There was a Berwick lad who went out on one of the privateers that
sailed from Portsmouth in the Revolution. The vessel was taken by a
British frigate, and the crew put in irons. One day one of the English
midshipmen stood near these prisoners as they took their airing on
deck, and spoke contemptuously about "the rebels."
Young Lord heard what he said, and turned himself about to say boldly,
"If it were not for your rank, sir, I would make you take that back!"
"No matter about my rank," said the gallant middy. "If you can whip
me, you are welcome to."
So they had a "capital good fight," standing over a tea-chest, as
proud tradition tells, and the Berwick sailor was the better fighter
of the two, and won.
The Englishman shook hands, and asked his name and promised not to
forget him--which was certainly most handsome behavior.
When they reached an English port all the prisoners but one were sent
away under guard to join the other American prisoners of war; but the
admiral sent for a young man named Nathan Lord, and told him that his
Grace the Duke of Clarence, son of his Majesty the King, begged for
his pardon, and had left a five-pound note at his disposal.
This was not the first or last Berwick lad who proved himself of good
courage in a fight, but there never was another to whip a future King
of England, and moreover to be liked the better for it by that fine
gentleman.
My grandfather died in my eleventh year, and presently the Civil War
began.
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