United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction; War stories
The captain’s face was awful to look at, as he stood aghast. There was
no sight of fire across the harbor, either, and no quick snake of flame
could be seen running up the masts. He stood for one terrible moment in
silence and despair. "And no flint and steel among us, on such an
errand!" he gasped. "Come with me, Green!" he commanded, and set forth
again, running like a deer back into the town.
It took but a minute to pass, by a narrow way, among some poor stone
houses and out across a bit of open ground, to a cottage poorer and
lower than any, and here Paul Jones lifted the clumsy latch. It was a
cottage of a single room, and his companion followed hastily, and stood
waiting close behind oil the threshold.
"Nancy, Nancy, my dear!" said the captain, in a gentle voice, but
thrusting back a warning hand to keep the surgeon out. "Nancy, ye ’ll
not be frightened; ’t is no thief, but your poor laddie, John Paul, that
you wintered long ago with a hurt leg, an’ he having none other that
would friend him. I ’ve come now but to friend you and to beg a light."
There was a cry of joy and a sound of some one rising in the bed, and
the surgeon heard the captain’s hasty steps as he crossed the room in
the dark and kissed the old creature, who began to chatter in her feeble
voice.
"Yes, here’s your old tinder box in its place on the chimney," said the
captain hastily. "I’m only distressed for a light, Mother Nancy, and my
boat just landing. Here ’s for ye till I get ashore again from my
ship," and there was a sound of a heavy handful of money falling on the
bed.
"Tak’ the best candle, child," she cried, "an’ promise me ye ’ll be
ashore again the morn’s morn an’ let me see your bonny eyes by day! I
said ye’d come,—I always said ye’d come!" But the two men were past
hearing any more, as they ran away with their treasure.
"Why in God’s name did you leave the door wide open?" said the surgeon.
"She ’ll die of a pleurisy, and your gold will only serve to bury her!"
There was no time for dallying. The heap of combustibles on one old
vessel’s deck was quick set afire now and flung down the hatches, and a
barrel of tar was poured into the thick-mounting flames; this old brig
was well careened against another, and their yards were fouled. There
was no time to do more; the two would easily scatter fire to all their
neighborhood when the morning wind sprung up to help them, and the
captain and his men must put off to sea. There were still no signs of
life on the shore or the fort above.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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