macgregor had never had such a target before in his life. Hanging there in the hammock nettings, he yelled himself hoarse. A little more than a minute had passed since the first broadside; the guns were ready again.
"Fire," yelled Macgregor.
Orders flew from deck to deck and could be heard aboard each ship. Barney was still fore, because he knew the Britisher would first try boarding, and second he would try to extricate himself from this indefensible position.
"Mr. Macgregor," he roared. "Direct your fire to the rigging!"
Lining the rails here were the marines. The sound of musket fire peppered the air. And Macgregor's next broadside swept through the starboard bow again.
For exactly ten minutes the fighting was concentrated on the
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forecastles of both vessels, lashed together as they were. Then gradually the English foredecks cleared. The danger of boarding was over. Barney raced back along Macgregor's guns.
"Fire when you will, now, Mr. Macgregor!" There was no need any more for conceited broadsides. Let the gun crews fire as fast as they could.
The carronades were spitting forth death. Barney gained the quarterdeck, he had a word for the helmsman.
"Good man," he shouted, as he took his usual place to watch the progress of the battle. He jumped up on the binnacle head.
"Oh, Christ," muttered Scull.
Barney could see well from here. Musket fire was raining like hail from both ships. The "Athena's" heavier guns had already cut the English shrouds and running rigging so that the English could not handle their ship. And the boarding party was being subjected to such a heavy hail of fire that no human could cross under it. Each time the wild surge from their decks was repulsed, bloodily.
The "Athena's" crew was wild with the lust for battle. Even to Barney's ears the crash of the guns sounded faster than they ever had, though the firing was uneven when individual gun captains and crews fired as they wished.
The "Athena" shook constantly, with the recoils of her heavy guns. The English had been able to fire only five with effect. Three of these had already been put out of action.
A musket ball carried off Barney's cap. A second later, another musket ball passed through the edge of his coat. He looked up to see where those shots came from. "Mr. Lang!" he roared. "Direct your fire to the enemy tops!"
Then he fastened his eyes on the tops to see how well that fire would be directed.
In three minutes he was able to shout, "Well done, Mr. Lang! Good marines we have, Mr. Scull!"
"Sir, it is wonderful," Scull shouted back. He didn't know how it had been possible but they were winning; they had been winning this incredible battle ever since the minute the ships had fouled. Scull looked across at the useless great muzzles that were as harmless as if they had no ammunition.
Barney raised his loaded pistol. He took careful aim. He fired. Then a round shot ploughed into the binnacle head.
From amidships Macgregor saw it. He dropped the axe in his
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hand, and dashed for the quarterdeck. He reached it just as Scull dropped to his knees beside Barney.
Barney lay flat on his stomach, sprawled out. "Sir," cried Macgregor. He didn't even hear the firing of the guns; he reached out to touch Barney's shoulder when suddenly Barney rolled over in a quick movement and sat up.
The relief on Macgregors face and the look on Scull's face made Barney smile. He got to his feet. "I'm all right," he said. But the blood was trickling down his face. He brushed it with his sleeve. He paid no more attention to them. He dashed for the mizzen shrouds and started up.
Across the restless water, and it was not far, he saw the English decks. They were literally awash with blood. They were a shambles of wounded and dying men, piled about the masts. He could hardly believe his eyes. The damage wrought in so short a time was enormous and terrible. "Have you struck?" he shouted.
There was no answer. Barney saw a wounded officer crawling toward a carronade, and at that moment, exactly twenty-six minutes after battle had been joined, he heard the words of surrender.
"We strike!" And then, "Lower the colors!"
"Hold your fire!" Barney shouted. "Hold your fire!" He clung there in the mizzen shrouds. The crippled cruiser was theirs. He drew a deep breath. Then he slid down onto the deck. Mr. Scull knew what he would say next.
"You may take possession, Mr. Scull."
"Aye aye, sir," breathed Scull. But he didn't move. He looked at the size of the ship of which he was to take possession. He reminded himself it had taken only twenty-six minutes to capture her. Then he realized he hadn't moved and that Barney was looking at him. Scull said, departing from his usual custom, "Allow me to congratulate you, sir!" Then he suddenly smiled widely, just as he turned to go fore ward.
Chapter 42
THE WIND BENT THE TREES ON THE RIVER'S GREEN BANKS. THE SKY was lowering; the blunt northeast wind was the herald of a three-day
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northeaster which had as yet not unleashed its sheets of rain. The wind moaned and the trees bent, and the river showed little white capped waves like teeth.
With courses furled and the tops and royals reefed, the "Athena" proceeded majestically on her last lap of her voyage. Astern came the crippled English "General Monk," their prize. Her name made Barney think she would probably be rechristened the "General Washington." Barney kept glancing around at her every once in a while.
He stood on the quarterdeck; he hadn't left it since the "General Monk's" flag had been hauled down. There had been too much to do. The "Athena" had suffered eleven of her crew killed and thirty-three wounded. The "General Monk's" jibboom had cut away most of the foreshrouds; there were a couple of shot holes in her sides, and a few sections of counter stove in. But her decks were scrubbed, and as Barney's eyes went over her proudly he could discern no detail which had been left undone, in the time he had had.
Even while he had stood there, for four hours, only part of his mind was concerned with the myriad orders; the larger picture kept intruding—the despatches, safe under his coat, the despatches that meant Washington and his forces would start to move southward within a few days for the coming crucial action which should mean the end of the war and Douglass . . .
He drew a deep breath. He looked over the water to the land beyond. The New Jersey shores stretched, marked with lazy rivers. On the land there, flat, with only gentle rises, were the curving Indian trails he had followed as a boy. On the land were the spreading farms, the furrowed earth terminating abruptly against a belt of pines, or running right down into the bay, or into the waving green of marsh grass and blue seas and white towering dunes that edge the seas. On the land grew so many wild flowers it was impossible to count the varieties. On the cape just passed a colony of eagles flew from the cedar forest. Boats sailed from the Mullica and the Maurice rivers, and came back laden with the finest oysters in the world. He had been born there. He was conscious of the love he bore it, as he sailed past.
He hoped she would learn to love it too. Macgregor's voice broke into his thoughts.
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"You know, sir, we fired twenty broadsides in twenty-six minutes."