It was a gray autumn evening more than two hundred
years ago, in the reign of King Charles II. There was
the moan of a rising storm over the North Sea, and the
lowering sky, the flying streamers of cloud, and the great
leaden waves, heaving sullenly far as the eye could reach,5
warned even the bravest sailor that it was a day to keep
safe in port. For what ship could live in such a sea as
that?

Yet the English fleet, far from keeping in port, was
beating seaward against wind and wave. On the quarter deck 10
of the flagship stood Admiral Sir John Narborough—the
first seaman in England—who thirty-five years before
had been a cabin boy. His daring and dauntless courage
had earned for him the name of "Gunpowder Jack,"
and that dark autumn day was to test how well the bold
name fitted him. But he had been tried many a time, and
tempest and sea and the fire of the enemy could not make 5
his stout heart quail.

Suddenly his grave face lighted up and his stern gray
eyes sparkled with joy. Far away along the eastern sky he
saw a bristling line of tall masts with a flag which he knew
well floating over them. The shadow of a smile of scorn 10
changed for a moment the expression of the admiral's
face. For a moment only. There was no time for smiles.
There was mighty work to be done. The floating flag told
that the Dutch were coming; and that day must see the
enemy of England swept from the sea or England herself 15
forget her ancient glory.

Next to an old friend the British sailor loves an old
enemy; and as soon as the men saw the flag of Holland
they were eager for battle. On came the enemy in grim
silence until their nearest vessels were within musket 20
range of the English. Then, all at once, bang! went the
whole broadside from the admiral's vessel, and with a
crash that seemed to echo to the sky the deadly struggle
began.

The English blood was soon up and the only thought 25
was to fight to the last. Amid the blinding smoke, the reek
of gunpowder, the thunder of cannon, and the grinding
tear of the shot through the strong timbers, the sailors did
noble duty that day in the dogged faith that they would
"give as good as they got, anyhow!" 30

Aided by a sudden change of the wind, the Dutch vessels
closed around the flagship with a perfect circle of fire.
Two guns were disabled, the main and mizzen masts had
been shot away, and a long line of wounded and dying men
were lying among the shattered rigging. The thunder from
the guns on the right showed that there the English were
getting the best of it; but even if help should come to the 5
admiral from that quarter, it might come too late.

But how should help be summoned? No signal could
be seen in that smoke, and as for lowering a boat, the great
waves that rushed roaring up the battered sides of the flagship
were a sufficient warning against that. 10

"Lads," cried Sir John, going forward with a scrap of
paper in his hand, "this order must go at once to Captain
Hardy, and the only way is for one of you to swim with it.
Fifty guineas to anyone that will volunteer!"

Such a request, in the face of that boiling sea and that 15
hailstorm of shot, was little better than a sentence of
death; yet before the words were well out of his mouth,
half the crew stepped forward. Before any of them could
speak, however, a shrill, childish voice made itself heard:
"Let me go, your honor!" 20

And there stood a ragged little cabin boy, bareheaded
and barefooted, touching his forelock to Sir John, just as
Sir John had touched his to the admiral, five and thirty
years ago. The boy had evidently been in the thick of the
fight. His hands were grimed with powder and there 25
were splashes of blood upon his tattered clothing. But
through his bright, fearless blue eyes there shone a spirit
worth that of ten ordinary men.

"You, my boy? Why, you can never swim so far in
this sea, and with all that shot flying about." 30

"Can't I?" echoed the boy indignantly. "I've done
more than that before now; and, as for the shot, I don't
care that for it. I'm not going to sit still while everybody
else is fighting the Dutch. Flog me at the gangway
to-morrow, if you like, your honor, but let me do this job
to-day."

The old warrior's stern eyes glistened as if tears were 5
forcing their way. He grasped the thin little hand in his
own.

"You're a chip of the old block," he growled, "and no
mistake! Off with you, then; and may God keep you
safe!" 10

The words were hardly spoken when the boy, thrusting
the dispatch into his mouth, plunged headlong into the
roaring sea. And then for fifteen fierce minutes all was
one scene of fire and tumult and slaughter.

Many a time in that terrible quarter of an hour did the 15
weary men strain their bloodshot eyes, and strain them in
vain, to catch a glimpse of English colors breaking through
the smoke. "If help is to come at all, it must come soon,"
said more than one worn-out sailor.

Suddenly the admiral's grim face brightened with a 20
light never seen there before, and he drew a long, deep
breath like one shaking off a heavy burden. At the same
moment there broke out a fresh thunder of guns on the
right, and through the smoke burst the flag of England,
sweeping all before it like mists scattered by the rising sun. 25

The battle was won, and the few Dutch vessels that had
escaped were disappearing in the dimness of night when the
admiral and his remaining officers gathered on the quarter-deck
to do honor to the little hero. He stood in their
presence with a boyish smile upon his face; but when Sir 30
John held out a well-filled purse, the boy turned his head
proudly away.

"Your honor, I did not do this job for money," said he
firmly. "I did it for the sake of the flag and because you
have been good to me. If you say you are satisfied, that
is all I want."

The listening crew, forgetting all restraint, broke into a5
deafening cheer; and the admiral's iron face softened
strangely as he laid his blackened hand on the bare white
shoulder: "God bless you, my brave lad! I shall live to
see you on a quarter-deck of your own yet."

Thirty years later, when Queen Anne's greatest admiral, 10
Sir Cloudesley Shovel, sailed up the Thames in triumph,
the first to greet him as he stepped ashore was an old white-haired
man who still retained traces of the fire and energy
that had once distinguished "Gunpowder Jack."

"Welcome home, my lad!" said he, heartily. "I said 15
I'd live to see you on a quarter-deck of your own; and,
thank God, I have lived to see you there!"