“What?” asked the American privateersman.
“Why, the truth is,” said the Welshman, “that I and my poor fellows have been accustomed, every Monday morning, to drop a penny each into that box for the purpose of sending out missionaries to preach the Gospel to the heathen; but it’s all over now.”
The American seemed to be much abashed.
“Indeed,” said he, “that is very good of you.” And, pausing a few moments, he looked abstractedly into the air, humming a tune beneath his breath.
“Captain,” said he, at length, “I’ll not hurt a hair of your head, nor touch your vessel.”
So saying, he turned on his heel, took to his boat, and left the Welshman to pursue its even course. And—as the privateer filled away to starboard—a voice came from the deck of the helpless merchantman,
“God bless Captain Silas Talbot and his crew!”
But we do not know what the owners of the privateer said to the humane skipper about this little affair when he returned to New York. They might have uttered hard words about a Welshman who scored upon him by means of a pious fraud. At any rate Silas Talbot had done a good deed.
This valorous privateer was born at Dighton, Massachusetts, on the Sakonet River about the year 1752; beginning his career at sea as a cabin-boy. At twenty-four he was a captain in the United States army and fought in the Revolutionary war, for a time, on land. But—by reason of his nautical training—he was placed in command of a fireship at New York, and was soon promoted to be Major—but still with duties upon the water and not the shore. While here, a soldier came to him, one day, with his eyes alight in excitement.
“Major,” said he, “there’s a chance for a splendid little enterprise. Just off the coast of Rhode Island, near Newport, lies a British vessel, moored to a kedge. She mounts fifteen guns and around her is stretched a stout netting to keep off a party of boarders. But we can cut it and get through, I’ll warrant. And the game is worth the candle.”