CHAPTER VIII.
CONTRABAND GOODS.
It was greatly to the advantage of the swift Noank that her larger and even swifter enemy was having a battle of its own. The burly commander of the Clyde was compelled to surrender, for the time, to the imperious demands of the polar gale. If it would have been at all safe to have thrown open any of his ports, nothing worth while could have been done with his guns. All that was left for him to do, therefore, was to follow on as best he could in the wake of his American prize. This could be done fairly well, for a while, although he was not gaining upon her. Then, however, another of her natural allies interfered, for darkness came over the sea, and his best hope for catching the Noank went out like an extinguished lantern.
Meantime, the captain had to listen, with undisguised vexation, to his steward's dolorous account of the damage done to the delicacies in the storeroom.
Far away, northerly, that very evening, a patriotic company of Americans had gathered in a large and pretty well-lighted room. Adjoining this were several other rooms, large and small, which were occupied in very much the same manner. The house was the old Ledyard mansion at New London, and all these women and girls had gathered there, with one accord, for work, and not for fun. The brave owner of the homestead, Colonel William Ledyard, was absent upon an errand to Boston, and there were hardly any grown-up men in the assembly. There were boys, indeed, brimming with patriotism, and these were evidently feeling more than ordinarily warlike as they helped their grandmothers, and mothers, and sisters, and aunts at the peculiar industry which had brought them together.
It was neither a sewing society, nor a quilting bee, nor an apple paring. There could not, however, have been more activity or cheerfulness, even at a corn husking, and yet the cause of all this enthusiasm and energy was serious indeed. All the busy fingers in these rooms were putting up ball cartridges with the powder and lead captured by Lyme Avery in the Windsor.
"What a pity it is that we cannot send them to Washington," said one of the workers. "He will need them all pretty soon."
"I hope we'll never need them here," responded another, "but I suppose the forts must be provided. The British may come. They have good reasons for hating New London."
"It hath many bad people in it," came sarcastically from beyond the table in the middle of the room. "I fear there is very little love here for our good king. We think too little of all that he is trying to do for us."