Jack Bell’s accomplishments in the reading and writing line consisted of the ability to spell out the paragraphs of “The Newport News Letter” and to write with much time and trouble, in a large round hand, “Jno. Bell.” Dicky, however, was quite expert with the pen, although his poetic faculty was not nearly so well developed. After a month’s hard work, and with infinite pains and labor, the song was composed. An air was found for it, and Dicky found himself possessed of the most popular song in Newport.
He dared not sing it where there was a chance of redcoats being around, but at tavern gatherings, with the doors and windows securely fastened, “The Capture of Prescott” was sure to be called for, and when trolled forth the boy’s sweet and thrilling treble always brought down a roaring chorus of laughter and cheers and more shillings than pennies. It was not of a very high order of poetic merit. Dicky was no embryo Milton or Shakespeare, but it touched the pride of the Americans, and that was enough.
Whenever this ditty was being sung Jack Bell’s face was a study. He leaned forward in his chair, his hands on his knees, and his deep, cavernous eyes glowing with delight, and at intervals his great hobnailed boots would come down on the floor with a loud thwack of approval. Dicky, perched upon a table and swinging his legs, as he cocked his chin in the air, would trill it out with all the pleasure in his life, and was naturally enormously proud of his literary as well as his artistic success.
One night about three months after the capture and exchange, and while General Prescott was on board the Diomede frigate waiting for a fair wind to set sail for England, a farewell dinner was given on board to the officers of the army and navy then at Newport.
Now, what poor Dicky Stubbs, the widow’s son, had to do with this dinner Dicky himself would have been puzzled to tell, and he was a much astonished and slightly frightened boy when about dusk a corporal of marines knocked at his mother’s door and demanded Dicky’s presence. Jack Bell was sitting in the kitchen, as he usually was at that hour, and both he and the Widow Stubbs were certain that the authorities had heard of the boy’s rebel songs and had come to arrest him.
As for Dicky, although a very courageous boy in the main, he thought it prudent to retire under the bed in the next room. The corporal, though, having seen him rush in and disappear, all except a pair of tell-tale heels, caught him by the leg and dragged him out.
“Come out o’ here!” cried the corporal gruffly but not unkindly.
Dicky, finding himself in the hands of the enemy, recovered his self-possession and stood up quite coolly and unconcernedly.
“Are you the little feller that goes about and sings?”
“Oh, my poor boy!” cried the Widow Stubbs, for once losing her courage.