CHAPTER VI.

JACK BELL’S SECRET.

Three more trips did Dicky make to Tiverton, and each time, under the cover of a transaction in beef cattle, carried important news. He was rather puzzled, though, to know what the news was, as Squire Stavers did not tell him the contents of any letters but the first. Neither the Squire nor Mr. Barton ever mentioned General Prescott’s name before him. Dicky rashly concluded that the scheme to capture the British general had been abandoned.

He had never seen General Prescott to know him in his life. There were crowds of British officers dashing about the town with orderlies trotting after them; but which was the general he did not know. In fact, after a while Dicky begun to suspect that his trips were for the sole purpose of conveying news about the cattle after all, and felt a distinct decrease in his own importance.

Jack Bell, too, seeing that everything appeared quiet and that the British had lately had successes, especially in having captured Major-General Henry Lee,—“Light Horse Harry,”—began to be very much depressed. He and Dicky discussed affairs very often, and both of them came to the melancholy conclusion that Newport would remain in the hands of the British until the end of the war and that nothing would be attempted in the way of a capture.

The Americans were anxious to make an exchange for General Lee, but had no officer of rank high enough to offer for him. This was a mortifying fact, and Jack Bell, commenting on it, wondered why the plan to kidnap General Prescott had fallen through.

One night, though, Squire Stavers sent for him, and Jack came away from the Squire’s house wearing a look of delighted expectancy.

About a week after that, one morning as soon as he wakened—which was late, as he was out all night—he called Dicky, and the two strolled together toward a lonely point of rocks some distance from any house and where they were not likely to be disturbed by anyone.

The sun shone brightly, while a sharp wind ruffled the waters of Narragansett Bay and gave a kick to the sterns of several vessels that were rounding Point Judith.

It fluttered the pennants of a great British fleet that lay off Block Island and dashed the steel blue water fiercely against the rocky shores upon which the town of Newport is perched. So blue was the sky and so blue was the sea that they came together invisibly on the far horizon, and a fine English frigate which was sailing in under a huge spread of canvas seemed to be suspended between the sky and the sea.

Among the fleet there was the usual activity and business of the morning. A great line-of-battle ship, with the red pennant flying at her fore, indicating that she was taking on powder, lay out in the foreground. An admiral’s barge at the gangway of a handsome black frigate showed that she had distinguished company on board, and the sound of the band playing on the quarterdeck and the noise made by the parading of the marine guard was distinctly borne ashore by the wind. On every ship something was going on in the way of the orderly bustle of a man-of-war.

On shore, too, the morning drill was taking place, and the regiments of redcoats made a brilliant splash of color in the sombre tones of the ancient town. The scene was charming in itself, but to Jack Bell and Dicky Stubbs nothing was more disheartening than the evidences of the might of England.

Presently the advancing frigate, which was trotting along briskly, came near enough for Jack Bell to recognize her.

“That’s the Diomede, sonny,” said Jack dolefully, as if the arrival of another British ship filled his cup of woe to overflowing. “That’s Cap’n Forrester on the bridge—a mighty fine man he is, if he is a Britisher.”

Dicky agreed with this as with everything else that Jack Bell advanced.

As the frigate rounded to, in her usual grand style, Jack’s eyes kindled although he sighed. “It do a sailor man’s heart good for to see a ship anchored that way. I’ve knowed the Diomede ever since she slid off the stocks, and she never was counted on bein’ no great sailer—but the sailin’ qualities of a ship depends on the cap’n—d’ ye mind that, youngster; and Cap’n Forrester, he knows how to handle a ship, d’ ye see, boy? But I’m a-wishin’ she warn’t flying that ’ere flag at her peak. If ’twas only the American flag now!”

“Yonder ’tis,” said Dicky, pointing across to Narragansett Bay, where he fancied he could see it flying in the blue air.

“Maybe you can see it,” answered Jack reflectively as he gazed over the blue water.

“How I wish I were fighting under it!” cried Dicky, whose patriotic ardor increased rather than abated by living under British rule.

“I dessay,” remarked Jack slyly, who was much given to “pulling a leg” at Dicky’s expense, “if our people over yonder knowed about you, they’d be most as distrested as they are about Gineral Lee bein’ held by the British—’twould take a major-gineral to exchange for Gineral Lee, but maybe they could git you for a major or a colonel, p’r’aps. What a pity they ain’t never heard on you!”

Dicky at this turned very red, and giving a vicious kick to a stone sent it skimming across the water.

“Anyway,” said Dicky presently in a low voice, looking around to be sure they were completely alone on the rocks, “I did the best I could. I took three letters to Tiverton and back—and I knew what they was meant for too.”

“True for you, boy,” said Jack, slapping him on the back; “and now tell me, what do you think I fetched you down on these rocks for?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, then,” said Jack very softly, “sumpin’ ’s up to-night. I’ve knowed it for more ’n a week, and I tell you because we want your valuable sarvices.” Jack could not refrain from giving Dicky this little dig. “And I’ve pledged my word, as you are a safe boy and ain’t a-goin’ to blow the gaff.”

“You’re right there, Mr. Bell,” answered Dicky proudly. “I ain’t the sort to blow the gaff.”

“Well, then, listen to me and come close, so I can speak easy. There’s a plot on hand to-night to bag Gineral Prescott. He’s a long-headed old feller, although he is mighty proud, treatin’ quarterdeck folks like they was foremast people. But he knows more ’n most of ’em what to do, so that’s w’y the patriots is hankerin’ arter him. At nine o’clock to-night a boat is goin’ to be pulled acrost the bay, and Cap’n Barton with twenty men’s goin’ to sneak up to the Overing House, where the Gin’ral is stayin’, while they’re fixin’ reg’lar headquarters for him. They’re goin’ to take the house by boardin’—I dunno what the soldiers’ word is for ketchin’ him with a rush—and they’re goin’ to put him in the boat and take him back to Providence Plantations. Now the redcoats is monstrous keerless about standin’ watch round the Overing House—they’ve got a sentry or two that marches up and down and then goes and stands in the corner o’ the house by the chimney—but Cap’n Barton wants some one to give him the word about twelve o’clock to-night when the coast is clear.”

“And I’m to give the word,” cried Dicky, jumping with delight.

“Not if you act that a-way,” answered Jack severely. “When sailor men has got work in hand they don’t go bawlin’ out and jumpin’ like a lizard over it. They says ‘Aye, Aye, sir,’ and then they goes and does it.”

Dicky, quite crestfallen, awaited Jack’s next words.

“I’d give the word myself, for I ain’t under no promise to Cap’n Forrester. He just told me the redcoats would see that I didn’t git away—and they do watch me pretty sharp—so most likely I’d be the very one they’d suspect. So I says to Squire Stavers: ‘There’s that little tow-headed Dicky Stubbs that I knows has got a head on his shoulders and a pair of eyes as is worth sumpin’—and he kin hang round the house and won’t nobody think it’s nothin’ but stayin’ out ag’in his mother’s orders’—and you’re that chap,” said Jack Bell, giving Dicky a friendly thwack that nearly sent him head foremost into the sea.

Dick’s face was a picture—it was fairly beaming with delight.

“To-night!” he whispered excitedly; “twelve o’clock; to keep a bright lookout round the Overing House!”

“Purcisely,” answered Jack Bell; “the boat will be down at the cove, and when you see a man comin’ along the ravine through the woods from the cove, with one hand raised up this way—you’ll slip up and let him know if the coast is clear; and if the gineral is in bed—as they wants him to be—you kin tell by the blowin’ out of his candle in the room in the nor’west corner where he sleeps. So now, go along with you, and don’t come a-nigh me to-day, ’cause folks might be wonderin’ what we was a-talkin’ about. And I’ll tell your mother some time to-day, as you will be out p’r’aps all night—but you won’t be doin’ any harm. And if they catch you, mind you, set up a mighty howl, like a great baby, and tell ’em you’re afraid your mother’ll give you the cat—so they’ll think you’re too young to know anythin’—and now be off with you.”

Dicky, with a beaming face, ran off. The first thing that occurred to him was: “If they do nab the British general, what a fine song it will make!” for he had by no means given up his ambition to write a song, and a rebel song at that.