Part 56

“Don’t be too sure, my dear Major, in your estimate of the water-sneaks, as you are pleased to term them. You may have a nearer glimpse of their rags and steel also than you could wish, with an opportunity to make good your threat to chastise the leader and his crew, sooner than you now dream of,” and before the surprised assemblage had recovered from their consternation and the “influence,” he had disappeared through the doorway into the darkness of the night.

Repairing at once to New Brunswick, Mariner prepared his fast light-pulling whaleboat for the trip. The crew were summoned, armed to the teeth, and when all was in readiness the long, shapely boat glided swiftly and silently to New Utrecht, where the party formed in single file on the beach at Bath, a few minutes after ten o’clock at night. Two men were detailed to watch the boat, while the remainder of the party proceeded rapidly to Flatbush Church. In the shadows of overhanging trees the men were divided into four squads, the houses they were to attack pointed out to them, each party being provided with a battering ram capable of breaking in the heaviest door at a blow. Silently and steadily the parties proceeded to their several scenes of action, Mariner having reserved the residence of the British Major as his special mission.

The signal for united and concerted action was the ringing report of a pistol. The battering ram was then to be used, prisoners secured and conveyed to the whaleboat. The attack was simultaneous in various portions of the town. Mariner, sword in hand, searched in vain for the doughty Major, but finally, when he was discovered, the shadows of a large chimney had been used as a refuge from the dreaded onslaught of the whaleboatmen. He was allowed to make up a bundle of necessaries and hurried to the boat. The parties were there--having met with more or less success--but the principal game, the officials Washington so much desired to secure, were not among the number. Business had unexpectedly summoned them to New York the day before or their capture would have been effected. After the war Capt. Mariner resided many years at Harlem and on Ward’s Island. He was classed as a strange and eccentric man, full of wit and an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes, but was not especially popular among his associates and neighbors.

One of the favorite cruising haunts of Capt. Hyler was between Egg Harbor and Staten Island. He was a man of wonderful nerve, with great power of endurance, fertile in resources, and prompt to act in situations requiring instant action.

Mention has been made of the British fleet sent to patrol the waters of the sound. The corvette, mounting twenty guns, anchored one foggy evening almost abreast of Hyler’s headquarters, a short distance from Egg Harbor. The tap of the drum and words of command from the officer of the deck could be distinctly heard on shore. Incredible as it may appear, Capt. Hyler determined to attempt the capture of the formidable cruiser. He had ascertained that the vessel was short-handed, having dropped from her station above with the intention of making an early departure for Halifax. The available force of the intrepid whaleboat commander consisted of forty-six well-armed and resolute men, expert at the oar, trained to silence and dexterity, so as not to be heard at close quarters, even with three or four boats pulling in company. Well had they been named “marine devils” by their red-coated foes.

The whaleboat’s men were divided into two parties, Hyler taking one, his Lieutenant the other. Two swift boats were soon pulling up stream, with oars muffled, keeping well in the shadows of the rugged shore. The night was intensely dark, rendering so small an object as a boat close to the surface of the water impossible to be detected by the sharpest-eyed sentry and lookout. Once in the full influence of the tide, a grapnel was thrown overboard, to which was attached a long, stout line. All hands disappeared beneath the thwarts, and but two heads were visible, the leader in the stern sheets and the bow oarsman, who veered away the line. Like a shadow, the whaleboat in charge of the Lieutenant hovered alongside the corvette, while the officer, his head on a level with the muzzle of the guns, swung himself into the forechannels to reconnoitre. The anchor watch had gathered forward, the officer of the deck was leaning idly over the cabin companionway, intent upon what was passing below, while the marine in the after gangway nodded at his post. Dropping cautiously on deck the daring whaleboatman glanced hastily about him. A book covered with canvas, hanging from a nail beside a spy-glass in a rack over the steps leading to the officers’ quarters, caught his vigilant eye. Gliding swiftly aft he grasped the coveted prize, regaining his boat without being perceived. He had secured the signal-book of the Royal Navy.

Dropping under the stern, the open windows revealed the officers drinking wine and engaging in a game of cards. Capt. Hyler listened to the report of his assistant, put the signal-book in a place of safety, and at once pulled for the corvette. The boats boarded on opposite sides, the whaleboatmen gaining the deck before an alarm was sounded, the officers, as well as the watch on deck, being secured without creating a general alarm. The surprise was complete. Prisoners were handcuffed and conveyed on shore, while the commander wept and wrung his hands when the flames of his vessel lit up the surrounding gloom, recognizing that his career as an officer had been forever disgraced. It was not until the vessel had blown up that the commander informed Capt. Hyler that the cabin transom had held £50,000 in gold.

One of the most daring exploits of Capt. Hyler was his visit to New York with his men disguised and equipped as a British press gang. The object was to secure the notorious renegade and Tory, Lippincott--Pete Lippincott--who had savagely butchered Capt. Huddy, a brave Continental officer. The patriots had offered a handsome reward for him, dead or alive, and Capt. Hyler resolved to seek him in his lair.

With a select crew in one whaleboat he sallied forth from the kilns after dark, reaching the foot of Whitehall Street as the church bells chimed 10 o’clock. Secreting the boat and leaving a guard to watch it, the party pursued their way through Canvasstown, as it was then called. It was the worst locality in the city, the lowest sink hole of iniquity possible for a human being to frequent. The house of Lippincott was reached, surrounded and the inmates secured, but the head of the family, fortunately for himself, had that night attended a cock-fight, and saved his neck from the fate he richly deserved. On the return trip down the bay a large East Indiaman was encountered, which fell an easy prize to the whaleboatmen. The crew were set adrift, the ship taken to a secure hiding-place, where the rich cargo was removed and the ship burned.

Capt. Hyler and his men once paid a visit to the house of a noted loyalist Colonel, residing at a place known as Flatlands. The Colonel was taken, the house searched, and two bags, supposed to contain guineas, passed into the whaleboat. When daylight dawned, while pulling up the Raritan, the bags were examined, and found to contain pennies, belonging to the church of Flatlands. The Colonel had the satisfaction of indulging in a hearty laugh at the expense of his captors.

Hyler operated on the land as well as upon the water, and with equal success. In addition to capturing a number of richly laden prizes, he took a Hessian Major at night from the house of Michael Bergen, at Gowanus, when his soldiers were encamped upon the lawn in front of the house. He surprised and took a Sergeant’s guard at Canarsie from the headquarters of their Captain. The guard were at supper, their muskets stacked together in the hall, with no one by to guard them, and fell an easy prize to the whaleboatmen. The arms were seized, as well as the silver belonging to the followers of the King, and while the officers were compelled to accompany their captors, the privates were directed to report to Col. Axtell, in New Jersey, with the compliments of Capt. Hyler.

On another occasion he captured four trading sloops, one of which was armed, at Sandy Hook. One was carried off, the balance burned, the share of prize money per man amounting to £400.

The captain of a vessel taken by Hyler published the following account of the affair in the Pocket in 1779:

“I was on deck with three or four men on a very pleasant evening, with our sentinel fixed. Our vessel was at anchor near Sandy Hook, and the Lion, man-of-war, about a quarter of a mile distant. It was calm and clear, with a full moon, about three hours above the horizon. Suddenly we heard several pistols discharged into the cabin and perceived at our elbows a number of armed persons, fallen, as it were, from the clouds, who ordered us to surrender in a moment or we were dead men. Upon this we were turned into the hold and the hatches barred over us. The firing, however, had alarmed the man-of-war, who hailed us and desired to know what was the matter, and Capt. Hyler was kind enough to answer for us, saying that all was well, which satisfied the cruiser.”

But a brief outline covering the deeds of the whaleboatmen of the Revolution has been given. But it will serve to convince the reader that their valorous deeds in the cause of liberty have received but scant notice and courtesy from the hands of most historians. It is impossible to restrain one’s admiration of their skill and courage, and although their usefulness ended with the Revolutionary War, their names and gallantry have a high place in naval annals.

ADVENTUROUS CAREER AND PATHETIC END OF CAPTAIN JAMES DREW.

In the Episcopal churchyard connected with the quaint village of Lewes, Del., stands a monument, stained and weather-beaten, bearing an inscription all but worn away by the action of time and force of the elements. It was erected in memory of James Drew, a valorous though reckless young American seaman who fought bravely during the Revolution. His career and services deserve a more extended and prominent place in history than the few obscure lines traced on the crumbling marble which marks the neglected resting-place of the brave but unfortunate patriot.

James Drew was an early applicant for a naval position, but, owing to a scarcity of ships, failed to obtain from Congress the commission and active service he longed for. He bore the English no love, and when serving as second mate, sailing out of Philadelphia, had been taken out of the vessel while in a West India port to serve on an English man-of-war. Drew was a tall, powerful stripling, whose breadth of chest and shoulders and bright, intelligent face formed a physique not to be passed lightly by. He was seized under the pretense of being an English deserter and quickly transferred to the deck of an English frigate. For two years he found no opportunity of escaping from his persecutors, and in that time had acquired a perfect mastery of naval drill and discipline which afterwards proved of inestimable value to the young commander. The battle of Bunker Hill had been fought when young Drew severed his connection with the Royal Navy in the following manner:

He had won the favor and good opinion of all the officers of the Medusa frigate, then lying at Halifax, save one, the Lieutenant who had been the means of impressing the young American. He had not forgotten or forgiven the bitter invectives indulged in by Drew when struggling for liberty on the deck of the molasses drogher, and to the end remained his uncompromising enemy. The officer in question had advanced in rank until he filled the position of second in command, while Drew held a warrant as gunner. On some trumped-up wrong the First Lieutenant, in the absence of his superior, summoned the object of his hatred to the quarterdeck, where, in presence of the ship’s company, he disgraced and struck the American. Drew incurred the penalty of death by knocking his persecutor down, and before a hand could be outstretched to prevent him he had leaped overboard and was swimming for the shore. The marines fired promptly upon the escaping fugitive, while four boats were piped away with orders to bring the deserter back, dead or alive. The shadows of a dark and stormy night soon enveloped the retreating form of Drew, who, diving beneath the surface, doubled on his pursuers, swam toward the frigate, coming up under the heavy counter, gaining a footing on the rudder. A passing wood schooner afforded him the opportunity of making an attempt for liberty and evading the fate which stared him in the face. He concealed himself on board until clear of the harbor, boarded another vessel that was bound down the coast, succeeding after many perils and hardships in once more regaining his native land. At Philadelphia his reputation as a seaman and navigator was well known, while Robert Morris, the great financier of the Revolution and friend of Washington, took the young man in charge. Through the influence of his powerful protector he could have had a Lieutenant’s commission in the Continental navy, but this was changed for a plan which suited young Drew’s temperament much better.

Provided with letters from Morris to a number of celebrated personages in France, Drew crossed the ocean authorized to negotiate for a large loan of gold and war material, and succeeded by dint of persuasion and the influence of Morris’ name in obtaining command of a French armed ship called the De Brock. No time was lost in preparing for sea, the only drawback to Drew’s satisfaction being the fact that his crew consisted entirely of Frenchmen. With the gold intended for the cause of liberty stowed in the run, with ammunition and small arms placed below hatches, Drew sailed for America, carrying in the cabin a number of French officers seeking service under Washington, and who had authority over the treasure, relative to its handling and disposition. The nature of the vessel, destination, and character of cargo had been kept secret as possible, enabling him to gain the sea without detention, and the course was shaped for Synopuxette Bay, near where now stands Ocean City, Md. The point was reached in safety and the contents of the De Brock’s hold were soon landed. Wagons, under the escort of soldiers, accompanied by the French passengers, conveyed both treasure and war material to Wilmington. The arms and ammunition were at once forwarded to army headquarters, while the gold, for some mysterious reason, was deposited in the cellar of a large mansion occupied by French officers serving with the Americans. There it remained all winter, so states the records, though why Robert Morris did not assume possession of the specie, which was so much needed, is not so plain.

In the spring the officers were compelled to shift their quarters, when it was discovered that the gold which had been so jealously guarded had been by some mysterious process abstracted from the original packages. The flaming torches held on high by the Frenchmen revealed naught but walls and arches of solid masonry, with windows barred and massive doors bolted and locked. No indications of violence could be found. No developments concerning the strange affair were ever unearthed, and the mystery involved with the disappearance of the gold remains a dark and forgotten episode of the Revolution.

The De Brock, meanwhile, had not been idle. Once rid of her cargo, Capt. Drew found a way of creating vacancies among the crew, until, with a freshening breeze, he passed the capes, his ship manned wholly by hardy and experienced fishermen, well drilled and anxious to meet the enemy. Early on the morning of the third day a sail was sighted in the southern offing, close hauled and standing for the De Brock. In a short time the character of the stranger was revealed, as she displayed the ensign and pennant of Old England, and on the part of the De Brock, a banner bearing the device of a rattlesnake, with thirteen rattles, coiled at the foot of a tree, in the act of striking. Both vessels had cleared for action, and no time was lost in coming to close quarters. Running before the wind, yardarm and yardarm within half pistol-shot distance, broadsides were exchanged in rapid succession. The gunnery on both sides was none of the best, which fact rendered Drew impatient, who, watching a favorable opportunity, when both vessels were enshrouded in smoke, motioned to his sailing-master, and with a crash the two vessels swung together.

“Follow me, men!” shouted the impetuous Drew, leaping on the quarterdeck of his adversary, cutlass in hand, to find himself immediately confronted by the English commander. A mutual shout of astonishment and fierce exultation from each revealed the fact that the leaders were no strangers to each other. The Lieutenant of a press gang of a few years back had won the epaulets of a commander, while his would-be victim confronted him, the leader of a powerful and well-disciplined force. As their swords crossed no heed was bestowed upon the conflict raging about them. All of their energies were concentrated upon one object, to have each other’s life-blood.

The British commander, forced backward a step as Drew pressed him fiercely, stumbled over a ringbolt and fell at his opponent’s feet.

“Resume your sword,” said Drew, contemptuously; “I prefer to kill you with your weapon in your hand.”

“Look to yourself, rebel and deserter. Your life is forfeited, and no mercy shall you receive from my hand.”

“Wait until I ask it,” was the reply, and the duel was resumed. The Englishman’s sword snapped at the hilt; but, leaping nimbly aside, he drew a pistol, firing point-blank at his foe. Drew felt his cocked hat lifted from his head, his scalp feeling as if seared by a red-hot iron. At the same instant his sword passed through the commander’s body, and the feud between them was settled forever. The ship was carried, and was manned by a prize crew, but was lost in a terrific storm which shortly after swept the Southern coast.

The cruise of the De Brock extended as far as the West Indies, many a sick Jamaica trader falling into the hand of the patriots. After a long series of successes Drew returned to Lewes, recruited and sailed again.

To recount all the incidents attending the career of the De Brock and her commander would no doubt prove of absorbing interest, but the records have been lost, and little remains to be related concerning him save the manner in which the valorous seaman lost his life.

He had become enamored with one of Lewes’ fair maidens, and she, looking into the depths of her lover’s eyes, had secured from him a solemn promise to give up the life he was leading upon the completion of his next voyage. Shortly after the De Brock sailed upon what was indeed her final cruise.

In the course of time two large English ships were captured, loaded with valuable cargoes, and carrying an immense amount of gold specie. A gale of wind had separated them from the convoy, and, when overtaken by the De Brock, were tacking off shore to discover, if possible, some signs of their scattered fleet. The treasure had been transferred to the afterhold of the American cruiser, while rich bundles and packages of merchandise were also stowed in a place of safety. The value of the prize was estimated at not far from £1,000,000, sufficient to make all connected with the De Brock more than comfortable for life.

Satisfied with the unprecedented success that had befallen him, Drew shaped his course for Lewes, driving the De Brock over the turbulent surges of the Atlantic as she had never been forced before. As the capes of Delaware were sighted, the elated commander allowed the sailing-master to assume charge, while he, naturally exultant over the wonderful success of his efforts, and in consideration that he was about to take final leave of his officers and crew, deemed the occasion one demanding from him an expression of his appreciation of their valor and faithfulness. He forthwith ordered his steward and servants to prepare the table in the cabin, and a luxurious entertainment was prepared. The shores of his native land were close aboard, the rugged outlines of his birthplace were before him. The cheering tides of prosperity swept him onward to a safe haven, and almost in imagination he felt the soft lips, warm caresses, and waving locks of his beloved awaiting his arrival on the pebbly beach.

The decanters had been circulating rapidly, when, amid the revels, the piercing strains of the boatswain’s whistle and his mates were heard summoning all hands to shorten sail. The flapping of canvas and thrashing of blocks, with loud words of command, were heard above the boisterous mirth and incessant clinking of glasses, which, in a measure, had kept from the ears of revelers the whistling of the rising gale through the taut rigging. The sea had suddenly sprang up, causing the De Brock to pitch and roll in a very erratic and uncomfortable manner.

Capt. Drew, flushed with wine, his brain clouded by the fumes of the choicest vintage of France, appeared on deck, and, in an unsteady voice, chided the cool, experienced, steady-going old sailing-master for reducing sail and placing single reefs in the topsails. He was in no mood to have the speed of the good ship checked, with the spires and cottages of Lewes in sight from the quarterdeck. Besides, were not the eyes of his sweetheart upon him, as well as those of his neighbors and friends? He would show them what their townsman, the favorite of fortune, could do, and what the De Brock was capable of performing. Trumpet in hand, he thundered forth order after order, resulting in all sail being made again, until the topgallant sails were bulging and straining at sheets and braces as the wind swept fiercely o’er the darkening sea. Hauling by the wind, in order to head up for the harbor, the full force of the sharp, whistling tempest was felt upon the straining, tugging canvas of the wildly careening ship, and from many a bronzed and furrowed cheek came glances of astonishment and apprehension, as seamen, who had gathered experience in every clime, looked anxiously aloft, to windward, and on the quarterdeck, where stood Drew in full Continental uniform. But such was the discipline on the De Brock that not a murmur reached the ears of the master spirit. He had charge of the ship now, which no one on board would have the hardihood to interfere with, knowing full well the impetuous and intolerant spirit of the commander when his mettle was up. No one who valued his life would have hazarded the shadow of a suggestion.

Unyielding and stubborn, Drew stood to windward, while a heavier squall than usual whitened the crests of the swelling surges. A crash, a shriek, a flashing of snowy canvas against the sullen, gloomy background, and as the gallant vessel plunged into a seething sea, rolling heavily to leeward, the hungry waves leaped above the submerged rail, a black torrent of roaring water choked the open hatchways, and the De Brock, like a flash of light, a cloud of feathery vapor, disappeared from the horrified gaze of the interested spectators, who with glasses had been watching the movements and wondering at the extraordinary press of canvas being carried upon the vessel.