"Wake up, for Heaven sake, awake! we are attacked!" cried the voice of Captain Rose.

On his ear, there still came a confused noise of cries, shouts, reports of firearms and boom of artillery.

"Sergeant Stevens, awake!"

He sprang to his feet and seized his rifle. The roaring of the battle could be plainly heard, and a cannon-ball came crashing through the top of their miserable shanty.

They leaped out to find all in utter confusion. General Winchester, who, despite his faults, was no coward, was mounted on his horse rallying his men at every point. Wells was forming on the open fields, and Lewis, in a very disadvantageous position, was making a strong fight. It was scarcely daylight yet. The air was sharp and frosty; but the snow had ceased falling. Day was dawning; but in the deeper shadows of the wood the night lingered in patches.

From the forest came those streams of fire, those storms of grape-shot and the yells of savage demons. A bombshell came screaming through the air and fell into one of the shanties, exploding and scattering the loose boards in every direction.

"Who has attacked us?" some of the officers asked Winchester.

"Proctor from Malden," was the answer.

It was just as day began to dawn, that Proctor, with his combined force of British, Canadians and Indians, attacked the Americans, while Fernando was still lost in the mazes of a troubled dream. With his right covered with artillery, and his flanks with marksmen, Proctor advanced at first gallantly; but when he approached within musket-shot of the pickets, he was met by such a galling and incessant fire, that the centre of his army fell back in confusion. On the left, however, he was more successful. Perceiving the exposed situation of the detachment under Wells, Proctor hastened to concentrate all his forces against it. A furious conflict ensued on this part of the field. Sharp and rapid volleys followed in quick succession from either side, while high and clear above the terrible din of battle, rose the war-whoop of savages and the wild cheers of the Kentuckians. That little band, unprotected as it was, could not long hold out against overwhelming numbers. The sun rose over the bleak woods, and, after a short fight of twenty minutes, Winchester ordered Wells to fall back and gain the enclosures of Lewis.

At the first symptom of retreat, the enemy redoubled their exertions and pressed so obstinately on the Americans, that the little line was soon thrown into disorder. A panic seized the Kentuckians, who had just defended themselves so bravely, and mistaking the command to fall back, for directions to retreat, they rushed to the river, which they crossed on the ice, and began to fly through the woods, in the direction of the Maumee Rapids. Exhilarated by victory, the British gave pursuit, the chase being led by the savages, who tasted, in anticipation, the blood of the fugitives. In vain Winchester, riding among the men, endeavored to rally them; in vain Colonels Lewis and Allen, hurrying from their enclosures with a company of fifty men each, struggled to check the torrent of defeat. Nothing would avail. Allen fell, bravely fighting in the desperate attempt; while Winchester, with Lewis and other officers were taken prisoners. The rout now became a massacre. The Indians, like hungry tigers, pursued the soldiers and brought them down with rifle or tomahawk. Of the whole of that chivalrous band which had left the Raisin with Winchester two days before, all were slaughtered except forty who were taken prisoners and twenty-eight who escaped. The troops at Frenchtown, about six hundred able-bodied men, surrendered. Sixty-four wounded prisoners were burned in a house.

Why dwell on the horrors of the River Raisin? They are matters of history which had better be forgotten than remembered. Fernando Stevens' company did excellent work until the retreat began. Captain Rose, with his sharpshooters, sought to cover the retreat of the Americans, but discovered that they were about to be flanked.

"Sergeant, Sergeant!" cried Captain Rose, "we must fly!"

The two officers were almost alone on the field; but, taking to their heels, they soon outstripped three big Indians who were trying to head them off. Fernando shot one of the savages with his pistol and, dodging the hatchets which the others threw at him, charged them with his clubbed rifle and knocked one down. The other fled. Fernando did not attempt to pursue him, but flew as fast as his legs could carry him to the river.

He had reached the middle of the frozen stream, which was covered with ghastly forms, when Captain Rose suddenly clasped his hand to his side and uttered a groan.

"Captain, are you hit?" he asked.

Captain Rose made no answer, but turned partially around. His eyes were closed; his jaw fell, and Fernando saw he was sinking. He caught him in his arms; but Captain Rose was dead before he touched the ice.

There was no time to waste with dead friends, and Fernando fled to the wood beyond.

For a long time, the Indians were close at his heels. Once they were so near that he heard a tomahawk as it came fluttering through the air past his head. Then the sounds of pursuit grew less, and at last he found himself alone on a hill. Three Indians were following on his trail, and he concealed himself behind a tree until they were within range of his rifle, and then fired.

One of them fell, and his companions ran away.

Fernando continued his flight until nearly night, when he fell in with four Kentuckians, who had escaped the massacre, and they proceeded to the Maumee Rapids, where General Harrison was building Fort Meigs.

Fernando was in the fort when it was besieged several weeks later by Proctor and Tecumseh with fully two thousand men. General Clay coming to his assistance on the 5th of May, Proctor retreated.

Colonel Dudley made a sortie from Fort Meigs on the same day and was drawn into an ambuscade. He was mortally wounded and lost six hundred and fifty men.

Mr. Madison, who had been re-elected president of the United States, showed a disposition to prosecute the war with great vigor. While the success of the Americans on land was not very encouraging, to the surprise of everybody, their greatest achievements were on water. England's boasted navies seemed to have become second to the American war-vessels. On Lake Erie, Commodore Oliver Perry, in command of an inferior fleet, had won a signal victory over Commodore Barclay after a long and hotly contested battle. There has never been such a remarkable naval victory on fresh water. Perry's famous dispatch to General Harrison, "We have met the enemy and they are ours," has become a proverb.

Shortly after the repulse of Proctor, Fernando, who had taken a place in another company, was sent to Fort Stephenson, then commanded by Major George Croghan, a regular army officer only twenty-one years of age. Proctor's dusky allies marched across the country to assist the British in the siege of the fort; and when, on the afternoon of the 31st, the British transports and gunboats appeared at a turn in the river a mile from the fort, the woods were swarming with Indians.



Within the fort, all were calm, pale, yet determined. Only one hundred and sixty men were there to oppose the hosts of Proctor and Tecumseh. Proctor sent a demand to the fort for surrender, accompanied by the usual threat of massacre by the Indians in case of refusal. To his surprise, Major Croghan sent a defiant refusal. A cannonade from the gunboats and howitzers which the British had landed commenced.

All night long the great guns played upon the fort without any serious effect, occasionally answered by the solitary six-pound cannon of the garrison, which was rapidly shifted from one block house to another, to give the impression that the fort was armed with several guns. During the night, the British dragged three six-pound cannon to a point higher than the fort to open on it in the morning.

It was a trying night for Fernando. All night long, the incessant thunder of cannon shook the air, and the great balls, striking the sides of the earthworks, or bursting over their heads, presented a scene grand but awful.

Morning came slowly and wearily to the besieged. As the gray dawn melted into the rosy hues of sunrise, many a brave man within that fort looked up for the last time, as he thought, but still with no unmanly fear, only with that sad feeling which the boldest will experience when he sees himself about to be immolated. Such a feeling, perhaps, crossed the heart of Leonidas, when he fastened on his buckler and waited for the Persian thousands. Fernando stood near Croghan, who was in front of his men, calm in that hour of extreme peril. It soon became apparent that the enemy did not intend an immediate assault, for, with the battery of six pieces, they began a fearful cannonade.

"Lie under the breastworks," said Croghan to his men as the balls were hurled about the fort, or bounded from the ramparts. The surface of the ground in the line of fire, soon became covered with smoke, which every few moments was rent by a whistling ball.

All that long forenoon Fernando Stevens remained behind the works occasionally picking off a gunner at long range. When the hot August sun began to decline in the West, the roar of artillery seemed to increase rather than diminish. At last he heard the young commander say:

"They are concentrating on the northwest corner of the fort; that is the point from which the attack will be made." He called to Fernando and a dozen other sharpshooters and hastened to the threatened spot. Every man who could be spared from other quarters was put in requisition, and every bag of sand and flour that could be found was hurriedly collected and sent to strengthen the angle.

"Lieutenant Stevens," said Major Croghan, "get your riflemen together and pick off those fellows as fast as you can. Never mind those bags of sand. Others will attend to them."

Fernando and his score of sharpshooters soon began dropping the redcoats as fast as they could see them. The solitary cannon, the only hope of the defenders, was loaded to its fullest capacity and trained so as to enfilade the enemy. The gunner who rammed home the charge said:

"By thunder, she's almost full to the muzzle. Shouldn't wonder if she'd bust." Each soldier took his position. A tremendous volley of cannon shots suddenly rained on the fort. It seemed as if the British had fired every gun at the same instant. A profound silence succeeded within, which lasted for perhaps two minutes, at the end of which time the enemy was seen to advance through the smoke, in one compact column, with the steady tread of assured victors. When Croghan gave the order to fire, such a withering volley was poured in by the garrison, that the British reeled and fell into disorder. Whatever others may have done in that fire, Fernando's sharpshooters wasted no bullets. For a moment, the Britons wavered and were about to fly, when Lieutenant-Colonel Short, who led the British in assault, sprang to the front of his soldiers and, waving his sword above his head, cried:

"Cut away the pickets, my brave boys, and show the d—d Yankees no quarter!"

A wild, angry shout answered this appeal, and the ranks recovering their order, the head of the column rushed forward, and leaped down into the ditch, which was soon densely crowded. This was the time for which Croghan had waited. Another minute and the fort would have been captured. The over-loaded six-pounder, so trained as to rake the assailants, now bore fully on the masses of soldiery in the ditch. The dark mask which had concealed it was suddenly jerked aside, and Croghan cried:

"Fire!"

The match was applied. A clap of thunder, a sheet of flame, a hissing sound of grape, shrieks and groans, and Fernando saw whole ranks mowed down, as the white smoke arose for a moment hiding the prospect from view. When the veil of battle blew aside, he saw such a scene of horror as he had never before witnessed. At first a lane was perceptible extending through the densest portion of the assaulting mass, marking the path traversed by the shot; but as the distance from the gun increased, and the grape scattered, this clearly defined line gave place to a prospect of the wildest confusion. One third of those who had entered the ditch lay there a shapeless, quivering mass. In many instances, the dead had fallen on the wounded, and as the latter struggled to extricate themselves, the scene resembled that depicted in old paintings of the final judgment, where fiends and men wrestle in horrible contortions. Groans, shrieks and curses more terrible than all rose from that Golgotha. Lieutenant-Colonel Short was among the slain. The few who retained life and strength, after the first second of amazement, rushed from the post of peril, leaped wildly upon the bank, and, communicating their terror to the rest of the column, the whole took flight and buried itself in the neighboring woods; while such a shout went up to heaven from the conquerors as had never been heard on that wild shore before. Well might the Americans exult, for the successful resistance was against ten times their own number. The British loss was one hundred and fifty. That hot day, August 2, 1813, at five o'clock in the evening, George Croghan by one cannon-shot immortalized himself.

Fernando Stevens had been under a terrible strain all the day and the night before, and no sooner was the enemy gone, than he sank exhausted on the ground with scores of others.



CHAPTER XV.

ON LAND.

Shortly after the gallant and successful defence of Fort Stephenson, Fernando, with a detached squad of twenty riflemen, joined General Harrison, and was subsequently assigned to the regiment of Colonel Richard M. Johnson, whose Kentuckians won the battle of the Thames.

After his signal defeat at Fort Stephenson, Proctor with his British troops returned to Malden by water, while Tecumseh with his followers passed over by land, round the head of Lake Erie, and joined him at that point. Discouraged by want of success, and having lost all confidence in General Proctor, Tecumseh seriously meditated a withdrawal from the contest, but was induced by Proctor to remain.

From a distant shore, Tecumseh witnessed Perry's wonderful naval battle; but of course could not determine which had been victorious. Proctor, to reconcile the chief, said:

"My fleet has whipped the Americans; but the vessels being much injured, have gone into Put-in Bay to refit and will be here in a few days."



This base falsehood did not deceive the wily Indian. The sagacious eye of Tecumseh soon perceived indications of a retreat. He finally demanded, in the name of the Indians under his command, to be heard, and on September 18, 1813, delivered to Proctor, as the representative of their great father, the king, the following speech:

"Father, listen to your children. You have them now all before you. The war before this, our British father gave the hatchet to his red children, when our old chiefs were alive. They are now dead. In that war our father was thrown on his back by the Americans, and our father took them by the hand without our knowledge, and we are afraid that our father will do so again at this time. Summer before last, when I came forward with my red brethren and was ready to take up the hatchet in favor of our British father, we were told not to be in a hurry, that he had not yet determined to fight the Americans. Listen! when war was declared, our father stood up and gave us the tomahawk, and told us that he was ready to strike the Americans; that he wanted our assistance, and that he would certainly get our lands back which the Americans had taken from us. Listen! you told us at that time, to bring forward our families to this place, and we did so; and you promised to take care of them, and they should want for nothing, while the men would go and fight the enemy; that we need not trouble ourselves about the enemies' garrisons; that we knew nothing about them, and that our father would attend to that part of the business. You also told your red children that you should take good care of your garrison here, which made our hearts glad. Listen! when we were last at the rapids, it is true, we gave you little assistance. It is hard to fight people who live like ground-hogs. Father, listen! Our fleet has gone out; we know they have fought; we have heard their great guns; but we know nothing of what has happened to our father (Commodore Barclay) with one arm.

"Our ships have gone one way, and we are much astonished to see our father tying up everything and preparing to run away the other, without letting his red children know what his intentions are. You always told us to remain here and take care of our lands; it made our hearts glad to hear that was your wish. Our great father, the king, is the head, and you represent him. You always told us you would never draw your foot off British ground; but now, father, we see that you are drawing back, and we are sorry to see our father doing so without seeing the enemy. We must compare your conduct to a fat dog, that carries its tail on its back, but when affrighted, drops it between its legs and runs off. Father, listen! the Americans have not yet defeated us by land, neither are we sure that they have done so by water; we, therefore, wish to remain here and fight our enemy, should they make their appearance. If they defeat us, we will then retreat with our father. At the battle of the rapids, the Americans certainly defeated us, and when we returned to our father's fort at that place, the gates were shut against us. We were afraid that it would now be the case; but instead of that, we now see our British father preparing to march out of his garrison. Father, you have got the arms and ammunition which our great father sent for his red children. If you have any idea of going away, give them to us, and you may go and welcome, for us. Our lives are in the hands of the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and, if it be his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them."

Unless the unscrupulous Proctor was utterly lost to shame, his cheek must have burned as he listened to the stinging reproof of the noble Indian Chief. Ever since the white men began their political struggles for power on the American continent, the unfortunate Indian has been their tool, and their scapegoat. Cheated, deceived by falsehoods and false friends, he was ever thrust forward as a sacrifice to the hatred of contending white men. Spanish, English and French were all alike equally guilty.

Proctor and Tecumseh fled from Malden at the approach of the Americans. They had been gone scarce an hour, when the head of the American column appeared playing Yankee Doodle.

Fernando Stevens was with Colonel Johnson's riflemen, when, on the 29th of September, they reached Detroit, while Harrison was encamped at Sandwich. Informed that Proctor and Tecumseh were flying eastward toward the Moravian town on the river Thames, or La Tranche, as the French called the stream, eighty miles from Detroit, the American forces, about thirty-five hundred strong, on October 2, 1813, began pursuit. Johnson's mounted riflemen led the van, while General Selby, a hero of King's Mountain, followed with his Kentuckians, eager to avenge the slaughter of their friends at River Raisin. For three days the pursuit continued. At last, on the morning of the 5th of October, the army came up with Proctor. Fernando was with the advance guard when they came on a small party of Indians. The sharp crack of their rifles warned the armies to prepare for action, and both began to form.

The victory which followed properly belonged to Johnson and his mounted Kentuckians, though, as historians seldom know any one save the heads of armies, it has been accorded to Harrison.

Fernando galloped back to Colonel Johnson and informed him that the enemy was posted on a narrow strip of dry land, with the river Thames on the left, and a swamp on the right. Tecumseh, with about twelve hundred savages, occupied the extreme right on the eastern margin of the swamp. The infantry, eight hundred in number, were posted between the river and swamp, the men drawn up in open order. They waited for Harrison's orders to attack. The general at first designed to attack with infantry; but, perceiving the position of the British regulars to be favorable for a charge, he turned to Johnson and asked:

"Will you undertake it?"

"I have accustomed my men to it from the first," he answered.

"Then charge!"

Galloping to the head of his regiment, Johnson said:

"My brave Kentucky lads, to us is accorded the honor of winning this battle. Forward!" The whole cavalcade, more than a thousand strong, went thundering over the solid plain. In the whole range of modern warfare, perhaps there has never been a charge which, for reckless, romantic courage, could compare to this. The Kentuckians were armed only with long-barrelled rifles, hatchets and knives. None had sabres, so essential to cavalry; few had pistols, and there was not a carbine among them; but, as Johnson had said, they were accustomed to those charges on horseback, and could load and fire those long rifles with marvellous rapidity even while in the saddle. Their hatchets and knives were as deadly as the sabre. As they thundered down on the enemy, leaving the infantry and General Harrison a mile behind, Johnson discovered that the ground on which the British were drawn was too narrow for his whole regiment to charge abreast, so he divided his force, sending his brother Lieutenant-Colonel James Johnson with one division, against the regulars, while he with the other turned off into the swamp, and fell like a tornado upon the Indians under Tecumseh.

Fernando went with the division against the British; but he heard the splashing of mud and water, the cracking of rifles and wild shouts of combatants, as, through smoke, spray, mud and low bushes, the Kentuckians under Colonel Johnson charged the ambushed Indians. His own division continued galloping forward, until they were close on the British, who opened a heavy fire. The fire checked them; but Johnson shouted:

"Forward, Kentuckians!"

Ashamed of their momentary hesitation, the men shook their bridles and, with wild huzzahs, dashed right through the enemy, shooting right and left. Wheeling rapidly about, as soon as the British line was passed the Kentuckians poured in a destructive volley on their rear, and they fled, or threw down their guns and cried for quarter, which was granted. Proctor, with a part of his command, escaped, leaving his carriage and papers.

Fernando's horse had been wounded in the shoulder, and as he dismounted to try to alleviate the suffering of the poor beast, he heard the conflict still raging on his right. Colonel Johnson with his half of the Kentuckians had struck Tecumseh and was routing his entire force. The Indians fought stubbornly until Tecumseh fell, and hearing his voice no longer they fled in confusion. A complete victory was gained before General Harrison reached the field.

Some historians of good authority state that Johnson shot Tecumseh with his pistol, just as his own horse fell dead under him;—that as the colonel's horse was sinking under innumerable wounds, he discovered a large Indian, whose regal feathers denoted his rank, coming toward him with uplifted tomahawk. He drew a pistol and shot him through the heart. This has been denied. [Footnote: Seventeen years ago an aged man, who was in the conflict, informed the author that he saw Tecumseh fall, that he was shot through the head by a private soldier; "a big Kentuckian."]

Fernando accompanied the army of General Harrison to Niagara to join the army of the centre; but Harrison, becoming offended at General Armstrong, secretary of war, resigned and quit the service. Fernando with his detached party, seven only of Captain Rose's original company, joined the army under Gen. Boyd on November 10th, 1813, was with them on the next day, the 11th, when they fought the enemy five hours at Chrysler's farm in Canada. The Americans were driven from the field with a loss of three hundred and thirty-nine.

The writer must pause a moment to mention some of the stirring incidents in which Fernando did not participate. On March 4th, 1813, Mr. Madison was inaugurated for his second term. Terrence, who chanced to be in Washington, greeted the president with: "Now Misther Prisident, we'll whip the British sure."

The Emperor of Russia having offered his services as mediator between the United States and Great Britain, the president, on March 8th, 1813, appointed commissioners to treat for peace. On the 10th of April, the British attacked Lewiston, Delaware, but after several days bombardment abandoned the siege. On April 27, the Americans under General Pike besieged upper York under General Sheaffe. The British, deserted by their Indian allies, who fled before the roar of artillery, took post with the garrison near the governor's house and opened a fire of grape and round-shot on the invader. The battery was silenced and all thought the British had surrendered. General Pike was sitting on the stump of a tree talking with a captive British officer, when a tremor of the earth was felt, 'immediately followed by a tremendous explosion near by. The British, unable to hold the fort had fired a magazine of gunpowder on the edge of the lake. The effect was terrible. Fragments of timber and huge stones, of which the magazine walls were built, were scattered in every direction over a space of several hundred feet. When the smoke floated away, the scene was appalling. Fifty-two Americans lay dead, and one hundred and eighty others were wounded. Forty of the British were also slain. General Pike, two of his aides and the captive officer were mortally hurt. The dying general was taken to one of Chauncey's vessels. His benumbed ears heard the shout of victory, when the British ensign was pulled down at York. Just before he died, the captured British flag was brought to him. He smiled and made a sign for it to be placed under his head. This was done, and he expired. Though Sheaffe and the larger part of his force escaped, the civil authorities and a larger part of the militia formally surrendered York. The American loss in killed and wounded was two hundred and eighty-six; the British lost one hundred and forty besides prisoners.

On May 27, General Scott and Commodore Perry captured Fort George at Niagara, and at the same time Sir George Prevost was repulsed at Sackett's Harbor, New York, by General Brown. On June 6th, Generals Chandler and Winder were surprised and captured, though their troops retired. On the 23d, Colonel Boerstler with six hundred men was captured at Beaver Dam by a superior force of British.

While Perry was defeating the enemy on Lake Erie, and the Johnson brothers were defeating Proctor and slaying Tecumseh, the discontent which that redoubtable chief had stirred up in the South was beginning to have its effect among the Creeks. On August 30, 1813, they attacked Fort Mimms, which they set on fire and captured, massacring all but twenty out of four hundred men, women and children. The British agent at Pensacola, it is said, had offered five dollars each for scalps, and many of the savages carried the scalps of women and children there to claim their reward.

A cry for help went northward and the brave Tennesseeans flew to the relief of their neighbors. General Andrew Jackson, military commander of that region, was disabled by a wound received from a brilliant but brutal ruffian named Thomas H. Benton, who was afterward United States Senator from Missouri.

Late in September, Colonel John Coffee, at the head of five hundred cavalry, hurried to the Creek frontier. He rendezvoused at Fayetteville, where Jackson joined him early in October. On the 3d, Coffee attacked the Indians at Tallahatchee (near Jacksonville, Benton county, Alabama) and killed two hundred warriors;—not a warrior escaped. On the 8th of November, Jackson defeated the Indians with great slaughter at Talladega. Late in November, General Floyd with nine hundred Georgians and four hundred friendly Indians attacked the hostile savages at Autossee and drove them from the holy ground.

Weatherford, the Tecumseh of the South, was attacked, on the 23d of November, at Econachaca. Weatherford was defeated and escaped by leaping his horse from a precipice into the river and swimming to the other side.

On January 21, 1814, General Jackson was fiercely attacked by the Creeks at Emucfau on the west bank of the Tallapoosa River. Though he repulsed the Indians, he thought it best to retire from the field.

The Creeks were gathered in great numbers at the "Horse-shoe Bend" of the Tallapoosa. A strong breastwork, composed mostly of hickory logs, was built across the neck of the peninsula. The Indians had great stores of provisions and supplies at this place.

On the 27th of March, the Americans, led by Sam Houston, stormed this fort and routed the Indians, whom they shot down like wild beasts. The power and spirit of the Creeks was broken, and even the haughty Weatherford sued for peace. Save the trouble caused by the Spanish and British, the war in the South was practically ended.

Fernando, who was still with the northern army, had been shifted about so much, that he had received but one or two letters from home. He had participated in the affair at Black Rock, had seen Buffalo burned, and while lying in camp near the ruins, learned of the ravages of the enemy on the Delaware and Chesapeake bays. As yet the British, perhaps out of respect for the Peace Party, had done little damage to the coast of New England. Fernando often thought of the Maryland Coast, of Baltimore and Mariana, and wondered if she were there yet, in the great, white stone house on the hill.

One day, about March 1st, 1813, he received a letter from his mother. It was the first news from home for nearly a year, for the facilities for fast mails were not so good then as now.

"I have glorious news to tell you, Fernando." she said, among other things. "Your friend Sukey is at home. His ship the Macedonia was captured by the frigate United States. He says if he can learn where you are, he is coming to you."

There was a slip of paper in his mother's letter on which was written in a well-known hand,

"Fernando, I am coming soon, for I am in the game now. SUKEY."

Fernando answered the letter, saying that he was soon to march under General Wilkinson into Canada. A few days later, the Americans under Wilkinson invaded Canada and, on March 30th, were repulsed at La Colle. Fernando returned with others to the American side. He was near Oswego, New York, when the British captured and destroyed it. He was assigned to Brown's command and was with it in the capture of Fort Erie, on July 3d. Fort Erie was the chief impediment to the invasion of Canada.

Prompt measures were taken to secure the advantages gained by this victory; for it was known that General Riall, who was then the chief commander of the British on the frontier, was moving on Fort Erie. Early on the morning of the 3d, learning of the peril of the fort, he sent forward some royal Scots to reinforce the garrison. At Chippewa they heard of the fall of the fort, and Riall determined to attack the Americans next day. To meet this force, General Brown sent General Scott forward with Towsen's artillery.

At noon on the 5th, Scott was joined by Porter with his volunteers and Indians. The British also were reinforced. Nearly half the day was spent by the two armies feeling of each other. Skirmishers were deployed and an occasional shot fired; but it was not until afternoon that they came together in an earnest struggle. The fight was long and desperate; but the Americans triumphed and defeated Riall and the veterans of Wellington. They lost one hundred and thirty-three killed and forty-six missing, while the Americans' loss was sixty killed and two hundred and sixty-eight wounded and missing.

The English troops in that portion of Canada hastened to concentrate. On the 25th of July, General Brown, being informed that a detachment of the enemy had invaded American soil, hurried General Scott forward to attack the party at the mouth of the Niagara, hoping by this division to recall the foe. General Scott at the head of thirteen hundred men came suddenly across a superior force at Lundy's Lane, under Generals Drummond and Riall. A desperate conflict ensued, during which General Brown arrived at dark, and, withdrawing Scott's brigade, the fight was resumed. On a height at the head of the lane the enemy had posted a battery. General Brown asked Colonel Miller if he could take it.

"I will try," he answered.

Amid a storm of grape, canister and leaden balls, the battery was taken and victory won. Several unsuccessful efforts were made by the foe to regain this elevation. The combat, which had begun before dark, raged until midnight. By this time, both Generals Brown and Scott were wounded and forced to retire from the field. The command now devolved on General Ripley. The enemy being repulsed, Ripley concluded to retire to camp, whence, after refreshing his men, he was directed to march by daylight and engage the foe; but, finding the enemy's force had been much increased during the night, Ripley thought it advisable to retreat, and accordingly retired to Fort Erie, destroying the bridges as he went. The loss of the British at Lundy's Lane was eighty-five killed, five hundred and fifty-five wounded and two hundred and fifty-four missing. The American loss in killed, wounded and missing was eight hundred and sixty.

General Ripley used every exertion to strengthen Fort Erie before the enemy should arrive.

At midnight during the battle of Lundy's Lane, Fernando Stevens and about fifty sharpshooters became separated from the American army in the darkness, and at dawn, when the retreat began to Fort Erie, they found themselves cut off by the enemy. Three or four hundred British grenadiers were sent in pursuit of them, and they continued to retreat skirmishing along the way for three days, until they fell in with some New York militia hurrying to the southern part of the State. There was nothing better than to go with them. Fernando was chosen captain of the company, and recruits soon swelled his numbers to a hundred. On reaching New York he reported to Brown, for being a detached company, he had no colonel to whom he could report. Brown had received orders by this time to send all forces available to Washington, which was being threatened by General Boss, and Fernando's riflemen were ordered South. The Americans under Ripley were besieged at Fort Erie on August 4th. On the 15th, they repulsed the enemy with a heavy loss (962 men). On the 11th of September, Commodore McDonough of the American navy captured the British fleet under Commodore Downie. A simultaneous attack on Plattsburgh by Provost miscarried by failure of the fleet and panic of the soldiers. On the 17th, a sortie was made from Fort Erie, and the British works were surprised and taken with a loss of one thousand to the enemy.

The New England coast, which had, in the early part of the war, been exempt from the ravages of the English, was now threatened. England came to the conclusion that the New Englanders were blinding them with professions of friendship, in order to preserve their own peace and prosperity. Despite their professed objections to the war, New England continually sent volunteers to the aid of the country's cause. The British attacked various points on the New England coast. At Stonington, on August 9, 1814, they were repulsed. Though Boston was threatened, it was not bombarded.

Fernando Stevens with over one hundred men reached Philadelphia, where he found two regiments of regulars marching to Washington. He accompanied them. The second day's march from Philadelphia, they were overtaken by two mounted men dressed in citizen's clothes, who inquired for Captain Stevens. They proved to be Sukey and Terrence.

"I've been runnin' all over creation looking for you," Sukey declared. "How can you skip from one side o' the earth to the other as easily as a flea can cross a hammock? I went within sixty miles of Fort Erie the day after the fight,—lost you;—heard you were in New York,—went after you,—lost you; heard you were in Philadelphia,—went there,—lost you and found Terrence. We supposed you were with the soldiers and came after you."

Terrence had just returned from a cruise; and his ship Privateer Tom had been so badly damaged in a gale, that it would take weeks to repair her, so he came with Sukey.

Sukey had a terrible story to tell of captivity and service on the Macedonian, which we reserve for the next chapter.



CHAPTER XVI.

ON WATER.

The English navy was the pride of that great nation in 1812, as it is now. When war with the United States was discussed, the idea that America without a navy, and with but few if any trained naval officers could cope with England, caused the Briton to smile; but a great surprise was in store. The first American victories were on the high seas. Tradition, discipline, ships and training seemed all of no avail. While the English were carrying everything on land, where it was supposed they were weakest, they were losing everything on water, where thought to be strongest. Everybody was surprised. They supposed the first three or four American victories were accidents; but as success after success continued to follow the American arms at sea, they were dumfounded. England's boasted navy had lost its power.

The first naval engagement of any consequence was on August 19, 1812. Captain Hull of the United States frigate Constitution captured an English frigate, The Guerriere, after a hard fought battle. The Guerriere had made herself very obnoxious in her way of challenging American vessels. In this engagement she lost seventy-nine killed and wounded, while the Constitution lost but thirteen. There were ten impressed Americans on The Guerriere. On the 7th of September, the United States frigate Essex captured the Alert in a fight of eight minutes. The American sloop-of-war Wasp, on the 18th of October, encountered the British sloop-of-war Frolic, a much larger and stronger ship. The fight was terrible, and only three officers and one seaman on the Frolic remained unhurt; almost a hundred were killed and wounded, while the Americans lost but ten. The Wasp did not long enjoy her triumph, however. On that same evening the British man-of-war Poicters, Captain Beresford, captured the Wasp and her prize.

The phrase "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights," borne on the banner at the masthead of the Essex, soon became the war-cry of the American seaman.

The 25th of October, 1812, one week after the victory and loss of the gallant Wasp, dawned bright and clear on the English frigate Macedonian sailing westward of Canary Islands. Little change had come to the Macedonian since Fernando Stevens had been transferred from her to the sloop. At this time there were but three impressed Americans on the Macedonian, Sukey, a negro sailor called Tawney and a man named Rogers.

Notwithstanding their difference in race and social standing, Sukey and Tawney were attached to each other. Both were Americans, and both loved the star-spangled banner.

It was a holy Sabbath morning, and every sailor, according to Captain Garden's orders, was dressed in his best, when the cry of, "Sail ho!" rang out from the masthead. It was ascertained that the stranger was an American, and the ship was cleared for action. As the Macedonian bore down on the American—her men at their quarters—Sukey and Tawney, who happened to be stationed at the quarter-deck battery, respectfully accosted the captain, as he passed them in his rapid promenade, his spyglass under his arm.

"Say, look here," said Sukey, "we are not Englishmen; we don't want to be in the game. It's a bitter thing to lift a hand against the flag of that country which harbors our parents. Please release us from this contest and let us remain neutral during the fight; I tell you, I don't want to be in the game."

When a ship of any nation is running into action, there is no time for argument, small time for justice, and not much for humanity. Snatching a pistol from the belt of a boarder standing by, the captain leveled it at the heads of the sailors, and commanded them instantly to their quarters, under penalty of being shot on the spot. So, side by side with their country's foes, Sukey, Tawney and Rogers toiled at the guns, and fought out the fight to the last; with the exception of Rogers who was killed by one of his country's balls.

The conflict was terrible. Sukey was stationed on the gun deck, abreast the mainmast. This part of the ship they called the slaughter-house, for men fell five and six at a time. An enemy nearly always directs his shot at this point in order to cut away the mast. The beams and carlines were spattered with blood and brains. About the hatchways it looked like a butcher's stall; bits of human flesh were sticking in the ring-bolts. A pig that ran about the deck, though unharmed, was so covered with blood, that the sailors threw it overboard, swearing it would be rank cannibalism to eat it. A goat, kept on board for her milk, had her legs shot away, and was thrown into the sea.

The sailors who were killed were, according to the usual custom, ordered to be thrown overboard as soon as they fell; for the sight of so many corpses lying around might appall the survivors at the guns. A shot entering one of the portholes cut down two-thirds of a gun's crew. The captain of the next gun, dropping his lock string, which he had just pulled, turned over the heap of bodies to see who they were; when, perceiving an old messmate, who had sailed with him in many cruises, he burst into tears, and, taking the corpse up in his arms and going with it to the side, he held it over the water a moment, gazed on the silent pale face and cried:

"Oh, God! Tom—Tom, has it come to this at last——"

"D—n your prayers! over with that thing! overboard with it and down to your gun!" roared a wounded lieutenant. The order was obeyed, and the heart-stricken sailor returned to his post.

At last, having lost her fore and maintopmasts, her mizzenmast having been shot away to the deck, and her foreyard lying in two pieces on her shattered forecastle, having been hulled in a hundred places with round shot, the Macedonian was reduced to the last extremity. Captain Garden ordered his signal quarter-master to strike the flag.

Never did Sukey hear a command with greater joy. Never was a sailor so happy at being defeated. When the order was given to strike the flag, one of Captain Garden's officers, a man hated by the seamen for his tyranny, howled the most terrific remonstrances, and swore he would rather sink alongside than surrender. Had he been captain, probably he would have done so.

Sukey and Tawney were among the boat's crew which rowed Captain Garden to the enemy. As, he touched the deck, Captain Garden saluted his captor, Captain Decatur, and offered him his sword; but it was courteously declined. The victor remembered the dinner parties he and Captain Garden had enjoyed in Norfolk, previous to the breaking out of hostilities, and while both were in command of the very frigates now crippled on the sea. The Macedonian had gone into Norfolk with despatches; while Decatur was in that port. Then they had laughed and joked over their wine, and a wager of a beaver hat was said to have been made between them upon the event of the hostile meeting of their ships.

This was their next meeting. Sukey and Tawney went home in the American frigate United States. With Sukey's return to his native country, the reader's interest in the naval operations perhaps ceases. Naval battles are the same, bloody and desperate, and the details of the fight with the Macedonian are the details of all others. After briefly noticing the principal victories and defeats on sea, we shall take up again the characters in our story.

On November 22d, the United States brig Vixen was captured by the English frigate Southampton, and both were subsequently shipwrecked on December 29th, the United States frigate Constitution, under Commodore Bainbridge, captured the British frigate Java, off the coast of Brazil. The American loss was 44 and the British 151. The American victories of the year of 1812 with such little loss produced much exultation in America and surprise and mortification in England. American seamen had been the greatest sufferers at the hands of the British, and they had long burned to avenge the insults of the English Navy. They fought for patriotism, glory and vengeance.

The year 1813 was noted for the continued success of the American Navy. On February 24th, the Hornet captured the British brig Peacock on the coast of South America. On June 1st, the British frigate Shannon captured the Chesapeake after a terrible battle, in which the Americans lost 133 and the British half as many. Captain Lawrence of the Chesapeake was mortally wounded, and his dying command, "Don't give up the ship!" has been the motto for many worthy enterprises.

In August, Captain Porter, with the American frigate Essex, cruising in the Pacific Ocean, captured twelve armed British whalers. In the same month, the American sloop-of-war Argus, cruising in the English channel, captured twenty-one British merchantmen, but on the 13th was herself captured by the British man-of-war Pelican after a severe engagement. On the 3d of September, the American brig Enterprise captured the British Boxer off the coast of Maine. Perry's victory on Lake Erie, which occurred on the 10th of this month, has already been noticed.

The year 1814 was not a line of unbroken success, though American victories were many and brilliant. On the 28th of March, the brilliant career of the United States frigate Essex, in the Pacific Ocean, was terminated by her capture by two British war vessels at Valparaiso. On April 21st, the United States sloop-of-war Frolic was captured by the British frigate Orpheus. On the 27th of the same month, the United States sloop-of-war Peacock captured the British brig-of-war Epervier with $118,000 in specie on board. On June 9th, the United States sloop-of-war Rattlesnake was captured by a British man-of-war. This reverse was followed by the loss of the United States sloop Syren on the 12th. On the 28th, the American sloop Wasp captured the British sloop Reindeer, in the British channel. On the 1st of September, the Wasp captured the British sloop Avon, and after taking three other prizes, this remarkably successful vessel mysteriously disappeared. Her fate was never known, though it is supposed she was lost at sea.

On January 15, 1815, the United States frigate President was captured by four English vessels. On the 28th of February, although peace was declared, the United States frigate Constitution captured two British vessels of war, off the island of Madeira. In March, the United States frigate Hornet captured the British brig Penguin, off the coast of Brazil.

The last hostile act at sea took place in the Straits of Sunda, in the East Indies, where the United States brig-of-war Peacock captured the Nautilus, a British sloop-of-war. The three American vessels at sea when the war closed each came home crowned with laurels. The part taken by the American privateers during the war was considerable and a detailed history of them would fill a volume larger than this. During the war there were I,750 British vessels captured, against a loss of I,683 American ships. The spirit and energy of the American seamen, under all their embarrassments, gave an unmistakable indication of the future greatness of the power of the United States Navy.

On the first night after Sukey and Terrence joined Fernando, the three sat about the bivouac fire, while all save the sentries slept, talking over the past which, to Fernando, seemed like a troubled dream.

"Did either of you ever meet Captain Snipes?" asked Fernando.

"Bad luck to him, I did not," said Terrence. "It's bad it would have fared with the spalpeen if I had."

At mention of Captain Snipes, there came an expression over Sukey's face which is indescribable. His face grew pale, and his brow contracted, his teeth set, and his eyes seemed to have the glitter of steel, while he shrugged his shoulders, as if he again felt the cat-o'-nine-tails about them.

"Did he never come aboard the Macedonian again?" asked Fernando.

"No."

"Did you hear of him?"

"Yes."

"Where was he?"

"He was transferred to the Xenophon."

"The Xenophon? was not Lieutenant Matson in command of that vessel?"

"For awhile."

"Was he not promoted?"

"No; it seems his affair with you got to England."

"Just in time to spoil a nate little promotion, too," put in Terrence. "I heard all about it from the captain of the merchantman I captured. He told me when we were playing poker one night."

Fernando looked sadly into the smouldering bivouac and heaved a sigh. Almost five years had elapsed since he had seen Morgianna, and he had not heard a word from her since he left her in the great stone house on the hill that night,—she laughing at his misery.

After a long silence Fernando asked:

"Is he married?"

"Who?" asked Sukey.

"Faith, the captain's absent minded," put in Terrence.

"I mean Lieutenant Matson."

"Not as I know of."

"Did you see him after we left Mariana?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Only six days before we were captured by Decatur. We touched at the Canary Islands, and the Xenophon was there. He came aboard our vessel."

"Did he recognize you?"

"No," Sukey answered. "Had he known me he wouldn't a-talked with a common sailor."

"Was he married then?"

"No; I heard him tell Captain Garden that he was still single."

Fernando heaved another sigh and asked:

"Did he say—did he say anything about her?"

"Who?"

Fernando heaved another sigh and asked:

"Did he say—did he say anything about her?'7

"Who?"

The conversation was not interesting to Terrence and he had gone to another part of the camp, to engage in a game of cards with a sentry.

"Morgianna," Fernando said.

"Morgianna? no—she is the girl at Mariana, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"I didn't hear him mention her name."

"They are not married yet?"

"No."

"Perhaps I was mistaken after all," said Fernando thoughtfully. "May be she don't care for him."

Then Fernando sighed again and gazed into the smouldering fire. After several minutes more, he said:

"Sukey, she must be in love with him."

"I thought so."

Fernando sighed and remarked:

"She may have married some one else, though."

"No, she ain't."

"Have you heard of her?"

"I saw her!" Sukey declared.

"When?"

"When I was in Baltimore last winter."

"Did you talk with her, Sukey?"

"No."

"Then how did you know she was not married?"

"When I was in Baltimore last winter."

"Did you talk with her, Sukey?"

"No."

"Then how did you know she was not married?"

"I was in a store and overheard two women who knew her gossiping. One asked the other if Morgianna Lane was married yet. One said:

"'I thought she would marry the English lieutenant.'

"The other said:

"'No, not yet. I suppose they are waiting till the war is over.'

"'Has she no other lover?' asked the other. Then the other woman said she believed not, at least none ever came to see her."

Fernando was quite sure she must have lovers by the score. Such a glorious woman as Morgianna could not but have an abundance to choose from.

"You saw Morgianna, Sukey, how did she look?"

"Just as when we left. Not a day older."

"You knew her at sight?"

"Of course; but she didn't know me. I suspect I was a hard-looking case then; for I had just come from the ship and had on my English pea-jacket, and my linen was not the cleanest."

Fernando sat silent for such a long time, that Sukey, who was tired, nodded awhile in silence, then, rolling up in his blanket, lay down under a tree and slept. Fernando still sat gazing into the fire and saying to himself:

"Oh, if it could have been, if it could have been!"

A young woman does a rash thing when she rejects such a warm, manly heart as that of Fernando Stevens. Not all men are capable of such unselfish devotion as his, and Morgianna little dreamed how much she was casting aside.

He was still gazing into the smouldering fire, when Terrence, who had won all the money from the soldier with whom he was playing cards, came to him and said:

"Captain, are ye goin' to spend the night gazing into the fire?"

"No, Terrence; I am not sleepy; but I will lie down."

"Captain, do ye remember the little girl at Mariana five years ago, the one yersilf and the Englishman were about to break heads over?"

"You mean Morgianna Lane, Terrence?"

"To be sure I do. I saw the swate craythur not two months since." Fernando, who was anything but sleepy, asked:

"Where did you see her, Terrence?"

"In Baltimore. She is prettier than whin you used to stroll over the beach in the moonlight with her."

"Is she married?"

"Divil a bit. I talked with her, and, d'ye belave me, almost the first question she asked me was about yersilf. Aye, Fernando, it was a grand story I told her about ye making a hero of yersilf. I told her how ye defeated Tecumseh and killed the thief with yer own hand, and how ye conquered at Chippewa and Lundy's Lane."

Fernando's heart gave a tremendous bound. Had she really asked about him? Then she had not forgotten him in five long years. Could this be true? Terrence had not the strictest regard for truth, and he might be only telling this out of mischief.

"Terrence, are you telling me the truth?" he asked.

"Ivery blissid word of it is the gospel truth, me frind," Terrence answered. "The little girl still lives at the village beyant Baltimore, and if ye want her, ye kin win her."

"Terrence, you are trifling with me; Morgianna cares nothing for me."

"Don't ye belave it. If she didn't, why did she ask about ye the very first chance she had? Me boy, whin a girl remembers a fellow after five years, it's some sign. Now if ye want that blushin' damsel, lave it all to me."

"Terrence, let us go to sleep, we have a hard march before us to-morrow."

"I take it at yer word, captain."

In less than ten minutes the light-hearted Irishman was buried in slumber.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE CRUISER'S THREAT.

Terrence and Sukey both volunteered to accompany Fernando's detached riflemen in the vigorous campaign which was before them. Fernando's riflemen now numbered one hundred and sixty-two, composed mostly of frontiersmen, all dead shots. Sukey declared that he was in the game and would kill a British officer for every stripe Captain Snipes had caused to be laid on his shoulders.

"There were twelve blows, nine stripes each. Nine times twelve are one hundred and eight."

"And have ye got the job all before ye, Sukey?" asked Terrence.

"I've commenced. Eight have been blotted out. Only a hundred remains," Sukey answered solemnly.

No one asked when the eight had been blotted out, but Fernando knew he must have done it while the Macedonian was fighting the American frigate. Sailors, driven to desperation, frequently take advantage of such occasions to wreak vengeance on cruel officers. The boatswain's mate who had flogged Sukey was found dead on the gun deck at the close of the fight.

The American forces were hurried forward to Washington, where everything was in the wildest confusion. The contemptible Peace Party had done all by way of ridicule and argument to keep off the war, and were now doing all in their power to prevent its prosecution. General Winder and Commodore Barney were in command of the land and naval forces of the United States, for the defence of Washington. In vain Winder had called on the government for more troops and supplies.

When Fernando arrived at Washington, Barney had already blown up his flotilla at Pig Point, and with his soldiers and marines joined General Winder.

General Ross, the commander of the British land forces and one of the most active of Wellington's officers, on finding the American flotilla a smoking ruin, marched to upper Marlborough with his troops, where a road led directly to Washington City, leaving Cockburn in charge of the British flotilla. Winder had but three thousand men, most of them undisciplined, to oppose this force; and he prudently retreated toward Washington followed by Ross, who, on the 23d of August, was joined by Cockburn and his seamen.

Uncertain whether Washington City or Fort Washington was the destination of the enemy, Winder left a force at Bladensburg about four miles from the capitol, and with other troops watched the highways leading in other directions, while he hastened to the city to inform the president that the enemy were camped in ten miles of the capitol.

Neither President Madison nor his cabinet slept that night. Fernando and his riflemen were sent to Bladensburg at midnight, and on the morning of August 24, 1814, a small scouting party sent down the road came back reporting that the British army was on the advance.

Fernando with his riflemen went to meet the enemy and hold them in check as long as possible. About ten o'clock, they came in sight of the advance of the enemy. About two hundred redcoats were led by an officer on horseback.

Sukey saw that officer, and he also saw an old tree about a hundred yards nearer the enemy and twenty paces to the left of the road. From it, one would be in long rifle range of the British.

"Fernando, I want to go there," said Sukey, hugging his long rifle as if it were his dearest friend.

"Go."

He went with arms trailed, stooping as he ran, to keep the enemy from seeing him, and gained the tree, which stood on an eminence that overlooked the narrow valley below. The British saw the Americans and halted. The officer was riding up and down the line giving directions, wholly unconscious of the rifle behind the old tree.

Suddenly a little puff of smoke curled up from where Sukey was crouched, and the crack of a rifle rang out. The officer in his gay uniform dropped his sword and fell from his saddle, while Sukey took a small day book from his pocket and wrote "nine" in it.

Fernando's company fell back to Bladensburg, where he deployed them so as to cover the Americans' line, and awaited the approach of the enemy.

It was afternoon before they advanced, and the skirmishers for ten minutes held them in check, then, as they fell back to the main line, Fernando saw Sukey write "twelve" in his book. The fight began in earnest just below Bladensburg in an old field. The roar of cannon and rattling crash of musketry filled the air. General Winder, who had been in Washington the night before, returned just before the battle began. The militia broke and fled in confusion; and the brave Barney, with Captain Stevens' riflemen, sustained the brunt of the battle, until Barney was severely wounded, when Winder, seeing no hope of winning a victory, ordered a retreat. The troops remaining fell back toward Montgomery Courthouse, in Maryland, leaving the battlefield in possession of the invaders. The battle had lasted more than four hours, and the victory was won at fearful cost, for more than five hundred Britons were dead or wounded on the field, among them several officers of distinction, Sukey had added several numbers in his book.

The president and his secretaries of war and state had come to witness the conflict and give assistance if possible. When the day was lost, they mounted swift horses and dashed back to the city. Terrence, who had captured the steed of a British officer, overtook the president's advance party. Whipping his horse alongside the president, he cried:

"Misther Madison, wasn't that as illegant a knock down as iver a man saw in all his life? I enjoy such."

"How are we to save Washington without an army?" cried the president, whose mind was wholly occupied with the safety of the capital.

To this, Terrence responded with his stereotyped:

"Lave it all to me."

Mrs. Madison, at the White House, had already been apprised of danger, by a messenger sent by her husband on the flight of the militia. Her carriage was at the door ready for flight, and she had already sent away to a place of safety silver plate and other valuables. While waiting anxiously for her husband, she cut out of the frame for preservation a full length portrait of Washington, by Stuart. At this moment, her husband's messengers, Mr. Jacob Barker and another man, entered the house. Mr. Barker cried:

"Fly, Mrs. Madison, the day is lost, and the British are coming!"

"Where is my husband?" she asked.

"Safe, and he will join you beyond the Potomac."

Pointing to Washington's picture on the floor, she cried:

"Save that picture! save or destroy it, but do not let it fall into the hands of the British!"

Then, snatching up the precious parchment on which the Declaration of Independence was written, and which contained the names of the fifty-six signers of that document, she entered the carriage with her sister and two others, and the four were driven away to a place of safety beyond the Potomac. The picture was saved, and it now adorns one of the reception rooms in the White House.

The British entered Washington at sunset, August 24, 1814, and at once began to plunder, burn and destroy. The capitol, president's house, treasury buildings, arsenal and barracks were burned, and of the public buildings only the patent office was saved. Some private houses were plundered and others were burned. While these buildings were blazing in the city, the public vessels and other government property at the navy yard were in flames, for Commodore Tingey, who was in command there, had been ordered to destroy this property in case it was likely to fall into the hands of the invaders. Two millions of dollars' worth of public property were destroyed on that night.

On the 27th of August, three days later, Alexandria was plundered of her public stores by the British. Having taken an enormous amount as ransom for the city, the British sailed down the Potomac, annoyed part of the way by the guns from the American forts.

Fernando Stevens' riflemen, after the battle of Bladensburg, hastened toward Baltimore, which they knew to be also threatened. Here they found the people energetically making every possible effort to defend the city. Fort McHenry, which commanded the harbor, was garrisoned by about a thousand men, under Major Armistead, and was supported by redoubts. Fernando's riflemen were assigned to General Stricker.

On September 11, 1814, the enemy appeared off Patapsco Bay, and before sunrise on the 12th had landed, nine thousand strong, at North Point, twelve miles from Baltimore. When news came that the British were landing on North Point, General Smith, who had about nine thousand men under his command, sent General Stricker with more than three thousand of them, to watch the enemy, and act as circumstances might require.

Fernando Stevens' riflemen accompanied Stricker, and were sent forward down a rocky ravine, where they might watch the enemy. Fernando left his men in the deepest hollow while he, with only ten or twelve, crept forward behind some large stones which lay at the roadside. About ten paces to the right of Fernando was Sukey, with his formidable rifle resting in the hollow of his left arm. Soon the head of the long column could be seen advancing up the broad thoroughfare. Fernando saw two gayly-dressed officers riding at the head. He afterward learned that they were Generals Ross and Cockburn.

"Say, Fernando," said Sukey, "those fellows are officers, ain't they?"

"Yes."

"Must be generals by the clothes they wear?"

"Perhaps."

Ross was riding gayly along by the side of Cockburn, laughing and jesting about making Baltimore his winter quarters, when on their left there suddenly rang out the sharp crack of a rifle, while a little puff of smoke curled up from the great black rock almost two hundred paces distant.

"Oh!" groaned the general, and jerking his rein, until his horse reared in the air, his chin fell on his chest, and he began to sink from the saddle. Cockburn caught him and called for assistance. They hurried him back to the boats, where he might have surgical aid; but he died before the boats were reached.

Fernando Stevens heard the sharp report on his right, as Ross fell, and, turning his eyes in that direction, saw the smoke slowly curling up from the muzzle of Sukey's rifle.

"Say, Fernando, I ought to count three or four for that one, shouldn't I?" Sukey coolly asked. "He was a big one." [Footnote: The reader will pardon this slight deviation from history. The real slayers of General Ross were two Baltimore mechanics, Wells and McComas, both of whom fell in the conflict on the same day, and to whose memory a monument has been erected by the citizens of Baltimore.]

The British were thrown into momentary confusion by the sudden death of General Ross; but Colonel Brooke rallied them, and Fernando's riflemen fell back until they joined General Stricker's men.

The British came on and a severe fight, which lasted two hours, ensued, when Stricker ordered a retreat to his reserve corps. There he reformed a brigade and fell back toward the city, as far as Worthington's Mill, where they were joined by General Winder and some fresh troops.

Fernando witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry during that terrible night, when Mr. Francis S. Key, a prisoner on board an English vessel, composed the song which immortalized him,—"The Star-Spangled Banner."

Not only Baltimore, but all the Chesapeake and coast was threatened by the British. Cruisers by the score were threatening almost every seaport town.

The day after the unsuccessful bombardment of Fort McHenry, General Smith sent for Fernando Stevens, and when he was in the general's head quarters, that officer said:

"Captain Stevens, I would like to have you do a little detached duty."

"General, I am willing to do whatever you wish. You can command me at your pleasure."

"There is a cruiser on the coast threatening a little town where some government stores have been placed for safety. Will you undertake the defence of the town?"

"Certainly; I will do the best I can; but success will depend on my means."

"How many men have you?"

"One hundred and fifty."

"I will send fifty marines with you."

"But artillery?"

"There are some nine-pounders and one long thirty-two at the village. Muster your men, hasten there at once, and do the best you can."

"But, general, you have not yet told me the name of the village."

"Mariana."

"What?" gasped Fernando, starting to his feet. "Did you say Mariana. Perhaps I misunderstood you."'

"No; I mean Mariana. Captain Lane, an old privateer officer of the Revolution, is there. He has organized a company of Marylanders on the peninsula on which Mariana is situated, and will be able to help you some. You will find an abundance of ammunition for your artillery."

Fernando left the general's quarters with his heart beating in a way which he could not explain. Terrence had just returned to the company. Fernando ordered his men to be ready to march at dark, and was hastening across the street to a tavern for his supper, when he was suddenly accosted by a familiar voice with:

"Golly! massa Stevens, am dat you?"

"Job, where have you come from?"

"Everywhar, Massa. I done been rovin' de worl' over huntin' for de massa I belong to when I war taken by de Britishers; but I can't find him. Whar ye gwine?"

Fernando explained, and the negro said:

"Golly! ye goin' dar?"

"Yes, Job."

"De ship what am goin' ter bombard dat town am de Xenophon."

"Xenophon!" cried Fernando; "surely Providence must be in this."

Job volunteered at once to accompany the riflemen, and, having some knowledge of gunnery, his services were very acceptable.

At dusk, with competent guides, Fernando set out for the village.

* * * * *

Five years had been added to the weight with which time was crushing Captain Lane; but his spirit was still as undaunted as ever, and when he found the town threatened by a British cruiser, he hastily organized the people into militia companies, and began throwing up a line of earthworks, which extended from his own house to the lowest extremity of the village.

The plan of the breastwork was well laid and executed; but the artillery was poorly mounted and they were sadly in need of experienced gunners.

"Father, don't exert yourself until you are sick!" said Morgianna, when her father came home one evening exhausted. "Surely, if the British come, they will not harm us."

"My child, the plunderers have sacked other towns and insulted the inhabitants, and why not ours?"

"But no ship is in sight."

"No; yet one has been hovering about the coast and Tris Penrose, who was far out in his fishing smack to reconnoitre, says it is the Xenophon."

"The Xenophon!" and the pretty face grew pale. She remembered that that vessel, five years before, had paid the village a friendly visit. Captain Lane was watching her closely. She knew it and guessed the reason. After a moment's silence, she asked:

"Father, isn't Lieutenant Matson on the Xenophon?"

"I suppose he is."

"Surely he is your friend."

"In war there are no friends among the enemy, child, and no enemy among friends. We are simply Americans or British."

"Yet, father, there are personal ties stronger than loyalty to nation or political party."

The old man heard her argument with evident anxiety. He loved his little sea-waif as ardently as ever father loved a child, and for five years he fancied and feared she loved the lieutenant of the Xenophon.

"True, child, you speak the truth, yet my heart tells me that we cannot trust to friendship now, seeing that this quarrel has grown so bitter." He was sorry to say this, for he felt that every word he uttered was like a dagger at the heart of Morgianna. After a painful silence, the old, white-haired seaman added, "Forgive me, Morgianna; but I am an old man, and I may not look at things as you do. I love my country and her flag. I have seen our poor sailors too often enslaved to be a friend to any Englishman while the war lasts."

"What do you mean, father?"

"You love him, Morgianna. I felt it, I knew it all along, but I couldn't help it. I knew I ought to do something, but, child, I didn't know what to do. If you had had a mother she could have advised you, but I didn't."

"Father, you talk so strangely; what do you mean?"

"I knew all along, my child, that you loved him; but Lieutenant Matson is a bad one, even if he is the son of my old friend. I could see the devil glinting in his eyes, and the mock of his smile, when he met the young Ohioan here five years ago. He's a bad man accompanied with foul weather wherever he goes, and I know it just so long as I know the cat's paw, the white creeping mist, like a dirty thing which makes me cry out to my crew, 'All hands to reef! Quick! All hands to reef!'" The old man was silent for a moment, smoking his pipe, while his eyes were on the floor. Had he looked up, he would have seen a decidedly mischievous look in the face of Morgianna, which certainly did not indicate that she was seriously affected. After a few moments, without looking up, the old man with a sigh continued:

"Ah, my little maid, if you could only have listened a bit to the noble Ohioan;—if it could have been him instead of Matson, love and patriotism could have gone hand in hand. The night we went to the cliff, I thought you did like him; but it was not to be. 'Tis dreadful! dreadful! why did God make woman so? Poor Fernando; there was good love going a-begging and getting nothing for it but a frown and a hard word; while—" he did not finish the sentence, for a pair of white arms were put around his neck, and a voice as sweet as the rippling music of the hillside brook said:

"Never fret yourself, father, for Morgianna loves you first of all and best of all," and she slipped on his knee and kissed away the anxious cloud gathering on his brow. The old man was quite overcome by this caress, and before he could make any answer there came a heavy tread on the piazza, a heavy knock, and a moment later a servant announced, Tris Penrose and John Burrel. They were admitted and Penrose, who had made another reconnoisance that afternoon in his fishing yacht, said:

"Aw, captain, I be just returned, and having somewhat of importance to impart I came to tell you."

Captain Lane asked the Cornish fisherman to be seated and asked:

"What have you seen, Tris?"

"You see, captain, it be like this. I be out at sea beyond the bay, and I see a great ship beating up in the bay against wind and tide, and I watch her for a long time as she do go first on one tack and then on the other, until I make sure she be heading for Mariana, and I hasten to tell, with all sail."

Burrel explained that from the farthest point of Duck Island the vessel had been sighted, and that there was no longer any question of her destination. Captain Lane rose to go down to the village, where the greatest excitement prevailed. Turning to Morgianna, he asked:

"Will you be afraid to remain here, my gem o' the sea?"

"No, father."

The captain went and quieted the people. A strong breeze was blowing from the land, and he knew full well that the Xenophon could not possibly come near enough to harm them for several hours. He gave some directions concerning the strengthening of the fort, and went home and retired to bed.

Next morning the ship-of-war, the Xenophon was reported lying without the harbor, and at noon, being unable, owing to contrary winds, to enter the harbor, they saw her long-boats landing troops on the northern point of land. Soldiers to the number of two hundred were landed on the point of land, which, two miles north of Duck Island, projected far out into the sea and was called O'Connor's Point. Mariana was situated on a peninsula from half a mile to two miles wide and the troops hurried to the narrowest neck of this peninsula where they halted and proceeded to throw up light earthworks, so as to completely cut off all retreat of the inhabitants.

That evening some officers and a marine guard with a white flag were seen coming down the great road leading from the neck of the peninsula to the mainland and thence to Baltimore. Many of the inhabitants recognized Lieutenant Matson before he came to the fort. They were halted and asked what they wanted.

Lieutenant Matson stated that it was his wish to see Captain Lane.

Mounting the earthworks, Captain Lane asked:

"Do you come in peace or in war?"

"In peace."

"Then, as the son of an old friend, you are welcome. You can send back your guard and flag of truce, for I am sufficient surety for your safety."

The lieutenant told his guard to retire, while he went over the parapet and ascended the hill to the great white house. Lieutenant Matson was very grave and silent, when they reached the house, which was lighted, for it was now growing dark. Captain Lane asked his visitor to be seated and said:

"Now, Lieutenant Matson, you may proceed with your business."

A pair of soft, dark eyes were fixed on them from a door which was slightly ajar, and even the darkness seemed lighter from the glow of golden hair. The lieutenant's back was toward this room, and he did not see the beautiful, anxious face and roguish eyes. Lieutenant Matson, after a brief silence, said:

"Captain Lane, I am come on a matter of business in which friendship and regard are mingled. Believe me that, had it not been for my great esteem for yourself and Morgianna, I should have sent an under officer with my message instead of bringing it myself."

Captain Lane bowed and hoped that Lieutenant Matson would not allow friendship to stand in the way of duty. Lieutenant Matson continued:

"First, I have come, captain, to demand of you the surrender of this post,—that is, of all the government stores in it, assuring you that private property shall not be molested, and the men in arms shall be treated as prisoners of war."

Without a moment's hesitation, the old sea captain answered:

"I refuse to comply with your demand."

"Surely, Captain Lane, you must know that you cannot hope to resist the Xenophon. Her heavy guns will soon batter down your walls and destroy your houses."

"When that is done, it will be time enough to think of surrendering."

"Surely you do not know that Washington is burned and Baltimore surrounded. All night long the fleet bombarded the town."

"Yes, we could hear the roar of cannon even here."

"Well, you must ultimately surrender."

Lieutenant Matson was greatly distressed by the stubbornness of Captain Lane. He reminded him of the helpless women and children in the town, and asked him, for their sakes, to consider the crime of resisting; but it was all in vain. Captain Lane had been chosen by the people to defend them, and he swore he was no Hull to yield at the sight of an enemy.

"No, sir; when our guns are dismounted, our walls battered down, our houses burned, and there is not a man able to hold a lanyard, then it is time to think of surrendering."

"Very well, Captain, if such is your resolution, I must leave you; but permit me to conduct Miss Morgianna to a place of safety. She would be safe on board the Xenophon and I offer her——"

"What!" interrupted Captain Lane, his eyes flashing fire. "Lieutenant Matson, do you wish to insult me?"

"No, Captain Lane, I merely wish to secure the safety of Morgianna."

"Morgianna! Morgianna!" called the old man, starting to his feet and pacing the floor anxiously.

"Here, father!" and, clothed in spotless white, looking like some celestial being just reached this earth, Morgianna entered the room. "What do you want, father?" she asked, paying no heed to the lieutenant, who had risen to his feet with a most gracious smile and bow.

"Morgianna, Lieutenant Matson announces that the English frigate Xenophon is coming to destroy our town and kill our people. He offers you a place on board that vessel where he says you will be safe. Do you accept it?"



"No!" she answered, stamping one little slippered foot on the floor. Then going to the captain's side, she laid her head on his shoulder and said:

"My father will protect me; I want no other protection."

"Morgianna," began the baffled lieutenant, "I would like a word with you in private—"

"Lieutenant Matson, I don't care to hear you—I will not listen to you. As my father's friend, I once did tolerate you; but now, as my country's enemy, I have no forbearance with you. Begone!" and her white, jeweled hand pointed to the door.

The Briton's face flushed crimson, as he retorted:

"Morgianna, you may regret—"

"Lieutenant Matson!" interrupted the captain fiercely. "Not another word, lest I forget your father was my mate. Begone!"

With an oath, Matson left the town and returned to his men on the neck of the peninsula. When he was gone, Captain Lane turned to his daughter and was surprised to see a look of contempt instead of the grief he had expected. That one glance convinced him that he had been mistaken, and that she did not love the Englishman after all.

"Father, that man's true spirit was revealed to-night. Even though he is your old friend's son, he is a villain."

Next day some of the Marylanders had a skirmish with the British on the neck of land, and one of the villagers was wounded. The Xenophon still hovered near the mouth of the narrow harbor and only waited a favorable wind to enter the bay, and commence the siege which could have but one result.

Captain Lane strove hard to be cheerful; but his heart was heavier than lead. Again night came, with the Xenophon anchored off Mud Island. The night was dark, and the wind from shore strong, so that Captain Lane knew she could not enter the harbor.

He was sitting at his fireside, when suddenly from the narrow inlet south of the peninsula there rang out a volley of musketry followed by wild cries and cheers. The volley was followed by heavy firing, and Captain Lane, donning his hat, snatched his sword and ran down to the works, where the drum was beating, and the Marylanders were seizing muskets and falling into line.

"What is it? whom have they attacked?" was the general query asked by all. The pickets were called in and the only sentries were the chain guards just outside the parapet. Suddenly the sound of footsteps came from the darkness, and the sentries knew that two or three men were running toward them. Zeb Cole, a large, powerful Marylander, finding one of them coming directly at him, dropped his musket and, seizing the fellow's throat, hurled him to the ground.

"Halt! ye wanderin' Israelite. Stop an' tell me who you are?"

"Oh, let go me, massa, lem me up!" pleaded the captive, struggling to his feet. "I ain't no Britisher! dar ain't no Angler Saxun blood in dese veins. I is a Yankee nigger, massa, bet I am."

Another man who had come up at a run cried in language in which the Hibernian was plainly distinguishable:

"Hould hard, ye haythin! The redcoats are afther us!"

"Who be ye?" demanded Zeb.

"The advance guard of two hundred Americans comin' to help ye whip the Britisher. Jist as we landed, afther crossing the mouth of the creek, the dirthy spalpeens fired on us; but we drove thim back, and here come our boys at double quick."

Terrence was correct, for Fernando and his riflemen having cut their way through the British, hurried into the fort. Captain Lane was amazed to find their friends led by the young Ohioan, whom he had entertained at his house five years before.

"Did you lose any of your men in the skirmish?" asked Captain Lane.

"Two were wounded, none killed or missing. Has the Xenophon commenced the bombardment yet?"

"No; but she will as soon as the wind shifts to bring her in."

"How many men have you capable of bearing arms, Captain Lane?" asked Fernando.

"Almost two hundred."

"I have two hundred more, we will die together or beat off the ship."

"Did General Winder send you to defend the town?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I will serve under you. Captain Stevens."

Fernando tried to get the old captain to assume command; but he said he was too old; that he would gladly advise him and serve with him and under him; but he did not want the responsibility of the command. Then, all being quiet, Captain Lane went to his house to sleep and rest.

"He is gone," said Fernando when left alone near the big gun; "gone and not a word said about Morgianna. What will she say, what will she think, when she knows it is I who came to defend her?"

Fernando sighed and was very unhappy.



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE SAVING SHOT.

Little or nothing could be done by Captain Stevens that night. His men were exhausted, and threw themselves down anywhere and everywhere. The proprietor of the tavern took Fernando, Sukey, Terrence and Lieutenant Willard of the marines to his house, where they were furnished beds and slept soundly.

The morning of September 14, 1814, came. Fernando, at his request, was awakened early, and with Lieutenant Willard went out to examine the fort and artillery. It was scarcely daylight when they mounted the works and gazed off the bay. They could not see as far as Duck and Mud Islands, and sat down upon the gun carriages to await the rising of the sun.

A hundred stalwart Marylanders came from their houses with axes, picks and shovels, ready to resume work on the redoubt.

"Lieutenant Willard." said Fernando, "your judgment is perhaps better than mine. Will you give these men direction in regard to the works?"

Lieutenant Willard mounted the earthworks and walked along the entire line, closely inspecting them and directing the improvement of what was already quite a formidable fortification.

The guns were next examined and changed so as to more completely sweep the bay. While the lieutenant was doing this, Fernando, with three or four fishermen went down to the water with a glass to take a look for the Xenophon. She could be seen still anchored off Mud Island.

"The vind be strong off shore," said Tris Penrose the Cornish fisherman. "Aw, she cannot sail in the teeth o' it."

"How far is it to Mud Island?" asked Fernando.

"It be about five mile," the fisherman answered.

"I am going out to that headland!" he said pointing to the rocky promontory.

"It be dangerous, Capen; the ship's big guns, they reach to the headland;" but Fernando insisted on being rowed to the headland, and four fishermen, including Tris Penrose, took him to it in a boat. The memories this early morning visit awoke in his breast are indescribable. Years seemed to have been rolled back, and he was once more with Morgianna, within the pale of hope. Ascending the promontory, he saw the Xenophon lying at anchor not over three or four miles away. Two boats loaded down with marines put off from the ship and rowed to the point of land half a mile away. There they landed, formed, and marched to reinforce Matson on the neck of the peninsula. Three hundred men and two small cannon were now on land.

Fernando went back, convinced that for some hours at least the attack would be delayed. Lieutenant Willard was working with a will to strengthen the redoubt. Bomb-proof apartments were made for the women and children. They were still uncertain of the fate of Baltimore, and knew that the whole coast was threatened by the British fleet.

While sitting at breakfast, Fernando received a note from Captain Lane informing him that a sudden attack of rheumatism prevented him from leaving his bed, and asked him to call at the house if he wished to consult him. Never in his life was Fernando more glad to receive a summons, and never did he so dread answering it.

"I am foolish!" he thought. "She cares nothing for me. She has told me as much, and she cannot have changed her mind. I will go, but as the commandant and not as a supplicant—or lover."

Fernando was in the uniform of a captain of infantry of 1812, the handsomest uniform ever adopted by the American army. His dark blue coat, buttoned to his chin, his sash, his belt and gilt sword, his chapeau-bras with flowing plume, set off his manly form.

Fernando, as he ascended the path to the house, did not dream that he was heroic or fine-looking.

When he reached the house, he paused a moment on the piazza, just as he had on that evening five years before, to school his rebellious heart. To his knock a servant answered, and he was hurried up to the room of Captain Lane. At every corner he expected Morgianna; but she did not appear. Perhaps she was with her father; but no, the captain was alone.

"It's too bad, Captain Stevens," the old sea-dog declared. "Here I am with this infernal rheumatism holding me down like an anchor, when we are threatened with a squall."

"Don't trouble yourself, captain," said Fernando. "I fancy there are young men enough to fight our battles."

"But one likes to have a hand in such affairs, you know."

"Certainly, but don't worry yourself. The wind is still off shore, and the bay is so narrow that, unless they get out a warp, they cannot haul in the Xenophon."

"I have wondered they did not do that before," said the old sailor. "It could be done."

"Perhaps they have some other plan. They landed a hundred more men this morning."

"They can't be going to make a land attack."

"No, the land forces are to cut off retreat."

"It's that infernal Matson—Lieutenant Matson—curse him! He is the son of my friend; but I say curse him, for all that!" cried the old sea-dog, his face expressing mingled rage and agony.

"Is he in command?" asked Fernando. Before either could speak, a light tread warned Fernando that a third person had entered the room. He started to his feet and, turning about, bowed to Morgianna.

"Captain Stevens, I am proud to welcome you back to Mariana; but I am sorry it could not have been under other circumstances." She was beautiful—more beautiful than when he left; but there was not expressed by either voice, eye, or flushed cheek any symptom of a more tender regard than friendship. Fernando had so schooled himself, that, as he took her hand, he said in a most commonplace manner:

"I was sent here, Miss Lane. I am a soldier, and wherever duty calls, I go, be it pleasant or unpleasant."

Morgianna was not prepared for this. The cool, off-hand manner seemed to hardly indicate the respect of friendship. Her face grew deathly pale for a moment, and she almost ceased breathing; but she gained her self-control, and, in a tone as commonplace and cool as his own, hoped he was well and that he would not be killed in the coming struggle. The coming struggle with the Xenophon was nothing compared to his present struggle. Fernando still loved Morgianna. Five years had only added to the intensity of his love; but he had once made a simpleton of himself, and he determined not to do so again. Thus two hungry souls, thirsting for each other's love, acted the cold part of casual acquaintances. Could the veil have been lifted, could the barriers have been broken down, what misery might have been spared! but it is ever thus. Humanity is contradictory and the heart's impulses are held in check.

"Miss Lane, this house cannot be a safe place in the coming struggle," said Fernando. "We have prepared bomb-proof shelters for the women and children, and I hope you will accept refuge in one."

She said something about her father.

"He shall be cared for. I hope you will let me send a sergeant with a dozen men to convey you both to a place of safety."

She assented, and he left. Her face was still white, her chin was quivering, and her eyes were growing moist.

"What's the matter, Morgianna?" asked Captain Lane.

She did not venture an answer, but running to her own room, fell weeping on the couch.

"After five long years, to return so changed—so cold—oh, God, this punishment is greater than I can bear!" she sobbed.

By the middle of the afternoon, the wind changed slightly, shifting to the northeast, and some activity was evinced on board the Xenophon. Fernando thought longer delay was dangerous. Captain Lane and his daughter, with all other women and children, were conveyed to the bomb-proof houses, which had been constructed for them. He was so busy all that day, that he only caught an occasional glimpse of Morgianna.

When night came, the Xenophon had left her moorings, and Fernando predicted she would be brought in broadside to begin the cannonade at daybreak. He retired to his bed at eleven o'clock and at four Lieutenant Willard came to him and said: "Captain, the wind has shifted due east."

"How is the night?"

"Dark and cloudy."

"Can anything be seen of the Xenophon?"

"No."

"Send a dozen men to the promontory and build a fire. The light would show her to us."

A dozen bold fishermen, who knew the coast well, went out in their boats, hugging the rocky shore until the promontory was gained, and gathering up great heaps of driftwood on the edge of the bluff, set it on fire, and pulled back.

As the flames shot up, they revealed the Xenophon slowly and carefully feeling her way into the bay. Not a shot was fired, for she was still far away.

Thus the night wore on. Day began to dawn slowly, and as the first light fell on bay and sea it revealed the dread enemy lying like a monster sea-bird in the bay, not a mile away.

The Xenophon was in no hurry to commence. She had her prey so that there was no possible chance of escape, and the officers and men ate breakfast and walked about the deck, talking and joking on the work before them. Through a powerful glass, which Captain Lane furnished him, Fernando recognized Captain Snipes standing on the quarter deck, smoking a cigar.

Fernando had the guns loaded and shotted. They were sighted and ready when the Xenophon should take the initiative.

"Say, Capen, dat Britisher doan git dis chile no more," said Job. "I can't find my real massa, but, by golly, I've saved up fifty dollars to buy a new one, 'fore I go for to be a Britisher agin."

Before Fernando could answer, Sukey came running along the breastwork and said:

"Fernando! Fernando—he is there! Captain Snipes is aboard that ship!"

Sukey's face was deathly white, and his fingers convulsively clutched the air as if grasping at an imaginary throat.

Fernando was standing on the parapet, when a wreath of smoke curled up from the ship's side, followed by the boom of a heavy gun, and a ball came whizzing through the air, and struck the breastwork.