CHAPTER II.

A GALLANT RESCUE.

The next morning ushered in a blustering day, and the wind blew so hard as to make it decidedly uncomfortable for small boats in the harbor.

In the forenoon a boat was lowered from the Diomede to take Jack Bell and Dicky Stubbs ashore. Captain Forrester had seen the admiral, and had got permission to let Jack Bell remain at Newport in a merely nominal imprisonment, upon the ground of the old sailor’s age; and with many thanks Jack bade the captain good-by and got in the boat, with Dicky after him.

The boat was commanded by young Forrester, the captain’s son, and so like his father that Jack felt as if he had turned back many pages of his life, and it was the Midshipman Forrester of twenty-five years ago before him.

The captain’s gig had put off from the ship with the captain, bound ashore, and was far behind the midshipman’s boat. The young midshipman steered straight for the landing-place, but he knew nothing of the tides and currents of the harbor. The fierce wind was against them, and he suddenly found the boat too close to the shore, and fast nearing a ledge of sunken rocks, around which the waves were boiling. As he half-rose from his seat the boat lurched violently and he suddenly lost his balance; in another moment he was jerked overboard and disappeared. A cry went up from every man in the boat except Jack Bell. It was not a mere everyday fall overboard, but a fall amid sharp-pointed rocks and dangerous eddies. Before the echo of that cry had died over the water, Jack Bell had kicked off his shoes, peeled off his jacket, and had plunged into the icy water after the young midshipman.

Every movement was plain to Captain Forrester in his gig, only a short distance away; and his crew, in a moment, pulled furiously toward the other boat.

Jack Bell had dived exactly over the spot where young Forrester had disappeared. In a minute or two he came up, but alone. At this the agonized father covered his face and groaned. But after a few long breaths Jack dived again. This time when he rose a great shout went up—he had young Forrester in his arms.

In another minute he was in the boat, which headed for the nearest shore, closely followed by the captain’s gig. Just above where they landed was a lonely little cottage, and as soon as the keel touched the sand two powerful sailors seized the unconscious young midshipman and, led by Jack Bell and followed by Dicky Stubbs, rushed up the steep incline toward the cottage.

Captain Forrester was not far behind, but when he reached the cottage the little midshipman’s clothes had been stripped from him, Jack Bell was vigorously rolling, rubbing, and pounding him, while Dicky Stubbs and his mother—for it was the Widow Stubbs’ plain cottage—were wringing out hot cloths to put on young Forrester. Just as Captain Forrester entered, the young midshipman gave a loud gasp and opened his eyes, only to close them again.

“He’s all right, sir,” cheerily called out Jack Bell, not stopping in his rubbing. “He’s wuth all the dead reefers betwixt Newport and Chiny. He got a whack on his head from some o’ them jagged rocks, and he just fainted like—but he’s a-comin’ to fast, sir.”

“He would not have been here to come to at all if it had not been for you, my friend,” said the captain in a choking voice.

Jack Bell said nothing,—he was too busy,—and the captain, seeing the color return to his boy’s face, and that he was breathing better at every moment, sat and watched with longing eyes his return to life. The Widow Stubbs was as useful in her way as Jack Bell, while Dicky seemed to have six hands and four legs, he was so helpful.

In half an hour the young fellow was laid in the widow’s plain though clean bed, and, except a little weakness, was as well as ever he was in his life, and was carried on board the Diomede that very afternoon. The story of Jack Bell’s plunge into the surf for him was known on board, and from that hour Jack was safe from being denounced as a deserter.

The fact that he was born in America had already deprived his offence of the moral guilt that would have attached to it. It was common enough for British sailors to be pressed into the service of Spanish and French ships when captured on merchant vessels, but there was an unwritten law that they should desert the first chance they had. This rule applied perfectly to Jack Bell, and his plucky dive after a young British officer secured for him that his past should be universally winked at among the officers and sailors at Newport who might recognize him.

That same night Captain Forrester came ashore and went straight to the Widow Stubbs’ cottage, where he felt certain he would meet the three persons he most desired to see there.

Sure enough, on opening the door he found the widow, Jack Bell, and the boy Dicky sitting before a blazing hickory fire in the humble living-room. The widow sat at her spinning wheel in one corner, and the wheel hummed merrily. They were so poor they could not afford even a tallow dip, but the fire made the tidy little place quite bright and cheery. Jack Bell sat on the wooden settle, and curled up by him was Dicky Stubbs.

Dicky had just been displaying his new accomplishments in the singing line, and the Widow Stubbs had swelled with pride at the display of Dicky’s talents. It was happiness enough to get him back alive and well, but to find him so grown, so much improved from the ragged urchin who had run away, and with such a wonderful new gift of singing, made the Widow Stubbs an uncommonly happy woman.

They all rose as Captain Forrester entered, and the widow gave him her only armchair.

“I have come to thank you all for my son’s life,” said Captain Forrester as soon as he was seated, “but especially Jack Bell, here, who risked his own life in jumping overboard among the rocks for my son. Of course I never can pay you for it—but here is something that at least may give you some comforts;” and the captain took from his breast a small package made up of golden sovereigns banded together and held it toward Jack Bell.

Jack, however, shook his head and folded his arms.

“I thank ’ee, sir, most respectful for ’em, and I don’t mean to hurt your feelin’s by refusin’; but I can’t take money for savin’ anybody’s life—and leastways from you, Cap’n Forrester—as was”— Jack Bell paused, smiled knowingly, and then continued: “This ’ere boy sings a song called ‘Old Shipmates.’”

“Yes, I know,” answered the captain, smiling back and knowing that Jack meant that he and the captain had been shipmates; “but think of the pleasure you would give me to know that this little present would make your old age comfortable.”

“True, sir,” answered Jack; “but I ain’t used to livin’ on my money, and I’d be a sight happier if I had sumpin’ to do, like bein’ a night watchman or some sich thing. You see, sir, I has had a watch now for more ’n forty year, and it seems so ornnateral for me to git into a standin’ bed place and know I ain’t got to hear the boatswain’s call when it’s time to turn out, that I can’t sleep a wink. Now it seems to me, sir, as if I had a watch on shore I could walk up and down this ’ere town callin’ out the hours, and it would seem like I was standin’ my reg’lar watch.”

“But couldn’t you stand watch on shore, as you call it, just as well if you knew you had a little money put away?”

“Not for savin’ a life, sir,” answered Jack as politely as ever; but the captain knew then there was no hope of his taking the money. “If you’d be so kind, sir, as to git me the place as watchman, I wouldn’t ax no better.”

“You shall certainly have a watchman’s place,” said the captain, who mentally added, “if I have to pay your wages out of my own pocket.”

“It would seem mightily like the lookout,” continued Jack evidently tickled with his new scheme. “I dessay I’d forgit and call out: ‘Eight bells! Bright light, weather cathead!’ instid o’ ‘Twelve o’clock, and all’s well!’”

The captain laughed at this and then turned to the Widow Stubbs:—

“And you, madam, and your son—will you not permit me to give you some little token of gratitude for your help in restoring my son?”

The Widow Stubbs blushed at this, but, like Jack Bell, she had scruples about taking any recompense for the saving of life, especially as she was a woman of some education and stood a little higher in the world than Jack Bell.

“No, sir, I thank you; but I could not accept money from anyone. What I did was very little, and what my boy did was still less. I am glad, though, we were able to do that little.”

The captain felt disappointed when he put his money back in his breast pocket, but he was too much the gentleman to insist on these humble people receiving what they felt themselves above taking.

“At all events,” he said, looking toward Dicky’s round, bright face, “I might be able to do something for your boy.”

“I am afraid not,” answered the widow with a faint smile. “We are patriots—my boy and I; my husband was killed only six months ago in the Continental Army, and there is nothing that a British officer could do for him, no matter how kindly meant.”

“What do you mean to do with him at present?” asked Captain Forrester.

The widow shook her head.

“I have just got him back after he ran away. I have not had time to think; but there is always work hereabouts for a good strong boy like Dicky.”

“Provided he does not run away again,” said Captain Forrester.

Dicky turned a rosy red at finding himself the subject of conversation and astonished his mother by stuttering out,—

“P-p-please, sir, don’t the British ever give folks their parole? I—I mean, let ’em—go—if they promise they won’t do so any more?”

The Widow Stubbs heard this with surprise and indignation. She had been much distressed when Dicky had run away to join the Continental navy, although he never got farther than the merchant ship Betsey; but his apparent eagerness to promise he would not do so any more struck her as a want of spirit in the boy that mortified her keenly.

“Why, Dicky Stubbs!” she exclaimed, and said no more for very shame of him.

“Yes; we take paroles,” said Captain Forrester, supposing Dicky knew it referred only to officers.

“Then, sir,” cried Dicky, whose ideas of a parole were very hazy, “all I’ve got to say is that I don’t want no parole,—I wouldn’t take it if you was to offer it to me,—and I ain’t going to give no promise about not running away again. Just as soon as I am big enough to carry my father’s musket I’m a-going to enlist in the ’Merican army under General Washington, and it won’t be long before I do it, neither!”

This sudden outbreak was followed by the Widow Stubbs clasping Dicky in her arms and crying,“That’s my own boy!” while Jack Bell said “Hooray!” under his breath.

But Captain Forrester, instead of sternly calling upon Dicky to recant, as Dicky hoped, who meant to hurl defiance at him, only laughed. Dicky could have cried with rage and disappointment when the captain got up, still laughing, and said:—

“General Washington will gain a valuable recruit, and King George a dangerous enemy.”

“I hope you’ll excuse him,” said the widow, smiling, but a little ashamed of Dicky’s forwardness; “he doesn’t mean to be impudent.”

“I know it,” said the captain. “He is a lad of spirit, and I like that kind. I will now bid you good evening with a thousand thanks for your kindness to my son; and if you get in any trouble with that youngster of yours, write to General Prescott and mention my name; and as for you, Bell, the less we say about the days on the Indomptable and the old Colossus, the better, eh?”

Jack Bell grinned broadly at that and answered:—

“I knowed, sir, you wouldn’t blow the gaff on a old shipmate.”

“Good-by, then,” said Captain Forrester. “You shall be made a watchman; and remember, if you get in any trouble you must manage to communicate with me; but I hope that prosperity may attend all of you, whom I can never forget and must always feel grateful to.”

The Widow Stubbs made a low bow, Jack Bell saluted, and Dicky, getting a lantern, lighted the captain to his boat, which lay at the foot of the cliff.