Jack Tier | Page 4

the Missouri is burned; and yonder is one of them, lying
at the Navy Yard, while another is, or was lately, laid up at Boston. The
third is in the Gulf. This must be an entirely new vessel, if she belong

to Uncle Sam."
"New! She's as new as a Governor, and they tell me they've got so now
that they choose five or six of them, up at Albany, every fall. That craft
is sea-going, Mr. Mulford, as any one can tell at a glance. She's none of
your passenger-hoys."
"That's plain enough, sir--and she's armed. Perhaps she's English, and
they've brought her here into this open spot to try some new machinery.
Ay, ay! she's about to set her ensign to the navy men at the yard, and
we shall see to whom she belongs."
A long, low, expressive whistle from Spike succeeded this remark, the
colours of the steamer going up to the end of a gaff on the sternmost of
her schooner-rigged masts, just as Mulford ceased speaking. There was
just air enough, aided by the steamer's motion, to open the bunting, and
let the spectators see the design. There were the stars and stripes, as
usual, but the last ran perpendicularly, instead of in a horizontal
direction.
"Revenue, by George!" exclaimed the master, as soon as his breath was
exhausted in the whistle. "Who would have believed they could screw
themselves up to doing such a thing in that bloody service?"
"I now remember to have heard that Uncle Sam was building some
large steamers for the revenue service, and, if I mistake not, with some
new invention to get along with, that is neither wheel nor propeller.
This must be one of these new craft, brought out here, into open water,
just to try her, sir."
"You're right, sir, you're right. As to the natur' of the beast, you see her
buntin', and no honest man can want more. If there's anything I do hate,
it is that flag, with its unnat'ral stripes, up and down, instead of running
in the true old way. I have heard a lawyer say, that the revenue flag of
this country is onconstitutional, and that a vessel carrying it on the high
seas might be sent in for piracy."
Although Harry Mulford was neither Puffendorf, nor Grotius, he had
too much common sense, and too little prejudice in favour of even his
own vocation, to swallow such a theory, had fifty Cherry Street lawyers
sworn to its justice. A smile crossed his fine, firm-looking mouth, and
something very like a reflection of that smile, if smiles can be reflected
in one's own countenance, gleamed in his fine, large, dark eye.
"It would be somewhat singular, Capt, Spike," he said, "if a vessel

belonging to any nation should be seized as a pirate. The fact that she is
national in character would clear her."
"Then let her carry a national flag, and be d--d to her," answered Spike
fiercely. "I can show you law for what I say, Mr. Mulford. The
American flag has its stripes fore and aft by law, and this chap carries
his stripes parpendic'lar. If I commanded a cruiser, and fell in with one
of these up and down gentry, blast me if I wouldn't just send him into
port, and try the question in the old Alms-House."
Mulford probably did not think it worth while to argue the point any
further, understanding the dogmatism and stolidity of his commander
too well to deem it necessary. He preferred to turn to the consideration
of the qualities of the steamer in sight, a subject on which, as seamen,
they might better sympathize.
"That's a droll-looking revenue cutter, after all, Capt. Spike," he
said--"a craft better fitted to go in a fleet, as a look-out vessel, than to
chase a smuggler in-shore."
"And no goer in the bargain! I do not see how she gets along, for she
keeps all snug under water; but, unless she can travel faster than she
does just now, the Molly Swash would soon lend her the Mother
Carey's Chickens of her own wake to amuse her."
"She has the tide against her, just here, sir; no doubt she would do
better in still water."
Spike muttered something between his teeth, and jumped down on deck,
seemingly dismissing the subject of the revenue entirely from his mind.
His old, coarse, authoritative manner returned, and he again spoke to
his mate about Rose Budd, her aunt, the "ladies' cabin," the "young
flood," and "casting off," as soon as the last made. Mulford listened
respectfully, though with a manifest distaste for the instructions he was
receiving. He knew his man, and a feeling of dark distrust came over
him, as he listened to his orders concerning