It is two years since what we called the "War of 1812" came to an end, and I, Amos Grout, once owner of the oyster pungy, Avenger, propose to set down here that which happened to my friend, Jeremiah Sackett, and myself, during the year of grace, 1814, when, so others have said, we did good work for our country, although at the time neither of us was more than fifteen years old.

This I do for two reasons, first because I am proud of what we two lads succeeded in doing, and hope that at some day, when, mayhap, both Jerry and I are dead, other boys may read of the part we played, and be encouraged thereby to work out their own plans for the good.

Secondly, because I would have it known that through a scheme of his, two boys, living on the shore of Chesapeake bay, succeeded in doing what experienced men might have failed at, and I am eager to have others realize my friend's worth.

So much for the reason as to why I, a seventeen-year boy, with none too many advantages in the way of book education, am thus attempting to write a tale for others, and now, that whoever should chance to read this may feel acquainted with us, it is for me to introduce my friend and myself in regular story-telling shape.

We lads lived in Benedict, Charles County, Maryland, near the mouth of Indian Creek, when the war broke out, and while many of the people of our town were not pleased with the idea of fighting the Britishers again simply to establish the rights of our American seamen, Jerry and I were hot in favor of it, for, in 1810, my friend's brother Tom was taken by the king's officers out of his vessel while she was off the capes, on the false ground that he was born in England. The poor fellow was forced to serve in the English navy three years, leading a dog's life, as can well be imagined, since he would never say that he was willing to serve his majesty to the best of his ability.

Therefore it was that when we invested our savings in a small sloop-rigged pungy, with the idea of making a living by fishing, we named her the Avenger, with never a thought that she might one day do something toward avenging poor Tom's wrongs.

Jerry's parents and mine were poor people, who could not afford to give their sons what so many fortunate lads have—a good education, fine clothes and money to spend. We were obliged to do all we could to aid our families, and had been wage-earners since our tenth birthday.

It would be too long a story if I should attempt to set down all that my friend and I did by way of gathering up money enough to pay Nicholas Trundy one hundred dollars for his pungy, which was then going on six years old. It was a big lot of money for two lads to save, after contributing to the support of their families, and we were near to four years doing it.

It was a proud day for us when the little vessel became our property, and we painted out the name "Handsome Susan," to put in its place in big red letters, "The Avenger."

She was about twenty-four feet long, with a cuddy in which were four small bunks, and had been in the oyster business since being launched, as we intended she should remain there.

We bought her early in the spring of 1812, when the people were talking strongly for or against war; but it never entered our minds that we might get mixed up in the fighting, for who could ever have dreamed that the Britishers would come to Benedict? It was enough to satisfy us that the oyster business was fairly good, and that we could often earn, with the pungy, as high as three dollars a day, not counting the time occupied in running up to Annapolis or Baltimore.

During the second year of the war we did not do as well; but there is no good reason why I should go into all the details of what would not be entertaining save to an oysterman. It is enough if I jump over to the spring of 1814, when we made a trade with an old sailor by name of Darius Thorpe, whereby he was to sail with us for one-third of the profits after all expenses had been paid, and this bargain was a good one for us lads, since he was a master-hand at dredging, being able to work all around either Jerry or me.

Besides being an expert fisherman, old Darius was an artist at story-telling, and there was hardly an evening during the first two months he was with us, when we did not sit in the cuddy long after we should have been asleep, listening to the old man's yarns.

Then, as everybody knows, about April, Captain Joshua Barney was ordered to fit up a fleet of small boats to protect the towns of the bay, for by this time we were having mighty good proof that the United States was at war with England, and it stands to reason that we lads were eager to know all that was possible concerning this officer, who had been the most successful of the privateers sailing out of Baltimore.

We were on our way to Annapolis with half a load of oysters when the news was given us by the captain of the Oriole, while he quoted the prices he got for his cargo, and since the Avenger was creeping along lazily, with about one-quarter as much wind as she needed, we had plenty of time in which to discuss a matter that seemed to be of very great importance to us.

"There won't be any foolin' when Joshua Barney gets here, no matter how big or how little his fleet is," Darius said as he laid at full length on the deck sunning himself, and in a twinkling it flashed across me that the old man may have sailed with or under the gentleman who was to command such a naval force as could be gathered in the Chesapeake bay, therefore I asked:

"Do you happen to know the captain, Darius?"

We always called the old man by his first name, because he insisted so strongly that we should; said it made him feel at home, and sounded a good deal like putting on airs to tack on the "Mister."

"Know him?" the old man cried, rising lazily on one elbow and swinging half around to look at me as I sat on the rudder-head. "I know him lock, stock an' ramrod, lad. The last deep sea cruise I went on was with him. He's a snorter, that's what he is, an' I've heard his whole story a hundred times over. I tell you, lads, there's nothin' in a book that can come up with Josh Barney's doin's."

"Give us the full yarn, Darius!" Jerry cried. "We're like to be loafin' around here a good many hours, if this wind holds soft as I reckon it will, an' we may as well make the most of the time."

Darius was always ready to spin a yarn, which was much in his favor according to my way of thinking; but he couldn't seem to rattle the words off easy like except when his mouth was full of tobacco, therefore Jerry and I could always tell whether the story was to be long or short, by the amount of roughly-cured plug he stowed between his jaws.

It was a mighty big chew he took while making ready to tell of Captain Barney, and I must say for Darius, that he never spun a yarn which interested me more than the one I count on setting down here.

"Josh Barney was born somewhere along 1759 in Baltimore," the old man began slowly, as if determined to give a regular biography of the captain. "His folks let him go to school till he was ten years old, an' then he began to shift for himself by goin' into a store; but, bless you, he never was made for that kind of work, an' before two years passed he found it out. Went over to Baltimore one day on a visit, an' wound up by shippin' on a pilot-boat; but even that wasn't what he hankered for, an' finally his father shipped him as apprentice to Captain Tom Drisdale, on a brig for a voyage to Ireland."

"I was in hopes your yarn had somethin' about his runnin' away to go to sea," Jerry said in a tone of disappointment.

"You'll find these 'ere runaway sailors don't 'mount to very much, except in story books, an', besides, Josh Barney wasn't that kind of a chap. Drisdale made the passage, an' then went up to Liverpool, where he got a chance to sell the brig. Barney worked his way home before the mast on a full-rigged ship—I don't jest remember her name. When he struck Baltimore again it was to find that the old man Barney had been killed accidentally by the youngest boy of the family, who was foolin' with a loaded pistol, an' Joshua had to shift for himself, seein's his father didn't have none too much money, an' a big family. The lad shipped for Cadiz as ordinary seaman; made the voyage all right; had a little cash to leave with his mother, an' then signed as an A1 on a brig bound for Italy."

"It don't make very much difference to us how many voyages he made," Jerry interrupted. "What we want to know is the kind of a man he is."

"If you can put a stopper on your jaw a bit, you'll soon find out! The mate of the brig was sent into the forecastle, not bein' up to his work, an' Josh Barney took his place. Then the captain took sick, an' lo an' behold, before the lad had turned sixteen years old, he was in command of the brig. Owin' to the freights that offered, he sailed for Alicant, an' made port just as the Spaniards were fittin' out an expedition against Algiers. The brig was chartered as transport, an' he earned big money for the owners, gettin' back to the mouth of the Chesapeake in '76, when the British sloop of war King Fisher hove him to an' took all his papers an' weapons; but let him keep on to Baltimore, where the brig was laid up. Then Barney had more money, an' considerable of it, for his mother."

The old man paused to take in another cargo of tobacco, and then continued:

"Young as he was, the lad found a chance to ship as master's mate on the sloop Hornet, William Stone commandin', an' in one day, so it's said, he, carryin' a flag an' with a drummer an' two fifers, enlisted a full crew for the Hornet, all from Baltimore, which goes to show that the people there thought he amounted to somethin'. Barney sailed in Hopkins' fleet to the Bahamas, where the town of New Providence was taken, an' the commodore scooped in all the ammunition to be found on the island. A little while after that, he shipped on the schooner Wasp, which convoyed off the coast the vessel in which Benjamin Franklin was goin' to Europe to help pull this country through, an' when they came back into the Cape May channel they found the king's ships Roebuck an' Liverpool—one of forty-four guns an' the other of twenty-eight—waitin' for 'em. There was lively times for a spell, until the Wasp contrived to slip into Wilmington creek, where she laid till half a dozen row galleys came down from Philadelphia to attack the British ships. Then the schooner came out, an' while the fightin' was goin' on, captured the brig Tender, one of his majesty's armed vessels what poked her nose in to help the big fellows. They say Barney fought like a tiger, an' with his captain wounded, brought the little schooner an' her prize through the fog into port.

"Then they gave him a lieutenant's commission, an' sent him off in the sloop Sachem, all of which happened before he was seventeen years old. He soon found a chance to fight, an' after an action of two hours, captured an English brig. After that they took the sloop Race Horse, cuttin' her up so badly she sank, an' the next to come their way was a snow from Jamaica, which the lad counted on bringin' into port, he bein' put on board as prize master. Then he had a bit of bad luck; the snow was re-captured, an' Barney made prisoner, as stands to reason; but he was exchanged at Charleston, an' rode horseback to Baltimore."

"How do you happen to remember all these things?" Jerry asked, thinking, perhaps, that Darius was giving us more guff than truth.

"Remember it?" the old man repeated sharply. "Why I've sailed with Captain Barney, an' every mother's son of the crew knew the story, for it ain't often that a lad of seventeen gets such a record, so we couldn't help keepin' it in mind, besides which, I've got lots of stuff in my pocket that's been printed about him. Well, in '77 he shipped on the Andrew Doria for the defense of the Delaware River, an' when that scrimmage was over, he found himself drafted to the frigate Virginia, when, as everybody knows, he was taken by the Britishers again, an' held for nearly a year before bein' exchanged for the lieutenant of the Mermaid. Then he went out in a letter of marque—meanin' a privateer—with Captain Robinson; they had but twelve guns, a mighty small stock of powder, an' only thirty-five men, but bless you those fellows thought nothin' of tacklin' the British privateer Rosebud, full of men an' guns. Forty-seven of the enemy were killed or wounded, an' aboard the Yankee only one was wounded. They sailed to Bordeaux, took on a cargo of brandy, shipped seventy men, mounted eighteen guns, an' on the voyage home had a runnin' fight lastin' well on to two days, when they captured their game.

"Then it was that Barney got married, an' about a month afterward, when drivin' in a gig from Philadelphia to Baltimore, he was robbed of every cent he had in the world. He never told anybody of his loss; but turned back to Philadelphia, took service aboard the Saratoga, sixteen guns, an' made a big voyage, capturin' one ship of twelve guns, another of thirty-two, an' two brigs. Then he was taken by the Intrepid, an' mighty barbarous treatment he got for well on to a year, when the young officer escaped, an' after he got home the government gave him command of the Hyder Ally, with which he soon took the British ship General Monk, as this 'ere bit of paper will show."

Darius took from his pocket a well-worn slip cut from some newspaper, which purported to be an extract from the Hyder Ally log-book, and as it was mighty interesting to me, I'm going to set it down here just as it was printed.

"April 8th, 1782, at 10 A.M. laying at anchor under Cape May (Delaware) discovered three sail standing in from sea with a light wind from the eastward; at 11 perceived that they were a frigate, a ship, and an armed brig. At meridian the frigate stood for Cape Henlopen channel, the ship and brig standing in for Cape May; made a signal for our convoy to get under weigh, and followed the convoy. At 1 P.M. the ship and brig came into the bay, by Cape May channel, the frigate coming around under Cape Henlopen; prepared for action, all hands to quarters.

"At three-quarters past one, the brig passed us, after giving us two fires; we reserved our fire for the ship, then fast coming up; we received very little damage from the brig, who stood after our convoy; she mounted sixteen guns, and was formerly the American privateer 'Fair American', commanded by Captain Decatur, and equal to us in force.

"At 2 P.M. the ship ranged up on our starboard quarter, and fired two guns at us; we were then at good pistol-shot; we then attempted to run her on board, by laying her across the starboard bow, but our yard-arms locked, which kept us too far off to board; at the same time poured in our broadside from great guns and small arms.

"Our fire was briskly kept up for twenty-six minutes, when she struck her colors. Immediately sent our first lieutenant on board, and stood up the bay, the frigate at this time under a press of sail in chase after us, and the brig ahead in chase of our convoy; again prepared for action, and stood after the brig, but on her perceiving that the ship had struck, she stood for the frigate, and got aground; we were obliged to pass her, as the frigate gained on us.

"At 4 P.M. the frigate came to anchor in the bay, (supposed for want of a pilot.) We then spoke the prize for the first time, and learned she was his Majesty's ship the General Monk, Captain Rodgers, of nineteen nine-pounders, but fighting twenty guns, and had on board, when the action began, one hundred and thirty-six men, of whom thirty were killed, and fifty-three wounded. Of sixteen officers on board, fifteen were killed or wounded. The captain received three wounds.

"We had on board the Hyder Ally four killed and eleven wounded. The Hyder Ally mounted twelve six-pounders, and four nine-pounders, with a complement of one hundred and fifteen men. During the action we fired thirteen broadsides from our cannon, and from sixty to seventy rounds from our muskets.

"Proportion of metal: The General Monk ten nine-pounders, fired ninety weight of shot at one broadside. The Hyder Ally, six sixes and two nines, fired fifty-four weight of shot at one broadside. Proportion—fifty to ninety."

"That all came from the log-book, an' you'll find Captain Barney didn't try to blow his own horn," Darius said as I ceased reading. "But I happened to go on board the General Monk when she got into Philadelphia, an' saw the killed an' wounded bein' brought ashore in hammocks. The prize looked tough; her decks were covered with blood, an' three of the bow ports were knocked into one. She was sold, bought in by the government, an' Barney took command of her, sailin' for France, with despatches to Benjamin Franklin. Then the war came to an end, an' he settled in Kentucky somewhere. Here's a newspaper story of what happened after that," and Darius gave me another slip of paper, the matter on which I read aloud to Jerry, as follows:

"In 1789 Captain Barney, finding his health impaired by his services, embarked for Carthagena in a small brig belonging to himself and partner. Thence he went to Havana, and then home. In 1792 he sailed again, and arrived at Cape FranÇois. While there the town was burnt, and he was obliged to fight his way. He brought off fifty or sixty miserable women and children. His vessel was captured by an English privateer brig, two others in company. Three officers and eleven men were put on board, and all the Americans taken out except Barney, the carpenter, boatswain and cook. They were ordered to New Providence. The keys of the treasure chest were demanded, but Barney would not deliver them, which occasioned much abuse and ill treatment. He had concealed a small blunderbuss, and his men some other arms, with which they re-took the ship. The Englishmen were made to work the vessel until they arrived at Baltimore. Barney was compelled, for his own safety, to sleep on the quarter-deck in an arm-chair. He again sailed for Cape FranÇois in 1793; on his return, he was again captured by an English brig, and taken to Jamaica. When he arrived in Kingston he was committed to prison, and bills were found against him for piracy. His ship and cargo were condemned. Once more he escaped, and on his return was offered command of a frigate; but declined. In 1795 he entered the French service, remaining in that employ until 1800."

"Now you can see what kind of a man it is who'll be in command here on the Chesapeake," Darius said triumphantly when I ceased reading. "The Britishers won't find it all plain sailin' while he's around, and I'm allowin' he'll make things hum."

It pleased me to know that we would have a live man to protect us, for if all the rumors were to be credited, the time had come when we needed protection mighty bad; but with all Darius' storytelling, it never came into my mind that we would know this wonderful Captain Barney, except by hearsay.

We continued at our oyster business without being troubled in any way by the war, although small fights were going on all around us during the early part of the summer.

More than once had we seen the flotilla under command of this same Captain Barney, who was come to be a commodore now. In it were twenty-six barges and pungies, with nine hundred men, all of whom saw more of service from May to July than they had ever dreamed of.

The commodore did indeed make things "hum," as Darius had predicted. He attacked anything and everything that was British, never seeming to care one whit whether he was outclassed or not, and succeeded in doing the enemy a big lot of injury. It is well known that once, during a full four hours, he kept his small fleet under the fire of a frigate's guns, hoping to capture her.

Then the Britishers began to understand that if they wanted to have things their own way in the Chesapeake, it would be necessary to first do away with Commodore Barney, and they began operations in great shape, although at the time we who were most interested in that locality had little idea of what was coming.

Now after this fleet of barges and pungies began their work, Jerry seemed to have something of import on his mind; but never a word would he say in explanation to Darius and me, until our business grew so dull that it was only with great difficulty we could earn enough to pay the running expenses, and then it was that the lad came to the front with a scheme which he thought great, while neither of us so much as dreamed of what the carrying out would result in.

"It's no use freightin' oysters to Baltimore, when we can't sell 'em for enough to pay for the use of the pungy, to say nothin' of our time in dredgin'," Jerry began one afternoon about the first of August, when we were coming down the bay with our pockets nearly as empty as the Avenger's hold.

"But we do get a dollar now an' then," I said with a laugh, "which is more than could be done if we turned idlers. Half a loaf is way ahead of no bread at all."

Darius nodded gravely as if to show that he agreed with me fully, and Jerry cried with more of anger than good humor in his tones:

"But I'm countin' on havin' a bit of meat now an' then. I could eat a razor-back this minute without stoppin' to take off the bristles; but there isn't money enough on board to buy the smallest ham."

"How are you goin' to mend matters, lad, while the price of oysters keeps down as it is now?" Darius asked, beginning to understand that Jerry had something in his head which might serve us.

"I'm told that Commodore Barney keeps his men jumpin' so lively at fightin' that they don't have time for anythin' else," the lad said slowly, as if speaking to himself, and I wondered if he counted that the commodore could raise the price of oysters.

"I reckon that's the straight truth," Darius replied. "It ain't his way to keep cats that don't catch mice."

"Then why is it we can't make a trade to help supply the commodore with fish an' oysters? Even though he didn't give very much for the freights we brought in, it wouldn't be a case of losin' three or four days out of every ten runnin' up to Baltimore."

Even then I failed to understand his scheme, and said as much, whereat the lad cried impatiently:

"You must be thick-headed, Amos Grout, if you can't see what I'm drivin' at. The matter has been in my mind these two months past, so now I propose that we go to Commodore Barney—he surely will hear what we've got to say—, an' try to make a trade. He buys more'n half of all his provisions, for the men of the fleet don't get time to do much fishin', an' we could let ourselves an' the pungy outright, or agree upon a price for what we bring in."

It wasn't at all a bad scheme, now that our regular business was so dull; but I questioned if the commodore would listen to such as we were, long enough to understand what kind of a bargain we had to offer.

"I'll go bail that you won't have any trouble in gettin' speech with Joshua Barney, an' for so long as the business warrants, pervidin' you can catch him when he's got a few spare minutes on his hands," Darius said quickly, and from his tone I understood that he heartily approved of Jerry's scheme.

"But where shall we find the fleet?" I asked, and to the question Jerry made answer:

"We've been countin' on runnin' in to see our folks at Benedict, an' I warrant that there we'll get news of the commodore. If not, it won't cost so very much time to have a look around the lower end of the bay."

"Yes, an' be snapped up by some bloomin' Britisher," I said, having no desire to mix in where people were fighting with such playful weapons as cannon and rifles.

"We should be able to keep out of the way of danger," Jerry replied, as if he had thought out the whole scheme, and I then understood that he had been mooning over it the past two months, determined to spring it on us when the price of oysters dropped below what would be decent wages.

Well, we didn't come to any conclusion that day, owing to my standing back and throwing cold water; but we were bound to touch at the home port, and Jerry bided his time until we were where information regarding the fleet could be had.