CHAPTER XXV.

THE CAPTURE OF THE KENSHAW.

Jack Somers sat down on a log at the mouth of the bayou to await the arrival of the cutter. He was entirely satisfied with what had been done thus far, and everything was certainly working right; but he would have felt much safer in regard to the future if such a man as Mr. Granger had been in command of the expedition. Mr. Dickey was no older than himself, and had a higher respect for his own personal dignity than for anything else. And indiscretion might ruin the whole affair, and return the party to the Middy empty-handed and crest-fallen. Jack hoped for the best; and, when the boat appeared, he jumped on board, and reported to Mr. Dickey the success of his mission.

“Very well, Somers. You have behaved yourself with great gallantry, and I shall take occasion to report your good conduct to the captain,” replied Mr. Dickey.

“Thank your honor,” added Jack, removing his cap, though he could not help laughing in his sleeve at the magnificent bearing of the young officer.

“It is a great satisfaction to an officer to have men upon whom he can rely, when difficulty and dangerous service is to be performed,” continued Mr. Dickey, addressing the engineer.

“Yes, sir,” responded that officer,--a man of forty, who had seen more service before Mr. Dickey was born than the latter had ever performed.

Jack Somers resumed his position in the bow of the boat, on the lookout now for the cotton-steamer. After the expedition had proceeded a couple of miles or more, a second lantern was discovered on shore, which was evidently another signal for the pilot. Jack reported the fact to Mr. Dickey; and that gentleman was by this time so well trained, that he knew exactly what to do. Our hero and another man were ordered to land, and secure the signal-man. The work was accomplished, and the lantern hung upon a branch of a tree; for Jack concluded that another man could not be spared for such inactivity as simply holding a lantern.

This signal was displayed at a bend in the bayou; and, when the cutter came up to the curve, the blazing fires of the cotton-steamer were discovered at the distance of less than half a mile. Mr. Dickey at once became excited by the brilliant prospect before him. A smart dash, and the valuable prize would be his own; and what a joy it would be to report the success of his mission!

“Give way, my lads!” said Mr. Dickey, warming up with the enthusiasm of the moment.

“He’ll spoil the whole of it!” groaned Jack in the ear of Tom Longstone. “We shall have to sneak back like whipped chickens!”

“Why, no, my darling. We can board her, and carry her decks at one pull,” whispered Tom.

“We may do that; but the rebels will set the prize on fire, disable her engine, and run her aground, or something of that sort, as soon as they see us coming. We ought to pounce upon them like cats, when they are not thinking.”

“Here comes the engineer,” added Tom as Mr. Gordon came forward to obtain a better view of the scene of operations.

Jack ventured to suggest to him what he had just said to Tom; and the engineer volunteered to open the subject to Mr. Dickey. The result was that the men were ordered to lie on their oars. The boat was then moved into a recess in the bank, where it was concealed by overhanging bushes.

“Now, my lads,” said Mr. Dickey, when he had placed the boat to his satisfaction. “I expect every man to do his duty. We shall board that steamer as she comes down, and carry her in the twinkling of an eye.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the crew in a low tone.

“Silence, men!”

The cotton-steamer was now in motion. The signal-lantern at the bend below assured her pilot that everything was ready; and she came forward very slowly. Her great furnaces, which were opened occasionally when the firemen threw in wood, cast a broad glare upon the dark waters of the bayou. Every heart in the cutter was beating wild with expectation as she advanced. She was now within a few rods of the boat. Her forward-deck was but a few inches above the surface of the water, presenting a most inviting prospect for a boarding-party.

“All ready, my lads!” said Mr. Dickey in a low tone. “Give way!”

The boat dashed forward; and Jack, with the painter in his hand, leaped on board, and made it fast to a cleat on the forecastle. Tom Longstone was by his side; and, as Mr. Dickey had not thought to make a particular distribution of his characters for the exciting drama which was now acting, the two quartermasters, animated probably by the instinct of their profession, rushed up the stairs to the boiler-deck, and thence to the hurricane-deck, from which Jack, outstripping his companion, bounded into the wheel-house, where, with pistol in hand, he confronted the astonished Litchfield, _alias_ Lunsley.

“Surrender, or you are a dead man!” shouted Jack.

“Who are you?” demanded the pilot with a horrid oath.

“Do you surrender? or shall I blow your brains out?” yelled Jack, as Tom Longstone tumbled into the wheel-house.

At this moment, the boat stopped; for Mr. Gordon, the engineer, had prudently taken possession of the machinery as soon as he came on board, to prevent the pilot from running the boat aground.

“Mind the helm, Jack, and I’ll settle this ’ere chap,” said Tom, as he approached the pilot, and thrust his pistol in his face.

“Who are you?” growled Lunsley, retreating into the corner of the wheel-house.

“I’ll larn ye who I am, you black-hearted traitor!” added Tom, as he seized him by the collar.

“Hands off, my old joker!” replied the pilot, shaking off his grasp; for he was a powerful man.

“All right, my hearty! If you don’t surrender like a Christian, I’ll send you down to Davy Jones!”

Tom evidently intended to put a pistol-ball through his head; but Jack begged him not to cheat the gallows of its due. After some further parley, Lunsley concluded to surrender, and gave up his pistols, which he had had no opportunity to take from his pockets. He was handed over to a couple of marines, and secured in a safe place.

The cotton-steamer had now come to a dead stand. All the white men on board had been secured, including the captain, mate, clerk, engineers, and two pilots. The firemen were negroes; and, being by nature loyal, they were not molested.

“Our victory is complete,” said Mr. Dickey, who had now made his way to the wheel-house.

“I beg your honor’s pardon,” said Jack; “but there’s a battery of artillery on shore, and we had better not stay up here too long.”

“I don’t ask your advice, quartermaster,” replied the commander of the expedition.

“I beg your honor’s pardon,” added Jack with becoming humility.

Mr. Dickey walked down the hurricane-deck, and back, and then returned to the wheel-house.

“Strike one bell, quartermaster!” added he.

Jack obeyed the order, and the steamer started.

“Will your honor please to give me the course I am to steer?” asked Jack meekly.

“Down the stream, of course!” replied Mr. Dickey.

“I am no pilot, sir, for these waters; and she may stick hard and fast before we go ahead five fathoms.”

“Strike two bells, quartermaster!”

“Two bells, sir!” repeated Jack.

“We have no pilot, certainly,” said Mr. Dickey, more nervously; “but we must go ahead.”

“If your honor would send the boat ahead to sound, we could work her down very well,” suggested Jack, when he saw that the accomplished Mr. Dickey was absolutely at his wits’ end for an expedient.

The commander was graciously pleased to adopt this plan; and Tom Longstone was ordered to take one of the steamer’s lanterns, and sound out the channel in the boat. The veteran quartermaster took the lead from the forecastle, and proceeded to execute the order.

Mr. Dickey placed himself at Jack’s side at the wheel, and the steamer went ahead again. Her progress was necessarily very slow: but the lantern in the cutter was a safe guide; and, in due time, she reached the mouth of the bayou. The boat was then recalled, Raymond taken on board, and the steamer emerged into the great river. The commander was relieved from his nervous anxiety, and his remarks became more brilliant, though he displayed less of the self-sufficiency of his nature than might have been expected under the circumstances. The events of the night had inspired him with no small degree of respect for Quartermaster Somers, and he was less haughty than on former occasions.

The cotton-steamer had proceeded but a short distance down the river before the Middy was discovered steaming up. It is quite likely that Captain Bankhead suffered a great deal during the absence of the expedition, from anxiety for the safety of his men. The appearance of the prize must have been a great relief to him: for it removed from his mind a burden equal in weight to the whole cargo of cotton.

The Middy ran up alongside the Kenshaw,--which was the cotton-steamer’s name,--after hailing her, and learned that she was indeed the expected prize.

“Captain Bankhead. I have the honor to report the entire success of the expedition,” said Mr. Dickey, as he stepped on board the Middy.

“I congratulate you upon your success, Mr. Dickey,” replied the captain, grasping the hand of the proud and happy young officer. “I have been trembling for you every moment since your departure.”

“I am happy to say, sir, that everything has worked to my entire satisfaction. The men behaved themselves with great discretion and gallantry; and I would particularly recommend Quartermaster Somers to your favor.”

“Somers again!” laughed Captain Bankhead.

“He conducted himself with remarkable skill and gallantry, sir; and his conduct merits my entire approbation. I take great pleasure in reporting his excellent conduct to you, sir; and trust that his merit will not be overlooked.”

“It shall not be, Mr. Dickey. He shall be particularly mentioned in my despatch to the flag-officer,” replied the captain, who could hardly help laughing at the high-flown speech of Mr. Dickey.

The Kenshaw was run up to the bank of the river, and moored to a tree; for Captain Bankhead did not think it prudent to start for New Orleans without a pilot. The Middy came to anchor in a position where she could defend her from any attack from the shore.

Litchfield, the pilot, had been put in irons, and conveyed on board the Middy. He was silent and sullen, refusing to answer any questions put to him by the captain. In the morning, however, he appeared to be more tractable, and expressed his regret for his past conduct.

“I’m true to the Gover’ment, cap’n, and have been from the beginning,” said he.

“And for that reason you attempted to destroy my vessel!”

“No, sir: I only wanted to get that steamer out, and take her down to New Orleans. You haven’t any pilot on board now, cap’n; and, if you will only trust me, I’ll take the Kenshaw down for you, and prove that I’m a true man.”

“Very well: I will trust you,” replied Captain Bankhead.

“You will find that I’m all right.”

The pilot’s irons were taken off, and he was ordered into the boat. Mr. Dickey was appointed to the command of the Kenshaw as prize-master, and Jack was to go in her as wheelman. Captain Bankhead accompanied the party to the steamer; and, on boarding her, proceeded at once to the wheel-house, followed by Lunsley. Two marines, armed with muskets and pistols, were placed in the apartment.

“Somers,” said the captain, “you will remain at the wheel during the passage down. The pilot will give you steering directions. If the boat gets aground, you will immediately order the marines to shoot him!”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Jack.

“You needn’t take all that trouble, cap’n. I shall do my duty, honor bright,” added Lunsley.

“You have a strong inducement for doing it,” answered the captain as he left the wheel-house.

Mr. Dickey gave his orders, and the great furnaces of the Kenshaw blazed with renewed vigor. The fasts were cast off, and the steamer commenced her downward trip to New Orleans. The Middy kept close astern of her, with her guns shotted in readiness to defend her in case of an attack.

Jack Somers kept his station at the wheel-house for seven long hours, his breakfast and dinner being brought up to him. Lunsley said very little on the passage. He was apparently studying his chances to escape from the strong grip which held him in abeyance: but there sat the marines, pistol in hand, during the entire trip; and certain death was the penalty of even a suspicion of treachery.

At one o’clock, the Kenshaw made her landing at the Levee in New Orleans. The pilot was immediately delivered over to General Butler for safe keeping; and Jack, who had not slept a wink during the preceding night, appropriated the captain’s stateroom to his own use, and turned in.