The Pilot: A Tale of the SeaCooper, James Fenimore
History
The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea
Cooper, James Fenimore
Historical fiction; Sea stories; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Naval operations -- Fiction; War stories
The battle would probably have terminated very differently from what
previous circumstances had indicated, had not a wild-looking figure
appeared in the cutter's channels at that moment, issuing from the sea,
and gaining the deck at the same instant. It was long Tom, with his iron
visage rendered fierce by his previous discomfiture, and his grizzled
locks drenched with the briny element from which he had risen, looking
like Neptune with his trident. Without speaking, he poised his harpoon,
and, with a powerful effort, pinned the unfortunate Englishman to the
mast of his own vessel.
“Starn all!” cried Tom by a sort of instinct, when the blow was struck;
and catching up the musket of the fallen marine, he dealt out terrible
and fatal blows with its butt on all who approached him, utterly
disregarding the use of the bayonet on its muzzle. The unfortunate
commander of the Alacrity brandished his sword with frantic gestures,
while his eyes rolled in horrid wildness, when he writhed for an instant
in his passing agonies, and then, as his head dropped lifeless upon his
gored breast, he hung against the spar, a spectacle of dismay to his
crew, A few of the Englishmen stood chained to the spot in silent horror
at the sight, but most of them fled to their lower deck, or hastened
to conceal themselves in the secret parts of the vessel, leaving to the
Americans the undisputed possession of the Alacrity.
Two-thirds of the cutter's crew suffered either in life or limbs, by
this short struggle; nor was the victory obtained by Barnstable without
paying the price of several valuable lives. The first burst of conquest
was not, however, the moment to appreciate the sacrifice, and loud and
reiterated shouts proclaimed the exultation of the conquerors. As
the flush of victory subsided, however, recollection returned, and
Barnstable issued such orders as humanity and his duty rendered
necessary. While the vessels were separating, and the bodies of the dead
and wounded were removing, the conqueror paced the deck of his prize, as
if lost in deep reflection. He passed his hand, frequently, across his
blackened and blood-stained brow, while his eyes would rise to examine
the vast canopy of smoke that was hovering above the vessels, like a
dense fog exhaling from the ocean. The result of his deliberations was
soon announced to the crew.
“Haul down all your flags,” he cried; “set the Englishman's colors
again, and show the enemy's jack above our ensign in the Ariel.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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