As soon as the prisoners had shoved off, I sent the boat back to the tender, and Grampus and two men returned in her.
“Grampus,” said I, “I put you in charge of this craft. I hope that it is not the last of which you will get command.”
He pulled the front lock of his hair when I made him this speech, and looked round with a glance which showed that he did not over highly appreciate the honour.
“I’ll try to get her into harbour, sir, at all events,” he answered, as I stepped into the boat, and not without difficulty returned to the tender, when, with my prize, I again made sail for Rhode Island. An hour afterwards I captured a whale-boat, from Connecticut to Bedford, with four hogs-heads of salt. As I could spare no people to man her, after making the prisoners come on board, I took her in tow. I was in hopes of carrying her into harbour, but it soon came on to blow harder than ever, and before long I had the dissatisfaction to find that I had towed the prize under water, and, to avoid any mishap to ourselves, I had quickly to cut her adrift. When the morning broke, so heavy a gale was blowing that, being unable to reach Rhode Island, I bore away for the Seaconnet Passage, making a signal to my prize to do the same. We reached it not without difficulty. I was well content to drop my anchor not far from his Majesty’s ship Kingfisher, which I found lying there. Grampus came in soon after, and brought up near me. I asked him if he was sure that his ground tackle was good. He answered, “Pretty well,” but he wished that it were better. An officer from the Kingfisher soon after came on board, and advised us to look to our cables, for it was coming on to blow harder than ever. The caution was not needed. I had done all I could to secure the tender, and she seemed well able to ride out the gale. The prize, however, I saw was labouring heavily. I watched her anxiously, both on my own account and that of Grampus and the men with him.
At noon, just as I was leaving the deck, I heard an exclamation from Rockets, which made me pop my head pretty rapidly up the companion-hatch, and, looking to leeward, I saw my prize, amid a mass of foam, driving away at headlong speed towards the enemy’s shore. To help her was impossible. I was more sorry at the thought of losing Grampus than of anything else. Even should he and his companions escape with their lives, they would, at all events, be made prisoners by the enemy, and I might chance never to meet my old follower again. First one cable parted, then another. Grampus made sail as quickly as he could, but he could only show a very small amount of canvas with the gale there was then blowing. I watched the schooner anxiously through my glass. Tom Rockets stood by my side, as eager about her as I was. On she drove. She appeared to be almost among the breakers.
“She’s lost, sir, she’s lost!” exclaimed Tom.
“No, no,” said I, taking another glance. “Grampus is handling her like a good seaman, as he is. She keeps her luff, and is shooting out again into clear water. Hurrah! Well done, Grampus! She stands up to her canvas bravely. She is making for Fogland Ferry. If she carries nothing away she will reach it too.”
Such were the exclamations to which I gave utterance as I watched the progress of the prize. More than once she appeared to be nearing the land, and I thought that I could make out people following her course, ready to take possession of her should she drift on shore. Then, again, she stood off clear of danger, and at length disappeared in the distance. By daylight next morning, the weather having moderated, I once more made sail in quest of my prize, and as I drew near the wharf at Fogland Ferry, to my great satisfaction, I found her safely moored alongside of it. We remained here some days, till at last, the weather becoming finer, on the 27th of November I sailed with my prize for Newport. I was very anxious to carry her there in safety. I had gained her not without danger and difficulty, and she afforded a substantial evidence that I had not been idle during my cruise. Scarcely was I clear of the land when I made out a large whale-boat, which I chased for three hours and ultimately took. She had on board a cargo of beef, pork, cheese, and tallow. However, it came on to blow harder than ever, so, much against my will, I had to heave a cold shot into her, which sent her to the bottom, and once more I was compelled to run for the Seaconnet Passage.
Next day, that is, on the 28th, I once more put to sea, but in a short time it came on to blow harder than ever. Still, in my anxiety to reach my destination, I did not like to put back, and kept hammering away in the hopes of making good my passage. Feeling that I must take ten minutes of sleep, I went below, but scarcely had I thrown myself on a locker when I was hove off it. I sprang on deck, and found that a squall had thrown the vessel on her beam-ends. I sang out an order to cut away topsail halyards, sheets, main and fore ties, peak halyards. It was done, not without difficulty. Still she would not right. I put the helm up. She answered it, and away we floundered, almost water-logged, to our former place of anchorage in the Seaconnet Passage.
On the 29th, getting all things to rights again, I once more sailed; and this time, in spite of the gale, and not without difficulty, I reached Newport with my prize. I got some credit for my proceedings, and I felt that I was amply rewarded by the way the admiral spoke to me.